_Room in Manuel’s house. PALICIO as before (sitting)._
_PALICIO._
To stand true to a cause because ’tis noble,
Tho’ it be thankless; to command a people 960
Against a tyranny, and teach their arms
To enforce the reasonable rights of life,
Beneath the crushing bond of wealth and power;—
To be an outcast, but to leave a name
Untarnished and beloved, remembered long;—
That was my choice, my hope. Can I now waver?
Shall I—having so well begun—
Step up into a throne above the throng,
And smiling on them from the hated height,
Take life at ease? Nay, when ’tis reasoned so, 970
’Tis hideous.—But, oh! thou treacherous enemy,
Thou selfish and unanswerable passion,
That bluntest resolution, and criest down
The voice of virtue! Margaret, Margaret!
Would I had never seen thee, or believed
I could not win thee. If I now could fly,
I might go free.
_Squarcialupu, who has appeared at the window, gradually thrusting his
head between the curtains, and peering round, enters._
_SQUARCIALUPU._
_Sq._ Captain!
_Pal._ Ha! Squarcialupu!
Why, what! how com’st thou here? what dost thou?
_Sq._ Hush!
_Pal._ Begone, I pray.
_Sq._ Nay, now I have found thee, captain.
Thine arm is it only?
_Pal._ A prick in the arm.
_Sq._ So, so! 980
Then thou canst come.
_Pal._ Tell me, how didst thou learn
That I was here?
_Sq._ We guessed it from thy track.
_Pal._ O, God! I’m tracked?
_Sq._ Thy blood is on the wall.
I undertook to tell thee. In the dusk
I scaled this window at the back of the house:
Had my old luck, captain. Make haste and fly.
_Pal._ Stay, stay! I cannot. Is it known to any
I am hiding here?
_Sq._ What use to stay for that?
Come ere they know it.
_Pal._ I cannot.
_Sq._ I can help thee. 990
_Pal._ Nay, ’tis not that, altho’ I am bled to death.
’Tis honour holds me.
_Sq._ Honour will not help
Manuel nor thee, if they should search his house.
But if thou fliest ...
_Pal._ I may not.
_Sq._ That’s no word
Where life’s at stake. What shall I tell thy men?
_Pal._ Where are they?
_Sq._ At the news of thy escape
They gathered on the hills, and wait thee there.
I met a man in the town an hour ago,
Who said he had seen thee riding on the road
To Monreale. All the folk’s astir. 1000
_Pal._ I cannot come.
_Sq._ Give me not such a word.
Who would believe I had seen thee, if I said
Palicio lieth safe in Manuel’s house,
And saith he cannot come?
_Pal._ Begone, I bid thee,
Lest thou be found here.
_Sq._ Nay, I’ll not be gone.
’Tis but some twenty feet: I’ll lift thee down.
The street is watched.
_Pal._ Hark, Squarcialupu, tell me;
Is’t true I’m tracked?
_Sq._ ’Tis certain.
_Pal._ Then I think
If Manuel knew of this ... Hark, I will come.
Go thou and tell my men that I will come. 1010
To-morrow morning let them look to find me
At Monreale. If I come not then
Let none look for me more. But if I come
All shall be well. Go thou and tell them this.
_Sq._ Come, captain, while thou mayst.
_Pal._ I bid thee go.
Obey me at once.
_Sq._ (_whistles at window and is answered_). I have thy promise.
To-morrow we shall see thee. [_Exit._
_Pal._ But for this cursed wound
I had fled. To cure it must I risk my soul?
Fool that I was, had I escaped with him 1019
I might have found a surgeon—now when she comes
I will say nothing. Nothing ... yet, that’s no hope;
For seeing her I must love her: and if I fail
To win her wholly, I must lose my soul
She is here. (_Aside._) Ah! what is this?
_Enter Margaret, with Rosso blindfold._
_MARGARET_ (_to Rosso_).
You now are in the room. Stand in your place.
While I make ready. (_To Pal._) Let me wrap this cloth
About thy face. Lie ever still, and speak not.
(_To Rosso._) Your eyes, sir, are at liberty.
_ROSSO_ (_unbandaging_).
Coming hither,
I thought ’twould make a pretty poem to tell
Of one, whose cruel mistress ne’er allowed 1030
The meanest favour, till he dreamed one night
That he was blind, and she, in pity of him,
Led him forth by the hand where he would go,
But left him suddenly; whereat he awoke,
And wished no more to see ...
