"The miller was blithe in the red, red morn.And he sung ere the lark left her nest;His heart was bright as the gold, gold lightThat comes o'er the dappled east."
"The miller was blithe in the red, red morn.And he sung ere the lark left her nest;His heart was bright as the gold, gold lightThat comes o'er the dappled east."
hermione.Nay, that sorts not with my humour, Blanch.
blanch.Shall I try the merry troll you were always right glad to hear, which the old steward taught us?
"Roundabout, roundabout, laugh and gleeSo merry, so merry—"
"Roundabout, roundabout, laugh and gleeSo merry, so merry—"
hermione.Stay:—not now:—some other song, and we'll in to the toilet: let it be brief—I know not why,—save that I think thy singing hath not now such a jocund and mirthful spirit in it.
blanch.Ah, lady!—but strange purposes are i' the wind when the mirth-giving Hermione becometh a lover of lamentable ditties!—Stay, shall it be of love?—a sleepy tale of love, as you were wont to call it?—I know a ballad of this hue.
hermione.I care not: another, it may be, would have chimed better.Yet, I'll hear thee as a babbler of strange stories.
blanch(sings).
"Up with the light,My maiden bright,The thrush twitters on the tree;Each merry, merry bird to his mate doth call,And the bridal waits for thee!"The sunbeams passOn the dew-spread grass,And gold gleams are in the sky;The morn's balmy breeze to thy casement hies,And thy bridegoom is waiting for thee."The lover spake,"Fair maid, awake,"Yet the maiden still she slept!"Why tarries she from me?—thy bonny face I'll see,"And lightly to her window he leapt.One cry he gave,Then still as the graveIn dim horror he fix'd his dark eye;For there his lady bright slept her long, long changeless night,And a blood-sprinkled corpse welter'd nigh!
"Up with the light,My maiden bright,The thrush twitters on the tree;Each merry, merry bird to his mate doth call,And the bridal waits for thee!
"The sunbeams passOn the dew-spread grass,And gold gleams are in the sky;The morn's balmy breeze to thy casement hies,And thy bridegoom is waiting for thee."
The lover spake,"Fair maid, awake,"Yet the maiden still she slept!"Why tarries she from me?—thy bonny face I'll see,"And lightly to her window he leapt.
One cry he gave,Then still as the graveIn dim horror he fix'd his dark eye;For there his lady bright slept her long, long changeless night,And a blood-sprinkled corpse welter'd nigh!
blanch.How like you the song?
hermione.Indifferent well;—methinks it were too sad. But sadness and I must have closer fellowship ere long, or I mistake the note of her approach. Away, Blanch; we must not delay the honours of the feast.[Exeunt.
An Inn at Mantua.
EnterBertrandandCarlos,fatigued with travel.
bertrand.'Tis well, good Carlos, in this noble city,Thanks to all proper instruments, we nowEnter safe housed. Nay, nay, dole-stricken friend,Put off these looks, drench'd still in woe. Why, man,Love ne'er was waked with weeping; woman's eyeE'er kept her heart, and thou must henceforth bribeWith gayer looks that restless twinkling organ,Ere thou may'st gain admittance to her breast.Rouse thee!—Accost her thus, with careless lookAnd laughing eye;—bid her "good day;"—Wring her fair hand; and if withdrawn,Why seize her by the waist: her sullen looksHeed not; an' if she chide, toss back her words;—Let her not learn from thy woe-tinctured face,Ere yet the tremulous voice its utterance shape,Thou pinest a love-sick fool!—
carlos.Bertrand, forbear.Thou speakest like to one whose lofty spiritLove hath not quell'd. I cannot now th' oppressorLift from my soul; I am bow'd down,—subdued,—Crush'd even to earth,—yet crawling heavily,A cumbrous burden, wearied, useless here,And without purport to my fellow-men!—I seem aloof from all connexion, tie,Or kindred with mankind. The very earth,My parent dust, claims not its fellowshipWith mine! Would that yon chill and rayless dwellingHad shut me out, and all mine hated sorrow,Far from the gaze, the cold, unpitying gaze,Alike of stranger and of friend!Soon shall the darkness cover me,—the tombClose mine account for ever. Then shall I rest;—No glance of cool-eyed scorn shall meet me there,Nor woman's charm'd and traitorous tongue shall mock me.They seek not victims i' the grave!—My griefShall there be spent; the heart's last ebbing throeTo earth in quiet nothingness shall leave me,Loosed from my dungeon and my chain!—
bertrand.Carlos,Thy troubled spirit hath no appetiteFor aught but evil. Fancy, diseased,Shapeth its wrongs from what itself doth breed,—E'en as the timid and belated hindFrom out his spectre-haunted brain brings forthThe shadow most he fears.—I do not mock thee;Cold scorn lurks not i' the same laughing orbitOf an unfraudulent eye. Thou know'st it well,Thy peace alone I've sought; and this coy dame,Woo'd as mine hopes commend, would free my bosomFrom half its load. For these remediless griefsWith equal weight oppress mine anguish'd spirit,As the united woe this breast e'er smote,The sum untold of this world's misery.
carlos.Forgive a wayward tongue, fretful—unkind:My breaking heart still holds thee dear.
bertrand.Forgive!—Nay, ask not this;—man asks but favours.What waits our bolder claim we crave not. Hold!—'Tis needful we devise, touching our errand,Some scheme for its adventure. Shrewd my guess,Thou would'st e'en now return, unwoo'd, unsoughtThis dainty maiden, and to others leaveThe fond pursuit, then lay thee down and weep!I've led thee hither, Carlos;—here I vow,Ere this same gallant city hath disgorgedSuch useless habitants, to her dull earThou shalt commend thy love.
