UNIVERSITY OF CALIF AT LOS ANGELE h* / LANDOR'S POEMS, DIALOGUES IN VERSE, AND EPIGRAMS POEMS DIALOGUES IN VERSE AND EPIGRAMS BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR EDITED WITH NOTES BY CHARLES G. CRUMP IN TWO VOLUMES FIRST VOLUME DRAMATIC SCENES LONDON: PRINTED FOR T, M. DENT ,^ CO., AND PUBLISHED BY THEM AT ALDINE HOUSE, 69 GREAT EASTERN STREET. MDCCCXCII, •:V * » * •# * • '• .■• , . ^' ' « , 4 « * * t i • ' , ' , ' . » • I t > * J * » » • • ' • • _ TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction ....... vii.-xvii. Count Julian . . . . 3 Ippolito di Este ..... 70 The Shades of Agamemnon and Iphigeneia 78 The Death or Clytemnestra . 85 The Madness ok Orestes 87 The Prayer of Orestes .... 8q The Priestess of Apollo 90 Walter Tvrrel and William Rufus 91 The Parents of Luther 97 Andrea of Hungary .... 103 Giovanna of Naples .... »73 Fra Rupert ...... 222 The Siege of Ancona . . ... 274 Antony and Octavius .... 325 INTRODUCTION. In his prose writings Walter Savage Landor seems to have soon found the manner best suited to his thoughts. The Commentary on Trotter's " Life of Fox " is written in the same language as that used by him in later life.^ " It contains," says Mr Colvin, " his views on men, ' books, and governments, set forth in the manner that was most natural to him, that is, miscellaneously and without sequence, in a prose, which ... is at once! condensed and lucid, weighty without emphasis, and stately without effort or inflation." This is a descrip-\ tion of his prose style in the year l8l2, and the words might apply to all the prose that he wrote during his life. Where he fails in prose, he fails not in style, but in temper and in discretion -, some- times harping on one topic until the reader is driven to believe in Canning's perfection from weariness of abuse, sometimes displaying an absence of any critical power, startling in a man who had made criticism part of the business of life. But whatever the defects of matter and treatment may be, the language bears the same stamp. It would be easier viii Introduction. to recognise as Laiidor's a detached passage of his prose, than to do the same for any other modern author, setting aside those cases where style has become a mere mannerism. But with his verse the case is different. Lines there are in his poems, and even long passages, written with a pen cut from an eagle's feather. But in too many cases the ink has flowed from a humbler quill. He never attained that mastery over verse, which would have made it an instrument fit to express all his thoughts and fancies ; for the aptest utterance of his graver and more majestic thoughts the reader must turn to Landor's prose. He was not unaware of this himself. In his prose works there are many passages which show the pride he took in his command of language. Many men have said with Horace, exegi inonumentum aere perennius. Few have expressed that conviction as majestically as Landor. " What I write," he says in one place, "is not written on slate;- and no finger, not that of Time himself, who dips it in the mist of years, can eiface it." But of his verse he never speaks so confidently. He ranked himself as the best of living prose writers, but in poetry he felt that there were men living who were his masters. He speaks with indifference of men who borrowed from his prose j he bitterly resented what he believed to be a theft from Gebir, committed by Wordsworth. In a man of Landor's temper this is no small indication that in his inmost heart he mistrusted his success as a poet. And yet, when this is said, there is more to be added. Landor, though not in the first rank, stands above the Introduction. ix second. Indeed, in his most successful moments' he stands alone. There has never been an English poet capable of the perfection and grace possessed by his shorter poems ; and only one poet since Milton has written blank verse of so majestic and harmonious a sound. The only modern poem that can be placed beside Gebir in this respect is Hyperion j Count Julian stands alone. Could Landor have gone on writing in this vein, he would have won a high station as a poet. But splendid as these two achievements are, each shows clearly that it is a solitary effort. In Gebir there are often passages of terrible obscurity ; what is worse, there are instances of what look like perverse disregard of poetic dignity. The poem is pitched in a majestic vein of thought. But here and there are fatal touches of burlesque. When Tamar tells Gebir that the Nymph's feet — " resembled those long shells explored By him who to befriend his steed's dim sight Would blow the pungent powder in his eye," the reader can only marvel with De Quincey. Landor himself cut out the amazing lines which ran — *' Tamar, who listened still amidst amaze Held never thought on progeny." But he did so because the passage contained a pane- gyric on Napoleon, and not because he saw the badness of them. Other passages of a like kind might be quoted. But these are enough to show that though no VOL. I. b X Introduction. lover of poetry can read Gebir without delight, none can avoid the conclusion that there are faults in it which spring not from inexperience but from a false conception of poetic art. In the present volumes is included another poem in the same style as Gebir, called " From the Phocaeans," which has never been reprinted since its first pub- lication. It shows even more clearly than Gebir that Landor had chosen a method of writing in which it was impossible that success should be at-' tained. In spite of many incidental beauties, " The Phocjeans " is involved in style and narrative, always obscure and frequently unnatural. The author felt this himself; he never finished the poem, never re- printed it, and never made another attempt of the kind. " Chrysaor," which he wrote during the same period, is a success, but a success which surprises the reader. While making these attempts at Epic style, Landor was in fact discovering his real powers as a poet. The thoughts natural to a man's mind may be too turbulent and rugged to provide him with fit material for verse ; and yet he may be a poet. In this case he mus do as Landor did, trust to external events for his subjects and write occasional verse. Any incident, even the slightest, may in this way result in a poem. If the incident and the poet are fortunate, that poem may be a stanza four lines long clinging to the memory with a charming persistency. Of such brief poems Landor has written a larger number than any English poet. Such verses as many of those among the first lxvi. of the Poems and Epigrams in these volumes cannot be matched else- Introduction. xi where in English. They all have one source, Landor's love for lanthe, the most enduring feeling of his life. And yet the reader -will not find among them all one line to tell him what Landor thought in himself j on the other hand, in every poem it is easy to guess what kind of occasion provoked it. This kind of verse has its triumphs ; it has also its failures. A trivial incident, an unpoetic moment, may together produce a weak and pointless poem. The number of such poems produced by Landor, especially in his later life, is terribly large. It is surprising that he should have cared to collect the album verses, the poetic tributes to young ladies, the mere scraps scrawled down by an idle pen, which make so large a show in his works, and obscure so much his real successes. To reprint this mass of verse is to prolong the injury Landor did to his own fame. I have preferred to run the risk of making a selecdon from Landor's poems, hoping that if by so doing I fall into some errors, I at least avoid the guilt of reprinting what Landor in his wiser moments never would have pub- lished. There is, however, one group of Landor's poems to which these criticisms do not apply. He had all his life spent much time and trouble on writing Latin verses, and had attained a rare excellence in that kind of composition. It is not necessary here to give any. detailed criticism of his Latin poems. Many of them are epigrams like those of Martial and Catullus, occa- sional verse, with the merits and faults of the English poems already mentioned. But the group of narrative poems, which, in their English form, Landor named xii Introduction. the Hellenics, stand on a different footing. In treatment they sometimes recall the writings of Ovid, but they are far more direct and less artificial. In the collected works of 1846 a large number appear for the first time in English, translated from the Latin originals. Here and there the verse has the failings likely to be found in translations ; but in spite of this the Hellenics are good reading. The Hamadryad, in particular, is as graceful a setting of a graceful story as any poet could have devised. There is not a needless word in it, and yet not an opportunity for a fine touch is missed. The remaining poems do not quite reach this level, but in all there is an even excellence of treatment rarely to be found in Landor's work, either in prose or verse. There are not the splendid, though accidental, successes of the shorter poems ; but there is, what is better, a sustained mastery and careful workmanship. In every criticism the critic must take account of his own prejudices. I should not have thought it needful to say so much in dispraise of Landor's poems, were there not a disposition among critics to overpraise them at the expense of his prose. It is not hard to see the reason of this. Much of Landor's prose it is difficult to read with patience ; the matter is full of offence, now to one side, now to the other. Every reader has a group of dogmas, social, political, and religious, which have crystallised in his mind under the various influences of training and character. Whatever these dogmas may be, Landor, in his prose works, is sure to outrage some of them before many pages have been turned, and to outrage them in a manner which might suit a grand inquisitor with a turn for practical joking. In his Introduction. xiii poems there are fewer of these stumbling-blocks ; and the reader, who is disposed to admire Landor, but is annoyed by the vigorous freakish ness of his prose> has a natural temptation to overestimate his poems. So far I have only spoken of the narrative and occa- sional poems. There remain two other classes — the odes and poems akin to them in spirit and form — and the dramatic scenes. Of the first of these classes it is not needful to say much. The best work that Landor ever did in that style is to be found in the volume called "The Italics," printed in the year 1848. The poem addressed to St Charles Borromeo, and that on the death of the Brothers Bandieri, are spirited and swift in their motion, as all odes should be ; nor do they fall much below the level on which they start. With these may be placed the poem addressed to Tyrannicide. But there are exceptions ; when Landor borrows Pindar's wings, he meets too often the fate of Icarus, sets his name to a tedious exercisfi in verse. Even the Ode to Southey is hardly redeemed by its glorious last stanza : the reader skips most of the prefatory verses to reach the lines — " Not were that submarine Gem-lighted city mine, Wherein my name engraven by thy hand Above the royal gleam of blazonry shall stand ; Not, were all Syracuse Pour'd forth before my Muse, With Hiero's cars and steeds, and Pindar's lyre Brightening the path with more than solar fire, Could I, as would beseem, requite the praise Showered upon my low head from thy most lofty lays." xiv Introduction. The Ode to Wordsworth is in another vein. The earlier stanzas curiously recall the rhythm of Words- worth's own Ode to Lycoris, and the conclusion of the poem slips into the easy metre Landor uses so skilfully in many of his lighter poems. The Ode to Wordsworth is the pleasantest reading of all Landor's odes, but it is the least like an ode. Landor's earliest attempt at Dramatic writing is, with- out any doubt, his most successful one. Just as Gebir reads like the first work of an Epic poet. Count Julian seems to promise the world a great tragedian. If Landor's later dramatic works had been more successful, criticism would have had to take a different view of Count Julian, — to pass lightly over the defects and praise the merits. It is true, one might have said, that the plot is not well explained to the reader, and that the characters are not clearly expressed. Practice will remedy that. But the mastery of verse and language, and the tragic force of expression, these will remain. It is unfortunately true that it was the evil qualities which remained. Landor's conception of the position of a reader of plays is a curious one. He treats him as though he were a stranger suddenly placed among a group of unknown people moved by unknown passions. He allows him to witness chance episodes in the conflict that is going on, and expects him to construct a theory of the characters and to discover their past and present history. It is a task few readers care to undertake. Few dramas can be more perplexing to the unin- structed reader than the trilogy dealing with the fate of Giovanna of Naples. It is true, that if the reader has the patience to find out for himself the his- Introduction. xv tory of Giovanna, before he attacks Landor's trilogy, he will find something in it to enjoy, something to admire. But if he first read Count Julian, and then turn to any other of Landor's plays, he will feel that he has passed from the high piercing air of the hills to a lower region not free from thorny entanglements. No one but a great dramatic poet could have written Count Julian ; a less man than Landor might have written the remainder of his dramas. Ippolito di Este and the Siege of Ancona are better than the others, but even these show few signs of the exceptional qualities of Count Julian. To the sect of Landorians — for there are Landorians just as there are Wordsworthians — these criticisms may seem irreverent. The writer of them is not far removed from being of that opinion. It is difficult to refuse any wreath to an author whose pages have grown familiar to the eye. Every word that comes from his pen is fresh material for the study of his literary character. In his most trivial writings may lurk the secret of his greatest works. Thus to the student study makes his subject dear, and with the growth of this affection criticism flies. For Landorians, then, these criticisms are irrever- ent. Even for others they are incomplete, like all criticism. For criticism can but explain why the critic dislikes a piece of literature ; it cannot explain the charm that is possessed by lines Uke these — Child of a day, thou knowest not The tears that overflow thine urn, The gushing eyes that read thy lot. Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return ! xvi Introduction. And why the wish ! the pure and blest Watch, like thy mother, o'er thy sleep. O peaceful night ! O envied rest ! Thou wilt not ever see her weep. Or again, Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear : Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear. And so does every great poet refute at the last those who comment on his faults. []In order to save space in the textual notes in these volumes, I have indicated the various sources from which poems have been taken, by letters. The following general bibliography of Landor's poetical works will furnish a key to the letters : — A. The Poems of Walter Savage Landor. London, i 795. A Moral Epistle ; respectfully dedicated to Earl Stan- hope. London, 1795. B. Gebir, a poem in seven books. London, i 798. C. Poems from the Arabic and Persian. Warwick and London, 1800. D. Poetry by the author of Gebir. London, 1 802. E. Gebir, a poem in seven books. Oxford, 1803. F. Simonidca. Bath and London, 1806. G. Count Julian, a tragedy. London, 18 12. H. Gebir, Count Julian, and other poems. London, 1831. L Pericles and Aspasia. London, 1836. J. The Pentameron and Pentalogia. London, 1837. Introduction. xvii K. Ablett's Literaiy Hours. 1837. A Satire on Satirists, and Admonition to Detractors. London, 1837. L. Andrea of Hungary and Giovanna of Naples. London, 1839. M. Fra Rupert. London, 1841. N. The Works of Walter Savage Landor. London, 1 846. O. The Hellenics, enlarged and completed. London, 1847. P. The Italics of Walter Savage Landor. London, 1848. Q_. The Last Fruit off an Old Tree. London, 1853. R. Anthony and Octavius, Scenes for the Study. London, T856. S. Dry Sticks, Fagotted by Walter Savage Landor. Edin- burgh, 1858. T. The Hellenics of Walter Savage Landor, &c. Edin- burgh, 1859. U. Heroic Idylls, with additional poems. 1 863. V. Collected Works. London, 1876. ^ To the above must be added, " Terry Hogan, an Idyll : Bath, 1837 ; " and (perhaps) "The Bath Subscription Ball." " Guy's Porridge Pot," a satire on Dr Parr, which has been sometimes attributed to Walter Savage Landor, should, in all probability, be ascribed to his brother, Robert Eyres Landor.] DRx'^MATIC SCENES. DRAMATIC SCENES. COUNT JULIAN. None of these poems of a dramatic form were ofTered to the stage, being no better than Imaginary Conversations in metre. — W. S. L. CHARACTERS. Count Julian. Roderigo, King of Spain. OpaS, Metropolitan of Seville. SlSA'a^KT, 6etrotied to CoviLLA. ^VIA, Prince of Mauritania. Ab- DALAZIS, son of MuZA. Tarik, Moorish Chieftain. CoviLLA,* daughter of JuLIAN. EgILONA, ivife of RoDERIGO. HeRNANDO, OSMA, RaAURO, &C., Officers. FIRST ACT : FIRST SCENE. Camp of Julian. Opas. Julian. Opas. See her, Count Julian : if thou lovest God, See thy lost child. Julian. I have avenged me, Opas, More than enough : I only sought to hurl * The daughter of Count Julian is usually called Florinda. The city of Covilla, it is reported, was named after her. Here is no im- probability: there would be a gross one in deriving the word, as is also pretended, from La Cava. Cities, in adopting a name, bear it usually as a testimony of victories or as an augury of virtues. Small and obscure places occasionally receive what their neighbours throw against them ; as Puerto de la mala muger in Murcia : but a generous people would affix no stigma to innocence and misfortune. It is remarkable that the most important era in Spanish history should be the most obscure. This is propitious to the poet, and above all to the tragedian. Few characters of such an era can be glaringly misrepresented, few facts offensively perverted. 4 Dramatic Scenes. The brand of war on one detested head, And die upon his ruin. O my country ! O lost to honour, to thyself, to me, Why on barbarian hands devolves thy cause, Spoilers, blasphemers ! Opas. Is it thus, Don Julian, i o When thy own offspring, that beloved child For whom alone these very acts were done By them and thee, when thy Covilla stands An outcast and a suppliant at thy gate, Why that still stubborn agony of soul, Those struggles with the bars thyself imposed ? Is she not thine ? not dear to thee as ever ? Julian. Father of mercies ! show me none, whene'er The wrongs she suffers cease to wring my heart, Or I seek solace ever, but in death. 20 Opas. What wilt thou do then, too unhappy man ? Julian. What have I done already ? All my peace Has vanisht ; my fair fame in aftertime Will wear an alien and uncomely form, Seen o'er the cities I have laid in dust. Countrymen slaughtered, friends abjured ! Opas. And faith ? Julian. Alone now left me, filling up in part The narrow and waste interval of grief: It promises that I shall see again 30 My own lost child. Opas. Yes, at this very hour. Julian. Till I have met the tyrant face to face, And gain'd a conquest greater than the last. Till he no longer rules one rood of Spain, And not one Spaniard, not one enemy. The least relenting, flags upon his flight, Till we are equal in the eyes of men, The humblest and most wretched of our kind, No peace for me, no comfort, no . . no child ! 40 Opas. No pity for the thousands fatherless, The thousands childless like thyself, nay more, The thousands friendless, helpless, comfortless . , Count Julian. 5 Such thou wilt make them, little thinking so, Who now perhaps, round their first winter fire, Banish, to talk of thee, the tales of old. Shedding true honest tears for thee unknown : Precious be these and sacred in thy sight. Mingle them not with blood from hearts thus kind. If only warlike spirits were evoked 3*-* By the war-demon; I would not complain. Or dissolute and discontented men ;. But wherefore hurry down into the square The neighbourly, saluting, warm-clad race. Who would not injure us, and can not serve ; Who, from their short and measured slumber risen, In the faint sunshine of their balconies, With a half-legend of a martyrdom And some weak wine and withered grapes before them. Note by their foot the wheel of melody 60 That catches and rolls on the Sabbath dance. To drag the steady prop from failing age, Break the young stem that fondness twines around. Widen the solitude of lonely sighs, And scatter to the broad bleak wastes of day The mins and the phantoms that replied, Ne'er be it thine. Julian. Arise, and save me, Spain ! FIRST ACT : SECOND SCENE. MuzA enters. Muza. Infidel chief, thou tarriest here too long. And art perhaps repining at the days Of nine continued victories o'er men Dear to thy soul, tho' reprobate and base. Away ! \^He retires. Julian. I follow. Could my bitterest foes Hear this ! ye Spaniards, this ! which I foreknew 6 Dramatic Scenes, And yet encounter'd ; could they see your Julian Receiving orders from and answering These desperate and heaven-abandoned slaves, lO They might perceive some few external pangs, Some glimpses of the hell wherein I move, Who never have been fathers. Opas. These are they To whom brave Spaniards must refer their wrongs ! Julian. Muza, that cruel and suspicious chief, Distmsts his friends more than his enemies. Me more than either ; fraud he loves and fears, And watches her still footfall day and night. Opas. O Julian ! such a refuge ! such a race ! 20 Julian. . . Calamities like mine alone implore. No virtues have redeem'd them from their bonds ; Wily ferocity, keen idleness, And the close cringes of ill-whispering want, Educate them to plunder and obey : Active to serve him best whom most they fear. They show no mercy to the merciful. And racks alone remind them of the name. Opas. O everlasting curse for Spain and thee ! Julian. Spain should have vindicated then her wrongs 30 In mine, a Spaniard's and a soldier's wrongs. Opas. Julian, are thine the only wrongs on earth ? And shall each Spaniard rather vindicate Thine than his own ? is there no Judge of all ? Shall mortal hand seize with impunity The sword of vengeance from the armoury Of the Most High ? easy to wield, and starred With glory it appears ; but all the host Of the archangels, should they strive at once. Would never close again its widening blade. 40 Julian. He who jjrovokes it hath so much to rue. Where'er he turn, whether to earth or heaven. He finds an enemy, or raises one. Opas. I never yet have seen where long success Hath followed him who warred upon his king. Julian. Because the virtue that inflicts the stroke Count Julian. Dies with him, and the rank ignoble heads Of plundering faction soon unite again, And prince-protected share the spoil at rest. FIRST ACT : THIRD SCENE. Guard announces a Herald. Opas departs. Guard. A messenger of peace is at the gate, My lord, safe access, private audience. And free return, he claims. Julian. Conduct him in. RoDERiGO enters as a herald. A messenger of peace ! audacious man ! In what attire appearest thou ? a herald's ? Under no garb can such a wretch be safe. Roderigo. Thy violence and fancied wrongs I know, And what thy sacrilegious hands would do, O traitor and apostate ! lO Julian. What they would They can not : thee of kingdom and of life 'Tis easy to despoil, thyself the traitor. Thyself the violator of allegiance. O would all-righteous Heaven they could restore The joy of innocence, the calm of age. The probity of manhood, pride of arms. And confidence of honour ! the august And holy laws trampled beneath thy feet, And Spain ! O parent, I have lost thee too ! 20 Yes, thou wilt curse me in thy latter days, Me, thine avenger. T have fought her foe, Roderigo, I have gloried in her sons. Sublime in hardihood and piety : Her strength was mine : I, sailing by her cliffs, By promontory after promontory, Opening like flags along some castle-tower. Have sworn before the cross upon our mast Ne'er shall invader wave his standard there. 8 Dramatic Scenes. Roderigo. Yet there thou plantest it, false man, thyself. 30 Julian. Accursed he who makes me this reproach. And made it just ! Had I been happy still, I had been blameless : I had died with glory Upon the walls of Ceuta. Roderigo. Which thy treason Surrendered to the Infidel. Julian. 'Tis hard And base to live beneath a conqueror ; Yet, amid all this grief and infamy, 'Twere something to have rusht upon the ranks 40 In their advance ; 'twere something to have stood Defeat, discomfiture, and, when around No beacon blazes, no far axle groans Thro' the wide plain, no sound of sustenance Or succour soothes the still-believing ear, To fight upon the last dismantled tower. And yield to valour, if we yield at all. But rather should my neck lie trampled down By every Saracen and Moor on earth, Than my own country see her laws o'erturn'd 50 By those who should j)rotect them. Sir, no prince Shall ruin Spain, and, least of all, her own. Is any just or glorious act in view, Your oaths forbid it : is your avarice. Or, if there be such, any viler passion To have its giddy range and to be gorged, It rises over all your sacraments, A hooded mystery, holier than they all. Roderigo. Hear me, Don Julian ; I have heard thy wrath Who am thy king, nor heard man's wrath before. 60 Julian. Thou shalt hear mine, for thou art not my king. Roderigo. Knowest thou not the altered face of war ? Xeres is ours ; from every region round True loyal Spaniards throng into our camp : Nay, thy own friends and thy own family, From the remotest provinces, advance To crush rebellion : Sisabert is come. Disclaiming tliee and thine ; the Asturian hills Count Julian. 9 Oppose to him their icy chains in vain ; But never wilt thou see him, never more, 70 Unless in adverse war and deadly hate. Julian. So lost to me ! so generous, so deceived ! I grieve to hear it. Roderigo. Come, I offer grace, Honour, dominion : send away these slaves, Or leave them to our sword, and all beyond The distant Ebro to the towns of France Shall bless thy name and bend before thy throne. I will myself accompany thee, I, The king, will hail thee brother. Julian. Ne'er shalt thou 80 Henceforth be king : the nation in thy name May issue edicts, champions may command The vassal multitudes of marshal'd war. And the fierce charger shrink before the shouts, Lower'd as if earth had open'd at his feet. While thy mail'd semblance rises tow'rd the ranks, But God alone sees thee. Roderigo. What hopest thou I To conquer Spain, and rule a ravaged land ? To compass me around ? to murder me ? 90 Julian. No, Don Roderigo : swear thou, in the fight That thou wilt meet me, hand to hand, alone, That, if I ever save thee from a foe . . Roderigo. I swear what honour asks. First, to Covilla Do thou present my crown and dignity. Julian. Darest thou offer any price for shame ? Roderigo. Love and repentance. Julian. Egilona lives ; And were she buried with her ancestors, Covilla should not be the gaze of men, 100 Should not, despoil'd of honour, rule the free. Roderigo. Stern man ! her virtues well deserve the throne. Julian. And Egilona, what hath she deserv'd. The good, the lovely ? Roderigo. But the realm in vain Hoped a succession. lO Dramatic Scenes. Julian. Thou hast torn away The roots of royahy. Roderigo. For her, for thee. Julian. Blind insolence ! base insincerity ! iio Power and renown no mortal ever shared Who could retain or grasp them to himself: And, for Covilla ? patience ! peace ! for her ? She call upon her God, and outrage him At his own altar ! she repeat the vows She violates in repeating ! who abhors Thee and thy crimes, and wants no crown of thine. Force may compel the abhorrent soul, or want Lash and pursue it to the public ways ; Virtue looks back and weeps, and m:iv leturn 120 To these, but never near the abandon 'd one Who drags religion to adultery's feet, And rears the altar higher for her sake. Roderigo. Have then the Saracens possest thee quite ? And wilt thou never yield me thy consent ? Julian. Never. Roderigo. So deep in guilt, in treachery I Forced to acknowledge it ! forced to avow The traitor ! Julian. Not to thee, who reignest not, i 30 But to a country ever dear to me, And dearer now than ever ! What we love Is loveliest in dej)arture ! One I thought. As every father thinks, the best of all. Graceful and mild and sensible and chaste : Now all these qualities of form and soul Fade from before me, nor on any one Can I repose, or be consoled by any. And yet in this torn heart I love her more Than I could love her when I dwelt on each, 1 40 Or claspt them all united, and thankt God, Without a wish beyond. Away, thou fiend ! ignominy, last and worst of all ! 1 weep before thee . . like a cliild . . like mine . . And tell my woes, fount of them all ! to thee ! Count Julian. t i FIRST act: fourth scene. Abdalazis enters. Abdalaz'ts. Julian, to thee, the terror of the faithless, I bring my father's order to prepare For the bright day that crowns thy brave exploits. Our enemy is at the very gate, And art thou here, with women in thy train, Crouching to gain admittance to their lord. And mourning the unkindness of delay ! Julian (agitated, goes totvard the door, and returns^. I am prepared : Prince, judge not hastily. Ahdala-zis. Whether I should not promise all they ask, I too could hesitate, though earlier taught lO The duty to obey, and should rejoice To shelter in the universal storm A frame so delicate, so full of fears. So little used to outrage and to arms. As one of these, so humble, so uncheer'd At the gay pomp that smooths the track of war. When she beheld me from afar dismount, And heard my trumpet, she alone drew back, And, as though doubtful of the help she seeks, Shudder'd to see the jewels on my brow, 20 And turn'd her eyes away, and wept aloud. The other stood awhile, and then advanced : I would have spoken ; but she waved her hand And said, " Proceed, protect us, and avenge, And be thou worthier of the crown thou wearest." Hopeful and happy is indeed our cause. When the most timid of the lovely hail Stranger and foe. Roder'igo {^unnoticed by Abdalazis). And shrink but to advance, Abdalazis. Thou tremblest ? whence, O Julian ! whence this change ? 30 I/: 12 Dramatic Scenes. Thou lovest still thy country. Julian. Abdalazis ! All men with human feelings love their country. Not the highborn or wealthy man alone, Who looks upon his children, each one led By its gay handmaid from the high alcove. And hears them once a-day ; not only he Who hath forgotten, when his guest inquires The name of some far village all his own ; Whose rivers bound the province, and whose hills 40 Touch the last cloud upon the level sky : No ; better men still better love their country. 'Tis the old mansion of their earliest friends, The chapel of their first and best devotions. / When violence or perfidy invades. Or when unworthy lords hold wassail there, And wiser heads are drooping round its moats. At last they fix their steady and stiff eye There, there alone, stand while the trumpet blows And view the hostile flames above its towers 50 Spire, with a bitter and severe delight. Ahdala'x.'ts [taking his hand). Thou feelest what thou speakest, and thy Spain Will ne'er be shelter'd from her fate by thee. We, whom the Prophet sends o'er many lands, Love none above another ; Heaven assigns Their fields and harvests to our valiant swords. And 'tis enough : we love while we enjoy. Whence is the man in that fantastic guise ? Suppliant ? or herald ? he who stalks about, And once was even seated while we spoke : 60 For never came he with us o'er the sea. Julian. He comes as herald. Roderigo. Thou shalt know full soon, Insulting Moor ! Ahdala%is. He ill endures the grief His country suffers : I will pardon him. He lost his courage first, and then his mind ; His courage rushes back, his mind yet wanders. Count Julian. 13 The guest of heaven was piteous to these men, And princes stoop to feed them in their courts. 70 FIRST ACT : FIFTH SCENE. RoDERiGO is going : Muza enters with Egilona : RoDERiGO starts back. Muza [sternly to Egilona). Enter, since 'tis the custom in this land. Egilona (^passing MvzA, points to Abdalazis). Is this our future monarch, or art thou ? Julian. 'Tis Abdalazis, son of Muza, prince Commanding Africa, from Abyla To where Tunisian pilots bend the eye O'er ruin'd temples in the glassy wave. Till quiet times and ancient laws return He comes to govern here. Roderigo. To-morrow's dawn Proves that. 10 Muza. What art thou ? Roderigo {^drawing his sivord). King. Abdalazis. Amazement ! Muza. Treason ! Egilona. O horror ! Muza. Seize him. Egilona. Spare him ! fly to me ! Julian. Urge me not to protect a guest, a herald. The blasts of war roar over him unfelt. Egilona. Ah fly, unhappy ! 20 Roderigo. Fly ! no, Egilona ! Dost thou forgive me ? dost thou love me ? still ? Egilona. I hate, abominate, abhor thee . . go. Or my own vengeance . . Roderigo Intakes Julian's hand ; invites him to attack Muza and Abdalazis.) Julian ! Julian. Hence, or die. 14 Dramatic Scenes. SECOND ACT : FIRST SCENE. Camp o/" Julian. Julian and Covilla. Julian. Obdurate ? I am not as I appear. Weep, my beloved child ! Covilla, weep Into my bosom ; every drop be mine Of this most bitter soul-empoisoning cup : Into no other bosom than thy father's Canst thou or wouldst thou pour it. Covilla. Cease, my lord. My father, angel of my youth, when all Was innocence and peace. Julian. Arise, my love, lO Look up to heaven . . where else are souls like thine ! Mingle in sweet communion with its children. Trust in its providence, its retribution. And I will cease to mourn ; for, O my child, These tears corrode, but thine assuage, the heart. Covilla. And never shall I see my mother too, My own, my blessed mother ? Julian. Thou shalt see Her and thy brothers. Covilla. No ! I can not look 20 On them, I can not meet their lovely eyes, I can not lift mine up from under theirs. Wc all were cl:iildrcn when they went away ; They now have fought hard battles, and are men. And camps and kings they know, and woes and crim'.'S. Sir, will they never venture from the v/alls Into the plain ? Remember, they are young. Hardy and emulous and hazardous. And who is left to guard them in the town ? Julian. Peace is throughout the land : the various tribes -^Q Of that vast region sink at once to rest, Count Julian. 15 Like one wide wood when eveiy wind lies husht. Covin a. And war, in all its fury, roams o'er Spain ! Julian. Alas ! and will for ages : crimes are loose At which ensanguined War stands shuddering. And calls for vengeance from the powers above, Impatient of inflicting it himself. Nature in these new horrors is aghast At her own progeny, and knows them not. I am the minister of wrath ; the hands 40 That tremble at me, shall applaud me too, And seal their condemnation. Covilla. O kind father. Pursue the guilty, but remember Spain. Julian. Child, thou wert in thy nursery short time since, And latterly hast past the vacant hour Where the familiar voice of history Is hardly known, however nigh, attuned In softer accents to the sickened ear ; But thou hast heard, for nurses tell these tales, 50 Whether I drew my sword for Witiza Abandoned by the people he betrayed, Tho' brother to the woman who of all Was ever dearest to this broken heart, Till thou, my daughter, wert a prey to grief. And a brave country brookt the wrongs I boi^e. For I had seen Rusilla guide the steps Of her Theodofred, when burning brass Plunged its fierce fang into the fount of light, And Witiza's the guilt ! when, bent with age, 60 He knew the voice again, and told the name Of those whose proffer'd fortunes had been laid Before his throne, while happiness was there. And strain'd the sightless nerve tow'rd where they stood. At the forced memory of the very oaths He heard renew'd from each, but heard afar, For they were loud, and him the throng spurn'd off. Covilla. Who were all these ? Julian. All who are seen to-day On prancing steeds richly caparisoned 70 1 6 Dramatic Scenes. In loyal acclamation round Roderigo ; Their sons beside them, loving one another Unfeignedly, thro ' joy, while they themselves In mutual homage mutual scorn suppress. Their very walls and roofs are welcoming The king's approach, their storied tapestry Swells its rich arch for him triumphantly At every clarion blowing from below. Cov'tlla. Such wicked men will never leave his side. Julian. For they are insects which see nought beyond 8o Where they now crawl ; whose changes are complete. Unless of habitation. Covilla. Whither go Creatures unfit for better or for worse ? Julian. Some to the grave, where peace be with them ! some Across the Pyrenean mountains far. Into the plains of France ; suspicion there Will hang on every step from rich and poor, Grey quickly-glancing eyes will wrinkle round And courtesy will watch them, day and night. 90 Shameless they are, yet will they blush amid A nation that ne 'er blushes : some will drag The captive 's chain, repair the shatter'd bark, Or heave it from a quicksand to the shore Among the marbles of the Lybian coast, Teach patience to the lion in his cage, And, by the order of a higher slave, Hold to the elephant their scanty fare To please the children while the parent sleeps. Covilla. Spaniards ? Must they, dear father, lead such lives ? 1 00 Julian. All are not Spaniards who draw breath in Spain, Those are, who live for her, who die for her. Who love her glory, and lament her fall. O may I too . . Covilla. But peacefully, and late, Live and die here ! Julian. I have, alas ! myself U-aid waste the hopes where my fond fancy stray'd, Count Julian. 17 And view their ruins with unalter 'd eyes. Co'villa. My mother will at last return to you. 1 1 o Might I once more, but . . could I now ? behold her Tell her . . ah me ! what was my rash desire ? No, never tell her these inhuman things, For they would waste her tender heart away As they waste mine ; or tell when I have died. Only to show her that her every care Could not have saved, could not have comforted ; That she herself, clasping me once again To her sad breast, had said, Covilla ! go. Go, hide them in the bosom of thy God ! 1 20 Sweet mother ! that far-distant voice I hear, And, passing out of youth and out of life, I would not turn at last, and disobey. SECOND ACT : SECOND SCENE. SiSABERT enters. Sisabert. Uncle, and is it true, say, can it be, That thou art leader of these faithless Moors ? That thou impeachest thy own daughter's fame Thro' the whole land, to seize upon the throne By the permission of these recreant slaves ? What shall I call thee ? art thou, speak Count Julian, A father, or a soldier, or a man ? Julian. All, or this day had never seen me here. Sisabert. O falsehood ! worse than woman's ! Covilla. Once, my cousin, lO Far gentler words were utter'd from your lips. If you loved me, you loved my father first, More justly and more steadily, ere love Was passion and illusion and deceit. Sisabert. I boast not that I never was deceived, Covilla, which beyond all boasts were base. Nor that I never loved ; let this be thine. VOL. 1. B l8 Dramatic Scenes. Illusions ! just to stop us, not delay, Amuse, not occupy ! Too tme ! when love Scatters its brilliant foam, and passes on 20 To some fresh object in its natural course. Widely and openly and wanderingly, 'Tis better : narrow it, and it pours its gloom In one fierce cataract that stuns the soul. Ye hate the wretch ye make so, while ye choose Whoever knows you best and shuns you most. Covilla. Shun me then : be beloved more and more. Honour the hand that show'd you honour first, Liove . . O my father ! speak, proceed, persuade, Your voice alone can utter it . . another. 30 Sisabert. Ah lost Covilla ! can a thirst of power Alter thy heart thus to abandon mine. And change my very nature at one blow ? Covilla. I told you, dearest Sisabert, 'twas vain To urge me more, to question or confute. Sisabert. I know it, for another wears the crown Of Witiza my father ; who succeeds To king Roderigo will succeed to me. Yet thy cold perfidy still calls me dear, And o'er my aching temples breathes one gale 40 Of days departed to return no more. Julian. Young man, avenge our cause. Sisabert. What cause avenge ? Covilla. If I was ever dear to you, hear me. Not vengeance ; heaven will give that signal soon. Sisabert, the pangs I have endured On your long absence . . Sisabert. Will be now consoled. Thy father comes to mount my father's throne ; But though I would not a usurper king, 50 1 prize his valour and defend his crown : No stranger and no traitor rules o'er me, Or unchastised inveigles humble Spain. Covilla, gavest thou no promises ? Nor thou, Don Julian ? Seek not to reply. Too well I know, too justly I despise, Count Julian. 19 Thy false excuse, thy coward effrontery ; Yes, when thou gavest them across the sea, An enemy wert thou to Mahomet, And no appellant to his faith or leagues. 60 Julian. 'Tis well : a soldier hears througliout in silence. I urge no answer : to those words, I fear, Thy heart with shai-p compunction will reply. Sisabert [to Covilla). Then I demand of thee, before thou reign, Answer me . . while I fought against the Frank Who dared to sue thee ? blazon'd in the court, Not trailed thro' darkness, were our nuptial bands ; No ; Egilona joined our hands herself. The peers applauded and the king approved. Julian. Hast thou yet seen that king since thy return ? 70 Covilla. Father ! O Father ! Sisabert. I will not implore Of him or thee what I have lost for ever. These were not, when we parted, thy alarms ; Far other, and far worthier of thy heart Were they, wliich Sisabert could banish then. Fear me not now, Covilla ! thou hast changed, I am changed too. 1 lived but where thou livedst. My very life was portion'd off from thine : Upon the surface of thy happiness So Day after day 1 gazed, I doted, there Was all 1 had, was all I coveted ; So pure, serene, and boundless it appear'd : Yet, for we told each other every thought. Thou knowest well, if thou rememberest. At times I fear'd ; as tho' some demon sent Suspicion without form into the world. To whisper unimaginary things. Then thy fond arguing banisht all but hope. Each wish and every feeling was with thine, 90 Till I partook thy nature, and became Credulous and incredulous like thee. We, who have met so alter'd, meet no more. Mountains and seas ! ye are not separation : 20 Dramatic Scenes. Death ! thou dividest, but unitest too In everlasting peace and faith sincere. Confiding love ! where is thy resting-place ? Where is thy truth, Covilla ? where ? . . Go, go . . I should believe thee and adore thee still. \^Goes. Covilla. O Heaven ! support me, or desert me quite, loo And leave me lifeless this too trying hour ! He thinks me faithless. Julian. He must think thee so. Covilla. O tell him, tell him all, when I am dead . . He will die too, and we shall meet again. He will know all when these sad eyes are closed. Ah can not he before ? must I appear The vilest . . O just Heaven ! can it be thus ? I am . . all earth resounds it . . lost, despised, Anguish and shame unutterable seize me. :, no 'Tis palpable, no phantom, no delusion. No dream that wakens with o'erwhelming horror ; Spaniard and Moor fight on this ground alone, And tear the arrow from my bleeding breast To pierce my father's, for alike they fear. Julian. Invulnerable, unassailable Are we, alone perhaps of human kind, Nor life allures us more nor death alarms. Covilla. Fallen, unpitied, unbelieved, unheard ! I should have died long earlier. Gracious God ! 120 Desert me to my sufferings, but sustain My faith in thee ! O hide me from the world. And from yourself, my father, from your fondness, That opened in this wilderness of woe A source of tears . . it else had burst my heart, Setting me free for ever : then perhaps A cruel war had not divided Spain, Had not o'erturn'd her cities and her altars, Had not endanger'd you ! O haste afar Ere the last dreadful conflict that decides 1 30 Whether we live beneath a foreign sway . . Julian. Or under him whose tyranny brought down The curse upon his people. O child ! child ! Count Julian. 