UNIVERSITY OF CALIF 
 AT LOS ANGELE 
 
 h*
 
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 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, 
 
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 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-<ive man's sword 
 While I am near thee : I bestow on thee 
 Life: if thou die, 'tis when thou sojournest 
 Protected by this arm and voice no more : 
 'Tis slavishly, 'tis ignominiously, 
 'Tis by a villian's knife. 
 
 Roderigo. By whose ? 
 
 Julian. Roderigo's. 
 
 Roderigo. O powers of vengeance ! must I hear ? . . 
 endure ? . . 
 Live ? 1 00 
 
 Julian. Call thy vassals : no ? then wipe the drops
 
 Count Julian. 45 
 
 Of fioward childhood from thy shameless eyes. 
 So ! thou canst weep for passion ; not for pity. 
 
 Rodertgo. One hour ago I ruled all Spain ! a camp 
 Not larger than a sheepfold stood alone 
 Against me : now, no friend throughout the world 
 Follows my steps or hearkens to my call. 
 Behold the turns of fortune, and expect 
 No better : of all faithless men the Moors 
 Are the most faithless : from thy own experience i i o 
 
 Thou canst not value nor rely on them. 
 
 Julian. I value not the mass that makes my sword. 
 Yet while I use it I rely on it. 
 
 Roderigo. Julian, thy gloomy soul still meditates . • 
 Plainly I see it . . death to me • . pursue 
 The dictates of thy leaders, let revenge 
 Have its full sway, let Barbary prevail, 
 And the pure creed her elders have embraced : 
 Those placid sages hold assassination 
 A most compendious supplement to law. 1 20 
 
 Julian. Thou knowest not the one, nor I the other. 
 Torn hast thou from me all my soul held dear. 
 Her form, her voice, all, hast thou banisht from me, 
 Nor dare I, wretched as I am ! recall 
 Those solaces of every grief erewhile. 
 I stand abased before insulting crime, 
 I falter Hke a criminal myself; 
 The hand that hurl'd thy chariot o'er its wheels. 
 That held thy steeds erect and motionless 
 As molten statues on some palace-gate, 1 30 
 
 Shakes as with palsied age before thee now. 
 Gone Is the treasure of my heart for ever. 
 Without a father, mother, friend, or name. 
 Daughter of Julian . . Such was her delight . . 
 Such was mine too ! what pride more innocent, 
 What surely less deserving pangs like these. 
 Than springs from filial and parental love ! 
 Debarr'd from every hope that issues forth 
 To meet the balmy breath of early life. 
 Her sadden'd days, all cold and colourless, 140
 
 46 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Will stretch before her their whole weaiy length 
 
 Amid the sameness of obscurity. 
 
 She wanted not seclusion to unveil 
 
 Her thoughts to heaven, cloister, nor midnight bell ; 
 
 She found it in all places, at all hours : 
 
 While to assuage my labours she indulged 
 
 A ^playfulness that shunn'd a mother's eye, 
 
 Still to avert my perils there arose 
 
 A piety that even from me retired. 
 
 Roderho. Such was she ! what am I ! those are the arms 
 
 o 
 
 That are triumphant when the battle fails. [ 1 50 
 
 Julian ! Julian ! all thy former words 
 Struck but the imbecile plumes of vanit}^, 
 These thro' its steely coverings pierce the heart. 
 
 1 ask not life nor death ; but, if I live. 
 Send my most bitter enemy to watch 
 
 My secret paths, send poverty, send pain . . 
 
 I will add more . . wise as thou art, thou knowest 
 
 No foe more furious than forgiven kings. 
 
 I ask not then what thou would'st never grant : 1 60 
 
 May heaven, O Julian, fiom thy hand receive 
 
 A pardon'd man, a chasten'd criminal. 
 
 Julian. This further curse hast thou inflicted ; wretch ! 
 I can not pardon thee. 
 
 Roder'igo. Thy tone, thy mien. 
 
 Refute those words. 
 
 Julian. No . . I can not forgive. 
 
 Roder'igo. Upon my knee, my conqueror, I implore ! 
 Upon the earth, before thy feet . . hard lieart ! 
 
 Julian. Audacious ! hast thou never heard that prayer 1 70 
 And scorn'd it ? 'tis the last thou shouldst repeat. 
 Upon the earth ! upon her knees, O God ? 
 
 Roder'igo. Resemble not a wretch so lost as I : 
 Be better ; O ! be happier ; and pronounce it. 
 
 Julian. I swerve not from my purpose : thou art mine, 
 Conquered ; and I have sworn to dedicate. 
 Like a torn banner on my chapel's roof, 
 Thee to that power from whom tliou hast rebell'd. 
 Expiate thy crimes by prayer, by penances.
 
 Count Julian. 47 
 
 Roderigo. Hasten the hour of trial, speak of peace. 1 80 
 Pardon me not then, but with purer lips 
 Implore of God, who ivould hear thee, to pardon. 
 
 Julian. Hope it I may . . pronounce it . . O Roderigo! 
 Ask it of him wlio can ; I too will ask. 
 And, in my own transgressions, pray for thine. 
 
 Roderigo. One name I dare not . . , 
 
 Julian. Go ; abstain from that ; 
 
 I do conjure thee, raise not in my soul 
 Again the tempest that has wreckt my fame ; 
 Thou shalt not breathe in the same clime with her. 190 
 
 Far o'er the unebbing sea thou shalt adore 
 The eastern star, and may thy end be peace. 
 
 FOURTH ACT : SECOND SCENE. 
 Roderigo soes : Hernando enters. 
 
 Hernando. From the prince Tank I am sent, my lord. 
 
 Julian. A welcome messenger, my brave Hernando. 
 How fares it with the gallant soul of Tank ? 
 
 Hernando. Most joyfully ; he scarcely had pronounced 
 Your glorious name, and bid me urge your speed, 
 Than, with a voice as though it answer'd heaven, 
 ' He shall confound them in their dark designs,' 
 Cried he, and turn'd away, with that swift stride 
 Wherewith he meets and quells his enemies. 
 
 Julian. Alas ! I can not bear felicitation, 1 o 
 
 Who shunn'd it even in felicity. 
 
 Hernando. Often we hardly think ourselves the happy 
 Unless we hear it said by those around. 
 O my lord Julian, how your praises cheer'd 
 Our poor endeavours ! sure, all hearts are open, 
 Lofty and low, wise and unwise, to praise. 
 Even the departed spirit hovers round 
 Our blessings and our prayers : the corse itself 
 Hath shined with other light than the still stars 
 Shed on its rest, or the dim taper nigh. 20 
 
 My father, old men say who saw him dead,
 
 48 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 And heard your lips pronounce him good and happy, 
 
 Smiled faintly through the quiet gloom that eve, 
 
 And the shroud throbb'd upon his grateful breast. 
 
 Howe'er it be, many who tell the tale 
 
 Are good and happy from that voice of praise. 
 
 His guidance and example were denied 
 
 My youth and childhood : what I am I owe . . 
 
 Julian. Hernando, look not back : a narrow path 
 And arduous lies before thee : if thou stop 30 
 
 Thou fallest ; go right onward, nor observe 
 Closely and rigidly another's way. 
 But, free and active, follow up thy own. 
 
 Hernando. The voice that urges now my manly step 
 Onward in life, recalls me to the past, 
 And from that fount I freshen for the goal. 
 Early in youth, among us villagers 
 Converse and lipen'd council you bestow'd. 
 O happy days of (far departed ! ) peace. 
 
 Days when the mighty Julian stoopt his brow 40 
 
 Entering our cottage-door ; another air 
 Breath'd through the house, tired age and lightsome youth 
 Beheld him with intensest gaze ; these felt 
 More chasten'd joy ; they more profound repose. 
 Yes, my best lord, when labour sent them home 
 And midday suns, when from the social meal 
 The wicker window held the summer heat, 
 Prais'd have those been who, going unperceived, 
 Open'd it wide that all might see you well : 
 Nor were the children blamed, hurrying to watch 50 
 
 Upon the mat what rush would last arise 
 From your foot's pressure, ere the door was closed. 
 And not yet wondering how they dared to love. 
 Your counsels are more piecioiis now than ever, 
 But are they . . jiardon if I err . . the same ? 
 Tarik is gallant, kind, the friend of .Julian, 
 Can he be more ? or ought he to be less ? 
 Alas ! his faith ! 
 
 Julinn. In peace or war ? Hernando. 
 
 Hernando. O, neither ; far above it ; faith in God. 60
 
 Count Julian. 49 
 
 Julian. 'Tis God's, not thine : embrace it not, nor hate it. 
 Precious or vile, how dare we seize that offering, 
 Scatter it, spurn it, in its way to heaven, 
 Because we know it not ? the sovran lord 
 Accepts his tribute, myrrh and frankincense 
 From some, from others penitence and prayer : 
 Why intercept them from his gracious hand ? 
 Why dash them down ? why smite the supplicant ? 
 
 Hernando. 'Tis what they do. 
 
 Julian. Avoid it thou the more. 70 
 
 If time were left me, I could hear well-pleased 
 How Tank fought up Calpe's fabled cliff. 
 While I pursued the friends of Don Roderigo 
 Across the plain, and drew fresh force from mine. 
 O ! had some other land, some other cause, 
 In\ited him and me, I then could dwell 
 On this hard battle with unmixt delight. 
 
 Hernando. Eternal is its glory, if the deed 
 Be not forgotten till it be surpast : 
 
 Much praise by land, by sea much more, he won, 80 
 
 For then a Julian was not at his side. 
 Nor led the van, nor awed the best before ; 
 The whole, a mighty whole, was his alone. 
 There might be seen how far he shone above 
 All others of the day : old Muza watcht 
 From his own shore the richly laden fleet, 
 lU-arm'd and scatter'd, and pursued the rear 
 Beyond those rocks that bear St Vincent's name. 
 Cutting the treasure, not the strength, away ; 
 Valiant, where any prey lies undevour'd 90 
 
 In hostile creek or too confiding isle. 
 Tarik, with his small barks, but with such love 
 As never chief from rugged sailor won, 
 Smote their high masts and swelling rampires down, 
 And Cadiz wept in fear o'er Trafalgar. 
 Who that beheld our sails from off the highths, 
 Like the white birds, nor larger, tempt the gale 
 In sunshine and in shade, now almost touch 
 The solitary shore, glance, turn, retire, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Would think these lovely playmates could portend i oo 
 
 Such mischief to the world, such blood, such woe ; 
 
 Could draw to them from far the peaceful hinds, 
 
 Cull the gay flower of cities, and divide 
 
 Friends, children, every bond of human life ; 
 
 Could dissipate whole families, could sink 
 
 Whole states in ruin, at one hour, one blow- 
 
 Julian. Go, good Hernando ? who wom/c/ think these things I 
 Say to the valiant Tank I depart ' 
 
 Forthwith : he knows not from what heaviness 
 Of soul I linger here ; I could endure i i o 
 
 No converse, no compassion, no approach. 
 Other than thine, whom the same cares improved 
 Beneath my father's roof, my foster-brother, 
 To brighter days and happier end, I hope ; 
 In whose fidelity my own resides 
 With Tarik and with his compeers and chief. 
 I cannot share the gladness I excite. 
 Yet shall our Tank's generous heart rejoice. 
 
 FOURTH act: third scene. 
 
 Egilona enters : Hernando ^ofj. 
 
 Egilona. O fly me not because I am unhappy, 
 Because I am deserted fly me not ; 
 It was not so before, and can it be 
 Ever from Julian ? 
 
 Julian. What would Egilona 
 
 That Julian's power with her new lords can do ? 
 Surely her own must there preponderate. 
 
 Egilona. I hold no suit to them. Restore, restore 
 Roderigo. 
 
 Julian. He no longer is my prisoner. lO 
 
 Egilona. Escapes he then ? 
 
 Julian. Escapes he, dost thou say ? 
 
 O Egilona ! what unworthy passion . . 
 
 Egilona. Unworthy, when I loved him, was my passion ;
 
 Count Julian. 51 
 
 The passion that now swells my heart is just. 
 
 Julian. What fresh reproaches hath he merited ? 
 
 Egilona. Deep-rooted hatred shelters no reproach. 
 But whither is he gone ? 
 
 Julian. Far from the walls. 
 
 Egilona. And I knew nothing? 20 
 
 Julian. His offence was known 
 
 To thee at least. 
 
 Egilona. Will it be expiated i 
 
 Julian. I trust it will. 
 
 Egilona. This withering calm consumes me. 
 
 He marries then Covilla ! 'twas for this 
 His people were excited to rebell, 
 His sceptre was thrown by, his vows were scom'd, 
 And I . . and I . . 
 
 Julian. Cease, Egilona ! 30 
 
 Egilona. Cease ? 
 
 Sooner shalt thou to live than I to reign. 
 
 FIFTH ACT : FIRST SCENE. 
 
 Tent of MuzA. 
 
 MuzA. Tarik. Abdalazis. 
 
 Muza. To have first landed on these shores appears 
 Transcendant glory to the applauded Tarik. 
 
 Tarik. Glory, but not transcendant, it appears, 
 What might in any other. 
 
 Muza. Of thyself 
 
 All this vain boast ? 
 
 Tarik. Not of myself: 'twas Julian. 
 
 Against his shield the refiuent surges roU'd, 
 While the sea-breezes threw the arrows wide, 
 And fainter cheers urged the reluctant steeds. 10 
 
 Muza. That Julian, of whose treason I have proofs, 
 That Julian, who rejected my commands 
 Twice, when our mortal foe besieged the camp, 
 And forced my princely presence to his tent.
 
 52 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Tank. Say rather, who without one exhortation, 
 One precious drop from true believer's vein, 
 Marcht, and discomfited our enemies. 
 I found in him no treachery. Hernando, 
 Who, little versed in moody wiles, is gone 
 To lead him hither, was by him assign'd 20 
 
 My guide, and twice in doubtful fight his arm 
 Protected me : once on the highths of Calpe, 
 Once on the plain, when courtly jealousies 
 Tore from the bravest and the best his due. 
 And gave the dotard and the coward command : 
 Then came Roderigo forth : the front of war 
 Grew darker : him, equal in chivaliy, 
 Julian alone could with success oppose. 
 
 Abdalazls. T doubt their wortli who praise their enemies. 
 
 Tank. And theirs doubt 1 who persecute their friends. 30 
 
 Muza. Thou art in league with him. 
 
 Tank. Thou wert, by oaths ; 
 
 I am without them ; for his heart is brave. 
 
 Mwza. Am I to bear all this ? 
 
 Tank. All this and more : 
 
 Soon wilt thou see the man whom thou hast wrong'd, 
 And the keen hatred in thy breast conceal'd 
 Find its right way, and sting thcc to the core. 
 
 Muza. Hath he not foil'd us in the field ? not held 
 Our wisdom to reproach i 40 
 
 Tank. Shall we abandon 
 
 All he hath left us in the eyes of men ? 
 Shall we again make him our adversaiy 
 Whom we have proved so, long and fatally ? 
 If he subdue for us our enemies. 
 Shall we raise others, or, Tor want of them. 
 Convert him into one against his will ? 
 
 FIFTH ACT : SECOND SCENE. 
 
 Hernando enters. Tarik continues. 
 
 Here comes Hernando from that prince himself. 
 Muza. Who scorns, himself, to come.
 
 Count Julian. 53 
 
 Hernando. ' The queen detains him. 
 
 Abdala^is. How ! Egilona I 
 
 Mu%a. 'Twas my will. 
 
 Tar'ih. At last 
 
 He must be happy ; for delicious calm 
 Follows the fierce enjoyment of revenge. 
 
 Hernando. That calm was never his, no other will be. 
 Thou knowest not, and mayest thou never know, lo 
 
 How bitter is the tear that fiery shame 
 Scourges and tortures from the soldier's eye. 
 Whichever of these bad reports be true. 
 He hides it from all hearts to wring his own, 
 And drags the heavy secret to the grave. 
 Not victory that o'ershadows him sees he ; 
 No airy and light passion stirs abroad 
 To ruffle or to soothe him ; all are quell'd 
 Beneath a mightier, sterner stress of mind : 
 Wakeful he sits, and lonely, and unmoved, 20 
 
 Beyond. the arrows, views, or shouts of men ; 
 As oftentimes an eagle, ere the sun 
 Throws o'er the varying earth his early ray, 
 Stands solitary, stands immovable 
 Upon some highest cliff, and rolls his eye. 
 Clear, constant, unobservant, unabased. 
 In the cold light above the dews of morn. 
 He now assumes that quietness of soul 
 Which never but in danger have I seen 
 On his staid breast. 30 
 
 Tar'ih. Danger is past ; he conquers ; 
 
 No enemy is left him to subdue. 
 
 Hernando. He sank not, while there was, into himself. 
 Now plainly see I from his alter'd tone. 
 He can not live much longer. Thanks to God ! 
 
 Tar'ih. What ! wishest thou thy once kind master dead ? 
 Was he not kind to thee, ungrateful slave ! 
 
 Hernando. The gentlest, as the bravest, of mankind. 
 Therefore shall memory dwell more tranquilly 
 With Julian once at rest, than friendship could, 40 
 
 Knowing him yearn for death with speechless love.
 
 54 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 For his own sake I could endure his loss, 
 
 Pray for it, and thank God ; yet mourn I must 
 
 Him above all, so great, so bountiful, 
 
 So blessed once ! bitterly must I mourn. 
 
 'Tis not my solace that 'tis his desire ; 
 
 Of all who pass us in life's drear descent 
 
 We grieve the most for those that wisht to die. 
 
 A father to us all, he merited. 
 
 Unhappy man ! all a good father's joy ^O 
 
 In his own house, where seldom he hath been. 
 
 But, ever mindful of its dear delights. 
 
 He form'd one family around him ever. 
 
 Tarik. Yes, we have seen and known him. Let his fame 
 Refresh his friends, but let it stream afar, 
 Nor in the twilight of home-scenes be lost. 
 He chose the best, and cherisht them ; he left 
 To self-reproof the mutinies of vice ; 
 Avarice, that dwarfs Ambition's tone and mien ; 
 Envy, sick nursling of the court ; and Pride 60 
 
 That can not bear his semblance nor himself ; 
 And Malice, with blear visage half-descried 
 Amid the shadows of her hiding-place. 
 
 Hernando. What could I not endure, O gallant man. 
 To hear him spoken of as thou hast spoken ! 
 O 1 I would almost be a slave to him 
 Who calls me one. 
 
 Muza. What ! art thou not ? begone. 
 
 Tarik. Reply not, brave Hernando, but retire. 
 
 All can revile, few only can reward. 70 
 
 Behold the meed our mighty chief bestows ! 
 
 Accept it, for thy services, and mine. 
 
 More, my bold Spaniard, hath obedience won 
 
 Than anger, even in the ranks of war. 
 
 Htniando. The soldier, not the Spaniard, shall obey. \_Goes. 
 Mwza (to Tarik). Into our very council bringest thou 
 
 Children of reprobation ami perdition ? 
 
 Darkness thy deeds and emptiness thy speech. 
 
 Such images thou raisest as buffoons 
 
 Carry in merriment on festivals ; 8q
 
 Count Julian. 55 
 
 Nor worthiness nor wisdom would display 
 To public notice their deformities, 
 Nor cheiish them nor fear them ; why shouldst thou ? 
 Tarik. I fear not them nor thee. 
 
 FIFTH ACT : THIRD SCENE. 
 Egilona enters. 
 
 Aldala-zAs. Advance, O queen. 
 
 Now let the turbulence of faction cease. 
 
 Mu%a. Whate'er thy purpose, speak, and be composed. 
 
 Egilona. He goes ; he is afar ; he follows her ; 
 He leads her to the altar, to the throne ; 
 For, calm in vengeance, wise in wickedness. 
 The traitor hath prevail'd, o'er him, o'er me. 
 O'er you, the slaves, the dupes, the scorn of Julian. 
 What have I heard ! what have I seen ! 
 
 Miiza. Proceed. i o 
 
 Abdala%is. And I swear vengeance on his guilty head 
 Who intercepts from thee the golden rays 
 Of sovi'anty, who dares rescind thy rights. 
 Who steals upon thy rest, and breathes around 
 Empoison'd damps o'er that serenity 
 Which leaves the world, and faintly lingers here. 
 
 Muza. Who shuns thee . . 
 
 Ahdala%is. Whose desertion interdicts 
 
 Homage, authority, precedency . . 
 
 Muza. Till war shall rescue them . . 20 
 
 Abdalaz'is. And love restored. 
 
 Egilona. O generous Abdalazis ! never ! never ! 
 My enemies . . Julian alone remains . . 
 The worst in safety, far beyond my reach. 
 Breathe freely on the summit of their hopes. 
 Because they never stopt, because they sprang 
 From crime to crime, and trampled down remorse. 
 Oh ! if her heart knew tenderness like mine ! 
 Grant vengeance on the guilty ; grant but that, 
 I ask no more ; my hand, my crown is thine, jO
 
 56 
 
 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Fulfill the justice of offended heaven, 
 , Assert the sacred rights of royalty, 
 Come not in vain, crush the rebellious crew. 
 Crush, I implore, the indifferent and supine. 
 
 Mu-za. Roderigo thus escaped from Julian's tent : 
 
 Egilona. No, not escaped, escorted, like a king. 
 The base Covilla first pursued her way 
 On foot ; but after her the royal car, 
 Which bore me from San Pablo's to the throne. 
 Empty indeed, yet ready at her voice, 40 
 
 Roli'd o'er the plain amid the carcases 
 Of those who fell in battle or in flight : 
 She, a deceiver still, to whate'er speed 
 The moment might incite her, often stopt 
 To mingle prayers with the departing breath. 
 Improvident ! and those with heavy wounds 
 Groan'd bitterly beneath her tottering knee. 
 
 Tarih. Now, by the clement and the merciful ! 
 The girl did well. When I breathe out my soul, 
 Oh ! if compassion give one pang the more, 50 
 
 That pang be mine ; here be it, in this land : 
 Such women are they in this land alone. 
 
 Egilona. Insulting man ! 
 
 Mu%a. We shall confound him yet. 
 
 Say, and speak quickly, whither went the king ? 
 Thou knewest where was Julian. 
 
 Ahdala-z.is. I will tell 
 
 Without his answer : yes, my friends ! yes. Tank, 
 Now will I speak, nor thou for once reply. 
 There is, I hear, a poor half-ruined cell 60 
 
 In Xeres, whither few indeed resort. 
 Green are the walls within, green is the floor 
 And sli])pery from disuse ; for Christian feet 
 Avoid it, as half-holy, half-accurst. 
 Still in its dark recess fanatic Sin 
 Abases to the ground his tangled hair. 
 And servile scourges and reluctant groans 
 Roll o'er the vault uninterruptedly, 
 Till (such the natural stillness of the place)
 
 Count Julian. ^^ 
 
 The very tear upon the damps below 70 
 
 Drops audible, and the heart's throb replies. 
 
 There is the idol maid of Christian creed, 
 
 And taller images whose history 
 
 I know not nor inquired. A scene of blood, 
 
 Of resignation amid mortal pangs, 
 
 And other things exceeding all belief. 
 
 Hither the aged Opas of Seville 
 
 Walkt slowly, and behind him was a man 
 
 Barefooted, bruised, dejected, comfortless. 
 
 In sackcloth ; the white ashes on his head 80 
 
 Dropt as he smote his breast ; he gather'd up, 
 
 Replaced them all, groan'd deeply, lookt to heaven. 
 
 And held them like a treasure with claspt hands. 
 
 Egilona. O ! was Roderigo so abased ? 
 
 Mu%a. 'Twas he. 
 
 Now, Egilona, judge between your friends 
 And enemies : behold what wretches brought 
 The king, thy lord, Roderigo, to disgrace. 
 
 Egilona. He merited . . but not from them . . from me 
 This, and much worse : had I inflicted it, 90 
 
 1 had rejoiced . . at what I ill endure. 
 
 Mu%a. For thee, for thee alone, we wisht him here. 
 But other hands releast him. 
 
 Abdala'z'is. With what aim 
 
 Will soon appear to those discerning eyes. 
 
 Egilona. I pray thee, tell what past until that hour. 
 
 Abdalazis. Few words, and indistinct : repentant sobs 
 Fill'd the whole space ; the taper in his hand. 
 Lighting two small dim lamps before the altar. 
 He gave to Opas ; at the idol's feet 100 
 
 He laid his crown, and wiped his tears away. 
 The crown reverts not, but the tears return. 
 
 Egilona. Yes, Abdalazis ! soon, abundantly. 
 If he had only cali'd upon my name. 
 Seeking my pardon e'er he lookt to heaven's, 
 I could have . . no ! he thought not once on me ! 
 Never shall he find peace or confidence ; 
 I will rely on fortune and on thee,
 
 58 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Nor fear my future lot : sure, Abdalazis, 
 
 A fall so great can never happen twice, no 
 
 Nor man ajrain be faithless, like Roderiao. 
 
 Abdala%is. Faithless he may be still, never so faithless. 
 Fainter must be the charms, remote the days. 
 When memory and dread example die, 
 When love and terror thrill the heart no more. 
 And Egilona is herself forgotten. 
 
 FIFTH ACT : FOURTH SCENE. 
 Julian enters. 
 
 Tar'ih. Turn, and behold him ! who is now confounded ? 
 Ye who awaited him, where are ye ? speak. 
 Is some close comet blazing o'er your tents ? 
 Muza ! Abdalazis ! princes ! conquerors ! 
 Summon, interrogate, command, condemn. 
 
 Muza. Justly, Don Julian . . but respect for rank 
 Allays resentment, nor interrogates 
 Without due form . . justly may we accuse 
 Tills absence from our councils, from our camp ; 
 This loneliness in which we still remain lO 
 
 Wlio came invited to redress your wrongs. 
 Where is the king ? 
 
 Julian. The people must decide. 
 
 Mu%a. Impeifectly, I hope, I understand 
 Those words, unworthy of thy birth and age. 
 
 Julian. O chieftain, such have been our Gothic laws. 
 
 Mu%a. Who then amid such turbulence is safe ? 
 
 Julian. He who observes them : 'tis no turbulence. 
 It violates no peace : 'tis surely worth 
 
 A voice, a breath of air, thus to create 20 
 
 By their high will the man, form'd after them 
 In their own image, vested with their power. 
 To whom they trust their freedom and their lives. 
 
 Muza. They trust ! the people ! God assigns the charge. 
 Kings open but the book of destiny 
 And read their names ; all that remains for thoni
 
 Count Julian. 59 
 
 The mystic hand from time to time reveals. 
 
 Worst of idolaters ! idolater 
 
 Of that refractory and craving beast 
 
 Whose den is in the city, at thy hand 30 
 
 I claim our common enemy, the king. 
 
 Julian. Sacred from justice then ; but not from malice ! 
 
 Tar'ih. Surrender him, my friend : be sure his pains 
 Will not be soften'd. 
 
 Julian. 'Tis beyond my power. 
 
 Tank. To-morrow . . if in any distant fort 
 He lies to-night : send after him. 
 
 Julian. My faith 
 
 Is plighted, and he lives . . no prisoner. 
 
 Egilona. I knew the truth. 40 
 
 Ahdala%is [to Julian). Now, Tarik, hear and judge. 
 Was he not in thy camp ? and in disguise ? 
 
 Tarik, No : I will answer thee. 
 
 Muza. Audacious man ! 
 
 Had not the Kalif Walid placed thee here. 
 Chains and a traitor's death should be thy doom. 
 Speak, Abdalazis ! Egilona, speak. 
 Were ye not present ? was not I myself ? 
 And aided not this Julian his escape ? 
 
 Julian. 'Tis true. 50 
 
 Tarik. Away then friendship ! to thy fate 
 
 I leave thee : thou hast render'd Muza just, 
 Me hostile to thee. Who is safe ? a man 
 Arm'd with such power, and with such perfidy ! 
 
 Julian. Stay, Tarik ! hear me ; for to thee alone 
 Would I reply. 
 
 Tarik. Thou hast replied already. l^Goes. 
 
 Muza. We, who were enemies, would not inquire 
 Too narrowly what reasons urged thy wrath 
 Against thy sovran lord : beneath his flag 60 
 
 The Christians first assaii'd us from these shores. 
 And we seiz'd gladly the first aid we found 
 To quell a wealthy and a warlike king. 
 We never held to thee the vain pretence 
 That 'twas thy quarrel our brave youth espoused,
 
 6o Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Thine, who hast wrought us much disgrace and woe. 
 From perils and from losses here we rest 
 And drink of the fresh fountain at our feet, 
 Not madly following such illusive streams 
 As overspread the dizzy wilderness, 70 
 
 And vanish from the thirst they have seduced. 
 Ours was the enterprise, the land is ours. 
 What gain we by our toils, if he escape 
 Whom we came hither solely to subdue ? 
 Julian. Is there no gain to live in amity ? 
 Mu%a. The gain of traffickers and idle men ; 
 Courage and zeal expire upon such calms. 
 Further, what amity can Moors expect 
 When you have joined your forces ? 
 
 Julian. From the hour 80 
 
 That he was vanquisht, I have laid aside 
 All power, all arms. 
 
 Mu%a. How can we trust thee, once 
 
 Deceived, and oftener than this once despised ? 
 Thou camest hither with no other aim 
 Than to deprive Roderigo of his crown 
 For thy own brow. 
 
 Eg'ilona. Julian, base man, 'tis true. 
 
 He comes a prince, no warrior, at this hour. 
 
