But if

FAZIO.

ye see me by a noble lady,

Whispering as though she were my shrine, whereon
I lay my odorous incense, and her beauty
Grow riper, richer at my cherishing praise;
If she lean on me with a fond round arm,
If her eye drink the light from out mine eyes,
And if her lips drop sounds for my ear only;
Thou 'It arch thy moody brow, look at me gravely,
With a pale anger on thy silent cheek.

Tis out of keeping, 't is not the court fashion-
We must forego this clinging and the clasping;
Be cold, and strange, and courteous to each other;
And say, "How doth my lord?" "How slept my
lady?"

As though we dwelt at opposite ends o' the city.

Take heed; we are passionate; our milk of love
Doth turn to wormwood, and that's bitter drinking.
The fondest are most frenetic: where the fire
Burneth intensest, there the inmate pale
Doth dread the broad and beaconing conflagration.
If that ye cast us to the winds, the winds
Will give us their unruly restless nature;
We whirl and whirl; and where we settle, Fazio,
But he that ruleth the mad winds can know.
If ye do drive the love out of my soul,
That is its motion, being, and its life,

There'll be a conflict strange and horrible,
Among all fearful and ill-visaged fiends,

For the blank void; and their mad revel there
Will make me-oh, I know not what-hate thee!-
Oh, no! I could not hate thee, Fazio:
Nay, nay, my Fazio, 't is not come to that;

Mine arms, mine arms, shall say the next "shall Lot;'
I'll never startle more thy peevish ears,
But I'll speak to thee with my positive lips.

[Kissing and clinging to him.

FAZIO.

Oh, what a wild and wayward child am I!-
Like the hungry fool, that in his moody fit
Dash'd from his lips his last delicious morsel.
I'll see her once, Bianca, and but once;
And then a rich and breathing tale I'll tell her
Of our full happiness. If she be angel,
"T will be a gleam of Paradise to her,

And she 'll smile at it one of those soft smiles,
That makes the air seem sunny, blithe, and balmy.
If she be devil- Nay, but that 's too ugly;
The fancy doth rebel at it, and shrink
As from a serpent in a knot of flowers.
Devil and Aldabella! - Fie! - They sound
Like nightingales and screech-owls heard together
What! must I still have tears to kiss away? -
I will return - Good night! — It is but once.
See, thou'st the taste o' my lips now at our parting;
And when we meet again, if they be tainted,
Thou shalt-oh no, thou shalt not, canst not hate me.
[Exeunt

SCENE IV. Palace of ALDABELLA.

ALDABELLA.

My dainty bird doth hover round the lure,
And I must hood him with a skilful hand:
Rich and renown'd, he must be in my train,
Or Florence will turn rebel to my beauty.

Enter CLARA, FAZIO behind.
ALDABELLA goes on.

Oh, Clara, have ye been to the Ursulines? What says my cousin, the kind Lady Abbess?

CLARA.

She says, my lady, that to-morrow noon
Noviciates are admitted; but she wonders,
My Lady Abbess wonders, and I too
Wonder, my lady, what can make ye fancy
Those damp and dingy cloisters. Oh, my lady!
They'll make ye cut off all this fine dark hair-
Why, all the signiors in the court would quarrel,
And cut each other's throats for a loose hair of it.

ALDABELLA.

Ah me! what heeds it where I linger out The remnant of my dark and despised life? Clara, thou weariest me.

CLARA.

Oh, but, my lady,

I saw their dress: it was so coarse and hard-grain'd,
I'm sure 't would fret your ladyship's soft skin
Like thorns and brambles; and besides, the make

on 't!

A vine-dresser's wife at market looks more dainty.

ALDABELLA.

Then my tears will not stain it. Oh, 't is rich enough

For lear and haggard sorrow. (Appearing to perceive
FAZIO, exit CLARA.) Oh, my lord!

You're timely come to take a long farewell.
Our convent gates are rude, and black, and close;
Our Ursuline veils of such a jealous woof,
There must be piercing in those curious eyes,
Would know if the skin beneath be swarth or snowy.

FAZIO.