21 Urge me no further, talk not of the war, Remember not our country. Cov'illa. Not remember ! What have the wretched else for consolation ? What else have they who pining feed their woe ? Can I, or should I, drive from memory All that was dear and sacred ? all the joys 1 40 Of innocence and peace ? When no debate Was in the convent, but what hymn, whose voice. To whom among the blessed it arose. Swelling so sweet ; when rang the vesper-bell And every finger ceast from the guitar. And eveiy tongue was silent through our land ; When, from remotest earth, friends met again. Hung on each other's neck, and but embraced, So sacred, still, and peaceful was the hour. Now, in what climate of the wasted world, i 50 Not unmolested long by the profane, Can I pour forth in secrecy to God My prayers and my repentance ? where beside Is the last solace of the parting soul ? Friends, brethren, parents, dear indeed, too dear Are they, but somewhat yet the heart requires. That it may leave them lighter and more blest. Julian. Wide are the regions of our far-famed land : Thou shalt arrive at her remotest bounds. See her best people, choose some holiest house ; 160 Whether where Castro from surrounding vines Hears the hoarse ocean roar among his caves. And, thro' the fissure in the green churchyard. The wind wail loud the calmest summer day ; Or where Santona leans against the hill, Hidden from sea and land by groves and bowers. Cov'tUa. O ! for one moment In those pleasant scenes Thou placest me, and lighter air I breathe : Why could I not have rested, and heard on ! My voice dissolves the vision quite away, i 70 Outcast from virtue, and from nature too ! Julian. Nature and virtue ! they shall perish first. 22 Dramatic Scenes. God deiitined them for thee, and thee for them, Inseparnbly and eternally ! The wisest and the best will prize thee most, And solitudes and cities will contend Which shall receive thee kindliest. Sigh not so : Violence and fraud will nevei- penetrate Where piety and poverty retire, Intractable to them and valueless, 1 80 And lookt at idly like the face of heaven. If strength be wanted for security, Mountains the guard, forbidding all approach With iron-pointed and uplifted gates, Thou wilt be welcome too in Aguilar, Impenetrable, marble-turreted. Surveying from aloft the limpid ford. The massive fane, the sylvan avenue ; Whose hospitality I proved myself, A willing leader in no impious war i go When fame and freedom urged me ; or mayst dwell In Reynosa's dry and thriftless dale, Unharvested beneath October moons. Among those frank and cordial villagers. They never saw us, and, poor simple souls ! Sojlittle know they whom they call the great, Would pity one another less than us. In injuiy, disaster, or distress. CovUla. But they would ask each other whence our grief. That they might pity. 200 Julian. Rest then just beyond, In the secluded scenes where Ebro springs And drives not from his fount the fallen leaf. So motionless and tranquil its repose. Covilla. Thither let us depart, and speedily. Julian. I can not go : I live not in the land I have reduced beneath such wretchedness : And who could leave the brave whose lives and fortunes Hang on his sword ? Covilla. Me hou canst leave, my father ; 210 Ah yes, for it is past ; too well thou seest Count Julian. 23 My life and fortunes rest not upon thee. Long, happily . . could it be gloriously ! Still mayst thou live, and save thy country still ! Julian. Unconquerable land ! unrival'd race ! Whose bravery, too enduring, rues alike The power and weakness of accursed kings, How cruelly hast thou neglected me ! Forcing me from thee, never to return. Nor in thy pangs and struggles to partake ! 220 I hear a voice ! 'tis Egilona : come. Recall thy courage, dear unhappy girl, Let us away. SECOND ACT : THIRD SCENE. Egilona enters. Egilona. Remain ; I order thee. Attend, and do thy duty : I am queen, Unbent to degradation. Covilla. I attend Ever most humbly and most gratefully. My too kind sovran, cousin now no more. Could I perform but half the services I owe her, I were happy for a time, Or dared I show her half my love, 'twere bliss. Egilona. Oh ! I sink under gentleness like thine. lO Thy sight is death to me ; and yet 'tis dear. The gaudy trappings of assumptive state Drop at the voice of nature to the earth, ' Before thy feet. I can not force myself To hate thee, to renounce thee ; yet . . Covilla ! Yet . . O distracting thought ! 'tis hard to see, Hard to converse with, to admire, to love, As from my soul I do, and must do, thee. One who hath robb'd me of all pride and joy. All dignity, all fondness. 1 adored 20 Roderigo. He was brave, and in discourse Most voluble ; the masses of his mind 24 Dramatic Scenes, Were vast, but vaiied ; now absorb'd in gloom. Majestic, not austere ; now their extent Opening and waving in bright levity . . Julian. Depart, my daughter. 'Twere as well to bear His presence as his praise. Go ; she will dream This phantasm out, nor notice thee depart. [CoviLLA goes. Egilona. What pliancy ! what tenderness ! what life ! O for the smiles of those who smile so seldom, 30 The love of those who know no other love ! Such he was, Egilona, who was thine. Julian. While he was worthy of the realm and thee. Egilona. Can it be true then, Julian, that thy aim Is sovranty ? not virtue nor revenge ? Julian. I swear to heaven, nor I nor child of mine Ever shall mount to this polluted throne. Egilona. Then am I yet a queen. The savage Moor Who could not conquer Ceuta from thy sword In his own country, not with eveiy wile 40 Of his whole race, not with his myriad crests Of cavalry, seen from the Calpian highths Like locusts on the parcht and gleamy coast. Will never conquer Spain. Julian. Spain then was conquer'd When fell her laws before the traitor king. SECOND ACT : FOURTH SCENE. Ojfficer announces Opas. O queen, the metropolitan attends On matter of high import to the state. And wishes to confer in privacy. Egilona (to Julian). Adieu then ; and whate'er betide the country. Sustain at least the honours of our house. [Julian goes before Opas enters. Opas. I can not but commend, O Egilona, Such resignation and such dignity. Count Julian. 25 Indeed he is unworthy ; yet a queen Rather to look for peace, and live remote From cities, and from courts, and from her lord, lo I hardly could expect in one so young, So early, widely, wondrously, admired. Egilona. I am resolv'd : religious men, good Opas, In this resemble the vain libertine ; They find in woman no consistency. No virtue but devotion, such as comes To infancy or age or fear or love, Seeking a place of rest, and finding none Until it soar to heaven. Opas. A spring of mind 20 That rises when all pressure is removed, Firmness in pious and in chaste resolves, But weakness in much fondness ; these, O queen, I did expect, I own. Egilona. The better part Be mine ; the worse hath been, and is no more. Opas. But if Roderigo have at length prevail'd That Egilona willingly resigns All claim to royalty, and casts away. Indifferent or estranged, the marriage-bond 30 His perjury tore asunder, still the church Hardly can sanction his new nuptial rites. Egilona. What art thou saying ? what new nuptial rites ? Opas. Thou knowest not ? Egilona. Am I a wife ? a queen ? Abandon it ! my claim to royalty ! Whose hand was on my head when I arose Queen of this land ? whose benediction sealed My marriage-vow ? who broke it ? was it I ? And wouldst thou, virtuous Opas, vvouldst thou dim 40 The glorious light of thy declining days ? Wouldst thou administer the sacred vows And sanction them, and bless them, for another. And bid her live in peace while I am living ? Go then ? I execrate and banish him For ever from my sight : we were not born 26 Dramatic Scenes. For happiness together ; none on earth Were ever so dissimilar as we. He is not worth a tear, a wish, a thought ; Never was I deceived in him ; I found 50 No tenderness, no fondness, from the first. A love of power, a love of perfidy. Such is the love that is return'd for mine. Ungrateful man ! 'twas not the pageantry Of regal state, the clarions, nor the guard, Nor loyal valour, nor submissive beauty. Silence at my approach, awe at my voice. Happiness at my smile, that led my youth Toward Roderigo. I had lived obscure. In humbleness, in poverty, in want, 60 Blest, O supremely blest, with him alone ; And he abandons me, rejects me, scorns me, Insensible ! inhuman ! for another ! Thou shalt repent thy wretched choice, false man ! Crimes such as thine call loudly for perdition ; Heaven will inflict it, and not I ; but I Neither will fall alone nor live despised. [/4 trumpet sounds, Opas. Peace, Egilona ! he arrives : compose Thy turbid thoughts, meet him with dignity. Egilona. He ! in the camp of Julian ! trust me, sir, 70 He comes not hither, dares no longer use The signs of state, and flies from every foe. [Retires some distance. SECOND act: fifth scene. Enter MuzA and Abdalazis. Muza to jibdalazis. I saw him but an instant, and disguised. Yet this is not the traitor ; on his brow Observe the calm of wisdom and of years. Opas. Whom seekest thou ? Muza, Him who was king I seek. Count Julian. 27 He came array'd as herald to this tent. Abdala%is. Thy daughter ! was she nigh ? perhaps for her Was this disguise. Mu%a. Here, Abdalazis, kings Disguise from other causes ; they obtain lO Beauty by violence, and power by fraud. Treason was his intent : we must admit Whoever come ; our numbers are too small For question or selection, and the blood Of Spaniards shall win Spain for us to-day. Abdala'z'is. The wicked can not move from underneath Thy ruling eye. Mu%a. Right ! Julian and Roderigo Are leagued against us, on these terms alone. That Julian's daughter weds the Christian king. 20 Egilona [rushing forward). 'Tis true . . and I proclaim it. Abdala%is. Heaven and earth ! Was it not thou, most lovely, most high-souled, Who wishedst us success, and me a crown ? [^Opas goes ahriiptly. Egilona. I give it . . I am Egilona, queen Of that detested man. Ahdalazis. I touch the hand That chains down fortune to the throne of fate. And will avenge thee ; for 'twas thy command, 'Tis Heaven's. My father ! what retards our bliss ? 30 Why art thou silent ? Mu%a. Inexperienced years Rather would rest on the soft lap, I see. Of pleasure, after the fierce gusts of war. O destiny ! that callest me alone, Hapless, to keep the toilsome watch of state. Painful to age, unnatural to youth, Adverse to all society of friends, Equality, and liberty, and ease, The welcome cheer of the unbidden feast, 40 The gay reply, light, sudden, like the leap Of the young forester's unbended bow. But, above all, to tenderness at home, 2 8 Dramatic Scenes. And sweet security of kind concern Even from those who seem most truly ours. Who would resign all this, to be approacht, Like a sick infant by a canting nurse, To spread his arms in darkness, and to find One universal hollowness around ? Forego a little while that bane of peace : 50 Love may be cherisht. Abdalazis. 'Tis enough ; I ask No other boon. Mu%a. Not victory ? Ahdalavds. Farewell, queen ! I will deserve thee ; why do tears Silently drop, and slowly, down thy veil ? 1 shall return to worship thee, and soon ; Why this affliction ? O, that I alone Could raise or could repress it ! 60 Egilona. We depart. Nor interrupt your counsels, nor impede ; O may they prosper, whatsoe'er they be. And perfidy soon meet its just reward ! The infirm and peaceful Opas . . whither gone ? Muza. Stay, daughter ; not for counsel are we met. But to secure our arms from treachery, O'erthrow and stifle base conspiracies. Involve in his own toils our false ally . . Egilona. Author of every woe I have endured ! 70 Ah sacrilegious man ! he vowed to heaven None of his blood should ever mount the throne. Muza. Herein his vow indeed is ratified ; Yet faithful ears have heard this offer made. And weighty was the conference that ensued. And long, not dubious ; for what mortal e'er Refused alliance with illustrious power. Though some have given its enjoyments up, Tired and enfeebled by satiety ? His friends and partisans, 'twas his pretence, 80 Should pass uninterrupted ; hence his camp Is open every day to enemies. Count Julian. 29 You look around, O queen, as though you fear'd Their entrance. Julian I pursue no more ; You conquer him. Return we. I bequeath Ruin, extermination, not reproach. How we may best attain your peace and will We must consider in some other place. Not, lady, in the midst of snares and wiles How to supplant your charms and seize your crown. 90 I rescue it ; fear not. Yes, we retire. Whatever is your wish becomes my own, Nor is there in this land but who obeys. [i/f leads her away. THIRD ACT : FIRST SCENE. Palace in Xeres. RoDERiGO and Opas. Roderigo. Impossible ! she could not thus resign Me, for a miscreant of Barbary, A mere adventurer ; but that citron face Shall bleach and shrivel the whole winter long. There on yon cork-tree by the sallyport. She shall return. Opas. To fondness and to faith ? Dost thou retain them, if she could return ? Roderigo. Retain them ? she has forfeited by this All right to fondness, all to royalty. lo Opas. Consider and speak calmly : she deserves Some pity, some reproof. Roderigo. To speak then calmly. Since thine eyes open and can see her guilt . . Infamous and atrocious ! let her go . . Chains . . Opas. What ! in Muza's camp ? Roderigo. My scorn supreme ! Opas. Say pity. Roderigo. Ay, ay, pity : that suits best. 20 I loved her, but had loved her ; three whole years 30 Dramatic Scenes. Of pleasure, and of varied pleasure too, Had worn the soft impression half away. What I once felt, I would recall ; the faint Responsive voice grew fainter each reply : Imagination sank amid the scenes It labour'd to create : the vivid joy Of fleeting youth 1 follow'd and possest. 'Tis the first moment of the tenderest hour, 'Tis the first mien on entering new delights, 30 We give our peace, our power, our souls, for these. Opas. Thou hast ; and what remains ? Roderlgo. Roderigo : one Whom hatred can not reach nor love cast down.^ Opas. Nor gratitude nor pity nor remorse Call back, nor vows nor earth nor heaven controul. But art thou free and happy ? art thou safe ? By shrewd contempt the humblest may chastise Whom scarlet and its ermine can not scare, And the sword skulks for everywhere in vain. 40 Thee the poor victim of thy outrages. Woman, with all her weakness, may despise. Roderlgo. But first let quiet age have intervened. Opas. Ne'er will the peace or apathy of age Be thine, or twilight steal upon thy day. The violent choose, but cannot change, their end ; Violence, by man or nature, must be theirs ; Thine it must be ; and wiio to pity thee ? Roderigo. Behold my solace ! none. I want no pity. Opas. Proclaim we those the happiest of mankind 50 Who never knew a want ? O what a curse To thee this utter ignorance of thine ! Julian, whom all the good commiserate. Sees thee below him far in happiness. A state indeed of no quick restlessness, No glancing agitation, one vast swell Of melancholy, deep, impassable, \} G. reads: Roderlgo. Myself — Roderipo, Wliom hatrttd cannot reach nor lovu cast down.] Count Julian. 31 Interminable, where his spirit alone Broods and o'ershadows all, bears him from earth, And purifies his chasten'd soul for heaven. 60 Both heaven and earth shall from thy grasp recede. Whether on death or life thou arguest, Untutor'd savage or corrupted heathen Avows no sentiment so vile as thine. Roderigo. Nor feels ? Opas. O human nature ! I have heard The secrets of the soul, and pitied thee. Bad and accursed things have men confess'd Before me, but have left them unarrayed, Naked, and shivering with deformity. 70 The troubled dreams and deafening gush of youth Fling o'er the fancy, struggling to be free, Discordant and impracticable things : If the good shudder at their past escapes, Shall not the wicked shudder at their crimes ? They shall : and I denounce upon thy head God's vengeance : thou shalt rule this land no more. Roderigo. What ! my own kindred leave me and renounce me ! Opas. Kindred ? and is there any in our world So near us as those sources of all joy, 80 Those on whose bosom every gale of life Blows softly, who reflect our images In loveliness through sorrows and through age, And bear them onward far beyond the grave ? Roderigo. Methinks, most reverend Opas, not inapt Are these fair views ; arise they from Seville ? Opas. He who can scoff at them, may scoff at me. Such are we, that the Giver of all Good Shall, in the heart he purifies, possess The latest love ; the earliest, no, not there ! 90 I've known the firm and faithful : even from them Life's eddying spring shed the first bloom on earth. I pity them, but ask their pity too : I love the happiness of men, and praise And sanctify the blessings I renounce. 32 Dramatic Scenes. Roder'tgo. Yet would thy baleful influence undermine The heaven -appointed throne. Opas. The throne of guilt Obdurate, without plea, without remorse. Roder'tgo. What power hast thou ? perhaps thou soon wilt want lOO A place of refuge. Opas. Rather say, perhaps My place of refuge will receive me soon. Could I extend it even to thy crimes. It should be open ; but the wrath of heaven Turns them against thee and subverts thy sway : It leaves thee not, what wickedness and woe Oft in their drear communion taste together, Hope and repentance. Roder'tgo. But it leaves me arms, i i o Vigour of soul and body, and a race Subject by law and dutiful by choice, Whose hand is never to be holden fast Within the closing cleft of gnarled creeds ; No easy prey for these vile mitred Moors. I, who received thy homage, may retort Thy threats, vain prelate, and abase thy pride. Opas. Low must be those whom mortal can sink lower, Nor high are they whom human power may raise. Roder'tgo. Judge now : for hear the signal. I 20 Opas. And derides Thy buoyant heart the dubious gulphs of war ? Trumpets may sound, and not to victory. Roder'tgo. The traitor and his daughter feel my power. Opas. Just God ! avert it ! Roder'tgo. Seize this rebel priest. I will alone subdue my enemies. \_Goes out. THIRD ACT : SECOND SCENE. Ramiro and Osma enter from opposite sides. Ramlro. Where is the king ? his car is at the gate, His ministers attend him, but his foes Count Julian. 33 Are yet more prompt, nor will await delay. Osma. Nor need they, for he meets them as I speak. Ramiro. With all his forces ? or our cause is lost. Julian and Sisabert surround the walls. Osma. Surround, sayst thou I enter they not the gates ? Ramiro. Perhaps ere now they enter. Osma. Sisabert Brings him our prisoner. lo Ramiro. They are friends ! they held A parley ; and the soldiers, when they saw Count Julian, lower'd their arms and hail'd him king. Osma. How ? and he leads them in the name of king ? Ramiro. He leads them ; but amid that acclamation He turn'd away his head, and call'd for vengeance. Osma. In Sisabert, and in the cavalry He led, were all our hopes. Opas. Woe, woe is theirs Who have no other. 20 Osma. What are thine ? obey The just commands of our offended king : Conduct him to the tower • . off . . instantly. [Guard hesitates : Opas goes. Ramiro, let us haste to reinforce . . Ramiro. Hark ! is the king defeated ? hark ! Osma. I hear Such acclamation as from victory Arises not, but rather from revolt, Reiterated, inten-upted, lost. Favour like this his genius will retrieve 3c By time or promises or chastisement, Whiche'er he choose ; the speediest is the best. His danger and his glory let us share ; 'Tis ours to serve him. Ramiro. While he mles 'tis ours. What chariot-wheels are thundering o'er the bridge ? Osma. Roderigo's ; I well know them. Ramiro. Now, the burst Of acclamation ! now ! again, again. Osma. I know the voices ; they are for Roderigo. 40 VOL. I. g 34 Dramatic Scenes. Ram'tro. Stay, I entreat thee. One hath now prevail'd. So far is certain. Osma. Ay, the right prevails. Ramiro. Transient and vain their joyance who rejoice Precipitately and intemperately, And bitter thoughts grow up where'er it fell. Osma. Nor vain and transient theirs who idly float Down popularity's unfertile stream. And fancy all their own that rises round. Ramiro. If thou yet lovest, as I know thou dost, 50 Thy king . . Osma. I love him ; for he owes me much, Brave soul ! and can not, though he would, repay. Service and faith, pure faith and service hard, Throughout his reign, if these things be desert, These have I borne toward him, and still bear. Ramiro. Come, from thy solitary eyrie come, And share the prey, so plenteous and profuse, Which a less valorous brood will else consume. Much fruit is shaken down in civil storms : 60 And shall not orderly and loyal hands Gather it up ? [Loud Shouts.) Again! and yet refuse ? How different are those citizens without From thee ! from thy serenity ! thy arch. Thy firmament, of intrepidity ! For their new lord, whom they have never served. Afraid were they to shout, and only struck The pavement with their ferrels and their feet : Now they are certain of the great event Voices and hands they raise, and all contend 70 Who shall be bravest in applauding most. Knowest thou these ? Osma. Their voices I know well . . And can they shout for him they would have slain ? A prince untried they welcome ; soon their doubts Are blown afar, Ramiro. Yes, brighter scenes arise. The disunited he alone unites. The weak with hope he strengthens, and the strong Count Julian. 35 With justice. 8o Osma. Wait : praise him when time hath given A soundness and consistency to praise : He shares it amply who bestows it right. Ram'iro. Doubtest thou ? Osma. Be it so : let us away ; New courtiers come. Ram'iro. And why not join the new ? Let us attend him and congratulate ; Come on ; they enter. Osma. This is now my post go No longer : I could face them in the field, I can not here. Ram'iro. To-morrow all may change ; Be comforted. Osma. I want nor change nor comfort. Ram'iro. The prisoner's voice ! Osma. The metropolitan's ? Triumph he may . . not over me forgiven. This way, and thro' the chapel : none are there. \_Goes out. THIRD act: third SCENE. Opas and Sisabert. Opas. The royal threat still sounds along these halls : Hardly his foot hath past them, and he flees From his own treachery ; all his pride, his hopes, Are scatter'd at a breath ; even courage fails Now falsehood sinks from under him. Behold, Again art thou where reign'd thy ancestors ; Behold the chapel of thy earliest prayers. Where I, whose chains are sunder'd at thy sight Ere they could close around these aged limbs, Received and blest thee, when thy mother's arm lo Was doubtful if it loost thee ! with delight Have I observed the promises we made Deeply impressed and manfully perform'd. 36 Dramatic Scenes. Now, to thyself beneficent, O prince. Never henceforth renew those weak complaints Against Covilla's vows and Julian's faith, His honour broken, and her heart estranged. O, if thou boldest peace or glory dear. Away with jealousy ; brave Sisabert, Smite from thy bosom, smite that scorpion down : 20 It swells and hardens amid mildew'd hopes, O'erspreads and blackens whate'er most delights. And renders us, haters of loveliness, The lowest of the fiends ; ambition led The higher on, furious to dispossess. From admiration sprung and frenzied love. This disengenuous soul-debasing passion, Rising from abject and most sordid fear. Consumes the vitals, pines, and never dies. For Julian's truth have I not pledged my own ? ^ 30 Have I not sworn Covilla weds no other ? Sisabert. Her persecutor have not I chastised ? Have not I fought for Julian, won the town, And liberated thee f Opas. But left for him The dangers of pursuit, of ambuscade. Of absence from thy high and splendid name. Sisabert. Do probity and truth want such supports ? Opas. Gryphens and eagles, ivory and gold, Can add no clearness to the lamp above, 40 [1 G. reads here : Rising from abject and most sordid fear Stings her own breast with l)itter self-reproof. Consumes the vitals, pines, and never dies. Love, honour, justice, numberless the forms, Glorious and high the stature she assumes ; But watch the wandering, ciiangeful mischief well. And thou shalt see her, with low, lurid light, Search where the souls most valued treasure lies, Or, more embodied to our vision, stand With evil eye, and sorcery hers alone Looking away her helpless progeny. And drawing poison from its very smiles. For Julian's truth have I not pledged my own ?] Count Julian. 37 But many look for them in palaces Who have them not, and want them not, at home. Virtue and valour and experience Are never trusted by themselves alone Further than infancy and idiocy : The men around him, not the man himself, Are lookt at, and by these is he preferr'd. 'Tis the green mantle of the warrener And his loud whistle that alone attract The lofty gazes of the noble herd : 50 And thus, without thy countenance and help Feeble and faint is yet our confidence, Brief perhaps our success. Sisabert. Should I resign To Abdalazis her I once adored ? He truly, he must wed a Spanish queen ! He mle in Spain ! ah ! whom could any land Obey so gladly as the meek, the humble, The friend of all who have no friend beside, Covilla ! could he choose or could he find 60 Another who might so confirm his power ? And now indeed from long domestic wars Who else survives of all our ancient house ? Opas. But Egilona. Sisabert. Vainly she upbraids Roderigo. Opas. She divorces him, abjures. And carries vengeance to that hideous highth Which piety and chastity would shrink To look from, on the world or on themselves. 70 Sisabert. She may forgive him yet. Opas. Ah, Sisabert ! Wretched are those a woman haff forgiven : With her forgiveness ne'er hath love return'd. Ye know not till too late the filmy tie That holds heaven's precious boon eternally To such as fondly cherish her ; once go Driven by mad passion, strike but at her peace. And, though she step aside from broad reproach. 38 Dramatic Scenes. Yet every softer virtue dies away. 80 Beaming with virtue inaccessible Stood Egilona ; for her lord she lived, And for the heavens that raised her sphere so high ; All thoughts were on her, all, beside her own. Negligent as the blossoms of the field, Array'd in candour and simplicity, Before her path she heard the streams of joy Murmur her name in all their cadences. Saw them in every scene, in light, in shade, Reflect her image, but acknowledged them 90 Hers most complete when flowing from her most. All things in want of her, herself of none. Pomp and dominion lay beneath her feet Unfelt and unregarded. Now behold The earthly passions war against the heavenly ! Pride against love, ambition and revenge Against devotion and compliancy : Her glorious beams adversity hath blunted ; And coming nearer to our quiet view. The original clay of coarse mortality 1 00 Hardens and flaws around her. Sisabert. Every germ Of virtue perishes when love recedes From those hot shifting sands, the female heart. Opas. His was the fault ; be his the punishment. 'Tis not their own crimes only, men commit. They harrow them into another's breast, And they shall reap the bitter growth with pain. Sisabert. Yes, blooming royalty will first attract These creatures of the desert. Now I breathe I 10 More freely. She is theirs if I pursue The fugitive again. He well deserves The death he flies from. Stay ! Don .Julian twice Call'd him aloud, and he, mcthinks, replied. Could not I have remain'd a moment more And seen the end ? although with hurried voice He bade me intercept the scattered foes. And hold the city barr'd to their return. Count Julian. 39 May Egilona be another's wife Whether he die or live ! but oh ! Covilla ! 120 She never can be mine ! yet she may be Still happy . . no, Covilla, no . . not happy. But more deserving happiness without it. Mine never ! nor another's. 'Tis enough. The tears I shed no rival can deride ; In the fond intercourse a name once cherisht Will never be defended by faint smiles, Nor given up with vows of alter'd love. And is the passion of my soul at last Reduced to this ? is this my happiness ? 1 30 This my sole comfort ? this the close of all Those promises, those tears, those last adieus. And those long vigils for the morrow's dawn ? Opas. Arouse thee ! be thyself. O Sisabert, Awake to glory from these fevei'ish dreams : The enemy is in our land ; two enemies ; We must quell both : shame on us if we fail. Sisabert. Incredible ! a nation be subdued Peopled as ours. Opas. Corruption may subvert 1 40 What force could never. Sisabert. Traitors may. Opas. Alas ! If traitors can, the basis is but frail. I mean such traitors as the vacant world Echoes most stunningly : not fur-robed knaves Whose whispers raise the dreaming bloodhound's ear Against benighted famisht wanderers. While with remorseless guilt tht^y undermine Palace and shed, their very father's house. 1 50 O blind ! their own, their children's heritage, To leave more ample space for fearful wealtii. Plunder in some most harmless guise they swathe, Call it some very meek and hallow'd name. Some known and borne by their good forefathers. And own and vaunt it thus rcdeem'd from sin. These are the plagues heaven sends o'er every land 40 Dramatic Scenes, Before it sink . . the portents of the street, Not of the air . . lest nations should complain Of distance or of dimness in the signs, 1 60 Flaring from far to Wisdom's eye alone : These are the last : these, when the sun rides high In the forenoon of doomsday, revelling. Make men abhor the earth, arraign the skies. Ye who behold them spoil field after field. Despising them in individual strength, Not with one torrent sweeping them away Into the ocean of eternity. Arise ! despatch ! no renovating gale, No second s])ring awaits you : up, begone, i jo If you have force and courage even for flight. The blast of dissolution is behind. Sisahert. How terrible i how true ! what voice like thine Can rouse and warn the nation ! If she rise. Say, whither go, where stop we ? Opas. God will guide. Let us pursue the oppressor to destruction ; The rest is heaven's : must we move no step Because we can not see the boundaries Of our long way, and every stone between ? 1 80 Sisahert. Is not thy vengeance for the late affront, For threats and outrage and imprisonment ? Opas. For outrage, yes ; imi)risonment and threats I pardon him, and whatsoever ill He could do me, Sisahert. To hold Covilla from me ! To urge her into vows against her faith, Against her beauty, youth, and inclination. Without her mother's blessing, nay, without Her father's knowledge and authority, igo So that she never will behold me more, Flying afar for refuge and for help Where never friend but God will comfort her ! Opas. These and more barbaious deeds weie jierpetrated. Sisahert. Yet her proud father deign'd not to inform Me, whom he loved and taught, in peace and war, Count Julian. 41 Me, whom he called his son before I hoped To merit it by marriage or by arms. tie ofFer'd no excuse, no plea ; exprest No sorrow ; but with firm unfaltering voice 200 Commanded me . . I trembled as he spoke . . To follow where he led, redress his wrongs, And vindicate the honour of his child. He call'd on God, the witness of his cause, On Spain the partner of his victories ; And yet amid these animating words Roll'd the huge tear down his unvisor'd face ; A general swell of indignation rose Thro' the long line, sobs burst from every breast. Hardly one voice succeeded ; you might hear 2 i o The impatient hoof strike the soft sandy plain. But when the gates flew open, and the king In his high car came forth triumphantly. Then was Count Julian's stature more elate ; Tremendous was the smile that smote the eyes Of all he past. ' Fathers, and sons, and brothers,^ He cried, ' I Jight your batdes,folloiv me / Soldiers ive knoiv no danger but disgrace ! ' * Father, and general, and king,^ they shout, And would proclaim him : back he cast his face, 220 Pallid with grief, and one loud groan burst forth ; It kindled vengeance thro' the Asturian ranks, And they soon scatter'd, as the blasts of heaven Scatter the leaves and dust, the astonisht foe. Opas. And doubtest thou his truth ? Sisabert. I love . . and doubt . . Fight . . and believe : Roderigo spoke untmths ; In him I place no trust ; but Julian holds Truths in reserve : how should I quite confide ! Opas. By sorrows thou beholdest him opprest ; 230 Doubt the more prosperous. March, Sisabert, Once more against his enemy and ours : Much hath been done, but much there yet remains. 42 Dramatic Scenes. FOURTH ACT : FIRST SCENE. Tent o/" Julian. RoDERiGO and Julian. Julian. The people had deserted thee, and throng'd ^ My standai"d, had I raised it, at the first ; But once subsiding, and no voice of mine Calling by name each grievance to each man. They, silent and submissive by degrees, Bore thy hard yoke, and hadst thou but opprest. Would still have borne it : thou hast now deceived ; Thou hast done all a foreign foe could do And more against them ; with ingratitude Not hell itself could arm the foreign foe ; lo 'Tis forged at home and kills not fiom afar. Amid whate'er vain glories fell upon Thy rainbow span of power, which I dissolve, Boast not how thou conferrcdst wealth and rank, How thou preservedst me, my family. All my distinctions, all my offices. When Witiza was murder'd ; that I stand Count Julian at this hour by special grace. The sword of Julian saved the walls of Ceuta, And not the shadow that attends his name : 20 It was no badge, no title, that o'erthrew Soldier and steed and engine. Don Roderigo ! The truly and the falsely great here differ : These by dull wealth or daring fraud advance ; Him the Almiglily calls amid his i)eople To sway the wills and passions of mankind. The weak of heart and intellect beheld 1 [G. begins this act. Jidiiin. 'I'o stop pL'rIiaps at any wickedness Appears a merit now, and at tlie time Prudence or policy it often is Whicii afterwards seems magnanimity. The people had deserted thee, &c.] Count Julian. 43 Thy splendour, and adored thee lord of Spain : I rose . . Roderlgo lords o'er Spain no more. Roderigo. Now to a traitor's add a boaster's name. 30 Julian. Shameless and arrogant, dost thou believe I boast for pride or pastime ? forced to boast, Truth cost me more than falsehood e'er cost thee. Divested of that purple of the soul, That potency, that palm of wise ambition, Cast headlong by thy madness from that high. That only eminence 'twixt earth and heaven, Virtue, which some desert, but none despise, Whether thou art beheld again on earth, Whether a captive or a fugitive, 40 Miner or galley-slave, depends on me ; But he alone who made me v/hat I am Can make me greater or can make me less. Roderigo. Chance, and chance only, threw me in thy power ; Give me my sword again and try my strength. Julian. I tried it in the front of thousands. Roderigo. Death At least vouchsafe me from a soldier's hand. Julian. I love to heai- thee ask it : now my own Would not be bitter ; no, nor immature. 50 Roderigo. Defy it, say thou rather. Julian. Death itself Shall not be granted thee, unless from God ; A dole from his and from no other hand. Thou shalt now hear and own thine infamy. Roderigo. Chains, dungeons, tortures . . but I hear no more. Julian. Silence, thou v/retch ! live on . . ay, live . . abhoiT'd. Thou shalt have tortures, dungeons, chains enough ; They naturally rise and grow around Monsters like thee, everywhere, and for ever. 60 Roderigo. Insulter of the fallen ! must I endure Commands as well as threats ? my vassal's too ? Nor breathe from underneath his trampling feet ? 44 Dramatic Scenes. Julian. Could I speak patiently who speak to thee, I would say more : part of thy punishment It should be, to be taught. Roder'igo. Reserve thy wisdom Until thy patience come, its best ally : I learn no lore, of peace or war, from thee. Julian. No, thou shalt study soon another tongue, 70 And suns more ardent shall mature thy mind. Either the cross thou bearest, and thy knees Among the silent caves of Palestine Wear the shai^p flints away with midnight prayer, Or thou shalt keep the fasts of Barbary, Shalt wait amid the crowds that throng the well From sultry noon till the skies fade again, To draw up water and to bring it home In the crackt gourd of some vile testy knave. Who spurns thee back with bastinaded foot 80 For ignorance or delay of his command. Roder'tgo. Rather the poison or the bowstring. Julian. Slaves To other's passions die such deaths as those : Slaves to their own should die . . Roder'igo. What worse ? Julian. Their own. Roderigo. Is this thy counsel, renegade ? Julian. Not mine : I point a better path, nay, force thee on. 90 I shelter thee from every bi- I. reads: "mailed knee."] The Death of Clytemnestra. 85 THE DEATH OF CLYTEMNESTRA. Orestes mul Electra. Electro. Pass on, my brother ! she awaits the wretch, Dishonorer, despoiler, murderer. . . None other name shall name him. . . she awaits As would a lover. Heavenly Gods. . . what poison O'erflows my lips ! . . . Adultress ! husband-slayer. Strike her, the tigress ! Think upon our father. . . Give the sword scope . . think what a man was he. i o How fond of her ! how kind to all about, That he might gladden and teach us . . how proud Of thee, Orestes tossing thee above His joyous head and calling thee his crown. Ah ! boys remember not what melts our hearts And marks them evermore ! Bite not thy lip. Nor tramp as an unsteady colt the ground. Nor stare against the wall, but think again How better than all fathers was our father. 20 Go. . . Orestes. Loose me then ! for this white hand Electia Hath fastened upon mine with iiercer grasp Than mine can grasp the sword. Electra. Go, sweet Orestes ! I knew not I was holding thee. . . Avenge him ! i^Alone.) How he sprang from me ! . . Sure, he now has reacht The room before the bath. . . The bath door creaks ! 30 . . It hath creakt thus since he . . since thou, O father ! Ever since thou didst loosen its strong valves Either with all thy dying weight or strength 86 Dramatic Scenes. Agonised with her stabs. . . What plunge was that ? Ah me ! . . What groans are those ? Orestes. [Returning.) They sound through hell, Rejoicing the Eumenides.* She slew 40 Our father : she made thee the scorn of slaves ; Me (son of him who ruled this land and more) She made an outcast. . Would I had been so For ever ! ere such vengeance. . . Electra. O that Zeus Had let thy arm fall sooner at thy side Without those drops ! list ! they are audible, For they are many . . from the sword's point falling And down from the mid blade ! 50 Too rash Orestes ! Couldst thou not then have spared our wretched mother ? Orestes. The Gods could not. Electra. She was not theirs, Orestes. Orestes. And didst not thou. . . Electra. 'Twas I, 'twas I, who did it ; Of our unhappiest house the most unhappy! Under this roof, by every God accursed. There is no j^rief, there is no guilt, but mine. Orestes. Electra ! no ! 60 'Tis now my time to suffer. . Mine be, with all its pangs, the righteous deed. * An ancient sclioliast has recorded that the name of Eumenides was given to these Goddesses after the expiation ot Orestes. But Catullus (called the learned by his countrymen) represents Ariadne invoking them by this appellation long before the Trojan war. The verses are the most majestic in the Roman language. Eumenides! quarum anguineis redimita capillis Frons expirantes praeportat pectoris iras, Hue, hue adventate ! &c. The Madness of Orestes. 87 THE MADNESS OF ORESTES. Orestes and Electra. Orestes. Heavy and murderous dreams, O my Electra, Have dragged me from myself. Is this Mycenai ? Are we . . are all who should be in our house ? Living ? unhurt ? our father here I our mother ? Why that deep gasp ? for 'twas not sigh nor groan. She then . . . 'twas she who fell ! when ? How ? Beware ! No, no, speak out at once, that my full heart May meet it, and may share with thee in all . . In all . . . but that one thing. lO It was a dream. We may share all. They live ? both live ? say it ! Electra. The Gods have placed them from us, and there rolls Between us that dark river . . . Orestes. Blood ! blood ! blood ! 1 see it roll ; I see the hand above it, Imploring ; I see her. Hiss me not back, 20 Ye snake-hair'd maids ! I will look on ; I will Hear the words gurgle thro' that cursed stream, And catch that hand . . that hand . . . which slew my father ! It can not be ... . how could it slay my father ? Death to the slave who spoke it ! . . . slay my father ! It tost me up to him to earn a smile. And was a smile then such a precious boon, And royal state and proud affection nothing ? Ay, and thee too, Electra, she once taught To take the sceptre from him at the door ... 30 Not the bath-door, not the bath-door, mind that ! , And place it in the vestibule, against 88 Dramatic Scenes. The spear of Pallas, where it used to stand. Where is it now ? methinks I missed it there. How we have trembled to be seen to mo\ e it ! Both looking up, lest that stern face should frown Which always gazed on Zeus right opposite. O ! could but one tear more fall from my eyes, It would shake off these horrid visages, And melt them into air. 40 I am not yours. Fell Goddesses ! A just and generous power, A bright-hair'd God directed me. And thus Abased is he whom such a God inspired ! [ After a pause. Into whose kingdom went they \ did they go Together ? Electra. Oh ! they were not long apart. Orestes. I know why thou ait pale ; I know whose head Thy flower-like hands have garlanded ; I know 50 For whom thou hast unbraided all thy love. He well deserves it . . He shall have it all. Glory and love shall crown thee, my brave sister ! Electra. I am not she of Sparta. Let me live (If live I must, Orestes !) not unnamed Nor named too often • . speak no more of love. Ill-omened and opprobrious in this house . . A mother should have had, a father had it, may a brother let it dwell with him, Uncliangeable, unquestioned, solitary, 60 Strengthened and hallowed in the depths of grief ! Gaze not so angrily . . I dare not see thee, 1 dare not look where comfort should be found. Orestes. I dare and do behold them all day long, And, were that face away so like my mother's, I would advance and question and compel them . . They hear me and they know it. Electra. Hear me too, Ye mighty ones ! To me invisible ! And spare him ! spare him ! for without the Gods 70 The Madness of Orestes. 89 He wrought not what he wrought : And are not ye Partakers of their counsels and their power ? spare the son of him whom ye and they Sent against Ilion, to perform your will And bid the rulers of the earth be just. Orestes. And dare they frighten thee too ? frighten thee ? And bend thee into prayer ? Off, hateful eyes ! Look upon me, not her. Ay, thus ; 'tis well. 8o Cheer, cheer thee, my Electra. I am stiong. Stronger than ever . . steel, fire, adamant . . But cannot bear thy brow upon my neck. Can not bear these wild writhings, these loud sobs. By all the Gods ! I think thou art half mad. . . 1 must away . . follow me not . . stand there ! THE PRAYER OF ORESTES. Ores/es. O King Apollo ! God Apollo ! god Powerful to smite and powerful to preserve ! If there is blood upon me, as there seems, go Purify that black stain (thou only canst) With every rill that bubbles from these caves Audibly ; and come willing to the work. No ; 'tis not they ; 'tis blood ; 'tis blood again That bubbles in my ear, that shakes the shades Of thy dark groves, and lets in hateful gleams, Bringing me . . What dread sight ! What sound abhorr'd ! What screams ! They are my mother's: 'Tis her eye That through the snakes of those three furies glares. And makes them hold their peace that she may speak. i oo Has thy voice bidden them all forth ? they slink, Some that would hide away, but must turn back. And others like blue lightnings bound along From rock to rock ; and many hiss at me As they draw neaier. Earth, fire, water, all 90 Dramatic Scenes. Abominate the deed of Gods commanded. Alas ! I came to pray, not to complain ; And lo ! my speech is impious as my deed ! THE PRIESTESS OF APOLLO. Take refuge here amid our Delphian shades, O troubled breast ! i lO Here the most pious of Mycenai's maids Shall watch thy rest And wave the cooling laurel o'er thy brow. Nor insects swarm Shall ever break thy slumbers, nor shalt thou Start at the alarm Of boys infesting (as they do) the street With mocking songs, Stopping and importuning all they meet, And heaping wrongs 120 Upon thy diadem'd and sacred head, Worse than when base CEgisthus (shudder not ! ) his toils outspread Around thy race. Altho' even in this fane tlie fitful blast Thou may'st hear roar. Thy name among our highest rocks shall last For ever more. Orestes. A calm comes over me : life brings it not With any of its tides : my end is near. i 30 O Priestess of the purifying god Receive her ij)oint'trig to his sister), and when she hath closed mine eyes, Do thou (weep not, my father's child !) close hers. Tyrrel and Rufus. 