 | Don Garcia |  |
SCENE THE SIXTH.
Garcia, Piero.Gar.
Who art thou? ... Who ... presents himself to me ...
Upon the thresholds of mortality?
Pi.
Thy brother, Piero ...
Gar.
The son of Cosmo?
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And thou, art thou not so?
Gar.
I am so, ... yes ...
Now that I am a traitor.
Pi.
Hast thou slain him?
Gar.
Dost thou not see it, by my steps, ... my gestures, ...
My faultering voice, ... the unaccustomed fear ...
Which smites my heart?
Pi.
I pitied thee before,
And now much more.—But thou hast saved thy Julia.
Gar.
Oh heaven! who knows if yet my father ...
Pi.
Hence
I fly to him. Soon as I bring to him
Proof that by thy hand Salviati fell,
Julia will be in safety.
Gar.
Proof? Behold
My sword; it trickles yet with smoking blood.
Go, take it to him ... but if it should meet
His daughter's eyes, ... oh heaven! ...
Pi.
But art thou sure
Thou tookest aim effectively? Fell he
At the first blow? And spake he not?
Gar.
Fear'st thou
That yet he is alive? Or doth it please thee
To hear from me the atrocious narrative,
To fill thy bosom with malignant joy?
Thou shalt be satisfied: and tell it thou
To my unnatural father.—
Soon as I enter'd in the cave I heard,
And seem'd to see, my victim groping there,
Who had preceded me: I quickly raised
My arm to smite him; but my arm dropped down ...
Already I retreated; when, methought,
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I heard, and spite of me it drew me back.
Hearing a foot-fall, Salviati rush'd
Meanwhile towards the entrance, and approach'd me.
At once I planted, even to the hilt,
The execrable dagger in his heart ...
One sigh alone, one bursting sigh of death,
Falling, he breathed ... Oh horrible to tell! ...
I felt myself aspersed with spouting blood:
A death-like chillness crept through all my veins; ...
And scarcely I restrain'd myself from falling
Upon the bleeding corse ... Wretch that I am! ...
Groping with trembling hands, I scarcely gain'd
The mouth of that abominable tomb ...
Hast heard enough?—Dost thou exult in hearing?
Pi.
Why should'st thou wrong me thus?—Fortune at least,
In one respect, has been to thee propitious,
That I alone beheld thee quit this cave.—
My father will hereafter well know how
To give what colour serves his purpose best
To this calamity. Time cancels all things;
Even affliction yields at length to time.
If thus my father will'd, the guilt is his:
Thanks, not dishonour, thou should'st reap from it.
Besides, that he especially will wish
For ever to conceal it.—Calm thyself:
Light is a crime that ne'er will be divulged.
Gar.
Rewards to me!—death now is my desert.
Where shall I hide myself? This guiltless blood,
With which I am polluted and besmear'd,
What could e'er cleanse it? Not my useless tears,
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Go thou to Cosmo; yield him back his sword;
Do thou receive his recompenses. Thou
The cruel messenger of death didst send:
Thou didst exult, perfidious brother! thou,
That I became, as thou thyself art, base
And infamous.—Thou art the real son
Of Cosmo.—Go; this instant leave me.—Where,
Where can I ever from myself escape? ...
Where shall I hide myself? ... Ah! how shall I
Sustain the glances of Diego now,
Now that he's justified in calling me
A traitor?—of Diego, who, though dear
To you, had never been himself a traitor? ...
Oh rage! ... Oh irrecoverable shame! ...
Pi.
Thou canst not instantaneously resume
Collected thoughts ... Appease thy just regrets:
Meanwhile I will precede thee to thy father.
I hope thy crime will always be unknown
Both to Diego and to all mankind.
Gar.
All men shall know it: such a punishment
I have already to myself prescribed,
That false suspicion may not fall on others.
Obtain alone that I, on my arrival,
Find that unhappy Julia restored
To liberty ... It afterwards depends
On me to inflict just vengeance on my crime.
| Don Garcia | |