Part 17 (2/2)
Oh, he was mine!
But they have ta'en him.
RIDOLFI.
Thine! Some demon sure Makes ye his sport. My Lord--the Duke--I dream-- This night, methinks, the storm doth send confusion To men's calm thoughts, o'ermaster'd with its frenzy.
On they would rush, malign, to the fulfilment Of some sure, unscaped doom.
HERMIONE.
I know not whence These changes come,--inexplicable, dark As 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 tempest Its 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 tell My purpose here this night. [_Exeunt._
ACT III.--SCENE I.
_A Chamber in the Palace._
_The DUKE at a table, surveying his sword._
DUKE.
Mischievous weapon!
I would forswear thy company: but now We cannot part. Blameless,--inanimate,-- The heart alone makes thee its pa.s.sive tool To 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 pa.s.sionate flame Mix'd with thy temper, flashes o'er the obscure, The restless gulf within, troubling the spirit; A fitful gleam, on the dark surges wreathing Forms of unutterable horror,--wide Disclosing from the womb--the fathomless womb Of that abyss!--Would the events, The brief record of time, the narrow s.p.a.ce By 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 bubble Moves me. Hermione!--Again!--This heart Not 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 come Of wild, unworded pa.s.sion, as they'd mingle, Perforce, with every faculty, desire, And through each avenue rush, thralling the will Unto its influence. Those basilisk eyes Are on me ever! Asleep, awake, they change not.
'Tis fascination! If such spell there be, Hermione doth use it! Yet enchains she not Others unto the like. I've watch'd her thus, How angrily,--as the quick lightning sped, The night uncovering from her form,--I saw Her eagle-glance the timorous love-sick wretch Strike helpless at her feet. It is not love,-- A spell earth owns not hangs upon my heart!-- I love Beatrice; yet more tenderly Unto her bosom mine affections cling, The more this parasite, this foul excrescence Preys 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 when The cunning net was thrown, so light the texture; And warily I wot the snare was laid, Or I had 'scaped it.
This unwelcome dawn Comes dimly on the cas.e.m.e.nt;--heavily The 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 mind When pa.s.sion's rudest burst hath pa.s.s'd, and reason, As yon pale gleam, thus struggling forth its way Through adverse clouds, visits again the soul-- 'Tis then the mind, shuddering, at once recoils From the dire consequence, and conjures up A thousand possibilities to scare The resolute purpose. I linger at the threshold Of 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 atone If yet there be of reparation aught This hand can give. Sylvio!
_Enter SYLVIO._
Attend me with the weapons. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_An unfrequented Place, on the Outskirts of a Wood, without the Walls._
_Enter BERTRAND and two Attendants._
BERTRAND.
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