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(From Italy)
AMONG the awful forms that stand assembled | |
| In the great square of Florence, may be seen | |
| That Cosmo, not the father of his country, | |
| Not he so styled, but he who played the tyrant. | |
| Clad in rich armor like a paladin, | 5 |
| But with his helmet off, in kingly state, | |
| Aloft he sits upon his horse of brass; | |
| And they who read the legend underneath | |
| Go and pronounce him happy. Yet there is | |
| A chamber at Grosseto, that, if walls | 10 |
| Could speak and tell of what is done within, | |
| Would turn your admiration into pity. | |
| Half of what passed died with him; but the rest, | |
| All he discovered when the fit was on, | |
| All that, by those who listened, could be gleaned | 15 |
| From broken sentences, and starts in sleep, | |
| Is told, and by an honest chronicler. | |
| Two of his sons, Giovanni and Garzia, | |
| (The eldest had not seen his sixteenth summer,) | |
| Went to the chase; but one of them, Giovanni, | 20 |
| His best beloved, the glory of his house, | |
| Returned not; and at close of day was found | |
| Bathed in his innocent blood. Too well, alas, | |
| The trembling Cosmo guessed the deed, the doer; | |
| And, having caused the body to be borne | 25 |
| In secret to that chamber, at an hour | |
| When all slept sound, save the disconsolate mother, | |
| Who little thought of what was yet to come, | |
| And lived but to be told,—he bade Garzia | |
| Arise and follow him. Holding in one hand | 30 |
| A winking lamp, and in the other a key | |
| Massive and dungeon-like, thither he led; | |
| And, having entered in and locked the door, | |
| The father fixed his eyes upon the son, | |
| And closely questioned him. No change betrayed | 35 |
| Or guilt or fear. Then Cosmo lifted up | |
| The bloody sheet. “Look there! look there!” he cried, | |
| “Blood calls for blood,—and from a father’s hand! | |
| Unless thyself wilt save him that sad office.” | |
| “What!” he exclaimed, when, shuddering at the sight, | 40 |
| The boy breathed out, “I stood but on my guard.” | |
| “Dar’st thou then blacken one who never wronged thee, | |
| Who would not set his foot upon a worm? | |
| Yes, thou must die, lest others fall by thee, | |
| And thou shouldst be the slayer of us all.” | 45 |
| Then from Garzia’s side he took the dagger, | |
| That fatal one which spilt his brother’s blood; | |
| And, kneeling on the ground, “Great God!” he cried, | |
| “Grant me the strength to do an act of justice, | |
| Thou knowest what it costs me; but, alas, | 50 |
| How can I spare myself, sparing none else? | |
| Grant me the strength, the will,—and, O, forgive | |
| The sinful soul of a most wretched son. | |
| ’T is a most wretched father who implores it.” | |
| Long on Garzia’s neck he hung, and wept | 55 |
| Tenderly, long pressed him to his bosom; | |
| And then, but while he held him by the arm, | |
| Thrusting him backward, turned away his face, | |
And stabbed him to the heart.
Well might De Thou, | |
| When in his youth he came to Cosmo’s court, | 60 |
| Think on the past; and, as he wandered through | |
| The ancient palace,—through those ample spaces | |
| Silent, deserted,—stop awhile to dwell | |
| Upon two portraits there, drawn on the wall | |
| Together, as of two in bonds of love, | 65 |
| One in a Cardinal’s habit, one in black, | |
| Those of the unhappy brothers, and infer | |
| From the deep silence that his questions drew, | |
The terrible truth.
Well might he heave a sigh | |
| For poor humanity, when he beheld | 70 |
| That very Cosmo shaking o’er his fire, | |
| Drowsy and deaf and inarticulate, | |
| Wrapt in his nightgown, o’er a sick man’s mess, | |
| In the last stage,—death-struck and deadly pale; | |
| His wife, another, not his Eleanora, | 75 |
| At once his nurse and his interpreter. | |
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