 Mu%a. His sword, O queen, would not avail him 
 now. 90 
 
 Abdala%is. Julian, I feel less anger tlian regret. 
 No violence of speech, no obloquy, 
 No accusation shall escape my lips : 
 Need there is none, nor reason, to avoid 
 My questions : if thou value tmth, reply. 
 Hath not Roderigo left the town and camp ? 
 Hath not thy daughter I 
 
 Egilona. Past the little brook 
 
 Towards the Betis. From a tower I saw 
 The fugitives, far on their way ; they went 1 00 
 
 Over one bridge, each with arm'd men . . not lialf 
 A league of road between them . . and had join'd, 
 But that the olive-groves along the jnith
 
 Count Julian. 6i 
 
 Conceal'd them from each other, not from me : 
 Beneath me the whole level I survey'd, 
 And, when my eyes no longer could discern 
 Which track they took, I knew it from the storks 
 Rising in clouds above the reedy plain. 
 
 Mifza. Deny it, if thou canst. 
 
 Julian. I order'd it. i lo 
 
 Abdala%is. None could beside. Lo ! things in such a 
 mass 
 Falling together on observant minds, 
 Create suspicion and establish proof : 
 Wanted there fresh . . why not employ our arms ? 
 Why go alone ? 
 
 Mu%a. To parley, to conspire. 
 
 To reunite the Spaniards, which we saw, 
 To give up treaties, close up enmities. 
 And ratify the deed with Moorish blood. 
 
 Julian. Gladly would Spain procure your safe return, 1 20 
 Gladly would pay large treasures for the aid 
 You brought against oppression. 
 
 Mu-za. Pay she shall 
 
 The treasures of her soil, her ports, her youth : 
 If she resist, if she tumultuously 
 Call forth her brigands and we lose a man, 
 Dreadful shall be our justice ; war shall rage 
 Through every city, hamlet, house, and field. 
 And, universal o'er the gasping land, 
 Depopulation. 1 50 
 
 Julian. They shall rue the day 
 
 Who dare these things. 
 
 Mwza. Let order then prevail. 
 
 In vain thou sendest far away thy child, 
 Thy counsellor the metropolitan. 
 And Sisabert : prudence is mine no less. 
 Divide with us our conquests, but the king 
 Must be deliver'd up. 
 
 Julian. Never by me. 
 
 Mifz-a. False then were thy reproaches, false thy grief. 1 40 
 
 Julian. O Egilona ! were thine also feign'd I
 
 62 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Abdalaz'ts. Say, lovely queen, neglectful of thy charms 
 Turn'd he his eyes toward the young Covilla? 
 Did he pursue her to the mad excess 
 Of breaking off her vows to Sisabert, 
 And marrying her, against the Christian law ? 
 
 Muza. Did he prefer so ? 
 
 Ahdala%is. Could he prefer 
 
 To Egilona . . 
 
 Egilona. Her ! the child Covilla ? 1 50 
 
 Eternal hider of a foolish face, 
 Incapable of any thing but shame. 
 To me ? old man ! to me ? O Abdalazis ! 
 No : he but follow'd with slow pace my hate. 
 And can not pride check these unseemly tears? \Goes. 
 
 Mu-za. The most offended, an offended woman, 
 A wife, a queen, is silent on the deed. 
 
 Abdalazis. Thou disingenuous and ignoble man, 
 Spreading these iiimours ! sending into exile 
 All those their blighting influence injured most: 160 
 
 And whom ? thy daughter and adopted son. 
 The chieftains of thy laws and of thy faith. 
 Call any witnesses, proclaim the tmth, 
 And set at last thy heart, thy fame, at rest. 
 
 Julian. Not, if I purposed or desired to live, 
 My own dishonour would I e'er proclaim 
 Amid vindictive and reviling foes. 
 
 Muza. Calling us foes, avows he not his guilt ? 
 Condemns he not the action we condemn, 
 Owning it his, and owning it dishonour? 170 
 
 'Tis well my cares prest forward, and struck home. 
 
 Julian. Why smilest thou ? I never saw mat smile 
 But it portended an atrocious deed. 
 
 Muza. After our manifold and stern assaults, 
 With every tower and battlement destroy 'd. 
 The walls of Ccuta still were strong enough . . 
 
 Julian. For what ? who boasted now her brave defence, 
 Or who forbade your entrance after peace ? 
 
 Mu%a. None : for who could ? their engines now arose 
 To throw thy sons into the arms of death. 1 80
 
 Count Julian. 63 
 
 For this erect they their proud crests again. 
 Mark him at last turn pale before a Moor. 
 
 Julian. Imprudent have they been, their youth shall plead. 
 
 Abdala-zAs. O father ! could they not have been detain'd ? 
 
 Muza. Son, thou art safe, and wert not, while they lived. 
 
 Abdalazis. I fear'd them not. 
 
 Muza. And therefore wert not safe : 
 
 Under their star the blooming Egilona 
 Would watch for thee the nuptial lamp in vain. 
 
 Julian. Never, oh never, hast thou workt a wile 1 90 
 
 So barren of all good ! Speak out at once, 
 What hopest thou by striking this alarm ? 
 It shocks my reason, not my fears or fondness. 
 
 Muza. Be happy then as ignorance can be ; 
 Soon wilt thou hear it shouted from our ranks. 
 Those who once hurl'd defiance o'er our heads. 
 Scorning our arms, and scoffing at our faith, 
 The nightly wolf hath visited, unscared, 
 And loathed them as her prey ; for famine first. 
 Achieving in few days the boast of years, 200 
 
 Sank their young eyes and open'd us the gates : 
 Ceuta, her port, her citadel, is ours. 
 
 Julian. Blest boys ! inhuman as thou art, what guilt 
 Was theirs ? 
 
 Muza. Their father's. 
 
 Julian. O support me, Heaven ! 
 Against this blow ! all others I have borne. 
 Ermenegild ! thou mightest, sure, have lived ! 
 A father's name awoke no dread of thee ! 
 Only thy mother's early bloom was thine ! 210 
 
 There dwelt on Julian's brow . . thine was serene . . 
 The brightened clouds of elevated souls, 
 "Fear'd by the most below : those who lookt up 
 Saw at their season in clear signs advance 
 Rapturous valour, calm solicitude, 
 All that impatient youth would press from age, 
 Or sparing age sigh and detract from youth : 
 Hence was his fall ! my hope ! myself ! my Julian 
 Alas ! I boasted . . but I thought on him,
 
 64 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Inheritor of all . . all what ? my wrongs . . 220 
 
 Follower of me . . and whither ? to the grave . . 
 
 Ah no : it should have been so years far hence ! 
 
 Him at this moment I could pity most, 
 
 But I most prided in him ; now I know 
 
 I loved a name, I doated on a shade. 
 
 Sons ! I approach the mansions of the just. 
 
 And my arms clasp you in the same embrace. 
 
 Where none shall sever you . . and do I weep ! 
 
 And do they tiiumph o'er my tenderness ! 
 
 I had forgotten my inveterate foes 230 
 
 Everywhere nigh me, I had half forgotten 
 
 Your very murderers, while I thought on you : 
 
 For, O my children, ye fill all the space 
 
 My soul would wander o'er . . O bounteous heaven ! 
 
 There is a presence, if the well-beloved 
 
 Be torn from us by human violence. 
 
 More intimate, pen^ading, and complete. 
 
 Than when they lived and spoke like other men ; 
 
 And their pale images are our support 
 
 When reason sinks, or threatens to desert us. 240 
 
 I weep no more . . pity and exultation 
 
 Sway and console me : are they . . no ! . . both dead ? 
 Mu%a. Ay, and unsepulchred. 
 Julian. Nor wept nor seen 
 
 By any kindred and far-following eye ? 
 
 Muza. Their mother saw them, if not dead, expire. 
 Julian. O cruelty . . to them indeed the least ! 
 
 My children, ye are happy . . ye have lived 
 
 Of heart unconquer'd, honour unimpair'd. 
 
 And died, tnae Spaniards, loyal to the last. 250 
 
 Mii%a. Away with him. 
 Julian. Slaves ! not before I lift 
 
 My voice to heaven and man : though enemies 
 
 Surround me, and none else, yet other men 
 
 And other times shall hear : the agony 
 
 Of an opprest and of a bursting heart 
 
 No violence can silence ; at its voice 
 
 The trumpet is o'erpower'd, and glory mute,
 
 Count Julian. 65 
 
 And peace and war hide all their charms alike. 
 
 Surely the guests and ministers of heaven 260 
 
 Scatter it forth through all the elements, 
 
 So suddenly, so widely, it extends, 
 
 So fearfully men breathe it, shuddering 
 
 To ask or fancy how it first arose. 
 
 Muza. Yes, they shall shudder : but will that, henceforth, 
 Molest my privacy, or shake my power ? 
 
 Julian. Guilt hath pavilions, but no privacy. 
 The very engine of his hatred checks 
 The torturer in his transport of revenge, 
 
 Which, while it swells his bosom, shakes his power, 270 
 
 And raises friends to his worst enemy. 
 
 Mu%a, Where now are thine ? will they not curse the day 
 That gave thee birth, and hiss thy funeral ! 
 Thou hast left none who could have pitied thee. 
 
 Julian. Many, nor those alone of tenderer mould, 
 For me will weep ; many, alas, through me ! 
 Already I behold my funeral ; 
 The turbid cities wave and swell with it. 
 And wrongs are lost in that day's pageantry : 
 Opprest and desolate, the countryman 280 
 
 Receives it like a gift ; he hastens home, 
 Shows where the hoof of Moorish horse laid waste 
 His narrow croft and winter garden-plot, 
 Sweetens with fallen pride his children's lore, 
 And points their hatred, but applauds their tears. 
 Justice, who came not up to us through life. 
 Loves to survey our likeness on our tombs, 
 When rivalry, malevolence, and wrath. 
 And every passion that once storm'd around. 
 Is calm alike without them as within. 290 
 
 Our veiy chains make the whole world our own, 
 Bind those to us who else had past us by. 
 Those at whose call, brought down to us, the light 
 Of future ages lives upon our name. 
 
 Muza. I may accelerate that meteor's fall. 
 And quench that idle ineffectual light, 
 Without the knowledge of thy distant world. 
 
 VOL, I. E
 
 66 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Julian. My world and thine are not that distant one. 
 Is age less wise, less merciful, than grief, 
 To keep this secret from thee, poor old man ! 300 
 
 Thou canst not lessen, canst not aggravate 
 My sufferings, canst not shorten or extend 
 Half a sword's length between my God and me. 
 I thank thee for that better thought than fame. 
 Which none however, who deserve, despise. 
 Nor lose from view till all things else are lost. 
 
 Abdala-zas. Julian, respect his age, regard his power. 
 Many who fear'd not death, have dragg'd along 
 A piteous life in darkness and in chains. 
 Never was man so full of wretchedness 3 1 o 
 
 But something may be suffered after all, 
 Perhaps in what clings round his breast and helps 
 To keep the ruin up, which he amid 
 His agony and frenzy overlooks, 
 But droops upon at last, and clasps and dies. 
 
 Julian. Although a Muza send far underground. 
 Into the quarry whence the palace rose. 
 His mangled prey, climes alien and remote 
 Mark and record the pang. While overhead 
 Perhaps he passes on his favourite steed, 320 
 
 Less heedful of the misery he inflicts 
 Than of the expiring sparkle from a stone, 
 Yet we, alive or dead, have fellow-men 
 If ever we have served them, who collect 
 From prisons and from dungeons our remains. 
 And bear them in their bosom to their sons. 
 Man's only relics are his benefits ; 
 These, be there ages, be there worlds, between, 
 Retain him in communion with his kind : 
 Plence is our solace, our security, 330 
 
 Our sustenance, till heavenly truth descends, 
 Covering with brightness and beatitude 
 The frail foundations of these humbler hopes. 
 And, like an angel guiding us, at once 
 Leaves the loose chain and iron gate behind. 
 
 Muza. Take thou my justice first, then hope for theirs.
 
 Count Julian. (i'] 
 
 I, who can bend the living to my will, 
 Fear not the dead, and court not the unborn : 
 Their arm will never reach me, nor shall thine. 
 
 Ahdala-zis. Pity, release him, pardon him, my father ! 34O 
 Forget how much thou hatest perfidy. 
 Think of him, once so potent, still so brave, 
 So calm, so self-dependent in distress, 
 1 marvel at him : hardly dare I blame 
 When I behold him fallen from so high. 
 And so exalted after such a fall. 
 Mighty must that man be, who can forgive 
 A man so mighty ; seize the hour to rise, 
 Another never comes : O say, my father ! 
 Say, "Julian, be my enemy no more." 'SSO 
 
 He fills me v/ith a greater awe than e'er 
 The field of battle, with himself the first, 
 When every flag that waved along our host 
 Droopt down the staff, as if the very winds 
 Hung in suspense before him. Bid him go 
 And peace be with him, or let me depart. 
 Lo ! like a god, sole and inscrutable, 
 He stands above our pity. 
 
 Julian. For that wish . . 
 
 Vain as it is, 'tis virtuous . . O, for that, 360 
 
 However wrong thy censure and thy praise. 
 Kind Abdalazis ! mayst thou never feel 
 The rancour that consumes thy father's breast, 
 Nor want the pity thou hast sought for mine ! 
 
 Muza. Now hast thou seal'd thy doom. 
 
 Julian. And thou thy crimes. 
 
 Abdalazis. O father ! heed him not : those evil words 
 Leave neither blight nor blemish : let him go. 
 
 Muza. A boy, a very boy art thou indeed ! 
 One who in early day would sally out 370 
 
 To chase the lion, and would call it sport. 
 But, when more wary steps had closed him round, 
 Slink from the circle, drop the toils, and blanch 
 Like a lithe plant from under snow in spring. 
 
 Abdalazis. He who ne'er shrank from danger, might 
 shrink now,
 
 68 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 And ignominy would not follow here. 
 
 Muza. Peace, Abdalazis ! How is this ? he bears 
 Nothing that warrants him invulnerable : 
 Shall I then shrink, to smite him ? shall my fears 
 Be greatest at the blow that ends them all ? 380 
 
 Fears ? no ! 'tis justice, fair, immutable. 
 Whose measured step at times advancing nigh 
 Appals the majesty of kings themselves. 
 O were he dead ! though then revenge were o'er ! 
 
 FIFTH ACT : FIFTH SCENE. 
 
 Officer. Thy wife. Count Julian ! 
 
 Julian. Speak 1 
 
 Officer. Is dead. 
 
 Julian. A dieu 
 
 Earth ! and the humblest of all earthly hopes. 
 To hear of comfort, though to find it vain. 
 Thou murderer of the helpless ! shame of man ! 
 Shame of thy own base nature ! 'tis an act 
 He who could perpetrate could not avow, 
 Stain'd, as he boasts to be, with innocent blood, 10 
 
 Dead to reproach, and blind to retribution. 
 
 Officer. Julian ! be just ; 'twill make thee less unhappy. 
 Grief was her end : she held her younger boy 
 And wept upon his cheek ; his naked breast 
 By recent death now hardening and inert, 
 Slipt from her knee ; again with frantic grasp 
 She caught it, and it weigh'd her to the ground : 
 There lay the dead. 
 Julian. She ? 
 
 Officer. And the youth her son. 20 
 
 Julian. Receive them to thy peace, eternal God ! 
 O soother of my hours, while I beheld 
 The light of day, and thine ! adieu, adieu ! 
 And, my Covilla ! dost thou yet survive ? 
 Yes, my lost child, thou livest yet . . in shame !
 
 Count Julian. 69 
 
 agony, past utterance ! past thought ! 
 That throwest death, as some light idle thing, 
 With all its tenors, into dust and air, 
 
 1 will endure thee ; I, whom heaven ordain'd 
 
 Thus to have serv'd beneath my enemies, 30 
 
 Their conqueror, thus to have revisited 
 
 My native land with vengeance and with woe. 
 
 Henceforward shall she recognise her sons, 
 
 Impatient of oppression or disgrace, 
 
 And rescue them, or perish ; let her hold 
 
 This compact, written with her blood and mine. 
 
 Now follow me : but tremble : years shall roll 
 
 And wars rage on, and Spain at last be free.
 
 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 IPPOLITO DI ESTE.* 
 
 Ippol'tto. Now all the people follow the procession 
 Here may I walk alone, and let my spirits 
 Enjoy the coolness of these quiet aisles. 
 Surely no air is stirring ; every step 
 Tires me ; the columns shake, the ceiling fleets, 
 The floor beneath me slopes, the altar rises. 
 Stay ! here she stept : what grace ! what harmony ! 
 It seem'd that every accent, every note 
 Of all the choral music, breath'd from her : 
 From her celestial airiness of form lO 
 
 I could have fancied purer light descended. 
 Between the pillars, close and wearying, 
 I watcht her as she went : I had rusht on ; 
 It was too late ; yet, when I stopt, I thought 
 I stopt full soon : I cried, Is she not there ? 
 She had been : I had seen her shadow burst 
 The sunbeam as she parted : a strange sound, 
 A sound that stupified and not aroused me, 
 Fill'd all my senses : such was never felt 
 Save when the sword-girt Angel struck the gate, 20 
 
 And Paradise wail'd loud and closed for ever. 
 She should return ; the hour is past away. 
 How can I bear to see her (yet I will) 
 Springing, she fondly tliinks, to meet the man 
 I most abhor, my father's base-born son, 
 Ferrante ! 
 
 * Ferrante and Giulio were brothers, by tlie father's side, to the 
 Duke Alfonso ami the Cardinal Ipjiolito di Este. Tlie cardinal 
 deprived Ferrante of iiis eyes for loving tlie same ol)ject as his 
 Kminence, and because she had praised the beauty of them.
 
 Ippolito Di Este. 71 
 
 Rosalia {entering). \\ hat ! I called him ? in my haste 
 To languish at his beauty, to weigh down 
 His eyelids with my lips for gazing on me : 
 Surely I spoke the name, and knew it not 30 
 
 Until it bounded back and smote me so ! 
 
 Ippolito. Curses upon them both ! 
 
 [ Advancing toivard her. 
 Welcome, sweet lady ! 
 
 Rosalba. Lord Cardinal ! you here ? and unattended ? 
 
 Ippolito. We wait the happy lover, do we not ? 
 
 Rosalba. Ferrante then betrayed the secret to you ! 
 And are you come to honour with your presence . . 
 
 Ippolito. Has the Duke sign'd the contract ? 
 
 Rosalba. For what bride ? 
 
 Ferrante writes Ferrante plain enough ; 40 
 
 And I do think, altho' I once or twice 
 Have written it instead of mine, at last 
 I am grown steadier, and could write Rosalba. 
 
 Ippolito. Sport not with one your charms have cast too low. 
 
 Rosalba. Sport not with one your hand would raise too 
 high. 
 
 Ippolito. Again that taunt ! the time may come, Rosalba, 
 When I could sanctify the blissful state 
 I have aspired to. 
 
 Rosalba. Am not I mere ice ? 
 
 Show not I girlish forwardness, the fears 50 
 
 Of infancy, the scruples of old age ? 
 
 Have not you said so ? and said more • . you hate them ? 
 How could you bear me, or what wish from me ? 
 
 Ippolito. That which another will not long retain. 
 
 Rosalba. You know him little and me less. 
 
 Ippolito. I know 
 
 Inconstancy in him. 
 
 Rosalba. And what in me ? 
 
 Ippolito. Intolerance for his betters. 
 
 Rosalba. Ignorance, 60 
 
 But not intolerance of them, is my fault. 
 
 Ippolito. No ? 
 
 Rosalba. Call it thus, and cast it on the rest.
 
 72 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Ippolito. Some are there whose close vision sees but one 
 In the whole world, and would not see another 
 For the whole world, were that one out of it. 
 
 Rosalia. Are there some such ? O may they be my 
 friends ! 
 
 O how, before I know them, I do love them ! 
 
 Ippolito. After no strife, no censure, no complaint. 
 Have not your tears been seen, when you have left him, 70 
 Thro' tediousness, distaste, dislike, and grief 
 (Ingenuous minds must feel it, and may own it) 
 That love, so rashly promist, would retire, 
 Hating exaction, circumvention, bonds ? 
 
 Rosalia. Such grief is yet unknown to me. I know 
 All tears aie not for sorrow : many swell 
 In the warm depths of gratitude and bliss ; 
 But precious over all are those that hang 
 And tremble at the tale of generous deeds. 
 These he relates when he might talk, as you do, 80 
 
 Of passion : but he sees my heart, he finds 
 What fragrance most refreshes it. 
 
 How high, 
 
 Heaven ! must that man be, who loves, and who 
 Would still raise others higher than himself 
 
 To interest his beloved ! 
 
 All my soul 
 Is but one drop from his, and into his 
 Falls, as earth's dew falls into earth again. 
 
 Ippolito. Yet would it not be wise to trust a friend 90 
 
 Able to counsel in extremes and straits r 
 
 Rosalia. Is it not wise in darkness and in storm 
 To trust the wave that lashes us, and pray 
 Its guidance on the rocks whereto it tends ? 
 
 1 have my guide, Lord Cardinal ! he alone 
 Is ship and pilot to me, sea and star : 
 Counsel from others, knowing him, would be 
 Like worship of false gods ; in me no less 
 Than profanation and apostacy. 
 
 Ippolito. We may retire ; he comes not here to-day. 100 
 Rosalia. Then will I not letirc, but lay my head
 
 Ippolito Di Este. 'j'^ 
 
 Upon the feet of any pitying saint 
 Until he comes, altho' it be to-morrow. 
 
 Ippolito. To-morrow he may fail : the sovran will 
 By rescript has detained and must delay him. 
 
 Rosalba. Lead, lead me to Fenante. 
 
 Ippolito. Were I wortliy. 
 
 Rosalba. Proud cruel man ! that bitter sneer bodes ill. 
 May not I see him ? 
 
 Ippolito. He may not see you. i i o 
 
 Rosalba. O let him ! well my memory can supply 
 His beauteous image ; I can live on love 
 Saturate, like bees with honey, long drear days ; 
 He must see me, or cannot rest ; I can. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 Ippolito, Ferrante, and Giuuo, in prison. 
 
 Ippolito. Reasons of state, I fear, have dictated 
 This something like severity ; God grant 
 Here be no heresy : do both avow it. 
 Staring in silence at discovery ? 
 
 Giulio. No order forced me hither ; I am come 
 To share my brother's fate, whate'er it be, 
 And mitigate his sufferings. 
 
 Ippolito. May they cease ! 
 
 Giulio. Those words would have dissolved them into air, 
 Sooken but twenty furlongs from these bars. lo 
 
 Ippolito. I would do much to serve you ; but my faith 
 And my allegiance have two other lords, 
 The duke my brother, and the pope my God. 
 Ferrante then says nothing ? 
 
 Ferrante. He well knows 
 
 Thy hatred and its cause. 
 
 Ippolito. Why ^ould I hate you, . . . 
 
 My father's son, they say ? 
 
 Ferrante. They say / His blood 
 
 Runs in these veins, pure, for pure blood was hers 20
 
 74 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Who loved the youthful lover, and who died 
 When falser vows estranged the matchless prince. 
 
 Ippolito. He saw his error. 
 
 Ferrante. All men do when age 
 
 Bends down their heads, or gold shines in their way. 
 
 IppoUlo. Altho' I would have helpt you in distress, 
 And just removed you from the court awhile, 
 You call'd me tyrant. 
 
 Ferrante. Called thee tyrant ? I ? 
 
 By Heaven ! in tyrant there is sometliing great 30 
 
 That never was in thee. I would be killed 
 Rather by any monster of the wild 
 Than choakt by weeds and quicksands, rather crusht 
 By maddest rage than clay-cold apaLl.y. 
 Those who act well the tyrant, neither seek 
 Nor shun the name ; and yet I wonder not 
 That thou repeatest it, and wishest me ; 
 It sounds like power, like policy, like courage, 
 And none who calls thee tyrant can despise thee. 
 Go, issue orders for imprisonment, 40 
 
 Warrants for death : the gibbet and the wheel, 
 Lo ! the grand boundaries of thy dominion ! 
 O what a mighty office for a ministei^ 
 (And such Alfonso's brother calls himself) 
 To be the scribe of hawkers ! Man of genius ! 
 The lanes and allies echo with thy works. 
 
 Giulio. Ah ! do not urge him ; he may ruin you ; 
 He may pursue you to tlie grave. 
 
 Ferrante. He dares not : 
 
 Look at his collar ! see tlie saint lie wears ! ^o 
 
 The amber saint may ask too much for that. 
 
 Ippolito. Atheist ! thy scofts encourage every crime. 
 And strip thee, like a pestilence, of friends : 
 Theirs is the guilt to march against the law, 
 They mount the scaffold, and the blow is thine. 
 
 Ferrante. How venom burnishes his adder's crest, 
 How eloquent on scaffolds and on laws ! 
 If such a noisome weed as falsehood is 
 Give frothy vigour to a worm like tliee. 
 Crawl, eat, drink, sleep upon it, and farewell. 60
 
 Ippolito Di Este. y^ 
 
 Ippolito (to GiULio). Take you the sentence, and God be 
 with both ! [ Goes. 
 
 Giulio. What sentence have we here ? 
 
 Ferrante. Unseal and read it. 
 
 G'tuUo (^read'mgY Of sight ! of sight ! of sight ! 
 
 Ferrante. Would you escape, 
 
 My gentle Giulio I Run not thus around 
 The wide light chamber, press not thus your brow 
 Against the walls, with your two palms above. 
 Seek you the door then ? you are uncondemned 
 To lose the sight of one who is the bloom 70 
 
 And breath of life to you : the bolts are drawn 
 On me alone. You carry in your breast 
 Most carefully our brother's precious gift : 
 Well, take it anywhere, but do not hope 
 Too much from any one. Time softens rocks, 
 And hardens men. 
 
 Giulio. Pray then our God for help. 
 
 Ferrante. O my true brother, Giulio ! why thus hang 
 Around my neck and pour forth prayers for me ? 
 Where there are priests and kinsmen such as ours, 80 
 
 God hears not, nor is heard. I am prepared 
 For death. 
 
 Giulio. Ah ! worse than death may come upon you. 
 Unless Heaven interpose. 
 
 Ferrante. I know the worst. 
 
 And bear one comfort in mv breast that fire 
 And steel can ne'er force from it : she I love 
 Will not be his, but die as she hath lived. 
 Doubt you ? that thus you shake the head and sigh. 
 
 Giulio. Far other doubt was mine : even this shall 
 cease. 90 
 
 Ferrante. Speak it. 
 
 Giulio. I must : God pardon mc ! 
 
 Ferrante. Speak on. 
 
 Giulio. Have we not dwelt in friendship from our birth. 
 Told the same courtier the same tale of joy. 
 And pointed where life's earliest thorn had pierced 
 Amid the sports of boyhood, ere the heart
 
 76 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Hath aught of bitter or unsound within ? 
 
 Ferrante. We have indeed. 
 
 Giulio. Has my advice been ill ? 100 
 
 Ferrante. Too often ill-observed, but always good. 
 
 Giulio. Brother, my words are not what better men 
 Would speak to you ; and yet my love, I think, 
 Must be more warm than theirs can ever be. 
 
 Ferrante. Brother's, friend's, father's, when was it like 
 yours ? 
 
 Giulio. Which of them ever said what I shall say ? 
 
 Ferrante. Speak ; my desires are kindled, my fears 
 quencht. 
 
 Giulio. Do not delay to die, lest crueller 
 Than common death befal you. 
 
 Ferrante. Then the wheel I i o 
 
 Is ordered in that schedule ! Must she too 
 Have her chaste limbs laid bare ? Here lies the rack ; 
 Here she would suffer ere it touch the skin. 
 No, I will break it with the thread of life 
 Ere the sound reach her. Talk no more of Heaven, 
 Of Providence, of Justice. Look on her. 
 Why should she suffer ? what hath she from Heaven 
 Of comfort or protection ? 
 
 Giulio. Talk not so. 
 
 Pity comes down when Hope hath flown away. 12c 
 
 Ferrante. Illusion ! 
 
 Giulio. If it were, which it is not, 
 
 Why break with vehement words such sweet illusion ? 
 For were there not above but empty air, 
 Nought but the clear blue sky where birds delight. 
 Soaring o'er myriad worlds of living dust 
 That roll in columns round the noontide ray. 
 Your heart would faint amid such solitude. 
 Would shrink in such vacuity ; that heart 
 (Ferrante ! can you hide its wants from mc ?) i 30 
 
 Rises and looks around and calls aloud 
 For some kind Being, some consoling bosom, 
 Whereon to place its sorrows, and to rest. 
 
 Ferrante. Oh ! that was here . . I cannot look beyond.
 
 Ippolito Di Este. 77 
 
 Giulio. Hark ! hear you not the people ? to the window ! 
 They shout and clap their hands when they first meet you 
 After short absence ; wh:it shall they now do ? 
 Up ! seize the moment ; show yourself. 
 
 Ferrante. Stay, Giulio ! 
 
 Draw me not thither ; speak not of my wrongs ; 140 
 
 I would await but not arouse their vengeance, 
 And would deserve but court not their applause. 
 Little of good shall good men hope from them, 
 Nothing shall wiser. \_As'ide. 
 
 O were he away ! 
 But if I fail, he must die too, being here. 
 
 Giulio. Let me call out : they are below the grate : 
 They would deliver you : try this one chance. 
 Obdurate ! would you hold me down f They're gone ! 
 
 Ferrante. Giulio ! for shame ! weep not, or here I 
 stay 1 50 
 
 And let vile hands deform me. 
 
 Giulio. They shall never. 
 
 Ferrante. What smoke arises ? Are there torches under ? 
 Surely the crowd has past : 'tis from the stairs. 
 
 Giulio. Anticipate the blow. 
 
 Ferrante. One more must grieve ! 
 
 And will she grieve like you, too tender Giulio ! 
 Turn not away the head, the hand. What hold you ? 
 Give, give it me. 'Tis keen. They call you forth. 
 Tell her . . no, say not we shall meet again, 160 
 
 For tears flow always faster at those words . . 
 May the thought come, but gently, like a dream.
 
 78 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 THE SHADES OF AGAMEMNON AND 
 IPHIGENEIA. 
 
 Iph'igeneia. Father ! I now may lean upon your breast, 
 And you with unreveited eyes will grasp 
 Iphigeneia's hand. 
 