91 WALTER TYRREL AND WILLIAM RUFUS. Rufus. Tyrrel, spur onward ! we must not await The laggard lords : when they have heard the dogs I warrant they will follow fast enough, Each for his haunch. Thy roan is mettlesome ; How the rogue sides up to me, and claims Acquaintance with young Yorkshire ! not afraid Of wrinkling lip, nor ear laid down like grass By summer thunder-shower on Windsor mead. Tyrrel. Behold, my liege ! hither they troop amain. Over yon gap. lo Rufus. Over my pales ? the dolts Have broken down my pales ! Tyrrel. Please you, my liege, Unless they had, they must have ridden round Eleven miles. Rufus. Why not have ridden round Eleven miles ? or twenty, were there need. By our Lady ! they shall be our carpenters And mend what they have marr'd. At any time I can make fifty lords ; but who can make 20 As many head of deer, if mine escape ? And sure they will, unless they too are mad. Call me that bishop . . him with hunting-cap Surcharged with cross, and scarlet above knee. Tyrrel {^galloping forward.) Ho ! my lord bishop ! Bishop. Who calls me ? Tyrrel. Your slave. Bishop. Well said, if toned as well and timed as well. Who art thou ? citizen or hind I what wantest ? Tyrrel. My lord ; your presence ; but before the king ; 30 92 Dramatic Scenes. Where it may grow more placid at its leisure. The mora is only streakt with red, my lord ! You beat her out and out : how prettily You wear your stocking over head and ears ! Keep off the gorse and broom ! they soon catch fire ! Bishop. The king shall hear of this : I recognise Sir Walter Tyrrel. TyrrcL And Sir Walter Tyrrel By the same token duly recognises The Church's well-begotten son, well-fed, 40 Well-mounted, and all well, except well-spoken, The spiritual lord of Winchester. Bishop. Ay, by God's grace ! pert losel ! Tyrrel. Prick along Lord bishop ! quicker ! catch fresh air ! we want it ; We have had foul enough till dinner-time. Bishop. Varlet ! I may chastise this insolence. Tyrrel. I like those feathers : but there crows no cock Without an answer. Though the noisiest throat Sings from the belfrey of snug Winchester, 50 Yet he from Westminster hath stouter spurs. Bishop. God's blood ! were I no bishop . . Tyrrel. Then thy own Were cooler. Bishop. Whip that hound aside ! O Christ ! The beast has paw'd my housings ! What a day For dirt ! Tyrrel. The scent lies well ; pity no more The housings ; look, my lord ! here trots the king ! Rufus. Which ot you broke my palings down ? 60 Bishop. God knows, Most gracious sir. Rufus. No doubt he docs ; but you. Bishop ! could surely teach us what God knows. Ride back and order some score handicrafts 1\) fix tht-m in their places. Bishop. Tlie command Of our most gracious king shall be obeyed. \_Ri(ling off. Malisons on the atheist ! Who can tell Tyrrel and Rufus. 93 Where are my squires and other men ? confused 70 Among the servitors of temporal lords ! I must e'en turn again and hail that brute. Sir Walter ! good Sir Walter ! one half-word ! [Tyrrel rides to'ward him. Sir Walter ! may I task your courtesy To find me any of m.y followers I Tyrrel. Willingly. Rufus. Stay with me ; I want thee, Tyrrel ! What does the bishop bogle at ? Tyrrel. At nothing. He seeks his people, to retrieve the damage. 80 Rufus. Where are the lords ? Tyrrel. Gone past your grace, bare-headed, And falling in the rear. Rufus. Well, prick then on. I care but little for the chase to-day, Although the scent lies sweetly. To knock down My paling is vexatious. We must see Our great improvements in this forest ; what Of roads blockt up, of hamlets swept away, Of lurking dens called cottages, and cells, 90 And hermitages. Tyrrel ! thou didst right And dutifully, to remove the house Of thy forefathers. 'Twas an odd request To leave the dovecote for the sake of those Flea-bitten blind old pigeons. There it stands ! But, in God's name ! what mean these hives ? the bees May sting my dogs. Tyrrel. They hunt not in the summer. Rufus. They may torment my fawns. Tyrrel. Sir, not unless i oo Driven from their hives : they like the flowers much better. Rufus. Flowers ! and leave flowers too ! Tyrrel. Only some half-wild. In tangled knots ; balm, clary, marjoram. Rufus. What lies beyond this close briar hedge, that smells Through the thick dew upon it, pleasantly ? Tyrrel. A poor low cottage : the dry marl -pit shields it, 94 Dramatic Scenes. And, frail and unsupported like itself, Peace-breathing honeysuckles comfort it In its misfortunes. ilO Rufus. I am fain to laugh At thy rank minstrelsy. A poor low cottage ! Only a poor low cottage ! where, I ween, A poor low maiden blesses Walter Tyrrel. Tyrrel. It may be so. Rufus. No ; it may not be so. My orders were that all should be removed ; And, out of special favour, special trust In thee. Sir Walter, I consign'd the care Into thy own hands, of razing thy own house 120 And those about it ; since thou hast another Fairer and newer, and more lands around. Tyrrel. Hall, chapel, chamber, cellar, turret, grange. Are level with the grass. Rufus. What negligence To leave the work then incomplete, when little Was there remaining ! Strip that roof, and start Thy petty game from cover. Tyrrel. O my liege ! Command not this ! 1 30 Rufus. Make me no confidant Of thy base loves. Tyrrel. Nor you, my liege ! nor any : None such hath Walter Tyrrel. Rufus. Thou 'rt at bay ; Thou hast forgotten thy avowal, man ! Tyrrel. My father's house is (like my father) gone : But in that house, and from that father's heart Mine grew into his likeness, and held thence Its rich possessions . . God forgive my boast! 140 He bade me help the needy, raise the low . . Rufus. And stand against thy king ! Tyrrel. How many yokes Of oxen, from how many villages For miles around, brought I, at my own charge, To bear away the rafters and the beams Tyrrel and Rufus. 95 That were above my cradle at my birth, And rang when I was christened, to the carouse Of that glad father and his loyal fiiends ! Rufus. He kept good cheer, they tell me. 150 Tyrrel. Yonder thatch Covers the worn-out woman at whose breast I hung, an infant. Rufus. Ay ! and none beside ? Tyrrel. Four sons have fallen in the wars. Rufus. Brave dogs ! Tyrrel. She hath none left. Rufus. No daughter ! Tyrrel. One. Rufus. I thought it. Unkennel her. 1 6 1 Tyrrel. Grace ! pity ! mercy on her ! Rufus. I will not have hot scents about my chase. Tyrrel. A virtuous daughter of a virtuous mother Deserves not this, my liege ! Rufus. Am I to learn What any subject at my hand deserves ? Tyrrel. Happy, who dares to teach it, and who can ! Rufus. And thou, forsooth ! Tyrrel. I have done my duty, sire ! 170 Rufus. Not half: perform the rest, or bide my wrath. Tyrrel. What, break athwart my knee the staff of age ? Rufus. Question me, villain ! Tyrrel. Villain I am none. Rufus. Retort my words ! By all the saints ! thou diest. False traitor ! Tyrrel. Sire, no private wrong, no word Spoken in angriness, no threat against My life or honour, urge me . . Rufus. Urge to what ? 1 80 Dismountest ? Tyrrel. On my knees, as best beseems, I ask . . not pardon, sire ! but spare, oh spare The child devoted, the deserted mother ! Rufus. Take her ; take both. 96 Dramatic Scenes. Tyrrel. She loves her home ; her limbs Fail her ; her husband sleeps in that churchyard ; Her youngest child, born many years the last, Lies (not half-length) along the father's coffin. Such separate love grows stronger in the stem 190 (I have heard say) than others close together. And that, where pass these funerals, all life's spring Vanishes from behind them, all the fruits Of riper age are shrivel'd, every sheaf Husky ; no gleaning left. She would die here, Where from her bed she looks on his ; no more Able to rise, poor little soul ! than he. Rufus. Who would disturb them, child or father ? where Is the churchyard thou speakest of? Tyrrel. Among 200 Yon nettles : we have level'd all the graves. Rufus. Right : or our horses might have stumbled on them. Tyrrel. Your grace oft spares the guilty ; spare the innocent ! Rufus. Up from the dew ! thy voice is hoarse already. Tyrrel. Yet God hath heard it. It entreats again, Once more, once only ; spare this wretched house. Rufus. No, nor thee neither. Tyrrel. Speed me, God ! and judge O thou 1 between the oppressor and opprest ! \_He pierces Rufus ivtth an arroiv. The Parents of Luther. 97 THE PARENTS OF LUTHER. John Luther. I left thee, Margaretta, fast asleep, Thou, who wert always earlier than myself, Yet hast no mine to trudge to, hast no wedge To sharpen at the forge, no pickaxe loose In handle. Come, blush not again : thy cheeks May now shake off those blossoms which they bore So thick this morning that last night's avowal Nestles among them still. So, in few months lo A noisier bird partakes our whispering bower \ Say it again. Margaretta. And, in my dream, I blush'd ! John. Idler ! wert dreaming too ? and after dawn ? Marg. In truth was I. John. Of me ? Marg. No, not of you. John. No matter ; for methinks some Seraph's wing Fann'd that bright countenance. Marg. Methinks it did. 20 And stir'd my soul within. How could you go And never say good-bye, and give no kiss ? John. It might have waken'd thee. I can give more Kisses than sleep : so thinking, I heav'd up Slowly my elbow from above the pillow. And, when I saw it woke thee not, went forth. Marg. I would have been awaken'd for a kiss. And a good-bye, or either, if not both. VOL. I. G 98 Dramatic Scenes. John. Thy dreams were not worth much then. 30 Marg. Few dreams are ; But . . John. By my troth ! I will intrench upon The woman's dowry, and will contradict, Tho' I should never contradict again. I have got more from dreams a hundred-fold Than all the solid earth, than field, than town, Than (the close niggard purse that cramps my fist) The mine will ever bring me. Marg. So have I, 40 And so shall each Indeed, if this be true. John. What was it then ? for when good dreams befall The time of heart, 'tis likely they come true. A vein of gold ? ay ? silver ? copper ? iron ? Lead ? sulphur ? alum ? alabaster ? coal i^ Shake not those ringlets nor let down those eyes, Tho' they look prettier for it, but speak out. True, these are not thy dainties. Marg. Guess again. John. Crystalline kitchens, amber-basted spits, 50 Whizzing with frothy savory salamanders. And swans that might (so plump and pleasant-looking) Swim in the water from the mouths of knights ; And ostrich-eggs off coral woods (the nests Outside of cinnamon, inside of saffron. And mortar'd well, for safety-sake with myn-h), Serv'd up in fern-leaves green before the Flood ? Marg. Stuff! you will never guess it, I am sure. John. No ? and yet these are well worth dreaming of. Marg. Try once again. 60 John. Faith ! it is kind to lot me. Under-ground beer-cascades from Nuremberg ? Rhine vintage stealing from Electoral cellars. And, broader than sea-baths for mermaid brides. With fluits upon the surface strides across, Pink conchs, to catch it and to light it down ; And music from basaltic organ-pipes For dancing ; and five fairies to one man. The Parents of Luther. 99 Marg. Oh his wild fancies ! . . Are they innocent ? John. I think I must be near it by that shrug. 70 Spicy sack-posset, roaring from hot springs And running off like mad thro' candied cliffs, But catching now and then some fruit that drops . . Shake thy head yet ? why then thou hast the palsy. Zooks ! I have thought of all things probable And come to my wits' end. What canst thou mean ? Marg. Nay, I have half a mind now not to tell. John. Then it is out . . Thy whole one ill could hold it. A woman's mind hates pitch upon its seams. Marg. Hush ! one word more, and then my lips are closed. [ 80 John. Pish ! one more word, and then my lips . . Marg. O rare Impudent man ! . . and such discourse from you ! I dreamt we had a boy . . John. A wench, a wench . . A boy were not like thee. Marg. I said a boy. John. Well, let us have him, if we miss the girl. Marg. My father told me he must have a boy. And call him Martin (his own name) because 90 Saint Martin both was brave and cloth'd the poor. John. Hurrah then for Saint Martin ! he shall have Enough to work on in this house of ours. Marg. Now do not laugh, dear husband ! but this dream Seem'd somewhat more. John. So do all dreams, ere past. Marg. Well, but it seems so still. John. Ay, twist my fingers, Basketing them to hold it. Marg. Never grave ! 100 John. I shall be. Marg. That one thought should make you now. John. And that one tap upon the cheek to boot. Marg. I do believe, if you were call'd to Heaven You would stay toying here. John. I doubt I should. lOO Dramatic Scenes. Methinks I set my back against the gate Thrown open to me by this rosy hand, And look both ways, but see more heaven than earth : Give me thy dream : thou puttest it aside : i i o I must be feasted : fetch it forth at once. Marg. Husband ! I dreamt the child was in my arms. And held a sword, which from its little grasp I could not move, nor you : I dreamt that proud But tottering shapes in pui-ple filigree Pull'd at it, and he laught. John. They frighten'd thee ? Marg. Frighten'd me ! no : the infant's strength pre- vail'd. Devils, with angels' faces, throng'd about ; Some ofFer'd flowers, and some held cups behind, 120 And some held daggers under silken stoles. John. These frighten'd thee, however. Marg. He knew all ; I knew he did. John. A dream ! a dream indeed ! He knew and laught ! Marg. He sought his mother's breast, And lookt at them no longer. All the room Was fill'd with light and gladness. 1 30 John. He shall be Richer than we are ; he shall mount his horse . . A feat above his father ; and be one Of the duke's spearmen. Marg. God forbid ! they lead Unrighteous lives, and often fall untimely. John. A lion-hearted lad shall Martin be. Marg. God willing ; if his servant ; but not else. I have such hopes, full hopes, hopes overflowing. John. A grave grand man, half collar and half cross, 140 With chain enough to hold our mastiff by. Thou fain wouldst have him. Out of dirt so stiff Old Satan fashioneth his idol, Pride. Marg. If proud and cruel to the weak, and bent The Parents of Luther. loi To turn all blessings from their even course To his own kind and company, may he Never be great, with collar, cross, and chain ; No, nor be ever angel, if, O God ! He be a fallen angel at the last. \^After a pause. Uncle, you know, is sacristan ; and uncle i 50 Had once an uncle who was parish priest. John. He was the man who sung so merrily Those verses which few scholars understand, Yet which they can not hide away, nor drive The man from memory after forty years. Marg. {^sings). " Our brightest pleasures are reflected pleasures. And they shine sweetest from the cottage- wall." John. The very same. Mar 50 Had perisht more neglected, but for them. They would heap affluence on me ; they did heap it ; Next, honours : for these only I am ungrateful. Glovanna {smiling). Ungrateful ? thou ? Filippa ! Filippa. Most ungrateful. With humble birth and humbler intellect The puff-ball might have bounced along the plain And blinded the beholder with its dust : But intellect let down on humble birth Writhes under titles, shrinks from every glance, 160 At every question turns one fibre fresh For torture, and, unpullied and adrift, Burns its dull heart away in smouldering scorn. Giovanna. Where no ethereal spirit fills the breast . . Filippa. . . Honours are joys great as such breast can hold. Giovanna. The happy then in courts are numberless ; We hear the contrary. Filippa. Never believe This, nor another ill 1 eport of them. Giovanna. What ? » 7° Filippa. That the great are not great to their valets ; 'Tis but their valets who can find their greatness. Giovanna. I know that you have enemies. Filippa. Thank God ! I might have else forgotten what I am. And what he gave me ere he placed me here. Giovanna. I never shall, Filippa ! Filippa. Think of those Who rais'd our souls above us, not of mc. Giovanna. Oh ! if my soul Iiath risen, if the throbs 180 Andrea of Hungary. 1 1 5 Of gratitude now tell it me, if they Who rais'd it must be thought of . . to my heart, Filippa ! for the heart alone can think. F'tlippa. I first received thee in these arms ; these arms Shall loose thee last of living things, Giovanna. ACT II. SCENE I. in the palace. Giovanna, Fiammetta, Maria. Maria. And now, Fiammetta, tell me whence that name Which tickles thee so. Fiammetta. Tell indeed ! not I. ilfiar/fl (/o Giovanna). Sister! you may command Giovanna. Command a sister ? Secrets are to be won, but not commanded. I never heard the name before. . Fiammetta . . Is that it ? Maria. That is it. Fiammetta. For shame, Maria ! lO Never will I entrust you with a secret. Maria. I do believe you like this one too well Ever to let another mingle with it. Fiammetta {to herself). I do indeed, alas ! Giovanna. Some gallant knight Has carried off her scarf and bared her heart. But to this change of name I must withhold Assent, I like Maria so much better. Fiammetta {^points to Maria). There is Maria yet. Giovanna. But where twin-roses 20 Have grown so long together, to snap one Might make the other droop. Fiammetta. Ha ! now, Maria ! Maria ! you are springed, my little quail ! Giovanna. Fiammetta ! if our father were here with us. He would suspect some poet friend of his. Dealer in flames and darts, tlieir only trade, 1 1 6 Dramatic Scenes. Enchanted his Sicilian. Maria. Ho! ho! ho! Prosei^pine never bhisht such damask blushes 30 When she was caught. Fiammetta. I am quite cool. Maria. The clouds May be quite cool when they are quite as red ; Girls' faces, I suspect, are somewhat less so. [Fiammetta runs off. G'lovanna. Maria ! dear Maria ! She is flown. Is the poor girl in love then ? Maria. Till this hour I thought it but a fancy, such as all We children have : we all choose one ; but, sure, 40 To run out of the room at the mere shadow ! Giovanna. What would you do I Maria. Wait till he came himself. Giovanna. And then ? Maria. Think, seriously of running off, Until I were persuaded it was civil. ACT II. SCENE II. Andrea. What have ye done to little Sicily ? She ran so swiftly by me, and pusht back My hand so smartly when I would have stopt her, I think you must have vext her plaguily Among you. Maria. She was vext, but not by us. Andrea. Yes, many girls are vext to-day. One bride Sheds fifty thorns from each white rose she wears. I did not think of that. ( To Maria. ) You did, no doubt ? Maria. I wear white roses too, as well as she : 10 Our queen's can have no thorns for us. Andrea. Not one ? Maria. No, nor for any in this happy realm. Andrea. Ah now ! this happy realm ! Some people think That I could make it happier. Andrea of Hungary. 1 1 7 Giovanna. I rejoice To hear it. Andrea. Are you glad, my little bride ? Giovanna. Most glad. O never disappoint their hopes ! The people are so kind ! they love us so ! 20 Andrea. They are a merry race : ay, very crickets, Chirruping, leaping. What they eat, God knows ; Sunshine and cinders, may be : he has sent Plenty of" these, and they are satisfied. Giovanna. Should tue be, if they are ? Andrea. O then ! a boon ! To make them happy all their lives. Giovanna. The boon To make them happier Heaven alone can grant. Hearken ! If some oppressions were removed, 30 Beyond my strength to manage, it were done. Andrea. Nothing so easy. Not your strength indeed. But mine, could push a buffalo away. I have a little favour to request. Giovanna. Speak. Andrea. Give me then this kingdom, only this. I do not covet mountains to the north, Nor cities over cities farther west, Casal or Monferrato or Saluzzo, Asti or Coni, Ceva or Torino, 40 Where that great river runs which spouts from heaven, Nor Aix nor Toulon, nor Marseille nor Nice Nor Avignon, where our good pope sits percht ;, I only want this tidy little kingdom, To make it happy with this sword upon it. Giovanna. The people and their laws alone can give it. Andrea. Well, we can make the laws. Giovanna. And people too I Andrea. Giovanna ! I do think that smile could make A thousand peoples from the dullest clay, 50 And mould them to thy will. Giovanna. Pure poetry ! Andrea. Don't say it ! or they knock me on the head ! I ought to be contented ; but they would 1 1 8 Dramatic Scenes. Insist upon It. I have askt : here ends My duty : I don't want it for myself . . And yet those cities lookt like strings of bird-eggs, And tempted me above my strength. I only Repent of learning all their names for nothing. Let them hang where they are. 60 Giovanna. Well said. Andrea. Who wants 'em ? I like these pictures better. What a store ! Songs, proverbs, and a word as hard as flint, Enough for fifty friars to ruminate Amid their cheese and cobnuts after dinner, Read it me. Giovanna. Which ? [Andrea points. Giovanna. ' Ecclesiastes.^ Andrea. Right ! 70 As you pronounce it, scarce a word of ours In Hungary is softer. What a tongue ! Round, juicy, sweet, and soluble, as cherries. When Frate Rupert utter'd the same word. It sounded just as if his beard and breast, And all which there inhabit, had turn'd round Into his throat, to rasp and riddle it. I never shall forget Ecclesiastes ! Only two words I know are pleasanter. Giovanna. And which are they ? 80 Andrea {^saluting her\. Giovanna and Carina. Maria. Un manner d prince ! Andrea. Now the white rose sheds thorns. ACT III. SCENE III. Sancia and Filippa. Sancin (smiling). Step-mothers are not always quite at home With tiieir queen-daughters. Giovanna. Yet queen-mothers are. Andrea of Hungary. 1 1 9 Step-mother you have never been to me, But kindest, fondest, tenderest, truest mother. Maria. Are we not all your children ? Sancia. All. Where then Is fled our lively Sicily ? G'lovanna. She is gone To her own chamber. lo Maria. To read poetry. Sancia. Where poetry is only light or flattering She might read some things worse, and many better. I never loved the heroes of Romance, And hope they glide not in among the leaves. Maria. And love you then their contraries ? Sancia. Those better. What clever speech, Maria, dost thou ponder ? I see we differ. Maria. Rather. 20 Sancia. Why so grave ? Surely no spur is tangled in ihy hem ! Maria. No, my regrets were all for you. What pity Andrea dropt upon our globe too late ; A puissant antipode to all such heroes ! Giovanna [smiling'). Intolerable girl ! sad jealous creature ! Sancia. Where is he ? I was seeking him. Maria. There now ! Sancia. Or else I should not have return'd so soon After our parting at the Benediction. [_Goes. 30 Maria. Sister ! I fear my little flippancy Hunied Queen Sancia : why just now want sposo ? Giovanna. She did not smile, as you do, when she went. Fond as she is, her smiles are faint this morning. A sorrowing thought, pure of all gloom, o'erspread That saintly face. Maria. It did indeed. Giovanna. She loves Us all, she loves our people too, most kindly. Maria. Seeing none other than Hungarian troops 40 At church about us, deeply did she sigh And say « Ah ! where are ours ? " I20 Dramatic Scenes. Giovanna. You pain me sadly. Queens, O Maria ! have two hearts for sorrow ; One sinks upon our Naples. Whensoever I gaze ('tis often) on her bay, so bright With sun-wove meshes, idle mukitudes Of little plashing waves ; when air breathes o'er it Mellow with sound and fragrance, of such purity That the blue hills seem coming nearer, nearer, 50 As I look forth at them, and tossing down Joyance for joyance to the plains below . . To think what mannerless, unshorn, harsh-tongued Barbarians from the Danube and the Drave Infest them, 1 cast up my eyes to Heaven Impatiently, despondently, and ask _ _ Are such the guests for such festivities ? But shall they dare enthral my poor Andrea ? Send, send for him : I would not he were harm'd, Much less degraded. O for ministers 60 To guide my counsels and protect ray people ! I would call round me all the good and wise. Sanc'ta {returnkg). Daughter ! no palace is too small to hold them. The good love other places, love the fields. And ripen the pale harvest with their prayers. Solitude, solitude, so dread a curse To princes, such a blight to sycophants, Is their own home, their healthy thoughts grow in it. The wise avoid all our anxieries : The cunning, with the rickets of the wise, _ 7© Push for the banquet, seize each vacant chair, Gorge, pat their spaniel, and fall fast asleep. Giovanna. Ah then what vigils are reserved for me ! Maria. Hark ! spears are grounded. Giovanna. Officer! who comes ? Officer. Lady ! the friar mounts the stairs ; bclnnd hmi Those potent lords, Caraffa and Caraccioli. Giovanna. Your chaii'. Queen Sancia, stands unoccupied : We must be seated to receive the lords. Is it not so ? So Andrea of Hungary. 1 2 1 Sancia. The queen must. Giovanna. One queen only ? The younger first ? we can not thus reverse The laws of nature for the whims of court. [Sancia is seated. There's our kind mother ! Just in time ! They come. ACT II. SCENE IV. Fra Rupert, Caraffa, and Caraccioli. Lady ! these nobles bring me with them hither, Fearing they might not win an audience On what concerns the welfare of the state. In such an hour of such a day as this. Giovanna. Speak, gentlemen ! You have much wronged yourselves, And me a little, by such hesitation. No day, methinks, no hour, is half so proper, As when the crown is placed upon my brow. To hear what are its duties. Caraffa. Gracious queen ! 10 We come to represent . . Fra Rupert [behind). Speak out . . wrongs . . rights . . Religion. Caraffa [to him). You distract me. Fra Rupert {to Caraccioli). Speak then thou. See how attentively, how timidly, She waits for you, and blushes up your void ! Caraccioli. 'Tis therefore I want words. Fra Rupert. Hear mine then, boys ! \JValhs toiuard Giovanna. Imprest with awe before such majesty, 20 The hopes of Naples, whom their fathers deem On this occasion, this gay hour, from high Nobility, from splendour of equipments. Beauty of person, gracefulness of mien. And whatsoever courts are courtly by, 122 Dramiitlc Scenes. Most fitted, and most likely to prevail Against those ancient frauds and artifices Which certain dark offenders weave about them . . These unsophisticated youths, foredoom'd Longest and most impatiently to suffer, 3° Lay humbly at the footstool of your throne A list of grievances yet unredrest. G'tovanna. Give it me, gentlemen, we will peruse it Together. Fra Rupert. They are more than scribe could pen. Giovanna {to Fra Rupert). Are they of native or imported growth ? Your Reverence hath some practice in the sorting. Permit me to fill up your pause, Fra Rupert ! On this occasion, this gay hour, methinks To urge impatience and foredoom of suffering 40 Is quite untimely. High nobility And splendour of equipment are the last Of merits in Caraffas and Caracciolis \To them. The delicacy that deferr'd the tender Of your important service, I appreciate, Venturing to augur but a brief delay. Gentlemen ! if your fathers bade you hither, I grieve to owe them more than I owe you, And trust, when next we see you, half the pleasure, Half, if not all, may be your own free gift. 50 \She rises, they go. ACT II. SCENE V. PALACE GARDEN. Fra Rupert, Caraffa, and Caraccioli. Fra Rupert. The losel ! Caraccioli. Saints ! what graciousness ! CaraJJa. Was ever So sweet a girl ? He is uglier than old Satan, Andrea . . I abhor him worse than ever . . . Andrea of Hungary. \ 23 Curse on that Tartar, Turk, Bohemian, Hungarian ! I could now half-strangle him. Fra Rupert. We are dismist. Caraffa, My speech might have done wonders. Fra Rupert. Now, who (the mischief!) stops a dead man's blood ? [lo Wonders ! ay truly, wonders it had done ! Thou weit agape as money-box for mass, And wantedst shaking more. What are our gains ? Caraffa. A vision the strain'd eyes can not inclose. Or bring again before them from the senses. Which clasp it, hang upon it, nor will ever Release it, following thro' eternity. Caracciol'i. I can retain her image, hear her words. Repeat, and tone them on each fibre here, Distinctly still. 20 Caraffa. Then hast thou neither heart Nor brain, Caraccioli ! No strife so hard As to catch one slight sound, one faintest trace, Of the high beauty that rules over us. Who ever seized the harmony of heaven, Or saw the confine that is nearest earth ? Fra Rupert. I can bear youthful follies, but must check The words that run thus wide and point at heaven. We must warn laymen fairly off that ground. Are ye both mad ? 30 Caraffa. One is ; I swear to one : I would not be the man that is not so For empires girt with gold, worlds starr'd with women : A trance is that man's life, a dream be mine ! Caraccioli's an ice-pit, covered o'er With straw and chaff and double-door'd and thatcht. And wall'd, the whole dark space, with earthen wall. Why ! Frate ! all those groans of thine for heaven ? Art toucht ? Fra Rupert. I have been praying fervently . . 40 Despairingly I fear to say . . 'twere rash, Ungrateful, and ungodly. Caraffa. He has brought 124 Dramatic Scenes. The whole Maremma on me at one breath. My cold fit now comes over me. But, Frate ! If we do feel, may we not say we do ? Fra Rupert. To feel is harm ; to say it, may be none, Unless 'tis said with levity like thine. Caraffa. Ah faith ! I wish 'twere levity ! The pagan That heaves up Etna, calls it very differently. 50 I think the dog is better off than I am ; He groans upon the bed where lies his torment ; I very far away from where lies mine. Fra Rupert. Art thou a Christian ? Caraffa. Father ! don't be serious. Fra Rupert. I must be. Caraffa. Have not I most cause ? Fra Rupert. Yea truly. Caraffa. I am not over-given to complain. But nettles will sting all . . 60 Fra Rupert . . who put their hands in. Caraccioli ! be warn'd by this our friend What sufferings may arise from lawless love. Thine passeth its due bounds ; it doth, Caraccioli ! But thou canst conquer every wild desire ; A high emprizc ! what high emprize but suits A true Caraccioli ! We meet again . . I have some warnings, some reproofs, for him. [Caraccioli goes. ACT II. SCENE VI. Fra Rupert, Caraffa. Fra Rupert. Where walls are living things, have ears, eyes, mouths, Deemest thou, son Francesco ! I alone Heard those most violent words about Andrea ? Caraffa. What words ? I never thought about the man ; About his wife some little ; true enough. Some little ? criminal it were to say it : Andrea of Hungary. 1 2 5 He who thinks little of such . . such perfection, Has left his thoughts among the worms that creep In charnel-houses, among brainless skulls. Dry bones, without a speck of blood, a thread 10 Of fibre, ribs that never cased a heart. The volumes of the doctors of the church Could not contain a tithe of it : their clasps. Strong enough to make chains for Saracens, Their timbers to build argosies, would warji And split, if my soul's fire were pent within. Fra Rupert. Remember, son Francesco ! prince Andrea, King rather (such the husband of a queen Is virtually, and should be) king Andrea Lives under my protection. 20 Carraffa. Well, what then ? Fra Rupert. What ? Into mine own ear didst thou not breathe Traitorous threats ? Caraffa. I ? Threats ? About his queen ? Fra Rupert. Filthy ! most filthy ! Caraffa. No, no : wandering thoughts Fluttered in that direction ; one thought, rather. Doves have hot livers. Fra Rupert. Be adultery Bad as it will, yet treason, son Francesco ! 30 Treason is far more difficult to deal with. Caraffa. I do suspect it may be. Fra Rupert. Saidst thou not Thou couldst half-strangle that Hungarian ? Caraffa. Spake I so rashly ? Fra Rupert. I am a Hungarian. Caraffa. Evident : but that noble mien would daunt Moor, Usbeck, Abyssinian : and that strength ! A Switzer bear could not half-strangle it. Fra Rupert. 'Twere martyrdom, 'twere martyrdom. The life - 40 Of kings hath swords and scaffolds round about it ; A word might fling thee on them. 126 Dramatic Scenes. Caraffa. Such a word Must fall from holy lips, thenceforth unholy. Fra Rupert. Guided by me and courage, thou art safe. ACT III. SCENE I. IN THE PALACE. Andrea and Filippa. Andrea. Many the stories you've repeated to me, Lady Filippa ! I have clean forgotten 'em ; But all the bloody giants every girl Before our bed-time threw into my night-cap, Lie safe and sound there still. Filippa. I quite believe You've not the heart to drive them out, my prince. Andrea. Not I indeed. And then your sage advice ! Filippa. Is all that too forgotten ? Andrea. No, not all ; _ ^° But, dear Filippa, now that I am married. And sovran (one may say) or next door to it, You must not give me any more advice . . Not that I mind it ; but to save appearances. \_She lends : he goes, but returns suddenly. Lady Filippa ! lady seneschal 1 Filippa. My prince ! command me. Andrea. Solve me one more question. Flow happens it (while old men are so wise) That any foolish thing, advice or story. We call it an old woman's ? 20 Filippa. Prince Andrea 1 I know not as for stories and advice ; I only know, when ive are disappointed In any thing, or teazed with it, we scoff And call it an old man's. Andrea. Ah spiteful sex ! Filippa. Here comes Maria : ask her no such questions. Andrea of Hungary. 127 Andrea. I wish Fra Rupert heard your words. F'tl'ippa. To prove them ? Maria. Give him a nosegay at the door. 30 Andrea. He spurns Such luxury. Maria. Since his arrival here, Perfumes, they tell me, are more general And tenfold dearer : everybody wears them In self-defence : men take them with their daggers ; Laundresses sprinkle them on vilest linen, Lest they be called uncleanly ; round the churches What once were clouds of incense, now are canopies Of the same benzoin ; kites could not fly thro' ; 40 The fainting penitents are prone to catch At the priest's surplice as he passes by. And cry, above their prayers to heaven for mercy. Stop ! stop ! turn bach ! ivaft me a little yet. - ■ Andrea. The father is indeed more fox than civet, And stinks out sins like sulphur and stale eggs. {To Maria.) You will not run away with him? Maria. Tarantola ! Worse than most venomous tarantola, He bites, and will not let us dance for it. 50 ACT. III. SCENE II. IN THE GARDENS OF CAPO DI MONTE. Boccaccio and Fiammetta. Fiammeita. I do not know whether it be quite right To listen, as I have, morn after morn And evening after evening. Boccaccio. Are my sighs Less welcome in the garden and the bower, Than where loud organ bellow'd them away, And chorister and waxlight ran betv/een ? Fiammetta* Ycu sadly interrupted me at vespers : 128 Dramatic Scenes. Never do that again, sir ! When I pray, I like to pray with all my heart. Bold man ! 10 Do you dare smile at me ? Boccaccio. The bold man first Was smiled at ; was he not ? Fiammetta. No, no such thing : But if he was, it was because he sigh'd At the hot weather he had brought with him. Boccaccio. At the cold weather he fear'd coming on He sighed. Fiammetta. And did it come ? Boccaccio. Too gracious lady ! 20 Fiammetta. Keep gracious lady for dull drawing-rooms ; Fiammetta is my name ; I would know yours. Boccaccio. Giovanna. Fiammetta. That I know {^aside). I ought, alas ! Often with Acciaioli and Petrarca I've seen you walking, but have never dared To ask your name from them ; your house's name I mean of course ; our own names stand for nothing. You must be somebody of high estate. Boccaccio. I am not noble. 30 Fiammetta (^shrinhitig bach). Oh! . . then! . . Boccaccio. I must go ! That is the sentence, is it not ? Fiammetta {^runs and takes his hand). Don't tell me Thou art not noble : say thou art most noble : NoiTnan . . half-Norman . . quarter-Norman . . say it. Boccaccio. Say an untruth I Fiamrnetta. Only this one ; my heart Will faint without it. I will swear to think it A truth, wilt thou but say it. 'Tis a truth : 40 Thy only falsehood thou hast told already, Merely to try mc. If thou art not noble . . Noble thou art, and shalt be ! l^She sobs and pauses : he presses her hand to his bosom. Who gainsays it ? Boccaccio. A merchant's son, no better, is thy slave, Fiammetta ! Andrea of Hungary. 1 29 Fiammetta [smiling) . Now art thou disguised indeed. Come, show me specimens of turquises, Amethysts, emeralds, diamonds . . out with them. Boccaccio. A merchant's, and poor merchant's son am I ; Gems I have none to offer, but pure love [50 Proof to the touchstone, to the crucible. Fiammetta. What then or who is noble, and thou not ? I have heard whispers that myself am not so Who am king Robert's daughter. We may laugh At those who are, if thou and I are none. Thou art my knight, Giovanni ! There now ; take [Giving him her scarf. Thy patent of nobility, and wear it. Boccaccio {^kisses it). What other but were cobweb after this? Fiammetta. Ha ! kiss it ! but take care you don't kiss me. [60 [Runs aivay. ACT III. SCENE III. IN THE PALACE. Sancia and Filippa. Sancia. Even you, my dear Filippa, are alert As any of the girls, and giddy too : You have dropt something now you can not find. Filippa. I have been busy, looking here and there To find Andrea. Sancia. Leave him with his bride. Until they tire of saying tender things. Filippa. Untender things, I fear, are going on. He has been truant to the friar Rupert Of late, who threatens him with penances lO For leaving some injunction unperform'd. And more perhaps than penances are near : For sundry captains, sundry nobles, meet At friar Anselm's cell ; thither had sped VOL. I. I 130 Dramatic Scenes. Fra Rupert. In the garden of Saint Clara Voices were heard, and threats ; then whispers ran Along the walls. They walkt out, one by one. Soldiers with shuffling pace unsoldicrly, Friars with folded hands, invoking heaven. And hotly calm as night ere burst Vesuvius. 20 Sanc'ia. Beyond the slight affronts all princes bear From those who miss what others have obtain'd, Andrea shall fear nothing : Heaven protects him. Filippa. Heaven, in its equal dispensation, gives The pious palms, the prudent length of days. We seek him not then with the same intent Of warning ? Sancia. With the same of warning ; you. Where the good angels guard ; I, where the bad Seduce him. Having reign'd, and having heard 30 That thither tend his wishes . . Filippa. Momentary. Sancia. But lawless wishes have returning wings Of speed more than angelic. I would win His private ear, lest courtiers take possession ; I would persuade him, with his lovely bride To share all other troubles than the crown's. ACT III. SCENE IV. IN THE PALACE. Andrea and Maria. Andrea. Are we then going up to Capo-Monte ? How long shall we remain there ? all the night ? Maria. Until the evening. Andrea. And where then ? Maria. Aversa. Andrea. Ay, because there I askt her if she loved nic : Beside . . the strangest thing on earth . . young brides Fly from the altar and roost anywhere Rather tlian near it. What sliould frighten them ? Andrea of Hungary. 1 3 1 But, if we go, why not set off directly? 10 Maria. We stay because the people round the gates, Who left too late their farms and villages To see our queen and you, expect at noon To follow the procession. Andrea. What procession ? Is there another marriage ? O rare sport ! Maria {^continuing). From Castel-Nuovo far as Capo- Monte. Andrea. O glorious ! But we really shall be let Into the gardens and the groves ? Maria. Why not ? 20 Who should prevent us ? Andrea. Into all ? Among The marble men and women who stand there, And only stir by moonlight ? I don't think They stir at all : I am half-sure they don't. Maria. I have been always of the same opinion. Andrea [shaies his head). Although he said it who says mass, I doubt it. Maria. Ah ! but to doubt is not to be half-sure : The worse end may stick fast, like broken tooth. Andrea. Now if you laugh, you make an unbeliever. 30 You girls are . . Maria. Pray what are we ? Andrea. Cunninger, Fra Rupert told me he would break their bones. Maria. Did he ? Andrea. As bad. He'd tumble them down headlong, If ever he once caught me looking up Again at those who stood alert for swimming. Maria. When ? Andrea. Four years back. To me they seem'd pure marble, [^.o But Frate Rupert never could have spited Mere marble so, although they lookt like women. I scarcely would believe him when he said They once were devils, but could do no haim Now the salt water had been sprinkled on 'em. J -2 Dramatic Scenes. Unless we look at them as worshippers. Maria. I am sure you did not. j^ndrea. No ; upon my faith ! 3faria. We never stand about them ; we walk on. Zrea {in a lo'u, .oice). What ! when you are but one o. two together ? • , i I like their looks : the women are quite lovely, And the men too (for devils) not amiss. I wonder where they laid their plaguy scourges ; They must have had them, or were never worshipt. Maria. Did not the Frate tell you i Jndrea. Ask the Frate ! _ He would have found them in a tnce, and held The scourges good enough, though not the devils. Maria. I think you mind him less than formerly. ^^ Andrea. I am a married man. Maria. But married men Fear priests and friars more than single ones. Andrea. He is the holiest monk upon God s eaitn, And hates you women most. Maria. Then the least holy. . AnZa. Dost think it? If I thought him so, I d fear The beast no longer, broad as are his shoulders His breath . . pho ! . . like a water-snake s, his lust Heavy as those big books in chapter-houses, And hairy as the comet ; for they say _ 7" 'Twas hairy ; though I saw no hairs upon it. Maria. Whenever love comes upon thee, Andica, Art thou not kinder ? Andrea. Kinder, but not holier. Maria. Is not thy heart more gratetul . Andrea. As may happen ; A little thing would make it so. Maria. And, tell me, Art thou not readier to give alms i ^^ Andrea. Tell me How long, Maria, those bright eyes have seen Into my thoughts ? Fra Rupert knows not half one Unless he question for an hour or better Andrea of Hungary. 133 And stamp and threaten, nor then more than half one. I'll never fear him now : I'll tell him so. Maria. Be not too hasty : tell him no such thing. But fear him not : fear rather those about him, [^Fra Rupert is prying. Andrea. Whom ? Maria. His Hungarians. Andrea. They're my countrymen. go Maria. Should they make all us dread them ? Andrea. Me ? Maria. Even you, Under Fra Rupert, like the best, or worst. Should they possess our kingdom ? Andrea. My wife's kingdom ? No, by the Saints ! they shall not touch her kingdom. Fra Rupert {^crossing the farther part of the stage'). They shall not touch her kingdom . . and shalt thou ? Andrea. I heard a voice. Maria [laughing). No doubt, no doubt, the Prate's. loo Andrea. I hear and feel him farther off than thou dost. Maria. Andrea ! were thy ears as quick to hear Thy friends as enemies. Andrea. Still would that eye Glare over me, like the great open one Above the throne at church, of gold and azure, With neither brows nor lashes, but black clouds Round it, and nought beside. Maria. The three eyes match. May-be ; but is there anything in church no So like his voice ? Andrea. The organ bellows are. Without the keys. That was not much unlike it . . A little softer . . and not too soft, neither. Maria. I heard no voice whatever, not a sound. Are you still half afraid ? Andrea. No, if thou are not. Maria. Are you convinced ? Andrea. I was not very soon. Men weigh things longer than you women do. 120 Maria ! take my word, I am quite sated 134 Dramatic Scenes. Of fearing, tho' (thank God ! ) the worst is past. Maria. I praise this manliness, this resolution. Andrea. Dost thou ? Already am I grown more manly, More resolute. O ! had your praise come earlier. And heartily as now, another man In thought and action might have been Andrea ! But will you tell Giovanna what you think. ? Maria. I will indeed, and joyfully. Andrea. Her praise 1 30 Is better still : yours screws the spur on heel. Hers scarfs the neck and lifts the lance to hand. What's all this tinkling ? \Guitars in the next chamber ; the door opens. Maria {^smiling). O! again Fra Rupert! One of these voices surely must be his ! Which of them ? can not you distinguish it ? Andrea i^calls out). Who sings there? Maria. Do not stop them : let us hear. Petronilla. Ah ! do not go ! ah do not go Among the silly and the idle ! A lover surely should not so From her who loves him slip and sidle. Garisendo. The saltarella* waits for me, And I must go and I must play . . Come ! do not dance, but hear and see, To-morrow we will love all day. Andrea. Now she is reasonable, he might spare her* A handful of his ribbons, or that net 1 40 Silver and blue there dangling down his nape. Who is he ? I don't know him. Maria. Garisendo. Andrea. And t'other ? Maria. Petronilla. Andrea. Nor her ncitlier. Maria. I and Giovanna know here every face. Andrea. And every name ? Maria. Every one. * The favourite Neapolitan dance. Andrea of Hungary, 135 Andrea. Clever creatures ! i 50 Maria. By all those twitchings at the two guitars, And tappings of fore-finger on the wrist, They seem to be at fault. Andrea. No harm, no matter, Zooks ! they are up again ; he first . . that's odd. Maria. Nay, but he only tells her what to sing. Petronilla. There is a lad upon the sea, There is, O Mary ! such a lad ! And all he thinks of, it is me. Garisendo. Why then, my jewel! he is mad. Petronilla. Mad ! he is no more mad than you. Garisendo. Unless he stamps, and stares, and cries, As certain pretty creatures do. And stain their cheeks and spoil their eyes. Petronilla. I love, I love him with my whole . . \Solbing. Garisendo. Go on, go on : you mean to say (I'd lay a wager) heart and soul, And very well, no doubt, you may. Petronilla. No, I may not, you cruel man I He never did what you have done, Yet, say and do the worst you can, I love, I love, but you alone. Maria. He has not much offended. Andrea. Who can tell ? I am quite sorry they have fallen out. What almanack can calculate fine weather 1 60 In those strange fickle regions where God plants A man and woman, and sticks love between ! Maria. All the man's fault. Andrea. All hers : she went and teased him : With my own eyes I saw it ; so might you. 136 Dramatic Scenes. Maria. You do not always look, so melancholy At music ; yet what music can be gayer Than this is ? Andrea. Gayer, say you ? Ay, the music. But if folks quarrel so in joke, what will they i 70 In earnest ? If, before they're man and wife . . Ah ! Heaven be praised ! there's time to break it off. Look, look at them ! Maria. She seems more reconciled. Andrea. Reconciled ! I should say . . Maria. Pray, don't say anything. Andrea. Ready for . . By my troth ! 