University of Virginia Library

SCENE— A Room in a Palace.
Prince. Cesario.
CESARIO.
Your highness sent for me?

PRINCE.
I did: Sit down.
You look ill, dear Cesario?

CESARIO.
No, my lord.

PRINCE.
You have been feasting lately? yes, 'tis so:
You were at Count Vitelli's banqueting.
But have a care, it is not good for health.

CESARIO.
You sent for me
In haste, was it not so?

PRINCE.
Not so.

CESARIO.
Then shall I come to-morrow?

PRINCE.
Let it be
To-day, now you are here. Cesario!
Is there not one who lives with old Colonna?
A foreign youth? Dost know him?

CESARIO.
Ay, my lord,
'Tis Pedro—no, Diego,—a dark Spaniard;
A linguist, learned, and noble; a cadet
Of the great house of—of Medina, sir,

PRINCE.
You know him well?

CESARIO.
I know him; yet not well.

PRINCE.
Should'st think him honest?

CESARIO.
Honest, sir? Oh, surely.

PRINCE.
Then he'd not betray
Your uncle, as I hear he has done?

CESARIO.
Sir! He?
He could not be so base: my uncle was
His first and excellent friend.

PRINCE.
I thought the world
Was not so bad. Now listen, Cesario,
And you shall hear a curious history.
Keep Diego in your mind the while, and think
That he's the hero of it. Last night a man
Came mask'd unto a rich lord's house, (here in
Palermo;)—Do you hear how Etna mutters?

CESARIO.
It sends a terrible sound indeed, my lord.

PRINCE.
This man petitioned for his life. He said
That he had sworn to act a horrid deed,
And came to make disclosure. The great lord
(His was the life in danger) promised full
Forgiveness: but you do not hear my words?

CESARIO.
Pardon me, sir, I hear.

PRINCE.
The culprit said
A youth on whom this lord had lavished wealth,
And kindness and good precept, had forgot
His better tutoring, and lent deaf ears
To those divinest whispers which the soul
Breathes to prevent our erring. He resolved
To kill his benefactor: that was bad.

CESARIO.
Oh! he deserved—

PRINCE.
We'll talk of that hereafter.
Well, this bad man whose mind was spotted thus—
Was leprosied by foul ingratitude,
Had sworn to murder this his friend.

CESARIO.
My lord!

PRINCE.
I see it pains you: yes, for the sake of gold,
He would have slain his old and faithful friend;
Have spurned the few gray locks that time had left,
And stopped the current of his reverend blood,
Which could not flow much longer.

CESARIO.
Are you sure?

PRINCE.
The plan was this: they were to bind him fast,
(To slay him here were dangerous,) and transport
His body to some lonely place.

CESARIO.
What—place?

PRINCE.
I'll tell you, for I once
Was housed there through a storm. A castle stands
Fronting Calabria, on the rough sea-coast.
A murder once was done there, and e'er since
It has been desolate; 'tis bleak, and stands
High on a rock, whose base was caverned out
By the wild seas ages ago. The winds
Moan and make music through its halls, and there
The mountain-loving eagle builds his home.
But all's a waste: for miles and miles around
There's not a dwelling.

CESARIO.
Is't near the—eastward foot
Of Etna,—where Muralto's villa stands?

PRINCE.
Yes, yes; well guessed: I see you know the spot.
Now, dear Cesario, could'st thou think a man,
Setting aside all ties, could do a deed
Of blackness there? Why, 'tis within the reach
Of Etna, and some thirty years ago,
(The last eruption,) when the lava rivers
Went flaming toward that point, this dwelling stood
In danger. I myself stood near the place,
And saw the bright fires stream along, when they
Crumbled the chesnut forests and dark pines
And branching oaks to dust. The thunder spoke,
The rebel waves stood up and lashed the rocks,
And poured their stormy cries through every cave.
Each element rose in riot: the parched earth
Staggered and spouted fire—

CESARIO.
Oh! sir, no more.

PRINCE.
Fancy, Cesario, in this desolate house,
How ghastly the poor murdered wretch would look;
His hanging head, and useless neck; his old
Affectionate heart that beat so fondly, now
Like a stilled instrument. I could not kill
A dog that loved me: could you?