 We are not shades 
 Surely ! for yours throb yet. 
 
 And did my blood 
 Win Troy for Greece ? 
 
 Ah ! 'twas ill done, to shrink ; 
 But the sword gleam'd so sharp ; and the good priest 
 Trembled, and Pallas frown'd above, severe. 10 
 
 Agamemnon. Daughter ! 
 
 Iph'igeneia Beloved father ! is ^ the blade 
 
 Again to pierce my bosom ? 'tis unfit 
 For sacrifice ; no blood is in its veins, 
 No God requires it here ; here arc no wrongs 
 To vindicate, no realms to overthrow. 
 You standing as at Aulis in the fane. 
 With face averted, holding (as before) 
 My hand ; but yours burns not, as then it burn'd ; 
 This alone shews me we are with the Blest, 20 
 
 Nor subject to the sufferings we have borne. 
 I will win back past kindness. 
 
 Tell me then. 
 Tell how my mother fares who loved me so, 
 And griev'd, as 'twere for you, to see me part. 
 
 [i 1. reads: " Is the blade 
 
 Again to pierce a bosom now unfit 
 For sacrifice ? "]
 
 Agamemnon and Iphigeneia. 79 
 
 Frown not, but pardon me for tari-ying 
 
 Amid too idle words, nor asking how 
 
 She prais'd us both (which most ?) for what we did. 
 
 Agamemnon. Ye Gods who govern here ! do human pangs 
 Reach the pure soul thus far below I do tears 30 
 
 Spring in these meadows ? 
 
 Iphigeneia. No, sweet father, no . . 
 
 I could have answered that ; why ask the Gods ? 
 
 Agamemnon. Iphigeneia ! O my child ! the Earth 
 Has gendered crimes unheard of heretofore. 
 And Nature may have changed in her last depths, 
 Together with the Gods and all their laws. 
 
 Iphigeneia. Father ! we must not let you here condemn ; 
 Not, were the day less joyful : recollect 
 
 We have no wicked here ; no king to judge. 40 
 
 Poseidon, we have heard, with bitter rage 
 Lashes his foaming steeds against the skies, 
 And, laughing with loud yell at winged fire, 
 Innoxious to his fields and palaces 
 Aifrights the eagle from the sceptred hand ; 
 While Pluto, gentlest brother of the three 
 And happiest in obedience, views sedate 
 His ti-anquil realm, nor envies theirs above. 
 No change have we, not even day for night 
 Nor spring for summer. 50 
 
 All things are serene, 
 Serene too be your spirit ! None on earth 
 Ever was half so kindly in his house. 
 And so compliant, even to a child. 
 Never was snatch'd your robe away from me, 
 Though going to the council. The blind man 
 Knew his good king was leading him indoors. 
 Before he heard the voice that marshal'd Greece. 
 Therefore all prais'd you. 
 
 Proudest men themselves 60 
 
 In others praise humility, and most 
 Admire it in the sceptre and the sword. 
 What then can make you speak thus rapidly 
 And briefly ? in your step thus hesitate J
 
 8o Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Are you afraid to meet among the good 
 Incestuous Helen here ? 
 
 Agamemnon. Oh ! Gods of Hell ! 
 
 Jphigeneia. She hath not past the river. 
 
 We may walk 
 With our hands link'd nor feel our house's shame. 70 
 
 Agamemnon. Never mayst thou, Iphigeneia, feel it ! 
 Aulis had no shai"p sword, thou would'st exclaim, 
 Greece no avenger . . I, her chief so late. 
 Through Erebus, through Elysium, writhe beneath it. 
 
 Iphigeneia. Come ; I have better diadems than those 
 Of Argos and Mycenai . . come away. 
 And I will weave them for you on the bank. 
 You will not look so pale when you have walked 
 A little in the grove, and have told all 
 Those sweet fond words the widow sent her child. 80 
 
 Agamemnon. Oh Earth ! I suffered less upon thy shores ! 
 
 \^ A side. 
 The bath that bubbled with my blood, the blows 
 That spilt it (O worse torture !) must she know ! 
 Ah ! the first woman coming from Mycenai 
 Will jjine to pour this poison in her ear. 
 Taunting sad Charon for his slow advance. 
 Iphigeneia ! 
 
 Iphigeneia. Why thus turn away ! 
 
 Calling me with such fondness ! I am here, 
 Father ! and where you are, will ever be. 90 
 
 Agamemnon. Thou art my child . . yes, yes, thou art my 
 child. 
 All was not once what all now is ! come on. 
 Idol of love and truth ! my child ! my child ! [A/one. 
 
 Fell woman ! ever false ! false was thy last 
 Denunciation, as thy bridal vow ; 
 And yet even that found faith with me ! The dirk 
 Which sever'd flesh from flesh, where this hand rests, 
 Severs not, as thou boastedst in thy scoffs, 
 Iphigencia's love from Agamemnon : 
 
 The wife's a spark may light, a straw consume, 100 
 
 The daughter's not her heart's whole fount hath quench'd,
 
 Agamemnon and Iphigeneia. 8i 
 
 'Tis worthy of the Gods, and lives for ever. 
 
 Iphigeneia. What spake my father to the Gods above i 
 Unworthy am I then to join in prayer ? 
 If, on the last, or any day before, 
 Of my brief course on earth, I did amiss. 
 Say it at once, and let me be unblest ; 
 But, O my faultless father ! why should you ? 
 And shun so my embraces ? 
 
 Am I wild 1 1 o 
 
 And wandering in my fondness ? 
 
 We are shades ! 
 Groan not thus deeply ; blight not thus the season 
 Of full-orb'd gladness ! Shades we are indeed, 
 But mingled, let us feel it, with the blest. 
 I knew it, but forgot it suddenly, 
 Altho' I felt it all at your approach. 
 Look on me ; smile with me at my illusion • . 
 You are so like what you have ever been 
 (Except in sorrow !) I might well forget 120 
 
 I could not win you as I used to do. 
 It was the first embrace since my descent 
 I ever aim'd at : those who love me live. 
 Save one, who loves me most, and now would chide me. 
 
 Agamemnon. We want not, O Iphigeneia, we 
 Want not embrace, nor kiss that cools the heart 
 With purity, nor words that more and more 
 Teach what we know, from those we know, and sink 
 Often most deeply where they fall most light. 
 Time was when for the faintest breath of thine 1 30 
 
 Kingdom and life were little. 
 
 Iphigeneia. Value them 
 
 As little now. 
 
 Agamemnon. Were life and kingdom all ! 
 
 Iphigeneia.^ Ah ! by our death many are sad who loved 
 us. 
 The little fond Electra, and Orestes 
 
 P I. reads : " Ah ! by our death many are sad who loved us. 
 They will be happy too."'] 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 
 
 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 So childish and so bold ! O that mad boy ! 
 They will be happy too. 
 
 Cheer ! king of men ! 
 Cheer ! there are voices, songs . . Cheer ! arms advance. 1 40 
 jigamemnon. Come to me, soul of peace ! These, these 
 alone, 
 These are not false embraces. 
 Iphigeneia. Both aie happy ! 
 
 Agamemnon. Freshness breathes round me from some 
 breeze above. 
 What are ye, winged ones ! with golden urns ? 
 
 The Hours {^Descending.) 
 
 The Hours . . To each an urn we bring. 
 
 Earth's purest gold 
 
 Alone can hold 
 The lymph of the Lethean spring. 
 
 We, son of Atreus, we divide 
 The dulcet from the bitter tide 
 
 That runs athwart the paths of men. 
 No more our pinions shalt thou see. 
 Take comfort ! We have done with thee, 
 
 And must away to earth again. 
 Where thou art, thou 
 Of braided brow, 
 Thou cull'd too soon from Argive bow'rs, 
 Where thy sweet voice is heard among 
 The shades that thrill with choral song, 
 None can regret the parted Hours. 
 
 Chorus of Arg'fves. 
 
 Maiden ! be thou the spirit that breathes 
 
 Triumph and joy into our song ! 
 Wear and bestow these amaranth-wreathes, 
 
 Iphigeneia ! they belong 
 To none but thee and her wiio reigns 
 (Less chaunted) on our bosky plains. 
 
 50 
 
 [ Ascending. 
 
 160
 
 Agamemnon and Iphigeneia. 83 
 
 Semi-chorus. 
 Iphigeneia ! 'tis to thee 
 Glory we owe and victory. 
 
 Clash, men of Argos, clash your arms, 170 
 
 To martial worth and virgin charms. 
 
 Other Semi-chorus. 
 Ye men of Argos ! it was sweet 
 To roll the frtits of conquest at the feet 
 Whose whispering sound made bravest hearts beat fast. 
 This we have known at home ; 
 But hither we are come 
 To crown the king who ruled us first and last. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Father of Argos ! king of men ! 
 
 We chaunt the hymn of praise to thee. 
 In serried ranks we stand again, 1 80 
 
 Our glory safe, our country free. 
 Clash, clash the arms we bravely bore 
 Against Scamander's God-defended shore. 
 
 Semi-chorus. 
 
 Blessed art thou who hast repell'd 
 Battle's wild fury. Ocean's whelming foam ; 
 
 Blessed o'er all, to have beheld 
 Wife, children, house avenged, and peaceful home ! 
 
 Other Semi-chorus. 
 We, too, thou seest, are now 
 
 Among the happy, though the aged brow 
 From sorrow for us we could not protect, 190 
 
 Nor, on the polisht granite of the well 
 Folding our arms, of spoils and perils tell. 
 Nor lift the vase on the lov'd head erect. 
 
 Semi-chorus. 
 What whirling wheels are those behind ? 
 What plumes come flaring through the wind, 
 Nearer and nearer ? From his car 
 He who defied the heaven-born Powers of war
 
 84 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Pelides springs ! Duist,* dust are we 
 To him, O king, who bends the knee,^ 
 Proud only to be first in reverent praise of thee. 200 
 
 Other Sanl-chorus. 
 Clash, clash the arms ! None other race 
 Shall see such heroes face to face. 
 We too have fought ; and they have seen 
 Nor sea-sand grey nor meadow green* 
 Where Dardans stood against their men . . 
 Clash ! lo Pssan ! clash again ! 
 Repinings for lost days repress . . 
 The flames of Troy had cheer'd us less. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Hark ! from afar more war-steeds neigh, 
 Thousands o'er thousands rush this way. 210 
 
 Ajax is yonder ! ay, behold 
 The radiant arms of Lycian gold ! 
 Arms from admiring valour won, 
 Tydeus ! and worthy of tliy son. 
 'Tis Ajax wears them now ; for he 
 Rules over Adria's stormy sea. 
 
 He threw them to the friend who lost 
 
 (By the dim judgment of the host) 
 
 Those wet with tears which Thetis gave 
 
 The youth most beauteous of the brave. 220 
 
 In vain ! the insatiate soul would go 
 
 For comfort to his peers below. 
 
 Clash ! ere we leave them all the plain, 
 
 Clash ! lo Paean ! once again ! 
 
 [4 I. reads : " But dust."] 
 \J> 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<r. We understand them, John ! 
 
 John. An inkling. But your uncle sacnstan 160 
 
 Hath neither sword nor spur. 
 
 Marg. It was a sword, 
 
 A flaming sword, but innocent, I saw ; 
 And I have seen in pictures such as that. 
 And in the hands of angels borne on clouds. 
 He may defend our faith, drive out the Turk, 
 And quench the crescent in the Danaw stream. 
 
 John. Thou, who begannest softly, singest now 
 Shrill as a throstle. 170 
 
 Marg. Have we then no cause 
 
 To sing as throstles after sign thus strange ? 
 
 John. Because it was so strange, must we believe 
 The rather ? 
 
 Marg. Yes ; no fire was in the house. 
 
 No splinter, not a spark. The Virgin's chin 
 Shone not with rashlight under it ; 'twas out. 
 For night was almost over, if not past. 
 And the Count's chapel has not half that blaze 
 On the Count's birthday, nor the hall at night. 1 80 
 
 Ah surely, surely fare like ours sends up 
 No idle fumes ; nor wish nor hope of mine 
 Fashion'd so bright a substance to a form
 
 I02 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 So beautiful. There must be truth in it. 
 
 John. There shall be then. Your uncle's sacristy 
 Shall hold the armour quite invisible, 
 Until our little Martin some fine day 
 Bursts the door open, spurr'd, caparison'd, 
 Dukes lead his bridle, princes tramp behind. 
 He may be pope . • who knows ? 1 90 
 
 Marg. Are you in earnest ? 
 
 But if he should be pope, will he love us P 
 Or let us (O yes, sure he would ! ) love him P 
 Nor slink away, ashamed ? Pope, no ; not pope. 
 But bishop (ay ?) he may be ? There are few 
 PowerfuUer folks than uncle Grimmermann. 
 Promise he scarce would give us, but a wink 
 Of hope he gave, to make a chorister. 
 
 John. " If thou wilt find materials," were his words. 
 
 Marg. I did not mark the words; they were too light : 200 
 And yet he never breaks his troth. 
 
 John. Not he : 
 
 No, he would rather break his fast ten times. 
 Do not look seriously . . when church allows, 
 I mean ; no more ; six days a week ; not seven. 
 I have seen houses where the Friday cheese 
 Was not (in my mind) cut with Thursday knife. 
 
 Marg. O now for shame ! such houses can not stimd. 
 Pr'ythee fcilk reason. As the furnace-mouth 
 Shows only fire, so yours shows laughter only. 210 
 
 Choristers have been friars ; ours may be ; 
 And then a father abbot. 
 
 John. At one leap. 
 
 As salmon up Schaffhausen. 
 
 Marg. Just the same . . 
 
 Then . . 
 
 John. Ring the bells ! Martin is pope, by Jove !
 
 Andrea of Hungary. 103 
 
 ANDREA OF HUNGARY, GIOVANNA OF 
 NAPLES, AND FRA RUPERT: A TRILOGY. 
 
 ANDREA OF HUNGARY. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Andrea. Fra Rupert. Caraccioli. Caraffa. Boccaccio. Maximin, 
 a Soldier. KlaPWRATH, Zinga, PseiN, Hungarian Officers. Page, 
 Garisendo, a Feasant. Giovanna, Queen. Sancia, Queen Jhtvager. 
 Maria, Sister of Giovanna. Maria of Sicily, Half-sister. 
 FlAMMETTA. FiLIPPA, Foster-mother. Petronilla, a Peasant. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 My verse was for thine eyes alone, 
 
 Alone by them was it repaid ; 
 And still thine ear records the tone 
 
 Of thy grey minstrel, thoughtful maid ! 
 
 Amid the pomps of regal state, 
 
 Where thou, O Rose ! art call'd to move, 
 
 Thee only Virtue can elate. 
 
 She only guide thy steps to Love. 
 
 Sometimes, when dark is each saloon. 
 Dark every lamp that crown'd the Seine, 
 
 Memory hangs low Amalfi's moon 
 And lights thee o'er Salerno's plain. 
 
 And onward, where Giovanna bore 
 
 Keen anguish from envenom 'd tongues: 
 
 Her fame my pages shall restore, 
 Thy pity shall requite her wrongs.
 
 I04 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE I. 
 
 PALACE AT NAPLES. 
 
 Andrea and Giovanna. 
 
 Andrea. What say you now, Giovanna ! shall we go 
 And conquer France ? Heigho ? I am sadly idle ; 
 My mighty mind wants full activity. 
 
 Giovanna. Andrea ! be contented ; stay at home ; 
 Conquer ? you've conquer'd me. 
 
 Andrea. Ah rebel queen ! 
 I doubt it : we have had war first, however, 
 And parleys, and all that. 
 
 Giovanna. You might have more 
 Before you conquer the strong cities there. lO 
 
 Andrea. England, they tell me, hath as much of France 
 As France hath. Some imagine that Provenza 
 Is half-and-half French land. How this may be 
 I can not tell ; I am no theologian. 
 Giovanna . . in your car . . I have a mind 
 To ride to Paris, and salute the king, 
 And pull him by the beard, and make him fight. 
 
 Giovanna. Know that French beards have stifFer hairs 
 than German,* 
 And crackle into flame at the first touch. 
 
 Andrea. 'Sblood ! like black cats ! But only in the 
 
 dark? ... I^^° 
 
 Giovanna. By night or day, in city or in field. 
 Andrea. I never knew it : let the Devil lug them 
 
 For me then ! they are fitter for his fist. 
 
 Sure, of all idle days the maniage-day 
 
 Is idlest : even the common people run 
 
 About the streets, not knowing what to do, 
 
 As if they came from wedding too, poor souls ! 
 
 This fancy set me upon conquering France. 
 
 Giovanna. And one hour only after we are united ? 
 
 * Hungary and Germany were hostile.
 
 Andrea of Hungary. 105 
 
 ACT I. SCENE II. 
 Maria enters. 
 
 Andrea. Maria ! where are you for ? France or Naples ? 
 She heard, she smiled . . Here's whispering . . This won't 
 do . . [Going ; but stops, pacified. 
 
 She may have secrets . . they all have . . I'll leave 'em. 
 
 Giovanna. Unsisterly ! unfriendly ! [Goes. 
 
 Maria. Peace ! Giovanna ! 
 
 Giovanna. That word has sign'd it. I have sworn to 
 love him. 
 
 Maria. Ah, what a vow ! 
 
 Giovanna. The harder to perform 
 The greater were the glory : I will earn it. 
 
 Maria. How can we love . . lo 
 
 Giovanna [interrupting'). Mainly, by hearing none 
 Decry the object ; then, by cherishing 
 The good we see in it, and overlooking 
 What is less pleasant in the paths of life. 
 All have some virtue if we leave it them 
 In peace and quiet ; all may lose some part 
 By sifting too minutely bad and good. 
 The tenderer and the timider of creatures 
 Often desert the brood that has been handled 
 And turn'd about, or indiscreetly lookt at. 20 
 
 The slightest touches, touching constantly, 
 Irritate and inflame. 
 
 Maria. Giovanna mine ! 
 These rhetoric-roses are supremely sweet, 
 But hold ! the jar is full. I promise you 
 I will not steal up with a mind to snatch. 
 Or pry too closely where you bid me not . . 
 But for the nest you talk about . . 
 
 Giovanna. For shame ! 
 What nest ? 
 
 Maria. That nest your blushes gleam upon. 30 
 
 O ! I will watch each twig, each feather there,
 
 io6 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 And, if my turning, tossing, hugging, does it, 
 Woe to Giovanna's little bird, say I. 
 
 G'tovanna. Seriously, my sweet sister 1 
 
 Maria (^interrupting) . Seriously 
 Indeed ! What briars ere we come to that ! 
 
 Giovanna. I am accustomed to Andrea's ways, 
 And see much good in him. 40 
 
 Maria. I see it too. 
 
 Giovanna. Fix upon that your eyes ; they will grow 
 brighter, 
 Maria, for each beauty they discover. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE III. 
 
 another room in the palace. 
 
 Andrea, Fra Rupert. 
 
 Andrea. Well met again, Fra Rupert ! Why not, though, 
 At church with us ? By this humility 
 You lost the prettiest sight that ever was. 
 
 Fra Rupert. I know what such sights are. 
 
 Andrea. What ? 
 
 Fra Rupert. Vanity. 
 
 Andrea. Exact the thing that everybody likes. 
 
 Fra Rupert. You young and heedless ! 
 
 Andrea. We pass lightly over, 
 And run on merrily quite to the end ; 10 
 
 The graver stumble, break their knees, and curse it : 
 Which are the wiser ? Had you seen the church ! 
 The finest lady ever drest for court 
 A week-day peasant to her ! By to-morrow 
 There's not a leg of all the crowd in Naples 
 But will stand stiff and ache with this day's tiptoe ; 
 There's not a throat will drop its paste-tape down 
 Without some soreness from such roaring cheers ; 
 There's not a husband but whose cars will tingle 
 Under his consort's claw this blessed night 20 
 
 For sighing " What an angel is Giovanna ! "
 
 Andrea of Hungary. 107 
 
 Fra Rupert. Go, go ! I can not hear such ribaldry. 
 
 Andrea. Rather should you have heard, as there you might. 
 Quarrelsome blunder-headed drums, o'erpower'd 
 By pelting cymbals ; then complaining flutes. 
 And boy-voiced fifes, lively and smart and shrill ; 
 Then timbrels, where tall fingers trip, but trip 
 In the right place, and run along again ; 
 Then blustering trumpets, wonder-wafting horns, 
 Evvivas fi-ora their folks, hurrahs from ours, 30 
 
 And songs that pour into both ears long life 
 And floods of glory and victory for ever. 
 
 Fra Rupert. What signify these fooleries ? In one word, 
 Andrea, art thou king ? 
 
 Andrea. I fancy so. 
 The people never give such hearty shouts 
 Saving for kings and blunders. 
 
 Fra Rupert. Son ! beware. 
 Lest while they make the one they make the other. 
 
 Andrea. How must 1 guard against it ? 40 
 
 Fra Rupert. Twelve whole years 
 Constantly here together, all the time 
 Since we left Hungary, and not one day 
 But I have labour'd to instil into thee, 
 Andrea ! how wise kings must feel and act. 
 
 Andrea. But, father, who let you into the secret ? 
 
 Fra Rupert. I learnt it in the cloister. 
 
 Andrea. Then no doubt 
 The secret is worth knowing ; many are 
 (Or songs and fables equally are false) 50 
 
 Among those whisper'd there. 
 
 Fra Rupert. Methinks, my son. 
 Such words are lighter than beseems crown'd heads. 
 As thine should be, and shall be, if thou wilt. 
 
 Andrea. Ay, father, but it is not so as yet ; 
 Else would it jingle to another crown. 
 With what a face beneath it ! What a girl 
 Is our Giovanna ! 
 
 Fra Rupert. . By the saints above ! 
 I thought it was a queen, and not a girl. 60
 
 io8 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Andrea. There is enough in her for both at once. 
 A queen it shall be then the whole day long. 
 
 [Fra Rupert, impatient. 
 Nay, not a word, good Frate ! the whole day ; 
 Ave-Maria ends it ; does it not ? 
 I am so glad, so gamesome, so light-hearted, 
 So fond, I (sure ! ) am long steps off the throne. 
 
 Fra Rupert. And ever may'st be, if thou art remiss 
 In claiming it. 
 
 Andrea. I can get anything 
 From my Giovanna. You would hardly guess 70 
 
 What she has given me. Look here ! 
 
 Fra Rupert. A book ? 
 
 Andrea. * King Solomon.' 
 
 Fra Rupert. His Song ? To seculars ? 
 I warrant she would teach it, and thou learn it. 
 
 Andra. I'll learn it through, I'll learn it every verse. 
 Where does the Song begin ? I see no rhymes. 
 
 Fra Rupert. * The Proverbs ! ' Not so bad ! 
 
 Andrea. Are songs then proverbs ? 
 And what is this hard word ? 80 
 
 Fra Rupert. ' Ecclesiastes.' 
 
 Andrea. But look ! you have not seen the best of it. 
 What pretty pictures ! what broad rubies ! what 
 Prodigious pearls ! seas seem to roll within, 
 And azure skies, as ever bent above, 
 Push their pink clouds, half-shy, to mingle with 'em. 
 
 Fra Rupert. I am not sure this book would do thee harm. 
 But better let me first examine it. \_He takes it. 
 
 Andrea. You shall not have it ; give it me again. 
 
 Fra Rupert. Loose it, I say, Andrea ! 90 
 
 Andrea. I say no / 
 
 Fra Rupert. To me ? 
 
 Andrea. Dost think I'd say it to Giovanna ? 
 Beside, she gave it me : she has read in it 
 With her own eyes, has written Latin in it 
 Witli her own fingers, . . for who else could write 
 Distinctly such small letters ? . . You yourself, 
 Wlio rarely have occasion for much Latin,
 
 Andrea of Hungary. 109 
 
 Might swear them to be Latin in ten minutes. 
 
 Another thing . . the selfsame perfume clings 100 
 
 About those pages as about her bosom. 
 
 Fra Rupert (^starts). Abomination ! Know all that ! 
 
 Andrea. Like matins. 
 Thence, tho' she turn'd quite round, I saw her take it 
 To give it me. Another thing . . the people 
 Bragg'd of my metal half an hour ago, 
 And I will show I have it, like the best. 
 Another thing . . forgettest thou, Fra Rupert, 
 I am a husband ? 
 
 Fra Rupert. Seven years old thou wert one.* no 
 
 Andrea. Ha, but ! ha, but ! seven years upon seven years 
 Could not make me the man I am to-day. 
 
 Fra Rupert. Nor seventy upon seven a tittle wiser. 
 
 Andrea. Why did not you then make me while you could ? 
 You taught me nothing, and would let none touch me, 
 No, not our king himself, the wisest man 
 In his dominions, nor more wise than willing. 
 Forsooth ! you made a promise to my father 
 That nobody should filch my faith and morals, 
 No taint of learning eat skin-deep into me ! 120 
 
 And good king Robert said, " If thus my brother 
 Must have it . . if such promise was exacted . ." 
 
 Fra Rupert. All have more knowledge than they well 
 employ. 
 Upbraidest thou thy teacher, guardian, father ? 
 
 Andrea. Fathers may be, alas ! too distant from us. 
 Guardians may be too close . . but, teacher ? teacher I 
 
 Fra Rupert. Silence ! 
 
 Andrea ( retreating ) . He daunts me : yet, some day, cospelto ! 
 
 Fra Rupert. What mutterest thou ? 
 
 Andrea (^to himself). I will be brave, please God ! 130 
 
 Fra Rupert (^suppressing rage). Obstinate sinners are alone 
 unpardon'd : 
 I may forgive thee after meet repentance, 
 But must confer with thee another time 
 
 * Andrea and Giovanna were contracted when he was seven, she fire.
 
 no Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 On that refractory untoward spliit. 
 
 Andrea (to himself). He was then in the right (it seems) 
 
 at last. 
 Fra Rupert. I hear some footsteps coming hitherward. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE IV. 
 GiovANNA and Filippa. 
 
 Fra Rupert [turns his bach to them). O those pestiferous 
 women ! 
 
 Andrea. Ay, well spoken. 
 The most religious of religious men 
 Lifts up his arms and eyes, my sweet Giovanna, 
 Before your wond'rous charms. 
 
 \_The Friar looks at him <with rage and scorn, 
 
 Giovanna. Simple Andrea ! 
 Are they more wond'rous than they were before ? 
 Or are they more apparent now the robes 
 Are laid aside, and all those gems that made 
 My hair stand back, chiefly that mischievous lo 
 
 Malignant ruby (some fierce dragon's eye 
 Turn'd into stone) which hurt your finger so 
 With its vile crooked pin, for touching mc, 
 When you should have but lookt, and not quite that. 
 
 Fra Rupert [who had listened). Come hither; didst thou 
 hear her ? 
 
 j^ndrea. Every word ; 
 And bear no rancour to her, though she scolds. 
 
 Fra Rupert, She might have waited twenty years beyond 
 This day, before she thought of matrimony ; 
 She talks so like a simpleton. 20 
 
 Andrea. She does 
 Indeed : yet, father ! it is very true : 
 The pin did prick mc : she is no simpleton 
 As far as memory goes. 
 
 [^The Friar looks up, then walks about impatiently. 
 Now, won't you mind me ?
 
 Andrea of Hungary. 1 1 1 
 
 She is but very young, scarce seventeen ; 
 
 When she is two years older, just my age, 
 
 Then shall you see her ! more like me perhaps. 
 
 She might have waited . . . you say well . . . and would 
 
 Willingly, I do think ; but I am wiser, 30 
 
 And warmer. Our Hungarian blood (ay, Frate ! ) 
 
 Is not squeez'd out of March anemones. 
 
 Filippa. Since, friar Rupert ! here are met together 
 The lofty and the lowly, they and we. 
 If your austerity of life forbade 
 To mingle with the world's festivities, 
 Indulge, I pray you, in that luxuiy 
 Which suits all seasons, sets no day apart, 
 Excludes from its communion none, howe'er 
 Unworthy, but partakes of God indeed . . 40 
 
 Indulge in pardon. 
 
 Fra Rupert. Does a seneschal's 
 Wife bend before me ? Do the proud ones beg ? 
 
 F'tlippa. Too proud I may be : even the very humblest 
 May be too proud. I am, 'tis true, the widow 
 Of him you mention. Do I beg ? I do. 
 Our queen commands me to remove ill-will. 
 
 Fra Rupert. There are commands above the queen's. 
 
 Filippa. There are, 
 O holy man ! obey we both at once ! 50 
 
 Giovanna [calls Andrea). Husband ! 
 
 Fra Rupert. And not our king ? most noble lady ! 
 
 Giovanna. He, or I much mistake him, is my husband. 
 
 jindrea. Mistake me ! not a whit : I am, I am. 
 
 Giovanna. If, O my husband ! that dear name has powei 
 On your heart as on mine, now when first spoken. 
 Let what is love between us shed its sweets 
 A little wider, tho' a little fainter ; 
 Let all our friends this day, all yours, all mine. 
 Be one another's, and not this day only. 60 
 
 Persuade them. 
 
 jindrea. Can I ? 
 
 Giovanna. You persuaded me. 
 
 Andrea. Ay, but you did not hate me ; and your head
 
 112 
 
 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Is neither grey nor tonsured ; these are odds. 
 I never could imagine well how folks 
 Who disagree in other things, agree 
 To make each other angry. What a game ! 
 To toss back burs until the skin is full 
 
 On either side ! Which wins the stake, I wonder ? 70 
 
 Fra Rupert {bursting anvay). I have no patience. 
 Jndrea. I have, now he's gone. 
 How long were you contriving this grand scheme 
 To drive away the friar ? Do you think 
 
 [ Whispers to Giovanna. 
 