'twas a salute. Maria. Now what things run into your head, Andrea ! Andrea. It was as like as pea to pea, if not . . However, let them know, another time 1 80 They must not sing about the house in that way. Maria. Why not ? Andrea. Giovanna might not like it now. Maria. So ! you would do then all she likes ? Andrea. I would : But if she ever hears that v/icked song, She might not do all / like. Sweet Maria ! Persuade them, when you see them, to forget it ; And, when you go to bed, turn on your pillow, First drop it from one ear, then from the other, 190 And never pick it up again, God love you ! Maria. I'll mn to them directly with your wishes. Andrea. Stay : the last verse is cle\ er : pick out that. Maria. And nothing more ? Andrea {^anxiously). Don't overload your memory. ACT III. SCENE V. FRA Rupert's cell. Andrea and Fra Rupert. Fra Ruperl. What ! am I never to be left alone, Andrea ? Let me have my pleasures too, Such as they are. Andrea of Hungary. 137 Andrea. They're very much Uke mine. Have we not prayed and scourged and wept together ? Fra Rupert. Ah ! were that now the case ! Andrea. Well, father, well ! I would not stand between you and your duty : But I thought, being prince . . Fra Rupert (^sneering). Thou, being prince, lo Thoughtest ! Thou verily not only toppest Thyself, but most among thy fellows, lad ! And so, Andrea ! being prince, thou thoughtest ? Andrea. Good-bye, thou art as brave and blithe as ever. \_Goes, but turns back. I had one little thing upon my conscience. Fra Rupert. I am quite ready : let me know the whole : Since yesterday ? Nod ? wink ? to me ? Andrea [to himself). He chafes me. Fra Rupert. And throw thy head back thus ? Andrea. My head's my own. 20 Fra Rupert. Wonderful ! be not over-sure of that. [^ A side. If thou art contrite, go ! Andrea. I will not go ; I am not contrite. Fra Rupert. I am in a maze ! Andrea. A scrape thou'rt in. Fra Rupert. A scrape ! Who could betray me ? [To himself. Andrea. Thou'st lost thy lamb, old shepherd ! no great pet. Fra Rupert. No, nor great loss : when lambs, tho', lose their shepherd They find the shambles nearer than the fold. 30 Andrea. Father ! you said you must confer with me Another time i Fra Rupert. I did so. Andrea. Why not now ? Fra Rupert. I see not why : but soon Caraccioli, And first Caraffa, must unbosom here. Thou hast much power, Andrea ! thou canst do 138 Dramatic Scenes, Anything now to glorify thy country. Andrea. Suppose I wish to swim to Ischia ; could I ? Fra Rupert. My boy ! thou hast not wind enough for that. 40 Am I to be evaded, taunted, posed ? Or thinkest thou, Andrea, that because A silly girl espouses thee . . Andrea. By Peter ! She who espouses me shall ne'er be call'd A silly girl. I am a husband, Frate ! I am a boy no longer : I can cope With women : and shall men then, even tho' fiiars, Pretend to more ? I will go back and call The maidens : they shall pelt you from the palace 50 If ever you set foot within its walls. Fra Rupert. Should every stone from maiden hit my nose, A grain of dust would hurt it tenfold more. Andrea. Know, they have tongues that yours could never meet. Fra Rupert. Andrea ! wouldst thou kill me with un- kindness ? Andrea. Gad ! he sheds tears ! . . Now at him ! . . Yes, I would. Fra Rupert. And bring down these grey hairs . . Andrea. Which hairs are they ? The skull's are shaven, and the beard's are dirty ; 60 They may be grey though. Fra Rupert. Shame upon thy mirth ! I am a poor old man. Andrea. 'Tis your vocation. Beside, I have heard say that poverty Is the best bargain for the best place yonder In Paradise. All prick their feet before They clamber upward into that inclosure : 'Tis well worth while. Fra Rupert. Age too (alas how heavy ! ) yo To serve my loving ward, my prince's son, I would support still longer, willingly. Andrea of Hungary. 1 39 Andrea. Frate ! 'tis more than I can say for it. [ Rupert creeps suppl'icatingly toivard him. Out of my sight ! crawl back again . . I loathe thee. ACT III. SCENE VI. Fra Rupert (^a/one). I have no malice in me : if I know My secret heart, no heart so pure of malice : But all my cares and vigils, hopes and dreams, Blown by a boy, spurn'd by a brute, away ! So ends it ? Blessed Stephen ! not so ends it. It ends with him, and with him only : me No sword can touch. Why are not come those fools ? I thought the other would have kept them off. I will have power without him, and not thro' him. They must have clean forgotten. 'Tis the hour . . ip 'Tis past it . . no, not past it . . just the hour ; The bell now strikes for noon. [y^ knocking. One comes at last. \_Opens the door : Caraffa enters. Fra Rupert. Exactly to the moment. Caraffa. I was walking About the cloister till I heard the bell. For Father Rupert's hours are golden ones. Fra Rupert. May my friends spend them profitably for me ! Caraffa ! thine are number'd. Caraffa. All men's are. 20 Fra Rupert. But some are not notcht off like schoolboy's days Anxious to see his parent. Thou may'st see Thy parent too. Caraffa. I left him but just now. Fra Rupert. We all have one, one whom we all have left Too often. Hast thou not some sins for me ? Caraffa. As many as a man could wish to have. .Fra Rupert. Are there none dangerous? none involving life ? 140 Dramatic Scenes. Hast thou forgotten our last conference ? Caraffa. No, nor shall ever. But what danger there ? 30 Fra Rupert. Need I to say, Francesco, that no breath Transpired from me ? We both were overheard. Caraffa. I think you hinted it. Fra Rupert. I fear'd it only. Thou knowest my fond love . . I will not say For thee . . thou art but second in my breast . . Poor, poor Andrea ! Caraffa. Never fear about him. Giovanna, even tho' she did not love, (O that she did not !) yet would never wrong him. 40 Fra Rupert. Nay, God forbid she should ! 'Twas not for me To mark her looks, her blushes, gestures . . how Faltered the word " Caraffa " as she spoke it. Thy father then said nothing ? Caraffa. Not a word ; What should he ? Fra Rupert. Not a word. Old men are close : And yet I doubted . . I am apt to doubt . . Whether he might not . , for ambition stirs Most fathers . . just let slip . . Why didst thou falter ? 50 For never faltered child as thou didst falter. Thou knowest then her mind better than we ? Caraffa. I know it ? I divine it ? Would I did ! Fra Rupert. Nay, rather let the bubble float along Than break it : the rich colours are outside. Everything in this world is but a bubble. The world itself one mighty bubble, we Mortals, small bubbles round it ! Carajffa. Frate ! Frate ! Thou art a soapy one ! No catching thee ! \_Aside. 60 \_Aloud.'\ What hopes thou showest me ! If these were solid As thou, most gloiious bubble who reflect'st them, Then, then indeed, to me from this time forth The world, and all within the world, were bubbles. Fra Rupert. A knight art thou, Caraffa ! and no title (Secular title, mind ! secular title) Save only royalty, surpasses knighthood. Andrea of Hungary. 141 There is no condescension in a queen Placing her foot within the palm of knight, And springing from it on her jewel'd saddle : 70 No condescension is there if she lend To theirs the sceptre who lent hers the sword. Knights there have been, and are, where kings are not, Kings without knights what are they ? Caraffa. Norman blood Runs in my veins as in her own : no king (Savage or tame) shall stand above those knights Who raised his better to the throne he won : Of such am I. But what am I before Giovanna ! to adore, to worship her, 8o Is glory far above the chiselling Of uncouth kings, or dashing them to earth : O be it mine ! Fra Rupert. Perhaps some other Norman May bear less tamely the new yoke ; perhaps A Filangieri may, this very night . . Caraffa. No Filangieri ever stoopt to treachery. No sword of Norman ever struck by night. Credulous monk ! to me name Filangieri ! Quellers of France and England as we are, 90 And jealous of precedency, no name (Offence to none) is higher than Filangieri. Fra Rupert. Boaster ! Caraffa. I boast of others ; few do that Who merit such a title. Fra Rupert. Lower thy crest ; Pause ! thou art in my hands. Caraffa. I am in God's. Fra Rupert [mildly, after hesitation). Who knows but God hath chosen thee, amid His ministers of wrath, to save thy country lOO And push oppression from her ! Dreams and signs Miraculous have haunted me. Caraffa. Thee, Frate ! Fra Rupert. Me, even me. My ministry is over : Marriage ends pupilage, and royalty 142 Dramatic Scenes. Ends friendship. Little is it short of treason To say that kings have friends. Caraffa. How short of treason I know not, but I know how wide of truth. Fra Rupert. Listen ! There are designs against the life Of young Andrea. [i lo Caraffa. By the saints above ! I hope there are not. Fra Rupert. If thy name be found Among conspirators (and those are call'd Conspirators who vindicate their country) Where thy sword is, there must thy safety be. The night for vengeance is the marriage-night. Caraffa. I draw the sword without defiance first ? / draw the sword uninjured ? Whom against ? 120 Against a life so young ! so innocent Of any guile ! a bridegroom ! in his bed ! O ! is this horror only at the crime ? Or is it . . No, by heaven ! 'tis heaven's own horror At such unmanly deed. /, Frate ! /, Caraffa, stain with tears Giovanna's cheek ! / sprinkle poison on the flowers she smells ! Fra Rupert (^resolutely). Hark ye, Caraffa ! If the public good . . Caraffa. Away with public good ! Was never book Put in my hand ? was never story told me ? 130 Show me one villain vile beyond the rest. Did not that villain talk of public good ? Fra Rupert. Only at friars are Caraffa's st^ibs. Valiant and proud and wealthy as thou art. Thou may'st have nothing left on earth to-morrow. Caraffa. I shall have more to-morrow than to-day. My honour may shoot up all in one night. As did some tree we read of. Fra Rupert. Thou art rasli. Caraffa. Rashness may mellow into courage ; time 1 40 Is left me. Fra Rupert. For thy prayers. Caraffa. My prayer then is, Andrea of Hungary. 143 Peace, safety, gloiy, joy, to our Giovanna ! Fra Rupert. Thou may'st depart. Caraffa [indignantly). For ever. \Goes. Fra Rupert. He says well. Caraccioli enters. Fra Rupert [smiling and embracing him). Caraccioli ! with- out our friend CarafFa ! Caraccioli. He should have been here first. Fra Rupert [aside). Perfectly safe ! 150 I did not follow him into the cloister. Caraccioli. Father ! you seem as pondering to yourself How that wild fellow kept his word so ill ; CarafFa-like ! Fra Rupert. I keep mine well with him. Caraccioli. He should have thought of that. Fra Rupert. He had no time. Caraccioli. Always so kind ! so i-eady with your plea For little imperfections ! Our Francesco, Somewhat hot-headed, is warm-hearted too. 160 Fra Rupert. His petty jealousy about the queen (Were there no sin behind it) we might smile at. Caraffa stands not with Caraccioli. Caraccioli. On the same level . . there particularly. Fra Rupert. Ho ! ho ! you laugh and jeer about each other ? Caraccioli. We might. How she would laugh at two such ninnies ! Fra Rupert. At one, most certainly. But laughing girls Often like grave men best. There's something grand As well as grave even in the sound " Caraccioli." Caraccioli. I have no hopes. 170 Fra Rupert. How I rejoice to hear it ! Hopes are but wishes, wishes are but sin. And, fed with ranker exhalations, poison. Caraccioli. The subtilest consumes me. Fra Rupert. What ? Caraccioli. Despair. Fra Rupert. Violets and primroses lie under thorns 144 Dramatic Scenes. Often as asps and adders ; and we find The unexpected often as the expected, The pleasant as the hideous. 180 Caraccio/i. That may be, But what avails your lesson ? whither tends it ? Fra Rupert. My son ! I hear from those who know the world And sweep its noisome litter to my cell, There are mild days when love calls love abroad As birds call birds, and even leaves call leaves : Moments there are, my poor Caraccioli ! Moments in which the labyrinth of the ear At every turn of its proclivity Grows warmer, and holds out the clue, itself: 190 Severity should not beget despair. I would not much encourage thee, nor yet Dash all thy hopes, however inconsiderate, For hopes there may be, though there should not be. Flickering even upon despondency- There may be sounds in certain names to smite The stagnant heart, and swell its billows high Over wide spaces, over distant years . . There may ; but who would utter them and know it ? Delicate is the female sense, yet strong 200 In cherishing and resenting ; very prompt At hiding both, and hating the discoverer. Never, my Paolo ! look too deeply in. Or thou may'st find what thou art looking for. Not that she ever said one word against thee ; She even lower'd her voice in naming thee. Seeing her sister and the rest sit giggling, " Anything else ! anything else ! " said she, And snapt the thread she workt with, out ot spite. A friend, who hopes the best, may tell the worst. 2 i o Patience will weary ; even Giovanna's patience. I could go farther, and relate . . but why Why ('tis too light to touch upon) relate The little hurt she gave Filippa's ancle With that lark heel of hers, by twitching it Andrea of Hungary. 145 Uneasily ? O the impatient sex ! She did shed . . tears I will not say . . a tear . . Shed it ! no, I am wrong : it came, it stayed, As hangs one star, the first and only one, Twinkling, upon some vernal evening. 220 Caraccioli. I am but clay beneath her feet. Alas ! Clay there would quicken into primal man. Glorified and immortal once again. Fra Rupert. Thou art too hot, my Paolo ! One pulse less In the half-hour might have been rather better. Lovest thou our Francesco ? Caraccioli. Like a brother.- Fra Rupert. He should not then have brought thy life in peril. Andrea is quite furious : all at court Are sworn upon thy ruin. 230 Caraccioli. Upon mine ? I will then calmly tell them they are wrong. Fra Rupert. Will they as calmly hear ? Francesco said, Imprudent youtli ! you boasted of remembeiing Every the lightest mole about Giovanna. Caraccioli. I say it ? Fra Rupert. Those were not your words ? Caraccioli. My words ! Fra Rupert. Certainly not . . precisely. Caraccioli. Holy Mary ! 240 Is there in Naples, Hungary, or Hell, The monster who dares utter them ? Fra Rupert. 'Tis hard Our friend should be the very man. Caraccioli. 'Tis false, Frate ! 'tis false : my friend is not the man. [^Bursts away. Fra Rupert {^sneering). I will not follow him into the cloister. VOL. I. K 146 Dramatic Scenes. ACT IV. SCENE I. IN THE GARDEN OF CAPO DI MONTE. Boccaccio and Fiammetta. Boccaccio (j'mgs^. If there be love on earth, 'tis here, O maid of royal line ! Should they who spring from heroes, fear? Be scornful the divine ? Shine not the stars upon the sea, Upon the fountain too ? O ! let your eyes then light on me, And O ! let mine see you. [^Fiammetta comes forward. How kind to come ! Fiammetta. To come into the air ? I like it. They are all at their merenda.* The smell of melon overpowers me quite ; I could not bear it ; therefore I just come Into the air to be revived a little. And you too here ? Sly as tlic satyr-head \_A[fecting surprise. Under yon seat ! Boccaccio. Did you not tell me ? Fiammetta. I ? lO You dreamt it. Boccaccio. Let me dream then on ? Without Such dreams, Fiammetta, dull would be tlie sleep Call'd life. Fiammetta {^looking round timidly). I must be broad awake. Boccaccio. You must. Fiammetta (^nodding). And you. All are indulgent to me ; most Of all queen Sancia and Giovanna. Boccacio. One A saint, the other better. 20 Fiammetta. Then the grave. * Mcrcmta (meritiiaiia) the mid-day repast. Andrea of Hungary. 1 4 Filippa . . Boccaccio. Grave and watchful. Flammetta. Not a word Against her ! I do hold her in my heart, Although she gives me good advice sometimes. Boccaccio. I'm glad to hear it ; for the very worthy Are very rarely general favourites. Fiavimetta. Some love our friend most cordially ; those know her : Others there are who hate her ; those would know her 30 And can not : for she stands aloof and thanks them : Remoter, idler, neither love nor hate. Nor care about her ; and the worst and truest They say of her, is, that her speech is dark. Boccaccio. Doubtless, the vulgar eye will take offence If cedar chambers are unwasht with lime. Flammetta. But why are you come here ? Boccaccio. To gaze, to sigh. And, O Flammetta ! tell me if . . to live. Flammetta {^laughing). I never saw more signs of life in any. 40 Boccaccio. Cruel ! Flammetta. To find the signs of life in you ? Boccaccio. To scoff them out. Flammetta. I am incapable. [Boccaccio rises, and steps back, gazing fondly. now, Giovanni ! I am terrified ! Why ! you sprang up . . as if you sprang to kiss me ! Did ever creature think of such a thing ? Boccaccio. The drooping blades of grass beneath your feet Think of it ; the cold runlet thinks of it ; The pure sky (how it smiles upon us!) thinks of it . . 50 1 will no more then think of it. \_Klsses her. Flammetta. Giovanni ! Ah ! I shall call you (wretch !) to task for this. Boccaccio. Call ; and, by heaven ! I'll come, tho' from the grave. Flammetta. Any one now would say you thought me handsome. 148 Dramatic Scenes. Boccaccio. Earth has two beauties ; her Bcllagio And Anacapri ; earth's inhabitants Have only one among them. Fiammetta. Whom ? Boccaccio. Fiammetta. \_Going. 60 Fiammetta. Where are you running now ? Stay ! tho' quite angry, I am not yet so angry as I should be : But, if you ever take such liberties Again ! Boccaccio. O never ! . . till we reach Avcrsa. Fiammetta. And will you there ? and tell me to my face ? \_Is departing. Wait, wait for pardon. Must we part ? so soon ? So lonp a time ? Boccaccio. Till star-light. Fiammetta. Stay a moment. 70 Boccaccio. Gladly a life : but my old mule loves walking And meditation. Now the mask and dress, And boy to carry them, must all be found. Fiammetta. Boy, mask, dress, mule ! speed, gallop, to Aversa ! Boccaccio. So many kisses lie upon this hand, Mine hardly reach it. Fiammetta. I^ips there may have been ; Had there been kisses, I must sure have felt them. As I did yours . . at least I thought I did . . But go, for I am half afraid of you . . 80 That is, of your arriving yonder late. Go, else the crowd may stop you ; and perhaps I might delay you for some sudden fancy, Or . . go your ways . . not let you go at all. ACT IV. SCENE II. FRA Rupert's cf.ll. Fra Rupert, alone. I wisht him power ; for what was liis was mine ; I wisht him jealousy, distrust, aversion Andrea of Hungary. 149 For his pert bride, that she might have no share. I never fail'd before this wretched day. Fail'd ! I have not : I will possess my rights, Spring over him, and never more be spurn'd. They who had rais'd his seat shall stablish mine, Without those two vain boys : O ! had they done it ! And not been where they are ! The fault was theirs. Maximin enters. Fra Rupert. Maximin ! since thy services may soon i o Be call'd for, satchel on thee my experience, Then set about thy work. My Maximin ! Mind how thou liest ! Know, if lie thou must. Lies, while they sap their way and hold their tongues. Are safe enough : when breath gets into them. They, and the work about them, may explode. Maximin ! there are more lies done than said. Son ! when we hesitate about the right. We're sure to do the wrong. Max'tmin. I don't much hesitate. 20 Fra Rupert. To chain a dog and to unchain a dog Is hazardous alike, while the deaf beast Stands barking : he must sleep ; then for the cord. Maximin. What ! are my services in some farm-yard ? I am a soldier. Fra Rupert. All great statesmen have been. How large a portion of the world is each In his own eyes. Maximin. Am I so proud in saying I am a soldier ? 30 Fra Rupert. I am proud of thee : Be that sufficient. Give thou every man What he requires of thee. Maximin. A world to each ? Fra Rupert. Not so : yet hold not up to him a glass That shows him less, or but some digits greater. Maximin. Honestly now, Fra Rupert, by my cross ! No gull art thou. 1 knew that trick myself. And (short the digits) told it word for word. 150 Dramatic Scenes. Fra Rupert. I will be sworn for thee. Being minister. 40 (Not that 1 think it certain just at present, For when the sage and honest are most wanted, That is the chink of time they all drop through) But when thou art so, mind this precept. One Not wise enough to keep the wiser off Should never be a minister of state. Maxmin. Fra Rupeit ! presto ! make me one to-day. Give fifty precepts, there they go \_Bloiving\ but this, I '11 kiss the cross and the queen's hand, and keep. Fra Rupert. I make thee minister ! 50 Max'im'm. You can make kings. Fra Rupert. Not even those ! I might have made Andrea What thou and every true Hungarian Wisht him to be, ere he show'd hoof for claw. And thought to trample down his countiymen. Maxmin. Andrea bloody-minded ! turtle-doves Are bloody-minded then, and leave their elm, The first day's mating, for the scent of gore. Fra Rupert. Maximin ! here is no guitar for thee, Else mightest thou sip that pure poetry 60 Preciously warm and frothy from the udder. Maximin. Father ! if any in our troop call'd me A poet, he should sing for it. Fra Rupert. Thou 'rt brave, Maximin ! and Andrea is not bloody. But there are princes, or have been within Our memory, who, when blood gusht forth like water From their own people, stood upon some bridge O]- island, waving their plumed caps, and drank The cries of dying men with drunken ears. 70 Maximin. Curses, eternal curses, man's and God's, Upon such heathens ! Fra Rupert. Nay, they were not heathens ; Happily they were christians, Maximin ! Andrea, though myself instructed him, Is treacherous. Better were this pasty people Dissolved, washt down, than brave Hungarians perish. Maximin. No truer word prophet or saint e'er spoke. Andrea of Hungary. 1 5 1 Fra Rupert [sighing). Saint hath not spoken it : O may not prophet ! Maximm. I, being neither, can not understand you. So Fra Rupert. The innocent, the helpless, are surrounded. Maximin. Andrea ? Fra Rupert. My Andrea would betray us. Maximin. To whom ? Are we the helpless ? we the innocent f Fra Rupert. While he is yonder at Aversa, we Are yelling thro' these very streets for mercy. Maximin. I cry you mercy, father ! When I yell, I '11 borrow whistles from some thirty good Neapolitans, who '11 never want them more. Fra Rupert. Be ready then ! be ready for Aversa ! 90 Glory stands there before thee ; seize the traitor. Win wealth, win jewels, win . . What have not palaces For brave young men upon such nights as these ? Maximin. Would'st bid me stick Andrea ? Fra Rupert. Hungary, Not I ; our countiy, not revenge. Maximin. Bids murder ? I will proclaim thy treason thro' the camp. Fra Rupert. Unhappy son, forbear ! By thy sweet mother ! Upon my knees ! Upon my knees before 100 A mortal man ! Yea, Rupert ! bend thy head ; Thy own son's hand should, and shall, spill thy blood. [Maximin starts, then hesitates, then rushes at him. Maximin. Impudent hound ! I '11 have thy throat for that. Fra Rupert [guards his throat). Parricide ! make me not cry murder . . love Forbids it . . rather die ! My son ! my son ! Hide but thy mother's shame ; my shame, not hers. [Maximin relaxes his grasp. Maximin ! stand between the world and it ? Oh ! what avails it ! sinner as I am ! Other worlds witness it. [Maximin looses hold. My Maximin ? [Rupert embraces him. i 10 Maximin. Why, how now, Fratc ! hath some wine-vault burst 152 Dramatic Scenes. And fuddled thee ? we know thou never drinkest. Fra Rupert. That lighter sin won't save me. Maximin. If light sins Could save us, I have many a bushelful, And little need your sentry-boxes yonder. Fra Rupert {very mildly). I must reprove (my own dear child!) {^Passionately) . . I must Reprove, however gently, such irreverence. Confessionals are sentry-boxes ! true ! And woe betide the sentry that naps there ! 1 20 Woe, if he spare his voice, his prayer, his curse ! Maximin. Curses we get dog-cheap ; the others, reason- able. Fra Rupert. Sweet Maximin ! whatever my delight In gazing on those features (for sharp shame. When love blows over it from lands afar. Tingles with somewhat too, too like delight ! ) We must now part. Thy fortune lies within My hands. To-night, if thy own officers Command thee to perform a painful office . . Maximin. Good father ! what know we of offices ? 13c Let them command a duty, and 'tis done. Fra Rupert. Discreet tho' ! Maximin ! discreet 1 my marrow ! Let not a word escape thee, not a breath. Blessings, my tender kid ! We must walk on (I love thee so !) together thro' the cloister. Maximin. No, f ithcr ! no ; too much ! Fra Rupert. Too much for thee ! [^Rupert precedes^ speaks to three men, ivho bonv and retire ; he disappears. Maximin {loitering in the cloister). Incredible ! yet friars and cockroaches Creep thro' all rooms, and like the closet best. Let me consider ! can it be ? how can it ? 1 40 He is bare fifty ; I am forty-one. Andrea of Hungary. 153 ACT IV. SCENE III. THE GARDEN OF FRIAR ANSELM's CONVENT. Fra Rupert, Klapwrath, Zinga, and Psein. Fra Rupert. Ye brave supporters of Hungarian power And dignity ! O Zinga ! Klapwrath ! Psein ! Becomes it me to praise (we may admire Those whom to praise were a temerity) Such men as you. Psein. Us : we are only captains. Zinga. After hard service we are nothing more. Klapwrath. Twenty-three years hath Klapwrath rid and thirsted. Fra Rupert. Ingratitude ! the worst of human crimes, Hardly we dare to say ; so flat and stale, i o So heavy with sick sobs from mouth to mouth, The ejaculation. To my mind scarce witchery Comes up to it. Psein. Hold ! father ! For that sin Either we deal with devils or old women. Fra Rupert. Man was created of the dust ; to make The fragile mass cohesive, were employed The bitter waters of ingratitude. \_AJfects to tueep. Klapwrath. Weeping will never rinse that beaker, Frate ! Fra Rupert. It is not for myself. 20 Zinga. We see it is not. Fra Rupert. Ye can not see deep into me. Psein. Few can. Fra Rupert. Ye can not see the havoc made within By ever-dear Andrea. Zinga. Havoc ? Fra Rupert. Havoc ! Klapwrath. I like the word : purses and rings hang round it. Necklaces, brooches, and indented armlets. Psein, But, ere we reach 'em, ugly things enough, 30 154 Dramatic Scenes. Beside the broken swords that lie below And brave men brandisht in the morning light. Klapivrath. Brave men then should not cross us ; wise men don't. Fra Rupert. Your spirit all attest ; but those the least Whose safety hangs upon your saddle-skirts. Men are not valued for their worth in Italy : Of the same price the apple and the peach, The service and the fig. Zitiga. Well, there they beat us. Pse'tti. Whatever they may be, we can not help it. 40 Fra Rupert. Help it, I say, ye can ; and ye shall help it, Altho' I perish for ye. Klapivrath. Then indeed, Frate ! some good might come of it ; but wilt thou ? Fra Rupert. Abandon to his fate my poor Andrea ! Has he not slept upon this bosom ? Klapivrath. Has he ? He must have had some scratches on his face. Fra Rupert. Has he not eaten from this hand ? Klapivrath. Why then, 50 He'll never die for want of appetite. Fra Rupert. Have we not drunk our water from one bowl ? Klapivrath. Father ! you were not very liberal ; He might have drunk the whole of mine, and welcome. Fra Rupert. How light ye make of life ! Zinga. Faith ! not so light ; I think it worth a tug, for my part of it ; Nor would I leave our quarters willingly. Pse'in. O the delight of floating in a bath. One hand atliwart an orange-bough, the other 60 Flat on the marble ])avement, and our eyes Wandering among tliose figures round the arch That scatter flowers, and laugh at us, and vie With one another which shall tempt us most ! Nor is it undclightful, in my mind, To let the curly wave of the warm sea Climb over me, and languishingly chide My stopping it, and push me gently away. Andrea of Hungary. 155 Klapivrath. Water, cold, tepid, hot, is one to me. The only enemy to honest wine 70 Is water ; plague upon it ! Zinga. So say I. Fra Rupert. Three braver friends ne'er met. Hei ! hei ! hei ! hei ! The very name of friend ! You can not know What love I bear Andrea ! Psein. All the world Knows it. Frate. The mischief he designs, who guesses ? Pse'tn. All boys are mischievous. Fra Rupert. Alas ! but mischief 80 There might be without treachery. Psein. Poor Andrea ! So little fit for it ! Fra Rupert. Frank generous souls Always are first to suffer from it, last To know it when they meet it. Klapivrath. Who shall harm Our own king's colt ? Who moves, speaks, looks, against him. Why ! that man's shroud is woven, and spread out. Fra Rupert. Let mine then be ! would it had been so ere go I saw this day ! Psein. What has he done ? Fra Rupert. To me All kindness ever. Why such mad resolves Against the lives of his most sure defenders ? Against his countrymen, his guards, his father's Most chosen friends ? Zinga. Against your life ? Fra Rupert. No ! no ! Heaven protects me ; he sees it ; nor indeed 1 00 (To do him justice) has he such a heart. But why ask me to aid him ? Why ask me Whether he was as strong at heart as Zinga, Dexterous at sword as Klapwrath, such a fool . . Pardon ! your pardon, gentlemen ! \_Looking at Psein. 156 Dramatic Scenes. Psein. As Psein. Fra Rupert. The very word ! Who else dared utter it ? I give him up ! I almost give him up ! Klapivrath. He shall not rule us. The best blood of Hungary- Shall not be pour'd this night upon the wine. 1 1 o Fra Rupert. If you must leave the country . . and perhaps No worse may reach the greater part of you . . Psein. I have no mind to leave it. Zinga. None shall diive us. Klapiuratb. The wines of Hungary strive hard with these, Yet Klapwrath is contented ; he hates change. Z'uiga. Let us drink these out first, and tlien try those. Fra Rupert. Never will come the day when pine-root lire And heavy cones puff fragrance round the room, And two bluff healthy childi'en drag along 120 (One by the ear, the other by the scut) A bulging hare for supper ; where each greyhound Knows his own master, leaps up, hangs a foot Inward, and whimpers piteously to see Flagons go round, then off for bread and lard. Those were your happy times ; unless when foray Stirr'd ye to wrath, and beeves and swine and trulls (Tempting ye from propriety) heapt up A mount of sins to strive against ; abduction Of linen-chests, and those who wove the linen ; i 30 And shocking oaths obscene, and well-nigh acts ; Fracture of cellar-doors, and spinning-wheels ; And (who can answer for you) worse, worse, worse! Klapivrath. 'Sblood ! Frate ! lOins no vine-juice in our arteries ? Psein's forehead starts wry veins upon each side ; His nostrils blow so hot they'll crack my boots. Zinga. Must we move hence ? Fra Rupert. To die like sheep? like conies ? Ye shall not die alone ; I will die with you. There have been kings who sacrificed their sons. 1 40 Abraham would have done it ; Pagans have ; Andrea of Hungary. 157 But guardians such as I am ! . . Klapivrath. Frate ! Frate ! Don't tear those tindery rags, or they will quit thee With only horse-hair under, and some stifFer. Fra Rupert. You conquer me, you conquer me, I yield. He was not bloody. Could it end with one ! And we knew which . . or two, or three. Zlnga. But us ? Fra Rupert. " If once the captains of the companies," 150 Said he . . and then, I own, he said no more : He saw me shudder, and he sped away. Klapivrath. Are we to hold our throats out to the knife ? Fra Rupert. Patience ! dear doubtful Klapwrath ! mere suspicion ! He did not say the knife, or sword, or halter. He might have meant the scaffold ; nothing worse ; Deprive you he might not of all distinction. Nay, might spare one or other of you yet ; why then prevent what may need no prevention ? Slyer are few ; many more sanguinary : 1 60 Must we (don't say it) give him up I I hope He's mischievous through weakness, not malignity. Zinga. What matters that ? A feather-bed may stifle us (If we will let it) with a babe to press it. Is there no other prince in Hungary Fit to maintain us here ? Fra Rupert. The very thought That came into my head ! Pse'm. But when ours fall, What matters it who leaps upon his horse i 70 To overlook our maintenance ? A fool I may be ; can his wisdom answer that ? Zinga. He doubts my courage, bringing thus his own Against it. He's a boy : were he a man. No injury, no insult, no affront . . Every ^man is as brave as I . . Stop there ! By all my saints ! (//? shoivs several about hhn^ by all my services ! This hilt shall smash his teeth who dares say, ^'braver." 158 Dramatic Scenes. Klapwrath. What I am you know best, at battling it ; Nothing is easier: but I've swum two nights 180 And days together upon Baian wine, And so have ye : 'twould swamp that leaky nump-skull. Behead us ; good ! but underrate us ; never ! Fra Rupert. Having thus clear'd our consciences, and shown Our purity in face of day, we swear . . \_Hesitates. Ziriga. Frate, \f you don't grudge an oath or two . . Fra Rupert. Deatli to Andrea ! loyalty to Lewis ! j4/L Hurrah ! Fra Rupert. Sweet friends ! profane not thus the cloister ! Leave me to weep for him ! the cruel boy ! 1 90 ACT IV. SCENE IV. palace of aversa ; saloon overlooking the garden. Sancia, Filippa, Maria, Fiammetta. Maria. Ha ! here they come again. See ! lady Sancia Leaning upon Filippa. They are grown Wiser, and will not barter songs for griefs. Boccaccio tings. A mellow light on Latmos fell ; It came not from the lowly cell, It glided from the skies ; It lighted upon one who slept, Some voice then askt him why he wept, Some soft thing prest his eyes. Another might have wondered much, Or peer'd, or started at the touch, But he was far too wise ; He knew the light was from above, He play'd the shifting game of love, And lost at last three sighs. Fiammetta (^io Filippa). I wish he would come nearer, just to see How my hair shines, powdcr'd with dust of gold : Andrea of Hungary. 1 59 I think he then would call me . . Maria. What ? Fiammetta. Fiammetta. Filippa. He hardly . . poet as he seems to be . , Such as he is . . could feign a better name. lO He does not seem to be cut out for singing. Fiammetta. I would not have his voice one tittle altered. The poetry is pretty . . She says nothing. The poetry is charming . . Now she hears me. The most delightful poetry ! . . O lady Filippa ! not one praise for it ! not one ! I never dreamt you were yourself a poet. Filippa. These summer apples may be palatable, But will not last for winter ; the austere And wrinkle-rinded have a better chance. 20 Throw a whole honeycomb into a haystalk, It may draw flies, but never will feed horses. From these same cogs (eternally one tune) The mill has floured us with such dust all over As we must shake off, or die apoplectic. Your gentle silken-vested swains may wish All poetry one shcepfold. Maria. Sheep are well, Like men and most things, in their proper places. But when some prancing knight would entertain us, 30 Some gallant, brightening every gem about him, I would not have upon the palace-steps A hind cry out, "Make way there for my sheep." They say (not speaking of this woolsy race) They say that poets make us live for ever. Filippa. Sometimes the life they lend is worse than none, Shorn of its glory, shrivel'd up for want Of the fresh air of virtue. Fiammetta. Yet, to live ! O 1 and to live by those we love so well ! 40 Filippa. If such irregularities continue After to-night, when freedoms are allowed. We must lock up the gardens, rigorously Forbidding all the inmates of the palace i6o Dramatic Scenes. To use the keys they have. Fiammetta. The good king Robert Sooner had driven out the nightingales Than the poor timid poets. F'dippa. Timid poets ! What breed are they of? 50 F'lanimetta. Such as sing of love. F'll'ippa. The very worst of all ; the boldest men ! Maria. Nay ; not the boldest ; very quarrelsome, Tragic and comic, hot and cold, are so ; And so are nightingales ; the gardener Has told me ; and the poets do no worse Than they do. Here and there they pluck a feather From one another, here and there a crumb ; But, for hard fighting, fair straightfonvard fighting. With this one nosegay I could beat them all. 60 In good king Robert's day were lute and lyre ; Nor hardly dare we hang them on the nail. But run away and throw them down before The boisterous drum and trumpet hoarse with rage. Let poetry and music, dear Filippa, Gush forth unfrozen and uncheckt ! Filtppa. Ah child ! Thy fancy to some poet hath inflamed : Believe me they are dangerous men. Marta. No men 70 Are dangerous. F'dippa. O my child ! Maria. The veiy creatures Whom God has given us for our protection. Filippa. But against whom ? Maria. I never thought of tliat. Fiammella. Somebody told me once that good king Robert Gave keys to three or four, who neither were Nor would be constant inmates of the court. Maria. Who might and would not ! This is an enigma. 80 They must have felt then very low indeed. Among our glass-house jewels newly set, Andrea of Hungary. 1 6 1 I have seen vile ones, and have laught to think How nicely would my slipper pat their faces ; They never felt thus low. Sancia. We feel it for them. Prescript ively, we leave to our assayers To stamp the currency of gold and brass. Fiammetta [to Filippa). Have you not prais'd the king your very self For saying to Petrarca, as he did, 90 " Letters are dearer to me than my crown. And, were I forced to throw up one or other, Away should go the diadem, by Jove ! " Sancia. Thou art thy very father. Kiss me, child ! His father said it, and thy father would. When shall such kings adorn the throne again ! Fiammetta. When the same love of what Heaven made most lovely Enters their hearts ; when genius shines above them, And not beneath their feet. \_Goes up to Giovanni. Sancia [to Filippa). Rapturous girl ! 100 Warmth ripens years and wisdom. She discourses Idly as other girls on other things. Filippa. That ripening warmth fear I. Sancia. Portending what ? Filippa. Ah, gracious lady ! sweetest fraits fall soonest . . Sancia. (Who sweeter ?) Filippa. And are bruised the most by falling. Maria [joining them'). Sicily and myself are disagreed. Surely the man who sang must have thick fingers. He play'd so badly : but his voice is sweet, i i o For all its trembling. Fiammetta. Now I think the trembling Makes it no worse. I wish he would go on. Maria. Evidently the song should finish there. Fiammetta. Evidently it should go on . . [aside) for ever. Maria. Ho ! ho ! you are not cruel to the knight ? Fiammetta. It is no knight at all. Sancia. How know you that ? VOL. 1. L r62 Dramatic Scenes. Maria. You would be frightened . . Fiammetta. He could never frighten. 1 20 Maria. If tilting. . Fiammetta. Nobody would hurt Giovanni. ACT IV. SCENE V. Andrea, Maria, and Fiammetta. Andrea. So ! you too have been listening, every soul, I warrant ye. Maria, And have you too, Andrea ? Andrea. From that snug little watch-tower : 'twas too high; I only lookt upon the tops of trees. See ! him there ! maskt ! under the mulberry ! Fiammetta. I do not see him . . Look for him elsewhere : That is a shadow. Andrea. Think you so ? It may be. And the guitar ? i O ■ Fiammetta. What ! that great yellow toad-stool ? Andrea. How like is everything we see by starlight ! Fiammetta (^aside). If there were not a star in all the sky. Every one upon earth would know Giovanni ! Andrea. I wish the mulberries were not past, that dozens Might drop upon him, and might speckle over His doublet : we should see it like a trout To-morrow, white and crimson, and discover The singer of this nonsense about light. Fiammetta. If you don't like it, pray don't listen to it. 20 Maria (^maliciously). Then let us come away. Fiammetta. Pray do. Maria (^taking her arm). Come. Fiammetta (^peevishly). No. Maria. Listen ! another song ! Fiammetta. Hush ! for Heaven's sake ! O ! will you never listen ? All this noise! ^ Maria, l^aughter might make some ; smiles arc much too silent. Andrea of Hungary. 1 63 Fiammetta. Well ; you have stopt him ; are you now content I Maria. Quite, quite ; if you are. 30 Fiammetta. He begins again ! Hush ! for the hope of Paradise ! O hush ! Boccaccio sings. List ! list ye to another talc ! FiammMa. No ; he who dares tell one To other ears than one's shall fail. Boccaccio. I sing for her alone. Andrea. I have a mind to be . . Maria. What ? prince ! Andrea. What ? angry. Maria. Not you. Andrea. Not I ? Why, who should hinder me ? Maria [coaxing). No, no ; you won't be angry, prince ! Andrea. I said Half-angry, and resolve to keep my word. 40 Maria. Anger is better, as pomegranates are. Split into halves, and losing no small part. Andrea. I never heard such truth about pomegranates ! What was the other thing we reason'd on ? Ho ! now I recollect, as you shall see. \_Goes : all follow- ACT IV. SCENE VI. GARDEN. Andrea, Maria, Fiammetta, and Boccaccio. Andrea. Keep back : where thieves may be, leave men alone. Now for drawn swords ! Where are they ; sllpt behind The mulberry : wisely schemed ! 'twon't do ! come forth ! 164 Dramatic Scenes. Yield ! tremble like a poplar-leaf ! Who art thou ? \^Seizmg Boccaccio. Boccaccio. King Robert, sir, respected me. Andrea. Did he ? Did he ? Then far more highly should Andrea. Sicily ! treat him kindly. We may all, Even you and I, commit an indiscretion. How the stars twinkle ! how the light leaves titter ! i o And there are secret quiverings in the herbs, As if they all knew something of the matter. And wisht it undisturb'd. To-night no harm Shall happen to the worst man in Aversa. ACT V. SCENE I. PALACE OF AVERSA. Andrea and Giovanna. Giovanna. How gracefully thou sattest on thy horse, Andrea ! Andrea. Did 1 ? Giovanna. He curveted so, Sidled and pranced and croucht and plunged again, I almost was afraid, but dared not say it. Andrea. Castagno is a sad curvetting rogue. Giovanna. 'Twas not Castagno ; 'twas Polluce. Andrea. Was it ? How canst thou tell, Giovanna ? 10 Giovanna. I can tell. Andrea. All at hap-hazard : I am very sure 'Twas not the horse you lookt at ; nor did I Think about riding, or about the palfrey. Crimson and gold, half palfrey and half ostrich. But thou too ridest like a queen, my dove ! Giovanna. So very like one ? Would you make me proud ? /Jndrea. God forbid that ! I love thee more for beauty. Andrea of Hungary. 165 Ne'er put on pride, my heart ! thou dost not want it ; Many there are who do ; cast it to them 20 Who can not do without it, empty souls ! Ha ! how you look ! is it surprise or pleasure ? Giovanna. Pleasure, my love ! I will obey with pleasure This your first order. But indeed, my husband, You must not look so fondly when the masks come, For you and I, you know, shall not be masked. Andrea. A pretty reason for not looking fond ! Must people then wear masks for that ? Giovanna. Most do. I never saw such fondness as some masks 30 Presented. Andrea. Thou hast never seen half mine ; Thou shalt ; and then shalt thou sit judge between us. We have not spoken more to-day, my chuck. Than many other days, yet thou appearest Wiser than ever. I have gain'd from thee More than I gave. Giovanna. And, without flattery, I am more pleas'd with your discourse than ever. Andrea [fondly). No, not than ever. In this very room 40 Didst thou not give to me this very hand Because I talked so well ? Giovanna. We foolish girls Are always caught so. Andrea. Always kept so, too ? Well, we must see about it then, in earnest. Giovanna. Andrea ! one thing see to : pray inquire If, in the crowd that rushed so thro' the gates. No accident has happen'd. Some cried out, Some quarrell'd ; many horses started off, t;o And bore amid them. Andrea. Never fear. Giovanna. But ask. [_Hegoes. 1 66 Dramatic Scenes. ACT V, SCENE II. FiAMMETTA, Maria, FiLiPPA, and Sancia, enter. Maria. The bridegroom is among the other grooms, Asking odd questions : what man's horse broke loose, Wlio was knockt down, what fruit-stall overturn'd, Who quarrell'd, who cried out, struck, ran away. Giovanna. Maria ! this is pleasantry. Andrea {returning hastily^. They say, CarafFa and Caraccioli are dead. Giovanna. It can not be : they were both well this morning. Filtppa. The west- wind blew this morning . . no air now. Giovanna. O but, Filippa ! they both came together, i o Did not queen Sancia tell you ? Filippa. I have seen Two barks together enter the port yonder, And pait together. Giovanna. But to die at once ! Filippa. Happy the friends whom that one fate befalls ! Giovanna. So soon ! Filippa. Perhaps so soon. Giovanna. It may be happy. It must be strange ; awfully strange indeed ! 