CESARIO.
No, sir—no.

PRINCE.
Why, how you tremble!

CESARIO.
'Tis a fearful picture.

PRINCE.
Yet might it have been true.

CESARIO.
We'll hope not.

PRINCE.
Hope!
That hope is past. How will the Spaniard look,
Think you, Cesario, when the question comes
Home to his heart? In truth he could not look
More pale than you are now. Cesario!
The eye of God has been upon him.

CESARIO.
Yes:
I hope—

PRINCE.
Beware.

CESARIO.
My lord!

PRINCE.
Beware, how you
Curse him; for he is loaded heavily.
Sin and fierce wishes plague him, and the world
Will stamp its malediction on his head,
And God and man disown him.

CESARIO.
Oh! no more.
No more, my dearest lord; behold me here,
Here at your feet, a wretch indeed, but now
Won quite from crime. Spare me.

PRINCE.
Rise. I forgive
The ingratitude to me: but men like you
(Base, common, bribed stabbers) must not roam
About the world so freely.

CESARIO.
Oh! that now
You could but see my heart.

PRINCE.
I would not see
Your bosom's base and black inhabitant.
Now listen to me again: speak not, but listen.
This is a different tale. Cesario!
When first you came to Sicily, you were
A little child: your noble father, worn
By toil and long misfortune, scarce had time
To beg protection for you ere he died.
Since then, if in your memory I have failed
In kindness tow'rd you, or good counselling,
Reproach me.

CESARIO.
You have been most kind, too kind.

PRINCE.
Once, 'twas in terrible sickness, when none else
Would tread your infectious chamber, (think on that,)
I, though your prince—

CESARIO.
In pity!

PRINCE.
Hear me speak.
I gave that healing medicine to your lips,
Which wanting you had died. I tended you:
And was your nurse through many a sultry night;
For you were quite abandoned—

CESARIO.
Quite, quite, quite.

PRINCE.
Time passed, and you recovered, and could use
Your sword again: you tried it 'gainst my blood,
(My nephew then,) and I forgave it.

CESARIO.
That
Was in the heat of quarrel.

PRINCE.
I have said
That I forgave it. Then a most mean wish
(You wished my wealth) possessed you. I could never,
I own it, have guessed at that.

CESARIO.
Oh! sir, not so.

PRINCE.
Well, then, it was not: but Aurelia's charms
(That cunning Phryne) have o'erwhelmed your sense;
All gratitude and good being gone.

CESARIO.
My lord!
My father! oh, once more believe me. I
Do not deserve you should: but if you can
Once again credit me, may hell's fierce torments—
But, no; I will not pain or shame your love:
Nay more, I will deserve it. I can die
Now, for my mind has grown within this hour
To firmness: yet, I now could wish to live,
To show you what I am.

PRINCE.
Cesario! hear me.
Hear and forget not—what your old friend says.
The world will blame me, but I'll try you still:
You cannot have the heart (I know you have one)
Again to harm me. Once, imperial Cæsar
Upon the young deluded Cinna laid
His absolute pardon: 'twas a weight that he
Could ne'er shake off. Cesario, thus
From my soul I now forgive you.

CESARIO.
Thanks.

PRINCE.
What, ho!
Cesario, faint not. Why, thou'rt weaker now
Than when Aurelia kissed your lip, and won
Your soul to sin. Come:—nay, there's no one knows
Our quarrel. Let us bury it in our breasts,
And talk as we were wont.

CESARIO.
A little time,
My lord, and I may thank you. Now, if I
Might dare to ask it, I would fain retire,
And dwell on all your goodness.

PRINCE.
Farewell, then.

CESARIO.
My noble prince, rest soundly: you have gained
Cesario's soul twice over. If a knave
Should say I wrong you now, believe him not.
If I myself should swear I was your foe,
Discredit me. Oh! once more on my knees,
I thank you: dearest father! look upon
Your prodigal son. Thanks—from my heart.

PRINCE.
Farewell,
Farewell, Cesario. Nay, compose yourself.
Now go. Farewell, farewell.