_Mar._ Now, sir Apollo, come. Here lies your patient.
Give him your aid, and tell your poem after.
_Ros._ Well, let us see. Ay, here is all I need.
Set them thus on the table, and here the light,
So. (_arranging_). ’Tis the right arm. (_unbinding_.) Ah!
when was this done? 1040
_Mar._ Have you forgot, sir? questions are forbidden.
_Ros._ See, thou must hold his arm for me. Press here
Thy fingers; firmly,—so. Thou dost not faint
At sight of blood?
_Mar._ Nay, nay. And yet I know not.
If there be much, I faint.
_Ros._ (_operating_). I had forgotten
I might not question;—’tis a surgeon’s habit.—
First,—for where all are eager with their tale,—
’Tis only courteous to invite the telling:—
But chiefly—that it stablishes his judgment—
Built on appearances,—and banishes 1050
Conjecture from experience;—as ’twould now
For me,—should this man say,—’twas yesterday
The wound was made;—and he that dealt it me
Stood on my left,—and thro’ my arm outstretched,—
In attitude of striking at another,—
Thrust with—a sword.—Stir not, ’tis nearly done.—
But I withdrew my arm ere he his weapon.—
Loose not thy grasp: loose not!
_Mar._ Sir, my attention
Was taken by your story. Never speak:
’Twill mar your work. 1060
_Ros._ ’Tis a small thing. ’Tis done.
’Twas an unlucky lunge that lanced thee there.
(_To Mar._) What thinkest thou of my story?
_Mar._ ’Twas but guessing.
_Ros._ Nay, inference. ’Twere guess to say, the skill
Which staunched the running blood, but could no more,
Might be thy brother’s: that this sunburnt arm,
Fine skin, and youthful fibre, were the body
Of John Palicio.
_Pal._ (_discovering_). I am betrayed!
_Ros._ Not so:
Then had I held my tongue.
_Pal._ True.—What’s thy name?
_Ros._ My name is Rosso. Sling thine arm across:
There must it rest until the wound be healed. 1070
_Mar._ You have guessed the secret, sir, which we withheld
In your respect. This is my brother’s house;
This is Palicio. Guard now what you have learned
As closely, I pray, as if we had freely told it.
_Ros._ Not to thee, lady, though in this and all
I am thy servant; yet not now to thee
I speak, but to Giovànn Palicio;
To whom I say he need not ask of me
Promise or oath. The good I am proud to have done
I shall not spoil by blabbing.
_Pal._ Thank thee, Rosso. 1080
_Ros._ Noble and brave Palicio, mayst thou prosper.
[_Bandaging his own eyes._
_Pal._ Thank thee, I thank thee, Rosso. So now my arm
Is mended. By heaven! this surgery hath a trick
Worth knowing, could one learn it easily.
_Ros._ (_blindfold_). Come, lady, and lead me forth.
_Mar._ Why, what is this?
You know your way: there’s nothing now to hide.
_Ros._ Didst thou not bargain with me to lead me back?
_Mar._ But there’s no need.
_Ros._ Yet will I claim my fee.
Where is thy hand?
_Mar._ Sir, you but trifle.
_Ros._ And thou
Refusest me in a trifle? Then I will dare (_unbandaging_)
To raise my terms. If I may kiss thy hand 1091
I’ll be content.
_Mar._ ’Tis I, sir, should kiss yours.
’Tis that hath earned the homage: and I’ll be
kind.
That hath done well; and thus I kiss it. (_Kisses Rosso’s
hand._) Now,
Go, go in peace: thou’rt paid. [_Making him go out._
[_Exit Rosso._
_Pal._ (_sitting_). Why didst thou that?
_Mar._ He loves me.
_Pal._ Wouldst thou be as kind to me,
If I should love thee?
_Mar._ But he sends me sonnets.
_Pal._ I could write sonnets.
_Mar._ Ah, but his are writ
In pure Sicilian.
_Pal._ ’Tis my proper tongue.
_Mar._ I have kept my promise, sir, and now must leave. 1100
Your wound is healed.
_Pal._ I fear I scarce can thank thee,
If ’tis thy word to go. Or, if thou stayest
But to cure wounds,—I have another wound
I shewed thee not, which hath a deeper seat:
This hand may cure it.
_Mar._ Nay, what mean you, sir?
_Pal._ Margaret, I love thee. There, thou hast it all.