20 [ F I AM M ETTA gOeS OUt. Andrea. My darling ! how you pity those two youths ! I like you for it. Giovanna. Both have fathers living : What must they suffer ! Each . . I never heard, But may well fancy . . loved some girl who loves him. I could shed tears for her. Maria. My dear Giovanna ! Do queens shed tears ? and on the wedding-day ? Sancia. I see no reason why they should not. Filippa [aside). I, 30 Alas ! see far too many why they should. Andrea. What did Filippa say ? that brides should cry ? Andrea of Hungary. i ^-^ Filippa {to GiovANNA and Maria). Not idly has the genial breath of song Turn'd into pearls the tears that women shed ; They are what they are call'd : some may be brighter Among your gems, none purer, none become The youthful and the beautiful so well. Andrea [as Fiammetta enters^. Here enters one you never will teach that, She is too light for grief, too gay for love. And neither salt nor mistleto can catch her, 40 Nor springe nor net : she laughs at all of them Like any woodpecker, and wings away. I know you women ; I'm a married man : Fiammetta. They will not give the story up : they draw All different ways, but death they all will have. Andrea. Ay, and one only will not satisfy them. \_An Ojfficer enters, and confers apart with him. Certain ? Giovanna. Some other accident less heavy, Heaven ! let us hope ! Andrea. Strangled ! O what a death ! 50 One of them . . one (no matter now which of them) Disliked me, shunn'd me ; if we met, lookt at me Straighter and taller and athwart the shoulder, And dug his knuckles deep into his thigh. I gave him no offence . . yet, he is gone . . Without a word of hearing, he is gone ! To think of this ! to think how he has fallen Amid his pranks and joyances, amid His wild heath myrtle-blossoms, one might say, It quite unmans me. 60 Sancia. Speak not so, my son ! Let others, when their nature has been changed To such unwonted state, when they are call'd To do what angels do and brutes do not. Sob at their shame, and say they are unmann'd : Unmann'd they can not be ; they are not men. At glorious deeds, at sufferings well endured. Yea, at life's thread snapt with its gloss upon it, Be it man's pride and privilege to weep. 1 68 Dramatic Scenes. ACT V. SCENE III. GRAND SALOON. Masks passing. Andrea, Giovanna, Maria, Fiammetta, Filippa. Fil'ippa. It may be right, my lady, that you know What masks are here. Giovanna. I have found out ah"eady A few of them. Several waived ceremony (Desirably at masks) and past unnoticed. . The room fills rapidly. Filippa. Not to detain My queen (for hundreds anxiously approach), Pardon ! I recognised the Piince Luigi. Giovanna. Taranto ? Tell our cousin to keep on i o His mask all evening. Hither ! uninvited ! Maria {^out of breath). Think you the dais will keep the masks from hearing ? Giovanna. Why should it ? Maria. Oh ! why should it ? He is here. Even Filippa could distinguish him. Every one upon earth must know Taranto. Giovanna. Descend we then : beside the statue there We may converse some moments privately. Maria. Radiant I saw him as the sun . . a name We always gave him . . rapid as his beams. 20 I should have known him by his neck alone Among ten thousand. While I gazed upon it. He gazed at three mysterious masks : then rose That graceful column, ampler, and more wreathed With its marmoreal thews and dimmer veins. The three masks hurried thio' the hall ; Taranto After them (fierce disdain upon his brow) Darted as Mercury at Jove's command. No doubt, three traitors who dared never face him In his own country, arc courageous here. 30 Andrea of Hungary. 1 69 Giovanna. Taranto then, Taranto was unmaskt Against my orders ! Maria. Rather say, before. Luigi never disobeyed Giovanna. Giovanna. Filippa carried them. Maria. I know his answer. Giovanna. Repeat it then, for she may not to-night. Maria. " Tell her I come the cousin, not the prince, Nor with pretension, nor design, nor hope ; 1 come the loyal, not the fond, Taranto." 40 Why look you round ? Giovanna. The voice is surely his. Maria. The thoughts are . . Giovanna [pressing her hand). May, O Heaven! the speaker be ! \_Both walk away. Fra Rupert [masked and disguised, to one next). I heard our gracious queen, espoused to-day, Give orders that Taranto keep v/ell maskt. Next Mask [to another). Ho then ! Taranto here ! Second Mask. What treachery ! Fra Rupert [masked). He could not keep away. Tem- pestuous love Has tost him hither. Let him but abstain 50 From violence, nor play the jealous husband. As some men do when husbands cross their road. Second Mask. Taranto is a swordsman to the proof. First Mask. Where is he ? Fra Rupert. He stood yonder, in sky-blue. With pearls about the sleeves. Second Mask. Well call him Phoebus ! I would give something for a glimpse at what That mask conceals. Fra Rupert. Oh ! could we catch a glimpse 60 Of what all masks conceal, 'twould break our hearts. Far better hidden from us ! Woman ! woman ! [_Goes off. First Mask [to second). A friar Rupert ! only that his voice Breathes flute-like whisperings, rather than reproofs. Second Mask. Beside, he stands three inches higher j his girth 1 70 Dramatic Scenes. Slenderer by much. First Mask. Who thought 'twas really he ? I only meant he talkt as morally. Third Mash [coming up to Fourth). I am quite certain there is Frate Rupert. Fourth Mask. Where is he not ? The Devil's ubiquity ! But, like the Devil, not well known when met. [70 How found you him so readily ? What mark ? Third Mask. Stout is he, nor ill-built, tho' the left shoulder Is half a finger's breadth above the right. Fourth Mask. But that man's . . let me look . . That man's right shoulder Stands two good inches highest. Third Mask. Doubt is past . . We catch him ! over-sedulous disguise ! ACT V. SCENE IV. Andrea. We have a cousin in the house, my queen ! W hat dost thou blush at ? why art troubled ? sure We are quite grand enough for him : our supper (I trust) will answer all his expectations. Maria. So you have lookt then at the supper-table ? Andrea. 'Twould mortify me if Giovanna's guests Were disappointed. Giovanna. Mine ! and not yours too ? Andrea. Ah sly one ! you have sent then for Taranto And would not tell me ! Cousin to us both, 1 o To both he should be welcome as to one. Another little blush ! Why, thou art mine, And never shalt, if love's worth love, repent it. Giovanna. Never, my own Andrea ! for such trust Is far more precious than the wealthiest realms, Or all that ever did adorn or win them. Andrea. I must not wait to hear its value told. We shall have time to count it out together. I now must go to greet our cousin yonder, Andrea of Hungary. 1 7 1 He waits me in the balcony ; the guards 20 Have sent away the loiterers that stood round, And only two or three of his own friends Remain with him. To tarry were uncourteous. Maria (^earnestly). I do believe Luigi is below. ylndrea. Do not detain me : we have never met Since your proud sister spoke unkindly to him, And, vaulting on his horse, he hurried home. \_Goes. Maria. The soldiers there do well to guard the balcony, And close the folding-doors against intrusion. \_Cry is heard. Fiammetta. Ha! some inquisitive young chamber-lady, 30 Who watcht Luigi enter, pays for it. Those frolicsome young princes are demanding A fine for trespass. Giovanna. Nay, they are too rude. Permitting any rudeness. Struggles ! sobs ! Andrea never caused them. Maria. Shame, Taranto ! Giovanna. Stifling of screams ! Those nearer are alarmed ; Those farther off are running for the staircase ; And many come this way ! What can they mean ? 40 See, they look angry as they run, and dash Their hands against their foreheads ! C^^O' alarmed. Where's a page ? \_A page stands masked in the doorivay ; crowds of unmasked behind him. Maria. A page ! a page ! Page [to himself). I am one ; and discovered ! \_Advances. Giovanna. Run ; see what those young courtiers round the princes Are doing in the balcony. Below ; Not there. Page. I might mistake the Prince Andrea, Not having ever seen him. co Maria. Who then are you ? Page. The Prince Luigi's page, whom I awaited, To say his groom and horse are near at hand. Maria. He goes then ? Page. Ere it dawn. 172 Dramatic Scenes. Giovanna. O ! hasten ! hasten Below, and instantly run back again, Reporting me what you can discover there. Page [returns). Lady ! the lamps about the balcony Are all extinguisht. 60 Giovanna. Is the wind so high ? What didst thou hear, what didst thou note, beside ? Page [hesitating). Against the gentlest, the most virtuous queen. Opprobrious speech, threats, imprecations . . Giovanna. Pass it. Page. Upon the stairs ; none from the gardens. Giovanna. There What sawest thou ? Page. Over the balcony Downward some burden swang. 70 Giovanna. Some festive wreath Perhaps. Page. Too heavy ; almost motionless. Maria. Several damask draperies thrown across. Page. May-be. The wind just stirr'd the bottom of them : I had no time to look : I saw my prince Fighting. Maria. O heaven ! was ever night like this . . Page. For gallant sword ! it left two proofs behind : The third man, seeing me (poor help for arm 80 So valiant ! ) fled. Maria. O ! we are safe then, all. \_Very joyous. Page. No cap lost they, nor did the one who fled : Whose in the world of Naples, can be this ? \He lakes from under his richly embroidered cloak the cap of Andrea. Giovanna clasps it to her face, and falls nvith a stifled scream. \^/lnother Page brings in Andrea's ermine cloak. This cloak fell near me from the balusters. Maria. His own ! Ha ! this dark speck is not the ermine's. Filippa. See ! she revives ! Hide it away ! O guests Of our unhappy festival, retire. Giovanna of Naples. 173 GIOVANNA OF NAPLES. CHARACTERS. L,E\Vi;^,^ King of Hungari/. LuiGl, Prince of Taranto. AcciAJOLI, Seneschal of Naples. Ugo DEL Balzo. SpiNELLO, General of Naples. RiENZI, Tribune of Rome. Fra Rupert. Boccaccio. Petrarca. Psein, a Hungarian Captain. Pope's Nuncio. Prior of the Celestines. Wife of Rienzi. Filippa of Catania. Sancia, her Granddaughter. Princess Maria. Fiammetta. ACT I. SCENE I. GARDEN OF C APO-Dl-MONTE. Boccaccio and Fiammetta. Boccaccio, Adieu the starlit gardens of Aversa, The groves of Capo-Monte ! Fiammetta. Why adieu ? Boccaccio. One night will throw its gloom upon them long. Fiammetta. It will indeed, but love can dwell in gloom, And not repine in it. Boccaccio. The generous man, Who might have much impeded ours, gave way To bitter impulses. My face is flusht To think of his hard doom, and find myself TO Happy where he was happy, and so lately ! Fiammetta. I too have sighs, nor for thee only, now. Giovanna, had an angel told it me The other day, I should have disbelieved. We all are now alike. Even queen Sancia,^ [^ L. reads Even Queen Sancia Sancia so calm in sorrow, said, "Death comes To some with ffames across his angiy brow, To others holds green palm and aureole crown," &c.] 174 Dramatic Scenes. Whose sadness is scarce sadness, so resign'd Is she to Heaven, at this balustrade Lean'd and lookt over, hearing some one sing. " Impatient is the singer there," said she, " To nin thro' his delight, to fill the conch 20 Of song up to the brim, and wise were he Thought he not, O my child, as think, he might, How every gust of music, eveiy air. Breathing its freshness over youthful breasts. Is a faint prelude to the choirs above. And how Death stands in the dark space between, To some with invitations free and meek. To some with flames athwart an angry brow ; To others holds green palm and aureole crown, Dreadless as is the shadow of a leaf . ." 30 But, while she said it, prest my hand and wept. Then prayed of Heaven its peace for poor Andrea. Boccaccio. We may think too as wisely as the queen When we attain her age ; of other flames And other palms and other crowns just now. Like eveiy growth, thoughts also have their seasons ; We will not pluck unripe ones ; they might hurt us. That lady then was with you ? Fiammetta. She herself Led me up hither by the sleeve. Giovanna 40 Is there below, secure, in Castel-Nuovo. Look you ! what crowds are gathering round about it. Boccaccio. I see them, and implore you, my Fiammetta, To tarry here, protected by queen Sancia. Fiammetta. And will you tarry near me ? Boccaccio. While the queen Your sister is quite safe. Fiammetta. What ! thinkest thou She ever can be otherwise than safe ? I will run down to her. 50 Boccaccio. There is no danger At present ; if there should be, my weak aid Shall not be wanting. He whom she laments I too lament : this bond unites me with her ; Giovanna of Naples, 1 75 And I will keep her in my sight, and follow (As lighter birds follow the powerfuUer) Where'er the tempest drives her . . not to save, But break the fall, or warn her from below. Fiammetta. Generously spoken, my own sweet Giovanni ! Do so, and I can spare you ; but remember 60 Others may want a warning too, may want Some one to break a fall, some one to save . . . Giovanni ! O Giovanni ! to save what ? For what is left but love ? . . save that, Giovanni ! Boccaccio. Were any infelicity near you, Crowns and their realms might perish : but your sister Is part of you : had she but lookt into Your cradle, and no more ; had one kind word, And only one, fallen from her upon you ; My life should be the price for it. 70 Fiammetta. Your life ! We have but one, we two. But until she Is safe again, and happier, you shall keep it. Go, go then ; follow her ; but soon return. While you are absent from me, shapeless fears Must throng upon and keep awake my sorrow. Boccaccio. To grieve for what is past, is idle grief, Idler to grieve for what may never be. Courage ! when both most wish it, we shall meet. ACT I. SCENE II. CASTEL-NUOVO. Giovanna and Del Balzo. Gio'vamia. Ugo del Balzo ! thou art just and firm. Seek we the murderers out, and bring them forth Before their God and fellow-men, if God Or fellow-men have they. Spare none who did This cruel deed. The partner of my throne, Companion of my days . . until that day . . Avenge ! In striking low the guilty head 176 Dramatic Scenes. Show mercy to my people. Take from me And execute with promptness this commission. O what a chasm in life hath one day made, lO Thus giving way with such astounding crash Under my feet, when all seem'd equable, All hopeful, not a form of fear in sight. Del Balzo. Lady! if all could see the pangs within Which rend your bosom, every voice would pause From railing and reproach. Glovannu. Reproach who will, Rail who delight in railing. Could my arm Protect the innocent ? Del Balzo. But strange reports 20 (With this commission in my hand I speak it) Murmur throughout the city. Kindred, ay, Close kindred are accused. Giovanna. Such accusations Have burst upon my ear : they wrong my cousin. A man more loyal than the brave Taranto Nor court nor field e'er saw : but even he Shall not escape if treachery be found Within the shadow of that lofty mien. Del Balzo. No, by the sword of the archangel ! no.. 30 Altho' his sister smiles this hour upon Her first-born of my dear and only brother The Duke of Andria. Thou must weep, Francesco ! And she and I ; for such dishonour taints The whole house through, obscuiing past and future. Was he not in Aversa ? Giovanna. He was there. Del Balzo. And were no orders given that he keep on His mask all evening ? Giovanna. Yes, I gave those orders. 40 Del Balzo. The Queen's commission reaches not the Queen. Giovanna. Imperfect then is that commission, Ugo ! Del Balzo. Freedom of speech is limited. Giovanna. By what ? Del Balzo. The throne. Giovanna of Naples. 177 Giovanna. For once then push the throne more back, And let thy words and actions have their scope. Del Balzo. Why was Aversa chosen for the revels ? [The Queen hesitates and sighs deeply. One answer comes from all. Because the town Is Norman, the inhabitants are Norman, 50 Sworn enemies to an Hungarian prince ; The very name sounds hostilely ; the walls Built in aversion to the pride of Capua. Giovanna. I could give other answer, which such hearts Would little understand. My happiest days Were spent there . . O that there my last had closed ! Was it not in Aversa we first met ? There my Andrea, while our friends stood round At our betrothment, fain would show me first A horse they led for him from Hungary. 60 The hands we join'd were little hands indeed ! And the two rings we interchanged would ill Let pass the bossy chain of his light hair Entwisted with my darker, nor without His teeth were then drawn through it. Those were days When none saw quarrels on his side or mine. Yet were there worse than there were latterly, Or than since childhood ever. We have lived From those days forth without distrust and strife. All might have seen but now will not know that. 70 Del Balzo. Lady ! the court and people do remember That none more courteous, none more beautiful, Lives than the Prince Luigi . . they acknowledge That Prince Andrea's qualities fell short . . Giovanna. Del Balzo ! cease ! he was your prince but now . . His virtues were domestic . . few saw those. Del Balzo. Few, I confess it ; not so few the other's. His assiduities, his love. Giovanna. Do these Remember too, whate'er advantages 80 The Prince Luigi of Taranto had, I gave my hand where they who rear'd me will'd, VOL. I. M 1 78 Dramatic Scenes. That no contention in our family Might reach my people ? Ugo ! tell me now To whom show'd I my love ? To them or him ? Del Baho. Lady ! 'twas nobly done. Yet he was seen To walk among the maskers on that night, Was ordered to keep on his mask, was known To watch Andrea in the balcony. To rush away, to fight below the place 90 Where the inhuman deed was pei-petrated, And then to fly. Giovanna. Oh ! if Taranto could Be guilty ! . . but impossible 1 My sister Saw him pursue three masks : and his own page Found him in fight with one, where two were slain. Del Baho. Would any court receive such testimony ? Giovanna. Examine then more closely. I am lost, Not in conjectures, for my mind flies off From all conjecture, but in vague, in wild 100 Tumultuous thoughts, all broken, crost, and crazed. Go, lose no moment. There are other things [Del Balzo^o^j. I could have said . . what were they ? . . there are things . . Maria . . why not here ! . . She knows there are . . O ! were the guilty so perplcxt as I am. No guilt were undiscover'd in the world ! ACT I. SCENE III. FiLippA, Sancia TERLizzr, Del Balzo. Sanaa Terlizzi. Gentle and gracious and compassionate, Companion and not queen to those about her, Giovanna delegates her fullest powers To stern Del Balzo ; and already force Enters the palace gates. FlUppa. Let them be closed Against all force. Send for the seneschal. Giovanna of Naples. 179 Sancio Ter/izzi. Acciajoli has departed for Aversa, There to make inquest. Filippa. Who dares strike the door ? lO Del Balzo [entering). The laws. Filippa. Count Ugo ! is the queen extinct ? Del Balzo. The prince is. Therefore lead with due respect These ladies, and the rest, av/ay. [To an Officer. Filippa. What means This violence ? Del Balzo {^to the Officer'). Let none, I pray, be used. [To Filippa. Behold the queen's commissiort ! In that chamber Where close examinations must ensue, In clear untroubled order let your words 20 lyeave us no future violence to be fear'd. Filippa (^returning the paper). The queen hath acted as she always acts. Discreetly ; bravely ; it becomes her race And station : what becomes a faithful subject Let us do now. \_The Queen enters. Sancia Terlizzi. Turn : lo, the queen herself ! Del Balzo. Lady ! there is one chamber in the realm, And only one, and that but for one day. You may not enter. Giovanna. Which is that, Del Balzo ? 30 Del Balzo. Where the judge sits against the criminal. Giovanna. Criminal ! none are here. Del Balzo. If all my wishes Avail'd me, there were none. Giovanna. Sure, sure, the palace Is sacred. Del Balzo. Sacred deeds make every place Sacred, unholy ones make all unholy. Giovanna. But these are our best friends. Filippa. My royal mistress ! 40 The name of friendship and the name of justice Should stand apart. Permit me to retire . . [To Del Balzo. Whither, sir, you must dictate. i8o Dramatic Scenes. Del Baho. Lead them on. \_The Queen throws her arms round Filippa who gently removes them and goes. Lady ! would you protect the culpable ? Giovanna. Ugo del Balzo ! would you wrong the queen ? Del Baho. I recognise the lofty race of Robert, And my arm strengthens and my heart dilates. Giovanna. Perform your duty, sir, and all your duty ; Win praise, win glory . . mine can be but tears. 50 [G, oes. ACT I. SCENE IV, Fra Rupert, Del Balzo. Fra Rupert. Confessionals are close ; and closer still The heart that holds one treasure. Del Baho. Father Rupert ! What brought thee hither at this busy hour ? Fra Rupert. My duty : I must not delay my duty. Del Baho. What is it ? Fra Rupert. I would fain absolve from sin (Far as the Church allows) the worst of sinners. Del Baho. In few plain words, who sent for thee ? Fra Rupert. In fewer, lO I scorn thy question. Del Baho. Father ! thou must wait. The prince's death involves some powerful ones. Whose guilt or innocence shall presently Be ascertained. Fra Rupert. What ! and shall man hear first The guilty soul confess its secret sin ? Shall not the angels carry up the tale Before the people catch it ? Del Baho. They, no doubt, 20 Already have done this. Fra Rupert. Not half, not half. Del Baho. Father ! it seems thou knowest more about it Than I or any else. Why reddenest thou ? Giovanna of Naples. 1 8 1 Fra Rupert. Dost think, Del Balzo, any word escapes The sanctuary of consciences ? the throne Of grace and mercy on our earth below ? The purifier, the confessional ? So then ! some powerful ones are apprehended For what they did ! O merciful Del Balzo ! 30 Be sparing of a woman's blood, Del Balzo ! And age hath claims upon our pity too ; And so hath youth, alas ! and early ties Suddenly broken shock far round about. Beside ; who knows . . thou canst not certainly . . If any can . . they may be innocent, Each of the three, one more, one less, perhaps : Innocent should be all whose guilt lacks proof. O my poor child Andrea, pardon me ! Thou wouldst not have sought blood for blood, Andrea ! 40 Thou didst love all these women ! most of all Her . . but there's justice, even on earth, Andrea ! [Goes. Del Balzo. 'Tis so ! that stern proud bosom bursts with grief. ACT I. SCENE V. Maria. Ah, why, Del Balzo, have you let come in The filthy monk, Fra Rupert ? He has frightened Sancia Terlizzi almost into fainting. And tell me by what right hath he or any Ordered her up into her room, and taken Her mother down below, into those chambers Which we have always been forbid to enter ! Del Balzo. Perhaps to ask some questions ; for the queen Ought to be satisfied. Maria. Then let me go 10 And ask her : she would tell me in a moment What they will never get from her. Del Balzo. Perhaps, O princess ! you may have mistaken, Maria. No ; 1 82 Dramatic Scenes. I never was mistaken in Filippa. Rudeness can neither move nor discompose her : A word, a look, of kindness, instantly Opens her heart and brings her cheek upon you. Del Balzo. The countess has more glorious qualities 20 Than noble birth has given any else. Whether her heart has all that tenderness . . Maria. Is my heart tender. Del Baho. Be it not too tender, Or it may suffer much, and speedily. And undeservedly. The queen your sister. Gentle as you, hath fortitude. Maria. Giovanna Is tenderer than I am ; she sheds tears Oftener than I do, though she hides them better. 30 Del Baho. I saw their traces : but more royally Never shone courage upon grief opprest. Maria. The lovely platane in the garden-walk Catches the sun upon her buds half-open, And looks the brightest where unbarkt and unscathed. O find them out who have afflicted her With that most cruel blow. Del Baho. 'Tis what she bade me, And what I now am hastening to perform. [_Goes. Giovanna enters. Maria. Courage, Giovanna ! courage, my sweet sister ! 40 Del Balzo will find out those wicked men. O ! I forgot to tell him what assistance Fra Rupert might afford him. Every crime Is known to him. But certainly Fra Rupert, Who loved Andrea so, will never cease Until he find the slayer of his friend. Ah my poor sister ! if you had but heard The praises of Del Balzo, you would soon Resume your courage and subdue your tears. Giovanna. Before Del Balzo, sister, I disdain ^o To show them or to speak of them. Be mine Hid from all eyes ! God only knows their source, Giovanna of Naples. 183 Their truth or falsehood. In the light of day Some lose their bitterness, run smoothly on, And catch compassion, leisurely, serenely: Never will mine run thus : my sorrows lie In my own breast ; my fame rests upon others. Who throw it from them now the blast has nipt it. 'Tis ever so. Applauses win applauses. Crowds gather about crowds, the solitary 60 Are shunned as lepers, and in haste past by. Maria. But we will not be solitaiy ; we Are not so easy to pass by in haste ; We are not very leper-looking. Giovanna. Cease, Maria ! nothing on this earth so wounds The stricken bosom as such sportiveness, Or weighs worn spirits down like levity. Give me your hand . . Reproof is not reproach. 1 might have done the same . . how recently ! 70 Maria. Hark ! what is all that outciy ? Giovanna. 'Tis for him Whom we have lost. Maria. But angry voices mixt With sorrowful ? Giovanna. To him both due alike. Spinello enters. Spinello. Hungarian troops throng every street and lane, Driving before them the infirm, the aged, The children, of both sexes. Giovanna. Shelter them. 80 Spinello. Such is the hope of those base enemies. That, unprovided for defence, the castle May fall into their hands : and very quickly (Unless we drive them back) our scanty stores Leave us exhausted. Giovanna. Dost thou fear, Spinello ? Spinello. I do : but if my sovran bids me bare This breast of armour and assail her foes, Soon shall she see what fears there lie within. 184 Dramatic Scenes. Giovatina. Let me too have my fears, nor worse than thine, Loyal and brave Spinello ! Dare I ask [90 Of God my daily bread nor give it those Whose daily prayers have earned it for us all ? I dare not. Throw wide open every gate And stand between the last of my poor people And those who drive them in. Spinello. We then are lost. Giovanna. Not from God's sight, nor theirs who look to God. Maria. O sister ! may that smile of yours be parent Of many. It sinks back, and dies upon 1 00 The lovely couch it rose from. [Del Balzo enters.~\ I will go ; Del Balzo looks, I think, more stern than ever. Gloyanna. Del Balzo, I perceive thou knowest all, And pitiest my condition. [Del Balzo ama%ed. Spinello. Standest thou, Lookest thou, thus, before thy sovran, sir ? Giovanna. Be friends, be friends, and spare me one affront. Wiser it were, and worthier, to devise How tumults may be quell'd than how increast. On your discretion lies your country's weal. \_Goes. 1 10 Spinello. Ugo del Balzo ! thou art strong in war. Strong in alliances, in virtue strong. But darcst thou, before the queen, before The lowest of the loyal, thus impute With brow of scorn and figure fixt aslant, Atrocious crimes to purity angelic ? Del Balxo. Hcard'st thou her words and askcst thou this question ? Spinello ! nor in virtue nor in courage (Our best alliances) have I pretence To stand before thee. Chancellor thou art, 1 20 And, by the nature of thy office, shouldst Have undertaken my most awful duty : Why didst thou not ? Spinello. Because the queen herself Giovanna of Naples. 185 Will'd otherwise ; because her chancellor, She thought, might vindicate some near unduly. Del Baho. She thought so ? what ! of thee ? Spinello. Thus it appears. But on this subject never word escaped Her lips to me : her own pure spirit frankly 1 30 Suggested it : her delicacy shunn'd All explanation, lacking no excuse. Thou askest if I heard her at thy entrance : I heard her, like thyself. The words before Thou didst not hear ; I did. Her last appeal Was for the wretched driven within the castle, And doom'd to pine or force us to surrender. For them she call'd upon thee, never else. To pity her condition. Del Baho. Pardon me ! 1 40 I have much wrong'd her. Yet, among the questioned Were strange confessions. One alone spake scornfully Amid her tortures. Spinello. Is the torture, then, The tongue of Tmth ? Del Baho. For once, I fear, 'tis not. Spinello. It was Giovanna's resolute design To issue her first edict through the land Abolishing this horrid artifice. Whereby the harden'd only can escape. i 50 " The cruel best bear cruelty," said she, " And those who often have committed it May once go through it." Del Baho. And would'st thou, Spinello ! Thus lay aside the just restraints of law. Abolishing what wise and holy men Raised for the safeguard of society ? Spinello. The holy and the wise have done such things As the unwise and the unholy shrink at. [ \ 60 Del Baho. It might be thought a hardship in a country Where laws want ingenuity ; where scales. Bandage, and sword, alone betoken Justice, lU-furbisht ineffective armour)^, 1 86 Dramatic Scenes. With nothing but cross-shooting shafts of words ! Spinello. Since every deed like torture must afflict A youthful breast, so mild, so sensitive, Trust it to me, and we will then devise How the event may best be laid before her. Del Baho. A clue was given by unwilling hands, Wherewith we entered the dark, narrow chambers 17O Of this strange mystery. Filippa first, Interrogated if she knew the murderer, Denied it : then, if she suspected any ; " I do," was her reply. Whom ? She was silent. Where should suspicion now (tell me, Spinello !) Wander or fix ? I askt her if the Queen Was privy to the deed. Then swell'd her scorn. Again I askt her, and show'd the rack. " Throw me upon it ; I will answer thence,'"' Said with calm voice Filippa. She was rackt. 1 80 Screams from all round fiU'd the whole vault. " See, children ! How those who fear their God and love their Prince Can bear this childish cruelty," said she. Although no other voice escaped, the men Trembled, the women wail'd aloud. " To-morrow," Said I, " Filippa ! thou must answer Justice. Release her." Still the smile was on her face : She was releast : Death had come down and saved her. Spinello. Faithfullest friend of the unhappy ! plead For us whose duty was to plead for thee ! 1 90 Thou art among the Blessed ! On, Del Balzo ! Del B(il%o. Sancia, her daughter's child . . Spinello. The playful Sancia ? Whose fifteenth birthday we both kept together . . Was it the sixth or seventh of last March ? . . Terlizzi's bride two months ago ? Del Baho. The same. Spinello. And the same fate ? Del Balxo. She never had seen Death : SI1C thought lier cries could drive him off again, 200 Tliought her soft lips might liave relaxt the rigid, Giovanna of Naples. 187 And her warm tears . . Spinello. Del Balzo ! wert thou there ? Or tearest thou such dreamery from some book, If any book contain such ? Del Baho. I was there ; And what I saw I ordered to be done. Justice would have it ; Justice smote my heart, Justice sustained it too. Spinello. Her husband would 2 i o Rather have died than hear one shriek from Sancia. Del Balzo. So all men would : for never form so lovely Lighted the air around it. Spinello. Let us go And bear her home. Del Baho. To me the way lies open ; But much I fear, Spinello, the Hungarians Possess all avenue to thy escape. Spitiello. Escape is not the word for me, my friend. I had forgotten the Hungarians 220 (It seems) the Queen, myself, captivity . . I may not hence : relate then if more horrors Succeeded. Del Baho. When Terlizzi saw Filippa Lie stiff before him, and that gentle bride Chafing her limbs, and shrinking with loud yells Whenever her soft hand felt some swol'n sinew. In hopes to finish here and save all else, He cried aloud, " Filippa was the murderess." At this she darted at him such a glance 230 As the mad only dart, and fell down dead. « 'Tis false ! 'tis false ! " cried he. « Speak, Sancia, speak ! Or hear me say 'tis false." They dragg'd av/ay The wavering youth, and fixt him. There he lies, With what result of such inconstancy I know not, but am going to inquire . . If we detect the murderers, all these pains Are well inflicted. Spinello. But if not ? Del Balzo. The Laws 2ao t88 Dramatic Scenes. Have done their duty and stinick fear through all. Sp'tnello. Alas ! that duty seems their only one. Del Balzo. Among the first 'tis surely. I must go And gather up fresh evidence. Farewell, Spinello. Sp'tnello. May good angels guide your steps ! Farewell ! That Heaven should give the merciless So much of power, the merciful so little ! ACT II. SCENE I. CASTEL-NUOVO. GiovANNA and Maria. Maria. I do not like these windows. Who can see What passes under ? Never were contrived Cleverer ones for looking at the sky. Or hearing our Hungarians to advantage. I can not think their songs are pastorals ; They may be ; if they are, they are ill-set. Will nothing do, Giovanna ? Raise your eyes ; Embrace your sister. Giovanna. So, you too, Maria ! Have turgid eyes, and feign the face of joy. i o Never will joy be more with us . . with you It may be . . O God grant it ! but me ! me, Whom good men doubt, what pleasure can approach ? Maria. If good men all were young men, we might shudder At silly doubts, like other silly things Not quite so cold to shudder at. Giovanna. Again, Maria ! I am now quite changed ; I am Your sister as I was, but O remember I am (how lately !) my Andrea's widow. 20 Maria. I wish our little Sancia would come hither With her Tcrlizzi . . those inseparables ! Wc scarcely could get twenty words from tlicm Giovanna of Naples. 189 All the day long ; we caught them after dinner, And lost them suddenly as evening closed. Giovanna. Send for her. But perhaps she is with Filippa. . . Maria. Learning sedateness in the matron life. Giovanna. Or may-be with the queen whose name she bears, And who divides her love, not equally With us, but almost equally. 30 Maria. If so, No need to seek her ; for the queen went forth To San Lorenzo at the dawn of day, And there upon the pavement she implores Peace for the dead, protection for the living. Giovanna. O may her prayers be heard ! Maria. If piety Avails the living or the dead, they will. Giovanna. How, how much calmer than thy sv/eetest smile Has that thought made me ! Evermore speak so, 40 And life will almost be as welcome to me As death itself. Maria. When sunshine glistens round, And friends, as young as we are, sit beside us, We smile at Death . . one rather grim indeed And whimsical, but not disposed to hurt us . . And give and take fresh courage. But, sweet sister ! The days are many when he is unwelcome, And you will think so too another time. 'Tis chiefly in cold places, with old folks, 50 His features seem prodigiously amiss. But Life looks always pleasant, sometimes more And sometimes less so, but looks always pleasant. And, when we cherish him, repays us well. Sicily says it is the worst of sin To cast aside what God hath given us, And snatch at what he may hereafter give In its due season , . scourges, and such comfits, Cupboarded for Old-age. Youth has her games ; We are invited, and should ill refuse. 60 On all these subjects our sweet Sicily 190 Dramatic Scenes. Discourses with the wisdom of a man. You are not listening : what avails our wisdom ? Giovanna. To keep afloat that buoyant little bark Which swells endanger. O may never storm O'ertake it ! never worm unseen eat thro' ! Maria. I wish we were away from these thick walls, And these high windows, and these church-like ceilings. Without a cherub to look down on us, Or play a prank up there, with psaltcr-book, 70 Or bishop's head, or fiddle, or festoon. Giovanna. Be satisfied awhile : the nobler rooms Are less secure against the violence Of those Hungarians. Maria. I saw one who bowed Graceful as an Italian. " Send away The men below," said I, " then bow again, And we will try which bows most gracefully." Giovanna. My giddy, giddy sister ! Maria. May my head 80 Be ever so, if crowns must steady it ! Giovanna. He might have thought . , Maria. Not he ; he never thinks. He bowed and shook his head. His name is Psein. Often hath he been here on guard before : You must remember him. Giovanna. No, not by name. Maria. Effeminate and vain wc fancied liim, Because he always had a flower in hand, Or with his fingers combed his forehead hair. 90 Giovanna. No little merit in that sullen race. Maria. If lie has merit I will bring it out. Giovanna. Resign that idle notion. Power is lost By showing it too freely. When I want His services, I order them. Wc part. Too large a portion of the hour already Has been among the living. Now I go To other duties for the residue Of this sad day. Maria. Unwelcome is Maria 100 Giovanna of Naples. 1 9 1 Where sorrow is ? Giovanna, Her sorrow is unwelcome ; Let me subdue my own ; then come and join me. Thou knowest where the desolate find one Who never leaves them desolate. \_Goes. Marta. 'Tis hard To linger here alone. Officer. The Seneschal Of Naples. Acciajoli. ACT II. SCENE II. Acciajoli and Maria. Acciajoli. By command Of our most gracious queen, O royal lady ! I come for yours. Maria. That is, to bear me company. Acciajoli. Such only as the humblest bear the highest. Maria. Seneschal ! you excell the best in phrases. You might let others be before you there, Content to shine in policy and war. Acciajoli. I have been placed where others would have shone. Maria. Come, do not beat me now in modesty. i o Had I done anything, I might not boast. Nor should I think 1 was improving it By telling an untruth and looking down. I do not like our lodgment, nor much wish To see an arrow quivering in that wainscot : The floors are well enough ; I would not see them Paved with smooth pebbles from Hungarian slings. Can not you send those soldiers to their quarters f Acciajoli. In vain have I attempted it. Maria. Send Psein 20 To me. Acciajoli. He, like the rest, is an insurgent. Civilest of barbarians, yet may Psein (With horror I must utter it) refuse. 192 Dramatic Scenes. Maria. Fear of refusal has lost many a prize. [AcciAjOLi goes. I hope the Seneschal will go himself, Not send another. How I wisht to ask it ! But, at my years, to hint an act of delicacy Is too indelicate. He has seen courts, Turn'd over their loose leaves (each more than half 30 Illumination, dulness the remainder), And knows them from the cover to the core. ACT II. SCENE III. PsEiN conducted by Acciajoli, ivho retires. The queen commands my pi-esence here. Maria. The qiTeen Desires your presence ; I alone command it. Eyes have seen you, commander Psein ! Pseln. Impossible ! Maria. Yes, eyes have seen you, general Psein ! they have, And seen that they can trust you. Pseln. By my troth To all that's lovely ! Maria. Ah, sad man ! swear not . . 10 Unless you swear my words. Pseln. To hear and swear And treasure them within this breast, is one. Maria (Psein repeating). " I swear to love and honour and obey " . . Ha ! not the hand . . it comes not quite so soon . . Pseln. I have but little practice in the form ; Pardon me, gracious lady ! Maria. Earn your pardon By your obedience. Now repeat again. " Whatever perils may obstruct her path, 20 I give safe-conduct to my royal mistress, Giovanna, queen of Naples." [He starts.) Have you taken Me for my sister all this while ? I told you It was not she commanded you, 'twas I. Giovanna of Naples. 193 Psehi. Oaths are sad things ! I trot to church so seldom They would not let me out of mine for little (Not they!) like any good old customer. Maria. And so ! you would deceive me, general ? Psein [aside). I am appointed ! that sounds well : but general ! She said the same before : it must be time. 30 Maria. Tell me at once, nor hesitate. Another May reap the harvest while you whet the sickle. Psein. But I have sworn to let none pass, before The will of my superiors be announced. Maria. Behold them here ! their shadow fills this palace. And in my voice, sir, is tlieir will announced. Psein. I swore. Maria. I heard you. Psein. But before. Maria. Before 40 Disloyalty, now loyalty. Are brave And gallant men to ponder in the choice .'' Psein. Devoted as I am to you, O lady ! It can not be. Maria. Is that the phrase of Psein ? We love the marvellous ; we love the man Who shows how things which can not be can be. Give me this glove again upon the water, And queen Giovanna shall reward you for it. Psein. Upon the water or upon the fire, 50 The whirlpool or volcano . . By bad luck (What fools men are ! they always make their own ! ) The troops are in revolt. Pride brightens zeal But not invention. How shall we contrive To manage them at present ? Maria. Tell the troops We will have no revolts. Sure, with your powers Of person and persuasion, not a man Would hesitate to execute his duty. , Psein. We are but three . . 60 Maria. We are but two : yet, Psein ! When two are resolute they are enough. VOL. I. N 194 DnimLitic Scenes. Now I am resolute, and so are you, And if those soldiers dare to disobey It is rank mutiny and halbert-matter. Await the Seneschal: he now returns. [^Goes. Pse'tn. She knows the laws of war as well as I, And looks a young Minerva, tho' of Naples. ACT II. SCENE IV. AcciAjOLi and Psein. yicciajol't. Sorrow and consternation are around. Psein. Men could not have cried louder had they lost Policinello, who begets them fun, While princes but beget them blows and taxes. When will they see things straightly, and give these Their proper station ? yfrciajo/i. Have you not your king ? Psein. O ! quite another matter ! We have ours, True ; but his taxes are for us ; and then The blows . . we give and take them, as may happen. lo j^ccinjoli. We too may do the same, another day. [Psein expresses contempt. So ! you imagine that your arms suffice To keep this kingdom down ! War is a game Not of skill only, not of hazard only. No, nor of both united. Psein. What the ball Is stuft with, I know not, nor ever lookt ; I only know it is the very game I like to play at, ylcciajoli. Many are the chances. 20 Psein. Without the chances I would throw it up. Play me at Naples only five to one, I take the odds. ylcciajoli. All arc not Neapolitans. Psein. Then strike off three. j4cciajo/i. Some Normans. Giovanna of Naples. 195 Pse'ui. Then my sword Must be well whetted and my horse well fed, And my poor memory well poked for prayers. And, hark ye ! I should like one combatant 30 As well as twenty, of that ugly breed. Lord Seneschal, be ready at your post. ylcciajoli. I trust I shall be. Psein. At what hour ? yJcciajoU. Not yet. Psein. Ay, but the queen must fix it. ylcciajoU. She inclines To peace. Psein. I know it ; but for flight ere peace. yicciajoli. Flight is not in the movements of our queen. 40 Psein. Departure then. ^cciajoli. Sir ! should she will departure, Breasts are not wanting to repell the charge Of traitor or intruder. Psein. Here is one, Lord Seneschal ! as ready to defend her As any mail'd with iron or claspt with gold. Doubtest thou ? Doubt no longer. \_Shoius the glove. Acciajoli. Whose is that ? Psein. The names we venerat? we raiely speak ; 50 And love beats veneration out and. out. I will restore it at the vessel's side. And ask it back again when she is safe And the less happy lady whom you seiTe. It then behoves me to retrace my steps And rally my few countrymen for safety. ACT II. SCENE V. A Herald enters. Psein goes. Jlcciajoli. Whence come you, sir ? Herald. From Gaeta. Acciajoli. What duty ? Herald. To see the queen. 196 Dramatic Scenes. ^cciajoli. The queen you can not see : Her consort died too lately. Herald. Therefore I Must see the queen. Acc'iajoU. If you bring aught that throws Light upon that dark' treason, speak at once. 10 Herald. The light must fall from Rome. Cola Rienzi, Tribune of Rome, and arbiter of justice To Europe, tarrying on the extremest verge Of our dominions, to inspect the castles, Heard the report, brought with velocity Incredible, which man gave man along The land, and ship gave ship along the coast. Acc'iajoU. Then 'twas prepared : and those who spread the news Peqjetrated the deed. Herald. Such promptitude. 20 Could not escape the Tribune. He demands The presence of Giovanna queen of Naples, To plead her cause before him. Acciajol'i. Is Rienzi A king ? above a king ? Herald. Knowest thou not Rienzi is the tribune of the people ? Acc'iajoU. Sir ! we have yet to learn by what authority He regulates the destiny of princes. Herald. The wisest men have greatly more to learn 30 Than ever they have learnt : tliere will be childien Who in their childiiood shall know more than we do. Lord Seneschal ! I am but citizen In my own city, nor among the first, But I am herald here, and, being herald, Let no man dare to question me. The king Of Hungary is cited to appear. Since in his name are accusations made By some at Na]>les, which your queen must answer. Acc'iajoU. Her dignity and wisdom will decide, 40 I am well pleas'd that those around the castle Threw no obstruction in your way. Herald. The soldiers Giovannii of Naples. 