A convent for the brilliant Aldabella!
The mirror of all rival lovelinesses,

The harp to which all gay thoughts lightly dance,
Mew'd in the drowsy silence of a cloister!

ALDABELLA.

Oh, what regards it, if a blind man lie
On a green lawn or on a steamy moor!
What heeds it to the dead and wither'd heart,
Whose faculty of rapture is grown sere,
Hath lost distinction between foul and fair,
Whether it house in gorgeous palaces,

Or 'mid wan graves and haggard signs of care!
Oh, there's a grief, so with the threads of being
Ravell'd and twined, it sickens every sense:
Then is the swinging and monotonous bell
Musical as the rich harp heard by moonlight;
Then are the limbs insensible if they rest
On the coarse pallet or the pulpy down.

FAZIO.

What mean ye, lady?-thou bewilder'st me.
What grief so wanton and luxurious
Would choose the Lady Aldabella's bosom
To pillow on?

ALDABELLA.

Oh, my lord, untold love

Nay, Fazio, gaze not on me so; my tongue
Can scarcely move for the fire within
my cheeks.
It cankereth, it consumeth, untold love.
But if it burst its secret prison-house,
And venture on the broad and public air,
It leagueth with a busy fiend call'd Shame;
And they both dog their game, till misery
Fastens upon it with a viper's fang,
And rings its being with its venomous coil.

FAZIO.

Misery and thee!-oh, 't is unnatural!-
Oh, yoke thee to that thing of darkness, misery!·
That Ethiop, that grim Moor!-it were to couple
The dove and kite within one loving leash.
It must not be; nay, ye must be divorced.

ALDABELLA.

Ah no, my lord! we are too deeply pledged. Dost thou remember our old poet's* legend

Over Hell gates

hope

FAZIO.

Oh, no! we must not part, we must not part.
I came to tell thee something: what, I know not.
I only know one word that should have been;
And that-Oh! if thy skin were seam'd with wrin
kles,

If on thy cheek sate sallow hollowness,

If thy warm voice spake shrieking, harsh, and shrill
But to that breathing form, those ripe round lips,
Like a full parted cherry, those dark eyes,
Rich in such dewy languors -
I'll not say it-

Nay, nay, 't is on me now!- Poison's at work!
Now listen to me, lady- We must love.

Comes not, is hell; and what have I to hope?

FAZIO.

What hast to hope?—Thou 'rt strangely beautiful—

ALDABELLA.

Wouldst thou leave flattery thy last ravishing sound Upon mine ears? - 'Tis kind, 't is fatally kind.

* Dante.

ACT III.-SCENE I.

Palace of Fazio.

BIANCA.

Not all the night, not all the long, long night, Not come to me! not send to me! not think on me! Like an unrighteous and unburied ghost, I wander up and down these long arcades. Oh, in our old poor narrow home, if haply He linger'd late abroad, domestic things Close and familiar crowded all around me; The ticking of the clock, the flapping motion Of the green lattice, the grey curtains' folds, The hangings of the bed myself had wrought, Yea, e'en his black and iron crucibles, Were to me as my friends. But here, oh here, Where all is coldly, comfortlessly costly, All strange, all new in uncouth gorgeousness, Lofty and long, a wider space for miseryE'en iny own footsteps on these marble floors Are unaccustom'd unfamiliar sounds. Oh, I am here so wearily miserable, That I should welcome my apostate Fazio, Though he were fresh from Aldabella's arms. Her arms! - her viper coil!--I had forsworn That thought; lest he should come, and find me mad, And so go back again, and I not know it. Oh that I were a child to play with toys, Fix my whole soul upon a cup and ballOh any pitiful poor subterfuge,

A moment to distract my busy spirit

From its dark dalliance with that cursed image!
I have tried all: all vainly - Now, but now
I went in to my children. The first sounds
They murmur'd in their evil-dreaming sleep
Was a fint mimicry of the name of father.
I could not kiss them, my lips were so hot.
The very household slaves are leagued against me,
And do beset the with their wicked floutings,
"Comes my lord home to-night?" and when I say,
"I know not," their coarse pity makes my heart-

strings

The man with a brief name; 't was gaming, dicing,
Riotously drinking.-Oh it was not there;
'Twas any where but there-or if it was,
Why like a sly and creeping adder sting me
With thy black tidings ?-Nay, nay: good my friend;
Here's money for those harsh intemperate words.—
But he's not there; 't was some one of the gallants,
With dress and stature like my Fazio.