carlos.I've penn'd a fragrant billet——
bertrand.Or a sonnet,Mayhap, unto her eyne. Nay, 'tis not thusHer fickle love is caught:—canst find no speech?'Tis said love 's eloquent, and pleadeth nobly,Using such vehement passion as doth rouseThe listening heart. Pour thy whole soul to hers:Give her no space for thought—'twill bring resistance.Reflection's chill and polish'd surface soonWould glance off thine artillery, rolling backThe warm flood to thine heart. But I forbear:—My wish is ever foremost on my tongue,And still outstrips thy power! Well, thou canst sing,Play on the cittern, trill the soft-voiced luteBeneath a lady's chamber; thou canst fillA delicate ear with ditties framed so deftly,And with such wondrous skill, another's woeShall seem thine own, 'Tis said, in that soft hourThe maiden's heart is tender, and well nurturedTo cherish love's impressions. Then, I tell thee,Unask'd attend, and with some vagrant bandOf hired melodists, at once discourse,To thine heart's easing, of pale woe, sighs, groans,And love forsaken. Thus prepared, her thoughtWill wondering turn to her moon-driven warbler.Thou knowest well in woman's restless soulA lurking fondness lies for mystery.If thou but win her thought to some connexion,Some yet scarce-felt recurrence with thine own,And pleasure once associate with the thought—These outworks gain'd, cheer thee, thou gloomy knight;The lady shall be won.[Exeunt.
The Terrace. Moonlight.
EnterHermione.
hermione.Calm orb, how tranquil is thy path!—Amid the stars thou walkest, clad in lightAs with a garment. Still thy borrow'd robeThe darkness compasseth, and sullen nightHis cloud-spread visage cleareth at thy beam.—How calm on yonder stream the moonlight sleeps!Fair image, woman, of thy maiden breast,Unmoved by love. Anon, some vagrant breathRuffles its surface, and its pure still lightIn tremulous pulses heaves:—brighter, perchance,That feverish glitter, but its rest is o'er!—How fresh the dewy air falls on my cheek,As if some spirit, clothed in its influence, cameUpon my soul, with one heaven-given drop,To cool its torment! Would that I could bindThine incorporeal essence! I would chain theeHere!—on my heart! Benevolent visitor,Whether from yon bright sphere to mortals sent,On moonbeams gliding,—fairy gnome or sylph,Whate'er thy name;—or from earth's glistening caves,Or from the forest-corall'd deep thou comest,In these chill drops that stud my dew-deck'd hair,Its every braid impearling:—fly me not,I charge thee, gentle spirit!—Hark! he comes![Music at a distance.I thank thee——[The sound gradually approaches, until heard apparently from beneath the Terrace.A voice!—I'll hear thy words. Breathe not too loud,Ye winds.—
SONG.
Lady, list to me!Thy gentle spirit I'll be;The fire is my garment, the flood is my bed,And I paint the first cloud with the sunbeam redThat rolls o'er the broad blue sea.Lady, list to me!To the mountain-top I flee:There I watch the first wave that comes laden with light,And its soft hue I spread o'er each billow so bright,With its beam I enkindle each heaven-peering height,And the morn's radiant canopy.—[The voice ceases, and the music slowly retires.
Lady, list to me!Thy gentle spirit I'll be;The fire is my garment, the flood is my bed,And I paint the first cloud with the sunbeam redThat rolls o'er the broad blue sea.
Lady, list to me!To the mountain-top I flee:There I watch the first wave that comes laden with light,And its soft hue I spread o'er each billow so bright,With its beam I enkindle each heaven-peering height,And the morn's radiant canopy.—[The voice ceases, and the music slowly retires.
hermione.Oh fly not!—bear me on thy wing!—from earth—From——Why this shudder?—Save me, spirit of air,Or earth, or sea! Tear me but hence; and yetI cannot part. Oh! why in mercy onceWas I conceived, and not to nothing crush'dEre the first feeble pulse, unconscious life,Crept through this viewless form?—Why was I keptUnharm'd through infinite perils?—spared, yet doom'dTo writhe unpitied—succourless—alone,Beneath one cruel, one remorseless woe,—From hope shut out—from common sympathy,And all communion of sorrow,—e'enTo the veriest wretch upon thy bosom earthNe'er yet denied?—This boon I dare not ask:Wither'd, consumed, companionless, unwept,I meet mine hastening doom. Yet, clad in smiles,A flower-wreathed sacrifice, I gaily bound,With gambols playful as the innocent lamb,To the devouring altar. The knife is bared!—Uplifted,—glittering! Yet I woo thee, tyrant,And madly kiss my chain. This night the feastI left;—arm'd, I had proudly thought—vain hope!With such resolve as, on this moonlit terrace,Where, freed awhile from earth's disquietude,My thralled heart might here unchain for ever!—[Takes a billet from her bosom.I vow'd to snatch thee from my breast!To tear thee hence! and to the winds, unseen,Commit thy perishing fragments, e'en as nowThis unoffending page I rend, far scatteringIts frail memorial to the air.—[Makes an effort to tear the paper.Some power withholds me. What! for this thou yearnest?Weak, foolish heart, some other hour, thou say'st,Better thou canst resign this fluttering relicOf thy——hope, whisperest thou?Nay, folly—madness,—call it but aright,Thou throbbing fool, and I will give thee backThy doted bauble.[Returns it into her bosom.There—there!—watch over it!Brood on thy minion!—cherish and pamper itUntil it mock thee!—prey on thy young blood,—Poison each spring of natural affection,And all the sympathies that flesh inherits,—Then wilt thou curse thine idol!—Impotent rage,—It will deride thee, and will fiercely clingTo thine undoing for ever. Fare thee well,Thou star-hung canopy!—far-smiling orb.Farewell! No more sweet influences ye fling,As ye were wont, around my desolate heart;I cannot bear your stillness:—Earthquake—storm—The mighty war of the vex'd elements,Would best comport with my disquiet:—now,On thy calm face I dare not look again![Exit.
