I
faint! I faint!
Quick,
Fra Bernardo! The figure stands
There
in the niche—my patron saint:
Put
it within my trembling hands
Till
they are steadier. So!
My
brain
Whirled
and grew dizzy with sudden pain,
Trying
to span that gulf of years,
Fronting
again those long laid fears.
Confess?
Why, yes, if I must, I must.
Now
good Sant’ Andrea be my trust!
But
fill me first, from that crystal flask,
Strong
wine to strengthen me for my task.
(That
thing is a gem of craftsmanship:
Just
mark how its curvings fit the lip.)
Ah,
you, in your dreamy, tranquil life,
How
can you fathom the rage and strife,
The
blinding envy, the burning smart,
That,
worm-like, gnaws the Maestro’s heart
When
he sees another snatch the prize
Out
from under his very eyes,
For
which he would barter his soul? You see
I
taught him his art from first to last:
Whatever
he was he owed to me.
And
then to be browbeat, overpassed,
Stealthily
jeered behind the hand!
Why
that was more than a saint could stand;
And
I was no saint. And if my soul,
With
a pride like Lucifer’s, mocked control,
And
goaded me on to madness, till
I
lost all measure of good or ill,
Whose
gift was it, pray? Oh, many a day
I’ve
cursed it, yet whose is the blame, I say?
His
name? How strange that you question so,
When
I’m sure I have told it o’er and o’er,
And
why should you care to hear it more?
III.
Well,
as I was saying, Domenico
Was
wont of my skill to make such light,
That,
seeing him go on a certain night
Out
with his lute, I followed. Hot
From
a war of words, I heeded not
Whither
I went, till I heard him twang
A
madrigal under the lattice where
Only
the night before I sang.
—A
double robbery! and I swear
’Twas
overmuch for the flesh to bear.
Don’t
ask me. I knew not what I did,
But
I hastened home with my rapier hid
Under
my cloak, and the blade was wet.
Just
open that cabinet there and see
The
strange red rustiness on it yet.
A
calm that was dead as dead could be
Numbed
me: I seized my chalks to trace—
What
think you?—Judas Iscariot’s face!
I
just had finished the scowl, no more,
When
the shuffle of feet drew near my door
(We
lived together, you know I said):
Then
wide they flung it, and on the floor
Laid
down Domenico—dead!