University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—A Street.—Distant Shrieks and Alarums.
Enter several of the Populace armed, and headed by a Citizen.
CITIZEN.
This way!

A second Citizen enters, meeting them.
SECOND CITIZEN.
Haste! haste! The Viceroy suddenly
Hath gathered up a desperate band, and makes
Fierce havoc where he goes.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Upon him!

Villanelli enters.
VILLANELLI.
Hold!
I charge you, spare him—haste to save his life!
He is surrounded in the palace, where
He and his troop, closely beset, have made
Their last retreat. Let him capitulate;
And be his life your tribute to his virtues.
My name is Villanelli; for whose wrongs
This day a Frenchman fell beneath his sword—
A favourite of the king's, too;—yet he shed
His blood for sacred justice. Even now
Your wives and children must to-morrow toil
To free us of the slaughter. Let one act
Of signal mercy brighten in your annals
So black a tale.

MOB.
We'll spare him! Let him live!

VILLANELLI.
Demand his life of Procida; whose coming
They who surround the palace now await,
At my entreaty, ere their flaming brands
Doom to a dreadful fate a foe so noble.
Procida comes!

Enter Procida.
PROCIDA.
How now?

MOB.
Spare Montfort.

PROCIDA.
No!
The honour of my house demands his blood.
No mercy! Either he hath slain my son,
Or by some sorcery accurst hath won him
To perjury and treason. He must die!
Where'er he goes his ready followers
Assume a desperate courage and outface us.
Should they by miracle prevail, you'll perish
By a deliberate and hellish vengeance.

Enter a Citizen.
CITIZEN.
Bring up all aid! The Viceroy and his band
Have sallied forth, joined by the palace guards,
And mock all efforts of our chiefs to stem
Their daring course.

[A Shout.
PROCIDA.
The trial, then, be ours.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An open space in the City. Alarums.
Montfort enters, and encounters Procida.
MONTFORT.
So old, and yet so rash! Then thy black blood
Must mingle with the stream thou hast let loose,
And that way seek thy hell.

PROCIDA.
I sought but thee!
Either the life or honour of my son
Thus I avenge!

(They fight. Procida totters; and as Montfort is about to strike him mortally, Loridan enters and intercepts him.)
LORIDAN.
Hold!

PROCIDA.
Loridan!

LORIDAN.
Stand firm!
Foe to my father's life, defend thine own.

MONTFORT.
Guard thine! A traitor, and the friend of traitors,
I meet thee now, and death alone can part us.

[Exeunt, fighting.
PROCIDA.
Ha! Now he trifles not. They grapple now
Like stubborn foes and deadly! Must I faint
In such an hour, and for a sorry scratch?

Enter Salviati and another.
SALVIATI.
This way they went. How now! Is't Procida?

PROCIDA.
Ay.

SALVIATI.
Art thou hurt?

PROCIDA.
Not much. 'Tis here.
'Twill leave no scar worthy the day 'twill tell of.
So—the air freshens, and I breathe again.
Follow my son; our last hope is with him.
With Montfort he contends.

SALVIATI.
He will strive nobly.

PROCIDA.
See that he does.

SALVIATI.
You need assistance still.

PROCIDA.
Follow my son, I say!

SALVIATI.
And leave you thus
Weak and defenceless!

PROCIDA.
Nay, then, follow me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Vestibule of the Palace.—Darkness, dimly relieved by Moonlight in the perspective.—Gleams, as from distant fires.
Enter Leanthe.
LEANTHE.
Where do I wander?—even my women shun me,
As if they hid them from some dreadful doom
That hangs o'er all; 'tis sure distempered fancy.
A fearful trance hath suddenly enthrall'd
My o'erwrought brain! Illusions terrible
Visit my guilty soul for its offence!—
Shouts have I heard; a wild turmoil of battle;
Then women shrieked, and infants!—and anon
'Twas death-like silence, broken still with groans,—
Some distant, some so near they freeze my blood!—
And Montfort, too,—ay, he that should have stayed
To guard and pray for me—he, too, is fled!
But that each thought of him bewilders me,
It seemed I saw him rushing through the streets,
Bare-headed, and scared wretches fly before him!
(Julia Villanelli enters.)
Julia! thou comest to save me from distraction!

