University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A ROOM IN THE PALACE OF EGERIO.
Enter LUDOVICO and POLONIA.
LUDOVICO.
Polonia, whosoe'er has brought
His heart to trifle with Love's chain,
Has no reason to complain
If another heart be thought
Worthier of the bliss he sought—
For it is his fitting fate;
(Who has ever soared above,
That fell not also?) Thus, my love
Dareth to anticipate
That of Philip, though his state
Far exceeds what mine can be,
He on Nature's bounty liveth,
But in what exertion giveth—
I am greater far than he:
I, Polonia, by this hand
Have obtained far higher merit
Even than Philip doth inherit:
If thou dost a proof demand,
Look around this grateful land,
Which hath almost frantic grown
At the victories I have won:
Round about the pleasant sun
Now three rapid years have flown,
Since upon these islands thrown,
I thy happy slave became.
Quicker than the thoughts that fly
Has the fleeting time gone by.
Need I call to mind, or name
Those great trophies of my fame
Won in many a fight by me,
But to offer them to thee—
Which within this palace stand—
Being the amazement of the land
And the wonder of the sea?

POLONIA.
Ludovico, by thy valour,
Whether by thine own worth merited,
Or with Nature's gifts inherited,
Thou hast stamp'd a glow—a pallor
On my cheek, and thou hast lit
Something blent of heat and coldness—
Something blent of fear and boldness,
In my breast: 'tis scarcely fit
That I call it love—for it
Doth awake my grief and shame,
When I feel the Archer's aim
Shoots the poison'd arrow through me,
And the Deity subdue me
In his wild resistless flame.
But I make this one confession,
Long thy hopes had been possession,
Did I not so deeply fear
My father's wrath; but persevere,
And thou need'st not feel depression.

Enter PHILIP.
PHILIP.
Here, perchance, my death I find.
[Aside.
Why then come distracted, blind,
To seek it? But what man is he
Who would have patience not to see
The cause whereby his bosom pined?

LUDOVICO.
What dost thou pledge that thou'lt be mine?

POLONIA.
This hand.

PHILIP.
Not that my will is stronger,
Which can endure this sight no longer,

POLONIA.
Ah, me!

PHILIP.
Wilt thou thy hand resign
Unto a stranger? (How confine
The grief I feel for such a crime!)
And thou who in thy daring flight
Dost seek the sun, that in his light
You may obtain a death sublime,
Why wilt thou not recall the time
When thou my fetter'd slave wert seen?
Why dost thou dare to cross my way?

LUDOVICO.
Because I dare to be to-day
What now I am, not what I've been.
'Tis true I was your slave—for none
Are safe from Fortune's fickle wheel—
But in my very heart I feel
That in the fame that I have won,
And in the deeds that I have done,
(Why should I now the truth conceal?)
My honour equals yours; indeed
Some might surmise it doth exceed.

PHILIP.
Exceed me! vilest among men!

LUDOVICO.
Philip, in these words I've heard,
You have err'd.

PHILIP.
I have not err'd.

LUDOVICO.
If you have not err'd—

PHILIP.
What then?

LUDOVICO.
You have lied!

PHILIP.
Thou'rt vile again.

[Strikes him.
POLONIA.
O Heavens!

LUDOVICO.
Why do I not take
Instant vengeance? When my ire
Burns within me, like the fire
That from Etna's top doth break,
Which not seas of blood can slake.

[They draw their swords, KING EGERIO and Soldiers enter, and all place themselves on the side of PHILIP.
KING.
What is this?

LUDOVICO.
A lasting woe—
A misfortune—an abuse—
A wild, angry fiend let loose
From the infernal gulf below.
Let no one presume to go
Between me and revenge. Reflect,
Fury heedeth nought beneath;
Neither has it fear of death,
Nor for any man respect—
My honour I must re-erect.

KING.
Seize him.

LUDOVICO.
Let the man who sighs
For his death obey! you'll see
What his valour gains—for he
Shall be slain before your eyes;
On this very spot he dies.

KING.
Quick pursue the daring slave—
Who'd have thought of this?

LUDOVICO.
I lave
In a blood-red stream each limb,
On whose breast I seem to swim,
Seeking Philip o'er the wave.