Thou wert mistaken :-no, no; 't was not Fazio.

PIERO.

It grieves me much, but, lady, 't is my fear Thou'lt find it but too true.

BIANCA,

Hence! hence! Avaunt, With thy cold courteous face! Thou seest I'm wretched:

Doth it content thee? Gaze-gaze!-perchance
Ye would behold the bare and bleeding heart,
With all its throbs, its agonies.-Oh Fazio!
Oh Fazio! is her smile more sweet than mine?
Or her soul fonder?-Fazio, my lord Fazio!
Before the face of man mine own, mine only;
Before the face of Heaven Bianca's Fazio,
Not Aldabella's.--Ah, that I should live
To question it Now, henceforth all our joys,
Our delicate indearments, are all poison'd.
Ay! if he speak my name with his fond voice,

It will be with the same tone that to her
He murmur'd hers-it will be, or 't will seem so.
If he embrace me, 't will be with those arms
In which he folded her: and if he kiss me,
He'll pause, and think which of the two is sweeter

Well, sir, and what of that?

And have I not the privilege of sorrow.
Without a mental's staring eye upon me?

Nay, tell it with thy lips, not with thy visage.
Thon raven, eroak it out if it be evil:

|_ If it be good, 1 l full and worship thee;

is the office and the ministry of gods To speak good tidings to distracted spirits.

And tell them where to shrink, and where to pause? Officious slave, away!-(Exit.)-Ha! what saidst

thon?

Bartolo's death and the Duke in his council!--
I'll rend him from her, though she wind around him,
Like the vine round the elm. I'll pluck him off,
Though the life crack at parting.-No, no pause;
For if there is. I shall be tame and timorous:
That milk-faced mercy will come whimpering to me
And I shall sit and meekly, miserably

Weep o'er my wrongs. Ha! that her soul were fond

And fervent as mine own! I would give worlds
To see her as he's rent and rack'd from her.
Oh, but she's cold; she cannot, will not feel
It is but half revenge: her whole of sorrow
Will be a drop to my consummate agony.---
Away, away: Oh had I wings to waft me!

My liege, a lady in the antechamber

Boasts knowledge that concerns your this day's coun

cil.

DUKE.

My lord

Thy estate wedded or single?

BIANCA.

DUKE.

Give instant answer to the court.

BIANCA.

Oh! wedded, but most miserably single.

DUKE.

Woman, thou palterest with our dignity.

Thy husband's name and quality?-Why shakest thou
And draw'st the veil along thy moody brow,
As thou too wert a murderess ?-Speak, and quickly
BIANCA (faltering).

Giraldi Fazio.

DUKE.

-

To a peevish instrument of thy light passions,
Or furtherance of some close and secret guilt:
Take heed, 't is in the heaven stamp'd roll of sins,
To bear false witness-Oh, but 'gainst thy husband
Thy bosom's lord, flesh of thy flesh! - To set
The bloodhounds of the law upon his track!
If thou speak'st true, stern justice will but blush
To be so cheer'd upon her guilty prey:
If it be false, thou givest to flagrant sin
A heinous immortality. This deed
Will chronicle thee, woman, to all ages,
In human guilt a portent and an era:

'Tis of those crimes, whose eminent fame Hell joys at
And the celestial angels, that look on it,
Wish their keen airy vision dim and narrow.

And under the left rib a small stiletto, Rusted within the pale and creeping flesh.

Enter ANTONIO with FAZIO.

My liege, the prisoner.

DUKE.