 He won't come after supper ? Does he know 
 Our chamber I 
 
 Giovanna. Hush ! Andrea ! 
 Andrea. In good earnest 
 I fear him, and the fleas about his frock. 
 Let me go after him : he went in wrath : oO 
 
 He may do mischief, if he thinks it right, 
 As these religious people often do. [Andrea goes. 
 
 Filippa. Happy Andrea! only fleas and fnars 
 Molest him : little he suspects the snares 
 About his paths ; the bitter jealousies 
 Of Hungary ; how pertinaciously 
 Mail'd hands grasp sceptres, how reluctantly 
 Loose them ; how tempting are our milder clime 
 And gentler nation ! He deserves our pity. 
 
 Giovanna. O ! more than pity. If our clime, our nation, 90 
 Bland, constant, kind, congenial with each other. 
 Were granted him, how much more was withheld . 
 Sterile the soil is not, but sadly waste. 
 What buoyant spirits and what pliant temper . 
 How patient of reproof! how he wipes off 
 Ail injuries before they harden on him. 
 And wonders at affronts, and doubts they can be ! 
 Then, his wild quickness ! O the churl tliat bent it 
 Into the earth, colourless, shapeless, thriftless. 
 Fruitless, for ever ! Had he been my brotlier, 
 I should have wept all my life over him ; 
 But, being my husband, one hypocrisy 
 
 100
 
 Andrea of Hungary, 1 1 3 
 
 I must put on, one only ever will I. 
 
 Others must think, by my observance of him, 
 
 I hold him pmdent, penetrating, firm. 
 
 No less than virtuous : I must place myself 
 
 In my own house (now indeed his) below him. 
 
 F'tlippa. I almost think you love him. 
 
 Giovanna. He has few 
 Even small faults, which small minds spy the soonest ; i i o 
 He has, what those will never see nor heed. 
 Wit of bright feather, but of broken wing ; 
 No stain of malice, none of spleen, about it. 
 For this, and more things nearer . . . for the worst 
 Of oi-jDhancy, the cmellest of frauds, 
 Stealth of his education while he played 
 Nor fancied he could want it ; for our ties 
 Of kindred ; for our childhood spent together ; 
 For those dear faces that once smiled upon us 
 At the same hour, in the same balcony ; i 20 
 
 Even for the plants we rear'd in partnership, 
 Or spoil'd in quarrel, I do love Andrea. 
 But, from his counsellors ! . . . 
 
 F'tlippa. We shall elude 
 Their clumsy wiles perhaps. The youth, methinks. 
 Is tractable. 
 
 Giovanna. May wise men guide him then ! 
 It lies beyond my duty. 
 
 FiUppa. But the wise 
 Are not the men who guide the tractable. 1 30 
 
 The first bold hand that seizes, holds them fiist ; 
 And the best natures melt into the bad 
 'Mid dances and carousals. 
 
 Giovanna. Let Andrea 
 Be sparing of them ! 
 
 FiUppa. Evil there may be 
 Where evil men preside, but greatly worse 
 Is proud austerity than princely glee. 
 
 Giovanna. Heaven guard us 1 I have entered on a course 
 Beleaguered with dense dangers : but that course 1 40 
 
 Was first ordained in earth, and now in heaven. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 II A Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 My father's spirit filled his father's breast, 
 
 And peace and union in our fitmily 
 
 (They both foresaw) would be secured by ours. 
 
 Filifipa. She who forgets her parent will forego 
 All later duties : yes, when love has lost 
 The sound of its spring-head, it grows impure, 
 Tortuous, and spent at last in barren sand. 
 I owe these generous kings the bread I broke. 
 The letters I pickt up : no vile sea-weed > 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%<zo. Upon my knees I do entreat of you 
 To hear me. In sincerity, the crown 
 (Now mine) was foi'ced upon me. 
 
 Giovanna. Carlo ! Carlo ! 
 
 Know you what crowns are made of? 
 
 Dura-z-zo (^rising). I must wear one, 
 
 However fitly or unfitly made. 
 
 Giovanna. The ermine is outside, the metal burns 
 Into the brain. 
 
 Durazzo. Its duties, its conditions, lo 
 
 Are not unknown to me, nor its sad cares. 
 
 Giovanna. 'Tis well Maria my sweet sister lives not 
 To see this day. 
 
 Durazzo. But Margarita lives, 
 
 Her beauteous daughter, my beloved wife. 
 She thinks you very kind who let her go 
 And join me, when strange rumours flew abroad 
 And liars call'd me traitor. 
 
 Giovanna. With my blessing 
 
 She went, nor heard (I hope) that hateful name. 20 
 
 Durazzo [negligently). My cousin Agnes! not one word 
 from you ? 
 
 Agnes. Charles of Durazzo ! God abandons thee 
 To thy own will : can any gulph lie lower ! 
 
 Durazzo. 'Twas not my will. 
 
 Agnes. No ! 
 
 Durazzo. What 1 did, I did 
 
 To satisfy the people. 
 
 Agnes. Satisfy 
 
 Ocean and Fire. / 
 
 Durazzo. The Church too. ^b 
 
 Agnes. Fire and Ocean 
 
 Shall lie together, and shall both pant gorged.
 
 \ 
 
 240 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Before the Church be satisfied, if Church 
 Be that proud puq^le shapeless thing we see. 
 
 Durci'zzo {^lo Rupert) Show the pope's charter of in- 
 vestiture. 
 
 Rupert. 'Tis this. May it please our lady that I read it. 
 
 G'wvanna [to Durazzo). Reasons where there are wrongs 
 but make them heavier. 
 
 Dura%%o (^to yfgries). When the whole nation cries in 
 agony 
 Against the sway of Germans, should I halt i 
 
 jignes. No German rules this country ; one defends 40 
 And comforts and adorns it : may he long ! 
 The bravest of his race, the most humane. 
 
 Durazzo. QuelI'd, fugitive, nor GeiTnany nor France 
 Afford him aid against us. 
 
 G'wvanna. Sir ! he hoped 
 
 No aid from France. 
 
 ylgties. Does any ? What is France ? 
 
 One flaring lie, reddening the face of Europe. 
 
 Durazzo. French is Provenza. 
 
 y/gfies. There our arts prevail, 50 
 
 Our race : no lair of tigers is Provenza. 
 I call that France where mind and soul are French. 
 
 Dura%%o. Sooner would he have graspt at German arms. 
 
 G'wvanna. God hold them both from Italy for ever ! 
 
 Dura%%o. She shall want neither. The religious call 
 Blessings upon us in long-drawn processions. 
 
 Agnes. Who are the men you please to call religious? 
 Sword-cutlers to all Majesties on eartli, 
 Dnams at the door of every theatre 
 Wheie tragedies are acted : that friar knows it. 60 
 
 Rupert. Such is the fruit of letters sown in courts ! 
 Peaches with nettle leaves and thistle crowns ! 
 Upon my faith ! kings are unsafe near them. 
 
 Duraz-zo [to Agnes). May-be we scarcely have your 
 sanction, lady ? 
 Am I one ? 
 
 Agnes. No. 
 
 Durazxo. What am 1 ?
 
 Fra Rupert. 241 
 
 Agnes. What ! an ingrate. 
 
 Durazzo {^cqffingly). Is that to be no king? You may 
 rave on, 
 Fair cousin Agnes : she who might complain 70 
 
 Absolves me. 
 
 Agnes. Does the child she fed ? the orphan ? 
 The outcast ? does he, can he, to himself, 
 And before us ? 
 
 Duraz%o. I, the king, need it not. 
 
 Agnes. All other blind men know that they are blind, 
 All other helpless feel their helplessness. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE IV. 
 UNDER CASTEL-NUOVO. 
 
 DuRAZZo and Rupert. 
 
 Rupert. Remarkt you not how pale she turn'd ? 
 
 Durazzo. At what ? 
 
 Rupert. I said kings were unsafe. She knew my meaning. 
 
 Dura%zo. No man alive believes it : none believed it. 
 Beside the vulgar, when Andrea died. 
 
 Rupert. Murdered he was. 
 
 Dura-z.%0. Mysteriously. Some say . . 
 
 Rupert. What do some say ? 
 
 Dura%%o. I never heeded them. 
 
 I know thee faithful : in this whole affair lO 
 
 I've proved it. He who goes on looking back 
 Is apt to trip and tumble, \Goes. 
 
 Rupert {^alone). Why this hatred? 
 
 Are there no memories of her far more pleasant ? 
 I saw her in her childish days : I saw her 
 When she had cast away her toys, and sate 
 Sighing in idleness, and wishing more 
 To fall into her lap ; but what ? and how ? 
 I saw her in the gardens, still a child, 
 
 So young, she mockt the ladies of the court, 20 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 242 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 And threw the gravel at them from her slipper, 
 
 And ran without if they pursued, but stopt 
 
 And leapt to kiss the face of an old statue 
 
 Because it smiled upon her : then would she 
 
 Shudder at two wrens fighting, shout, and part them. 
 
 Next came that age (the lovely seldom pass it) 
 
 When books lie open, or, in spite of pressing, 
 
 Will open of themselves at some one place. 
 
 Lastly, I saw her when the bridal crown 
 
 Entwined the regal. Oh ! that ne'er these eyes 30 
 
 Had seen it ! then, Andrea ! thou had'st lived. 
 
 My comtort, my support. Divided power 
 
 111 could I brook ; how then, how tolerate 
 
 Its rude uprooting from the breast that rear'd it ! 
 
 And must I now sweep from me the last blossoms 
 
 That lie and wither in the walk of life ? 
 
 Fancies ! . . mere fancies ! . . let me cease to waver. 
 
 Who would not do as I did ? I am more 
 
 A man than others, therefore I dare more. 
 
 And suffer more. Such is humanity : 40 
 
 I can not halve it. Superficial men 
 
 Have no absorbing passions: shallow seas 
 
 Are void of whirlpools. I must on, tho' loath. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE V. 
 PALACE-GARDEN. 
 
 Maximin and Agatha. 
 
 Maxitnin. Courage ! or start and leave me. Sobs 
 indeed ! 
 Pack those up for young girls who want some comfits. 
 Nay, by my soul, to see grown women sob it, 
 As thou dost, even wert thou not my sister, 
 Smites on me here and whets my sword at once. 
 It maddens me with choler . . for what else 
 Can shake me so ? I feel my eyes on fire.
 
 Fra Rupert. 243 
 
 He shall pay dear for it, the cursed Frate. 
 
 Agatha. Why, Maximin, O why didst thou consent 
 To meet the friar again ? i o 
 
 Maximin. To make him serve thee. 
 
 Agatha. Poverty rather ! want . . even infamy. 
 
 Maximin Did'st thou not pity, would'st not serve, the 
 queen ? 
 
 Agatha. O might I ! might I ! she alone on earth 
 Is wretcheder : my soul shall ever bend 
 Before that saci'edest supremacy. 
 
 Maximin. Come with me : we will talk about the means. 
 
 Agatha. But, be thou calm. 
 
 Maxim'm. A lamb. 
 
 He little thinks \_Aside, 
 To see the lamb turn round and bite the butcher. [20 
 
 Agatha ! Agatha ! while I repeat 
 Thy name again, freshness breathes over me. 
 What is there like it ? Why, 'tis like sweet hay 
 To rest upon after a twelve hours' march. 
 Clover, with all its flowers, an arm's length deep. 
 
 ACT II, SCENE VI. 
 NAPLES. PALACE OF BUTELLO. 
 
 BuTELLo and Rupert. 
 
 Butello (reads). " We, Urban, by the grace of God . ." 
 
 Rupert. Well, well ; 
 
 That is all phrase and froth ; dip in the spoon 
 A little deeper ; we shall come at last 
 To the sweet solids and the racy wine. 
 
 Butello. Patience, good Frate, patience ! 
 
 Rupert. Now, Butello, 
 
 If I cried patience, wouldst not thou believe 
 I meant delay F So do not cry it then. 
 Read on . . about the middle. That will do . . 10
 
 244 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Pass over love, sollcUude, grief, foresight. 
 Paternal or avuncular. Push on . . 
 There . . thereabout. 
 
 Butello. Lift off thy finger, man, 
 
 And let me, in God's name, read what wants reading. 
 
 Rupert. Prythee be speedy . . Where thou seest my 
 name . . 
 
 Butello [reads). " If that our well-beloved Frate Rupert 
 Shall, by his influence thereunto directed 
 By the blest saints above, and the good will 
 Which the said Frate Rupert ever bore us, 20 
 
 Before the expiration of one month, 
 So move the heart of Carlo of Durazzo 
 That the said Carlo do invade and seize . . 
 
 Rupert, What would his Holiness have next ? 
 
 Butello. Wait, wait. 
 
 " Naples, a kingdom held by our permission . . 
 
 Rupert. Ho ! is that all ? 'Tis done. 
 
 Butello. Hear me read on. 
 
 " From those wlio at this present rule the same . . ' 
 
 Rupert. This present is already past. I've won. 30 
 
 Butello. " And shall consign a princely fief thereof, 
 Hereditary, to our foresaid nephew 
 Gicronimo Butello, We, by power 
 Wherewith we are invested, will exalt 
 Our trusty well-beloved Frate Rupert 
 Unto the highest charge our Holy Churcii 
 Bestows upon her faithful servitors." 
 
 Rupert. Would not one swear those words were all en- 
 grossed. 
 And each particular letter stood bolt-upright, 
 Captain'd with taller at the column-head ? 40 
 
 What marshall'd files ! what goodly companies ! 
 And, to crown all, the grand lieaven-sent commission 
 Seal'd half-way over with green wax, and stifl' 
 With triple crown, and crucifix below it. 
 Give me the paper. 
 
 Butello. Why ? 
 
 Rupert [Impiitient). Give me tlie paper.
 
 Fra Rupert. 245 
 
 Butello. His Holiness hath signed it. 
 
 Rupert. Let me see. 
 
 Butello. Look. 50 
 
 Rupert. Nay but give it me. 
 
 Butello. A piece of paper ! 
 
 Rupert. . . Can not be worth a principality. 
 
 Butello (giving it). There then. 
 
 Rupert. What dukedom has the grandest sound ? 
 
 Butello. Dukedom ! the Pope says principality. 
 
 Rupert. Thou soon shalt blazon. 
 
 Butello. I rely on you : 
 
 Adieu, my lord ! 
 
 Rupert. My prince, adieu ! [j^lotie.) Who knows 
 
 If this will better me ! Away from court ? [60 
 
 No ; never. Leave the people I When he leaves it, 
 The giant is uplifted off the earth 
 And loses all his strength. My foot must press it. 
 Durazzo, in things near, is shrewd and sighted : 
 I may not lead him. If I rule no more 
 This kingdom, yet ere long my tread may sound 
 Loud in the conclave, and my hand at last 
 Turn in their golden wards the keys of heaven. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE VII. 
 CASTLE OF MURO. 
 
 GiovANNA and Agatha. 
 
 Giovanna. Both mind and body in their soundest state 
 Are always on the verge of a disorder, 
 And fear increases it : take courage then. 
 
 Agatha. There is an error in the labyrinth 
 Of woman's life whence never foot returns. 
 
 Giovanna. Hath God said that r 
 
 Agatha. O lady ! man hath said it. 
 
 Giovanna. He built that labyrinth, he led that foot 
 Into it, and there left it. Shame upon him !
 
 246 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 I take thee to my service and my trust. 10 
 
 To love the hateful with prone prudent will 
 Is worse than with fond unsuspiciousness 
 To fall upon the bosom of the lovely, 
 The wise who value us, the good who teach us. 
 The generous who forgive us when we err. 
 Agatha. Oh ! I have no excuse. 
 Giovaiina. She stands absolved 
 
 Before her God who says it as thou sayst it. 
 I have few questions for thee : go, be happier. 
 I owe thy brother more than I can pay, 20 
 
 And would, when thou hast leisure, hear what chance 
 Rais'd up a friend where the ground seem'd so rough. 
 Agatha. Leave me no leisure, I beseech of you : 
 I would have cares and sorrows not my own 
 To cover mine from me : I would be questioned, 
 So please you, I may else be false in part, 
 Not being what eyes bedim'd with weeping see me. 
 
 Giovatma. You come, 'tis rumour'd here, from Hungary. 
 My infant was torn from me by his uncle 
 And carried into Hungary. 30 
 
 Agatha. I saw it. 
 
 Giovariria. Saw it ! my infmt ! to have seen my infant, 
 How blessed ! Was it beautiful ? strong ? smiling ? 
 
 Agatha. It had mild features and soft sunbright hair, 
 And seem'd quite happy. 
 
 Giovatma. No, poor tiling, it was not ; 
 
 It often wanted me, I know it did. 
 And sprang up in the night and cried for me, 
 As I for it . . at the same hour, no doubt. 
 It soon soon wasted . . And you saw my child ! 40 
 
 I wish you would remember more about him . . 
 The little he could say you must remember . . 
 Repeat it me. 
 
 Agatha. Ah lady ! he was gone. 
 And angels were the first that taught him speech. 
 Giovanria. Happier than angels ever were before ! 
 Agatha. He happier too ! 
 
 G'to'vamia. Ah ! not without his mother ! 
 
 Go, go, go . . There are graves no time can close.
 
 Fra Rupert. 247 
 
 ACT III. SCENE I. 
 NAPLES. PALACE. 
 
 DuRAZzo. Rupert. Herald. Officers. 
 
 Dura%%o. I thought I heard a trumpet. But we reel 
 After we step from shipboard, and hear trumpets 
 After we ride from battle. 'Twas one. Hark ! 
 It sounds again. Who enters ? 
 
 Officer. Please your Highness ! 
 
 A herald claims admittance. 
 
 Ditra%%o. Let him in. 
 
 Rupert. Now for disguises ; now for masks ; steel, silk ; 
 Nothing in these days does but maskery. 
 
 Pages talk, sing, ride with you, sleep beside you, lO 
 
 For years : behold-ye ! some fine April-day 
 They spring forth into girls, with their own faces. 
 Tricks, tendernesses . . . ne'er a mark of saddle ! 
 
 (Herald enters.) 
 
 Bacco ! this is not one of them, however ! 
 
 Duraz%o. Well, sir, your message. 
 
 Herald. Heiald from duke Otho, 
 
 I bring defiance and demand reply. 
 
 Dura-z.'z.o. I know duke Otho's courage, and applaud 
 His wisdom. Tell duke Otho from king Carlo, 
 I would in his place do the very same : 20 
 
 But, having all I want, assure your lord 
 I am contented. 
 
 Rupert. Blessed is content. 
 
 Durazzo. Now, should duke Otho ever catch the reins 
 (For all things upon earth are changeabls) 
 He can not well refuse the turn he tries. 
 But will permit me to contend with him 
 For what at present I propose to keep. 
 
 Heri.ld. If then your Highness should refuse the encounter. 
 Which never knight, and rarely king, refuses . . 30
 
 248 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Dura%%o. Hold, sir ! All kings arc knights. The al- 
 ternative ? 
 
 Herald. None can there be where combat is declined. 
 He would not urge in words the queen's release, 
 But burns to win it from a recreant knight. 
 
 Durazzo. Did Otho say it ? 
 
 Herald. Standing here his herald, 
 
 I have no voice but his. 
 
 Dura'z.'zo. You may have ears : 
 
 Hear me then, sir ! You know, all know at Naples, 
 The wife and husband are as near at present 40 
 
 As ever, though the knight and lady not. 
 She, when she married him, declined his love, 
 And never had he hers : Taranto won it. 
 And, when he squandered it, 'twas unretrieved. 
 
 Herald. Is this, sir, for my ears or for my voice ? 
 My voice (it is a man's) will not convey it. 
 
 Dura%%o [Jo guards'}. Escort the herald back with honours 
 due. [To Rupert. 
 
 What think you, my lord bishop of Nocera ? 
 
 Rupert. Troublesome times ! troublesome times indeed ! 
 My flock, my brethren at Nocera, will, 50 
 
 Must want me : but how leave my prince, a prey 
 To tearing factions, godkss, kingless men ! 
 
 Dura%zo. Never mind me, good father ! 
 
 Rupert. Mind not you ? 
 
 T can not go ; I would not for the world. 
 
 Durazzo. The world is of small worth to holy men. 
 
 Rupert. I will not hence until the storm be past. 
 
 Durazzo. After a storm the roads are heavier. 
 Courage ! my good lord bishop ! We must speed 
 And chaunt our Vent Dom'ine at Nocera. 60 
 
 Rupert. Then would your Highness . . 
 
 Durazzo. Not coq^oreally, 
 
 But, where my bishop is, I am in spirit. [Goes. 
 
 Rupert l^cdorie). So! this is king . . and wit too! that's 
 not kingly. 
 Can he be ignorant of who I am ? 
 They will show fraenients of this sturdy frock.
 
 Fra Rupert. 249 
 
 Whence every thread starts visible, when all 
 The softer nappcry, in its due descent, 
 Drops from the women, Carlo, to the moths. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE II. 
 APARTMENT IN THE CASTLE OF MURO. 
 
 Maximin and Agatha. 
 
 Maxtmin. How fares thy lady ? 
 
 Agatha. As one fares who never 
 
 Must see the peopled earth, nor hear its voice 
 Nor know its sympathy ; so fares Giovanna ; 
 But, pure in spirit, rises o'er the racks 
 Whereof our world is only one vast chamber. 
 
 Maximin. Dost thou enjoy the gardens, fields, and forests ? 
 
 Agatha. Perfectly. 
 
 Maximin. Hast a palfrey ? 
 
 Agatha. Had I ever? lo 
 
 Reading and needlework employ the day. 
 
 Maximin. Ah ! our good mother little knew what pests 
 Those needles and those books arc, to bright eyes ; 
 Rivals should recommend them, mothers no. 
 We will ride out together. 
 
 Agatha. On what horses ? 
 
 Maximin. One brought me. Are the queen's at grass ? 
 
 Agatha. We have none. 
 
 Maximin. Thou art hale, Agatha, but how enjoy 
 Perfectly, as thou sayest, these domains? 20 
 
 Agatha. By looking out at window with the queen. 
 
 Maximin. All the day thro' ? 
 
 Agatha. I read to her : and then, 
 
 If she suspects it tires me, she takes up 
 The volume, and pretends great interest 
 Just there, and reads it out. 
 
 Maximin. True history ? 
 
 Agatha. History she throws by.
 
 250 Dramatic Scenes, 
 
 Max'tmin. Then sweet-heart songs, 
 
 Adventures ? 30 
 
 Agatha. Some she reads, and over some 
 
 Tosses her work, rises, and shuts the cover. 
 
 Maxinun. I would not shut the song-book. There are 
 others 
 That show within them gold-and-purple saints, 
 Heads under arm, eyes upon platter, laughing 
 At her who carries them and lately wore them. 
 
 Agatha. Such are not wanting. 
 
 Max'im'in. Pleasant sights enough ! 
 
 I would fain see them. 
 
 Agatha. Quite impossible. 40 
 
 Max'im'in. On feast-days ? 
 
 Agatha. All are in her bedroom-closet. 
 
 Max'im'in. So ! the best books then must be out of sight. 
 As all the best things are ! What arc her pictures? 
 
 Agatha. Chiefly her own lost family, and those 
 She loved the most in it. 
 
 Max'im'in. O for a glimpse ! 
 
 Tell me at least who are they. 
 
 Agatha. Good king Robert, 
 
 Whose face she often kisses. 50 
 
 Max'im'in. None more worth it ? 
 
 Agatha. There are the two Marias : one elate 
 With merriment, her eyes orbs wing'd with flame ; 
 Long deep and dark the other's, and within 
 Whose cooler fountains blissfully might batlie 
 A silenter and (haply) purer love. 
 
 Max'im'in. I should be glad to look at them, but rather 
 At the kind queen herstlf. 
 
 Agatha. That thou mayest do. 
 
 Max'im'in. When ? 60 
 
 Agatha. Now ; I think ; for having heard who 'twas 
 That warned her of her danger when the duke 
 Rode in, she wisiit to thank thee. Come with me: 
 I must first enter and announce your name. 
 
 Max'im'in. I thought you said she knew it. Take your 
 coui'se.
 
 Fra Rupert. 2,5 1 
 
 ACT III. SCENE III. 
 
 CHAMBER AT MURO. 
 
 GlOVANNA. MaXIMIN. AgATHA. 
 
 Giovanna. Accept my too few thanks, sir, for your zeal . . 
 
 Maxim'w. Fine air, my lady queen, in this high tower ; 
 Healthy as Hungary ; may you enjoy it 
 These many days ! 
 
 Giovanna [balding). I fancied Hungary 
 Was moister, leveler, than hereabout. 
 
 Maximin. We have a plain in Hungary on which. 
 Just in the middle, all of Italy's 
 You shall pin down nor see them from the sides. 
 And then what cattle ! horse, ox, sheep ! God's blessing i o 
 Upon hard-working men, like furlough soldiers, 
 And rare sport at the foray, when the Turk 
 Might seize them if we sent them not to quarters. 
 Here too seems nothing wanting. [^Looking round. 
 
 Giovanna. A few friends 
 
 Were welcome, could they but return, whose pen 
 And conversation lightcn'd former hours. 
 
 Maximin. Learned ones ; ay ? 
 
 Giovanna. The learned came around me. 
 
 Maximin. \Vhistle, and they are at the barley-corns, 20 
 Wing over wing, beak against beak, I warrant. 
 I knew two holy friars, as holy men 
 As ever snored in sackcloth after sinning, 
 And they were learned. What now was the upshot ? 
 I should have said one's crucifix was white. 
 The other's black. They plied mild arguments 
 In disputation. Brother, was the term 
 At first, then sir, then nothing worse than di-vU. 
 But those fair words, like all fair things, soon dropt. 
 Fists were held up, grins in the face grew rife, 30 
 
 Teeth (tho' in these one had the better of it 
 By half a score) were closed like money-boxes
 
 252 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Against the sinner damn'd for poverty. 
 At last the learned and religious men 
 Fell to it mainly, crucifix in hand, 
 Until no splinter, ebony or linden, 
 Was left, of bulk, to make a toothpick of. 
 
 Agatha. Brother ! such speech is here irreverent. 
 
 Giovanna. Let him speak on : we are not queens all day. 
 Soldiers are rivals of the hierarchs, 40 
 
 And prone to jealousy, as less at ease. 
 Less wealthy, and, altho' the props of power, 
 Less powerful and commanding. 
 
 Maximin. Never queen 
 
 Spoke truer. I bear lusty hate to them. 
 
 Agatha. Again ? O Maximin ! before our princes 
 We never hate nor love. 
 
 Maximin. Then, lady, I 
 
 Am your worst vassal. 
 
 Giovanna. How ? 50 
 
 Maximin. Being taught to hate you . . 
 
 God pardon me ! None but the frockt could teach 
 So false a creed. But now the heart let loose 
 Swings quite the other way. Folks say they love 
 Their princes : sure they must have wrong'd them first. 
 I turned away mine eyes from your young beauty. 
 And muttered to my beard, and made it quiver 
 With my hard breathing of hard thoughts : but now 
 Conspirators shall come in vain against you : 
 Here is the sill they tread upon who enter. 60 
 
 [Striking his breast. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV. 
 
 Rupert's cloister. 
 
 Rupert [alone). Fealty sworn, should I retract so soon ? 
 I will live quiet . . no more crimes for me . . 
 When tliis is fairly over . . for a crime 
 It surely is . . albeit much holier men
 
 Fra Rupert. 253 
 
 Have done much worse and died in odour after. 
 
 They were spare men, and had poor appetites, 
 
 And wanted Httle sleep. 'Twont do with me. 
 
 Beside, I must get over this bad habit 
 
 Of talking to myself. One day or other 
 
 Some fool may read me, mark me, and do hurt. lO 
 
 And furthermore . . when highest dignities 
 
 Invest us, what is there to think about ? 
 
 What need for cleverness, wit, circumspection, 
 
 Or harm to any . . who keep still, submiss. 
 
 And brush not in attempting to pass by. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE V. 
 Stephen enters. 
 
 So, Stephen ! we Hungarians are sent off. 
 
 Stephen. Your Reverence is made bishop, we hear say : 
 As for us all . . 
 
 Rupert. Lupins . . when times are good. 
 
 Ah ! thou hast bowels ; thou canst pity others. 
 
 Stephen. I can myself. 
 
 Rupert. I all my countrymen. 
 
 I have been lately in that happy realm 
 
 Our native land. [ J V his per s. 
 
 Her kings should govern here. i o 
 
 Stephen. And everywhere. What loyal subject doubts 
 His prince's light o'er all other princes ? 
 
 Rupert. Here are sad discontents. The prince Butello, 
 Nephew of His Beatitude the Pope, 
 Can not yet touch this principality. 
 Durazzo, our sharp king, snatches it back, 
 Altho' the kingdom was bestowed on him 
 Under this compact. 
 
 Stephen. He will bring down bull 
 
 And thunder on his crown. The pope's own nephew ! 20 
 
 Rupert. No less a man. 
 
 Stephen. If there's pope's blood in
 
 2 54 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 He won't stand robbery. 
 
 Rtiptrl. We owe obedience 
 
 To kings . . unless a higher authority 
 Dissolves it. 
 
 Stephen. Doubtless : but what kings ? our own 
 
 Say I. 
 
 Rupert. O Stephen ! say it, say it softly. 
 Few ears can open and can close like mine. 30 
 
 Stephen [aside). Ah ! how good men all over are 
 
 maligned ! 
 
 Rupert. I would not trust another soul on earth . . 
 But others must be trusted. Lucky they 
 Who lirst bring over to right ways the brave, 
 First climb the pole and strip the garland off 
 With all its gold about it. Then what shouts! 
 What hu('s ! what olTers ! dowers, in chests, in farms . . 
 Ah ! these are worldly things too fondly prized ! 
 But there are what lie deeper ; the true praise 
 Of loyalty, of sanctity. 40 
 
 Stephen [ ponderbrr). 'Tis pleasant 
 To look into warm chest with well-wrought hinges 
 That turn half-vearlv. Pleasant too are farms 
 When harvest-moons hang over them, and wanes 
 Joit in the iron-tinged rut, and the white ox 
 Is call'd by name, and patted ere pull'd on. 
 