[There is a clash of weapons, and they all go out but EGERIO, who remains alone.
KING.
This new blow alone was wanted;
For a rumour has arisen,
That the slave who fled from prison,
He by whom my dreams are haunted,
Has to Ireland, nothing daunted,
Come from Rome, and hither guided,
Has the world in bands divided,
For the multitude enticed
To believe the faith of Christ,
Have along with Patrick sided.
People say that he must be
A magician—rumour saith
That being sentenced unto death,
By some other monarchs, he
From their fetters set him free,
And with such prodigious wonder
Did he burst the cords asunder
That confined him to the stake,
That the earth began to quake
From its darksome caverns under,
Where the dead lie hid; the air
Groan'd aloud—the sun grew dark—
And the moon lay cold and stark,
Missing the long golden hair
Which the sun's bright brow doth wear.
It is plain, from all one sees,
Patrick holdeth Fortune's ball,
For the people, one and all,
Who beheld such prodigies,
And with what miraculous ease
He regained his liberty,
Follow him from far and near
In astonishment and fear.
Here to-day approacheth he
To try his magic spells on me.
Let him come, before my rod
Shall his magic spells be fleeing;
We shall learn who is that being
Whom they call the Christian's God.
At my hands must Patrick die,
If 'twere only but to try
Whether he, by art or vigour,
From the circle of my rigour
Can with life escape and fly.
We shall see what countless sums
Of magic wealth he now can master,
He this Bishop—he this Pastor—
He who in the Pope's name comes.

Enter the CAPTAIN and Soldiers, with LUDOVICO as a prisoner.
CAPTAIN.
Ludovico cometh taken,
After leaving in their gore
Three of thy guard, and wounding more.

KING.
Christian, is thy breast not shaken,
Seeing my wrath at length awaken—
Seeing my hand upraised for blood?
But vainly now, in frantic mood,
Doth suffering tear my tenderest nerves—
This, and more, that man deserves
Whoe'er has done a Christian good:
Reward, not punishment, should be
Your gift to-day; for it is plain,
That I alone should feel the pain
Of having done aught good to thee.
Here, guard him close, till our decree
Pronounce his death; my will is known—
[To the soldiers.
All hope of mercy now hath flown—
So you may spare your tears and sighs—
Not for his crimes, this Christian dies,
But for his Christian creed alone.

[They all go out but LUDOVICO, who remains alone.
LUDOVICO.
If for this I die, thou makest
My unhappy death most happy—
Since he dieth for his Maker,
He who dieth for His honour:
And a man whom fortune doometh
Here to live in pain and trouble,
Ought to bless the falling death-stroke
As the happy end of all things;
Since its greatness comes to shorten
Life's poor thread—so wildly tangled!
Mine to-day becometh evil—
Like a phœnix it arises
From the ashes of dishonour.
Here my life were deadly poison—
Here my breath were serpent venom—
Till I could, throughout all Ireland,
Shed vile blood in such abundance,
As would wash away the insult
And the memory of my wrong:
Ah! honour, honour, low thou liest,
Stricken by a rigorous hand!—
I shall die with you. Together
We shall conquer these barbarians—
For my death will, in a moment,
Give us sweet and certain triumph.
In this sharp and pointed dagger
Lieth honourable vengeance!—
But God bless me! what fell demon
Prompts my hand? I am a Christian—
I have got an immortal soul,
And the pious light of faith:
Is it right that I, a Christian,
Should commit, among these gentiles,
Any act that would bring insult
On the religion I profess?
What example shall I give them
By this dark crime of self-murder,
But that my actions give the lie to
All the virtuous works of Patrick?
Since the people here, who only
Worship their degrading vices—
Who deny the soul's existence,
And its future pain or glory—
They would surely say—what boots it
Patrick's preaching that man's spirit
Is immortal? What imports it?
If the Christian Ludovico
Kills himself: thereby proclaiming
His own ignorance of its nature—
Thus would we with doubtful actions
Keep the beams of faith from falling:—
He the light, and I the darkness.
Well, there is such evil in it
That it must not be attempted:
Not that I at all repent me
Of the crimes that I've committed—
Nay, I rather sigh for new ones:
Oh! if I could now but free me
With my life, from out this prison,
I would soon become the terror
Of the world, in all its quarters,
Europe, Africa, and Asia:
I would make a dread beginning
In these islands of Egerio;
So that there would live no person
Who would satisfy the anguish
And the blood-thirst of my vengeance.
Lightning when the sphere it cleaveth,
Warns us with its voice of thunder;
And, in mingled smoke and shadows,
Imitating fiery serpents,
Darteth through the trembling ether.
Thus have I in thunder threatened,
So that every man could hear it;
But the fiery bolt is wanting;
Ah! alas, it hath miscarried,
And before it reach'd its object,
Was the sport of every vapour;
Death itself has got no terrors,
No, not even a death so shameful;
But what grieves me is to perish
In my strong and early manhood,
Ere my heart with crime is sated—
Life alone, for this I covet;
That I yet may act far greater,
Heaven doth know for nought beside.