EnterRolandandStephano.
stephano.So, so, my moon-eyed maiden. Ah, "Good Roland," gallants breed not i' the sun; they thrive best belike i' the moonbeams.
roland.I saw no gallant.
stephano.Why, poor wretch, I pity thee. Perhaps she hath fallensick for the moon; thou seest his cheek is somewhat shorn off, and I verily think he favours the lover that I told thee of.
roland.Thou art an old and a wicked rogue. But what waked such pleasant music? Came that from the moon too?
stephano.Ah, ah, honest friend, dost thou breed suspicions?—Ask the gardener who brought the music-men so late under the garden terrace.
EnterLauracautiously, carrying a light.
laura.How now, masters, wot ye,—a pretty time o' night for secret whisperings! What brings you to the terrace, worthy sirs, so nigh upon midnight? Pleasant discourse truly, you unseasonable villains! Can't you stay a-bed?
roland.Sweet mistress, we came to hear the music.
laura.And what should lug your dainty ears to the serenade?—I' faith, 'tis high time for your betters to stop their ears, when asses jog to the pipe. So, you guessed the music came to benefit your private discourse. An excellent jest this!—a serenade to a couple of owls.—Get in, you lazy dolts, and thank your stars, and not your ears, that you have 'scaped a beating.——[ExeuntRolandandStephano.]——I wonder these idiots guessed not who drew the serenade to this long-deserted house. True it may be some dozen years or more since this same salute awoke me; nevertheless, I was not past hope of its return. That gallant stranger whom I saw at vespers yesterday eyed me not, nordid he watch the corner of the street, for nought.—Well, it is a noble-looking cavalier, and a steady, well-ordered person, I warrant, from his noticing me so properly, and not that giddy coz of mine, the love-unheeding Hermione.—I hope he will return. Virgin decorum permitteth not my regard to his first appearance.—Hark!——[Music.]——Oh! how my heart flutters! Sweet harbinger of love! I must show myself, or he will die of despair, or, perchance, he will not come again, which will suit me still worse. Though, certes, it would be mightily amusing to feel oneself the cause of a gay cavalier hanging himself in his garters! What a precious revenge for the many slights we maidens are subject to! And then, to have it said, "there goes the signora for whom signor so and so hanged himself." Oh, how charming is this moonlight! Really, I am younger to-night than when I was but one year past thirty. Hush!—ay, I warrant thou art in love;—I can tell by the turn of thy voice. Senor Antonio quavered just as thou dost;—but—he was fickle, and quavered so far he could not get back again. I never saw him again after his second sky alto!—Hark!
SONG.
Fair as the moonbeam,Bright as the running stream,Sparkling, yet cold.In Love's tiny fingersA shaft yet there lingers,And he creeps near thy bosom and smiles, lady.Soon his soft wings will cherishA flame round thine heart,And, ere it may perish,Thy peace shall depart.O listen, listen, lady gay,Love doth not always sue;The brightest flame will oft decay,The fondest lover rue, lady!
Fair as the moonbeam,Bright as the running stream,Sparkling, yet cold.In Love's tiny fingersA shaft yet there lingers,And he creeps near thy bosom and smiles, lady.Soon his soft wings will cherishA flame round thine heart,And, ere it may perish,Thy peace shall depart.O listen, listen, lady gay,Love doth not always sue;The brightest flame will oft decay,The fondest lover rue, lady!
laura.I cannot resist.[She waves her hand over the Terrace. A letter is thrown—she takes it to the lamp, and reads—"Say, fairest, canst thou love? or doth cold scorn compose the sum of thy affections? Can thine eyes enkindle so suddenly another's heart, and yet shed no warmth on thine own? Give me but one smile, and thou shalt frown upon me for ever: so shall that cheering beam outlive a thousand dark winters. I am grown bold, for I have but a simple tale, and if thou wilt lend an ear to my suit, on the Terrace, to-morrow night at this hour, my presence will not offend thee again unless thou judgest in my favour.
"Carlos."
So, so,—rather a bold gallant I trow, seeing it is the first he hath asked of my company; but I guess it is the fashion of these perilous days. Peradventure, if I had not been beforetime so careful of my favours, I had been woo'd and wedded with the best of 'em. After all, I see no great harm in the company of a handsome young spark, save that the uncourted dames are envious withal! but verily they would change their minds mayhap as I do, though every one doth not judge so charitably as the person who hath chanced to ride on the other side of his opinion. I scolded the maids though but yesterday for a night frolic with their sweethearts, and bravely will Hermione laugh at my sermon, with the practice thereto appended. Well, I care not—"let those laugh that get the magpie's nest."—When I am married, grin who dare;—Carlos, I meet thee![Exit.
The Duke's Chamber.