 Rupert. These are all thine. I have lived many days 
 And never known that man unjjrospcrous 
 Who served our holy church in high emprize. 
 
 Stephen. If SO, I wish I could. 50 
 
 Rupert. Wish we had kings 
 
 Who keep their words like ours of Hungary. 
 
 Stephen. Just. 
 
 Rupert. I have half a mind to let Elizabeth 
 
 Know what a zealous subject, what a brave. 
 Her daughter has at Naples. 
 
 Stephen. Would she give me 
 
 (For thanks in these hard times are wimly) money ? 
 Think you ? 
 
 Rupert. Don't squander all away. Few know 60
 
 Fra Rupert. 255 
 
 Its power, its privilege. It dubs the noble, 
 It raises from the dust the man as light. 
 It turns frowns into smiles, it makes the breath 
 Of sore decrepitude breathe fresh as morn 
 Into maternal ear and virgin breast. 
 
 Stephen. Is that all it can do ? I sec much farther. 
 I see full twenty hens upon the peich, 
 I see fat cheese moist as a charnel-house, 
 I see hogs' snouts under the door, I see 
 Flitches of bacon in the rack above. 70 
 
 Rupert. Rational sights ! fail- hopes ! unguilty wishes ! 
 I am resolved : I can refrain no longer : 
 Thou art the man for prince to rest upon. 
 The plain, sound, sensible, straightforward man. 
 No courtier . . or not much of one . . but fit 
 To show courts what they should be. Hide this letter. 
 Mind ! if thou losest it, or let'st an eye 
 Glance on it, I may want the power again 
 To serve thee : thou art ruin'd. The new king 
 Might chide and chafe should Rupert ask another 80 
 
 To forward any sent he would prefer 
 For friend or kindred. Since thou must return 
 To Hungary, thou shalt not go ill-fed. 
 'Tis to the queen's confessor ; look at it ; 
 Now put it up ; now, godson of our Saint ! 
 Take this poor purse, and, honest soul ! this blessing. 
 Guides thou shalt have all the first day, and rules 
 How to go forward on the road : so speed thee ! 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 CASTLE OF MURO. 
 
 GiovANNA, Agatha. 
 
 Giovanna. Long have we lived in one impr-isonment ; 
 Our tears have darkened many a thread about 
 Each distaff, at the whitening half-spent fire 
 On winter-night; many a one when deep purple
 
 256 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Cloth'd yonder mountain after summer-day, 
 
 And one sole bird was singing, sad though free. 
 
 Death, like all others, hath forgotten me, 
 
 And grief, methinks, now growing old, grows lighter. 
 
 Agatha. To see you smile amid your grief, consoles me. 
 
 Gio'vanna. I never wanted confidence in you, lo 
 
 Yet never have I opened my full mind, 
 Keeping some thoughts secreted, altho' bent 
 To draw them out before you. They have lain 
 Like letters which, however long desired, 
 We cover with the hand upon the table 
 And dare not open. 
 
 Agatha. If relief there be. 
 
 Why pause ? if not, why blame your diffidence ? 
 
 Giovamia. Fostered too fondly, I shot up too tall 
 In happiness : it wasted soon. Taranto 20 
 
 Had my first love ; Andrea my first vow. 
 And warm affection, which shuts out sometimes 
 Love, rather than embraces it. To lose him 
 Pained me, God knows ! and worse (so lost ! ) than all 
 The wild reports Hungarians spread about me. 
 My first admirer was my first avenger. 
 He, laying at my feet his conquering sword, 
 Withdrew. Two years elapst, he urged the dangers 
 That still encompast me ; rccall'd our walks. 
 Our studies, our reproofs for idling, smiled at 30 
 
 By (O kind man!) the grandfather of both. 
 I bade him hope. Hope springs up at that word 
 And disappears ; Love, radiant Love, alights. 
 Taranto was my joy ; my heart was full : 
 Alas ! how little can the full heart spare ? 
 I paus'd . . because I ill might utter it . . 
 In time he turn'd his fancies to another. 
 Wretchcdest of the wretched was I now ; 
 But gentle tones much comforted my anguish. 
 Until they ended ; then loud throbs confused 40 
 
 The treasured words ; then heavy sleep opprest me. 
 I was ashamed . . 1 am ashamed . . yet (am I 
 Unwomanly to own it?) wlien he loved
 
 Fra Rupert. 257 
 
 One only, I was driven to despair ; 
 
 When more . . Adieu Taranto ! cried my heart 
 
 And almost sank thro' sorrow into peace. 
 
 O that fresh crimes in him should solace me ! 
 
 My life of love was over, when his spirit 
 
 Flew from my lips, and carried my forgiveness 
 
 On high, for Heaven's. 5° 
 
 Wars burst forth again ; 
 He who defended me from their assaults 
 Saw in me what to love, but whom to love 
 He found not in me. 
 
 " If my confidence. 
 My gratitude," said I, " suffice thee, Otho, 
 Here is my hand." 
 
 He took it, and he wept. 
 Brave man ! and let me also weep for thee ! 
 
 Agatha. Not beauteous youth enrobed in royal purple 60 
 And bright with early hope, have moved you so. 
 
 Giovanna. Record not either ; let me dwell on Otho : 
 The thoughts of him sink deeper in my pillow ; 
 His valiant heart and true one bleeds for me. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE II. 
 COURT-YARD OF MURO. 
 
 Maximin and Stephen. 
 
 Stephen. Maximin ! art thou close ? 
 
 Maximin. Yea, close enough, 
 
 Altho' I have the whole court-yard to cool in. 
 
 Stephen. I meant not that. 
 
 Maximin. A baton to a pike 
 
 Thou didst not ; else thou hadst not spoken it. 
 
 Stephen. Some folks think better of my understanding. 
 
 Maximin. None of thy heart : give me thy fist then, 
 Stephen. 
 
 Stephen. That sets all right. 
 
 Maximin. What brought thee hither ? 1 o 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 Dnimatic Scenes. 
 
 Stephen. What ? 
 
 Maxim'tn. Hast secrets ? 
 
 Stephen. None worth knowing. 
 
 Maxim'tn. No man has : 
 
 They never did any one good. 
 
 Stephen. They may. 
 
 Maximin ! hast commands for Hungary ? 
 
 Maxim'tn. For Hungaiy ? 
 
 Stephen. What ! is there no such place ? 
 
 Maximin. No, by my soul ! nor ever will for me. 20 
 
 Were not my sister here about her duty, 
 I could knock out my brains against the wall 
 To think of Hungary. 
 
 Stephen. Yet thou hast there 
 
 No croft, no homestead, pullet, chick. 
 
 Maximin. Hast thou ? 
 
 Stephen. I am a man at last. Wert thou but one ! 
 
 Maximin. Stephen, we will not quarrel. 
 
 Stephen. I am rich 
 
 I meant to say. 30 
 
 Maximin. So far so well : however. 
 Not some bold thief who stands some ages back 
 (Tho' better there than nearer) nor some bolder 
 Who twists God's word and overturns his scales, 
 Nor steel, nor soil in any quantity. 
 Nor gold, whose chain encompasses the globe. 
 Nor even courage, Stephen, is sufficient 
 To make a man : one breath on Woman's wrongs, 
 Lifting the heart, docs that. 
 
 Stephen. And other things. 40 
 
 Maximin. Chick, pullet, homestead, croft ; arc these our 
 makers ? 
 
 Stephen. I have them in this lining, one and all. 
 
 Maximin (^suspecting). Stephen ! I could show thee the 
 duplicate 
 In the same hand. He who fixt me at Muro 
 Will fix thee too in some such place as firmly. 
 What ! hast no heart for castles ? art low-minded i 
 How ! with chick, pullet, homestead, croft ? Sit down :
 
 Fra Rupert. 259 
 
 Thou didst not sweat so after all thy walk 
 As thou dost now. What ails thee, man ? 
 
 Stephen. What ails me ! 50 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Maximin. But did Fra Rupert, did he truly 
 Clap thee up here ? Cleverly done ! Don't blame him. 
 
 Stephen. Blame him ! if friar he were not, and moreover 
 The tadpole of a bishop, by the martyr ! 
 I would run back and grapple with his weazon. 
 
 Maximin. He is too cunning for us simple men. 
 
 Stephen. For thee, it seems, he has been . . but for me, 
 I, man or child, was never yet out-witted. 
 
 Maximin. Ah ! we all think so ; yet all are, by weaker. 
 And now about the letter. [60 
 
 Stephen. Thee he trusted ; 
 
 I know he did ; show me the duplicate. 
 
 Maximin. Duplicates are not written first nor shown first. 
 How many men art good against ? 
 
 Stephen. One only. 
 
 Maximin. Then five might overmaster thee and gag thee. 
 And five are ready in the Apennines ; 
 If I knew where exactly, I would tell thee. 
 
 Stephen. A fiend of hell in frock ! yo 
 
 Maximin. No, not so bad : 
 
 He, without blame or danger on thy part, 
 Shall build thy fortune. 
 
 Stephen. He ? I scorn the thief . . 
 
 Beside . . he would not. 
 
 Maximin. Would or not, he shall. 
 
 [Stephen hesitates. 
 Am I an honest man ? 
 
 Stephen. Why ! as men go. 
 
 Maximin. Give me the letter then, and, on my life. 
 It shall do more and better for thee much 80 
 
 Than placed in any other hands but mine. 
 
 [_y4n O^cer passes. 
 Ho ! Captain ! see an honest man at last, 
 
 [_Giving him the letter. 
 And you the very one he came about.
 
 26o Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Stephen {^threatening Maximin). Traitor ! 
 
 Maxm'in. A traitor, with a vengeance, is he. 
 
 Stephen. Hangman ! 
 
 Maximin. Thou needst not call him ; he will come 
 Presently. [_To the Officer. 
 
 This poor hind hath saved the prince 
 From insurrection, from invasion. Read. [^Officer reads. 90 
 The royal favour will shine wai^m upon 
 One friend of mine. 
 
 Officer. Be sure : he will be made. 
 
 'Tis but our service . . We must not complain . . 
 Tho' there are things, of late, which soldiers' crops 
 Swell high against. We captains . . 
 
 Maximin. Ay, we captains ! . . 
 
 Offcer. I must be gone to Naples ; so must thou 
 My gallant grey-coat. \Goes out. 
 
 Maximin. Tell me how thou earnest lOO 
 
 To Muro, of all places in the world, 
 It lies so wide of any road to Hungary. 
 
 Stephen. Fra Rupert bade me follow at mid-day 
 A band of holy mendicants, due-south, 
 To baffle all suspicion : the next morn 
 To cross the mountains on my left, and turn 
 Northward, and then take boat by Pesaro. 
 While they were stretcht along the levelest tiles 
 In the best chamber . . being mendicants . . 
 Each on his sheepskin . . for they love soft lying . . i 10 
 Of grand farm-house ; and while nighthawk and grillo 
 Fought for it which should sing them fn-st to sleep ; 
 And while aside them, in brass pot unfathom'd. 
 The rich goat-whey was ripening for next breakfast, 
 I thought of my far sheep and my near friend ; 
 My near friend first ; and so, by luck, here am I. 
 
 Maximin. But how didst dream that thou shouldst find 
 me here l 
 
 Stephen. Who, in the Virgin's name, should first step up. 
 After I bade the mendicants good-bye, 
 
 Who but Auguslin ! Much about our country, 120 
 
 Mops, wakes, fiirs, may-poles, gipsy-girls, and foitunes,
 
 Fra Rupert. 261 
 
 When suddenly, as one that knew them all, 
 
 He whisper'd thou wert ait this Muro here, 
 
 Some twenty miles, or near upon it, off. 
 
 I must fain see thee. After three hours' walk 
 
 I ask the distance : twenty-five miles scant. 
 
 At night I supt and slept with an old shepherd : 
 
 His dog soon crope betwixt us, so genteely, 
 
 I should have never known it, but his nose 
 
 Was cold against my ear, and, when I turn'd, i 30 
 
 A snag or two was at it . . without harm. 
 
 Morning blew sharp upon us from the hills. 
 
 " How far are we from Muro, my good man ? " 
 
 Said I, and dipt my olive in the salt. 
 
 " Scant thirty miles." Let never man believe 
 
 In luck ! I overturned the salt, alert 
 
 To hurry on ; yet here thou seest me, rich . . 
 
 Sleeping six hours in winter, five in summer. 
 
 Maximtn [pondering). Augustin told thee I was here! 
 Augustin ! 
 How should he know ? One only knew beside ' 1 40 
 
 The friar : he never would have told : she told him. 
 
 [Walks about impatiently. 
 Augustin has smooth locks and fresh complexion, 
 And heels for dance and voice for dulcimer. 
 Rare articles at finding secrets out : 
 But, with thy slanting face, and arm curl'd round 
 The inside canework of a padded chair, 
 And leg oblique slid negligently under, 
 If thou wouldst keep them nicely in repair 
 Ferret no more my secrets out, Augustin ! 
 
 Officer [returned). Ready? my dapple grey! ready for 
 Naples.'' I ro 
 
 Stephen. Not without Maximin. By his advice 
 I call'd you in to help us : he shall have 
 His share. 
 
 Maximin. When our blythe king sniffs up the wind, 
 And sees the clouds roll mainly from the north, 
 And finds Giovanna's enemies advance. 
 He may be kinder to her : so, commander,
 
 262 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 If you believe I did my duty now, 
 
 Let me confirm the letter you convey. 
 
 Officer. Canst thou add aught ? 160 
 
 Maxlmin. Much, were there much required. 
 
 Officer. Come then along : we will drink gold to-morrow. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE III. 
 
 MONASTERY GARDENS. 
 
 Rupert (alotie). I must have peace: I can not live with- 
 out it : 
 Only few years (who knows) may yet remain. 
 They shall not hurt the queen : in part the harm 
 Would be my doing. But then Maximin . . 
 He too . . yet why not let him die in battle ? 
 Battles there will be : kings are all tenacious 
 Of their king-life : Italians are astute, 
 Hungarians valiant : two stout swords must clash 
 Before one break. 
 
 That Agatha, that Agatha 10 
 
 Troubles me most of all ! Suppose she comes 
 Into my very palace at Nocera, 
 And tells the people what the bishop did ! 
 Never was blow cruel like this since Herod. 
 Giovanna must then live, if for her sake 
 Alone ; for such her tenderness, her truth, 
 She'll not abandon her while life remains. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE IV. 
 
 PALACE IN NAPLES. 
 
 DuRAzzo. Chancellor. Privy-counsellors. 
 
 Dimfz-zo. Speak, my lord chancellor : you now have read 
 The letter through : can doubt remain upon it ? 
 
 [Chancellor shakes his head. 
 Gentlemen ! you have heard it : what think you ? 
 
 First Counsellor. Tiaitorous, if there be treason.
 
 Fra Rupert. 263 
 
 Second Counsellor. Sentence then. 
 
 Chancellor. Powerful is Rupert : many think him saintly, 
 All know him wise and wary : he has friends 
 In every house, and most among the women. 
 Such men are dangerous to impeach : beside, 
 Being now bishop . . ' o 
 
 Duraz%o. Not quite yet : appointed, 
 
 Not seated. 
 
 Chancellor. No ? This changes the whole aspect. 
 Once bearing that high dignity, once throned . . 
 
 Duraz%o. I like no thrones that narrow mine too much, 
 And wonder wherefore clergymen should mount them. 
 
 Chancellor. However, sii", since such hath been the custom 
 From barbarous times . . 
 
 Dura%%o. Till times herein as barbarous . . 
 
 Chancellor. We must observe the usage of the realm, 20 
 And keep our hands from touching things held sacred. 
 Few days ago, for lighter crimes the friar 
 Might have been punisht with severity. 
 
 First Counsellor. Even now, although his legs begin to 
 sprout 
 With scarlet plumage, we may crop his crest ; 
 But better on the beam than in the yard. 
 
 Third Counsellor. It would put by much bickering. 
 
 Fourth Counsellor. There are many 
 Expectants, holy men, who would condemn 
 In any court ecclesiastical 3° 
 
 Appeal so manifest to foreign force. 
 And strip him to the skin to wash him clean. 
 
 Fifth Counsellor. And there are civil laws which tread on 
 velvet 
 And leave no scandal when they pass the door ; 
 Modest and mild and beautifully drest. 
 And void of all loquacity, all pomp ; 
 They, should you ask them what they are, reply 
 " We are not laws ; we are prerogatives." 
 
 Carlo. Paoluccio ! wit may give the best advice. 
 Far be from me all violence. If the criminal 40 
 
 Be strong and boisterous, the ecclesiastical
 
 264 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Craving and crafty, swift or slow at pleasure, 
 At least our civil laws are excellent, 
 And what you call prerogatives are civil. 
 
 Paoluccio. I class them so. 
 
 Many at once. They are the best of all. 
 
 Carlo. I will pursue this counsel. 
 
 You may rise. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE I. 
 CASTLE OF MURO. 
 
 GiovANNA. Agatha. Otho. Officers. 
 
 G'tovanna. What shouts are those ? whose voice, above them 
 all, 
 Above the neighing horse and trumpet's clang, 
 Calls to the rescue ? Can I doubt ? . . 
 
 My Otho ! 
 My Otho ! rush not rashly into fight : 
 Thou canst not free me. 
 
 Agatha. He has beat them off . . 
 
 He enters. 
 
 Officer. Yes, he enters. 
 
 Otho {nvounded mortally^. Take the ransom . . 10 
 
 'Tis small . . 'tis only one worn life . . and loose her. 
 
 G'lovanna. Not from thy neck, my Otho, while thou livest, 
 Or while I live. 
 
 Otho. Giovanna hath embraced me . . 
 
 I now have lived . . life should be over now. 
 
 Officer. His breath is gone : bear him away : the king 
 
 [^Points to the Queen, ivho sivoons. 
 May have commands for her. 
 
 Agatha. My queen ! my queen ! 
 
 My friend ! my comforter ! Oh ! that no more. [Falls.
 
 Fra Rupert. 265 
 
 ACT V. SCENE II. 
 
 palace, naples. 
 Margarita. Durazzo. 
 
 Margarita. I can not see what mighty things indeed 
 My aunt Giovanna ever did for me : 
 Can you ? 
 
 Duraz%o. They long are over, if she did. 
 
 Margarita. Beside . . 
 
 Dura%%o. Now what beside ? 
 
 Margarita. I had almost 
 
 Said such a foolish thing ! 
 
 Dura%%o. You ! Margarita ! 
 
 Margarita. I was about to say she did no more 10 
 
 For me than you. If she loved me, she loved me 
 Because she loved my mother, her own sister ; 
 Where is the wonder ? where the merit ? 
 
 Durazzo. None. 
 
 Margarita. She even loved another sister, her 
 Whom people called Fiammetta ; God knows why ; 
 No Christian name, nought Christian-like about it. 
 She was the one of Sicily, who fancied 
 (O shame upon her!) somebody . • a writer. 
 
 Duraz,zo. What wiiter ? 20 
 
 Margarita. Is not that enough ? a writer ! 
 
 Durazzo. There is not much to thank her for, if all 
 Partake of her affection, even those 
 Who sink so low. 
 
 Margarita. She played with you the most ; 
 
 Perhaps because she thought you like her child. 
 She did show pleasure when she fondled me ; 
 But 'twas not to make me the happier, 
 Although it did so, but herself . . herself. 
 Yet, Carlo, would you think it ! there are times 30 
 
 When I am ready to desire of you 
 That you would let her out of such a den
 
 2 66 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 At Muro. 
 
 Durazzo. Had you mentioned it before, 
 As wishing it . . why, then indeed . . 
 
 Margarita. So, then. 
 
 You would have let her out ? How very kind ! 
 
 Dura'z.'z.o. If we could have persuaded her to go. 
 
 Margarita. Persuaded her ? what ! out of prison ? 
 
 Durazzo. Do not 40 
 
 Term it so harshly : who can bear to hear 
 Of prisons ? 
 
 Margarita. Is the tower indeed not lockt 
 Nor bolted ? 
 
 Duraz%o. People would run into it 
 And trouble her devotions. At this time 
 She needs them most particularly. 
 
 Margarita. Why ? 
 
 Dura%z,o. Her health declines. 
 
 Margarita. Is she in danger? 50 
 
 Durazzo. Some. 
 
 Margarita. Imminent ? 
 
 Durazzo. There are fears. 
 
 Margarita. About her life ? 
 
 Durazzo. Men shake their heads. 
 
 Margarita. O Carlo ! O my Carlo ! 
 
 I have . . (will God forgive nic ?) been ungrateful. 
 And all this time ! . . when, but one moment of it . . 
 My hand in hers, or hers upon my head . . 
 
 Durazzo. Hush ! Margarita ! thou'rt a queen : be 
 
 calm, 60 
 
 And worthy of the station we enjoy. \_He leads her out. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE III. 
 
 palace, naples. 
 
 High Steward. Chamberlain. Chancellor. Durazzo. 
 
 Chamberlain. Wary and slow is this our chancellor. 
 Where title-deeds are fluttering in suspense ; 
 The pcrill'd life and honour of his queen
 
 Fra Rupert. 267 
 
 He passes as he would a wretch in chains 
 On the road-side, saying, So ! there thou art ! 
 
 Lord High Stenuard. We want such men's religion, their 
 sound sense, 
 Coolness, deliberation, ponderous front. 
 Broad and dark eyebrow. Much of dignity. 
 Reverence and awe, build on these crags alone. 
 
 Lord Chamberlain. Ye have them all in one. I hear his 
 foot : I o 
 
 The king steps lighter : both advance. 
 
 Lord High Stetuard. Who come 
 
 Behind ? ■ for there are many. 
 
 (DuRAZZo, Chancellor, Counsellors, enter.) 
 
 Duraxzo. Take your seats. 
 
 Gentlemen ! ye have heard with indignation 
 The rash attempt against my peace and yours, 
 iVIade by the Suabian, husband of Giovanna. 
 
 Lord Chamberlain. We hear, by Heaven's protection of 
 your Highness, 
 It fail'd. 
 
 Lord High Steivard. And that he fell in the attempt. 20 
 
 Di/razzo. Desperate, he cut his way, tho' wounded, thro' 
 My bravest troops, but could not force the gate ; 
 Horsemen are weak at walls nine fathoms high ; 
 He had scarce twenty with him. 
 
 Chancellor. There he paid 
 
 His forfeit life, declared already traitor. 
 
 Durazxo. On this we are not met, but to deliberate 
 On the state's safety. My lord chancellor, 
 Is the queen guilty ? 
 
 Chancellor (^starts). We must try her first, 30 
 
 Privately ; then decide. 
 
 Durazzo. Yea, privately ; 
 
 So pleaseth me. Take then your secretaries 
 And question her ; decorously, humanely.
 
 268 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE IV. 
 CASTLE OF MURO. 
 
 GiovANNA. Chancellor. High Steward. Chamberlain. 
 
 Secretaries. 
 
 Chancellor. Lady ! we have heard all, and only ask 
 (For the realm's weal) your Highness will vouchsafe 
 To sign this parchment. 
 
 Giovanna (^taking it). What contains it ? 
 
 Chancellor. Peace. 
 
 Giovanna, I then would sign it with my blood ; but blood 
 Running from royal veins never sign'd peace. \_Rea(ls. 
 
 It seems I am required to abdicate 
 In favour of Duke Carlo of Durazzo. 
 
 Chancellor. Even so. lO 
 
 Giovanna [to the others). To you I turn me, gentlemen ! 
 If ever you are told that I admitted 
 His unjust claims, if ever you behold 
 Sign'd, as you fancy, by my hand the parchment 
 That waives our kingdom from its rightful heir, 
 Believe it not : only believe these tears. 
 Of which no false one ever fell from me 
 Among the many 'twas my fate to shed. 
 I want not yours ; they come too late, my friends ; 
 Farewell, then ! You may live and serve your country ; 20 
 These walls are mine, and nothing now beyond. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE V. 
 NAPLES. 
 
 Maximin. Stephen. 
 
 Maximin. Among the idle and the fortunate 
 Never drops one but catafalc and canojjy 
 Are ready for him : organ raves above, 
 And songsters wnng their hands and push dull rhymes 
 Into dull ears that worse than wax hath stopt,
 
 Fra Rupert. 269 
 
 And cherubs puff their cheeks and cry half-split 
 With striding so across his monument. 
 Name me one honest man for whom such plays 
 Were ever acted. 
 
 They will ne'er lay Otho lO 
 
 With kindred clay ! no helm, no boot beside 
 His hurried bier ! no stamp of stately soldier 
 Angry with grief and swearing hot revenge, 
 Until even the paid priest turns round and winks. 
 I will away : sick, weary . . 
 
 (Stephen enters.) 
 
 Stephen. Hast thou heard 
 
 The saddest thing ? 
 
 Maximin. Heard it ? . . committed it, 
 
 Say rather. But for thee and thy curst gold, 
 Which, like magician's, turns to dust, I trow, 20 
 
 I had received him in the gate, and brought 
 The treasure of his soul before his eyes : 
 He had not closed them so. 
 
 Stephen. Worst of it all 
 
 Is the queen's death. 
 
 Maximin. The queen's ? 
 
 Stephen. They stifled her 
 
 With her own pillow. 
 
 Maximin. Who says that ? 
 
 Stephen. The man ^ 30 
 
 Runs wild who did it, through the streets, and howls it. 
 Then imitates her voice, and softly sobs 
 " Lay me in Santa Chiara. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE VI. 
 
 naples. before the palace. among guards. 
 
 Maximin. Durazzo. 
 
 Maximin. Gallant prince ! 
 
 Conqueror of more than men, of more than heroes ! 
 What may that soldier merit who deserts
 
 270 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 His post, and lets tlie enemy to the tent ? 
 
 Durazzo. Death is the sentence. 
 
 Maximin. Sign that sentence then. 
 
 I shall be found beside a new-made grave 
 In Santa Chiara. 
 
 Dura%zo. Art thou mad ? 
 
 Maximin. I shall be lO 
 
 If you delay. 
 
 Duraz'z.o {to Guards). See this man into Hungary. 
 
 ACT V. SCENE VII. 
 NAPLES. MONASTERY GARDEN. 
 
 Rupert [alone). There are some pleasures serious men sigh 
 over, 
 And there are others maniacs hug in chains : 
 I wonder what they are : I would exchange 
 All mine for cither, all that e'er were mine. 
 I have been sadly treated my whole life, 
 Cruelly slighted, shamefully maligned : 
 And this too will be laid upon my shoulders. 
 If men are witty, all the wit of others 
 Bespangles them ; if criminal, all crimes 
 Are shoveled to their doors. i o 
 
 God knows how truly 
 I wisht her life ; not her imprisonment 
 More truly. Maximin and Agatha 
 In the queen's life would never have come forth. 
 
 Men of late years have handled me so roughly, 
 I am become less gentle than I was. 
 Derision, scoffs and scorns, must be rebuft, 
 Or we can do no good in act or counsel. 
 Respect is needful, is our air, our day, 
 
 'Tis in the sight of men we see ourselves, 20 
 
 Without it we are dark and halt and speechless. 
 Religion in respect and power hath biing, 
 And pcribhes without them. Power I hold :
 
 Fra Rupert. 271 
 
 Why shun men's looks ? why my own thoughts . . afraid ? 
 No, I am not afraid : but phantasies 
 Long dwelt on let us thro'. 
 
 If I do quail, 
 'Tis not the mind, the spirit ; 'tis the body. 
 
 A Monk {^entering). Father I come from Muro, where a 
 woman 
 (Sickly before) for days refused all food, 30 
 
 And now is dead. 
 
 Rupert, What is her name ? 
 
 Monk. One Agatha. 
 
 Rupert. Did she receive the holy Sacrament ? 
 
 Monh. You must have known she did, else why such joy ? 
 She would receive nought else. 
 
 Rupert. Then she is safe. 
 
 Monk. We trust in God she is : yet she herself 
 Had pious doubt. 
 
 Rupert. Of what was her discourse ? 40 
 
 Monk. Her mind, ere she departed, wandered from her. 
 
 Rupert. What did she talk about i dost hear ? 
 
 Monk. She said, 
 
 " Rupert, if he could see me, might be " . . . 
 
 Rupert. What ? 
 
 Monk. Her mind, obseiTe, was wandering. 
 
 Rupert. Thine is too. 
 
 Tell me the very word she uttered. 
 
 Monk. " Saved." 
 
 Blessings upon her ! your uplifted hands 50 
 
 And radiant brow announce her present bliss. 
 
 Rupert. Said she no more ? 
 
 Monk. " Since he's not here, take these. 
 
 And let the friar and his brotherhood 
 Say 'masses for my soul : it may do good 
 To theirs no less." 
 
 I stoopt the holy taper. 
 And through her fingers and her palm could see 
 That she held something : she had given it 
 But it dropt out of them : this crucifix, 60 
 
 From which the square-set jewels were removed.
 
 272 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 And this broad golden piece, with its long chain 
 Of soft dark, hair, like our late queen Giovanna's. 
 
 Rupert. Her medal . . anno prima . . All goes right. 
 
 Monk. Your blessing ! 
 
 Rupert. Take it, pr'ythee, and begone. [Monk goes. 
 
 Nothing has hurt me : none have seen me. None I 
 Ye saints of heaven ! hath ever prayer been miss'd ? 
 Penance, tho' hard, been ever unperform'd ? 
 Why do yc then abandon me ? like one 7^^ 
 
 Whom in your wrath ye hurl aside ; like one 
 Scathed by those lightnings which God's sleepless eye 
 Smites earth with, and which devils underneath, 
 Feeling it in the abysses of the abyss, 
 Rejoice was not for them. 
 