Thou hast stolen my soul. I thought—my pride, my hope—
O, I thought wrong—’tis nothing. All I have done,
Or would do, I cast aside: I love thee only.
_Mar._ Giovanni. 1010
_Pal._ O, ’tis true, there’s nothing noble,
Beautiful, sacred, dear, familiar to me,
I hold now at a straw’s worth: body and soul
I am thine, Margaret, I am thine. O, answer me!
_Mar._ Giovanni, ’tis so strange. ’Tis best I go.
_Pal._ Thou didst kiss Rosso’s hand.
_Mar._ For love of thee.
Didst thou not guess?
_Pal._ O, then, my dearest, kiss me
Now for myself. Can it be true thou lovest me?
_Mar._ Alas! ’tis learned too quickly.
_Pal._ Can I think it,
Spite of my savage life, my outlawry,
My poverty?
_Mar._ O, what are these?
_Pal._ Indeed, 1120
My blood is noble.
_Mar._ These are not the checks
Or lures of love. Nay, what is noble blood?
What were’t to be a lion, and to fly
The hunter like a hare? And if man shew
Less fearless fierce and hungry for the right
Than doth a beast for food, what is his title
To be God’s image worth? That best nobility
Hath no more claim.
_Pal._ But canst thou share my life?
_Mar._ I am restless for it.
_Pal._ Leave thy rank? thy wealth?
_Mar._ I have lived too long that counterfeit of life.
I’ll strive like thee: something I’ll do, like thee,
To lessen misery. Nay, if man’s curse 1132
Hang in necessity, I have the heart
To combat that, and find if in some part
Fate be not vulnerable.
_Pal._ O joy, my dearest:
I wronged thee ages by a moment’s thought
That thou wouldst shrink ... Then is our marriage fixed?
_Mar._ There’s none can hinder it.
_Pal._ O, blessed joy!
Yet how can I be sure, love, that thou knowest,
Finding the word so easy, what a mountain 1140
There lies to lift? Pledging to me and mine
Thy heart this hour, a hundred thousand stings
Will plague thee from this moment, to drive thee back.
_Mar._ Try me, Giovanni.
_Pal._ Wilt thou aid me, love,
To fly to-night? By morning I may meet
My men at San Martino: all my schemes
May yet be saved.
_Mar._ Ah! wilt thou go, Giovanni?
Thou’rt yet too weak.
_Pal._ My presence, not my strength,
Is needed.
_Mar._ Alas! I fear.
_Pal._ What, Margaret, dost thou fear?
_Mar._ Only for thee. Yet go; I can be with thee
By noon. My brother has a little house 1151
At Monreale, where I am used to stay
When the wish takes me. There I’ll go to-morrow,
And thence can visit thee. Thou didst not mean
I should not come? I shall not hinder thee.
_Pal._ Nay, nay.
_Mar._ I’ll let thee from the house to-night,
And give thee money which will aid thee well.
My brother need know nothing. I can make
The journey thither in an hour, and choose
My time to beg his grace.
_Pal._ What do I owe thee! 1160
Freedom, and life, and love,—thy love ... O, Margaret,
What I shall do will pay thee.
_Mar._ I must leave:
For Manuel else will question of my stay.
_Pal._ My treasure lost so soon!
_Mar._ I go to save
What we have won. Farewell.
_Pal._ Say at what hour
I may go hence; and how.
_Mar._ At dead of night:
’Tis safest then.
_Pal._ And wilt thou come thyself?
_Mar._ When the church bell with double stroke hath tolled
The death-knell of to-morrow’s second hour,
While its last jar yet shelters in the ear, 1170
Listen: and at thy door when thou shalt catch
A small and wakeful noise, such as is made
By the sharp teeth of an unventurous mouse,
Scraping his scanty feast when all is still,
Come forth. Thou’lt meet my hand, and at the gate
I’ll give thee what I have. Tied in thy bundle
Will be a letter shewing thee the place
Where thou must send me tidings. Now, farewell.
_Pal._ Yet not farewell.
_Mar._ To-night I shall not see thee:
Nor must thou speak. So, till to-morrow’s sun 1180
Lasts our farewell.
_Pal._ Then with to-morrow, Margaret,
My life begins.
_Mar._ O, ’tis the greater joy
For me than thee.
_Pal._ Ay, for the giver ever
Hath the best share. And thus I kiss thee, love.
Farewell.
_Mar._ Be ready.
_Pal._ Trust me.
_Mar._ And take thy dagger.
Farewell. [_Going._