197 Resisted my approach ; but instantly Two holy friars spread out their arms in front, A nd they disparted like the Red-sea waves, And grounded arms before me. j4cciajnli. Then no hindrance To our most gracious queen, should she comply ? Herald. None ; for Rienzi's name is spell against it. 50 Gtovanna (^enters). O ! is there one to hear me patiently? Let me fly to him ! AcciajoU. .Hath our sovran heard The order of Rienzi ? Glovanna. Call it not An order, lest my people be incenst. Herald. Lady ! if plainly hath been understood The subject of my mission, the few words Containing it may be unread by me. Therefore I place them duly in the hands bo Of the Lord Seneschal, With brief delay Your presence were desirable. G'wvatina. What time Return you, sir ? Herald. This evening. Gtovanna. And by sea ? Herald. In the same bark which brought me. Glovanna. If some ship More spacious be now lying at the mole, I will embark in that ; if not, in yours, 70 And we will sail together. You have power Which I have not in Naples ; and the troops, And those who seem to guide them, hear your words. Herald. Lady ! not mine ; but there are some tliey hear. Gtovanna. Entreat them to let pass the wretched ones Who fancied I could succour them within. Whom famine must soon seize. Until they pass I can not. Dear is fame to me ; but far Be Fame that stalks to us o'er hurried graves. Lord Seneschal ! see Rome's ambassador 80 Be duly honoured : then, whatever else Is needful for depa rture, be prepared. 1 98 Dramiitic Scenes. ACT 111. SCENE 1. ROME. CAPITOL. RiENZi and the Pope's Nunxio. Nuncio. With infinite affliction, potent Tribune ! Tiie Holiness of our Lord tiie Sovran Pontiff Learns that Andrea, prince of Hungary, Hath, in the palace of Aversa, been Traitorously slain. Moreover, potent Tribune ! The Holiness of our Lord the Sovran Pontiff, Hears sundry accusations : and, until The guilt or innocence of those accused Be manifested, in such wise as He, The Holiness of our Lord, the Sovran Pontiff 10 Shall deem sufficient, he requires that troops March from his fluthful city, and possess Otranto and Taranto, Brindisi And Benevento, Capua and Bari, Most lo\ang cities and most orthodox. And some few towns and villages beside, Yearning for peace in his paternal breast, He would especially protect from tumult. Laying his blessing on your head thro' me The humblest of his servitors, thus sj)eak.s 20 The Holiness of our Lord the Sovran Pontiff. R'lenzl (^seated). Lord Cardinal ! no truer stay than me Hath, on Italian or Provenzal ground, The Holiness of our Lord the Sovran Pontiff. The cares that I have taken off his hands The wisdom of his Holiness alone Can measure and appreciate. As for troops. That wisdom, seeing them so far remote, Perhaps may judge soniewliat less accurately. Tile service of his Ploliness requires 30 All these against liis barons. Now, until I hear the pleas of Hungary and Naples, Giovanna of Naples. 199 My balance is suspended. Those few cities, Those towns and villages, awhile must yearn For foreign troops among them ; but meantime Having the blessing of his Holiness, May wait contentedly for any greater His Holiness shall opportunely grant. Kissing the foot of his Beatitude, Such, my lord Cardinal, is the reply 40 From his most faithful Cola di Rienzi, Unworthy tribune of his loyal city. Nuncio. We may discuss anew this weighty question On which his Holiness's heart is moved. Rienzi. If allocution be permitted me To his most worthy Nuncio, let me say The generous bosom would enfold about it The friend, the neighbour, the whole human race, And scarcely then rest satisfied. With all These precious coverings round it, poisonous tongues 50 Can penetrate. We lowly men alone Are safe, and hardly we. Who would believe it ? People have heretofore been mad enough To feign ambition (of all deadly sins Surely the deadliest) in our lord the pope's Protecting predecessors ! Their paternal Solicitude these factions thus denounced. Ineffable the pleasiu-e I foretaste In swearing to his Holiness what calm Reluctance you exhibited ; the same 60 His Holiness himself might have exprest, In bending to the wishes of those cities So orthodox and loving ; and how fully You manifested, by your faint appeal, You sigh as deeply to decline, as they Sigh in their fears and fondness to attain. [Nuncio going. Help my lord Cardinal. This weather brings Stiffness of joints, rheums, shooting pains. Way there ! 200 Dramatic Scenes. ACT III. SCENE n. CAPITOL. RiENZI, AcCIAJOLI, PetRARCA, d/lJ BoCCACClO. Boccaccio. If tliere was ever upon throne one mind More pure than othei-, one more merciful, One better stored with wisdom, of its own And carried from without, 'tis hers, the queen's. Exert, my dear Francesco, all that eloquence Which kings and senates often have obeyed And nations have applauded. Petrarca. My Boccaccio ! Thou knowest Rome, thou knowest Avignon : Altho' so brief a time the slave of power, lO Rienzi is no longer what he was, Popes are what they have ever been. They all Have families for dukedoms to obey. Boccaccio. O ! had each holy fiithcr twenty wives And each wife twenty children ! then 'twere hard To cut out dukedoms for so many mouths. And the well-furred tiara could not hatch So many golden goose-eggs under it. Petrarca. We must unite our efforts. Boccaccio. Mine could add 20 Little to yours ; I am not eloquent. Petrarca. Thou never hast received from any couit Favour or place ; I, presents and preferments. Boccaccio. I am but little known : for deai" to me As fame is, odious is celebrity. Petrarca. I sec not why it should be. Boccaccio. If no eyes In the same head are quite alike, ouis may Match pretty well, yet somewhat differ too. Petrarca. Should days like yours waste fu' from men and friends? r^o Boccaccio. Leave me one llanie ; tiii'ii may my breast dilate Giovanna of Naples. 201 To hold, at last, two (or almost two) friends : One would content me : but we must, forsooth, Speculate on more nches than we want. Moreover, O Francesco ! I should shrink From scurril advocate, cross-questioning Whom knew I in the palace ? whence my knowledge ? How long ? where first ? whence introduced ? for what ? Since in all law-courts I have ever entered, The least effrontery, the least dishonesty, 40 Has lain among the prosecuted thieves. Petrarca. We can not now much longer hesitate ; He hath his eye upon us. Boccaccio. Not on me ; He knows me not. Petrarca. On me it may be then, Altho' some years, no few have intervened Since we last met. Boccaccio. But frequent corresponc^nce Retains the features, nay, brings back the voice ; 50 The very shoe creaks when the letter opens. Petrarca. Rienzi was among those friends who sooner Forget than are forgotten. Boccaccio. They who rise Lose sight of things below, while they who fall Grasp at and call for anything to help. Petrarca. I own I cease to place reliance on him. Virtue and Power take the same road at first. But they soon separate, and they meet no more. Usher, The Tribune, ser Francesco ! claims your presence. Rienzi. Petrarca ! pride of Italy ! most welcome ! [60 Petrarca. Tribune of Rome ! I bend before the fasces. Rienzi. No graver business in this capitol. Or in the forum underneath its walls. Or in the temples that once rose between. Engaged the thoughts of Rome. No captive queen Comes hither, none comes tributary, none Courting dominion or contesting crown. Thou knowest who submits her cause before The majesty that reigns within this court. 70 202 Dramatic Scenes. Petrarca. Her, and her father, and liis father knew I, Nor three more worthy of my love and honour (Tho' bom to royalty) adorn our earth. Del Balzo hath supplied the facts : all doubts On every side of them hath Acciajoli Clear'd up. Rien%i. But some will spring where others fall. When intellect is strongly exercised. Petrarca. The sources of our intellect lie deep Within the heart; what rises to tlie brain 80 Is spray and efflorescence ; they dry up. Rieuzi. However, we must ponder. So then truly, Petrarca ! thou dost think her innocent ? Petrarca. Thou knowest she is innocent, Rienzi ! Write then thy knowledge higher than my belief: The proofs lie there before thee. Rienzi. But these papers Are ranged against them. Petrarca. Weigh the characters Of those who sign tlieni. 90 Rienzi. Here the names are wanting. Petrarca. Remove the balance then, for none is needed. Against Del Balzo, upright, stern, severe. What evidence can struggle ? Rienzi. From Del Balzo The Queen herself demands investigation Into the crime, and bids him spare not one Partaker. Petrarca. Worthy of her race ! Now ask If I believe her guiltless. 1 00 Rienzi. May we prove it ! Acciajoli. She shall herself, if needful. Should more answers Be wanted from me, I am here before That higli tribunal wliere the greatest power And wisdom are united ; where the judge Gives judgment in the presence of such men As Rome hath rarely seen in ancient days, Never in later. What they liear, tlie world Giovanna of Naples. 203 Will hear thro' future ages, and rejoice That he was born in this to raise an arm iio Protecting such courageous innocence. R'tenxi. Lord Seneschal of Naples, Acciajoli ! We have examined, as thou knowest, all The documents before us, and regret That death withholds from like examination (Whether as witnesses or criminals) Some inmates of your court, the most familiar With queen Giovanna. Acciajoli. Did she then desire Their death ? as hidden enemies accuse her 1 20 Of one more awful. T presume the names Of the young Sancia, count Terlizzi's bride. And hers who educated that pure mind By pointing out Giovanna, two years older, Filippa of Catana. Rienzi. They are gone Beyond our reach. Acciajoli. Sent off, no doubt, by one Who loved them most, who most loved her ! sent off After their tortures, whether into Scotland 1 30 Or Norway or Laponia, the same hand Who wrote those unsign'd papers may set forth. Rienzi. I cannot know their characters. Acciajoli. I know them Loyal and wise and virtuous. Rienzi. But Filippa Guided, 'tis said, the counsels of king Robert. Acciajoli. And were those counsels evil ? If they were. How happens it that both in life and death The good king Robert was his appellation ? 140 Rienzi. How many kings are thrust among the stars Who had become the whipping-post much better ? Acciajoli. Was Robert one ? Rienzi. We must confess that Robert Struck down men's envy under admiration. Acciajoli. If then Filippa guided him, what harm? Rienzi. She might iiave fear'd that youth would less obey 204 Dramatic Scenes. Her prudent counsels than experience did. ylcciajoli. Well mi^iht she : hence for many a year her cares Have been devoted to our queen's instruction, i 50 Together with queen Sancia, not without : And neither of these ladies (I now speak As president) have meddled with our councils. Rienzl. When women of low origin are guides To potentates of either sex, 'tis ill. ylcciajoli. I might have thought so ; but Filippa showed That female wisdom much resembles male ; Gentler, not weaker ; leading, not controlling. Again ! O tiibune ! touching low estate. More vigorously than off the downier cradle 1 60 From humble crib springs up the lofty mind. Rienz't. Strong arguments, and cogent facts, are these ! [To an Usher. Conduct the queen of Naples into court. jlcciajoU. That, by your leave, must be my office, sir ! ACT IV. SCENE III. RiENZi, AcciAjOLi, GiovANNA, and Prior of the Celestines. RienzL Giovanna, queen of Naples ! we have left you A pause and space for sorrow to subside ; Since, innocent or guilty, them who lose So suddenly the partner of their hours, Grief seizes on, in that dark interval. Pause too and space were needful, to explore On every side such proofs as may acquit Of all connivance at the dreadful crime A queen so wise, and held so virtuous, vSo just, so merciful. It can not be lO (We hojK') that she who would have swcjjt away Playthings of royal courts and monkish cells. The instruments of torture, that a queen Who in her childhood visited the sick. Nor made a luxury or pomp of doing it, Giovanna of Naples. 205 Who placed her little hand, as we have heard, In that where fever burnt, nor feared contagion, Should slay her husband. jlcc'tajol't. Faintness oveqjowers her, Not guilt. The racks you spoke of, O Rienzi ! 20 You have applied, and worse than those you spoke of. Rienzi. Gladly I see true friends about her. jlcciajoli. Say About her not ; say in her breast she finds The only friend she wants . . her innocence. Rienzi. People of Rome ! your silence, your attention. Become you. With like gravity our fathers Beheld the mighty and adjudged their due. Sovran of Naples, Piedmont, and Provence, Among known Potentates what other holds 30 Such wide dominions as this lady here. Excepting that strong islander whose sword Has cut France thro', and lies o'er Normandy, Anjou, Maine, Poictou, Brittany, Touraine, And farthest Gascony ; whose hilt keeps down The Grampians, and whose point the Pyrenees ? Listen ! she throws aside her veil, that all May hear her voice, and mark her fearless mien. Giovanna. I say not, O Rienzi ! I was born A queen ; nor say I none but God alone 4O Hath right to judge me. Every man whom God Endows with judgment arbitrates my cause. For of that crime am I accused which none Shall hide from God or man. All are involved In guilt who aid, or screen, or spare, the guilty. Speak, voice of Rome ! absolve me or condemn, As proof, or, proof being absent, probability, Points on the scroll of this dark tragedy. Speak, and spare not : fear nought but mighty minds, Nor those, unless where lies God's shadow, truth. 50 Rienzi. Well hast thou done, O queen, and wisely chosen Judge and defenders. Thro' these states shall none Invade thy realm. I find no crime in thee. Hasten to Naples ! for against its throne 2o6 Dramatic Scenes. Ring powerful arms and menace thy return. [AcciAjOLi leads the Queen out. Prior of the Celest'mes. Thou findtst in that wily queen no crime. So be it ! and 'tis well. But tribune, know, 111 chosen are the praises thou bestowest On her immunity from harm, in touching The fever'd and infected. She was led 60 Into such places by unholy hands. I come not an accuser : I would say Merely, that Queen Giovanna was anointed By the most potent sorceress, Filippa The Catanese. Rienzi. Anointed Queen ? Prior. Her palms Anointed, so that evil could not touch them. Filippa, with some blacker spirits, helpt To cure the sick, or comfort them unduly. 70 Rienzi. Among the multitude of sorceresses I find but very few such sorceries. And, if the Church permitted, would forgive them. Prior. In mercy we, in mercy, should demur. Rienzi. How weak is human wisdom ! what a stay Is such stout wicker-work about the fold ! Prior. Whether in realms of ignorance, in realms By our pure light and our sure faith unblest, Or where the full effulgence bursts from Rome, No soul, not one upon this varied earth, 80 Is unbeliever in the power of sorcery : How certain then its truth, the universal Tongue of mankind, from east to west, jiroclaims. Rienzi. With reverential and submissive awe. People of Rome ! leave we to holy Church What comes not now before us, nor shall come, While matters which our judgments can decide Are question'd, while crown'd heads are bowed before us. Giovaiiiiii of Naples. 20; ACT IV. SCENE I. RIENZl's OWN APARTMENT IN THE CAPITOL. RiENZi, Friar Anselmo, and poor Neapolitans. Rlenzi. Who creeps there yonder with his fingers folded ? Hither ; what wantest thou ? who art thou, man ? Anselmo. The humblest of the humble, your Anselmo. Rienzi. Mine ? Anselmo. In all duty. Rienzi. Whence art thou ? Anselmo. From Naples. Rienzi. What askest thou ? Anselmo. In the most holy names Of Saint Euphemia and Saint Cunigund ! lO And in behalf of these poor creatures ask I Justice and mercy. Rienzi. On what count ? Anselmo. On life. Rienzi. Who threatens it in Rome ? Anselmo. In Rome none dare Under the guardianship of your tribunal. But Naples is abandoned to her fate By those who ruled her. Those, alas ! who raled her Heaven has abandoned. Crimes, outrageous crimes, 20 Have swept them from their people. We alone In poverty are left for the protection Of the more starving populace. O hear, Merciful Tribune ! hear their cries for bread ! \^A11 cry out. Anselmo (to them). Ye should not have cried now, yc fools ! and choak ye ! Rienzi. That worthy yonder looks well satisfied : All of him, but his shoulder, seems at ease. Anselmo. Tommaso ! art thou satisfied ? Tommaso. Not I. A fish upon my bread, at least on Friday, 30 Had done my body and my soul some good, 2o8 Dramatic Scenes. And quicken'd one and t'other at thanksgiving. Anchovies are rare cooks for garlic, master! [7b Rienzi. Ansdmo. I sigh for such dekision. R'ten%'i. So do I. How came they hither ? Anselmo. By a miracle. Rienzi. My honest friends ! what can we do for you At Rome ? Ansdmo. Speak. Does the Devil gripe your tongues ? 40 M06. We crave our daily bread from holy hands, And from none other. Rienzi. Then your daily bread Ye will eat hot, and delicately small. Frate Anselmo, what means this ? Ansdmo. It means, tribune, that the lady, late our queen. Hath set aside broad lands and blooming gardens For hospitals ; which, with unrighteous zeal, She builds with every church. There Saint An/onto 50 Beyond the gate of Capua ! there Saint Martin On Mount Saint- Eremo ! there Saint Maria Incoronata ! All their hospitals ! No one hath monastery ! no one nuns ! Rienzi. Hard, hard upon you ! But what means were yours To bring so many supplicants so long A journey with you ? Anselmo. 'Twas a miracle. Rienzi. Miracles never are of great duration. Hurry them back ! Hurry ye while it lasts ! 60 1 would not spoil it with occult supplies, I reverence holy men too much for that. And leave them to the only power above them. Possibly quails and manna may not cross you If you procrastinate. But, setting out To-moirow, by whichever gate seems luckiest. And questioning your honest mules discreetly, I boldly answer for it, ye shall lind By their mild winking (should they holil their tongues) Giovanna of Naples. 209 The coin of our lord Clement on the back 70 Of one or other, in some well-thonged scrip. Anselmo {as'ide^. Atheist ! Tommaso. Ah no, father ! Atheists Never lift up their eyes as you and he do. \_Going together. I know one in a twinkling. For example, Cosimo Cappa was one. He denied A miracle his mother might have seen Not twelve miles from his very door, when she Was heavy with him ; and the saint who workt it. To make him one, cost thirteen thousand ducats. 80 There was an atheist for you ! that same Cappa . . I saw him burnt . . a fine fresh lusty man. I warrant I remember it : I won A heap of chestnuts on that day at morra. A sad poor place this Rome ! look where you will, No drying paste here dangles from the windows Across the sunny street, to make it cheerful ; And much I doubt if, after all its fame. The nasty yellow river breeds anchovies. ACT IV. SCENE II. RlENZl's OWN APARTMENT IN THE CAPITOL. RiENzi and his Wife. Rien%'t. I have been sore perplext, and still am so. Wife. Yet falsehood drops from truth, as quicksilver From gold, and ministers to purify it. R'lenzi. The favour of the people is uncertain. Wife. Gravely thou givest this intelligence. Thus there are people in a northern isle Who tell each other that the weather changes. And, when the sun shines, say the day looks bright. And, when it shines not, there are clouds above. Rienzi. Some little fief, some dukedom, we'll suppose, i o VOL. I. O 2IO Dramatic Scenes. Might shelter us against a sudden storm. Wife. Not so : we should be criisht between two rocks, Tlie people and the barons. Both would hate thee, Both call thee traitor, and both call thee truly. Rieiizi. When we stand high, the shaft comes slowly up ; We see the feather, not the point ; and that Loses what venom it might have below. JVife. I thought the queen of Naples occupied Thy mind entirely. Rie/izi. From the queen of Naples 20 My hopes originate. The pope is willing To grant me an investiture when I Have given u]i to him, by my decree. Some ot her cities. Wife. Then it is untme Tliou hast acquitted her of crime. Rienzi. I did ; But may condemn her yet : the king of Hungary Is yet unheard : there are strong doubts : who knows But stronger may arise ! My mind misgives. 30 Tell me thou thinkest her in fault. One word Would satisfy me. Wife. Not in fault, thou meanest. Rienzi. In fault, in fault, I say. Wife. No, not in fault. Much less so foully criminal. Rienzi. O ! could I Absolve her ! Wife. If her guilt be manifest, Absolve her not ; deliver her to death. 40 Rienzi. From what the pope and king of Hungary Adduce . . at present not quite openly . . I must condemn her. Wife. Dost thou deem her guilty ? Rienzi. O God ! I wish she were ! I must condemn her. Wife. Husband ! art thou gone mad ? Rienzi. None are much else Who mount so high, none can stand firm, none look Without a fear of failing : and, to fall ! . . Giovanna of Naples. 2 1 1 No, no, 'tis not, 'tis not the worst disgrace. 50 Wife. What hast thou done ? Have thine eyes seen corruption ? RienzL Thinkest tiiou gold could move Rienzi ? gold (Working incessantly demoniac miracles) Could chain down Justice, or turn blood to water ? IVife. Who scorns the ingot may not scorn the mine. Gold may not move thee, yet what brings gold may. Ambition is but avarice in mail. Blinder, and often weaker. Is there strength. Cola ! or speed, in the oblique and wry ? Of blood turn'd into water talkest thou ? 60 Take heed thou turn not water into blood And show the pure impure. If thou do this. Eternal is the stain upon thy hand ; Freedom thro' thee will be the proud man's scoff, The wise man's problem ; even the slave himself Will rather bear the scourge than trust the snare. Thou hast brought large materials, large and solid. To build thy glory on : if equity Be not the base, lay not one stone above. Thou hast won the influence over potent minds, 70 Relax it not. Truth is a tower of strength, No Babel one : it may be rais'd to heaven And will not anger God. Rienzi. Who doubts my justice ? IVife. Thyself. Who prosecutes the criminal ? Thyself? Who racks the criminal ? Thyself. Unhappy man ! how maim'd art thou ! what limb Proportionate [ what feature undisfigured ! Go, bathe in porphyry . . thy leprosy Will never quit thee : thou hast eaten fruit 80 That brings all sins, and leaves but death behind. Rienzi. But hear me. IVife. I have heard thee, and such words As one who loves thee never should have heard. Rienzi. I must provide against baronial power By every aid, external and internal. For, since my elevation, many friends 2 1 2 Dramatic Scenes, Have fallen from me. Wife. Throw not off the rest. What ! is it then enough to stand before 90 The little crags and sweep tlie lizards down From their warm basking-place with idle wand, While under tliem the drowsy panther lies Twitching his paw in his dark lair, and waits Secure of springing when thy back is turned? Popular power can stand but with the people : Let them trust none a palm above themselves, For sympathy in high degrees is frozen. R'un%'i. Such are my sentiments. Wife. Thy sentiments ! 1 00 They were thy passion. Are they sentiments I Go ! there's the distaff in the other room. Rienzi. Thou blamed'st not what seemed ambition in me. Wife. Because it gave thee power to bless thy country. Stood tribunitial ever without right ? Sat ever papal without perfidy ? O tribune ! tribune ! whom weak woman teaches ! If thou dcceivest men, go, next enslave them ; Else is no safety. Would'st thou that ? Rienzi. To make 1 1 o Any new road, some plants there must be crusht. And not the higher only, here and there. Whoever puq^oses great good, must do Some partial evil. Wife. Thou hast done great good Without that evil yet. Power in its prime Is beautiful, but sickened by excess Colla])ses into loathsomeness ; and scorn Shrivels to dust its fierce decrepitude. Rienzi. Am I deficient then in manly deeds, 120 Or in persuasion ? Wife. Of all manly deeds Oftentimes the most honest are the bravest, And no persuasion so persuades as truth. Rienzi. Peace ! peace ! confound me not. ll'^ife. The brave, the wise, Giovanna of Naples. 2 1 o The just are never, even by foes, confounded. Promise me but one thing. If in thy soul Thou thinkest this young woman free from blame, Thou wilt absolve her, openly, with honour, 1 30 Whatever Hungary, whatever Avignon, May whisper or may threaten. Rienzi. If my power Will bear it ; if the sentence will not shake This scarlet off my shoulder. IVi/e. Cola! Cola! ACT IV. SCENE III. tribunal in the capitol. Rienzi, Citizens, &c. Citizen. There is a banner at the gates. Rienzi. A banner ! Who dares hoist banner at the gates of Rome ? Citizen. A royal crown surmounts it. Rienzi. Down with it 1 Citizen. A king, 'tis said, bears it himself in hand. Rienzi. Trample it in the dust, and di-ag him hither. What are those shouts ? Look forth. Usher (^having looked out^. The people ciy Around four knights who bear a sable flag : i o One's helm is fashion'd like a kingly crown. Rienzi. Strike off his head who let the accursed symbol Of royalty come within Roman gate : See this be done : then bind the bold offenders. I^Lewis of Hungary enters. Who art thou ? Leiuis. King of Hungary. Rienzi. What brings thee ? Lewis. Tribune ! thou knowest well what brings me hither. Fraternal love, insulted honour, bring me. Thinkest thou I complain of empty forms 20 Violated to chafe me ? thinkest thqu 2 1 4 Dramatic Scenes. 'Tis that 1 waited in the port of Trieste For invitation to my brother's wedding, Nor invitation came, nor embassy ? Now creaks the motive. Silly masquerade Usurpt the place of tilt and tournament ; No knight attended from without, save one. Our cousin of Taranto : why he came, Before all earth the dire event discloses. Rie?iz'i. Lewis of Hungary ! it suits not us 30 To regulate the laws of chivalry Or forms of embassies. We know there may be Less folly in the lightest festival Than in the sternest and severest war. Patiently have we heard ; as patiently Hear thou, in turn, the accused as the accuser ; Else neither aid nor counsel hope from me. Leiu'is. I ask no aid of thee, I want no counsel, I claim but justice ; justice I will have, I will have vengeance for my brother's death. 40 Rierizi My brother too was murdered. Was my grief Less deep than thine ? If greater my endurance, See what my patience brought mc ! all these friends Around, and thee, a prince, a king, before me. Hear reason, as becomes a Christian knight. Lewis. Ye always say to those who suffer wrong, Hear reason ! Ts not that another wrong ? He who throws fuel on a fiery furnace Cries, JVait my signal for it ! hJa%e not yet ! Issue one edict more : proclaim, O tribune, 50 Heat never shall be fire, nor fire be Hanie. Rienzi. King Lewis ! I do issue such an edict (Absurd as thou mayest deem it) in this place. Hell hath its thunders, loud and fierce as Heaven's, Heaven is more great and glorious in its calm : In this clear region is the abode of Justice. Leivis. Was it well, tribune, to have lieard the cause. Nay and to have decided it, before Both sides were iicre ? The murderess iiath departed, And may have won her city from the grasp 60 Giovanna of Naples. 2 1 5 Of my brave people, who avenge their prince, The mild Andrea. Justice I will have, I will have vengeance. Rienzi. Every man may ask If what I do is well : and angry tones, Tho' unbecoming, are not unforgiven Where virtuous grief bursts forth. But, king of Hungary, We now will change awhile interrogations. I ask thee was it well to bring with thee Into our states a banner that blows up 70 The people into fury ? and a people Not subject to thy sceptre or thy will ? We knew not of thy coming. When thy friends In Naples urged us to decide the cause, 'Twas in thy name, as guardian to thy brother, Bringing against the queen such accusations, And so supported, that we ordered her To come before us and defend herself. She did it, nor delayed. The cardinal Bishop of Orvieto and the Cardinal 80 Del Sangro on their part, on hers Del Balzo And Acciajoli, have examined all The papers, heard the witnesses, and signed Their sentence under each. These we suggest To the approval of thy chancery. Leiv'is. Chanceries were not made for murderesses. Rien-zl. I am not learned like the race of kings, Yet doth my memory hold the scanty lore It caught betimes, and there I fmd it written. Not in Hungarian nor in Roman speech, 90 Vengeance is mine. We execute the laws Against the disobedient, not against Those who submit to our award. The queen Of Naples hath submitted. She is free. Unless new proof and stronger be adduced To warrant her recall into my presence. Lewis. Recall'd she shall be then, and proof adduced. Rienzi. We have detected falsehood in its stead. Lewis. I will have justice, come it whence it may. 2 1 6 Dramatic Scenes. Rienzi. Cecco Mancino ! read the law against lOO Those who accuse maliciously or lightly. Mancino. [reads). "Who shall accuse another, nor make good His accusation, shall incur such fine. Or such infliction of the scourge, as that False accusation righteously deserves." Rienzi. Fine cannot satisfy the wrongs that royalty Receives from royalty. Lewis. Wouldst thou inflict The scourge on kings ? Rienzi. The lictor would, not I. i lO Lewis. What insult may we not expect ere long ! And yet we fare not worst from demagogues. Those who have risen from the people's fist Perch first upon their shoulders, then upon Their heads, and then devour their addled brain. Rienzi. We have seen such of old. Lewis. Hast thou seen one True to his feeder where power whistled shriller, Shaking the tassels and the fur before him ? Rienzi. History now grows rather dim witli me, 120 And memory less vivacious than it was : No time for hawks, no tendency to hounds ! Lewis. Cold sneers are your calm judgments ! Here at Rome To raise false hopes under false promises Is wisdom ! and on such do we rely ! Rienzi. Wisdom with us is not hereditary, Nor brought us from the woods in ermine-skins. Nor pinned upon our tuckers ere we chew, Nor oflPered with the whistle on bent knee. But, King of Hungary ! we can and do I 30 In some reward it and in all revere ; We have no right to scoff at it, thou hast. Cecco Mancino ! Mancino. Tribune most august ! Rienzi [lurninj^ his back, and pointing to the eagles over his tribunal). Furl me that flag. Now place it underneath Giovanna of Naples. 2 1 7 The eagles there. When the king goes, restore it. \_JValks down from the tribunal. ACT V. SCENE 1. palace on the shore near naples. Giovanna, Acciajoli, Del Balzo, Luigi of Taranto, Knights. Acciajoli. My queen ! behold us in your native land And lawful realm again ! Giovanna. But other sounds Than greeted me in earlier days I hear, And other sights I see ; no friends among them Who guided me in childhood, warn'd in youth, And were scathed off me when that thunderbolt Fell down between us. Are they lost so soon ! So suddenly ! Why could they not have come ? [_To Del Balzo. Where is Filippa ? where Terlizzi ? where lO Maternal Sancia ? Del Baho. Such her piety. Nor stranger nor insurgent hath presumed To throw impediment before her steps. For friends alike and enemies her prayers Are daily heard among the helpless crowd. But loudest for Giovanna ; at which name. Alone she bends upon the marble floor That saintly brow, and stirs the dust with sighs. Giovanna [to Acciajoli). Arms only keep her from me. Whose are yonder ? 20 Acciajoli. I recognise Calabrian ; Tarantine. Giovanna. Ah me ! suspicion then must never cease ! Never, without Luigi, Tarantine Arms glitter in the field. Even without him (Which can not be) his troops in my defence Would move again those odious thoughts, among My easy people, guileless and misled. 2i8 Dramatic Scenes. Del Bal-^n. His duty and his fealty enforce What loyalty and honour would persuade. Taranto is a fief: Taranto's piince 30 Must lead his army where his suzerain Commands, or where, without commanding, needs. ytcchijol'i. He can not see your city in your absence A prey to lawless fury, worse than wai-. Del Bal'z.o. Ay, and war too : for those who came as pilgrims And penitents, to kiss the holy frock Of father Rupert, spring up into soldiers ; And thus are hundreds added to the guards Which that most poweiful friar placed around Him whom we mourn for. Three strong companies 40 (Once only eight score each) are form'd within The conquered city. Canopies of state Covered with sable cloth parade the streets, And crucifixes shed abundant blood Daily from freshened wounds; and virgins' eyes Pour torrents over faces drawn with grief. What saint stands unforgotten ? what uncall'd i* Unincenst ! Many have come forth and walkl Among the friars, many shouted loud For vengeance. Even Luigi's camp stood wavering. 50 Only when first appeared your ship afar. And over the white sail the sable flag. Flapping the arms of Anjou, Naples, Flungary, 'Twas only then the rising mutiny Paus'd, and subsided ; only then Luigi, Pointing at that trine pennant, turn'd their rage Into its course. Acciajoli. Pei'haps the boat I see Crossing the harbour, may bring some intelligence ; Perhaps he may, himself . . 60 GioiHinmi. No ! not before . . No ! not at present . . Must I be ungrateful i Never ! . . ah, must I seem so ? Giovanna of Naples. 2 1 9 ACT V. SCENE II. yiii Old Knight. From the prince Commanding us, O lady ! I am here To lay his homage at his liege's feet. He bids me say, how, at the first approach Of that auspicious vessel, which brought hither Before her city's port its lawful queen. His troops demanded battle. In one hour He places in your royal hands the keys Of your own capital, or falls before it. G'lo'vanna. God grant he fall not ! O return ! i-eturn ! Tell him there are enow . . without, within . . [lo And were there not enow . . persuade, implore . . Show how Taranto wants him ; his own country. His happy people . . they must pine without him ! miserable me ! O most ungrateful ! Tell him I can not sec him . . I am ill . . The sea disturbs me . . my head turns, aches, splits . . 1 can not see liim . . say it, sir ! repeat it. Knight. May-be, to-morrow . . Giovanna. \Voi'se, to-morrow ! worse ! 20 Sail back again . . say everything . . thanks, blessings. Knight. Too late ! Those thundering shouts are our assault . . It was unfair without me ; it was hard . . Those are less loud. Giovanna. Luigi is repulst ! Perhaps is slain 1 slain if repulst . . he said it. Yes ; those faint shouts . . Knight. Lady, they are less loud Because the walls are between him and us. Giovanna (^ falls on her knces^. O ! every saint in heaven be glorified ! [I30 Which, which hath saved him? \_Rises.'\ Yet, O sir! if walls Are between him and us, then he is where 2 20 Dramatic Scenes. His foes are ! That is not what you intend ? What is it ? Cries again ! Knight. Not one were heard Had our prince dropt. The fiercest enemy Had shmnk appall'd from such majestic beauty Falling from heaven upon the earth beneath ; And his own people with closed teeth had fought. Not for their lives, but for his death : no such 40 Loud acclamation, lady ! had been heard. But louder woe and wailing from the vanquisht. Giovanna (aside). Praises to thee, O Virgin ! who concealedst So kindly all my fondness, half my fears ! jicciajoU. The dust is rising nearer. Who rides hither In that black scarf? with something in his hand Where the sword should be. 'Tis a sword, I see, In form at least. The dust hangs dense thereon, Adhesive, dark. Del Balzo. Seneschal ! it was brighter 50 This morning, I would swear for it. Accidjoli. He throws The bridle on the mane. He comes. Del Baho. He enters . . We shall hear all. ACT V. SCENE III. Luigi of Taranto {jhroiving up his vizor). Pardon this last disguise ! There was no time to take my vizor off. Scarcely to throw my sword down in the hall. My royal cousin ! let a worthier hand Conduct you to the city you have won, The city of your f ithers. Giovanna. O Luigi ! None worthier, none more loyal, none more brave. Cousin ! by that dear name I do adjure you ! l,et others . . these my friends and ministers . . jo Giovanna of Naples. 221 Conduct me to the city you have won, The city of your fathers, as of mine. Let none who carried arms against the worst Of my own people (for the very worst Have only been misguided) come into it With me, or after. Well thou governest Thy vassals, O Luigi ! Be thy dukedom Increast in all the wealth my gratitude Can add thereto, in chases, castles, towns ; But hasten, hasten thither ! There are duties 20 (Alas ! thou knowest like ourselves what duties) I must perform. Should ever happier days Shine on this land, my people will remember. With me, they shine upon it from Taranto. 222 Dramatic Scenes. FRA RUPERT. MALE CHARACTERS. Urban, Pope. Butello, his nepheiv. Charles II., of Durazzo. Otho, hinbanJ of Gio-vanna. Fra Rupert. Maximin. Stephen, a shepherd. Herald. Page. Monk. Chancellor. High Steward. Lord Chamberlain. Counsellors, Secretaries, Officers, Soldiers. FEMALE CHARACTERS. GlOVANNA, Qveen. , Margarita, her niece, ivife of Charles. Agnes OF Durazzo. Agatha, sister of Maximin. ACT L SCENE L VATICAN. Urban. Duraz/o, Urban. Charles of Durazzo ! I liavc found thee worthy To wear not only ducal coronet, But in that potent, in that faithful hand, To wield the royal sceptre. Dura-z.%0. Holy father ! I am half-ready to accept the charge. When it befalls me, studying your content. Urban. So be it. The crown of Naples is now vacant. Durazzo. Good heavens ! is then my mother (let me call her Even my mother, by whose bountcousness i o My fortunes grew, my youth was educated) Giovanna ! is she dead ? Urban. To virtuous deeds, Fra Rupert. 223 Like those, she long hath been so. Duraz-zo. His Beatitude, The predecessor of your Holiness, Who through her hands received his resting-place At Avignon, when Italy rcbell'd, Absolved her from that heavy accusation Her enemy the Hungarian brought against her. 20 Urban. I would not make Infallibility Fallible, nor cross-question the absolved, I merely would remove that stumbling-block The kingdom from her. DunTzzo. Let another then Aid such attempt. Urban, Another shall. Durazxo. Another Nearer in blood is none. Urban. Ere long, Durazzo, 30 I may look round and find one, if not nearer In blood, yet fitter to perform the duties Imposed on him by me. Dura%%o. None, holy father ! Is fitter. Urban. Easy then are the conditions. I would not place Butello, my own nephew, Altho' deserving, and altho' besought By many of the Neapolitans, By many of the noble and the powerful 40 In every city of that realm, not him, Durazzo ! would I place, against thy interests, So high. But haply from thy gratitude Accept I might in his behalf a dukedom Or petty principality, dependent Upon our See or (may-be) independent ; For there are some who fain would have things so. We must content the nations of the earth, Whom we watch over, and who look to us For peace and quiet in the world we rule. 50 Why art thou beating time so with thy foot At every word I speak ? why look so stern 2 24 Dramatic Scenes. And jerk thy head and rest thy hand on hip ? Thou art determin'd on it, art not thou ? Durazzo. I can not, will not, move her from her seat. So help mc, God ! Urban. Impious young man ! reflect ! I give thee time ; I give thee all to-morrow. ACT I. SCENE II. a street in naples. Maximin. Agatha. Agatha, [to herself^. 'Twas he ! 'twas father Rupert. Maximin^overhcaring). Well! what then ? What wouldst thou with him ? thou must wait his leisure : I have some business first with father Rupert. Agatha [ga-zing anxiously^. Can it be ? can it be ? Maximin. Have not men sins As well as women ? have not we our shrivers, Our scourers, sodcrers, calkcrs, and equi])pers ? Agatha [embracing him"). Forbear! O, for the love of God, forbear ! Heed him not, Maximin ! or he will cast i o Thy soul into perdition ; he has mine. Maximin. And who art thou, good woman ? Agatha. That fair name- Is mostly given with small courtesy. As something tost at us indifferently Or scornfully by higher ones. Thy sister Was what thou callcst her ; and Rupert knows it. Maximin. My sister ? how ! I had but Agatha. Agatha ! Agatha. Maximin ! we have not met 20 Since that foul day whose damps fell not on thee. But fill'd our father's house while thou wert absent. Thou, brother ! brother ! couldst not save my peace. Let me save thine. He used to call me daughter. Fra Rupert. 225 And he may call thee son. Maximin. The veiy word ! He began fathering early : seven years old At most was father Rupert. Holy names Are covered ways . . Agatha. . • To most unholy deeds. 30 Maximin. I see it ; say no more : my sword is reddening With blood that runs not yet, but soon shall run. Agatha. Talk, not thus loud, nor thus, nor here. Maximin. Cross then Over the way to that old sycamore ; The lads have left off playing at pallone. I found out long ago his frauds, his treasons. His murders ; and he meditates a worse. Agatha ! let me look, into thine eyes, Try to be glad to see me : lift them up, 40 Nay, do not drop them, they are gems to me. And make me very rich with only looking. Thou must have been most fair, my Agatha ! And yet I am thy brother ! Who would think it ? Agatha. Nor time nor toil deforms man's countenance. Crime only does it : 'tis not thus with ours. Kissing the seven nails burnt in below Thy little breast, before they well had healed, I thought thee still more beautiful with them. Maximin. Those precious signs might have done better for me. 50 Agatha. Only the honest are the prosperous. Maximin. A little too on that side hath slipt off, /Igatha. Recover it. Maximin. How can I ? Agatha. Save the innocent. Maximin. But whom ? Agatha. Giovanna. Maximin. Is the queen in danger ? Agatha. Knowest thou not ? Maximin. Hide we away our knowledge ; 60 It may do harm by daylight. I stand sentiy In many places at one time, and wink, \ VOL. 1. 1* 2 26 Dramatic Scenes. But am not drowsy. Trust me, she is safe. And thou art then our Agatha ! 'Twould do Our mother good, were she ahve, to find thee ; For her last words were, " Agatha, where art thou ? " Agatha. Oh ! when our parents sorrow for our crimes, Then is the sin complete. Maxim'm. She sorrows not, And 'tis high time that thou should'st give it over. 70 Agatha. Alas ! our marrow, sinews, veins, dry up, But not our tears ; they start with infancy. Run on through life, and swell against the grave. Maxim'm. I must now see Fra Rupert. Come thou after. He shall admit thee. Pelt him with reproaches. Then will I . . Agatha. Brother ! not for these came I, But to avert one crime from his o'erladen Devoted head. He hath returned . . Maxim'm. . . To join 80 Giovanna with Andrea ? On with me : We may forbid the banns a second time, Urging perhaps a few impediments. He hath been in some convent o'er the hill, Doing sad penance on Calabrian rye. How then couldst thou have heard about him ? how Find he was here in Naples ? Agatha. There he should And may have been : of late he was in Buda. Max'tm'in. You met in Buda then ? 90 Agatha. Not met. Maxim'm. How know His visit else, if he was there indeed ? Agatha. While thou and Stephen Stourdza tended sheep Together, I was in our mother's sight. And mostly in her chamber ; for ill-health Kept her from work. Often did Fatlier Rupert Pray by her, often hear her long confession, Long, because little could be thought of for it. " Now what a comfort would it be to you, i 00 If this ])Oor child read better," said the friar, Fra Rupert. 