University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A distant View of the City of Naples.
Enter Fontano and Scipio among Precipices.
Sci.

Follow my steps, Signor; and we shall soon
come to a safer road than this. Oh! 'twas a cruel
deed, to rob you of your sight, and then to leave you
among these dreadful precipices.

Fon.
Cruel beyond the cruelty of men.
Where art thou, Scipio?—Let me hold thine hand!
I fear to step;—these rocks are wild and steep;
There—lead thee on:—to thee and heaven I trust!

Sci.
And heaven shall fail you, Signor, sooner than
I will.

Fon.
Heaven proves its mercy by its gift of thee!
Alfonso!—Oh Alfonso!—To be duped
By the low craft of Claudia!—'Tis too much!
Oh!—how man's intellect does crouch before
The bought endearments of an artful woman!

Sci.
Whither shall I lead you, Signor?

Fon.
Lead me to Venice, boy.
Lead me safe thither; and my gratitude
Shall pay thee well, for thy good conduct towards me.

Sci.

Venice?—Venice, I suppose, is a long way
off, Signor, is it not?—But we shall one day reach it,
nevertheless, I hope. This ducat, which the savage
Signor gave me, will take us several leagues. When
we have spent it, Signor, have I your leave to exercise
my profession?

Fon.
(smiling.)
Profession?
And what is that, my noble minded boy?

Sci.

Why, Signor, you must know, the Virgin and
my mother taught me the art of an improv—prov—
provi—

Fon.

Improvisatore?

Sci.

Ah!—that is the word, Signor!—So, if I see
a rich cavalier, riding on the road, this is the way, I
shall begin, perhaps:

Fon.
Oh! richest mirror of a noble heart!
What splendid court contains a soul like thine?

Sci.
Come, Signor, don't be afraid;—this is the way:

Fon.
To grant me thee, my Scipio, was indeed
To grant a treasure, that I ne'er could hope,
In this most weary pilgrimage!—Proceed.
If heaven has but preserved my child, I yet
May taste of happiness!—'Tis now sev'n days,
Since she and Paulo took the road to Venice.

Sci.

Then let us take the road to Venice, too,
Signor. If a lady can travel to Venice in seven days,
surely you and I can go thither in ten. Come, Signor,
who is afraid?

Fon.
Paulo's a man—I would have had a better;
But that the time prevented.—Heaven preserve her!

Sci.

Come, Signor, come along: the road is better
now.

Fon.
Well, my dear boy.—But we must now be cautious.
Albanio's camp, if I mistake not, lies
Full towards the west:—so lead me northward, boy.

Sci.

Albanio? Who is Albanio, Signor? I have
heard a great deal of talk about this Signor Albanio;
but cannot make out, who he is.

Fon.
Oh! He is worse, than language e'er can paint!
He slew his wife, at midnight; fled the land,
Which gave him birth; and wars on all its sons!—

Scip.
Oh! ! What a monster!
(A hunting horn heard at a distance.)

Merciful Virgin!—There are three or four men, flying
from rock to rock, yonder, as if they were frantic.
For heaven's sake, Signor, let us get out of their
way, as fast as we can.

(Horn louder.)

Oh!—it is a chamois hunt.—Ah! now they have
killed the poor chamois!—Here they come, Signor;
we had better retire: for they may hunt us now, as far
as we know.—Come, Signor; we have not a single
moment to lose.

[Exeunt.
Enter Albanio, Spalatro, Carlo, Marco, &c. Albanio comes forward, and leans, for a few moments, in a melancholy attitude against one of the rocks.
Alb.
It shames my nature, thus to waste the time
In the pursuit of animals, while men
Are hunting me.—I stand ashamed!—The world—
'Twill laugh to hear it.
(relapses into thought.)
—If I draw my sword
Thus, and then thus;—then this way, and then that;
What city's walls shall I have outlin'd?—Speak!

Spa.
What city's outlines?—Why—the walls of Naples.

Alb.
Ah! thou art right!—And hadst thou said the walls
Of Babylon, or Nineveh, thou hadst
Said rightly too. For e'er the gilded moon
Shall wane into a melancholy crescent,
Naples shall be a Nineveh!

Spa.
A Nineveh?

Alb.
Yes,—a Nineveh, and a Babylon!
One stone shall not repose upon another!
The future traveller shall search for her,
And dust alone shall recompense his search!
And we've been hunting here, like boys and clowns,
Because a chamois cross'd us on our way!
I stand ashamed at such a folly.—Marco,
Unbend thy bow;—and thou—and thou—and thou.
[They unbend their bows.
This bow shall such a folly see again,
When children pick it up;—and not before.
[Breaking the bow.
'Tis thus—and more than thus—Spalatro?—here!
Hast ever heard?—But stay—the sun is up,
And this no time for secrets.—Now—be honest—
I sometimes fear my faculties do wander!—
That is, Spalatro, now and then:—not now:—
But when I brood too deeply o'er my sorrows.
Hast thou remark'd it?—Come, be honest—speak—
Speak like a man, that venerates another,
Loving the truth.

Spa.
I ne'er observ'd it, Signor.

Alb.
Nay now—thy looks speak truer, than thy words.
But I forgive thee.—Truth's an honest fool,
That few men love to deal with.
(With some hesitation.)
Hast thou heard?—
Hast ever heard, that I was married?

Spa.
Yes.

Alb.
Thou hast?

Spa.
I've heard it whisper'd, Signor—

Alb.
Whisper'd?—
Right noble men speak out; they never whisper!
Why should men whisper, when they speak the truth?
Manfredi is the villain!—Was it he—
Was it not he, that stabb'd my innocent wife?

Spa.
(In a very indistinct manner.)
Oh! horrible!

Alb.
What?—think'st thou, then, 'twas I?
If thou think that—

Spa.
Most noble Signor, thou mistak'st my meaning.

Alb.
(His passion subsiding in an instant.)
Thine hand!—I'm hasty—but I'm innocent.
Oh, if thou knew mine agony of soul!—

Spa.
I could not love thee more!

All.
Nor we.
Nor we.
Nor we either, Signor.

Alb.
Bear with my humour!—Friends, I thank ye all.
I've sworn eternal hatred to Manfredi!
I've sworn eternal hatred unto Naples!
And war,—eternal war—'gainst all her perjur'd sons!
And, if ye wish to know the hated cause,
Follow my steps, and I will tell it ye.
But, ere ye hear my agonizing tale,
Swear, by this sword, ye will revenge my cause—

Spa.
We swear!—

All.
We swear!

Spa.
And may perdition hurl
Her deadliest tortures, if we e'er prove false!

Alb.
Then I am trebly arm'd!—Spalatro, come;
Come, my bold comrades;—let us to our rocks,
And meditate the ruin.—Naples—see—
Yon distant towers are those of Naples!—we—
We'll pulverize each palace into dust,
—So small,—
That e'en a summer's breeze may waft it to the skies!

[Exeunt.