EnterDuke.
duke.A strange conceit:—where dwellest thou,And on what nurtured?—Love on air-fed dreamsYet lives not: if in the heart nor hope there be,Nor thought, nor token'd glimpse on which to clingFor daily sustenance, the recreant dies.—Repliest thou?—What, nought my monitor?—Nay, thou didst rise unbidden on my path,With threatening front, and sternly stalked thee forthFrom out thy covert, sent, forsooth, as thoughTo warn of menaced danger. Back to thy den!Dream there of mischief and invent new terrors;I yet can jest, laugh with the laughing dames,Sport in their transient blaze, unharm'd, uncensured,And ever to thy fond embrace return,Beatrice, thence more wedded to thine heart!In quiet cease thine oft foreboding ill,Nor with unreal fears haunt my repose,Lest when thou shouldst arouse, erewhile to rushBetwixt me and my purpose, thine alarmsI heed not, if so oft thy drivelling fanciesArise to fool me!——
Enter anAttendant.
attendant.My Lord, the Lady Hermione visits you to-day.
duke.My pages—are they summoned?
attendant.Fabian waits below, in the great hall, just equipped for the chase.
duke.Let him attend.[ExitAttendant.The tongue of that gay damsel in mine earYet rings. I like her wit well, she doth sportThese humours nobly. Words from her charmed lipsDo gather sweetness, and the sharpest tauntFalls from her harmless, veil'd in the soft tonesOf her most delicate voice. And yet her presenceI would not seek; a lurking mysteryHangs, or my thought deceives me, fathomless,Inscrutable, and dazzling as the veilThat quells th' intruder's gaze. I watch'd her eyeIn secret yesternight, amid the feast;The soul that sate there laugh'd not, but her faceWith radiant smiles was sprinkled, dimpling o'erLike the soft waves on summer seas, with suchSmooth, gentle undulation. Yet her eyeNe'er rose nor fell, but fix'd as some stern rockAmid that smiling wave. I like not this—There's witchery in that glance.
EnterFabian.
Bring here my tablets, boy:—how goes the news?
fabian.Your grace, perchance, hath heard two gentle strangersThe abode inquiring of Hermione.Beneath Ridolfi's terrace, yesternight,Unto her ear they gave, with pipe and lute,Sweet signal of their presence.
duke.Where?—the terrace!—I'll have them seiz'd. Ho!—guards!
Enter Guard.
fabian.Oh, stay!—why thus, my lord!—The men purpose no mischief, hither bentOn some love errand; they in this can plotNone other hurt.
duke.Love! sayest thou?—Whom seek they?—
fabian.Hermione, my lord, and she——
duke.Admits their coming?—Seize them, guards!—Why this delay?
guard.My lord, we know not whereYour message hath its reference.
duke.Where lurk the caitiffs, boy?
fabian.Alas! alas! some frenzy masters you:One moment wait, one precious moment, ereUpon the spotless robe of your fair justiceFall this abhorred stain. Pause, I beseech you,[TheDukemotions the Guards to withdraw.'Tis for yourself I plead![Kneels.
duke.Up, boy!—what ails thee? Knowest thou, Fabian,Of these intruders?—Speak!
fabian.I know them not.
duke.Then why such ready zeal in their good service?
fabian.My lord, the zeal I now professSeeks but your own. To strangers, courtesy,—And faith reciprocal, demands protection.This need I tell to Andrea!Whose name with purest honour coupled, grewInto its likeness, till the very wordsHad but one sense. Need I to AndreaInterpret honour's laws? its high-born chivalry,In whose once noble breast her temple roseUnsullied, unapproach'd by aught of earth,To which defilement clung. Think but on this—One moment on the past now gaze—'tis bright!Oh let not one dark cloud, gathering but yetUpon the whirlwind of this turbulent passion,Obscure yon sunny glade, where stilly winds'Mid verdant hills, calm waters, glittering plains,The beamy path of an unclouded life,—At one fell sweep, let not this merciless blastO'erwhelm its wonted pride!
EnterDuchess.
beatrice.Your presence, Andrea, I craveTo greet our visitors.
duke.Not now, Beatrice,—I cannot come. Where sayest thou?—
beatrice.My lord! you are disturb'd!What!—Fabian, and in tears!—Why this reproof?The boy is gentle, and ill brooks harsh words;You were not wont to chide him thus!
duke.'Tis Fabian, I ween, his master chiding.'Twas thus:—Two prying and suspicious elvesI mark'd, to punish. Issuing forth commandFor their arrest, this silly, wayward boy,With words and tears, hath temper'd mine intentTo his entreaty. True, I might but gainSmall honour by their seizure, hence I've givenThe stripling his desire; yet mark me, Fabian,—I watch them closely.——
EnterHermioneandLaura.
My soul seems pain'd at her approach.[Aside.My gentle cousins, hail! None other nameWherewith I greet you sounds so consonant,So kin to mine affection. How hath faredEach friend in Mantua? Laura, yet as freshAs when my childhood knew thee, and thine handSupplied a mother's fondness. Look not grave,Thou art not half so old as thou art agedIn mine esteem.—Hermione, to youI publish greeting.
hermione.Our beloved cousin,—The form I trow your greeting takes.
duke.Sweet coz!No form I use, I greet thee well, and craveThy long abode in Mantua. Ladies' eyesHave most miraculous virtue; they can drawThe moon from his orbit, and the little starsTo watch their tender sighs at the soft wailBreath'd from a timorous lute. You love the moonlight?Why do ye start?—'tis not the first fair dameThat in our city listen'd i' the coolAnd passionless night, to piped sighs, and vowsEnamour'd, breathed from reed and flageolet!
hermione.Mean you the serenade? 'Twas meant, my lord,For other ears than mine.
duke.How? For the maid's, belike! Sweet, innocent fool,Love e'er was held a story-telling urchin;Pr'ythee forswear such idle company.But whence upon that cheek such tell-tale hues,Wrought suddenly in their bright texture?—whenceThat strange confusion? Love's unquenched flameDefies control.
hermione.I do confess,—one night,To while a feverish hour,—I had walk'd forth,—I sought the garden-terrace. True, surpriseA moment cross'd me, when your ear I foundSuch marvellous tidings heard!
duke.Well, to the maids'Tis like we are beholden for this minstrelsy.Nought living now in that good house would temptOur gallants from their beds.