 Repent I did . . 
 Even of Agatha I did repent. 
 I did repent the noble friends had fallen. 
 Could they not have been wiser, and escaped. 
 By curbing evil passions, pride, distrust, 80 
 
 Defiance ? It was wrong in them : in me 
 'Twas not quite well : 'twas harsh, 'twas merciless : 
 Andrea had not done it : wrong'd, betray'd, 
 Andrea had not done it. 
 
 Have my words 
 Sorcery in them ? do they wake the dead ? 
 Hide thy pale face, dear boy ! hide from my sight 
 Those two dark drops that stain thy scanty beard. 
 Hide those two eyes that start so ! Curse me, kill me ; 
 'Twere mercy, 'twere compassion, not revenge ; 90 
 
 Justice, the echo of God's voice, cries More ! 
 I can endure all else. 
 
 I will arise. 
 Push off this rack that rends me, rush before him 
 And ask him why he made me what I am. 
 
 (Enter Officers.) 
 First Officer. Traitor ! the king hath traced all thy devices. 
 Rupert. Without them he had ne'er been what ye style 
 him.
 
 Fra Rupert. 2 73 
 
 Second Officer. Avowest thou thy perfidy ? 
 
 Rupert. And his. 
 
 Third Officer. Murderer ! thou shalt confess. 1 00 
 
 Rupert. 'Twere royal bounty. 
 
 Third OJfficer. And die. 
 
 Rupert. 'Twere more than royal. 
 
 First OJfficer. Come thy way. 
 
 Rupert. My way ? my way I . . I've travell'd it enough. 
 With or without thee I will take another. 
 
 Second Officer. Whither ! 
 
 Rupert {^points to the luindoiv). Look yonder ! 
 There it lies. \_Stabs himself. 
 
 Andrea ! 1 1 o 
 
 First OJfficer [after a pause'). Merciful God ! end thus his 
 many crimes ? 
 
 Third OJfficer [after a pause). What moans and piteous 
 wailings from the street ! 
 
 Second OJfficer. Can they arise for him so suddenly ? 
 
 First OJicer. There are too many. None hath told the 
 deed 
 Beyond this spot, none seen it. 
 
 Third Offfcer. Now you hear 
 
 Distinctly ; if distinctly may be heard 
 The wail of thousands. 
 
 Second OJicer. Their queen's name they cry . . 
 
 Third OJicer. With blessings. 1 20 
 
 First OJicer. Now, at last, ye know Giovanna ; 
 
 And now will Rupert too be known, tho' late. 
 
 VOL. i.
 
 274 
 
 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 THE SIEGE OF ANCONA. 
 
 No event in the historj' of Italy, including the Roman, is at once so 
 tragical and so glorious as the siege of Ancona ; nor shall we find 
 at any period ot it, two contemporaiy characters so admirable for 
 disinterested valour and prompt humanity, as William degli 
 Adelardi of Marchesella, and the Countess of Bertinoro. The 
 names of those who sustained the siege are. for the most part, 
 forgotten : but Muratori has inserted in his imperishable work 
 the narratives of contemporary and nearly contemporary authors ; 
 and Sismondi has rendered many of the facts more generally 
 known. — Hist, des Repub. ItaL, tome xi. ch. i. 
 
 MALE CHARACTERS. 
 
 The Consul of Ancona. The Archbishop of Mentz. The Bishop 
 OF Ancona. Antonio Stamura. Father John. Minuzzi. 
 CosTANZlO. CoRRADO, brother of Costanzio. Paolucci, formerly 
 Consul. Marchesella. Herald, Senators, Officers, Priests, 
 
 People. 
 
 FEMALE CHARACTERS. 
 
 Erminla, the ConsuPs daughter. NiNA, her companion. Angelica, mother 
 of Antonio Stamura. Malaspina. Countess of Bertinoro. 
 Marca, attendant on Erminia. 
 
 ACT L SCENE I. 
 
 On the steps of the cathedral, commanding a view of the country. 
 Many of all ages are leaving the church and looking at the 
 approach of the Archbishop, just beyond the walls, descending 
 the hill. 
 
 Erminia. Nina ! see what our matin prayers have brought 
 us. 
 () what a sight ! The youth and maidens fly,
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 275 
 
 Some to the city, others up the hills, 
 
 With the fresh tale each for the one loved best. 
 
 Nina. They are afraid to meet so many horses ; 
 I would not scud away so, were I there, 
 Would you ? 
 
 Ermtnia. My dress would show the dust ; or else . . 
 I run to tell my father : go, tell yours. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE II. 
 
 consul's house. 
 Consul and Erminia. 
 
 Erm'in'ia. Father ! why are not all the bells set ringing ? 
 
 Consul. What should the bells be ringing for to-day ? 
 
 Erminia. Such a procession comes along the road 
 As never was : some bishop at the head : 
 And what a horse is under him ! and what 
 Beautiful boys . . they really are but boys, 
 Dear father . . hold the bridle on each side ! 
 Scarlet and gold about their sui-plices. 
 And waving hair ; not like church servitors, 
 But princes' sons. I would give all the world 10 
 
 To see their faces . . not quite all the world . . 
 For who would care aboui, boys' faces, father ? 
 Beside, they are too distant, very far. 
 
 Consul. Art thou gone wild, Erminia ? 
 
 Erminia. Come and see. 
 
 Consul {^listening, and rising). What means this tumult ? 
 
 Senators enter. 
 
 Consul ! we are lost. 
 Consul. How so ? 
 
 First Senator. The archbishop comes, from Barbarossa, 
 Against the city. 20 
 
 Consul. What archbishop comes ? 
 
 Second Senator. Of Mentz. 
 Consul. Then close the gates, and man the walls.
 
 276 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 And hurl defiance on him. Bring my robe, 
 Erminia ! I will question this proud prelate. 
 Gasparo, lift my armour from the wall 
 In readiness. 
 
 Officer. A herald, sir, claims entrance. 
 
 Herald enters. 
 
 Consul. What would your master with his perfidy ? 
 
 Herald. My master is the emperor and king. 30 
 
 Consul. The more perfidious. Binds him not his oath 
 To succour Italy ? Is slavery succour ? 
 Tell the false priest thou comest from, that priest 
 Who took the name of Christian at the font, 
 'Twere well he held not in such mockery 
 The blessed one he bears it from. But wealth 
 And power put Wisdom's eyes out, lest she rule. 
 
 Herald. Sir Consul ! if the archbishop never preaches. 
 Pray why should you ? It ill becomes my office 
 To bandy words : mine is but to repeat 40 
 
 The words of others : and their words are these : 
 " The people of Ancona must resign 
 Their lawless independence, and submit 
 To Frederick, our emperor and king." 
 
 Consul. Brief is the speech ; and brief is the reply. 
 The people of Ancona will maintain 
 Their lawful independence, and submit 
 No tittle, sir, to emperor or king. 
 
 Herald. Is this the final answer ? 
 
 Consul. Lead him forth. 50 
 
 Officer (^enters). Sir! ere you hasten to the walls, look 
 once 
 Toward the harbour. 
 
 Consul. Gracious Heaven ! what sails 
 
 Arc those ? Venetian ? 
 
 OJficer. Yes ; and they take soundings. 
 
 Consul. Venice against us .■' Freedom's first-born child. 
 After the deluge that drowned Italy. 
 Alas ! the free are free but for themselves ; 
 They hate all others for it. The first murderer
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 277 
 
 (Their patron) slew his brother. Thus would they. 60 
 
 \^To the Officer. 
 Merluccio ! hasten, man ! call back again 
 Our mariners to leave the battlements 
 And guard their sisters and their mothers here. 
 
 Officer, Mothers and sisters follow'd them, to bring 
 Munition up the towers. 
 
 Consul. Bid them return : 
 
 The beach is open : thither is my road 
 Until more hands arrive. 
 
 Messenger {^enters). Sir! they weigh down 
 
 Machines for storming. 70 
 
 Consul. Go thou, tell Campiglio 
 
 To intercept them, if he can, before 
 They join the Germans on the hills above. 
 
 Erm'inla. O father ! here are none beside ourselves : 
 And those few people hauling in the boats 
 Can help us little ; they are so afraid. 
 
 Consul. Think not they are afraid because they pull 
 The oars with desperate strength and dissonance : 
 Who knows if they have each his loaf at home, 
 Or smallest fish set by from yesterday ? 80 
 
 The weather has been rough ; there is a swell 
 From the Adriatic. Leave me now, Erminia ! 
 
 Ermlnia. Alone, dear father ? 
 
 Consul (^placing his hand on the head of Ermisia). 
 
 He who watches over 
 The people, never is alone, my child ! 
 
 Ermlnia {^running back^. Here come the men who were 
 debarking. 
 
 MiNUZZi and others. 
 
 Minuzzi. Hail, 
 
 Sir Consul ! All our fears then were but vain ? 
 
 Consul. So ! you did fear ? 
 
 Minuzzi. Ay did we. The Venetians 90 
 
 Ride in huge galleys ; we ply boats for trade. 
 But since, Sir Consul, you expected them. 
 We are all safe. I did not much misgive 
 When one in gallant trim, a comely youth,
 
 278 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Outside the mole, but ready to slip in, 
 
 Beckon'd me from his boat, and gave me, smiling. 
 
 This letter, bidding me deliver it 
 
 Into no other hand beside the consul's, 
 
 And adding, " All will soon be well again." 
 
 I hope it may. But there was cause for doubt ! 1 00 
 
 The galleys have cast anchor. 
 
 Consul. Sure enough 
 
 They join our enemies. 
 
 Minuzzi. How ! One free state 
 
 Against another ! Slaves fight slaves, and kings 
 Fight kings : so let them, till the last has bled : 
 But shall wise men (and wise above the wise. 
 And free above the free are the Venetians) 
 Devastate our joint patrimony . . freedom ? 
 I fear not him who falls from such a highth 1 1 
 
 Before he strikes me. At him ! my brave boys ! 
 At him ! the recreant ! We have borne too much 
 In seeing his attempt. Could not we cut 
 The cables i* 
 
 Stamura. Rare, rare sport for us ! 
 Consul. Stamura ! 
 
 If wise Minuzzi deems it feasible, 
 Ye shall enjoy the pastime, while the wind 
 Sits in this quarter, blowing from due-cast 
 Hard into port : else must ye to the walls, 1 20 
 
 To meet full twenty thousand, well approved 
 In arms the most-part, all athirst for plunder. 
 Minuzzi. Where are they posted ? 
 
 Consul. At the battlements. 
 
 Minuzzi. Lads ! we must lose no time. 
 Sailor. Now let us see 
 
 Whether we too may not be mischievous 
 As they could wish us, this fine April morn. 
 
 Minuzzi. Each bring his hatchet. Off! and quickly 
 
 back. \.'tf^^yS°' 
 
 Father John enters. 
 
 One word, Sir Consul, ere we part, this one : i 30 
 
 My wife bits nigh the old church porch, infi rm
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 2 79 
 
 With many watchings ; thro' much love for me, 
 Tme-hearted ! should the waters wash me home, 
 Stiffen'd a little more than is convenient, 
 Let none displace her from that low stone seat. 
 Grant me my suit, unless I fail in duty. 
 
 Consul {^presses his hand). And these are breasts despotic 
 power would crush ! 
 
 [MiNuzzi going, meets Father John, ivho had listened. 
 
 Father John. Talk ye of hatchets ? 
 
 Consul. Father John ! good day ! 
 
 F. John. Yea, witli God's blessing, we will make it so. 
 
 Consul. I want your counsel on a perilous move. [ i 40 
 Father ! you were a diver in time past. 
 
 F. John. And in time present may be one again. 
 
 Minuzzi. Ah ! could you join us in our entei"pnse ! 
 
 F. John. What is it ? 
 
 Minuzzi. Why, to dive and cut the cables 
 Of yon Venetians dancing there so gaily, 
 And bowing in bright pennons to each other. 
 
 F. John. Is this the Doge's wedding-day with Adria ? 
 No dame in Venice ever played him falser 1 50 
 
 Than she will do, and haply before night. 
 Ye spoke of hatchet ! 'Twould but do poor work 
 Against a cable. 
 
 Stamura. We can hold our breath 
 
 A good while on such business. 
 
 Consul. Father John, 
 
 Could you devise some fitter instrument ? 
 
 Jllinuzzi. Ah ! what inventions have not priests devised ! 
 We all of us are what we are thro' them. 
 
 F. John. I love this reverence, my grey boy ! and aptly 
 Hast thou believed that Father John could frame [ 1 60 
 
 What will perform the work, else difficult. 
 I thought of Turks and Saracens, and flags 
 Bearing the crescent, not the winged lion. 
 When I prepared my double-handed sickle 
 To reap the hemp-field that lies under water. 
 I will dive too, and teach you on the way 
 How ye shall manage it. So fare you well, 
 Sir Consul I [ To the Man.
 
 28o Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 We have all the day before us 1 70 
 
 And not long work (tho' rather hard) to do. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE III. 
 Consul and Erminia. 
 
 Consul. Erminia ! read this letter. Wait awhile . . 
 Repress thy curiosity . . First tell me, 
 Erminia ! would'st thou form some great alliance ? 
 
 Erminia. Yes, father ! who would not ? 
 
 Consul. I know that none 
 
 Hath won that little heart of thine at present. 
 
 Erminia. Many, many have won it, my dear father ! 
 I never see one mn across the street 
 To help a lame man up or guide a blind man 
 But that one wins it : never hear one speak i o 
 
 As all should speak of you, but up my arms 
 Fly ready to embrace him ! 
 
 Consul. And when any 
 
 Says thou art beautiful, and says he loves thee, 
 What are they ready then for ? 
 
 Erminia. Not to beat him 
 
 Certainly : but none ever said such things. 
 They look at me because I am your daughter. 
 And I am glad they look at me for that, 
 And always smile, tho' some look very grave. 20 
 
 Consul. Well now, Erminia, should his Holiness 
 The Pope have sent his nephew with this letter. 
 Would you receive him willingly ? 
 
 Erminia. Most willingly. 
 
 Consul. Nay, that is scarcely maidenly, so soon. 
 
 Erminia. I would not if you disapprove of it. 
 
 Consul. I do suspect he came aboard the galleys. 
 
 Erminia. O then, the galleys are not enemies. 
 
 Consul. Not if thou givest him thy hand. What say'st 
 thou ? 
 
 Erminia. I never siiw him. 30
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 281 
 
 Consul. But suppose him handsome. 
 
 Indeed I hear much of his comeliness. 
 
 Erm'mia. Is that enough ? 
 
 Consul. And virtues. 
 
 Erminia. That alone 
 
 Is not enough, tho' very, veiy much. 
 He must be handsome too, he must be brave, 
 He must have seen me often, and must love me, 
 Before I love or think of him as lover : 
 
 For, father, you are not a king, you know, 40 
 
 Nor I a princess : so that all these qualities 
 (Unless you will it otherwise) are necessary. 
 
 Consul. Thou art grown thoughtful suddenly, and prudent. 
 
 Erminia. Do not such things require both thought and 
 prudence ? 
 
 Consul. In most they come but slowly ; and this ground 
 Is that where we most stumble on. The wise 
 Espouse the foolish ; and the fool bears off 
 From the top branch the guerdon of the wise : 
 Ay, the clear-sighted (in all other things) 
 Cast down their eyes and follow their own will, 50 
 
 Taking the hand of idiots. They well know 
 They shall repent, but find the road so pleasant 
 That leads into repentance. 
 
 Erminia. Ah, poor souls ! 
 
 They must have lost their fathers : then what wonder 
 That they have lost their way ! 
 
 Consul. Now, in few words, 
 
 Erminia, for time presses, let me tell thee. 
 The Pope will succour us against our foe 
 If I accept his nephew for a son. 60 
 
 Erminia. O father ! does that make our cause more 
 righteous ? 
 Or more unrighteous theirs who persecute us ? 
 
 Consul. No, child : but wilt thou hear him ? Rank and 
 riches 
 Will then be thine. Altho' not born a princess, 
 Thou wilt become one. 
 
 Erminia. I am more already ;
 
 282 Dnimatic Scenes. 
 
 I am your daughter ; yours, whom not one voice 
 Raised over all, but thousands. 
 
 Consul. I resign 
 
 My station in few days. 7° 
 
 Erminla. O stay in it 
 
 Until the enemy is beaten back, 
 That I may talk of it when I am old, 
 And, when I weep to think of you, may dry 
 My tears, and say, My father then luas Consul. 
 
 Consul. The power may be prolonged until my death. 
 
 Erminia. O no : the laws forbid it : do they not ? 
 
 Consul. He who can make and unmake every law, 
 Divine and human, will uphold my state 
 
 So long, acknowledging his power supreme ; 80 
 
 And laying the city's keys before his feet. 
 
 Erminia. Hath he not Peter's ? What can he want 
 more ? 
 
 father ! think again ! I am a child 
 Almost, and have not yet had time enough 
 Quite to unlearn the lessons you enforced 
 By precept and example. Bear with me ! 
 
 1 have made you unhappy many times, 
 You never made me so until this hour : 
 Bear with me, O my father ! 
 
 Consul. To my arms, 90 
 
 Erminia ! Thou hast read within my breast 
 Thy lesson backward, not sus])ecting guile. 
 Yes, I was guileful. I would try thy nature : 
 I fmd it what is rarely found in woman, 
 In man as rarely. The Venetian fleet 
 Would side with us ; their towers, their catapults 
 Would all be ours, and the Pope's nephew thine. 
 Would but thy fither place the power supreme 
 Within his hands, becoming his vicegerent. 
 I turn aside from fraud, and see how force 1 00 
 
 May best be met, in parley with the German.
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 28 
 
 ■J 
 
 ACT I. SCENE IV. 
 THE ENCAMPMENT AND TENT OF THE ARCHBISHOP UNDER THE WALLS. 
 
 Consul and Archbishop. 
 
 Archbishop. I do presume from your habiliments 
 You are the consul of this petty state. 
 
 Consul. I am. 
 
 ylrchbtshop. You may be seated. Once again . . 
 Will you surrender unconditionally ? 
 
 Consul. Nor unconditionally nor conditionally. 
 
 Archbishop. I sent for you to point where lies your duty. 
 
 Consul. It lies where I have left it, in the town. 
 
 Archbishop. You doubt my clemency. 
 
 Consul. Say rather '/jo/zoMr.' lO 
 
 Archbishop. Doubt you a soldier's honour ? 
 
 Consul. Not a soldier's. 
 
 But when the soldier and the priest unite, 
 Well may I doubt it. Goats are harmless brutes ; 
 Dragons may be avoided ; but when goat 
 And dragon form one creature, we abhor 
 The flames and coilings of the fell chimasra. 
 
 Archbishop. And therefore you refused a conference 
 Unless I pitch my tent beneath your walls, 
 Within an arrow's shot, distributing 20 
 
 Ten archers on each side ; ten mine, ten yours ? 
 
 Consul. No doctor of divinity in Paris 
 Is cleverer at divining. Thus it stands. 
 
 Archbishop. Ill brook I such affronts. 
 
 Consul. Ill brook, perhaps, 
 
 Florence and Pisa their ambassadors 
 Invited to a conference on peace. 
 And cast in prison. 
 
 Archbishop. Thus we teach the proud 
 
 Their duty. 30 
 
 Consul. Let the lame man teach the lame 
 To walk, the blind man teach the blind to see.
 
 284 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Archbishop. Insolent ! Unbecoming of my station 
 Were it to argue with a churl so rude. 
 Rise : look, before you thro' the tent : what see you ? 
 
 Consul. I see huge masses of green corn upheaved 
 Within a belt of palisades. 
 
 Archbishop. What else ? 
 
 Consul. Sheep, oxen, horses, trampling them. 
 
 Archbishop. No more ? 40 
 
 Consul. Other huge masses farther off are smoking, 
 Because their juices quench the faggot-fire. 
 
 Archbishop. And whence come these ? 
 
 Consul. From yonder houseless fields, 
 
 Of crops, and even of boundaries, bereft. 
 
 Archbishop. Whose were they \ 
 
 Consul. Whose ? The church's, past a doubt : 
 
 It never takes what is not freely given. 
 
 Archbishop. Proud rebels ! you have brought upon your 
 heads 
 This signal vengeance from offended Cassar. 50 
 
 Consul. And must ten thousand starve because one man 
 Is wounded in that part which better men 
 Cut from them, as ill-sorted with our nature ? 
 If Satan could have dropt it, he were saved. 
 
 Archbishop. What meanest thou ? What cast they from 
 them ? 
 
 Consul. Pride. 
 
 It clings round little breasts and masters them, 
 It drops from loftier, spurn'd and trodden down. 
 Is this, my lord archbishop, this your Eden ? 
 Is this the sacrifice of grateful herbs 60 
 
 Ye offer to your Gods ? And will the next 
 Be more acceptiible ? Burnt-offerings raised 
 In your high places, and fossed round with blood ! 
 
 Archbishop. Blasphemer ! I am here no priest ; I come 
 Avenger of insulted majesty. 
 But, if thou mindest Holy Writ, mind this. 
 The plainest thing, and worthiest of remembrance : . . 
 Render to Cncsar what is Caesar's, man ! 
 
 Consul. God will do that for us. Nought owe we Casar
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 285 
 
 But what he sent us when he sent you hither, 70 
 
 To cut our rising wheat, our bleeding vines, 
 To bum our olives for your wild carousals . . 
 
 Archbishop. The only wood that will burn green : it blazes 
 Most beautifully, and no smell from it. 
 But you Anconites have poor olive grounds, 
 We shall want more by Sunday. 
 
 Consul. May the curse 
 
 Of God be on you ! 
 
 Archbishop. We are not so impious : 
 
 It is on you : it were a sin to wish it. 80 
 
 Consul. Prince and archbishop ! there are woes that fall 
 Far short of curses, though sore chastisements ; 
 Prosperities there are that hit the mark, 
 And the clear-sighted see God's anger there. 
 
 Archbishop. Are nve constrain'd to drag and vex the sea 
 And harrow up the barren rocks below 
 For noisome weeds ? Are household animals 
 Struck off the knee to furnish our repast ? 
 
 Consul. Better endure than cause men this endurance. 
 
 Archbishop. Clearly ye think so : we think otherwise. 90 
 'Tis better to chastise than be chastised, 
 To be the judge than be the criminal. 
 
 Consul. How oft, when crimes are high enough to strike 
 The front of Heaven, are those two characters 
 Blended in one ! 
 
 Archbishop. I am not to be school'd 
 By insolence and audacity. 
 
 Consul. We are. 
 
 It seems : but fortitude and trust in God 
 Will triumph yet. Our conference is closed. 1 00 
 
 ACT II. SCENE I. 
 AT THE RAMPARTS. 
 
 Angelica, Stamura, and Soldiers. 
 
 Angelica. See ye those towers that stride against the walls ? 
 Soldier. See you this arrow ? Few were not more fatal
 
 286 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 That flew from them : but this arrests my ami 
 Perhaps beyond to-morrow. 
 
 jingeltca [to others). Fight amain. 
 
 Soldier. The widow of Stamura is below, 
 And, slender tho' her figure, fair her face, 
 Brave as her husband. Few her words : beware 
 Of falling back, lest they increase and shame us. 
 
 Another Soldier. Long live Stamura ! She hath crost 
 already lO 
 
 The sallyport. 
 
 Another Soldier. What held she in her hand ? 
 
 Another Soldier. A distafl\ 
 
 Soldier. Hush ! what cries are those ? 
 
 Another Soldier. All German. 
 
 Soldier. What dust is overhead ? 
 
 Another Soldier. Is not it smoke ? 
 
 Hurrah ! flames mount above the battlements. 
 
 Soldier. It was her deed. 
 
 Another Soldier. But whose those cries behind us, 
 
 Along the harbour ? [20 
 
 Soldier. Those all are Italian. 
 
 Another Soldier. Look ! How yon tower curls outward, 
 red and reeling ! 
 
 Soldier. Ay ; it leans forward as in moital pain. 
 
 Another Soldier. What are those things that drop ? 
 
 Soldier. Men, while we speak. 
 
 Another moment, nothing. 
 
 Another Soldier. Some leap down ; 
 
 Others would keep their desperate grasp : the fire 
 Loosens it ; and they fall like shrivell'd grapes 30 
 
 Which none will gather. See it, while you can ; 
 It totters, parts, sinks. What a crash ! The sparks 
 ^ViIl blind our archers. 
 
 Another Soldier. What a storm of fire !
 
 The Siege of Ancona, 287 
 
 ACT II. SCENE II. 
 
 THE consul's house. 
 
 Consul, Erminia. 
 
 Erm'm'ia. The men you spoke with in the port have pass'd 
 The window, and seem entering. 
 
 Consul. Friends, come in. 
 
 JlTlnuzz! (^entering iv'tth Stamura and others^ 
 Sir Consul ! we are here inopportunely, 
 Our work is done : God prosper'd it. Young lady ! 
 We come no feasters at a consul's board. 
 
 Consul. EiTninia ! coverest thou our scanty fare 
 Because 'tis scanty, and not over-nice ? 
 Child ! thou hast eaten nothing. 
 
 Erminia. Quite enough. lO 
 
 Consul. No wonder thou hast lost thy appetite. 
 And sighest. 
 
 Erminia. I am sure I did not sigh ; 
 Nor have I lost my appetite. 
 
 Consul. Then eat : 
 
 Take off the napkin. 
 
 Erminia. Father ! you well know 
 
 What is beneath it. 
 
 Consul. Haifa cake. 
 
 Erminia. Of beans, 20 
 
 Of rye, of barley, swept from off the manger : 
 My little horse had eaten them ere now, 
 But . . 
 
 Consul. The child weeps. Even such flesh must serve. 
 Heaven grant us even this a few days hence. 
 
 Erminia {to Stamura). Signer Antonio ! do not look 
 at me, 
 I pray you, thinking of my greediness ; 
 Eat, eat ! I kept it . . If the sea's fresh air 
 Makes hungry those who sail upon it, surely 
 It must . . after such toil . . ^O
 
 288 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Stamura. Such toil 'twas not. 
 
 Ernilnia. Father ! could you persuade him ? 
 
 Stamura. Pray excuse me ! 
 
 I want no food. 
 
 Consul. Take what there is, and wine, 
 
 Wine we have still in plenty, old and strong. 
 
 Stamura. Grant me this one half-beaker. 
 
 Erminia. Let me run 
 
 And rinse it well. 
 
 Stamura. Forbear ! forbear ! 40 
 
 Consul. We have 
 
 No man or maiden in the house ; they all 
 Fight or assist the fighting. 
 
 Erminia. He has taken 
 
 And drank it every drop ! Poor, poor Antonio ! 
 O how he must have thirsted ! 
 
 [To Stamura. 
 'Twas half water. 
 
 Stamura. It was not very strong. 
 
 Minuzzi. And yet the colour 
 
 Mounts to his eyes as 'twere sheer wine of Crete. 50 
 
 Consul. I am impatient (you must pardon me) 
 To hear what you have done. Pour out the wine, 
 Erminia ! that can cause but short delay. 
 
 [ They (Irini, all but Stamura. Cries in the street, 
 
 " Long live Stamura ! " 
 
 Stamura. Call they me ? why me ? 
 
 \_Cries again. ^^ Long live the brave Angelica." 
 
 Stamura. My mother ! 
 
 Minuzzi. Now for the wine ! The boy will faint. 
 
 Angelica. Help ! father ! 
 
 Officer. Sir ! saw you not the flames along the sky ? 
 Has no one told you how that noble lady 
 Burnt down the tower with all its galleries, 60 
 
 Down to the very wheels ? 
 
 Stamura. Who minds the tower ? 
 
 Sir ! is she safe ? unhurt ? 
 
 Officer. Sir ! the ram's head, 
 
 Blacken'd with smoke, lean'd prone against the wall,
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 289 
 
 Then seem'd to shudder as 'twere half-alive. 
 
 Then fell the iron mass. It made no sound 
 
 Among the ashes. Had it made a loud one 
 
 There were much louder from the wretches crusht 
 
 Beneath it and its tower ; some tearing off 70 
 
 Their burning armour agonised with pain, 
 
 And others pierced with red-hot nails that held 
 
 The rafters ; others holding up their arms 
 
 Against the pitch and sulphur that pour'd down. 
 
 It was a sight ! Well might it have detain'd, 
 
 Those who beheld it, from their duty here. 
 
 Up flew, not sparks alone, but splinters huge, 
 
 Crackling against the battlements, and drove 
 
 More men away than all their arrows could. 
 
 Stamura. Sir Consul ! I must warm myself with fighting 80 
 After this dip. \As'tde. 
 
 Nor see my mother first ? 
 She would be first to blame me if I did. \Goes. 
 
 Consul. God prosper thee, brave youth, God prosper thee ! 
 
 Erm'tn'ta [aside). Discourteous man ! he said no word 
 to me ! 
 He even forgot my father. 
 
 Father John enters. 
 
 Minuzzi. Here comes one 
 
 Who can relate to you the whole exploit 
 Better than we. 
 
 Father John. Where is Antonio ? 90 
 
 Minuzzi. Gone 
 
 This instant. How was it ye did not meet ? 
 
 Father John. Ha ! I am this time caught in my own net. 
 I knew the knave would run away at seeing me ; 
 He told me if I came he would be gone, 
 Fearing to hear my story. So, sir Consul, 
 I stole in softly through the stable-door. 
 I can not keep my breath beneath the surface 
 So long as boys can. They are slenderer, 
 Less buoyant too, mayhap. Oft as I rose lOO 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 My pilot-fish was with me ; that Stamura 
 Would never leave me. 
 
 Ermtnia. Father John ! your blessing . 
 
 You always used to give it me. 
 
 Father John. There, take it. 
 
 How the girl kisses my rough hand to-day ! \_As'tcle. 
 
