Ugolino/Act 2 Scene 3
< Ugolino
SCENE III.—The Rialto. Ugolino discovered leaning against the ballustrudes watching the moon, which is just setting in the distance.
Count. Down, thou bright lamp of heaven, get thee down,
And hide thy brilliancy beneath the wave,
Which leaps to thee, ere thou sink'st to rest,
Down to thy ocean bed, and leave the earth,
To darkness suited to the direful act,
Which here must be committed—Down, fair queen,
From thy star-spangled throne; or if thou need'st
Must look upon this deed, let thy pale cheek
Assume the dusky red which mantles o’er it,
When 'midst the thick unwholesome atmosphere,
Thou ridest angrily from out the east. [The moon sinks.
She's gone—
Now let me hail thy rising beams revenge,
Thou art the sun, which Persian like, I worship,
Snake crown'd divinity! on thee I call,
Come forth in all thy awful majesty,
And let thy flames consume the Holocaust,
I offer at thy blood besprinkled shrine. [Noise, l.
A footstep—'tis Serassi's! O! black hate,
How quicken'd are thy senses—Like a vulture,
Which from afar, scents the hot stream of slaughter,
Thine ear, with horrid certainty, drinks up,
The sound of thy unthinking victim's feet,
Tho' echo fail to catch it—Thou good sword,
Do thy work sure, and I will hallow thee. [Stands aside, l. u. i.
Enter Serassi, f. e. l.
Ser. What could she fear would happen at Monteno's,
That she should pray me with such earnestness,
Not to go thither? Well, it matters not:
The night is lovely, though the moon is down,
And ere I seek my home I'll walk awhile;
The air blows freshly here from off the water,
And the vain stars are in its mirror gazing
Upon their own bright images. Olympia!
How often have we stood upon this spot, and as the
Moon hung o'er the quiet stream,
Like some fond lover o'er his sleeping fair
Held sweet communion, which the envious breeze,
Would now and then break off, by faintly wafting
The ditty of some distant gondolier,
To which his well plied oar kept faithful time.
Here will I walk, and think upon to-morrow—
Count. (coming forward r.) Its sun shall rise but on thy corse, Serassi
Ser. How now, what means this? Ugolino! [draws.
Count. Yes!
'Tis Ugolino! like an adder's fang,
Let the name strike into your sinking heart,
And make an easier passage for my sword.
Ser. What mockery is this? put up thy weapon,
If I have wrong'd thee, speak it like a man,
And I will answer thee as may become one.
Count. If thou hast wrong'd me, "if," but words are idle
And fall like snow-flakes on the beacon fire.
Thou can'st not make me reparation—Life itself
Was not so dear to me as was Olympia,
And she has scorn'd me—and for thee—thee, villain!
Whose damned arts have poisoned her young soul,
Therefore die! die! and boast in hell thy triumph! [They fight, Serassi falls.
Ser. Fate, thou hast done thy worst.—O, murderer,
In thine own death pang, think of this dark hour,
And let thy soul despair. [Dies.
Count. It is accomplished!
[Stands in an exulting attitude over body.
Enter Angelica hastily, r.
Ang. My lord! my lord! he follows close behind me, [Sees body.
God for his mercy! who lies bleeding there—
Count. [with a shout of triumph.] Serassi.
Angelica casts a hurried glance at the face, shrieks and sinks into Ugolino's arms.
How now! Julio! coward boy!
Why Julio!—S’death, some one approaches—nay, then,
My arms must bear thee to a place of safety.
[Exit bearing Angelica, u. e. r.
Orsi. [without, with same domino.] Hollo! why what the plague!
thou skipping page,
Where in the devil's name hast jump'd to?
Enter Orsino, r.
Boy, I say!
Well'an this wild goose chase be wench hunting,
Good Signior lady bird! take back thine office,
For I'm a weary of't—Marry, and now I think on't,
I heard a something like a woman's shriek—
I could not sure have frightend the fair lady,
Before she saw me. [sees body.] Eh! what have we here?
A wounded man! The virgin guard me! surely,
I know this face. The Marquis de Serassi. [Stands astonished.
Enter Caliari, r.
Cali. So I have track'd his steps. No lady with him,
What's that he looks on? why, how now, Orsino!
What do you there, man?
Orsi. O, good Caliari!
Here's a sight will turn your eyes to fountains,
Our friend Serassi bath'd in his own blood.
Cali. Merciful heavens, who has done this deed?