laura.And why, your grace?If older ears enjoy such ravishment,I'm not so old, beshrew me, potent Duke,But I can wake at true-love's bidding!
duke.Well said,My maiden-queen! The fire of Zampria's houseYet quenches not, nor through thy cooler veinsFlags in its current.
hermione.YesternightShe sought my chamber. I had left the terraceEre the unyielding maid answer'd her call;She came all radiant with love's virgin fire,She trod on air, and her quick-throbbing bosomAll o'er the god confess'd. What says our cousin?
laura.No need that maiden's blush reveal her secret,If such rude, giddy, and discretionless tonguesAre left abroad.
hermione.Nay, Laura, thou hast livedBut in that snowy page, so prettily crimp'd,O'er which, thou sayest, love whilom hath brush'dHis tiny wings, and deftly to thine heartFrom thence hath sprung. Ah! gentle maid! in mercyVouchsafe to me one touch,—one thrilling touchOf that same love-wrought billet,—haply, thenceThe god may come: I'll make the urchin room;Or some stray rubbish, hoarded, yet to meAs worthless, I'll remove.
laura.So fair a jewel,To thy rude hand I yield not.
duke.Excellent maid!Thy jewel I had thought would hence have pass'd,A legacy to earth. I'd give my capTo view this comely gallant.—So, to thee,Hermione, hath love ne'er yet approach'd,—Or, if perchance he came, 'twas clad in guiseOf other import. If on thy chill bosom,Smiling, he yet should nestle, archly poutingHis pretty lip for entrance, wouldst thou grantThe wanderer room?
hermione.I know not:—now, mayhap,'Tis not much worth his lodging.
duke.Then its chambersAre still defil'd with many visitors.Or, it may chance, some envious power usurpsHis lawful birthright. Bid thee of such guest,—To thy liege lord submit, and pardon craveFor past offences.
hermione.Where shall I beginMy maiden suit?
duke.Lay but that garb aside,That glittering panoply, its surface, bright,Yet harder than the thrice-quench'd steel,No bolt can pierce; and I do promise theeA hundred shafts from some well-furnish'd quiver.
hermione.But if those shafts are pointless and unfledg'd,A hundred more would boot not!Of what avail, though twice ten thousand fellUnspeeding at my feet!
duke.Thy fickle fancy,Yet unfetter'd, will not always thus,Gay as the light breeze, rove where'er she list,Nor heeding ought she passes. She will droop,And, sighing, linger o'er some cherish'd form,Enamour'd while she worships.
hermione.Mine roves not!One form I cherish! None I wot besideComes forth at fancy's call. 'Tis not mine own!
duke.Thou speakest riddles.
hermione.And must ever thus.Whate'er on this dark theme I could revealWere mystery still, trackless, inscrutable.The subtle web in which my fate is boundTime serves not to unravel: all besideBasks in the broad moonlight. All hopes, desires,Each changing hue, as cloud or sunshine sweepsTheir varied surface, pass without concealmentBefore the eye of watchful day.—
beatrice.And every maid hath some fond secret,Some stored love, that she unwilling keepsUntil claim'd thence for its blest owner. WhyThat face of solemn mystery brought forth,As if thine own were some peculiar fateNone ever knew?
hermione.Our light burden gallsMore than the heaviest load our neighbours bear.But we return. The day unwitting slidesAdown the cope of yon bright heaven. Few hoursYet come till eve, and Laura looks impatient.And wherefore thus, bright cousin?—no sly meeting,No time-drawn assignation? Well I knowThe disrespect thou bearest them, or nowMy thoughts would judge thee!
duke.Guard well your giddy charge,Most vigilant dame, most excellent duenna,Lest some gay treacherous gallant should beguileHer tender years. Farewell.
laura.I thank your duteous care. Farewell.[ExeuntHermioneandLaura,followed by theDuchess.
duke.A strange wrought mixture thouOf our mortality; mingled, perchance,By nature in some freakish mood, when tiredOf that same endless reproduction, man,—Still to his fellow mortal answering,As, in a mirror, face to face.
fabian.Go you, my lord, to-day, upon the Prado?
duke.To-day?—yes, boy. But I would change this habit,And mix unknown with that gay crowd. 'Tis well—Hermione, or strange my thoughts misgive me,Now seeks the walk. I'll watch; this paramourOr hers or Laura's I may chance discover.[Exeunt separately.
A Street.
EnterCarlosandBertrand.
bertrand.Thou speedest well, thanks to my shrewd invention.Yon babbling rogue, Stephano, gave me noteOf her night walk upon the terrace, whereI bribed the keeper to admit ye.
carlos.Thanks,Thrice worthy friend. But I do fear mine errand;Some secret terror burdens mine intent,And heavily droops the wing of my firm purpose.Dull hope's uncertain beam, foreboding, quivers,While the rude blast, low howling in mine earThe roar of muttering tempests, sweeps it by,And, in that flickering glare, pale spectres glide,A mournful train,—sullen despair, pale woe,And grisly terror, dwell in their pale looks.Would this dread night were o'er!
bertrand.Some rancorous fiendPossesses thee. Some stroke of sudden madnessTo thy weak brain hath sped, reversed thy thoughts,Turn'd each unto its contrary,—what onceWaked smiling hope, now brings despair,—love, hate!—Joy, measureless sorrow!—Rouse thee! Once thou wertOf different mood, and, ere thy clouded sunSinks to his gloomy bed, again his glanceShall be unveil'd. I'll be thy prophet! HasteFrom this inglorious sleep! As he of old,Thy fetters from thee shake, in terrible mightUprising, when awaked from the soft lapOf indolent love. Thou lovest but too well,Nor mayest thou speed, until she find thee oft,With careless port, braving her frown. Wayward,The maiden scorns true lover's tenderest sigh,And inward pines for some ungracious churl,Who slights such light-won favours. 'Tis the goodWe might possess we loath and sicken at,For that beyond our reach, we moan and fret,As if our very soul were thither urged,And life itself but hung on its frail tenure.We'll seek the public walk: (woman e'er followsThe giddy crowd, as doth your swift-winged hornetHunt forth its prey): it will beguile the hours,Till night, with drowsy tongue, calls thee to loveAnd to Hermione![Exeunt.
