University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene.—A Grove near Zenora's House.
Raolfo.
Here is the place. Now spur thy coward's heart,
Seducer, to confront infuriate love
And high impartial Justice iron hand!
This once they join, unwonted so to join,
And both cry for thy blood.

Ilario.
It grieves me sore
That you will draw this doom down on your head.
I have no quarrel with you. For that deed—
I do regret it just in so far forth
As it grieves you. I would not add to it
By taking of your blood.

Raolfo.
What! coward too!
You should have cast the dangers of your suit
Ere well in court. You are too far in the coils
Now to slip forth from under punishment
By fawning, grovelling, base apologies.
If you have one drop of man's blood in all
Your body, let it leaven so the rest
That you be able to hold up your guard
Untrembling.

Ilario.
Bookish fool, beware! and cease
To more provoke me, lest my patience fail.
But come, sir, are you a philosopher?
And will you make a quarrel for a toy,
A woman's heart, a trifle to change hands
Weekly, the current coin of Cupid's mart?
You should know more the frailty of their heart
To deem this thing dishonour, and apprize
At juster rate the value of such hearts
Than make a fray about one, when 'tis lost.
I too would fight over a woman's favour
Before I won it or some other man,
Not after, just as two cocks for the hen,
Ready to fight as fiercely for a worm.
Both are enjoyable, favour and food.
And each would have them; therefore the two fight,
No further said, when one has seized the prize.

Raolfo.
From the dung-heap. Thus men philosophize
Who have no part in knowledge. Bare your sword.
Small time for me to waste more words with you,
And less desire: plead like the ass and horse
With what brute strength you have; a dastard else,
Lacking the virtue of the cross-bred cur,
That quarrels for the offal in the street,
Or of the barn-door fowl, your model—

Ilario.
Sir,
You shall have fight enough, since so you must.
Defend yourself. I pray you choose your ground.

[They fight.
Raolfo.
Take that, and that. A curse on your cold blood
To mock my rage with calm! Damned smiling devil,
Take that! Have you no wrath, man, to be roused
With all that lust you could not govern? Ha!
That went home, did it? May this follow it.

[Raolfo thrusting, runs on Ilario's point and falls.
Ilario.
Fool, angry fool, I told you 'twould be so!
You have your death, I doubt.

Raolfo.
Get from my sight!
I could curse God for failure of that thrust,
And that I die so baffled. Kneel on me
That I may reach your throat. One grapple more.
Are you afraid of a weak dying man?
Detestable, contemptible—

Ilario.
Rave on.
I hear approaching steps. I must away.
Blame but yourself. I meant you not this harm.
God rest your soul.
[Exit Ilario.

Enter Fausta.
Fausta.
Just Heaven, what have we here?

Raolfo.
A strong hate unrevenged, God's greatest curse;
A soul insatiate passing out of life
Hard by the brink of the cool mocking wave,
With nature's strongest thirst unslaked.

Fausta.
Good God!
But let me find the wound. I can but bind it—
I fear me there is no more to be done.
My fault, my fault. I urged you on to this.
I am the murderess of the man I loved.
On me be all the blame. The deed was mine.
Yet if you had but slain him, and could die,
Justice accomplished, with an easy mind,
I should not grieve the less, but less reproach
My share in this. Forgive me, friend, forgive.
I loved your honour better than your life;
I wished to see you play the nobler part,
As ever of yourself you did. If now
I had to make for you the choice again,
Of risk or death in hand with action high,
Or baseness married to security,
I think I should choose still as then. But see,
This comes of it—death, and myself the cause.
But ah, forgive me, noble, gentle heart!

Raolfo.
Will you still plague me with your amorous speech
And boldness ever thus unmaidenly?
My near-approaching death may plead excuse,
But let this very thing refrain your tongue.
I would have some short peace before my death
To tune my mind to stillness of the grave.

Fausta.
Death is but little nearer thee than me.
Have pity on me for my love.

Raolfo.
I have;
For I too have much suffered from that cause.

Fausta.
Have pity on me; say ere yet thou die
Thou lov'st me but a little, less perchance
Than man ere loved a woman, but a little.

Raolfo.
Dear friend, you make me pity you; but love—
I cannot love but her.

Fausta.
What! her your shame?

Raolfo.
Who spake thus of her—who has dared? Nay, friend,
I am almost spent. Pray let me pass in peace.
I would not be provoked to wrath, and die
Cursing. I would not grieve thee with harsh words
For speaking thus of her. I pity thee.
There, leave me, in God's name.

Fausta.
I will not leave.
I will love her for thy sake, nay, will strive
To honour her. But say thou lov'st me now
Only a little, for my love, my faith,
My meek obedience, nay, if these be slight,
The life which I will soon pour over thee
As wine upon thy funeral—a little,
Only a little, the least drop of love
Lips ever tasted or heart ever gave.
It will be to my tongue as the sweet drop
Of water Dives prayed for in hot hell.
I am grown one great famine, fever, drouth,
Nay, hell itself, with thirsting for thy love.