Enter POLONIA.
POLONIA.
Hesitation now is over—
[Aside.
Ludovico, there are moments
[Aloud.
When love must no more be silent,
But give proof how strong it is:
Now your life is in great danger
From the angry king, my father;
And it doth behove your safety
To escape his wrath and fury:
By my liberal hand, the guardsmen
Round your prison are suborned,
And their watchful ears are deafened
By the wondrous sound of gold;
Fly: and that you may hereafter
Know, how much a woman hazards,
When she yields to love's delirium:
How she tramples upon honour—
How upon respect she trampleth—
I with you will go: 'tis needful.
Henceforth, for my whole existence,
I must live or die beside you:
Without you my life were nothing—
You who in my fond breast liveth.
I bring gold and costly jewels
More than we require, to place us
In the farthest land of India;
Where the sun burns up and freezes—
Now with beams, and now with shadows.
At the door there stand two horses;
I will call them swiftest panthers—
Daughters of the wind—or rather,
Thought itself would best describe them.
They are safe as they are rapid—
For, although upon them flying
Swifter than the sudden lightning,
Scarcely shall we feel their motion.
Oh! be resolute—why dally?
What delays you?—time is pressing—
And that fortune which doth ever
Interrupt love's course, at present
May not mar a deed so noble!
I shall show the way before you.
With ingenious speech and action
I shall gain the guard's attention,
Giving you a chance of flying—
See the sun our project favours,
For he sinketh in the ocean—
There to rest him from his labours,
And to cool his burning tresses.

[Exit.
LUDOVICO.
To my very hands hath fortune
Sent the chance I so much wished for—
For, Heaven knows, the proofs of liking
Which I gave unto Polonia,
Were but feigned—assumed, in order
That I might thereby avail me
Of the jewels which she carries,
Soon or late, to fly with gladness
From this Babylonian bondage;
For although in her my person
Lived esteemed, yet it was only
Servitude disguised—my roving
And unfettered life was pining
For the pleasant breath of freedom,
Which the heavens this day have granted.
But for the future which I painted,
A woman is a weight and hindrance;
Love with me is but a fancy,
Quickly gone as quickly born,
Which when satisfied, the fairest
Woman bringeth nought but tedium:
Being so—of what importance
Is another murder added
To the many gone before it?—
By my hands must die Polonia;
She has chosen for her loving
A most unpropitious epoch,
When there's nothing loved or worshipped:
Had she loved like other mortals,
She would have lived as others live.

[Exit.
Enter the CAPTAIN.
CAPTAIN.
From the King I come with orders
Here to read to Ludovico
The fixed sentence of his death!
But the prison door is open!
And the tower is bare and empty!
Something must have happened—soldiers!
No one answers to my calling!
Help! assistance! treason! treason!

Enter the KING, PHILIP, and LAOGHAIRE.
KING.
Who is calling? Who's proclaiming?
What is this?

CAPTAIN.
That Ludovico
Has escaped; and with him also
Have the guards departed.

LAOGHAIRE.
Monarch!
Here I saw Polonia enter.

PHILIP.
Heavens! it is now too certain
That 'twas she who gave him freedom;
You must know he was her suitor—
Jealousy doth now incite me,
And provoke me to pursue them—
From this very day, Hibernia
Will be called a second Troy.

[Exit.
KING.
Let me have a horse; in person
I those fugitives must follow.
Who are those two daring Christians,
Who combine, with doubtful actions,
One to shake my bosom's quiet,
One to steal my dearest honour?
But the two shall be the trophies
Of my hand's far-reaching vengeance—
From whose aim no man can hide him,
Not even the mighty Roman Pontiff.

[Exeunt.