 Forgetful, heedless, reckless of himself 
 He held a shapeless shield of cork before me, 
 Wherefrom a silent shower of arrows fell 
 From eveiy galley, amid shouts like hunters' i lO 
 
 As they caught sight of us. The bright steel points 
 Rebounding (for not one of them bit through) 
 Glistened a moment as they clove the water. 
 Then delved into the uneven furrow'd sands. 
 Surely the lustrous and unclosing eyes 
 Of well-poised fishes have enjoy'd to-day 
 A rarity ; they never saw before 
 So many feathers sticking all upright 
 Under the brine so many fathoms deep. 
 
 Consul, Father! your gaiety will never fail you. 120 
 
 Father John. Not while it pleases God to use my arm 
 Or wits, such as they are, to sei-ve my country. 
 But this I tell you : had the boy been less 
 Assiduous, or less brave, the fish had seen 
 Another sight they oftener see, and then 
 No Father John had blest that maiden more. 
 
 Minuzz't. Stamura saved our country, saving you. 
 
 Father John. And you too, both of you, did well your duty. 
 
 Minuzz't. Aground are five good galleys, and their crews 
 Await your mercy. i 30 
 
 Father John. Did Stamura bring 
 His captive, that spruce Roman-spoken gallant ? 
 
 Consul. He brought none hither. 
 
 Minuzz't. Now our tale is told, 
 
 A little fighting will assuage the toil 
 And cold of diving. Brave Stamura toss'd 
 The net above his forehead fifty times 
 And drew it off and shoved it back again, 
 Impatient for his mother. He will knead
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 291 
 
 (I trow) a pasty German ere he see her ; 1 40 
 
 We too may lend a hand. Come, Father John ! 
 Shrive as if we should need it. 
 
 Consul. Fare ye well. 
 
 Thank God ! I am not rich ; but this one day, 
 My friends, I would be richer, to reward you. 
 The ships are yours : let none else claim one plank. 
 
 ACT 11. SCENE III. 
 
 THE QUAY. 
 
 People. Stamura. 
 
 Stamura. Stand off ! The stores within the barks belong 
 Alike and equally to all. Much grain 
 Will there be spilt unless a steady hand 
 Conveys it, and di\ddes it house by house. 
 Horses no fewer than three score are dragged 
 Within the gates, from the last charge against us : 
 W hat would ye ? Wait another charge, and take it. 
 
 People. Brave, brave Antonio ! 
 
 ACT II. SCENE IV. 
 A RCHBISHOP's TENT. 
 
 Archbishop. The Brothers Costanzio and Corrado. 
 
 Archbishop. Could ye not wait for death within the walls, 
 But must rush out to meet it ? 
 
 Costanzio. We could wait 
 
 As others do. 
 
 Corrado. And fight we could as others. 
 
 Archbishop. Costanzio and Corrado ! I am grieved 
 That you should war against your lawful prince, 
 Your father being most loyal. 
 
 Costanzio. So are we. 
 
 Archbishop. What ! when he serves the emperor and king, 
 And you the rabble ? [lo
 
 292 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Corrado. Who made men the rabble ? 
 
 Archbishop. Will not your treason and your death afflict 
 him ? 
 
 Costan-zAo. Our treason would : God grant our death may 
 not. 
 
 Corrado. We never took the oaths that he has taken, 
 And owe no duty but to our own land. 
 
 Archbishop. Are ye Anconites ? 
 
 Corrado. No, sir, but Italians, 
 
 And in Ancona lies the cause of Italy. 
 
 Archbishop. Pernicious dreams ! These drive young men 
 astray ; • 20 
 
 But when they once take their own cause, instead 
 Of ours who could direct them, they are lost : 
 So will ye find it. As ye were not born 
 In this vile city, what, pray, could have urged you 
 To throw your fortunes into it when sinking ? 
 
 Costanxio. Because we saw it sinking. 
 
 Corrado. While it prospered 
 
 It needed no such feeble aid as ours. 
 Marquises, princes, kings, popes, emperors. 
 Courted it then : and you, my lord archbishop, 30 
 
 Would have it even in its last decay. 
 
 Archbishop. There is a spirit in the land, a spirit 
 So pestilential that the fire of heaven 
 Alone can purify it. 
 
 Costanzio. Things being so. 
 
 Let us return and die with those we fought for. 
 
 Archbishop. Captious young man ! Ye die the death of 
 traitors. 
 
 Corrado. Alas ! how many better men have died 
 That death ! alas, how many must hereafter ! 
 
 Archbishop. By following your example. Think of that ; 
 Be that your torture. [40 
 
 Costanzio. As we never grieved 
 
 At following our betters, grant, just Heaven ! 
 That neither may our betters ever grieve 
 At following us, be the time soon or late. [7'o the Guards. 
 
 Archbishop. Lead off these youths. Separate them.
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 293 
 
 Corrado. My lord ! 
 
 We are too weak (you see it) for resistance ; 
 Let us then, we beseech you, be together 
 In what is left of Hfe ! 50 
 
 Archbishop. One hour is left: 
 
 Hope not beyond. 
 
 Corrado. We did hope more ; we hoped 
 
 To be together, tho' but half the time. 
 
 Archbishop. It shall not be. 
 
 Costanzio. It shall be. 
 
 Archbishop. Art tliou mad ? 
 
 I would not smile, but such pride forces me. 
 
 Costanzio. God, in whose holiest cause we took up arms, 
 Will reconcile us. Doubt it not, Corrado, 60 
 
 Altho' such men as that man there have said it. 
 
 ACT II. SCENE V. 
 
 consul's house. 
 Stamura. Erminia. 
 
 Stamura. Lady ! you need not turn your fece from me. 
 I leave the town for aid. But one perhaps 
 May bring it, if you listen to him. 
 
 Erminia. Who ? 
 
 Stamura. I made a captive. 
 
 Erminia. So I hear, 
 
 Stamura. I come 
 
 Seeking the consul : he expected me. 
 
 Erminia. And him ? 
 
 Stamura. Him also. lO 
 
 Erminia. Know you what he asks ? 
 
 Stamura. I know it. 
 
 Erminia. And you wish it ? you, Stamura ? 
 
 Stamura. I have no voice in it. 
 
 Erminia. True. Go. I know it. [ Stamura ^o^j'. 
 
 Shameless ! to ask him ! Never did we meet 
 But, if his eye caught mine, he walk'd aside :
 
 294 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Yet, by some strange occurrence, we meet daily. 
 The Consul enters. 
 
 Consul. Erminia ! didst thou send away Stamura ? 
 
 Erminia. He went away : no need for me to send him. 
 
 Consul. Knowest thou whom he made his captive ? [20 
 
 Erminia. Yes : 
 That insolent young Roman. 
 
 Consul. Speak not thus 
 
 Before thou seest him. 
 
 Erminia. I will never see him. 
 
 Consul. Nay, I have promised scarce five minutes since 
 That thou shalt hear him. 
 
 Erminia. Has he then found favour 
 
 With you so suddenly ? 3° 
 
 Consul. Stamura speaks 
 
 Much in his favour. 
 
 Erminia. Are they friends already ? 
 
 Consul. Hardly ; we must suppose. But here they come. 
 
 Stamura. Clovio. Consul. Erminia. 
 
 Clovio. Sir Consul ! I am Clovio Fizzarelli. 
 Have you received the letter ? 
 
 Consul. I received it. 
 
 Clovio. On bended knee permit me to salute 
 The lady who shall rule my destiny. 
 Your fair Erminia. 40 
 
 Erminia. You are the Pope's nephew, 
 
 Sir Clovio ! I have heard ; and you come hither 
 Most strongly recommended. 
 
 Clovio. True, sweet lady ! 
 
 But I do trust, with all humility. 
 There may be a mere trilie in myself. 
 Not to engage you in the first half-hour, 
 But so to plead for me, that in a day 
 Or two, or three at farthest . . 
 
 Erminia. Sir, your pleader 50 
 
 Stands there ; you are his captive, and not mine. 
 
 Clovio. He knows me well. He threw my whole boat's 
 crew
 
 The Siege of Ancona, 295 
 
 (Four of them) overboard, but found his match 
 In me. 
 
 Erm'w'ta. It seems so : does it not, Antonio ? 
 
 Stamura. More ; how much more ! 
 
 Clov'io. There ! He could not deny it. 
 
 Erminia. And now he has persuaded my kind father 
 To grant you audience. 
 
 Clov'to l^to Stamura). She is proud : I'll tame her. 60 
 
 Stamura {^angrily^. Sir ! \_Aside. 
 
 No : he is my prisoner and my guest. 
 
 Erminia. This gentleman, who is so confidential 
 With you, and whom you whisper to for counsel. 
 May give my hand away . . and will most gladly, 
 I doubt not . . for my father can refuse 
 Nothing to one who made so great a prize. 
 Beside the preservation of the city. 
 
 Clovio. Speak then, my worthy friend, if thus the consul 
 Honours your valour ; speak for me ; and let me 70 
 
 Who owe my life, owe more than life to you. 
 
 Stamura. The consul knows what suits his honour best, 
 And the young lady seems not ill disposed 
 To shower his favour on such high desert. 
 I have my duties ; but this is not one. 
 Let the young lady give her hand herself. 
 If I had any wish . . but I have none . . 
 It should be, Sir, that you had won it first 
 By a brave action or a well-tried love. 
 
 But, what is love ? My road lies towards the walls. 80 
 
 \^To the Consul. 
 With your permission. Sir ! I have yours, lady ! 
 
 ^Stamura goes. 
 
 Erminia. Father ! I am unwell. This gentleman 
 Comes unexpectedly, demands abioiptly . . 
 
 Clovio. Impatiently, but not abruptly. 
 
 Erminia. Sir ! 
 
 I will not many : never, never, never. 
 
 [Erminia goes. 
 
 Clovio. Ha ! ha ! all women are alike. Sir Cousul. 
 Leave her to pie.
 
 296 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Consul. Sir Clovio Fizzaielli ! 
 
 I will do more than what you ask of me. 90 
 
 I grant you freedom. Go aboard the pinnace 
 AVhich bore you into port ; and say at Rome 
 That you have seen men starving in the streets, 
 Because his Holiness refused us help 
 Unless a father gave a daughter up ; 
 And say the daughter would not sell her heart, 
 Much less her country ; and then add, Sir Clovio, 
 (O were it tme ! ) " All women are alike." 
 
 ACT III. SCENE 1. 
 
 EPISCOPAL PALACE. 
 
 Bishop of Ancona and Father John. 
 
 Bishop. I have been standing at my terrace-wall 
 And counting those who pass and cry with hunger. 
 Brother ! the stoutest men are grown effeminate ; 
 Nay, worse ; they stamp and swear, even in my presence. 
 And looking up at me. 
 
 Father John. Sad times indeed ! 
 
 Bishop. I calculate that giving each an ounce 
 Only one day, scarce would a sack remain 
 In my whole garner ; I am so reduced. 
 
 Father John. I come to beg your lordship for one ounce 
 Of your fine flour, to save a child ; to save [10 
 
 A mother, who loathes ordinary food . . 
 Not ordinary, but most bitter lupin : 
 She has no other in the house. 
 
 Bishop. No other ? 
 
 Poor sou! ! This famine is a dreadful thing ! 
 Pestilence always follows it ! God help us ! 
 I tremble ; I sUirt uj) in sleep. 
 
 Father John. My lord ! 
 
 An ounce of meal, a single ounce, might calm 20 
 
 These tremblings, well applied. The nurse that should be
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 297 
 
 Can be no nurse : the mother very soon 
 Will be no mother, and the child no child. 
 
 Bishop. You know not how things stand, good brother 
 John! 
 This veiy morning, as I hope for grace, 
 I paid three golden pieces for the head. 
 Think you, of what ? an ass ! 
 
 Father John (^aside). The cannibal ! 
 
 [To the Bishop.] 
 Ah, my good lord ! they bear high prices now. 
 
 Bishop. Why, brother ! you yourself are grown much 
 thinner. 30 
 
 How can you do your duty ? 
 
 Father John. Were I not 
 
 Much thinner, I should think I had not done it. 
 
 Bishop. My cook assures me that with wine and spice 
 Elicampane, cumin, angelica. 
 Garlic, and sundry savoury herbs, stored by 
 Most providentially, the Lord be praised ! 
 He can make that strange head quite tolerable . . 
 The creature was a young one . . what think you ? 
 
 Father John. They are more tolerable than the old. 40 
 
 Bishop. The sellers take advantage of bad times. 
 Quite without conscience, shame, respect for persons. 
 Or fear of God. What can such men expect ? 
 You must have seen sad sights about our city : 
 I wonder you are what you are. 
 
 Father John. Sad siglits 
 
 Indeed ! 
 
 Bishop. But all will give their confessor 
 Pait of their pittance ; and the nearer death 
 The readier ; knowing what the church can do. 50 
 
 Tell me now, for my entrails yearn to hear it. 
 Do they not take due care of you ? 
 
 Father John. No meals 
 
 Have now their stated hour. Unwillingly 
 I enter houses where the fomily 
 Sits round the table at the spare repast. 
 Sometimes they run and hide it.
 
 298 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Bishop. Most unmannerly ! 
 
 Inhuman, I would add unchristianlike. 
 
 Father John. Sometimes they push toward me the un- 
 tasted 60 
 
 And uninviting food, look wistfully. 
 Press me ; yet dread acceptance. Yesterday 
 A little girl, the youngest of the five, 
 Was raising to her lips a mealy bean 
 (I saw no other on the unsoil'd plate) 
 And, looking at my eyes fixt hard on hers. 
 And thinking they were fixt upon the morsel, 
 Pusht it between my lips, and ran away. 
 
 Bishop. Brother ! I should have call'd her a good child ; 
 I should myself have given the benediction 70 
 
 With my own hand, and placed it on her head : 
 I wonder you don't praise her. Brother John ! 
 I have my nones to run thro' ; so, good-by. 
 
 Father John. Just God ! does this house stand ? Dark 
 are thy ways, 
 Inscrutable ! Be thy right hand our guide ! 
 
 ACT III. SCENE II. 
 
 senate-house. 
 
 Senators. Consul. 
 
 Consul. Senators ! ye have call'd me to debate 
 On our condition. 
 
 Senator. Consul ! we are lost. 
 
 Consul. All are who think so. 
 
 Second Senator. Even tlic best want food. 
 
 Consul. The bravest do. 
 
 Third Senator. How shall men fight without it ? 
 
 Fourth Senator. Concord and peace might have return'd. 
 
 Consul. By yielding, 
 
 Think ye ? Not they : contempt and sorrow might. 10 
 
 Can there be ever concoid (peace there may be)
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 299 
 
 Between the German and Italian ? None. 
 
 Remember how that ancient city fell, 
 
 Milano. Seven whole years resisted she 
 
 The imperial sword : she listened to conditions 
 
 And fell. The soldiers of His Majesty . . 
 
 His soldiers, ay, his veiy court . . shed tears 
 
 At such affliction, at such utter min, 
 
 At such wide wails, such universal woe. 
 
 They all were equal then ; for all were slaves, 20 
 
 Scatter'd, the poor, the rich, the brave, the coward, 
 
 Thro' Bergamo, Pavia, Lodi, Como, 
 
 The cities of the enemy. There stood 
 
 No vestige of the walls, no church to pray in . . 
 
 And what was left to pray for ? What but Caesar ? 
 
 Throw rather all your wealth into the sea 
 
 Than let the robber priest lay hold upon it. 
 
 And, if ye die of famine, die at least 
 
 In your own houses while they are your own. 
 
 But there are many yet whose hearts and arms 30 
 
 Will save you all : to-day you all can fight, 
 
 The enemy shall feed you all to-morrow. 
 
 Were it no shame a priest should seize the prey 
 
 That kings and emperors dropt with broken talon i 
 
 The eagle flew before your shouts ; and now 
 
 A vulture must swoop down ! but vultures keep 
 
 From living men and from warm blood ; they revel 
 
 (And most the Roman vulture) in corruption. 
 
 Have ye forgotten how your fathers fought, 
 
 When Totila with Goths invincible 40 
 
 Besieged you ; not with priests and choristers ; 
 
 When twenty-seven ships assail'd your port 
 
 And when eleven only ever left it ? 
 
 Rome fell before him twice ; not once Ancona. 
 
 Your fathers saved the city . . ye shall save her. 
 
 Senator. Weapons are insufficient ; courage, vows. 
 Avail not. We are unprepared for war : 
 Scanty was our last hai^vest : and these winds 
 Are adverse. They know that who now defy us, 
 Blockading us alike by sea and land, 5Q
 
 300 
 
 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Consul. We some are poor, we some are prosperous, 
 We all alike owe all we have : the air 
 Is life alike to all, the sun is warmth, 
 The earth, its fmits and flocks, are nutiiment. 
 Children and wives are comforts ; all partake 
 (Or may partake) in these. Shall hoarded grain 
 Or gold be less in common, when the arms 
 That guard it are not those that piled it up, 
 But those that shrink without it ? Come, ye rich. 
 Be richer still : strengthen your brave defenders, 6o 
 
 And make all yours that was not yours before. 
 Dares one be affluent where ten thousand starve ? 
 Open your treasuries, your granaries, 
 But throw mine open first. Another year 
 Will roughen this equality again, 
 The rich be what they were ; the poor . . alas ! 
 What they were too perhaps . . but every man 
 More happy, each one having done his duty. 
 
 Senator [to another). Hark ! the young fools applaud ! 
 they rise around ; 
 They hem him in ; they seize and kiss his hand ; 70 
 
 He shakes our best supporters. 
 
 Another. Give the sign. 
 
 To those without. 
 
 [People enter.~\ 
 
 Consul. Who called you hither ? [ J'ar'tous voices. 
 
 First. Want. 
 
 Second. Famine. 
 
 Third. Our families. 
 
 Fourth. I had three sons ; 
 
 One hath been slain, one wounded. 
 
 Fifth. Only one 80 
 
 Had I : my loss is greatest. 
 
 Sixth. Grant us peace. 
 
 Sir Consul, peace we plead for, only peace. 
 
 Consul. Will peace bring back the dead i" will peace restore 
 Lost honour ? will peace heal the wounds your sons 
 And brothers wiithe with ? They who gave those wounds
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 301 
 
 Shall carry home severer, if they live, 
 
 And never in my consulate shall laugh 
 
 At those brave men whom men less brave desert. 
 
 True, some have fallen : but before they fell 90 
 
 They won the field ; nor now can earthly power 
 
 Take from their cold clencht hands the spoil they grasp ; 
 
 No mortal spoil, but glory. Life, my sons. 
 
 Life may lose all : the seal that none can break 
 
 Hath stampt their names, all registered above. 
 
 Senator [to a Man near). Speak; you poor fool! speak 
 loudly, or expect 
 From me no favour . . and tell that man next. 
 Man. Oh ! we are starving. 
 
 Consul. Better starve than serve. 
 
 Another. He has no pity. 100 
 
 Consul. What is that I hear ? 
 
 I have no pity. Have I not a daughter ? 
 
 Another. O what a daughter ! How compassionate ! 
 How charitable ! Had she been born poor 
 She could not more have pitied poverty. 
 
 Consul. Two ounces of coarse bread, wine, which she 
 loathes, 
 And nothing more, sustain her. 
 
 Another. God sustains her ; 
 
 He will not leave his fairest work to perish. 
 
 Consul. Fight then, fight bravely, while ye can, my 
 friends ! 1 1 
 
 In God have confidence, if none in me. 
 
 \_Shouts of applause. Part of the People leave the Senators.] 
 Senator [to another). Seducer of the people ! shall it end 
 Thus vilely ? [To the Consul.] 
 
 You have stores at home, Sir Consul ! 
 You have wide lands. 
 
 Another Senator. You should support your order. 
 Consul. My order ! God made one ; of that am I. 
 Stores, it appears, I have at home ; wide lands ; 
 Are those at home too ? or within my reach ? 
 Paternal lands I do inherit ; wide 
 They are enough, but stony, mountainous, 1 20
 
 302 Dramatic Scenes 
 
 The greater part unprofitable. 
 
 Senator. Some 
 
 The richest in rich wine. 
 
 Consul. Few days ago 
 
 Nearly a hundred barrels were unbroached. 
 
 Another Senator. A hundred loaves, the' small indeed and 
 dry, 
 Would they be worth in such distress as ours. 
 We could raise half among us. 
 
 Consul. Shame upon you ! 
 
 Had not your unwise laws and unfair thrift 1 30 
 
 Prohibited the entrance of supplies 
 While they could enter, never had this famine 
 Stalked through the people. 
 
 Senator. But the laws are laws. 
 
 Consul. Yours ; never theirs. 
 
 Another Senator. Why thus inflame the people ? 
 
 Consul. Who brought the people hither ? for what end ? 
 To serve you in your avarice ; to ciy peace ! 
 Not knowing peace from servitude. 
 
 Senator. For quiet, 140 
 
 Spare them at least a portion of the wine. 
 
 Consul. Nor them nor you ; nor price nor force shall gain it. 
 
 People. Are we to perish ? Hunger if we must, 
 Let us be strengthen'd by a draught of wine 
 To bear it on. 
 
 Senator. Wine is the oil of life. 
 
 And the lamp burns with it which else were spent. 
 
 People. Sir Consul ! we forbear ; we honour you, 
 But tell us, ere we sink, where one flask lies. 
 
 Consul. Go ask the women labouring of child, 150 
 
 Ask those who nurse their infants, ask the old. 
 Who can not fight, ask those who fought the best, 
 The wounded, maim'd, disabled, the Anconites. 
 Sirs ! if ye find one flask within our cellar, 
 Crack it, and throw the fragments in my face. 
 
 People. Let us away. \_Shouts of applause. 
 
 Consul. Follow me to the walls ; 
 
 And you, too, senators, learn there your duty.
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 303 
 
 People. We swear to do our best. 
 
 Consul. Sworn wisely! Life i6o 
 
 Is now more surely to be won by arms 
 Than death is, and the sword alone can win it. 
 I lead the way ; let who will lag behind. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE III. 
 
 THE CITY. 
 
 Paolucci, Officers, Citizens. 
 
 Officer. The Consul has been wounded. Who is left 
 To lead us ? and what leader would suffice ? 
 The strongest sink with famine, lying down 
 Along the battlements, and only raised 
 When sounds the trumpet. 
 
 First Citizen. And most fall again. 
 
 Second Citizen. Our day is come, the day of our disgrace. 
 
 Paolucci. Ours never was that day, and never shall be. 
 Ye may have lost your consul (let us hope 
 He is not lost to us) but we are sure lo 
 
 His memory and example yet remain 
 With all their life in them. 
 [To the People.] 
 
 Young men ! perhaps 
 Ye know me not : your fathers knew me well ; 
 Their fathers better. Three-score years ago 
 I was your consul : none then preached surrender ; 
 And let none now : yet there were those around 
 Who would have pinfolded the quiet flock 
 As gladly as yon shepherd at the gate. 
 
 People. We can resist no longer. Who can count 20 
 The slain ? 
 
 Paolucci. Say, rather, who can praise the slain ? 
 Glorified souls ! happy your sleep ! ye hear 
 No shameful speech from brethren ! 
 
 People. Arms alone 
 
 Should not subdue us : famine has : we starve.
 
 304 Dramatic Scenes, 
 
 Paohcc't. While life remains life's sufferings will arise, 
 Whether from famine or from shaiper sting 
 Than famine : upon eveiy hearth almost 
 
 There creeps some scoi-pion never seen till felt. 30 
 
 But until every arm that guards our walls 
 Drop helpless at the starting ribs, until 
 That hour, stand all united. Ye despair 
 Untimely. He who rules us i-ules us well, 
 Exciting no false hope, as bad men do • 
 
 When they have led where none can extricate. 
 I was your consul while the king Lothaire 
 Besieged the city, proud as any prelate. 
 Swearing he would reduce it. Other kings 
 Have sworn the same . . and kept their word like kings . . 40 
 Cursing and flying. We have met brave foes ; 
 But they met braver. Fly ; and let the crook 
 Drag a vile flock back from its flight to slaughter. 
 
 All. We scorn the thought. But where lies human help ? 
 
 Paolucci. I may be spared to seek it, spared to try 
 If one brave man breathes yet among the powerful. . 
 Who knows not Marchesella ? 
 
 Officer. Brave he is. 
 
 But mindful of the emperor. He saw 
 
 Milano, which had stood two thousand years, 50 
 
 Sink ; * every tree, on hill or vale, cut down. 
 The vine, the olive, ripe and unripe corn 
 Burnt by this minister of God. Throughout 
 There was no shade for sick men to die under, 
 There was no branch to strew upon the bier. 
 
 Another Officer. His father was courageous, why not he ? 
 
 A third Ojfficer. Above all living men is Marchesella 
 Courageous : but pray what are our deserts 
 With him, that he should hazard for our sake 
 His lordly castles and his wide domains I 60 
 
 Perhaps his fame in arms ! 'Twere mad to hope it. 
 Prudence, we know, for ever guides his courage. 
 
 Paolucci. If generous pity dwells not in his house, 
 
 * Ancona was besieged 1162. 1174.
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 305 
 
 As once it did, with every other virtue, 
 
 Seek it, where brave men never seek in vain, 
 
 In woman's breast : away to Bertinoro : 
 
 Take heart : the countess is a Frangipani : 
 
 There are a thousand trumpets in that name : 
 
 Methinks I hear them blowing toward Ancona. 
 
 Old men talk long : but be not ye so idle : 70 
 
 Hie to the walls : I will sue her. To arms ! 
 
 To arms ! the consul of past years commands you. 
 
 
 ACT III. SCENE IV. 
 
 
 consul's house. 
 
 
 Paolucci. Consul. Erminia. 
 
 Paolucci. 
 
 Consul ! how fare you ? 
 
 Consul. 
 
 Not amiss. 
 
 Paolucci. 
 
 But wounded ? 
 
 Consul. 
 
 There was more blood than wound, they say who 
 
 saw it. 
 
 
 Ermlnia. 
 
 My father, sir, slept well all night. 
 
 Paolucci. 
 
 All night 
 
 An angel watched him ; he must needs sleep well. 
 
 Consul. I drove away that little fly in vain. 
 It flutter'd round the fruit whose skin was broken. 
 
 Erminia. Sweet father ! talk not so ; nor much at all. lO 
 
 Paolucci. Consul ! I have not many days of life, 
 As you may see ; and old men are in want 
 Of many little things which those in power 
 Can give : and 'twere amiss to hold them back 
 Because unclaim'd before. 
 
 Consul. I well remember. 
 
 Though then a child, how all this city praised 
 Your wisdom, zeal, and probity, when consul. 
 Ancona then was flourishing ; but never 
 
 Were those compensated who served their country, 20 
 
 Except by semng her ; 'twas thought enough ; 
 We think so still. Beside, the treasury 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 3o6 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Is emptied, that it majf procure us food 
 And troops. Be sure the very first that eats 
 The strangers' com (if any reach our port) 
 Shall be no other than yourself: your age 
 And virtue merit from us this distinction. 
 
 Paolucc'i. Sir Consul ! I want more than that. 
 
 Consul. Receive it 
 
 And welcome from the father and the man, 30 
 
 Not from the consul. Now would you yourself 
 Act differently (I ask) on this occasion ? 
 
 Paolucc'i. More kindly, no ; but differently, yes. 
 
 Consul. What would you from me ? 
 
 Paolucc'i. High distinction, consul ! 
 
 Consul. I will propose it, as I justly may, 
 And do regret it has been so deferred. 
 
 Paolucc'i. May I speak plainly what ambition prompts ? 
 
 Conswi. I hear all claims. 
 
 Paolucc'i. Those sacks hold heavy sums. 40 
 
 Consul. Avaiice was never yet imputed to you. 
 
 Paolucc'i. 'Tis said you can not mo\e them from the 
 town. 
 
 Consul. Difficult, dangerous, doubtful, such attempt. 
 The young Stamura loves bold cnterpnses. 
 And may succeed where others would despair : 
 But, such the lack of all that life requires 
 Even for a day, I dare not send one loaf 
 Aboard his bark. Hunger would urge the many 
 To rush and seize it. 
 
 Paolucc'i. They would not seize me. 30 
 
 One loaf there is at home : that boy shall share it. 
 
 Erm'wia. He would not, though he pined. 
 
 Consul. A youth so abstinent 
 
 I never knew. 
 
 Paolucc'i. But when we arc afloat . . 
 
 Consul. We shall not be : 
 
 We think not of escape. 
 
 Paolucc'i. No : God forbid ! 
 
 We will meet safety in the path of honour. 
 
 Consul. Why say ajloat then ? 60
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 307 
 
 Paolucc't. Only he and I. 
 
 This is the guerdon I demand, the crown 
 Of my grey hairs. 
 
 Erminia. Alas ! what aid could either 
 
 Afford the other ? O sir ! do not go ! 
 You are too old; he much too rash . . Dear father ! 
 If you have power, if you have love, forbid it ! 
 
 Paolucci. It was advised that younger ones should go : 
 Some were too daring, some were too despondent : 
 I am between these two extremes. 70 
 
 Consul. But think 
 
 Again ! 
 
 Paolucci. I have no time for many thoughts, 
 And I have chosen out of them the best. 
 
 Erminia. He never will return ! he goes to die ! 
 I knew he would ! 
 
 Consul. His days have been prolonged 
 
 Beyond the days of man : and there goes with him 
 One who sees every danger but his own. 
 
 ACT III. SCENE V. 
 
 seaside. night. 
 
 Paolucci, Stamura. 
 
 Paolucci. I feel the spray upon my face already. 
 Is the wind fair ? 
 
 Stamura. 'Tis fiercely fair. 
 
 Paolucci. The weather 
 
 Can not be foul then. 
 
 Stamura {lifting him aboard). Sit down here. Don't 
 tremble. 
 
 Paolucci. Then tell the breeze to wax a trifle warmer. 
 And lay thy hand upon those hissing waves. 
 She grates the gravel . . We are off at last.
 
 3o8 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE I. 
 
 castle of bertinoro. 
 
 Countess of Bertinoro, Marchesella, Paolucci, 
 and Stamura. 
 