Raolfo.
You would not have me lie to you, poor friend?
I cannot love you.

Fausta.
Good God! Say not so.
I would God you had died first ere those words,
Those last words,—as I soon shall die, and rest.
But yet, but yet I have a little boon.
Be not so cruel but to give it me,
If I ask meekly.

Raolfo.
What is this you ask?

Fausta.
To kiss me. Let me die upon thy lips.
Or if this be too much, to kiss me once,
And so bid farewell to my flitting soul.

Raolfo.
I would be loth to keep this trifle back
If boon it be, or aught of comfort give—

Fausta.
Comfort! It is my life, my all, my heaven.

Raolfo.
But I have sworn, I swore thou knowest when,
That never woman's lips should touch mine own.
Thou wouldst not have me dying be forsworn
Who ever kept my word through life?

Fausta.
Nay, true.
Though thy kiss were the gate of heaven, if thou
Hadst sworn to hold it back from lips of mine,
I would go rather down to hell than break
Thy knightly word or oath, and so deface
My life's true hero.

Raolfo.
Noble woman,—why
Have I been ever blind to thy great soul?
I may not kiss thee, but take this my hand.
I cannot love thee, but I honour thee.

Fausta.
It is enough. Come, peace! [Stabs herself.]
Here will I lie.
My body is too frail to hold this love—
This great love that torments me. Thus and thus
I give it vent to mingle with the winds,
To break from the cold clay, a soul set free
To wander with the tempests of the night.

Enter Teresa.
Teresa.
I wonder have they slain him that he came not?
I will not yield to grief till I have vengeance.
Or they may but have charged him to the Duke.
But what is here? A man. Alas! too late.
Dead, dead! my loved one, my Ilario!
And who art thou, cursed woman, to be graced
With touch of his dead hand? Off, off! I say.
Ilario!

Raolfo.
Is it an angel speaks,
Deluding my dulled ear with strains of heaven
In likeness of the sweetest strains on earth?
No—it is she—in death brought back to me.
Poor wanderer! I still love thee. Kiss me, love.

Fausta.
Would that the mists of death would blind these eyes.

Teresa.
Raolfo! 'Tis Raolfo. Wicked man,
Where is my love? Are you his murderer?

Fausta.
Base harlot! your vile minion slew this man,
Worth more than thousands of his bastard breed.

Raolfo.
Fausta, you have forgot. Words such as these
But ill beseem lips soon to close in death;
And I would sooner hear the saints blasphemed
Than her thus chidden.

Teresa.
Spare your courtesy.
I need it not. But tell me, where is he?

Raolfo.
That way he went.

Teresa.
Then true it is he slew you?

Raolfo.
As I had slain him if I could.

Teresa.
You have—
For he must die or leave the land for this.
Why must he spread his eagle-wings and stoop
On such a thing? Poor slave, what is thy life
That he should honour thee with taking it,
Or that its loss should harm a hair of his?

Fausta.
I cannot bear it. Most ungrateful wretch,
For this he died, died to avenge thy shame!

Raolfo.
No word of that, or by great Heaven—

Fausta.
Oh God!

Teresa.
My shame! insulting man. What shame have I?
Or what is it to you to search my ways?
Who gave you charge over my chastity?
Or who has taught your manhood to defame
A lady's honour with such words?

Raolfo.
Enough!
Spare me. I cannot bear it.

Teresa.
Spare thee what?

Raolfo.
Have not I lived to worship thee? Have not
Mine eyes, lips, thoughts, hands, nay, my very soul,
Been thine to take or cast away? Forbear,
Forbear these cruel words. Cruel they are,
Crueller than death. And yet I love thee still.
Thou art my better angel still; to me
Pure as the day-spring, holier than heaven.
Give me thy blessing ere I go—

Fausta.
Sweet God,
Hasten my death! It loiters. O sweet saints,—
Quick, quick—I cannot bear it.

Teresa.
Out on thee!
Thou wouldst have slain Ilario, my dear love,
Hast led him into crime and misery,
And cravest now my blessing! Out on thee!

Enter Ilario.
Ilario.
This way she came.

Teresa.
Ilario!

Ilario.
Stand off—

Teresa.
Stand off!

Ilario
(to Fausta).
What's this? Infatuate, cruel girl,
To spoil that temple where high beauty dwelt,
To take thy loveliness from the dull heaven.

Teresa.
Just God!

Ilario.
Speak, speak, for yet I see thou art not dead.
Why didst thou this?

Fausta.
Look on this murdered man.
Who slew him?

Ilario.
I.

