I have wrong'd thee,
And ask forgiveness. O then pardon me!
And, as thou hop'st t' enjoy eternal life,
Feel no resentment 'gainst a dying man!
(Faintly.) Shrive me, good father, for I'm sinking fast.
Yon stream of blood will not creep on its course
Another foot, ere I shall be no more.
Gasp. Thou saw'st Anselmo. Now raise up thine eyes,
(Throws off his disguise.)
And see Don Gaspar! who has just reveng'd
The wrongs inflicted on the spurn'd at monk.
Perez. Whoe'er thou art, mysterious, awful being!
At least be satisfied with thy revenge.
If thou art holy, shrive me!
Gasp. I am a monk, and yet not holy (putting on gown,
and folding his arms).
Perez. If thou art a monk by vows, thou'rt holy.
'Tis not my blood that's now upon thy hand,
And shall hereafter be upon thy soul,
Which makes thee less so: thou'rt but an instrument.
I pray thee, shrive me, that my guilty soul
May quit in peace this tenement of clay.
Gasp. Does he not speak the truth? Tell me, my heart,
I think—I feel——I can forgive him now!
[Gaspar takes out his crucifix, returns to Don Perez,
and, kneeling, presents it to him. Perez kisses
the crucifix, and falls back dead. Gaspar remains
hanging over him.
Don Felix (without). What hoa!
Enter Don Felix with servants bearing torches.
Gasp. (still kneeling by the body). Who calls?
Felix. We seek Don Perez, who this way did bend
His steps some hours ago; and not returning
At th' appointed time, we fear some mischief
Hath befallen him.
Gasp. Behold then here the body of some gallant,
Whose face I know not. As I pass'd this way
I heard the clash of high and fierce contention,
And when I came, this most unhappy man
Lay breathing here his last. I shrived him,
And he since has died.
Felix. It is Don Perez. Holy father, saw you
The other party in the contest?
Gasp. Save that a manly figure flitted by,
And vanish'd in the shadow of yon trees.
Felix. Raise up the corpse, and bear it to my house.
This bloody work, Don Gaspar, must be thine!
Perez, thou hear'st me not! but, by this sword,
I will revenge thy death!
[Exit Don Felix and servants carrying body.
Gasp. Thus far have I escaped suspicion—
Now will I to the monastery.
[Casement opens, and Donna Serafina appears at window.]
Ser. Who's there?
Gasp. (aside). I had forgotten her.
Ser. Who's there?
Gasp. A father of the neighbouring monastery,
Attracted hither by the clash of swords,
And but in time to shrive a dying man.
Ser. Good father, didst thou hear the names of those
Who were engaged?
Gasp. Not of the murderer, who has escaped.
The one whose body has been borne away,
Was call'd——Don Gaspar.
Ser. Don Gaspar! Father, surely thou mistak'st?
It was the other cavalier who fell.
Gasp. The words of dying men are those of truth;
He call'd himself Don Gaspar, and he begg'd
I would take off his scarf, and, with his love,
Bear it to Donna Serafina.
Ser. Then it is true—and I am lost for ever!
Father, recall those words, those dreadful words!
Say 'twas not Don Gaspar, and I'll load
Thy monastery with the wealth of India.
Its shrines shall blaze with gold and precious gems,
And holy relics shall be purchased thee,
To draw all faithful Christians to thy gates!
Gasp. I cannot change the name, and, if I could,
'Twere no less a murder. Lady, good-night.
Ser. Good father, stop—thou hast a scarf
For Donna Serafina. I am she—
Where is it? give it me.
Gasp. Are you that woe-struck lady, Serafina?
Alas! indeed you have much cause to grieve.
He loved you well.
Ser. Give me the scarf.
Gasp. I cannot, lady; 'tis not fit to offer,
For it is tinged with blood.
Ser. Give me the scarf! I'll kiss away the blood,
Or wash it off with tears!
Gasp. That I cannot, the casement is too high;
Nor can I tarry longer. The last message,
Together with the scarf, I will deliver
Before to-morrow's sun shall gild these trees.
Ser. Then be it so. O Gaspar! Gaspar!
[Exit from window, and closes it.
Gasp. One hour of misery, like hers, exceeds
An age of common earthly suffering;
And when at last she hears the unvarnish'd truth,
'Twill but perplex her more. Oh destiny!
Why am I thus a blood-stain'd guilty man
In early years? still yearning towards virtue,
Yet ever falling in the snares of vice!
Now do I loathe the amorous Serafina,
Who sacrifices all—her fame—her honour,
At Passion's shrine. How do I adore
The chaste, the innocent, sweet Isidora!
Yet in my love, so ardent and so pure,
There's guilt—deep damning guilt—and more,
There's cruelty and baseness! I plant a dagger
In the fond breast that cherishes the wound;
Nor will she feel the pain until withdrawn,
And happiness—nay, life—will issue with it.
How inconsistent, selfish, treacherous!
Heav'n pardon me—how can I pardon ask
For that I never can forgive myself! [Exit Gaspar.
Street before Anselmo's lodgings.
Enter Antonio.
Ant. At last I have his secret, and one of moment too. A monk, and yet a cavalier! A friar's gown and a gala suit! vowing to heaven and vowing to the ladies! Abjuring the world, and roaming through it with a vengeance! Telling his beads, and telling me lies! But I am not so easily to be deceived. I thought very often that there was a similarity of voice between his and my confessor's, but when I saw the friar's gown, and he accused me of having two wives, it all flashed upon me at once. A pretty fool has he made of me! No wonder that he knew my rogueries when I confessed them to him. What's the having two wives to this? Mine is a paltry secret of a poor lacquey, but his is one which will obtain a price, and it is well to be first in the market. Whom shall I sell it to? let me see—Don Felix——?
Enter Beppa.
Bep. What of Don Felix, husband? Do you wish to serve him?
Ant. Yes, if he'll pay me well.
Bep. I presume Don Gaspar has not paid you: then must you help yourself.
Ant. Why so I do, whenever I can. But he takes care of that.
Bep. He might have done, but hardly will do so now.
Ant. Why not?
Bep. Because he's dead.
Ant. Dead! Are you sure of that?
Bep. Quite sure, for I myself beheld the contest. Such fierce exchange of hate I ne'er imagined, or that you men were such incarnate devils.
Ant. Pray tell me where this happened.
Bep. 'Twas in the garden near our house, under the chestnut trees, deep in the shade. The full moon could not pierce the closely woven foliage. All her beams were caught on the topmost boughs which waved in silver. A lovely night to stain with murder! Oh me! I see them now.
Ant. Proceed, good Beppa, I'm eager to know all.
Bep. Their forms were not distinct, yet could we perceive their gleaming swords darting like fiery serpents; 'twas horrible. At last one fell; it proved to be Don Gaspar.
Ant. Indeed! you're sure there's no mistake?
Bep. I saw the body borne away. My mistress weeps and tears her hair, nor deems that he was false.
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