A Chamber.
EnterLaura.
laura.How this little tyrant rules it over me! Again—[Takes a letter from her bosom]—I can repeat the words backwards, tell every turn of a letter, count the dots, blurs, and crossings; but—[In attempting to replace the billet, it drops on the floor unperceived]—I think the sun creeps backward, and then returns, out of sheer spite and maliciousness. I must not be on the terrace too soon: I'll have him wait now; it looks more an it were as if I had other business by the nose than dancing to the pipe of a gay gallant. Three full hours yet. Alack, alack! I can neither scold the maids, darn the Venice lace, sort my brother's hose, nor even turn up the plaitings of my own hair. I'll bethink me of the gown I must wear that shall best please my cavalier, and lay it down, to smooth out the folds. Oh, sweet heart! how tender he looked on me at the Prado to-day. Yes,—the same,—I gave him an encouraging glance betimes, lest the youth should wax timorous and melancholy. I hope we may have a quiet night: the sky looks somewhat wild and turbid.[Exit.
EnterHermione.
hermione.How fierce the sun gazes from below that bank of clouds he has just quitted, as if he threatened us at his going with some terrible disaster. His beam wraps the city, as with a mantle of fire bespangled with stars,—here and there a glittering cross studding its purple vestment: one by one they are quenched, and the glowing mantle itself fades. A dark dun haze rests upon the city, and in the west a fiery streak alone tells of the past. I fear me the night forebodes a storm.——Carlos, I find, follows me to Mantua. How the moody wretch and his companion dogged us at the Prado to-day: I doubled more than a hare at its lasts shifts, to keep out of their ken. I had hoped he would have forgotten me ere this; but you may not cram wisdom even down a mallard's throat.—
EnterSylvio.
Whose message bring you here?
sylvio.My Lord Duke sends greeting.
hermione.Thanks, boy, for his intent. I lack not pleasant compliments.
sylvio.He hopes, lady, the air of our public walk suits well your delicate health, and that your spirits droop not in this gay city.
hermione.Tell my Lord Duke, when he next goes with the crowd, to veil the dark fringe of his eye, and to fashion the bend of his nose afresh; or the fire of his eye, and his lordly beak, will betray to every idle flutterer the presence of the proudDuke of Mantua. Good b'ye, Sylvio.[Exit.
sylvio.I cannot read this haughty damsel. Ah! what have we here?—[Picks up the paper Laura has just dropped.]—Something, I trow, more legible than maiden's breast.[Reads."Say, fairest, canst thou love,"—I warrant thee—"or does cold scorn compose the sum of thine affections"—"Grown bold"—"If thou wilt lend thine ear to my suit on the terrace to-morrow night at this hour"—A bold suitor, truly—"I will not offend thee again unless thou judgest in my favour.""Carlos."Good b'ye, lady.—[Mimicks her.]—The Duke shall enjoy this tender morsel. Tell my Lady Hermione, when she next gives a private meeting to her gallant, to keep her billet safe, to veil the fringe of her bodice, and raise the beak of her stomacher, else their shallow covering will betray to every idle flutterer the secrets of the haughtiest beauty in Christendom.[Exit.
The Terrace. The night dark and tempestuous, with distant thunder.
EnterCarlos.
carlos.The night broods heavily, as thoughGaunt mischief were abroad, and its dun cloakWould hide some horror, the yet timid eyeShrinks to behold. An hour—a minuted age,Ere the appointed moment can break inUpon its tedious march. Hark! footsteps.I must conceal——this friendly——Ah, Hermione!Thus anxious for the meeting?[Steps behind a pillar.
EnterHermione,with a light; she sets it down at the entrance, and walks across the Terrace.
hermione.Roll on, thou terrible storm,—On thy dark brow, the lightnings, as they play,Reveal thy rapid march!—Spirit of air, that on the untamed windsDost walk, or, on the rushing elementsUpborne, thy chariot cleaves the groaning sky,—Whether to me thou speakest with rude voiceOf unstill'd tempest, or in whispering breathFrom morn's flower-fragrant breeze,—I hail thy presence.Bear in thine hand hot thunder-bolts,The whirlwind on thy wing, the cloud-swoln cataractBurst on the reeking earth,—dauntless I'll makeTerror my pastime, sport in their turmoil,And with the storm-careering demon's shriekMy bitter laugh shall mingle. These are butThe harmless play of innocent childhood,—So fierce the storm that desolates my soul![Carloscomes from behind the pillar, and hesitatingly approaches.Soft—Who approaches?—How!—Don Carlos!Whence this intrusion?—Speak not, but begone!I hear thee not. Touch but my garment,Shuddering, I'll shake thee off, as some vile reptileMy senses loathe. Hence, ere I spurn thee!
Enter theDukehastily, his sword drawn.
duke.Draw, villain!—guard thine hated carcass!Unsheath, bewildered fool, lest I should spike theeOn this good weapon![They engage.
hermione.Help!—How fierce they fight!—Lights!Ho!—within!—[Carlosfalls.
carlos.Oh, I'm wounded!—There, may thy paramour complete thy work,Unblushing traitress!—Home to my heart—Strike deep! thou canst not give so keen a thrustAs her rude tongue!—Haste, ere thy weapon cool;—Yet, ere I die, Hermione—I loved thee once,Now—from my heart I proudly tear thine image,Blotting it out for ever, as the memoryOf some loathed wanton!—Hence!—haunt not my sight,Fell murderess!—Now unbar my prison, death!—
duke.Nay,—I'll not haste thee to thy last acquittance,Ill-fated wretch!—I do repent mine haste.