Fausta.
Why, then, didst thou slay me

Ilario.
I would he had drunk my life-blood first.

Fausta.
Too late.
Thou, that wast all unworthy to be slain
By such sweet hands, with thine ignobler ones
Hast done this sacrilege.

Ilario.
Reproach me not.
'Tis done, and I repent for thy sweet sake.
Yet what was he that thou shouldst love him so?
A creature of poor spirit.

Fausta.
May thy mouth
Be blighted and sealed up with leprosy!

Ilario.
Amen, since I have grieved thee.

Teresa.
I am stunned.
Surely this is a dream. My brain is turned
With all these horrors, and I live in dreams
And picture that which is not. O sweet love,
Come to me, and awake me from this dream,
This ghastly, lying dream. Ilario,
Come to my bedside wheresoe'er I am,
And breathe on me, and wake me with a kiss,
And say this is not true.

Ilario.
Out, strumpet, out!
Thou art the cause of this.

Raolfo.
Oh for some strength
To kill this villain! Love, he casts thee off.
Turn now to me. I am the same—to death.

Teresa.
Ilario!

Ilario.
Out, strumpet!—dost not hear?
I love thee not.

Teresa.
O God! then let me die.
Kill me. Be quick and merciful.

Raolfo.
Dear love—
She hears me not: her thoughts are all on him.

Fausta.
And his on her. Sweet God, have mercy—quick!

Ilario.
She clings to him in death. I am alone.
Fausta, look up on me.

Fausta.
Traitor and slave!

Teresa.
Dost hear her? Love me still, Ilario;
She will not love thee.

Ilario.
Why, dost mock at me?

Teresa.
Nay, God forbid! Sweet Fausta, pity me.

Fausta.
I pity thee! Look on this work of thine.

Teresa.
Nay, but thou must.
[Drawing out Fausta's knife and stabbing herself.
Thy pity is most sweet.

Raolfo.
Madman, support her.
[Teresa falls.
I shall die with her.
Our spirits shall take wing at once. Who knows
But when they quit together the frail husk
Her eyes may open on the heavenly shore,
And know me and my love? and she, thus clear
Of mortal blindness, may forget this life,
And love me even as I love her.

Fausta.
But then
There is a third soul hungry and desolate
Following your flight with ever-anxious eyes.
Is no room for me in your Paradise?
Am I shut out, I only?

Raolfo.
Speak, dear child.
Teresa, wilt thou love me now?

Teresa.
No, never.
I am going where no love is any more
Sick of life's treachery. Yet, Ilario,
I die your faithful slave.

[Dies.
Raolfo.
God take my soul!

[Dies.
Fausta.
He is gone. He thought not of me. On thy lips
Thus will I breathe my life out;—Sweet, sweet death.

[Dies.
Ilario.
Nor gave she thought to me:—and I alone
Am left, sole author of this tragedy,
The main first cause of all these aching griefs,
Left to my own remembrance and contempt.
No, never! Shall these women act great parts,
And I forbear the Roman's death? Out, friend,
My last true friend, and comfort my despair.

[Enter crowd of Citizens.
1st Citizen.
Murder!

2d Citizen.
Seize on him; bind his arms.

Ilario.
Good friends,
You do but delay justice. Have your will.

Citizen.
How his eyes rest on her!

Citizen.
Poor lady!

Citizen.
Ay.
But wherefore did he slay her, or who slew?
And who reft this one of his life? And here,
Here lies Raolfo, noble gentleman,
Dead too. All dead. 'Tis a mysterious business.

1st Officer.
You, sir, how came it thus?

2d Officer.
He hears you not;
His eyes are fixed. See how he looks on her.

1st Officer.
Come, tell us how the thing befell? Your words
Can scarce make darker your suspicious case,
But may do good.

Ilario.
What good?

1st Officer.
Why, save thy life.

Ilario.
And if I do not wish to live?

1st Officer.
Why, then,
I know not.

Ilario.
Grant me, then, a little boon.

1st Officer.
What?

Ilario.
Loose my hands a moment.

1st Officer.
They are loosed.

Ilario.
Give me my sword.

1st Officer.
Nay, it has done enough
Of mischief for one day.

Ilario.
Then turn its point
Towards my breast and strike.

1st Officer.
Nay, justice strikes
On deep consideration, not to ease
The guilty wretch of life, when life is pain,
Nor yet to rob him of the joy of breath,
But calmly, for the good of civil life
And common safety of mankind. Look you,
I am no murderer.

Ilario.
As a starving man,
A ragged beggar kneeling begs for bread,
So I beg you for death.

1st Officer.
It cannot be.
You asked not this man if he wished for death:
You slew him, taking law in your wild hands.
Now you desire to die, insulted law
Has no weak pity for you. You must live—
At least a while. Lead off the prisoner.
Take up these bodies, and convey them home.