Thou 'rt Giraldi Fazio. Giraldi Fazio, thou stand'st here arraign'd, That, with presumption impious and accurst, Thou hast usurp'd God's high prerogative, Making thy fellow-mortal's life and death Wait on thy moody and diseased passions; That with a violent and untimely steel

Hast set abroach the blood, that should have ebb'd In calm and natural current: to sum all

In one wild name-a name the pale air freezes at, And every cheek of man sinks in with horrorThou art a cold and midnight murderer.

FAZIO.

My liege, I do beseech thee, argue not,
From the thick clogging of my clammy breath,
Aught but a natural and instinctive dread
Of such a bloody and ill-sounding title.
My liege, I do beseech thee, whate'er reptile
Hath cast this filthy slime of slander on me,
Set him before me face to face: the fire
Of my just anger shall burn up his heart,
Make his lip drop, and powerless shuddering
Creep o'er his noisome and corrupted limbs,
Till the coarse lie choke in his wretched throat.

DUKE.

Thou 'rt bold. But know ye aught of old Bartolo? Methinks, for innocence, thou 'rt pale and tremulousThat name is to thee as a thunderclap;

But thou shalt have thy wish.-Woman, stand forth: Nay, cast away thy veil. Look on her, Fazio.

Bianca!

FAZIO.

No, it is a horrid vision!
And, if I struggle, I shall wake, and find it
A miscreated mockery of the brain.

If thou 'rt a fiend, what hellish right hast thou
To shroud thy leprous and fire-seamed visage
In lovely lineaments, like my Bianca's?
If thou 'rt indeed Bianca, thou wilt wear
A ring I gave thee at our wedding time.
In God's name do I bid thee hold it up;
And, if thou dost, I'll be a murderer,
A slaughterer of whole hecatombs of men,
So ye will rid me of the hideous sight.

Death is thy doom - the public, daylight death. Thy body do we give unto the wheel:

The Lord have mercy on thy sinful soul!

BIANCA.

Death!-Death!-I meant not that!Ye mean not that!

What's all this waste and idle talk of murder?
He slay a man-with tender hands like his?-
With delicate mild soul? Why, his own blood
Had startled him! I've seen him pale and shuddering
At the sad writhings of a trampled worm :
I've seen him brush off with a dainty hand

A bee that stung him. Oh, why wear ye thus
The garb and outward sanctity of law?
What means that snow upon your reverend brows,
If that ye have no subtler apprehension
Of some inherent harmony in the nature

Of bloody criminal and bloody crime?

"T were wise t' arraign the soft and silly lamb Of slaughtering his butcher: ye might make it As proper a murderer as my Fazio.

DUKE,

Woman, th' irrevocable breath of justice Wavers not: he must die.

BIANCA.

Die! Fazio die!.

Ye grey and solemn murderers by charter!
Ye ermined manslayers! when the tale is rife
With blood and guilt, and deep and damning, Oh,
Ye suck it in with cold insatiate thirst:
But to the plea of mercy ye are stones,
As deaf and hollow as the unbowell'd winds.
Oh, ye smooth Christians in your tones and looks,
But in your hearts as savage as the tawny
And misbelieving African! ye profane,
Who say, "God bless him! God deliver him!"
While ye are beckoning for the bloody axe,
To smite the unoffending head! - his head! -
My Fazio's head! - the head this bosom cherish'd
With its first virgin fondness.

DUKE.

Fazio, hear. To-morrow's morning sun shall dawn upon thee But when he setteth in his western couch, He finds thy place in this world void and vacant.

BIANCA.

To-morrow morning!- Not to-morrow morning!
The damning devils give a forced faint pause
If the bad soul but feebly catch at heaven.
But ye, but ye, unshriven, unreconciled,
With all its ponderous mass of sins hurl down
The bare and shivering spirit. -Oh, not to-morrow!

DUKE.

Woman, thou dost outstep all modesty :
But for strong circumstance that leagues with thee,
We should contemn thee for a wild mad woman,
Raving her wayward and unsettled fancies.

BIANCA.

Mad! mad!-ay, that it is!-ay, that it is.

Is 't to be mad to speak, to move, to gaze,
But not know how, or why, or whence, or where?
To see that there are faces all around me,

Floating within a dim discolour'd haze,