EnterBertrand.
bertrand.Foul deeds betray ye, sirs!—Carlos!Wounded!—Unhand him, villain!—'tis to theeHe owes this bitter thrust. If thou art aughtBut what I deem thee, by the earliest dawnAgain we meet. The outskirts of yon wood,Nigh to the city, with thy weapon, thereUphold thee for this most unjust assault.An innocent man, if yet protection beUpon the stranger in proud Mantua,I bear to his abode; but on thy headHis blood doth rest, a dastard's recreant crowDown drawing Heaven's hot vengeance!
EnterRidolfi, Laura,and Attendants, with lights.
laura.Oh! they have slain him! Help! Who dealt this blow?Sweetheart, for love thou diest, and for love,Malicious fate! thy maiden too must die.[Bertrandbears offCarlos.Yet stay, Carlos! I follow thee.
ridolfi.Nay, maid, content thee;Thou followest not this stranger.
laura.Oh, he was mine!But they have ta'en him.
ridolfi.Thine! Some demon sureMakes ye his sport. My Lord—the Duke—I dream—This night, methinks, the storm doth send confusionTo men's calm thoughts, o'ermaster'd with its frenzy.On they would rush, malign, to the fulfilmentOf some sure, unscaped doom.
hermione.I know not whenceThese changes come,—inexplicable, darkAs lies my fate,—the abyss to which I hasten!My lord, can you unriddle these events?Your presence would denote, at least to me,Some knowledge of their bearing.
duke.A pleasant jest, from me to ask the key!It hangs in thy bosom, lady. Friends, farewell!I hasten hence ere this unpitying tempestIts fiercest burst, its gathering deluge pour;Cataracts of forked fire, commingled torrents,From the wide womb of the vexed elements.
hermione.Farewell, my lord! some other time we meet.
duke.Farewell, my friends! another hour must tellMy purpose here this night.[Exeunt.
A Chamber in the Palace.
TheDukeat a table, surveying his sword.
duke.Mischievous weapon!I would forswear thy company: but nowWe cannot part. Blameless,—inanimate,—The heart alone makes thee its passive toolTo work the several ills its thought conceives!What art thou, senseless steel? cold, motionless,Incapable of ought, or fraud or injury,—No dire intent there broods, no passionate flameMix'd with thy temper, flashes o'er the obscure,The restless gulf within, troubling the spirit;A fitful gleam, on the dark surges wreathingForms of unutterable horror,—wideDisclosing from the womb—the fathomless wombOf that abyss!—Would the events,The brief record of time, the narrow spaceBy yesternight enclosed, were blotted out,Effaced for ever. I must meet thee, stranger,—Thou may'st avenge thy friend.—Hermione!—Why should I start?—a sound—a bursting bubbleMoves me. Hermione!—Again!—This heartNot so hath leapt in the loud roar of battle!'Tis folly—madness,—yet she marks me out—Gazes so strangely,—'twere an idle thought,But from her soul, methinks, such pulses comeOf wild, unworded passion, as they'd mingle,Perforce, with every faculty, desire,And through each avenue rush, thralling the willUnto its influence. Those basilisk eyesAre on me ever! Asleep, awake, they change not.'Tis fascination! If such spell there be,Hermione doth use it! Yet enchains she notOthers unto the like. I've watch'd her thus,How angrily,—as the quick lightning sped,The night uncovering from her form,—I sawHer eagle-glance the timorous love-sick wretchStrike helpless at her feet. It is not love,—A spell earth owns not hangs upon my heart!—I love Beatrice; yet more tenderlyUnto her bosom mine affections cling,The more this parasite, this foul excrescencePreys on my vitals, wastes mine healthful spirit,Poisoning life's current even at its source.I'll shake me from these toils: I knew not whenThe cunning net was thrown, so light the texture;And warily I wot the snare was laid,Or I had 'scaped it.This unwelcome dawnComes dimly on the casement;—heavilyThe day's dull beam seems labouring up the sky,—Low hang the clouds, huge relics of the storm,Like dark reflections brooding o'er the mindWhen passion's rudest burst hath pass'd, and reason,As yon pale gleam, thus struggling forth its wayThrough adverse clouds, visits again the soul—'Tis then the mind, shuddering, at once recoilsFrom the dire consequence, and conjures upA thousand possibilities to scareThe resolute purpose. I linger at the thresholdOf this proceeding. I will not fight thee, stranger;I've wrong'd thy friend. His death, yet unappeased,Clings to my burden'd spirit: I'll atoneIf yet there be of reparation aughtThis hand can give. Sylvio!
EnterSylvio.
Attend me with the weapons.[Exeunt.
An unfrequented Place, on the Outskirts of a Wood, without the Walls.