Orsi. Nay, I know not, a little lying varlet
Led me thro' every kennel he could find,
To meet a lady, an I had him here now,
I'd brain him for't.
Cali. Whither went he, then?
Orsi. Whisk'd thro' the key hole of some door in the street
For aught I know—O, murrian light on him!
What's to be done, shall we call the watch?
Caii. Perhaps he yet may live—knock up some surgeon,
I'll strive to staunch the wound.
[Voices without, r.] This way, this way.
Orsi. The neighborhood is aroused, what ho! help! help!
Enter Montano and Servants with torches, u. e. r.
Mont. Stand there—I charge you in the Doge's name,
Who's he that call'd for help?
Orsi. 'Twas I, Monteno.
Serassi here lies murder'd by some villains.
Mont. My aid then comes too late, unhappy youth!
Orsino, Calairi, pry'thee speak!
How came this sad mischance? who slew the Marquis?
Cali. I know not, sir, I found Orsino here
In mournful contemplation o'er his corse.
Mont. You then was witness of his fall, Orsino?
Orsi. Not I, my lord, I was led hither by
A foolish piece of gallantry, and found,
Serassi as you see bleeding and breathless.
Mont. Raise up the Marquis, bear him to the palace.
[Servants raise the body
That I should live to see this—gently, gently,
Signors, this tale is strange; and might awake
Suspicion, in the mind of one who knew ye not
So well as I do I must crave your promise,
To answer for yourselves before the Doge,
To whom I shall this mournful chance relate,
And urge him to revenge Serassi's fate.
[Exit Monteno, Servants and body, r.
Cali. Orsino!
Orsi. Caliari! what dost think, man,
Of this adventure—It is odds now, but,
We get our necks into a halter here;
This comes of wenching,
A harlot hunting with a scurvy page.
Oh, that I could but get a sight of him,
With that same lute he play'd upon so featly,
S'death that a man should be a catgut twanger,
Be led so by the nose—Serassi, too,
As brave a gentleman as e'er drew breath,
Slain the same luckless night.
Cali. If we could find
This page you talk of—
Orsi. Aye, sir, there I grant you—
If we could find him; but he shot from sight,
Swift as a star—and from the stars he fell
To make this mischief I believe; but come, sir,
I'll travel with you Venice thro' and thro',
But to this mystery I'll find some clue. [Exeunt, l.
END OF ACT II.
And hide thy brilliancy beneath the wave,
Which leaps to thee, ere thou sink'st to rest,
Down to thy ocean bed, and leave the earth,
To darkness suited to the direful act,
Which here must be committed—Down, fair queen,
From thy star-spangled throne; or if thou need'st
Must look upon this deed, let thy pale cheek
Assume the dusky red which mantles o’er it,
When 'midst the thick unwholesome atmosphere,
Thou ridest angrily from out the east. [The moon sinks.
She's gone—
Now let me hail thy rising beams revenge,
Thou art the sun, which Persian like, I worship,
Snake crown'd divinity! on thee I call,
Come forth in all thy awful majesty,
And let thy flames consume the Holocaust,
I offer at thy blood besprinkled shrine. [Noise, l.
A footstep—'tis Serassi's! O! black hate,
How quicken'd are thy senses—Like a vulture,
Which from afar, scents the hot stream of slaughter,
Thine ear, with horrid certainty, drinks up,
The sound of thy unthinking victim's feet,
Tho' echo fail to catch it—Thou good sword,
Do thy work sure, and I will hallow thee. [Stands aside, l. u. i.
Enter Serassi, f. e. l.
Ser. What could she fear would happen at Monteno's,
That she should pray me with such earnestness,
Not to go thither? Well, it matters not:
The night is lovely, though the moon is down,
And ere I seek my home I'll walk awhile;
The air blows freshly here from off the water,
And the vain stars are in its mirror gazing
Upon their own bright images. Olympia!
How often have we stood upon this spot, and as the
Moon hung o'er the quiet stream,
Like some fond lover o'er his sleeping fair
Held sweet communion, which the envious breeze,
Would now and then break off, by faintly wafting
The ditty of some distant gondolier,
To which his well plied oar kept faithful time.
Here will I walk, and think upon to-morrow—
Count. (coming forward r.) Its sun shall rise but on thy corse, Serassi
Ser. How now, what means this? Ugolino! [draws.
Count. Yes!
'Tis Ugolino! like an adder's fang,
Let the name strike into your sinking heart,
And make an easier passage for my sword.