227 " To listen while she read how blessed saints Have suffered, and how glorious their reward." My mother claspt her hands, and " What a comfort ! " Echoed from her sick bosom. " Hath she been Confirm'd ? " he askt. " Yea, God be prais'd," sigh'd she. " We may begin then to infuse some salt Into this leaven," said the friar, well-pleas'd. "The work is righteous ; we will find spare hours." i lo She wept for joy. Maximin. Weep then (if weep at all) Like her. Agatha. Religious tracts soon tost aside, Florentine stories and Sicilian song Were buzz'd into my ears. The songs much pleas'd me. The stories (these he cull'd out from the book, He told me, as the whole v/as not for maids) Pleas'd me much less ; for woman's faults were there. Maximin. He might have left out half the pages, still The book had been a bible in its bulk [120 If all were there. Agatha. To me this well applies, Not to my sex. Maximin. Thou art the best in it. Those who think ill of woman, hold the tongue Thro' shame, or ignorance of what to say, Or rifle the old ragbag for some shard Spotted and stale. On, prythee, with thy story. Agatha. He taught me that soft speech, the only one For love ; he taught me to repeat the words \_ i 30 Most tender in it ; to observe his lips Pronouncing them ; and his eyes scorcht my clieek Into deep scarlet. With his low rich voice He sang the sadness of the laurel'd brow, The tears that trickle on the rocks around Valchiusa. " None but holy men can love As thou, Petrarca ! " sighed he at the close. Graver the work he brought me next. We read The story of Francesca. i ^o 2 28 Dramatic Scenes. Maxim'm. What is that ? Agatha. Piteous, most piteous, for most guilty, passion. Two lovers are condcmn'd to one unrest For ages. I now first knew poetry, I had known song and sonnet long before : I sail'd no more amid the barren isles, Each one small self ; the mighty continent Rose and expanded ; I was on its shoics. Fast fell the drops upon the page : he chided : "And is it punishment to be whirl'd on 150 With our beloved thro' eternity ? " " Oh ! they were too unhappy! too unhappy ! " Sobb'd I aloud : " Who could have written this ? " " Tenderest of tender maids ! " cried he, and claspt me To his hot breast. Fear seiz'd me, faintncss, shame. Be calm, my brother ! Maxim'tn. Tell then other tale. And skip far on. ylgatha. The queen Elizabeth Heard of me at the nunnery where I served ; 160 And the good abbess, not much loving one Who spoke two languages and read at night, Persuaded her that, being quick and needy, 'Twould be by far more charitable in her To take me rather than some richer girl, To read by her, and lace her sandals on. I serv'd her several years, to her content. One evening after dusk, her closet-door Being to me at every hour unclosed, I was just entering, when some voice like his, i no Whispering, but deep, struck me : a glance sufficed : 'Twas he. They neither saw me. Now occurr'd That lately had Elizabeth said more And worse against Giovanna. " She might be Guiltless, but should not hold the throne of Naples From the sweet child her daughter : there were some Who had strong arms, and might again do better In cowl than fiercer spirits could in casque." Sleepless was I that night, afraid to meet Fra Rupert, 229 The wretched man, afraid to join the queen. Early she rose, as usual ; earlier I. t8o My sunken eyes and paleness were remarkt, And, whence ? was askt me. " Those who have their brothers At Naples," I replied, " most gracious lady, May well be sleepless ; for rebellion shakes A throne unsteady ever." First she paus'd, Then said, with greater blandness than before, " Indeed they may. But between two usurpers 190 What choice ? Your brother may improve his fortune By loyalty, and teaching it. You wish To join him I see clearly, for his good ; It may be yours : it may be ours : go then, Aid him with prudent counsel : the supply Shall not be wanting, secrecy must not." She urged my parting : the same hour we parted. ACT I. SCENE III. Rupert's cell. Rupert. Maximin. Rupert. Thou hast delaid some little, Maximin. Maximin. Frate ! I met a woman in the street. And she might well delay me : guess now why. Rupert. Who in the world can guess the why of women ? , Maximin. She said she knew us both in Hungary. Rupert. I now suspect the person: she is crazed. Maximin. Well may she be, deprived of such a friend. Rupert. No friend was ever mine in tliat false sex. I am impatient, Maximin. Maximin. Impatient ! 1 o And so am I. ( Maximin throws open the door, and Agatha enters. ) Knowest thou this woman, Frate ? 230 Dramatic Scenes. Rupert. Art thou crazed too ? I know her ? Not at all. Maxlmin, And hast thou never known her ? never toucht her ? I only mean in giving her thy blessing. Rupert. A drunken sailor in a desert isle Would not approach her. Maxhn'tn [indignant'). Not my sister ? Agatha. Scorner ! Insulter ! 20 i^Aside.) He may have forgotten. Can he ? He did not see me, would not look at me. Maximin. My sword shall write her name upon thy midrif. Prepare ! Agatha. Hold ! hold ! Spare him yet, Maximin ! How could I . . and the man who . . Maximin. Speak it out, Worthless one ! Agatha. I am worthless. Let him live ! Oh let him live ! 30 Maximin. Thou lovest thy betrayer. Agatha. The once beloved are unestranged by falsehood ; They can not wholly leave us, tho' they leave us And never look behind. Maximin. Wild ! wild as hawk ! Rupert (^on his knees). Vision of light, of love, of purity ! Dost thou revisit on the verge of earth A soul so lost, to rescue it ? Enough, Agatha ! Do not ask him for my life ; No, bid him slay me ; bid him quench the days 4O That have in equal darkness set and risen Since proud superiors banisht faithful love. 1 am grown old ; few years are left me, few And sorrowful : my reason comes and goes : I am almost as capable of crimes As virtues. Maximin. By my troth, a hundred-fold More capable. Rupert. Both ('tis Heaven's will) are over. Fra Rupert. 231 Here let me end my hours : they should have all 50 Been thine ; he knows it ; let him take them for thee ; And close thou here mine eyes where none behold, Forgiving me . . no, not forgiving me. But praying, thou pure soul ! for Heaven's forgiveness. Max'imln. I will not strike thee on the ground : rise up. Then, when thou risest . . Agatha. Come away, my brotlier ! Rupert. Never, so help me saints ! will I rise up : I will breathe out my latest breath before her. [60 Maxim'm. It sickens a stout man to tread on toads. \_Goes. Rupert {rising slotuly, and passing a dagger through hisjingers). And the stout man might slip too, peradventure. ACT I. SCENE IV. PALACE NEAR NAPLES. DuRAZzo. Margarita. Durazzo. The Pope is not averse to make me king. Margarita. Do we not rule already ? Durazzo. Rule indeed ! Yes, one small dukedom. Any shepherd-dog Might make his voice heard farther off than mine. Margarita. Yet, my sweet Carlo, oftentimes I've heard you. When people brought before you their complaints, Swear at them for disturbing your repose, Keeping you from your hounds, your bird, your ride At evening, with my palfrey biting yours lO Playfully (like two Christians) at the gate. Durazzo. I love to sec my bird soar in the air, My hound burst from his puzzlement, and cite His peers around him to arraign the boar. Margarita. 1 think such semblances of high estate Are better than the thing itself, more pleasant, More wholesome. Durazzo. And thinks too my Margarita 232 Dnimatic Scenes. Of the gray palfrey? like a summer dawn His dapper sides, his red and open nostrils, 20 And his fair rider like the sun just rising Above it, making hill and vale look gay. Mdrgarila. She would be only what Durazzo thinks her. Dura%%o. Queenly he thinks her : queen he swears to make her. Margarita. I am contented ; and should be, without Even our rule : it brings us but few cares. Yet some it brings us : why add more to them ? Durazzo. I never heard you talk so seriously. Not long ago I little heeded state, Authority, low voice, bent knee, kist hand : 30 The Pope has proved to me that, sure as any Of the seven sacraments, the only way To rise above temptation, is to seize All that can tempt. Margarita. There must be truth then in it. But what will some men think when you deprive Our aunt of her inheritance ? Durazzo. Men think ! Do not men always think what they should not ? Margarita. We hear so from the pulpit : it must be. 40 But we should never take what is another's. Durazzo. Then you would never take another's child To feed or clothe it. Margarita. That is not my meaning. I am quite sure my aunt has loved me dearly All her life long, and loves me still ; she often (Kissing me) said, Hoiv like thou art Maria ! You know, Duraz/.o, how siie loved my mother. Durazzo. And she loved me no less : and we love iier And honour her. 50 Margarita. May we not then obey her ? Durazzo. The Pope, who teaches best, says othcrwioc. Rule has been tedious to her all her reign, And dangerous too. Margarita. Make it less dangerous, make it Less tedious. Fra Rupert. 233 Durnzzo. She has chosen the duke Gtho To sit above thy husband, and all else. Margarita. I think my husband is as brave as he. Durazxo. I think so too : yet people doubt. 60 Margarita. Indeed ! Durazzo. And doubt they will, unless the truest knight Of Margarita takes to horse, and scours Her grandsire's realm of foreigners like Otho. Margarita. If you do that, you must displease our aunt. Durazzo. Perhaps so : and hast never thou displeas'd her? Margarita. Never ; although I sometimes did what might. Durazzo. I can not disappoint the Holy Father. Matgarita. Nay, God forbid ! But let me no more see her, To hear her tell me all she did for me ! 70 I can bear anything but evil tongues. Durazzo. Then let us slink away and live obscurely. \_Golng. Margarita. Come back again . . Now ! would you leave me so ? I have been thinking I must think no more About the matter . . and am quite resolved. Durazzo. My sweetest ! you have several female cousins ; What are they ? Margarita. Duchesses. ^,__^ Durazzo. ButSfP^hey queens ? Margarita. No indeed ; and why should they be ? They queens ? So Durazzo. I know but one well worthy of the title. Margarita. Now, who can possibly that be, I wonder ! Durazzo. She on whose brow already Majesty Hath placed a crown which no artificer Can render brighter, or fit better, she Upon whose lip Love pays the first obeisance. {^Saluting her. Margarita. I know not how it is that you persuade So easily . . not very easily In this, however : yet, if but to tease And plague a little bit my sweet dear cousins, 90 Writing the kindest letters, telling them That I am still, and shall be, just the same, Their loving cousin ; nor in form alone ; 2 34 Dramatic Scenes. And if I write but stlJom foi^ the future, 'Tis only that we queens have many cares Of which my charming cousins can know nothing. Durazzo. What foresight, friendliness, and delicacy ! Margarita. Nothing on earth but tliese, in the idea Of vexing . . no, not vexing . . only plaguing (You know, love ! what I mean) my sweet dear cousins, loo Could make me waver . . and then you, sad Carlo I Dttraxxo. To please me . . Margarita. Now, what would you have me say ? ACT I. SCENE V. NAPLES. Page, Giovanna, Agnes, Maximin. Page. Fly, O my lady ! Troops are near the city. Giovanna. There always are. Page. But strangers. People say Durazzo . . Giovanna. What of him ? Agnes. Now then confess I knew him better. No reports have reacht us These several days : the roads were intercepted. Giovanna. I will fear notliing : Otho watches over us. Insects, that build their tiny habitations lO Against sea-clifFs, become sea-clifFs themselves. I rest on Otho, and no storm can shake me. Agnes. How different this Durazzo! Giovanna. All men are : But blame not without proof, or sign of proof. Or accusation, any man so brave. Page. Lady ! his soldiers on Canialdoli Wave the green banner and march hithei-ward. Giovanna {after a pause^. It can not be ! my Carlo ! my Carlino ! What ! he who said iiis prayers witli hands coniprest 20 Between my knees, and would leaj) oli to say them ? Fra Rupert. 235 Impossible ! He may have been deterred From helping me : his people, his advisers, May have been adverse . . but . . make war upon me ! they have basely slandered thee, my Carlo ! Agnes. He has been with the Holy Father lately. Giovanna. This would relieve me from all doubt, alone. Agnes. So kind as you have been to him ! a mother 1 Giovanna. Remind me not of any benefit 1 may have done him : tell me his good deeds, 30 Speak not (if some there may have been) of mine : 'Twould but disturb the image that has never Yet fallen from my breast, and never shall. He was my child when my own child indeed, My only one, was torn away from me. Agnes. And you have brooded o'er a marble egg. Poor darkling bird ! Giovanna. O Agnes ! Agnes ! spare me. Let me think on . . how pleasant 'twas to follow In that Carlino, in that lovely boy, 40 The hidings of shy love, its shame, its glee. Demurest looks at matters we deem light. And, well worth every lesson ever taught. Laughter that loosens graver, and that shakes Our solemn gauds into their proper place. Maximin (^oui of breath). The castle-gates are open for one moment . . Seize them and enter . . Crowds alone impede Durazzo, and not arms. Agnes. Do you believe His treason now ? 5^ Giovanna. Peace, peace ! 'tis hard, 'tis hard ! ACT II. SCENE I. Rupert's cell. Rupert and Maximin. Rupert [alone). I've dogged him to the palace : there's """■"' some treachery. Giovanna . . and that witch, too, Agatha . . 236 Dramatic Scenes. Why not all three together? Sixty miles From Naples there is Muro. Now, a word Was dropt upon it. We must be humane. But, one more trial first to make him serve In 'stablishing the realm. I fain must laugh To think what creatures 'stablish realms, and how. (Maximin enters.) Well, Maximin ! We live for better days And happier purports. Couldst thou not devise lO Something that might restore the sickened state, And leave our gracious king the exercise Of his good will, to give them companies Who now are ensigns ? Ah brave Maximin ! 1 do remember when thou wert but private. Psein, Klapwrath, Zinga, marcht, and made thee way. Nothing in this our world would fain stand still. The earth we tread on labours to set free Its fires within, and shakes the mountain -heads ; The animals, the elements, all move, 20 The sea before us, and the sky above, And angels on their missions between both. Fortune will on. There are whom happiness Makes restless with close constancy ; there are Who tire of the pure air and sunny sky. And droop for clouds as if each hair were grass. No wonder then should more aspiring souls Be weary of one posture, one dull gloom All the day through, all the long day of life. Maximin {g(ipes). Weary ! ay am I. Can I soon be captain ? 30 Rupert. Why not? Maximin. And then what service ? Rupert. Queen Giovanna Is blockt up in the castle, as thou knowest ; Was not my counsel wise, to keep thee out ? Famine had else consumed thee ; she spares none. Charles of Duraz/.o, our beloved king, Presses the siege ; and, when the cjueen gives up, Fra Rupert. 237 Thou art the man I prophesy to guard her. There are some jewels : lightly carried in, 40 A thousand oxen cannot haul them forth ; But they may drop at Muro, one by one, And who should husband them save Maximin ? Maxim'in [pretending alarm). 1 will not leave my sister out of sight : She ne'er must fall again. Rupert. Forefend it, heaven ! I might be weak ! She would indeed be safe Where the queen is ! But who shall have the heart To shut her up ? What has she done ? Her brother Might be a comfort to her ; and the queen 50 And some few ladies tinst her and caress her. But, though the parks and groves and tofts around, And meadows, from their first anemones To their last saffron-crocuses, though all Open would be, to her, if not to them. And villagers and dances, and carousals At vintage-time, and panes that tremble, partly By moon-ray, partly by guitar beneath. Yet might the hours, without street-views, be dull. Max'tm'in. Don't tell her so. Get her once there. But how ? 60 Beside, the queen will never trust Hungarians. There would be mortal hatred. Is there fire Upon the hearth ? Rupert. None. Max'tm'in. Why then rub your hands ? ACT II. SCENE II. CASTEL-NUOVO. GiovANNA and Agnes. Giovanna. 'Tis surely wrong that those who fight for us So faithfully, so wretchedly should perish ; That thriftless jewels sparkle round your temples 238 Dramatic Scenes. While theirs grow dank with famine. Jgnes. Now 1 see, my poor queen ! the folly of refusal, When they had brought us safety. Giovanna. Not quite that, To me at least, but sustenance and comfort To our defenders in the castle here. i o jignes. Will you now take them ? Giovanna. If some miracle Might turn a jewel to a grain of com, 1 would : my own were kneaded into bread In the first days of our captivitj'. Agnes. And mine were still withholden ! Pardon me. Just Heaven ! Giovanna. In words like those invoke not Heaven. If we say just, what can we hope ? but what May we not hope if we say merciful P 20 Agnes. And yet my fault is very pardonable. We, at our time of life, want these adornments. Giovanna. We never want them. Youth has all its own ; None can shed lustre upon closing days, Mockers of eyes and lips and whatsoever Was prized ; nor can they turn one grey hair brown. But, skilfully transmuted, might prolong The life and health and happiness of hundreds. Agnes. Queens may talk so. Giovanna. Not safely, but to friends. 30 Agnes. With power and pomp . . Giovanna. Behold my pomp, my power ! These naked walls, cold pavement, grated windows. Agnes. Let me share these with you. Take all my jewels. Giovanna. Forbear, forbear, dear Agnes ! Agnes. Earth then, take them 1 \^rhroiving them from her. Fra Rupert. 239 ACT II. SCENE III. CASTEL-NUOVO. DuRAzzo. Rupert. Giovanna. Agnes. Dura%. Malaspina. I pity thee. Day after day myself Have lived on things unmeet for sustenance. My milk is failing . . Rise {To the Child) My little on I God will feed thee ! Be sleep thy nourisher Until his mercies strengthen me afresh ! 60 Sink not : take iieart : advance : Here, where from heaven The Virgin-mother can alone behold us. The Siege of Ancona. 315 Draw some few drops. [The tocsin sounds. Soldier. Ha ! my ears boom thro' faintness. What sounds ? L. Malaspina. The bell. Soldier. Then they are at the gate . . I can but thank you . . Give me force, O Heaven ! For this last fight ! . . and keep from harm these twain ! Malaspina and Child alone. L. Malaspina. And still thou sleepest, my sweet babe ! Is death 70 Like sleep ? Ah, who then, who would fear to die ? How beautiful is all serenity ! Sleep, a child's sleep, O how f..;' more serene. And O, how far more beautiful than any 1 Whether we breathe so gently or breathe not, Slight is the difference. But the pangs, the rage Of famine who can bear ? . . unless to raise Her child above it ! ( T-wo Priests are passing. ) First Priest. Who sits yonder ? bent O'er her dead babe ? as many do within 8o Their houses ! Second Priest. Surely, surely, it must be She who, not many days ago, was praised For beauty, purity, humility, Above the noblest of Anconite dames. First Priest. The Lady Malaspina ? Second Priest But methinks The babe is not dead yet. First Priest. Why think you so ? Second Priest. Because she weeps not over it. 90 First Priest. For that I think it dead. It then could pierce no more Her tender heart with its sad sobs and cries. But let us hasten from the place to give The dying their last bread, the only bread Yet unconsumed, the blessed eucharist. Even this little, now so many die. 3i6 Dramatic Scenes. May soon be wanting. Second Priest. God will never let That greater woe befall us. [The Priests go. Malaspina. Who runs hither ? [ i OO \The Soldier yiZ/j before her. Art thou come back. ? So ! thou couldst run, O vile ! Soldier. Lady ! your gentleness kept life within me Until four fell. L. Malaspina. Thyself unwounded ? Soldier. No ; If arms alone can wound the soldier's breast, They toucht me not this time ; nor needed they ; Famine had done what your few words achieved. L. Malaspina. They were too harsh. Forgive me ! i lo Soldier. Not the last. Those were not harsh! Enter my bosom, enter, Kind pitying words ! untie there life's hard knot, And let it drop off easily ! How blest ! I have not robb'd the child, nor shamed the mother ! [He dies. L. Malaspina. Poor soul ! and the last voice he heard on earth Was bitter blame, unmerited ! And whose ? Mine, mine ! Should they who suffer sting the sufferer ? O saints above ! avenge not this misdeed ! What doth his hand hold out ? A little crate, 120 With german letters round its inner rim . . And . . full of wine ! Yet did his lips bum white ! He tasted not what might have saved his life. But brought it hither, to be scorn'd and die. \Singers are heard in the same open space before an image.'\ Singers ! where are they ? My sight swims ; my strength Fails me ; I can not rise, nor turn to look ; But only I can pray, and never voice Prays like the sad and silent heart its last. Old Men. The village of tlie laurel grove* Hath seen thee hovering high above, Whether pure innocence was there, Or helpless grief, or ardent prayer. * The House of Loreto was not yet brought thither by the angels. The Siege of Ancona. 3 1 7 O Virgin I hither turn thy view, For these are in Ancona too. Not for ourselves implore we aid, But thou art mother, thou art maid ; Behold these suppliants, and secure Their humbled heads from touch impure ! Maidens. Hear, maid and mother ! hear our prayer ! Be brave and aged men thy care I And, if they bleed, O may it be In honour of thy Son and thee ! When innocence is wrong'd, we know Thy bosom ever felt the blow. Yes, pure One ! there are tears above, But tears of pity, tears of love, And only from thine eyes they fall, Those eyes that watch and weep for all. [They prostrate themselves. L. Malaspina. How faintly sound those voices ! altho' many; At every stave they cease, and rest upon 1 30 That slender reed which only one can blow. But she has heard them ! Me too she has heard. Heaviness, sleep comes over me, deep sleep : Can it, so imperturbable, be death ? And do I for the last time place thy lip Wher£ it may yet di-aw life from me, my child ! Thou, who alone canst save him, thou wilt save. \_Sht dies : the child on her bosom still sleeping. ACT IV. SCENE IV. night : the mole of ancona. Consul. Senator. Senator. Sir Consul, you have heard (no doubt) that fires Have been seen northward all along the sky, And angels with their flaming swords have sprung From hill to hill. With your own eyes behold 3i8 Dramatic Scenes. No mortal power advancing. Host so numerous No king or emperor or soldan led. Consul. A host, a mighty host, is there indeed ? Senator. It covers the whole range of Falcognara. Consul. Methinks some fainter lights flit scatter'dly Along the coast, more southward. lO Senator. The archbishop Hath seen the sign, and leads away his troops. Consul. We are too weak to follow. Can then aid Have come so soon ? 'Tis but the second night Since we besought it. Senator. In one hour, one moment. Such aid can come, and has come. Think not, Consul, That force so mighty and so sudden springs From earth. And what Italian dares confront The German ? 20 Consul. What Italian ! All, sir ; all. ACT V. SCENE I. TENT OF MARCHESELLA, NEAR ANCONA. EARLY MORNING. March KSELLA. Officers. Paolucci. Officer. My general ! easily I executed Your orders. Marchesella. Have they fled, tlien ? Officer. Altogether. Marchesella. And could you reach the gate ? Officer. And enter too. Paolucci's seal unbarr'd it ; not until I held two loaves above my head, and threw My sword before me. Marchesella. And what saw you then \ 10 Officer. Inhere is a civil war within the city, And insolence and drunkenness are rife. Children and old and middle-aged were reeling. And some were slipping over, some devouring Long-podded weeds with jagged edges, cast The Siege of Ancona. 319 Upon the shore. Paolucci. Famine had gone thus far (Altho' with fewer) ere we left the mole. The ancient garden-wall was overthrown To get the twisted roots of fennel out ; 20 The fruit-tree that could give no fruit gave buds ; The almond's bloom was withering, but whoe'er Possest that treasure pierced the bark for gum ; The mulberry sent her tardy shoot, the cane Her tenderer one ; the pouting vine untied Her trellised gems ; the apple-tree threw down Her load of viscous mistletoe : they all (Little it was !) did all they could for us. Marchesella. The Germans (look!) have left their tents behind : We will explore them ; for your wary soldiers 30 Suspect, and well they may, some stratagem. ACT V. SCENE II. erminia's chamber. Erminia. Maria. [Maria is going. Erminia calls her hack. Erminia. Maria, is the countess very fair ? Maria. Most beautiful. But you yourself must judge. She sent me for you in the gentlest tone, And far more anxious to see you, than you (It seems) are to see her. Erminia. I am afraid To see her. Maria. Tou afraid ! Whom should you fear ? Beautiful as she is, are not you more so ? Erminia. So you may think ; others think otherwise, i o Maria. She is so aifable ! When many lords Stood round about her, and the noblest of them And bravest, Marchesella, who would give Jiis lands, his castles, even his knighthood for her . . 320 Dramatic Scenes. Whom do you think, she call'd to her? . . the youth Who cut the cables, and then hid himself That none might praise him . . him who brought in safety Your lover to the shore. Erminia {angrily). Whom? Maria. Whom? Stamura. 20 Erminia. What heart could he not win . . not scorn . . not break ? Maria. I do not hear those shy ones ever break A woman's heart, or win one. They may scorn ; But who minds that ? Erminia. Leave me. Maria. And tell the countess You hasten to her presence ? Erminia. Is he there ? Maria. Who ? Erminia. Dull, dull creature ! 30 Maria. The brave Marchesella ? Erminia. Are there none brave but he ? Maria. O ! then, Stamura. No : when he led her from the mole again. And she had enter'd the hall-door, he left her. Erminia. I fear'd he might be with her. Were he with her. What matter ! I could wait until . . Wait 1 why ? He would not look at me, nor I at him. Maria. No ; I can answer for him. Were he born Under the waves, and never saw the sun, 40 He could not have been colder. But you might Have lookt at him, perhaps. Erminia. Not I indeed. Maria. Few men are like him. How you hug me ! Erminia. Go . . I will run first . . Go . , I am now quite ready. The Siege of Ancona. 321 ACT V. SCENE III. CHAMBER IN THE CONSUl's HOUSE. Countess and Erminia. Countess. The depths of love are warmer than the shallows, Purer, and much more silent. Erminia [aside). Ah ! how true ! Countess. He loves you, my sweet girl ; I know he does. Erminia. He says not so. Countess. Child ! all men are dissemblers The generous man dissembles his best thoughts. His worst the ungenerous. Erminia. If, indeed, he loves me . . Countess. He told me so. lO Erminia. Ah ! then he loves me not. Who, who that loves, can tell it ? Countess. Who can hide it ? His voice betray'd him ; half his words were traitors . . To him, my sweet Erminia ! not to you. What ! still unhappy ! [Erminia iveeps Erminia. Let me weep away A part of too much happiness. Countess. I wish One more could see it. From these early showers 20 What sweets, that never spring but once, arise ! ACT V. SCENE IV. Consul enters. Consul. Before you leave us, since you part to-day, From our full hearts take what lies deepest there, And what God wills beyond all sacrifice . . Our praises, our thanksgivings. Thee we hail, Protectress 1 But can words, can deeds, requite VOL. I. X 32 2 Dramatic Scenes. The debt of our deliverance ? Countess. What I ask Should not infringe your freedom. Power is sweet, And victoiy claims something. I am fain To exercise a brief authority !0 Within the walls, appointing you my colleague. Consul. Lady ! this very night my power expires. Countess. And mine, with your connivance, shall begin. Consul. Lady ! all power within the walls is yours. ACT V, SCENE V. arch of trajan on the mole. Consul, Marchesella, Countess, Senators, &c. Consul. We have no flowers to decorate the arch Whence the most glorious ruler of mankind Smiles on you, lady ! and on you, who rival His valour, his humanity, his bounty. Nor aic there many voices that can sing Your j)raises. For, alas ! our poor frail nature (May it be seldom ! ) hears one call above The call of gratitude. The famishing Devour your bread. But, though we hear no praises, There are who sing them to their harps on high, lo And he who can alone reward you both Listens in all his brightness to the song. I do entreat you, blemish not your glory. No exercise of might or sovranty Can ever bring you such content again As this day's victory, these altar-prayers From rescued men, men perishing ; from child And parent : every parent, every cliild. Who hears your name, sliould bless you evermore. Countess. I find, sir, I must win you through your daughter. Consul. The girl is grateful : urge her not too far: [20 I could not, without much compunction, thwart her. Lrminia ! go : we meet again to-moriow. The Siege of Ancona. 323 Countess. Come hither, my sweet girl ! Coy as thou art, I have seen one, once in my life, as coy. Stand forth thou skulking youth ! Here is no sea To cover thee ; no ships to scatter. Take This maiden's hand . . unless her sire forbid . . Holdest thou back ? after confession too ! I will reveal it. [To Erminia. 30 And art thou ashamed ? Erminia. I am ashamed. Countess. Of what ? thou simpleton ! Erminia. I know not what . . of having been ashamed. Consul. Antonio ! if thou truly lovedst her, What, after deeds so valiant, kept thee silent ? Stamura. Inferior rank, deep reverence, due fear. I know who rules our country. Consul. /, ^who saved her. [^Father John enters. F. John. What ! and am I to be without reward ? 40 Consul. Father ! be sure it will be voted you. Marchesella. And may not we too make our pious offerings, For such they are, when such men will receive them. F. John. I claim the hand of the affianced. Girl ! Shrink not from me ! Give it to God ! Erminia. 'Tis given : I can not, would not, will not, take it back. F. John. Refractory ! hast thou not dedicated To God thy heart and soul ? Erminia. I might have done it 50 Had never this day shone. F. John. And that youth's deeds Outshone this day, or any day before. When thou didst give thy hand to the deliverer Whom God had chosen for us, then didst thou Accomplish his great work, else incomplete. I claim to pour his benediction on you And yours for ever. Much, much misery. Have I inflicted on the young and brave. And can not so repent me as I should ; 60 But 'twas in one day only my device 324 Dramatic Scenes. Ever wrought woe on any man alive. [Paolucci enters. Consul. Who enters ? Paolucci. Who ? The biidesman. Marches ella [^embracing him). My brave friend! My father's ! Paohcc't. Ay, thy grandfather's to boot. And there was one, about my age, before him, Sir Stcfano, who wore a certain rose, Radiant with peai'Js and rubies and pure gold, 70 Above the horse-tail grappled from the Turk. Marchesella. We have not in the house that ornament. Paolucci. I do believe he wears it in the grave. Countess. There is a sword here bright enough to throw A lustre on Stamura. Marchesella ! Marchesella. Kneel, sir ! \^He kneels to Erminia. Countess. Not there. Marchesella. Yes, there ; what fitter place ? We know but one high title in the world, One only set apart for deeds of valour, 80 And palsied be the hand that ill confers it. Here is the field of battle ; here I knight thee. [_Knights him. Rise, my compeer ! Teach him his duties, lady, Toward the poor, the proud, the faith, the sex. Countess (^smiling). Stamura ! would you enter now my service ? Stamura. Yes, lady, were you wrong'd, this very hour ; Then might I better earn the bliss I seek. Antony and Octavius. 325 ANTONY AND OCTAVIUS. Few have obtained the privilege of entering Shakespeare's garden, and of seeing him take turn after turn, quite alone, now^ nimbly, now gravely, on his broad and lofty terrace. Let us never venture where he is walking, whether in deep medi- tation or in buoyant spirits. Enough is it for us to ramble and loiter in the narrower paths below, and to look up at the various images, which, in the prodigality of his wealth, he has placed in every quarter. Before you, reader, are some scattered leaves gathered from under them : carefuller hands may arrange and compress them in a book of their own, and thus for a while preserve them, if rude children do not finger them first and tamper with their fragility. W. S. L. SCENE E THE FIRST . SECOND THIRD . FOURTH FIFTH . SIXTH . SEVENTH EIGHTH NINTH . TENTH ELEVENTH TWELFTH SOOTHSAYER AND ANTONY. SOOTHSAYER AND CLEOPATRA. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. CLEOPATRA. CHARMIAN. IRAS. OCTAVIUS. MECi?:NAS. GALLUS. ANTONY AND DOLABELLA. ANTONY AND AGRIPPA. OCTAVIUS. AGRIPPA. CitSARlON. MEC^NAS. DOLABELLA. C^SARION. SCOPAS. EROS AND ANTONY. OFFICER. OCTAVIUS. MECillNAS. GALLUS. OCTAVIUS AND OCTAVIA. SCENE THE FIRST. Soothsayer and Antony. Soothsayer. Speak it I must. Ill are the auguries. Aniony. Ill ever are the auguries, O priest, To those who fear them : at one hearty stroke The blackest of them scud and disappear. 326 Dramatic Scenes. Now, not a word of any less than good To Cleopatra. Soothsayer. 'Twas at her command I hasten'd to consult them. Antony. Rightly done To follow her commands; not rightly comes 10 Whate'er would grieve her ; this thou must withhold. Soothsayer. Not this, not this : her very life may hang Upon the event foretold her. Antony. What is that ? Announced then is the cursed augury So soon ? Soothsayer. She waited at the temple-door With only one attendant, meanly drest. That none might know her ; or perha))s the cause Was holier ; to appease the offended Gods. lo Antony. Which of them can she ever have offended ? She who hath lavisht upon all of them Such gifts, and burnt more incense in one hour Before her Isis, than would wrap in smoke A city at mid-day ! The keenest eye Of earth or heaven could find in her no guile, No cruelty, no lack of duty. Soothsayer. True ; Yet fears she one of them, nor knows she which, But Isis is the one she most suspects. 30 Antony. Isis ! her patroness, her favourite ? Soothsayer. Even so ! but they who patronise may frown At times, and draw some precious boon away. Antony. I deem not thus unworthily of Gods ; Indeed I know but Jupiter and Mars ; Each hath been ever on my side, and each Alike will prosper me, I trust, to-morrow. Soothsayer. But there are others, guardian Gods of Egypt ; Prayers may ])ropitiate them, with ofl^erings due. Antony. I have forgotten all my prayers. 4O Soothsayer. No need, Wlicn holier lips pronounce them. Antony. As for oflerings, Antony and Octavius, 327 There shall be plenty on the day's success. Soothsayer. Merit it. Antony. Do your Gods or ours mind that ? Merit ! and where lies merit ? Soothsayer. In true faith On auguries. Antony. Birds hither thither fly, 50 And heard there have been from behind the veil Voices not varying much from yours and mine. SCENE THE SECOND. Soothsayer and Cleopatra. Soothsayer. Our lord Antonius wafts away all doubt Of his success. Cleopatra. What ! against signs and tokens ? Soothsayer. Even so ! Cleopatra. Perhaps he trusts himself to Hercules, Become of late progenitor to him. Soothsayer. Ah ! that sweet smile might bring him back ; he once Was flexible to the bland warmth of smiles. Cleopatra. If Hercules is hail'd by men below For strength and goodness, why not Antony ? .10 Why not succeed as lawful heir ? why not Exchange the myrtle for the poplar crown ? Antony enters. Soothsayer goes. Cleopatra. Antony ! is not Caesar now a god ? Antony. We hear so. Cleopatra. Nay, we know it. Why not thou ? Men would not venture then to strike a blow At thee : the laws declare it sacrilege. Antony. Julius, if I knew Julius, had been rather First among men and last among the Gods. Cleopatra. At least put on thy head a kingly crown. 20 Antony. I have put on a laurel one already ; As many kingly crowns as should half cover 328 Dramatic Scenes. The Lybian desert are not worth this one. Cleopatra. But all would bend before thee. Antony. 'Twas the fault Of Cjcsar to adopt it ; 'twas his death. Cleopatra. Be then what C?Esar is. O Antony ! To laugh so loud becomes not state so high. Antony. He is a star, we see ; so is the hair 30 Of Berenice : stars and Gods are rife. What worth, my love, are crowns ? Thou givest pearls, I give the circlet that encloses them. Handmaidens don such gear, and valets snatch it Sportively off, and toss it back again. Cleopatra. But graver men gaze up with awful eyes. Antony. And never gaze at that artificer, Who turns his heel and fashions out his vase From the Nile clay ! 'Tis easy work for him ; Easy was mine to turn forth kings from stuff 40 As vile and ductile : he still plies his trade. But mine, with all my customers, is gone. Ever by me let enemies be awed, None else : bring round me many, near me few. Keeping afar those shaven knaves obscene Who lord it with humility, who press Men's shoulders down, glue their two hands together. And cut a cubit off", and tuck their heels Against the cushion mother Nature gave. Cleopatra. Incomprehensible ! incorrigible ! 50 wretch ! if queens were ever taught to blush, 1 should at such unseemly phrase as thine. I think I must forgive it. What ! and take Before I grant ? Again ! You violent man ! Will you for ever drive me thus away ? Antony and Octavius. 329 SCENE THE THIRD. Antony and Cleopatra. Antony. What demon urged thy flight ? Cleopatra. The demon Love. I am a woman, with a woman's fears, A mother's, and, alas O Antony ! More fears than these. Antony. Of whom ? Cleopatra. Ask not of whom But ask for whom, if thou must ask at all, Nor knowest nor hast known. Yes, I did fear For my own life . . ah ! lies it not in thine ? lO How many perils compast thee around ! Antony. What are the perils that are strange to me ? Cleopatra. Mine thou couldst not have seen when swiftest oars, Attracted by the throne and canopy. Pounced at me only, numerous as the waves ; Couldst not have seen my maidens throwing down Their fans and posies (piteous to behold ! ) That they might wring their hands more readily. I was too faint myself to still their cries. Antony [aside). I almost thought her blameable. 20 {To Cleopatra.) The Gods So will'd it. Thou despondest . . too aware The day is lost. Cleopatra. The day may have been lost, But other days, and happier ones, will come. Antony. Never : when those so high once fall, their weight Keeps them for ever down. Cleopatra. Talk reasonably. And love me as . . till now . . it should be more, For love and sorrow mingle where they meet. 30 Antony. It shall be more. Are these last kisses cold ? ^^o Dnimatic Scenes. 33 Cleopatra. Nor cold are they nor shall they be the last. Antony. Promise nie, Cleopatra, one thing more. Cleopatra. 'Tis promist, and now tell me what it is. Antony. Rememberest thou this ring ? Cleopatra. Dost thou remember The day, my Antony, when it was given ? Antony. Day happiest in a life of many happy, And all thy gift. Cleopatra. 'Tis call'd the richest ruby, 40 The heaviest, and the deepest, in the world. Antony. The richest cert;iinly. Cleopatra. And not the deepest And broadest ? Look ! It hides all this large nail, And mine are long ones if not very wide ; Now let me see if it don't cover yours As wide again ! there ! it would cover two. Why smile you so ? Antony. Because I know its story. [50 Cleopatra. Ha ! then you have not lost all memory quite. I told it you. The king of Pontus sent it When dying to my father, warning him By letter that there was a charm in it Not to be trifled with. Antony. It shall not be. Cleopatra. But tell me now the promise I must make j What has the ring to do with it ? Antony. All, all. Know, Cleopatra, this is not one ruby. Cleopatra. The value then is smaller. 60 Antony. Say not so, Remark the rim. Cleopatra. The gold is thin, I see. Antony. And seest thou it will open ? It contains Another jewel, richer than itself. Cleopatra. Impossible! my Antony ! for rubies Are riclicr than all other gems on earth. Antony. Now, my sweet trifler, for thy promise. Cleopatra. Speak. By all tiu- Powers above and all below, 70 Antony lind Octavius. 331 I will perform thy bidding, even to death. Antony. To death it goes ; not until after mine. Cleopatra. I kiss the precious charm. Mcthinks an odour Of almond comes from it. How sweet the flower Of death ! Antony. 'Tis painless death, 'tis sudden too. Cleopatra. Who could wish more, even were there more to wish ? With us there is not. Antony. Generous, pious girl ! Daughter of Ptolemies ! thou hast not won 80 A lower man than they. Thy name shall lise Above the pyramids, above the stars, Nations yet wild shall that name civilize, And glorious poets shake their theatres, And stagger kings and emperors with applause. Cleopatra. I was not born to die ; but I was born To leave the world with Antony, and will. Antony. The greatest of all eastern kings died thus, The greater than all eastern kings thus died. O glorious forgeman who couldst rivet down 90 Refractory crowds by thousands, and make quake Sceptres like reeds ! we want not here thy voice Or thy example. Antony alone And queenly pride, tho' Love were dumb, would do. SCENE THE FOURTH. Cleopatra. Charmian. Iras. Cleopatra. At the first entrance of your lord, before He ordered you, before he spake a word, Why did ye run away ? Charmian. I was afraid, Never so in my life ; he lookt so fierce He fear'd his own wild eyes, he placed one hand (His right) across them on lowered brow, his left Waved us away as would a hurricane 32 Dramatic Scenes. A palm-tree on the desert. Cleopatra [to Iras). And wert thou, lO Iras, so terrified ? Iras. Not I indeed ; My lady, never man shall frighten me. Cleopatra. Thou silly creature ! I have seen a mouse Do it. Iras. A mouse is quite another thing. Charm'ian [hesitating). Our lord and master . . Cleopatra. What of Antony ? Charmian. Octavius . . Cleopatra. Who ? Our lord and master he ? 20 He never shall be mine . . that is to say . . Chanman. What ! lady ? Cleopatra. I forget . . 'twas not worth saying. Charmian ! where hast thou been this last half-hour ? Charmian. In my own room. Cleopatra. So fearful ? Charmian. Far more sad. Cleopatra. Where, Iras, thou ? Iras. I wanted to report To my sweet lady what I might espy. 30 Cleopatra. And what have those long narrow eyes espied ? Iras. All. Cleopatra. 'Twas done speedily ; but what is all ? Army and fleet from any terrace roof Arc quite discernible, the separate men Nowhere. Iras. My heart had told me what delight Its queen would feel to hear exactly how The leaders look. Cleopatra. And how then did they look ? 40 Tell me : some might have ridden near enough To town to judge by, where the sight is shaqj. Iras. Merciful Isis ! ridden ! and so close ! Horses are frightful, horses kick and rear And whinny, full of wickedness ; 'twere rash To venture nigh them. Antony and Octavius. 333 Cleopatra. There are things more rash. Iras. Quieter creatures than those generals are Never were seen. Cleopatra. Barbarians ! not a word 5° About them, Iras, if thou lovest me ; They would destroy my city, seize my realm, And ruin him we live for. Iras. Surely no ; It were a pity ; none are so unkind ; Caesar the least of all. Cleopatra. Ah simple child ! Thou knowest not his heart. Iras. I do indeed. Cleopatra. No, nor thy own. 6o Iras. His better ; for of mine I never askt a question. He himself Told me how good he would be. Cleopatra. He told thee ? What ! hast thou seen him ? Iras. Aye, and face to face, Close as our lord's to yours. Cleopatra. O impudence ! Iras. But he would have it so ; just like our lord. Cleopatra. Impudent girl ! thou shalt be whipt for this. 70 Iras. I am too old ; but lotuses don't hurt Like other things ; they cool the strokes they give. Cleopatra. I have no patience with thee. How I hate That boy Octavius ! Dared he touch thy cheek ? Iras. He could ; he only whispered in my ear. Holding it by the ring. Cleopatra. Whispered ? what words ? Iras. The kindest. Cleopatra. Ah ! no doubt ! but what were they ? Iras. He said. The loveliest creature in the world . . [80 Cleopatra. The vulgar brute ! Our ferrymen talk so : And couldst thou listen, Iras, to such speech ? Iras. Only when people praise our gracious queen. Cleopatra. Me ? this of me ? Thou didst thy duty, child : 334 Dramatic Scenes. He might have fail'd in what he would express. The birds have different voices, yet we bear To hear those sing which do not sing the best. Iras ! I never thought thee half so wise. And so, he said those gentle words of 7ne P 90 Iras. All, and forgot to kiss me when I vow'd I would report them faithfully. Cleopatra. Is there Resemblance in him to that marble image I would have broken, but my Antony Seiz'd both my hands ? Iras. Alas ! that image wants The radiant eyes, and hair more radiant still, Such as Apollo's may have been if myrrh Were sprinkled into its redundant waves. 100 Cleopatra. He must be tenderer than I fanced him If this be true. Iras. He spoke those very words. Cleopatra. Iras ! 'tis vain to mind the words of men ; But if he lookt as thou hast said he lookt, I think I may put trust in him. Iras. And see him ? Cleopatra, I am not hasty. Iras. If you could but see him ! Cleopatra. Call Charmian : I am weary : I must rest 110 Awhile. Iras. My sweetest lady ! could not I, Who have been used to it almost a year. Help you as well as Charmian ? While you sleep Could I not go again and bid him haste To comfort you ? Cleopatra. Is the girl mad ? Call Charmian. (To Charmian.) Charmian ! hath Iras tickled thee away F'rom moping in thy chamber ? thou hast sped. Charmian. Iras is growing bold. 1 20 Cleopatra. I was bold too While I was innocent as Iras is. Charmian. Our lady looks more Hurried than deprest. Antony and Octavlus. 