 Page. My lady ! here are two such men as never 
 Enter'd a palace-gate. 
 
 Countess. Who are they ? 
 
 Page. One 
 
 Older than anything I ever saw, 
 Alive or dead ; the other a stout youth, 
 Guiding him, and commanding all around 
 To stand aside, and give that elder way ; 
 At first with gentle words, and then with stern. 
 Coarse their habiliments, their beards unshorn, lO 
 
 Yet they insist on entrance to my lady. 
 
 Countess. Admit the elder, but exclude the other. 
 Wait. [To Marchesella. 
 
 If the younger be his son, what little 
 Of service I may render to the father 
 
 Will scarce atone for keeping him apart. [To the Page. 
 
 Go ; bid them enter ; both. 
 
 [Stamura, having led Paolucci /«, retires. 
 Paolucci. I come, O countess! 
 
 Imploring of your gentleness and pity. 
 
 To save from fire and sword, and, worse than either, 20 
 
 Worse, and more imminent, to save from famine 
 The few brave left, the many virtuous. 
 Virgins and mothers (save them!) in Ancona. 
 
 Countess. Nay, fall not at my knee. Age must not that . . 
 Raise him, good Marchesella ! 
 
 Paolucci. You too, here, 
 
 Illustrious lord ? 
 
 Marchesella. What ! and art thou still living, 
 Paolucci ? faithful, hospitable soul ! 
 Wc have not met since childhood . . mine, I mean. 30
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 309 
 
 Paolucc'i. Smile not, my gentle lord ! too gracious then, 
 Be now more gracious ; not in looks or speech. 
 But in such deeds as you can best perform. 
 Friendship another time might plead for us ; 
 Now bear we what our enemy would else 
 Seize from us, all the treasures of our city. 
 To throw them at your feet for instant aid. 
 Help, or we perish. Famine has begun . . 
 Begun ? has almost ended • . with Ancona. 
 
 Countess. Already ? We have been too dilatory. 40 
 
 Marchesella. I could not raise the money on my lands 
 Earlier ; it now is come. I want not yours : 
 Place it for safety in this castle-keep. 
 If such our lady's pleasure. 
 
 Countess. Until peace. 
 
 Marchesella. My troops are on the march. 
 
 Countess. And mine not yet ? 
 
 Repose you, sir ! they shall arrive with you. 
 Or sooner. Is that modest youth your son ? 
 
 Paolucci. Where is he ? gone again ? 50 
 
 Countess. When you first enter 'd. 
 
 Paolucci. Some angel whisper'd your benign intent 
 Into his ear, else had he never left me. 
 My son ? Who would not proudly call him so ? 
 Soon shall you hear what mother bore the boy, 
 And where he dash'd the galleys, while that mother 
 Fired their pine towers, already wheel'd against 
 Our walls, and gave us time . . for what ? to perish. 
 
 Marchesella. No, by the saints above ! not yet, not yet. 
 
 ^Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Countess. Merenda is announced. Sir, I entreat you 60 
 To lead me ! Grant one favour more; and hint not 
 To our young friend that we have learnt his prowess. 
 
 [To a Page. 
 Conduct the noble youth who waits without.
 
 3IO 
 
 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE II. 
 Countess, Marchesella, Paolucci, Stamura, at Table. 
 
 Countess [to Stamura). Sir, there are seasons when 'tis 
 incivility 
 To ask. a name ; 'twould now be more uncivil 
 To hesitate. 
 
 Stamura. Antonio is my name. 
 Countess. Baptismal. Pray, the family ? 
 Stamura. Stamura ; 
 
 But that my honour'd father gave in marriage 
 To her who wears it brighter day by day : 
 She calls mc rather by the name he bore. 
 
 Countess. It must be known and cherisht. lO 
 
 Stamura. By the bravest 
 
 And most enduring in my native place ; 
 It goes no farther : we are but just noble. 
 
 Countess. He who could heed the tempest, and make 
 serve 
 Unruly ocean, not for wealth, nor harm 
 To any but the spoiler, high above 
 That ocean, higli above that tempest's wing, 
 He needs no turret to abut his name. 
 He needs no crescent to stream light on it, 
 Nor castellan, nor seneschal, nor herald. 20 
 
 Paolucci. Ha ! boy, those words make thy breast rise and 
 fall. 
 Haply as much as did the waves. The town 
 Could ill repay thee ; Beauty overpays. 
 
 Countess. Talk what the young should hear ; nor see the 
 meed 
 Of glorious deeds in transitory tints. 
 Fainter or brighter. 
 
 Paolucci. I was wrong. 
 
 Countess. Not quite : 
 
 For beauty, in thy native town, young man, 
 May feel her worth in recompensing thine. 30
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 3 1 ^ 
 
 Stamura (aside). Alas ! alas ! she perishes ! while here 
 We tarry. 
 
 Paolucci (overhearing). She ? Who perishes ? 
 Stamura. The town. 
 
 Paolucci. How the boy blushes at that noble praise ! 
 Countess. They blush at glory who deserve it most. 
 . . Blushes soon go : the dawn alone is red. 
 
 Stamura. We know what duty, not what glory is. 
 The very best among us are not rich 
 
 Nor powerful. 4° 
 
 Countess. Are they anywhere ? 
 
 Paolucci. His deeds, 
 
 If glorious in themselves, require no gloiy. 
 Even this siege, those sufferings, who shall heed ? 
 
 Countess. He gives most light by being not too high. 
 Remember by what weapon fell the chief 
 Of Philistines. Did brazen chariots, driven 
 By giants, roll against him ? From the brook, 
 Striking another such, another day, 
 
 A little pebble stretcht the enormous bulk 5© 
 
 That would have fiU'd it and have turn'd its course. 
 And in the great deliverers of mankind 
 Whom find ye ? Those whom variet pipers praise. 
 The greatest of them all, by all adored. 
 Did Babylon from brazen-belted gate. 
 Not humble straw-rooft Bethlehem, send forth ? 
 We must not be too serious. Let us hear 
 How were the cables cut. 
 
 Paolucci. I saw the shears 
 
 That dipt them. Father John, before he went, 60 
 
 Show'd me them, how they workt. He himself held 
 The double crescent of shai-p steel, in form 
 Like that swart insect's which you shake from fruit 
 About the kernel. This enclaspt the cable ; 
 And too long handles (a stout youth, at each 
 Extremity, pushing with all his strength 
 Right forward) sunder'd it. Then swiftly flew 
 One vessel to the shore ; and then another : 
 And hardly had the youths or Father John
 
 3 1 2 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Time to take breath upon the upper wave, 70 
 
 When down they sank again and there swang round 
 
 Another prow, and dasht upon the mole. 
 
 Then many bUthe Venetians fell translixt 
 
 With arrows, many sprang into the sea 
 
 And cried for mercy. Upon deck appeared 
 
 The pope's own nephew, who ('tis said) had come 
 
 To arbitrate. He leapt into a boat 
 
 Which swam aside, most gorgeously array'd. 
 
 And this young man leapt after him and seized him. 
 
 He, when he saw a dagger at his throat, 80 
 
 Bade all his crew, four well-built men, surrender. 
 
 Stamura. They could not have feared me : they saw our 
 archers. 
 
 Countess. And where is now your prisoner ? 
 
 Stamura. He desired 
 
 An audience of the consul. 
 
 Countess. To what end I 
 
 Stamura. I know not : I believe to court his daughter. 
 
 Countess. Is the girl handsome ? Is that question harder 
 Than what I askt before ? Will he succeed ? 
 
 Stamura. Could he but save from famine our poor city, 
 And . . could he make her happy . . [90 
 
 Countess. Pray go on. 
 
 It would delight you then to see him win her ? 
 
 Stamura. O that I had not saved him ! or myself ! 
 
 Countess. She loves him then ? And you hate foreigners. 
 I do believe you like the fair Erminia 
 Yourself. 
 
 Stamura. She hates me. Who likes those that hate him ? 
 
 Countess. I never saw such hatred as you bear her : 
 If she bears you the like . . 100 
 
 Stamura. She can do now 
 
 No worse than what she has done. 
 
 Countess. Who knows that ? 
 
 I am resolved to see. 
 
 Stamura. O lady Countess ! 
 
 How have I made an enemy of you ? 
 Place me the lowest of your band, but never
 
 The Siege of Ancona. 313 
 
 Affront her with the mention of my name. 
 
 When the great work which you have undertaken 
 
 Is done, admit me in your castle-walls, no 
 
 And never let me see our own again. 
 
 Countess. I think I may accomplish what you wish ; 
 But, recollect, I make no promises. 
 
 ACT IV. SCENE III. 
 OPEN SPACE NEAR THE BALISTA GATE IN ANCONA. 
 
 The Lady Malaspina, her Infant, and a Soldier. 
 
 Soldier. I am worn down with famine, and can live 
 But few hours more. 
 
 L. Malaspina. I have no food. 
 
 Soldier. Nor food 
 
 Could I now swallow. Bring me water, water ! 
 
 L. Malaspina. Alas ! I can not. Strive to gain the 
 fountain. 
 
 Soldier. I have been nigh. 
 
 L. Malaspina. And could not reach it ? 
 
 Soldier. Crowds 
 
 I might pierce through, but how thrust back their cries ? lo 
 They madden'd me to flight ere half-way in. 
 Some upright . . no, none that . . but some unfallen, 
 Yet pressing down with their light weight the weaker. 
 The brows of some were bent down to their knees, 
 Others (the hair seized fast by those behind) 
 Lifted for the last time their eyes to heaven ; 
 And there were waves of heads one moment's space 
 Seen, then unseen forever. Wails rose up 
 Half stifled underfoot, from children some, 
 And some from those who bore them. 20 
 
 L. Malaspina. Mercy ! mercy ! 
 
 O blessed Virgin ! thou wert mother too ! 
 How didst thou suffer ! how did He ! Save, save 
 At least the infants, if all else must perish. 
 Soldier ! brave soldier ! dost thou weep ? then hope.
 
 314 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Soldier. I suffer'd for myself ; deserve I mercy ? 
 
 L. Malaspina. He who speaks thus shall find it. Try to 
 rise. 
 
 Soldier. No : could I reach the fountain in my thirst, 
 I would not. 
 
 L. Malaspina. Life is sweet. 30 
 
 Soldier. To brides, to mothers. 
 
 L. Malaspina. Alas ! how soon may those names pass 
 away ! 
 I would support thee partly, wert thou willing, 
 But my babe sleeps. 
 
 Soldier. Sleep, little one, sleep on ! 
 
 1 shall sleep too as soundly, by and by. 
 
 L. Malaspina. Courage, one effort more. 
 
 Soldier. And tread on children ! 
 On children clinging to my knees for strength 
 To help them on, and with enough yet left 40 
 
 To pull me down, but others pull down them. 
 God ! let me bear this thirst, but never more 
 Bear this sad sight ! Tread on those tiny hands 
 Clasping the dust ! See those dim eyes upturn'd. 
 Those rigid lips reproachless ! Man may stir. 
 Woman may shake, my soul ; but children, children ! 
 O God ! those are thine own ! make haste to help them ! 
 Happy that babe ! 
 
 L. Malaspina. Thou art humane. 
 
 Soldier. 'Tis said 50 
 
 That hunger is almost as bad as wealth 
 To make men selfish ; but such feebleness 
 Comes over me, all things look dim around, 
 And life most dim, and least worth looking after. 
 
 />. 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. 
 
 Mec<enas. Well spoken ! wisely ! worthily ! No praise 
 Can equipoise his virtues, kings may lay 
 Their tributes on the carpet of his throne 1 90 
 
 And cities hope to honour whom they serve. 
 The royal mantle would obscure Agrippa. 
 
 Octavlus. I would be generous, but be cautious too. 
 
 Mecatias. Then grant him all beyond the sight of Rome ; 
 Men's eyes would draw him thither tho' his will 
 Hung back : thus urged the steadiest might give way. 
 
 Octavlus. I hate suspicion and suspicious men. 
 Gallus I fancied was the bitterest foe 
 Of Antony, his rival, and successful. 
 Then he should hate him worse than I. 2Co 
 
 Mecanas. But empire 
 
 Is more worth hatred than a silly girl, 
 Every day to be won and lost again. 
 
 Octavlus. Our Gallus is weak-minded to forgive 
 So easily. 
 
 Mecanas. I find that on the hearth 
 Where lie love's embers there lie hatred's too. 
 Equally cold and not to be stir'd up. 
 
 Octavlus. I do not think, my Cilnius, thou hast felt 
 Love but for me ; I never knew thee hate. 210 
 
 MectBnas. It is too troublesome ; it rumples sleep. 
 It settles on the dishes of the feast. 
 It bites the fruit, it dips into the wine ; 
 Then rather let my enemy hate me 
 Than I hate him. 
 
 Octavlus. We must look round. What think you ? 
 
 Is Dolabella to be trusted ? 
 
 Mecanas. Tiy. 
 
 Octavlus. I wish this country settled, us return'd. 
 Resolved am I to do what none hath done, 220 
 
 And only Julius ever pui"posed doing ; 
 Resolved to render Rome, beneath my rule, 
 A second Alexandria. Corinth, Carthage, 
 One autumn saw in stubble ; not a wreath
 
 342 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 Enough to crown a capital was left, 
 
 Nor capital to crown its pillar, none ; 
 
 But here behold what glorious edifices ! 
 
 What palaces ! what temples ! what august 
 
 Kings ! how unmoved is every countenance 
 
 Above the crowd ! And so it was in life. 230 
 
 No other city in the world, from west 
 
 To east, seems built for rich and poor alike. 
 
 In Athens, Antioch, Miletus, Rhodes, 
 
 The richest Roman could not shelter him 
 
 Against the dogstar ; here the poorest slave 
 
 Finds refuge under granite, hei^e he sleeps 
 
 Noiseless, and, when he wakens, dips his hand 
 
 Into the treasured waters of the Nile. 
 
 Mecanas. I wish, Octavius, thou wouldst carry hence 
 For thy own worship one of those mild Gods, 240 
 
 Both arms ui)on the knees : 'tis time that all 
 Should imitate this posture. 
 
 Octavius. We will close 
 
 The gates of Janus. 
 
 Mectenas. Janus looks both ways ; 
 
 He may like best the breezy air abroad 
 And knock too hard against the bolted brass. 
 
 Octavius {^to a Guard). Call Gallus hither. 
 
 Gallus. Csesar ! what commands ? 
 
 Octavius. I would entrust a legion, more than one, 250 
 To our friend Gallus : I would iix him here 
 In Egypt: nbne is abler to coerce 
 The turbulent. 
 
 Gallus. Let others flap their limbs 
 
 With lotus-leaves when Sirius flames above, 
 Give me the banks of Anio, where young Spring, 
 Who knows not half the names of her own flowers. 
 Looks into Summer's eyes and wakes him up 
 Alert, and laughs at him until he lifts 
 His rod of roses and she runs away. 260 
 
 Octavius. And has that lovely queen no charms for thee? 
 
 Gallus. n truth be spoken of her, and it may. 
 Since she is powerless and deserted now.
 
 Antony and Octavius. 343 
 
 Tho' more than thrice seven* years have come and stolen 
 
 Day after day a leaf or two of bloom, 
 
 She has but changed her beauty ; the soft tears 
 
 Fall, one would think, to make it spring afresh. 
 
 Octavius. And not for Gallus ? Let one brave man more 
 Ascend the footstool of the regal bed. 
 
 Gallus. As the Gods will ! but may they not will 
 me! 270 
 
 SCENE THE SIXTH. 
 Antony and Dolabella. 
 
 Antony. Welcome, my Dolabella ! There is none 
 From yonder camp I would embrace beside. 
 My little queen hath given at last an audience 
 To thy persuasive tongue ? 
 
 Dolabella. Most graciously. 
 
 Antony. I never thought she would permit Caesarion 
 To leave her side ; hardly can I myself 
 Bear separation from that brave young boy ; 
 I love him as my own. 
 
 Dolabella. Your own thus stand lO 
 
 Safe from all peril. 
 
 Antony. Is not it disgrace ? 
 
 A boy save me P for to save them is me. 
 
 Dolabella. Create a generosity of soul 
 In one whom conquest now hath made secure ; 
 Bid him put forth his power, it now is greater 
 Than any man's : consider what a friend 
 Csesarion hath in Julius, all whose wounds 
 Will bleed afresh before the assembled tribes 
 
 * History and poetry do not aWays well agree. Julius Cxsar had 
 left Egypt before the birth of Csesarion, at which time Cleopatra was 
 about fourteen. That she retained her freshness seven or eight years 
 longer, may be attributed in part to the care she took of it, and in a 
 greater to her pure Macedonian blood. Beside, Alexandria is not 
 sultry ; and the architects of antiquity knew how to keep up an 
 equable and healthy temperature.
 
 344 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 On the imperial robe thy hands outsprad 20 
 
 With its wide rents for every God above 
 And every Roman upon earth to number. 
 
 Antony. Ah ! those were days worth living o'er again. 
 
 Dolahella. Live them again then. 
 
 Antony. Never, stript of power, 
 
 Of dignity, of Rome's respect, of theirs 
 Who compass me, who fix before these eyes 
 The very eagles which adorn'd my tent. 
 
 Dolahella. Brave thoughts ! but aie none weaker inter- 
 mixt ? 
 
 Antony. Smile, Dolahella ! Oh, could but that smile 30 
 Kill as it pierces me ! But tread the ground 
 Softly and lightly where her feet have moved. 
 My Cleopatra ! never will we part, 
 Thy son shall reign in Egypt. 
 
 Dolahella. Much I fcar'd, 
 
 O Antony, thy rancour might prevail 
 Against thy prudence. Cjesar bears no rancour. 
 
 Antony. Too little is that heart for honest hatred. 
 The sequent the most venomous hath just 
 Enough of venom for one deadly wound, 40 
 
 He strikes but once, and then he glides away. 
 
 Dolahella. Octavius strikes not Antony. 
 
 Antony. One man 
 
 Alone dares strike the man whom thou hast named. 
 But let me hear the phrase of fraudulence. 
 
 Dolahella. Cxsar's, I trust, will not deserve that name, 
 He says his reign shall be the reign of peace. 
 
 Antony. Peace ! what is that ? a pleasant room to sit 
 Or walk about in, nor could heart desire 
 A cooler place wherein to spread the cates : 50 
 
 First, bring these cates ; bring liberty, the salt 
 That seasons with true relish all things else. 
 
 Dolahella. We sometimes leave but little, when we rise 
 From its enjoyment, for those servitors 
 Who toil'd for us throughout the heat of day : 
 Reckless we not : never can spilt wine 
 Fntei- the golden cup it sparkled in :
 
 Antony and Octavius. 345 
 
 Harpies above defile the half-eaten fruit. 
 Rome now would rest awhile. 
 
 Antony. Yea, long will be 60 
 
 Her rest ; the scourge of Earth will be the scorn. 
 
 Dolahella. We must submit. 
 
 Antony. Thou must ; thou hast submitted ; 
 But never I ; what I have been I am. 
 
 Dolahella. Less prosperous than once, thy fortunes may 
 Be yet restored. 
 
 Antony. I would not take them back. 
 
 By any man, least by that man, bestow'd ; 
 I would not have my portion of the world, 
 No, nor the whole of it, if that glib tongue 70 
 
 Call'd every God to ratify the gift. 
 Show me the foe he ever fairly met, 
 The friend he hath embraced, and not betray 'd. 
 And tell me, Dolahella, for thou canst, 
 Who murder'd Hirtius ; by whose agency 
 Poison was dropt into the wound of Pansa. 
 
 Dolahella. Of this ask Glyco, ask Aquilius Niger 
 Of that. 
 
 Antony. Both know the secret, both have told it : 
 And now I will tell thee one. 80 
 
 At the noon 
 Of yesterday, when fruit is most refreshing, 
 A countryman who brings the yellow figs 
 His queen is fond of, brought a basketful. 
 Saying to Iras : 
 
 " These my little daughter. 
 Whom once you used to play with in the garden. 
 Bids me to give into your hands ; she thinks 
 The queen requires some frolic ; you alone 
 Can venture so far with her. Place within no 
 
 The smooth cool linen of her bed this basket 
 Of cane-leaves and of rushes intertwined. 
 With all the fruit below, the leaves a-top ; 
 You see it is but shallow, scarce a palm, 
 Mind it lie flat ; yet she will find it out 
 Tho' it be always dusky in that room."
 
 346 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 What is there in the tale that thou shouldst stare ? 
 
 Dolabella. Enough. An idle rumour reacht the camp 
 That Cleopatra stung herself to death, 
 Vexing two asps held close against her bosom. 100 
 
 Antony. Are Romans all so ignorant of the asp 
 That two are wanted ? that he must be vext ? 
 That, like domestic animals, he bites ? 
 He bites not, but he strikes with upper jaw 
 As other vipers do, and the black lid 
 Drops, and he crawls away ; one pang, one shriek, 
 Death hears it, nor delays : the hind knows that. 
 An earlier story now. So exquisite 
 In luxury, my queen dissolved a pearl 
 
 Above all price, and drank it in her wine. 1 10 
 
 Bid thou the tatler of the tale expound 
 How that same acid which dissolved the pearl 
 Darken'd no tooth, abbreviated no smile, 
 But gave her spirits for tlie festive song. 
 Ah ! had she done so, Medicine had run up 
 In vain to help her ; Death had inteqjosed. 
 
 Dolabella. Another tale, alike incredible. 
 'Tis said she shook from off her coronal 
 Poison into your cup, dashing it down 
 
 Just at the lip, and proving its effect I2o 
 
 On household beast before you, thus to show 
 How easy were the deed to one who will'd. 
 
 Antony. Is such a fiction workt by homespun yarn ? 
 I doubt it : surely some Greek needle wrought 
 The quaint device, for poet to adorn 
 By metaphor, and sage by apologue. 
 Thou hast among thy friends one capable. 
 In man's attire, fresh-blooming from Hymettus, 
 Handmaid of Cilnius the rich Aretine. 
 
 O Romans! are your ears to falsities 130 
 
 Wide open, and your mouths agape for them 
 As are the callow s])arrows for their food, 
 Hour after iiour ? Ye little know that asps 
 Are not mere worms of one span-length, one cubit, 
 But longer than the vipers in your fields,
 
 Antony and Octavius. 347 
 
 So hideous that no woman, young or old, 
 
 Or rastic, or well train'd to monkey-gods, 
 
 But must abhor them. Your credulity 
 
 Will urge the whisper in each other's ear 
 
 That she, the daintiest of all womankind, 140 
 
 Woidd handle them, now plague them, now caress 
 
 And hug them as she might a tender babe . . 
 
 Yet even the serious may believe the tale, 
 
 For what in Rome is not believed . . but tmth ? 
 
 Dolahella. To me the queen said nothing of this snare. 
 
 Antony. Nothing she knows of it. 
 
 I heard a scream 
 From Iras, and msht in. She threw herself 
 Before my feet, prayed me to strike her dead. 
 And ran toward the corner, where I saw I 50 
 
 The beasts coil'd up, and cut them thro' and thro'. 
 Then told she all ; but not until her prayer 
 For death was fruitless, not until I warn'd her 
 How life and death, while yet we live, are ours. 
 
 Dolahella. Might I advise . . 
 
 Antony. Not me : I never took 
 
 Any advice, in battle or debate : 
 
 Dolahella. Cassar hath urged thee sorely, and may worse ; 
 What wouldst thou do with him were he the vanquisht ? 
 
 Antony. Do with him ? throw him to the fishermen 1 60 
 To bait their hooks with and catch crocodiles. 
 If crocodile feeds upon crocodile. 
 Take him these words : we keep no secrets here. 
 
 Dolahella. Csesar is lenient. 
 
 Antony. Never let that word 
 
 Glide o'er thy lips, no word is it for me. 
 Tell him no friend of mine shall ask my life. 
 No enemy shall give it. I am lord 
 Of my own honour ; he has none to lose : 
 The money-changer's grandson calculates i 70 
 
 But badly here. He waits for thee : depart.
 
 ;48 Dramatic Scenes. 
 
 SCENE THE SEVENTH. 
 Antony and Agrippa. 
 
 Antony. And so, the victor comes to taunt the vanquisht ! 
 Is this well done, Agrippa ? 
 
 Agrippa. 'Twere ill done. 
 
 And never done by me. 
 
 There have been some 
 Who carried to the forum and there cast 
 Tiie tags and rags of mimes, and tarnisht spangles 
 Bag'd from the dusthole corner ; gravity 
 Becomes me better and plain Roman garb 
 In action and in speech ; no taunt is mine. lO 
 
 Antony. What then demands the vanquisher I 
 
 Agrippa. I come 
 
 To ask a favour, ask a gift, of thee. 
 Give me thy children. 
 
 Antony. To adopt ? 
 
 Agrippa. To save : 
 
 They may have enemies ; they shall have friends 
 If thou accedest to my last request : 
 Lose we no time ; we shall be soon at Rome. 
 
 Antony. Ventidius may prevent it. 20 
 
 Agri[>pa. 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<l 
 into Hungary, and among them the young son of Giovanna 
 and Andrea. 
 
 The Black Death, however, compelled the Hungarian 
 King to leave Naples, and at the end of the year Giovanna 
 and Louis of Tarentum returned there. They succeeded 
 in gaining back most of the kingdom which had been
 
 Appendix. 373 
 
 left under the care of Conrad Guilford, a captain of mercen- 
 aries, who grievously oppressed the country. In 1351, the 
 intervention of the Pope was invoked, and after some 
 negotiations a peace was effected between Louis of Hungary 
 and Giovanna. The Queen was pronounced innocent, or 
 if guilty, her guilt was attributed to witchcraft. Louis of 
 Tarentum was recognised as King of Naples, and matters 
 were settled for a time. Landor has made no use of 
 Giovanna's story from this date until the year 1379, when 
 the third part of the trilogy may be supposed to begin. Of 
 the house of Anjou there now remained only Louis of 
 Hungary, Giovanna, and Charles of Durazzo, nephew of the 
 Charles whose death has already been described, and the 
 husband of Margarita his daughter. Charles of Durazzo 
 was thus heir to the crowns of Naples and Hungary, for 
 Giovanna had no children living. He had been brought up 
 in Hungary, and was thus by education no friend to 
 Giovanna. Moreover, the Pope Urban VL had found in 
 the Queen a determined enemy. She had allowed an Anti- 
 pope to be elected in her dominions, and he was quite 
 ready to avenge the insult by helping Charles to drive her 
 from the throne. Giovanna herself supplied Charles with a 
 reason for action. She endeavoured to exclude him from 
 the throne by adopting Louis, Count of Anjou, the brother 
 of Charles V., king of France, as her heir. In 1380, Charles 
 of Durazzo appeared in Rome. Urban IV. crowned him 
 King of Naples, and received in return the promise that 
 Francis Prignano, his nephew, should receive large fiefs in 
 Naples, The only forces at Giovanna's disposal were the 
 few men whom Otho of Brunswick, her fourth husband, had 
 collected. Otho was afraid to risk a battle, and on the 1 6th 
 July 1 38 1, Charles took possession of Naples and laid siege 
 to the Castle in which Giovanna had taken refuge. The 
 siege only lasted a few weeks, and on the 20th August 
 famine compelled the Queen to promise to surrender the 
 fortress and all her possessions to Charles, unless Otho 
 should lelieve her within four days. Otho did his best; he 
 attacked Charles with all the forces he could collect, he 
 himself was taken prisoner, and his men utterly defeated. 
 Giovanna was seized and imprisoned in the castle of Muro. 
 A few months afterwards she died, smothered, it was be- 
 lieved, under a feather-bed. The above sketch will show 
 how far Landor's view of Giovanna differs from that usually 
 given by historians. In his article on " Petrarca " he tells 
 the story in prose. l"he passage will do to conclude a note 
 already too long. 
 
 " But his [Petrarca's] justice, his humanity, his gratitude, 
 were called into action elsewhere.
 
 374 Appendix. 
 
 "Ten years had elapsed since his mission to the court of 
 Naples. The Kinj;^ Andreas had been assassinated, and the 
 Queen Giovanna was accused of the crime. Andreas had 
 alienated from him all the Neapolitans, excepting the 
 servile, which in every court form a party, and in most a 
 majority. Luigi of Taranto, the Queen's cousin, loved her 
 from her childhood, but left her at that age. Graceful and 
 gallant as he was, there is no evidence that she placed too 
 implicit and intimate a confidence in him. Never has any 
 great cause been judged with less discretion by posterity. 
 The Pope, to whom she appealed in person, and who was 
 deeply interested in her condemnation, with all the cardinals 
 and all the judges, unanimously and unreservedly acquitted 
 her of participation, or connivance, or knowledge. Giannone, 
 the most impartial and temperate of historians, who 
 neglected no sources of information, bears testimony in her 
 behalf. Petrarca and Boccaccio, men abhorrent from every 
 atrocity, never mention her but with gentleness and 
 compassion. The writers of the country, who were nearest 
 to her person and her times, acquit her of all complicity. 
 Nevertheless, she has been placed in the dock by the side of 
 Mary Stuart. It is as certain that Giovanna was not guilty 
 as that Mary -was. She acknowledged before the whole 
 Pontifical Court her hatred of her husband; and, in the 
 simplicity of her heart, attributed it to magic. How 
 different was the magic of Othello on Desdemona ! and 
 this too was believed." 
 
 THE SIEGE OF ANCONA . . -274 
 
 [Works, ii., 1846. Landor has followed his authorities 
 closely in this play. Erminia and Stamura are not 
 mentioned by Master Buoncompagno Florentine, the author 
 of the " Liber de obsidione Anconae," printed in Muratori, 
 vi. 925. But in its main lines the play is historical. The 
 date of the siege is 1 174.] 
 
 ANTONY AND OCTAVIUS . . . . . 325 
 
 [Antony and Octavius, Scenes for the Study, 1856.] 
 
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