Ser. What mockery is this? put up thy weapon,
If I have wrong'd thee, speak it like a man,
And I will answer thee as may become one.
Count. If thou hast wrong'd me, "if," but words are idle
And fall like snow-flakes on the beacon fire.
Thou can'st not make me reparation—Life itself
Was not so dear to me as was Olympia,
And she has scorn'd me—and for thee—thee, villain!
Whose damned arts have poisoned her young soul,
Therefore die! die! and boast in hell thy triumph! [They fight, Serassi falls.
Ser. Fate, thou hast done thy worst.—O, murderer,
In thine own death pang, think of this dark hour,
And let thy soul despair. [Dies.
Count. It is accomplished!
[Stands in an exulting attitude over body.
Enter Angelica hastily, r.
Ang. My lord! my lord! he follows close behind me, [Sees body.
God for his mercy! who lies bleeding there—
Count. [with a shout of triumph.] Serassi.
Angelica casts a hurried glance at the face, shrieks and sinks into Ugolino's arms.
How now! Julio! coward boy!
Why Julio!—S’death, some one approaches—nay, then,
My arms must bear thee to a place of safety.
[Exit bearing Angelica, u. e. r.
Orsi. [without, with same domino.] Hollo! why what the plague!
thou skipping page,
Where in the devil's name hast jump'd to?
Enter Orsino, r.
Boy, I say!
Well'an this wild goose chase be wench hunting,
Good Signior lady bird! take back thine office,
For I'm a weary of't—Marry, and now I think on't,
I heard a something like a woman's shriek—
I could not sure have frightend the fair lady,
Before she saw me. [sees body.] Eh! what have we here?
A wounded man! The virgin guard me! surely,
I know this face. The Marquis de Serassi. [Stands astonished.
Enter Caliari, r.
Cali. So I have track'd his steps. No lady with him,
What's that he looks on? why, how now, Orsino!
What do you there, man?
Orsi. O, good Caliari!
Here's a sight will turn your eyes to fountains,
Our friend Serassi bath'd in his own blood.
Cali. Merciful heavens, who has done this deed?
Orsi. Nay, I know not, a little lying varlet
Led me thro' every kennel he could find,
To meet a lady, an I had him here now,
I'd brain him for't.
Cali. Whither went he, then?
Orsi. Whisk'd thro' the key hole of some door in the street
For aught I know—O, murrian light on him!
What's to be done, shall we call the watch?
Caii. Perhaps he yet may live—knock up some surgeon,
I'll strive to staunch the wound.
[Voices without, r.] This way, this way.
Orsi. The neighborhood is aroused, what ho! help! help!
Enter Montano and Servants with torches, u. e. r.
Mont. Stand there—I charge you in the Doge's name,
Who's he that call'd for help?
Orsi. 'Twas I, Monteno.
Serassi here lies murder'd by some villains.
Mont. My aid then comes too late, unhappy youth!
Orsino, Calairi, pry'thee speak!
How came this sad mischance? who slew the Marquis?
Cali. I know not, sir, I found Orsino here
In mournful contemplation o'er his corse.
Mont. You then was witness of his fall, Orsino?
Orsi. Not I, my lord, I was led hither by
A foolish piece of gallantry, and found,
Serassi as you see bleeding and breathless.
Mont. Raise up the Marquis, bear him to the palace.
[Servants raise the body
That I should live to see this—gently, gently,
Signors, this tale is strange; and might awake
Suspicion, in the mind of one who knew ye not
So well as I do I must crave your promise,
To answer for yourselves before the Doge,
To whom I shall this mournful chance relate,
And urge him to revenge Serassi's fate.
[Exit Monteno, Servants and body, r.
Cali. Orsino!
Orsi. Caliari! what dost think, man,
Of this adventure—It is odds now, but,
We get our necks into a halter here;
This comes of wenching,
A harlot hunting with a scurvy page.
Oh, that I could but get a sight of him,
With that same lute he play'd upon so featly,
S'death that a man should be a catgut twanger,
Be led so by the nose—Serassi, too,
As brave a gentleman as e'er drew breath,
Slain the same luckless night.
Cali. If we could find
This page you talk of—
Orsi. Aye, sir, there I grant you—
If we could find him; but he shot from sight,
Swift as a star—and from the stars he fell
To make this mischief I believe; but come, sir,
I'll travel with you Venice thro' and thro',
But to this mystery I'll find some clue. [Exeunt, l.
END OF ACT II.