335 Cleopatra. I am not fluiried, I am not deprest. \_After a pause. Believest thou in Csesar's generosity ? Charm'ian. I know it. Cleopatra. In what matter ? Charmian. Half the guards And half the ministers of state have shown Signs of his bounty to the other half. 1 30 Cleopatra. Gifts are poor signs of bounty. Do not slaves Slip off the gold-black pouches from their necks Untied but to buy other slaves therewith ? Do not tame creatures lure into the trap Their wilder brethren with some filthy bait ? All want companions, and the worst the most. I am much troubled : even hope troubles me. Charmian. I dare not ask our lady why she weeps. Cleopatra. Cxsarion, my first-born, my dearest one, Is safely shielded by his father's name : 1 40 He loves his brothers, he may save them both, He only can : I would fain take the advice Of Dolabella, fain would venture him In Caesar's camp : the father's voice and look Must melt him, for his heart is not so hard That he could hurt so beautiful a child ; Nay, what man's is ? Charmian. But trust not the two younger ; Their father will not help them in their need. Cleopatra. Caesarion in fit hour will plead for them, i 50 Charmian, what ponderest thou ? what doubtest thou ? Charmian. Caesar I doubt, and Dolabella more ; And what I pondered were your words : It may be That givers are not always benefactors. Cleopatra. I have one secret, but keep none from thee : He loves me ! Charmian. All do. Cleopatra. Yes, but some have power. Charmian. Power, as most power is, gain'd by treachery. Cleopatra. Whom, 1 60 336 Dramatic Scenes. In Egypt, Europe, Asia, can I trust? Charmian. Few, noi' those few too far, nor without watch. Cleopatra. Not Charmian ? Charmian. Bid her die ; here ; now ; and judge. SCENE THE FIFTH. OCTAVIUS. MeCjENAS. GalLUS. Octavlus. Is Dolabella to be trusted ? Mectenas. Youth There is on Dolabella's side ; with youth Comes always eloquence where women are. Ociavius. Gallus is honester and prudenter. MectEnas. But Gallus is the older by some years. Octavius. A poet says. Love at odd hours hath smiled, And covered with his pinions sportively. Where he espied some hairs that secm'd like Time's Rather than his. lO Mecanas. There must have been but few. Or else the poet dreamt it. Ociavius. Who comes hither : Mecanas. Not Dolabella, but the better man. Octavlus. Welcome, brave Gallus, opportunely met. We were debating how to lure that dove Of Antony's, now in her cote, a tower. From which we would not frighten her away. But tempt her down. Gallus. It might be difficult. 20 " Octavlus. Unless thou aidest us, indeed it might. Mecanas. What sport 'twould be to see her mate descend And catch him too ! Gallus. Nor this more easily. Octavlus. To Gallus all is easy. Mecanas. Pleasant too Would such task be. Gallus. No better judge of pleasures Than Cilnius here ? but ours are not alike. 30 Octavlus. Gallus ! one word apart. Wc need thee much. Antony and Octavius. 337 Gallus. What ! after Egypt won ? Octavius. Antony lives ! Gallus. Beaten, disgraced, imprisoned, his own jailer. Mecanas. Defying us, however, by the power The queen his mistress gives him with her name . . Gallus. Worthless as his. Mecanas. Were she within our reach We soon might bring him down. Gallus. What! lower? Octavius. Even yet ? 40 Gallus. She might succumb, and must, by promising That Cassar's son, after her death, shall reign. Mecanas. A prudent thought. But will she give up Antony Unless she hear it from the giver's mouth ? There is one anxious to deserve the grace Of princes. Dolabella could persuade The queen to trust herself to him for Csesar. Gallus. I doubt it. Mecanas. Doubt his honour, not his skill. He could not keep the secret that he loves, 50 And that he often in times past hath seen her. Gallus. He loves her ? then, by all the Gods ! he never Will win her for another than himself. Beside, he was the friend of Antony, And shared with him the toils at Mutina. Altho' no eagle, he would soar aloft Rather than bow for others, like an owl. The smallest of the species, hooded for it. Who knows not Dolabella ? Mecanas. Thou hast sense, 60 Comeliness, courage, frankness. Antony Tore from thy couch the fairest girl in Rome. Gallus. And let him have her, let him have her, man. What then ? Mecanas. There are who would retaliate. Gallus. The girl hath left no mark upon my memory . . Mecanas. Or mine, beside a few soft lines ; but mine Retains them, mindful of a friend who sang, Unless my singing mars the harmony, vol.. I, y 338 Dramatic Scenes. I thought it once an idle tale 70 That lovely woman's faith could fail ; At last I said, It may be true, Lycoris, of them all but you. And now you leave me ! and you go O'er pinnacles of Alpine snow. Another leads you (woe is me ! ) Across that grim and ghastly sea ! Let him protect those eyes from sleet, And guide and chafe those tender feet. And fear for every step you tread, 80 Then hardly will I wish him dead. If ice-barb'd shafts that ring around By his neglect my false one wound, O may the avenging Gods for this Freeze him to death in the abyss ! Gallus. They have reserved him for a sadder fate. Sleep, without painful dreams that crush the breast, Sleep, without any joyous ones that come Only to mock the awaken'd, comes unfelt And unsolicited among those cliffs 90 Of ice perennial. Antony hath dreamt His broken dream, and wakened to despair : I never wisht him that ; the harm I wisht him Was when my youth was madder than his age. He stood a prouder and a better man At Mutina, when Famine v/alkt the camp. When I beheld him climb up painfully A low and crumbling crag, where servises Hung out above his head their unripe fruit : 1 00 That was my day. Some grains of sodden maize I brought and offered him : he struck tliem down. Octuvius. Rejoice at pride so humbled. Gal/us. I rejoice At humbled pride, at humbled valour no. Octavius. But those offending Gods whom thou invokedst Stand now before thee and demand why call'd. Gallus, They know : they pardon such irresolution Antony and Octavius. 339 As pity, and not cowardice, persuades. One woman has betraid me ; not one woman i lo Will I betray. Mecanas. O that poetic mind ! Gallus. Where others sneer, Mecaenas only smiles. Mecanas. Such is my nature, and I widely err, Gallus, if such be not thy nature too. Octavius. Did then I>ycoris, that wild girl, prefer The unworthy to the worthy, the most rude To the most gentle, scampering beyond reach ? Let her repair her fault : no danger here That angry skies turn coral lips to slate 120 Or icicles make limp the runaway. Gallus. Those days are over. He, who won the prize May say as much and add a little more. Octavius. Laughest thou not to see the tables turn'd ? The little queen who fascinates her fool Is now as lovely as Lycoris was, And never ran away from any man : Fain would I see that roysterer's spirit broken. And she alone can do it : help her on. Gallus. In any such attempt, in such a place i ^o Fortune would baffle me. Octavius. Then baffle her ; She baffles only those who hesitate. Gallus. The queen, we hear, takes refuge in the depths Below the palace, where but reptiles lie. Octavius. Indeed ! what ! scorpions, serpents ? Gallus. Haply these. Octavius. Poor woman ! they may bite her ! let my fears Prove not prophetic ! Now, my friend, adieu ! 1 40 Reflect upon our project ; turn it over. . [^Gallus goes. These poets look into futurity And bring us glimpses from it more than dreams. Asps ! But the triumph then without the queen ! Alas ! was ever mortal so pei-plext ! I doubt if your friend Gallus can be won. 340 Dramatic Scenes, Mecanas. All may be won, well handled ; but the ear Is not the thing to hold by. Show men gold, Entangle them in Gallic torquises. Tie stubborn necks with ropes of blushing pearls, i 50 Seat them on ivoiy from the realms of Ind, Augur them consulates, proconsulates. Make their eyes widen into provinces, And, gleaming further onward, tetrarchies. Octavius. It strikes me now that we may offer Gallus The prefecture of Egypt. Mecanas. Some time hence : Better consult Agrippa. Octavius. None more trusty. Yet our Agrippa hath strange whims ; he dotes 160 Upon old Rome, the Rome of matted beards And of curt tunics ; of old Rome's old laws, Worm-eaten long, now broken and swept off. \_Pausing. He stands forth high in station and esteem. Mecanas. So should the man who won the world for thee. Octavius. I must not play with him who won so much From others ; he might win as much from me : I fear his fortunes. Mecanas. Bind them with your own. Becoming are thy frowns, my dear Octavius, 1 70 Thy smiles alone become thee better : trust Thy earliest friend and fondest : take not ill My praises of Agrippa, tried in war And friendship. Octavius. And for this wouldst thou, my Cilnius, Send him away from me ? Mecanas. Thyself did fear His popularity : all Rome applauds His valour, justice, moderation, mercy. Octavius. Not one word more. 1 80 Mecanas. One word I have to speak, And speak it I will now. He must away. Octavius. Can Cilnius then be jealous of Agrippa ? Mecanas. No ; crown him king and give him provinces. But give him not to clench the heart of Rome. Antony and Octavlus. 341 Octav'tus. I could make kings and unmake kings by scores, But could not make nor unmake one Agrippa. Mecpa. He hath serv'd thee Faithfully, and is steady to thy cause : The sea is closed to him, the river closed, Wide as the desert is, it is not open, And half his army, more than half, is ours. Antony. But many yet are left me, brave and true. Agrippa. When Fortune hath deserted us, too late Comes Valour, standing us in little stead. They who would die for us are just the men We should not push on death or throw away. 30 Antony. Too true ! Octavius with his golden wand Hath reacht from fir some who defied his sword. How little fire within warps looscn'd staves Together, for the hoop to hold them tight ! Antony and Octavius. 349 I have too long stood balancing the world Not to know well its weight : of that frail crust Friends are the lightest atoms. Agrippa. Not so all. Antony. I thought of Dolabella and the rest. Ventidius and Agrippa, these are men 40 Romulus might have wrestled with nor thrown. I have proved both. Agrippa. One thou shalt prove again, In guise more friendly than when last we met. Antony. To me well spoken hast thou for Ventidius, Speak for him in that manner to another, Tell him that he has done against the Parthian What Julius might, perhaps might not, have done. Triumph must follow. I shall never see it, Nor shall I see, nor shalt thou either, one 50 On which cold eyes, dim even in youth to beauty. Look forward. Are there not kings left enow To drag, by brace or leash, and back to back, Along the Sacred Way ? Vile wretch ! his steeds Shall never at the cries of Cleopatra Prance up against their trappings stiff with gold. Agrippa. Sad were the sight. Antony. Too far hath Dolabella 60 Prevail'd with her. Agrippa. Hath Dolabella come Within these walls ? Antony. Hast thou not seen him then Leave them within the hour ? Agrippa. Indeed not I. My station is the harbour where the ships Are riding, his lies nearer to the town. Thou musest, Antony ! Antony. And well may muse. 70 He was my friend . . is he. Away with doubt ! Agrippa. He was the friend of Tullius, friend of Bmtus, Friend too of Lepidus, akin to each, 350 Dramatic Scenes. And yet betraid he them. Give me the boys ; With me they enter Rome. Antony. Take, take them ; both ? Yes ; both are safer, both are happier so. I love them ; but I might have loved them more ; Now is too late. 8o Take them ; be kind to them . . Nay, look not back. Tears scorch the father's eyes, The Roman should extinguish them . . and shall. Farewell ! Farewell ! But turn thy face aside . . No . . one word more. Agrlppa. Thy gladness gladdens me, Bursting so suddenly. What happy change ! Antony. Thou hast a little daughter, my old friend. And I two little sons . . I had at least . . 90 Give her the better and the braver one. When by thy care he comes to riper age. Agrippa. O Antony ! the changes of our earth Are suddener and oftener than the moon's. On hers we calculate, not so on ours. But leave them in the hands of wilful Gods, Inflexible, yet sometimes not malign. Antony. They have done much for me, nor shall reproach Against them pass my lips : I might have askt. But never thought of asking, what desert 1 00 Was mine for half the blessings they bestow'd. T will not question them why they have cast My greatness and my happiness so low ; They have not taken from me their best gift, A heart for ever open to my friends : It will be cold ere long, and one will grieve. SCENE THE EIGHTH. OcTAvius, Agrippa, CitsARioN, MiXitsAs. Octtiiuus. What said that obstinate and proud old thief? Couldst tlum not draw him from his den, Agrippa ? Antony and Octavius. 351 Agrippa. I tried not. Octavius. Nor perhaps desired. Agrippa. 'Tis true, I entered not by stealth, and broke no confidence ; Tatius, who knew and once fought under me . . Octavius. And would not he who knows thy power, and who Admitted thee within the royal hold, Do more ? t o Agrippa. Not even this would he have done For any other, nor for me without Permission from his general ; this obtain'd, I enter'd. Octavius. His audacity, no doubt, Abated with his fortunes, and he droopt As droops a lotus when the water fails. Agrippa. Neither in life nor death will that man droop ; He holds down Fortune, still too strong for her. Octavius. We must then starve him out, or slay his sons. Before his eyes. [20 Agrippa. Thus nothing will remain For him to fear, and every honest sword Will skulk within its scabbard for mere shame. This may not be the worst . . when brave men fall By treachery, men like them avenge the blow ; Antonius did it . . was Antonius blamed ? Octavius. But who will answer for our own dear lives If these boys live ? Agrippa. I will . . the boys are mine. 30 Octavius. Caesarion is secure. Agrippa. I do rejoice At this. Octavius. I wonder he hath not arrived. Agrippa. Rescued from Egypt is the Roman lad ? I long to see him. Octavius. Wait then, and thou shalt. Agrippa. Women and eunuchs and Greek parasites Educate ill those who may one day rule. Octavius. True, very true . . we will bear this in mind. Agrippa. He must learn better soon, [^40 352 Dramatic Scenes. Octavius. Be sure he shall. Agr'ippa. What are those sistrums and those tamborines That trifle with the trumpet and intmde ? Octavius. The very things that thou wouldst provide against. Heigh ! who commanded such obstreperous shouts ? Agr'ippa. The man who gave us -Egyj^t, sir, and thee. The sound bursts louder from his hollow tomb : Such are the honours which attend his child. Octavius. Hark ! the arms strike the ground ! 50 Agrippa. Soldiers, well done ! Already do they know whom they salute. Casarion. Hail ! hail ! my cousin ! Let me kiss that hand So soft and white. Why hold it back from me ? I am your cousin, boy Caesarion. Octavius. Who taught you all this courtesy .■' Casarion. My heart. Beside, my mother bade me wish you joy. Octavius. I would myself receive it from her. 60 Citsarion. Come, Come then with me ; none see her and are sad. Octavius. Then she herself is not so ? Casarion. Not a whit, Grave as she looks, but should be merrier still. Octavius. She may expect all bounty at our hands. Casarion. Bounty ! she wants no bounty. Look around ; Those palaces, those temples, and their gods And myriad priests within them, all are hers ; 70 And people bring her ships, and gems, and gold. O cousin ! do you know what some men say, (If they do say it) that your sails ere long Will waft all these away ? I wish 'twere true What else they Uilk. Octavius. What is it ? Casariori. That you come Antony and Octavius. 353 To carry off her also. She is grown 8o Paler, and I have seen her bite her lip At hearing this. Ha ! well I know my mother ; She thinks it may look redder for the bite. But will you really carry us to Rome In triumph ? thro' the streets, and up the hill, And over arches . . foolish folks say under . . With flowers all round them ? O ! what joy to see The people that once loved my father so ! Octavius. We will do all that may oblige the queen. Casarion. And yet she shudders at the very thought 90 Of those fresh honours which delight my heart. Octavius. For her, or for yourself i Casarion. We boys, you know. Think of ourselves the first ; and yet, and yet. If my sweet mother is averse to change, And weary of it, I would pass my days With her ; yes, even in that lonely tower (Which to my eyes looks like a sepulchre) Whence she protests the Gods alone shall take her. Octavius {^to a Guard). See due attention paid this royal guest. 1 00 Ciesarion. Unwillingly I part from one so kind. Octavius [to Agrippa). Agrippa, didst thou mark that comely boy. Agrippa. I did indeed. Octavius. There is methinks in him A somewhat not unlike our common friend. Agrippa. Unlike ? There never was such similar Expression. I remember Caius Julius In youth, altho' my elder by some years ; Well I remember that high-vaulted brow, Those eyes of eagle under it, those lips 1 1 o At which the senate and the people stood Expectant for their portals to unclose ; Then speech, not womanly but manly sweet. Came from them, and shed pleasure as the morn Sheds light. VOL. I. Z 354 Dramatic Scenes. Octavlus. The boy has too much confidence. Agrifpa. Not for his prototype. When he threw back That hair in hue like cinnamon, I thought I saw great Julius tossing his, and warn The pirates he would give them their desert. 120 My boy, thou gazest at those arms hung round. Casar'ion. I am not strong enough for sword and shield, Nor even so old as my sweet mother was When I first rioted upon her knee And seiz'd whatever sparkled in her hair. Ah ! you had been delighted had you seen The pranks she pardon'd me. What gentleness ! What playfulness ! Octavlus. Go now, Caesarion. Ctssarion. And had you ever seen my father too ! i 30 He was as fond of her as she of me, And often bent his' thoughtful brow o'er mine To kiss what she had kist, then held me out To show how he could manage the refractory. Then one long smile, one pressure to the breast. Octavlus. How tedious that boy grows ! Lead him away, Aufidius ! There is mischief in his mind. He looks so guileless. I40 Agrlppa. He has lived apart From evil counsellors, with grey-hair'd men Averse to strife, and maidens of the queen. Octavlus. This makes me think . . We will another time Consider what is best. Here comes Mecxnas. (To Mec-cnas.) Cilnius ! you met upon the stairs that boy ? Mecxnas. I did. Octavlus. What think you of him ? 1 50 Mecanas. At one glance 'Twere rashness to decide. Octavlus. Seems he not proud ? Mecanas. He smiled and past me by. Antony and Octavius. 355 Octavius. What insolence ! quite insupportable ! Mecanas. Perhaps he knew me not ; and, if he knew me, I have no claim on affability From Caesar's enemies. Agrippa {to himself). By Jove ! the man At first so calm begins at last to chafe. 1 60 O, the vain Tuscan of protuberant purse ! Octavius. What said Agrippa ? Agrippa. That our friend here chafes, Altho' the mildest of all mortal men. Octavius. Excepting one ; one whom no wrongs can ruffle. I must give orders for some small affairs. And will rejoin you soon. Agrippa. My gentle Cilnius ! Do save this lad ! Octavius is so calm, I doubt he hath some evil in his breast 1 70 Against the only scion of the house. The orphan child of Julius. Mecanas. Think, Agrippa, If there be safety where such scion is, Safety for you and me. Agrippa. The mother must Adorn the triumph, but that boy would push Rome, universal Rome, against the steeds That should in ignominy bear along The image of her Julius. Think; when Antony 180 Show'd but his vesture, sprang there not tears, swords, Curses ? and swept they not before them all Who shared the parricide ? If such result Sprang from torn garment, what must from the sight Of that fresh image which calls back again The latest of the Gods, and not the least. Who nurtured every child within those walls, And emptied into every mother's lap Africa, Sicily, Sardinia, Gaul, And this inheritance of mighty kings. 1 90 No such disgrace must fall on Csesar's son. Spare but the boy, and we are friends for ever. 356 Dramatic Scenes. Mectenas. Friends are we, but Octavius is our master. Agrippa. Let him brush kings away and blow off queens, But there are some of us who never struck At boys, nor trampled on a prostrate head ; Some of us are there too who fain would see Rome better than they left her, with high blood Bounding along her veins ; enough hath flowed. Mecdsnas. Here comes Octavius. We attend his will. 200 Octavius. Enough that I know yours, my tmest friends ! I look into your hearts and find my own. Thy wishes, O Agrippa, I divine. Antony was thy comrade in the wars Of Julius ; Fulvia was thy enemy And mine : her children to the Infernal Gods Devote I, but the born of Cleopatra Thou shalt have saved : Cassarion shall rest here. SCENE THE NINTH. DoLABELLA. C^SARION. ScOPAS. Dolabella. Where hast thou put Caesarion ? Scopas. Nigli at hand. Dolabella. What is he doing ? Scopas. Just what lads like most ; Munching a water-melon. There is good. At least good-nature, in that simple soul. While most were sleeping in the night of noon I brought him hither. Thirsty were we both. And wine I offer'd him : he pusht it by 10 And said, •' I drink no wine ; bring water-melons." I brought him one : he cut it fairly thro'. And gave me half before he toucht the other, Saying, " but keep the seeds, the round and black. That I may plant them, when we get to Rome, With my own hands in garden all my own." Antony and Octavius. 357 Dolabella. Poor innocent ! Scopus. I could not help but smile. Dolabella. For once I envy thee. But call him in. 20 Scopas. Ho ! youngster ! here ! Casarion. What means that loud rude speech ? This man seems civiler ; I may converse With him, but never more, thou churl, with thee. Dolabella. I would, my fair young friend, his voice less rough, But honest Romans are sometimes abrupt. Scopas is sorry. Casarion. Honest ! sorry too ! I then was wrong, and am more vext than he. Scopas. Boy ! I could wish I never saw thy face 30 Nor heard thy tongue. CtBsar'ion. What can he mean ? Dolabella. He feels The offence he gave. Cesar'ion. Good man, be comforted, And let my hand atone for face and tongue. Scopas [to Dolabella). That smile disamis me. Dolabella. My sweet prince, observe How he repents. I have some words to speak 40 In private to him : but I first would hear How fare your little brothers. Casarion. They are gone, Both gone : two maidens carried them away Before a noble-looking man they call Agrippa. Dolabella. Gone ? say you ? and with Agrippa ? O that I could have seen them ere they went ! Casarion. No matter ; I will tell you all about them, It is not much, if you desire to know. 50 One can not talk, the other talks all day, One smiles at me, the other pulls my hair, But he smiles too, and then runs off as fleet As my gazelle, yet easier to be caught. 358 Dramatic Scenes. You have heard all, and now will I return And leave you, as you wish : I know my way. Dolahella. The duty must be done ; 'tis Csesar's will. Scopas. Then done it shall be. Dolahella. Take this token : here ; Take this too ; ninety golden of like weight 60 Lie in the leather. Scopas. Thanks ; the deed is done. [^/o«f.] What do these letters, bright and shai-p, denote ? Casar Dictator ; and what else beneath ? Perpetuo. Gods above ! Perpetuo too ! Ashes may be perpetual : nothing more Remains of our dictator. Take the urn, Empty it, weigh it inwards : poise the two, This inch-broad coin with it ; and what I toss On my forefinger is the solider 7° I must go in. Casar'ion. 'Tis very kind in you To visit me again : you bear no malice. I know at once who loves me. Scopas. And do I ? C/tsarion. One moment yes, one moment no. My hand- some And gentle cousin does not love me quite ; I wish he did, I want so to love htm. How cool and quiet is this srrjall dim room ! It wants no cushion : I begin to think 80 The hard stone-seat refreshes more the limbs. Will you not try ? Scopas. Not yet ; but presently. Cttsarion. My mother is not here ; you need not mind. People must not sit down before a queen ; But before boys, whatever boys they are, Men may, and should. Oh ! what can I have done ? And did you strike me ? Would you strike again ? What runs into my sandals from my breast ? 90 Oh ! it begins to pain me . . sadly, sadly ! Antony and Octavius. 359 Scopus. By all the Gods and Goddesses above ! I have no strength to strike the boy again. Casarion. O father ! father ! where is now that face So gravely fond that bent o'er your Cassarion ? And, mother ! thou too gone ! In all this gloom Where shall I find thee ? Scopas ! Scopas ! help ! Scopas. Away with me ! Wheie is the door ? Against it Stands he ? or follows he ? Crazed ! I am crazed ! had but he been furious ! had he struck me ! i OO Stmggled, or striven, or lookt despitefully 1 Anything, anything but call my name So tenderly. O had that mild reproach Of his been keener when his sense retum'd. Only to leave him ever-lastingly, 1 might not have been, what I now am, frantic. Uptum'd to me those wandering orbs, outspred Those quivering arms, falling the last of him. And striking once, and only once, the floor. It shook my dagger to the very hilt, 1 1 And ran like lightning up into my brain. SCENE THE TENTH. Eros and Antony. Antony. Eros ! I speak thee welcome. Eros. Hail, our lord ! Antony. Thou hast been ever faithful to thy trust, And spoken freely, but decorously, On what concem'd the household and the state. My glory is gone down, and life is cold Without it. I have known two honest men Among the senators and consulars . . Eros. None among humbler ? Antony. By the Powers above ! i o I thought but of the powerful, men of birth. Eros. All men are that. Some sink below their cradle. 360 Dramatic Scenes. Others rise higher than parental roof, And want no sceptre to support their steps. Antony. Such there may be whom we have aJl past by. Eros. Men cast long shadows when their life declines, Which we cross over without noticing ; We met them in the street and gave not way. When they were gone we lifted up both hands, And said to neighbours These ivere men indeed ! 20 Antony. Reflections such as thine had wearied me Erewhile, and from another even now ; But what is that thou bringest me wrapt up, Tardy in offering it as worth too little ? Eros. I bring a ruby and a hollow ring Whereon it fitted. Antony. Gods of Rome ! at last Ye make me grateful. Thanks, and thanks alone. Have I to give, and one small sacrifice ; I vow it you before this hour is past. 30 My heart may beat against its bars awhile, But shall not leave me yet. Go, Eros, go, I must lie down and rest, feeble and faint. But come back presently. Eros {after some absence). How fares our lord ? Antony. Recovered, sound again, more sound than ever. Eros. And yet our lord looks more like other men. Antony [smiling). We can not always swagger, always act A character the wise will never learn : 4O When Night goes down, and the young Day resumes His pointed shafts, and chill air breathes around, Then we put on our own habiliments And leave the dusty stage we proudly trod. I^have been sitting longer at life's feast Than does me good ; I will arise and go. Philosophy would flatten her thin palm Outspread upon my sleeve ; away with her ! Cuff off, cuff out, that chattering toothless jade ! The brain she pu/zles, and she blunts the sword : 50 Even she knows better words than that word live. Antony and Octavius. 361 Cold Cato, colder Brutus, guide not me ; No, nor brave Cassius. Thou hast brought me balm. Eros. Our lord may have some message for the giver. Which will console her. Antony. She expected none : I did ; and it is come. Say, lookt she pale ? Spake she no word ? 60 Eros. Alas, most noble sir, She would not see me. Charmian said her face Was indeed pale, yet grew less pale than usual After she gave the ring, and then she spake Amid some sighs (some spasms too interposed) More cheerfully, and said she fain would sleep. Antony. The fondest heart, the truest, beats no more. She listened to me, she hath answered me, She wanted no entreaty, she obeyed, She now commands : but no command want I. 70 Queen of my soul ! I follow in thy train, Thine is the triumph. Eros, up ! rejoice ! Tears, man ! do tears become us at this hour ? , I never had too many ; thou hast seen (Tf thou didst see ) the last of them. My sword ! I will march out becomingly. Eros. O sir! Enemies watch all round, and famine waits 80 Within. Antony. Thou knowest not the prudent sons Of Egypt ; corn and wine have been supplied Enough for many years, piled underground. Tho' stiffened by the sludge of barbarism. Or indolent and overgorged at home, Briton or German would take heed that none Who fought for him should perish for the lack Of sustenance : the timid bird herself Will hover round and round until she bring 90 362 Dramatic Scenes. The grain cried out for in the helpless nest. Give me my sword ! Is the point sharp ? Eros. In vain To trust it now ! Antony. Come, bring it ; let me try it. Eros. O heavens and earth ! Help ! help ! no help is nigh, No duty left but one : less worthily Than willingly this duty I perform. [^Stabs himself. It pains not : for that blood I see no more. SCENE THE ELEVENTH. Officer. Octavius. MnCiENAs. Gallus. Officer. News! glorious news! news certain! Dead as Death ! Octavius. Who dead ? Officer. The master of the horse to Julius, Master too, but this morning, of this realm. The great . . Mectenas. Halt there ! and know, where Caesar is There is none great but Caesar ! Officer. Pardon! trae ! Octavius. And nought about his paramour ? Officer. The queen? lO Octavius. Yes, fellow, yes. Officer. Surely our emperor knows Of lier ; the story now is some days old. The queen was poisoned by two little worms Which people here call asps, most venomous things, Coil'd in a yellow fig around the seeds. Her maidens wail'd her loudly ; men and maidens Alike mourn'd over . . I had nearly slipt. Octavius. Many have done the same. Art thou a Roman ? 20 Officrr. I have the honour, sir, to be a Gaul, Antony and Octavius. 363 A native of Massilia, that famed city Inhabited by heroes, built by Gods, Who entered it again with Caius Julius. Mecitnas. And didst thou see them enter ? Officer. Not distinctly, There were a few between : one told it me Who saw them ; which, ye know, is just the same. Octavius. Retire, my brave ! go sure of a reward. Lucretia hath escaped us after all ! 30 But there is wax in Egypt, there are Greeks Who model it, and who can bear to look On queen or asp ; this model'd to the life. The other more like what they work upon. No trouble in thus carrying her to Rome. Gallus ! thou lookest grave : thou art the man Exactly to compose an epitaph. No matter which died first : I think the asps Rather have had the start : I may be wrong, A bad chronologist, a worse astrologer. 40 Mectenas. Where Csesar smiles, all others smile but Gallus, Gallus. Not even Csesar's smiles awaken mine When eveiy enemy has dropt away. And he who made so many safe, is safe. MectBtias. I wish thou weit more joyous. Gallus. Kind the wish, Almost enough to make me so. Mecanas. Come ! Come ! I know you poets : any wager now Thou hast already forced the weeping Muse 50 To thy embraces. Tell us honestly ; Hast thou not turn'd the egg upon the nest Ready for hatching ? Octavius. Guilty ; look at him. He blushes, blushes from cheekbone to beard. Now, Gallus, for the epitaph. Mecanas. Recite it. Gallus. Epitaphs are but cold and chisel'd words, Or mostly false if warmer: quite unfit Are mine for marble or for memory. 60 364 Dramatic Scenes. I thought of her . . another would have said He wept : I wept not, but I know I sigh'd. Mectenas. And wrote ? For poet is half sigh half flame : Sigh out thy sigh. Gallus. Would Caesar hear it ? Ociavius. Yea. Gallus. I have not ventured to pronounce the name Of her I meditated on. Casar. My friend Is here judicious as in all things else. 70 Gallus. " Thou hast been floating on the o'erswollen stream Of life these many summers ; is thy last Now over ? hast thou dreamt out every dream ? Hath horn funereal blown the pageant past ? Caesar ! thou too must follow : all the rods Of sternest lictor cannot scare off Death ; She claims the earth for heritage ; our Gods Themselves have seen their children yield their breath." Casar. Gallus ! I always thought thee a brave soldier, Never a first-rate poet : I am right. 80 Gallus. Caesar ! I never heard of one who gain'd A battle and a kingdom who was not. Casar. If there be anything on earth I know Better than other things, 'tis poetry. Meranas. My sweet Octavius ! draw not under nose The knuckle of forefinger. Gallus aim'd A harmless arrow : Love in sport hath done it Often and often. Gallus, seize his hand. Now sing a paean ; sing a prophet's ; sing 90 ^SyP' • 'Ay pyt'^'nid of po'wer is closed. Gallus. I would ; but want the breath : I have but strength For elegy: here is the last of mine. " The mighty of the earth are earth, A passing gleam the brightest smile, In golden beds have sorrows birth, Alas ! these live the longer while." Antony and Octavius. 365 Octavius. Unless we haste to supper, we shall soon Forfeit our appetites. Come, my two friends ! SCENE THE TWELFTH. Octavius and Octavia. Octavius. Embrace me, sister ; we have won ; thy wrongs Are now avenged. Octavia. Speak not of wrong, but right. And bring Rome peace and happiness once more. 'Tis kind in thee (but thou wert always kind) To come so soon to greet me, while the altar Is warm and damp with incense for thy safety. Octavius. Octavia ! I have brought thee from the Nile Two pretty little serpents. Octavia. Of all beasts 10 The serpent is the beast I most abhor. Take them away. Octavius. I have not brought them here, Be not afraid ; beside, they are so young They can not bite. Octavia. But send them off. Octavius. I will. What thinkest thou are these two reptiles call'd ? Octavia. I know not, nor can guess. Octavius. Lucius and Marcus, 20 The brood of Antony. O Heaven ! she faints ! Rise, sister ! let me help thee up ; be sure They shall not hurt thee. Grasp not thus my wrist, And shoot not up those leaden bolts at me. For such are thy stiff eyes. I said, and swear, The little monsters never shall hurt thee. I do not like those tears ; but better they Than the cold flint they fall from, and now melt. Octavia. Brother, I know thy purpose. On my knees . . 3° 366 Dramatic Scenes. Octavius. Arise ! There wants not this to seal their doom. Octavia. This is my fault, not theirs, if fault there be. Octavius. I want, and I will have, security. Octavia. What is there now on earth to apprehend ? Octavius. I dread lest he who guards them should adopt. Octavia. Let him ! O let him ! if an honest man. Frown not, debate not, stmggle not against Thy better Genius ; argue with him thus, " Octavius / has there not been blood enough Without the blood of children P" 40 Octavius. Is my safety Not dear to thee ? Octavia. Thy glory, thy content. Are . . no, not dearer, but almost as dear. Hast thou not sufFer'd pangs at every head That fell ? Octavius. They fell that mine might not. Octavia. But children Strike not so high. Octavius. Are children always children ? 50 Octavia. O brother, brother ! are men always men ? They are full-grown then only when grown up Above their fears. Power never yet stood safe ; Compass it round with friends and kindnesses. And not with moats of blood. Remember Thebes : The towers of Cadmus toppled, split asunder, Crasht : in the shadow of her oleanders The pure and placid Dirce still flows by. What shatter'd to its base but cruelty, (Mother of crimes, all lesser than herself) 60 The house of Agamemnon king of kings ? Octavius. Thou art not yet, Octavia, an old woman ; Tell not, I do beseech thee, such old tales. Octavia. Hear later ; hear what our own parents saw. Where lies the seed of Sulla ? Could the walls Of his Pneneste shelter the young Marius, Or subterranean passages provide Escape ? he stumbled through the gore his father Antony and Octavius. 367 Had left in swamps on our Italian plains. "We have been taught these histories together, 70 Neither untrue nor profitless ; few years Have since gone by, can memory too have gone ? Ay, smile, Octavius ! only let the smile Be somewhat less disdainful. Octavius. 'Tis unwise To plant thy foot where Fortune's wheel runs on. Octavia. I lack not wisdom utterly ; my soul Assures me wisdom is humanity. And they who want it, wise as they may seem, And confident in their own sight and strength, 80 Reach not the scope they aim at. Worst of war Is war of passion ; best of peace is peace Of mind, reposing on the watchful care Daily and nightly of the household Gods. APPENDIX. CONTENTS, NOTES, AND BIBLIOGRAPHY. COUNT JULIAN ...... [Count Julian, a tragedy, 1812 ; Gebir, Count Julian, and Other Poems, 1831 ; Works, ii., 1846. The best account of the events which led to the Moorish Invasion of Spain is to be found in Mariana, " De Rebus Hispanic," Vol. i. From this source Landor has evidently derived his materials, though in his hands Count Julian has ceased to be the renegade at whose name " each good Spaniard spits," and has turned to the tragic figure who, to punish an evil King, has brought on his country worse ills than those from which he would have freed her. The Gothic kings of Spain held their thrones by election ; but at the date of these events, two families seemed to divide the right to the throne between them, that of Chindasuinthus and that of Wamba. Chindasuinthus, who succeeded Wamba, was followed by his son, but on that king's death his two brothers Theodofred and Favila were passed over in favour of Witiza, the son of Wamba. Witiza proved a bad and cruel king. He put Favila to death, and some declared that an unholy love for Favila's wife was the motive of the deed. He put out the eyes of Theodofred and thereby prepared his own doom. Roderick, the son of Theodofred, rebelled against Witiza, deposed and blinded him, and was elected to the throne in his place. But Witiza's brother Opas retained his position as Archbishop of Seville, his sister was the wife of Count Julian, and his two sons Eba and Sisabert still remained to represent the family of Wamba. Roderick proved little better than Witiza, and his insult to Count Julian's daughter drew down on him the vengeance of the Count and brought the Moors into Spain. It is at this point that Landor takes up the story. It is only necessary to add that the love of Sisabert for Gorilla is not mentioned by Mariana.] VOL. I. 2 A 3 70 Appendix. IPPOLITO DI ESTE ..... 70 [Gebir, Count Julian, and Other Poems, 1831 ; Works, ii., 1846. See Sismondi's Italian Republics, xiii. p. 326. Landor has altered many of the incidents of the tragedy. The Cardinal caused Giulio to be seized at a hunting party, and endeavoured to have his eyes put out. Sismondi says the sight was only injured, not destroyed. The Duke Alfonso took no steps to punish this outrage ; and the two brothers Ferdinand and Giulio formed a conspiracy to assassinate both Alfonso and Ippolito. The plot was discovered ; both were thrown into prison. Ferdinand died there, but Giulio lived to be released in 1559. It will be noticed that Landor has interchanged the names of the two brothers.] THE SHADES OF AGAMEMNON AND IPHIGENEIA ;& [Pericles and Aspasia. 1836. Pericles and Aspasia, Works, 1846; The Hellenics of Walter Savage Landor, 1859. Landor's own criticism on this is well deserved. In the Satire on Satirists, he writes — " From eve to morn, from morn to parting night Father and daughter stood within my sight. I felt the looks they gave, the words they said. And reconducted each serener shade, Even shall these to me be well spent days, Sweet fell the tears upon them, sweet the praise, Fai from the footstool of the tragic throne, I am tragedian in that scene alone."] THE DEATH OF CLYTEMNESTRA ... 85 [Friendly Contributions for the Benefit of Three Infant Schools in the Parish of Kensington. Printed solely for the Right Honourable the Lady Mary Fox, 1836; The Pentameron and Pentalogia, 1837; Works, ii., 1846; The Hellenics of Walter Savage Landor, 1859.] THE MADNESS OF ORESTES . . . .87 [Ablett's Literary Hours, 1837; ^^^ Pentameron and Pentalogia. 1837; Pericles and Aspasia, Works, 1846; The Hellenics of Walter Savage Landor, 1859 ; Ablett's Literary Hours does not contain 1. 53 and 11. 76 to 80.] Appendix. 371 THE PRAYER OF ORESTES .... 89 [Pericles and Aspasia, Works, 1846; The Hellenics of Walter Savage Landor, 1859.] THE PRIESTESS OF APOLLO .... 90 [Pericles and Aspasia, Works, 1846; The Hellenics of Walter Savage Landor, 1859.] WALTER TYRREL AND WILLIAM RUFUS . . 91 [The Pentameron and Pentalogia, 1837; Works, ii., 1846.] THE PARENTS OF LUTHER .... 97 [The Pentameron and Pentalogia, 1837; Works, ii., 1846.] ANDREA OF HUNGARY . . . .103 GIOVANNA OF NAPLES . . . -173 FRA RUPERT ...... 222 [Andrea of Hungary and Giovanna of Naples, 1839 ; Fra Rupert, I 841 ; Andrea of Hungary, Giovanna of Naples, and Fra Rupert, a trilogy, in "Works, ii., 1846. The events which form the subject of this series of plays can be found in Sismondi's History of the Italian Republics. Landor has altered history so much in his attempt to excul- pate Giovanna, that it is necessary to place here a more accurate and more complete account of the events which he describes. Charles of Anjou, the brother of St Louis, left to his heirs claims to the kingdoms of Hungary and Naples. His great- grandson, Charles Robert, or Caribert, secured the throne of Hungary but was deprived of that of Naples by his uncle Robert. That king, after a long reign, died in 1343, leaving his grand-daughter Giovanna heir to the throne. Charles Robert of Hungary left two sons. The elder, Louis of Hungary, succeeded to the crown of Hungary. The younger, Andrea of Hungary, had been brought up at Naples under the care of Fra Rupert, a monk of whom Boccaccio in his letters gives an account which Landor has clearly copied. Before his death. King Robert tried to con- ciliate the Hungarian party by marrying Andrea to his 372 Appendix. daughter. But Giovanna was already closely bound by affection to Louis of Tarentum, her cousin. Andrea was a rough, uneducated lad, who could not forget that he was the rightful heir to the throne of Naples. He was jealous — and that with good cause — of Louis of Tarentum ; and the corrupt courtiers wiio surrounded the queen had not much difficulty in persuading her to consent to his death. On the i8th of September 1845, ^^ Aversa, Andrea was summoned from the Queen's room on some pretext, a silk rope was thrown round his neck, and after a short struggle he was thrown out of the window and strangled. Isolda, his nurse, alarmed by the struggle, ran into the Queen's room just as the crime had been accomplished. The Pope Clement VI. determined to have the plot investigated, and charged Bertrand de Baux, justiciar of Naples, with this task. Filippa the Catanian, who had planned the conspiracy, was arrested with other suspected servants of the Queen ; Filippa died under torture, and the other prisoners were secretly executed. Giovanna then wrote to Louis of Hungary to defend herself against the suspicions which had been aroused against Iier. Louis of Hungary answered briefly : •' Giovanna, your former mis- conduct, the ambition you displayed in clinging to the crown, your neglect to exact the punishment of the criminals, the excuses you now offer, all these show that you were an accomplice in your husband's murder." Not content with this he sent an embassy to the Pope to de- mand the deposition of Giovanna and prepared to make war upon her. He even indicted her before Rienzi, then Tribune of Rome ; ambassadors from both sides pleaded the cause, but Rienzi never gave judgment. In 1347 Giovanna married Louis of Tarentum, and thereby confirmed the general opinion of her guilt. The following year Louis of Hungary led his army into Naples, and Giovanna fled to Provence. The victory was stained by one deed of blood. Charles of Durazzo, one of King Robert's nephews, had married Maria, the sister of Giovanna. But he had taken no part in tlic murder of Andrea and he had aided Louis of Hungary in his invasion of Naples. Nevertheless, in an access of passion, Louis of Hungarj' had him put to death at Aversa, in the very place where Andrea had been murdered. All the other princes of the blood royal of Naples were carrie 193f/ HAR 1 V 1938 MY Z 3 1939 (\ iw •-• :.l9St r.,iiM I UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA AT .371 J88 r.andor - v.l Poems and dialogues in verse. l^ -' . ^ " ~ ' - — '£2=10- 3 ^»-i UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY II II mil III I AA 000 371 988 7 iim .»9 '■■^fSflp^Ty Afv- M^.»^r: -• ''■'•V ' v'.'V.i; ■■■'■■ ''■ "-'*H-'- ^ca .l^^:iiMiiiN;it:i<'i>^i'--'<^'