EnterBertrandand two Attendants.
bertrand.How goes the morn?
first attendant.When past the rock,Methought the convent bell chimed there for matins.Heard you it, signor?
bertrand.I know not. Is the hour yet gone?
first attendant.What hour?
bertrand.Does the day dawn?
second attendant.Ay; but night-lurking cloudsShut out the approaching light. One short, wan streak,As if in the branches of yon distant oak,Alone brings niggard tidings.
bertrand.Hark!—footsteps.
first attendant.It is the treadOf some roused deer: upon the rustling leavesMan's bolder foot falls not so lightly.
bertrand.The day its custom'd hour forgets,And lingers in its chamber, loth to rise,With unveil'd face, on the wide ruinOf this hush'd tempest.
first attendant.Look towards the east!The light breaks rapidly athwart its face.You look not, signor. Hear you the——
EnterDuke,disguised.
bertrand.Welcome, if thou art he—the foe I meet.
duke.The same; but not thy foe.
bertrand.That hated voice!Revenge it cries. Prepare! no more delay!Draw, dastard! or thy recreant blood I'll pourUnfought for to this earth.[Bertrandmakes the attack, theDukekeeping on the defensive.
bertrand.Thou wardest but my blows; fight, villain![TheDukemakes a parry, and immediately disarmsBertrand.I seek not mercy. None would I have givenIf I had seen thee thus.
duke.Take back thy sword. How fares thy friend?
bertrand.If he recover, hate to thee, unceasing,And to Hermione, he vows for ever!
duke.Does he recover?
bertrand.Wherefore askest thou?
duke.Nay, chafe me not:—passion but slowly sinksIf still the wind buffet the boiling wave!
bertrand.Thou threatenest well. I can defy thy wrath.Another stroke might change the haughty hueOf thy proud boast.
first attendant.Nay, be at peace—againYe may not quarrel. Soft, good signor, sheathYour perilous weapon. 'Tis not just we waitAnother issue with decided strife.
duke.Farewell!I would depart while better reason yetKeeps stedfast watch.[Exit.
bertrand.Cool-hearted wretch!Thy passion kept not pace with thine occasion,Else had it minister'd to other issues.Anger disarm'd me—not thine arm, assassin.
first attendant.Yet hath he braved it nobly, and, methinks,A better name hath earn'd in thy report.
second attendant.Knowest thou thy foe?
bertrand.What need? His name I wot not.
second attendant.The Duke!
bertrand.The Duke?—of Mantua!
second attendant.'Tis he!A nobler heart beneath a truer breastNe'er beat. I watch'd his bearing as he gaveThe weapon back to thy reluctant grasp:'Twas just the air, the lofty temper'd port,I've seen him use, when, with proud condescension,Gracious—yet bating nought his dignity,—He deals such pardon to the trembling culpritAs makes the offence yet doubly heinous.
bertrand.I ask'd of him no favour—where the crime?'Twas unprovoked; he rush'd upon my friend,—They fought,—he fell,—and I had hoped to avengeThe sufferer's wrong. But whence?—'tis wondrous strange.Hermione!—the Duke!—the proud HermioneA prince's paramour! It cannot be.So fair, so noble, yet——There's mystery here;I must unravel this perplexed web,Or perish in its toils![Exeunt.
A Balcony, overlooking the Garden.
HermioneandBlanch.
hermione.I am sad, Blanch.
blanch.I would, lady, you were in your little toilet-chamber atVenice. You were not sad there once. Why stay you in this unlucky house? I do conceive, that I shall have no more heart soon than hath your goose-quill, nor life within me than a dried puff-ball. When go you to Venice, lady?
hermione.Never!
blanch.Oh, sweet mistress; and must we die in this dismal city?My very countenance hath changed its fashion, forsooth; being smoke-dried and tarnished, like your two years' hung stock-fish. I do fear me that I shall pine with home-longings; and the sight of yon garlick-faced knave, Stephano, for ever at my heels, turns me sick when he gets within stride of me. But you jest, lady.
hermione.Blanch, thou hast been kinder to me than my fate hath answered for; and I give thee good counsel when I tell thee to return to Venice. Stay not with me; for soon the high, the proud-spirited Hermione will——I shall soon lay me in the quiet grave—and thou wilt grieve to see me sink—so young—soearlyto my doom. I look fresh, mayhap, and blooming,and they call me happy; but I am withered—here!
blanch.Oh, lady, you will break my heart! (Weeps.) I will not go! If they bear you to the grave, I will follow you there to weep, and to quiet myself beside you.
hermione.Thou art kind, Blanch. I would thou hadst a happier mistress, thou wouldest, peradventure, be happy too.
blanch.What frets you so keenly? I would compass sea and land to fetch you a morsel of comfort. Do tell me, lady. They say sorrow hath companionship, and loves its like.
hermione.Ask it not, girl: I would not tell it to the winds, lest they should babble it again; I would not whisper it to mine own heart, lest each pulse should echo it back to mine ear; I dare not think on 't, lest my very thoughts should create a corporeal voice to utter it withal. Other sorrows have companionship, but mine hath none!
Enter Servant.
servant.The strange gipsy woman your ladyship gave an alms to yesterday waits without, asking to see you. I would have put her away, but she looked on me, and I shuddered as I approached her.
hermione.Bid her come in.
blanch.How it would delight me to have my fortune cast; but—myfate answers to your own!
EnterZorayda.
hermione.Why this silence?—Thy message.
zorayda.Askest thou?—Thanks!—What marvel? they speak notWith unembodied tongue!
hermione.Thou comest, then,But on a thankless errand; I dispenseWith empty words.
zorayda.Why then I go unaudienced.I would not vex thee, lady;—thou art strungBy unseen anguish, e'en to the topmost pitchThy nature bears. One other strain, it breaks!
hermione.What knowest thou?
zorayda.That other comes!
hermione.Too soon,I wot, these heart-strings break not. How, beldame?Thy prying eyes gather some secret. HenceWith the silly maids thou tamperest, and anonThe mistress' ear greets her own confidence;But not on me impose thy mummeries:None other breast than mine yet holds its trust.
zorayda.What proof requirest thou, ere faith admitMy proffer'd testimony?
hermione.Proof!What thou, weak fool—the crazed and worn-out playthingOf thy too credulous fancies—cannot give.Reveal my thoughts!