JULIA.
Let me embrace thee—feel thy beating heart.
Yes, yes, thou livest, and art but pale with fear.
I thought I never should escape again
The sight of death, staring and ghastly death!
Oh! let me breathe awhile, and ease my terrors.

LEANTHE.
'Tis done, then! Death and vengeance are abroad
And I have set them on!—thou comest to say so—
To tell of Loridan and Montfort. Speak!
The terror of my wild imaginings
May bid the truth defiance!

JULIA.
For thy Montfort,
None but his friends surround him, for his foes
Fly headlong at his sight. Fear not for him;
His valour shall restore him to you safe:
I heard my husband's voice, too, clamouring aloud
To have his life preserved!

LEANTHE.
His life!—from whom?

JULIA.
The citizens, the people, every man
That calls himself Sicilian! 'Tis a work
Of foul conspiracy, a bursting forth
Of deadly hate long stifled. I had joined
At the cathedral the assembled crowd,
To do the holy duties Christians use
Upon this solemn day; when, as the bell
Had ceased the sounding of the vesper hour,
A shout as of revolted demons shook
The vaulted roof! Swords waved aloft, the priests
Raised each his crucifix, and cried aloud,
Revenge! revenge! And then—oh! horrible!
Beside, around me, butcheries were done
It maddens me to think of. I distinguished,
And 'twas Heaven's mercy, but a passing moment.
Yet, ere all sense abandoned me, I saw
Montfort appear like a descended angel;
And at his name and aspect I perceived
The murderers shrink and fly! I saw no more,
Till from an icy stupor I awoke
And all was hushed. The conflict and the crowd
Had passed away; yet fearful things remained—
Dead limbs encumbered me!—I heard the gasp
Of still expiring wretches; and the beam
Of some lone taper that the wreck had spared
Shewed me their livid faces, and pale hands
Convulsive grasping the scarce paler marble!
A few affrighted women like myself
Were tottering through the aisles, like guilty spirits
Suffering their common penance; for 'twas all
Too dreadful for humanity! With one
Close link'd, to keep our mutual courage up,
I ventured forth, and here took speediest refuge,
Shuddering, and draggling through a path of blood!

LEANTHE.
Have mercy, Heaven!

Loridan enters.
LORIDAN.
Still the yell pursues me!
Inexorable father!—I have saved thee!
Thee and my honour! Say'st not so, stern heart!
Where art thou?—Laud me, for my soul is sick—
Mortally sick of its detested deed!

JULIA.
'Tis Loridan!

LEANTHE.
I dread him!

LORIDAN.
Night of horrors!
To thoughts like mine that ne'er shall usher morning,
Ne'er shall they know a dawn of human peace!
And yet—if he still live—shall I not—

JULIA.
Loridan!

LORIDAN.
What voice is that?

JULIA.
'Tis Julia Villanelli.

LORIDAN.
Ha! thou hast courage!—thou hast human pity!
Hear me! Beneath the cloister of St. Mark,
Abandoned, lies a brave and noble Frenchman,
Struck down, and yet, perhaps, not mortally.
Call my attendants,—seek him. Here we'll hide him.
Save him, and I will bless thee!

JULIA.
In the palace
All is deserted. I have strength enough
In such a cause. Come; you and I will go.

LORIDAN.
I dare not look upon him!

VILLANELLI
(without.)
Julia!

JULIA.
Ha! my husband!
With him I'll thither instantly.

[Exit.
LORIDAN
(glancing at Leanthe.)
Ha! who art thou?

LEANTHE.
A wretch whom Heaven had bless'd
Had she been first the victim of your vengeance.
Oh, Loridan! have mercy! Rest thou here—
Play not the dark assassin!

LORIDAN
(wildly.)
Get thee hence!

LEANTHE.
Oh, pity and forgive me! Friend and brother,
Still art thou safe, and in an hour like this,
May I not ask of thee the fate of Montfort?

LORIDAN.
No; there are murderers here—I am a murderer!
The murderers and the murder'd fill the land—
These hands are clamm'd with blood!

LEANTHE.
Oh, spare me!—spare me!

LORIDAN.
Away!—thy Montfort needs thee. Thou hast power,
Perhaps, to save him.

LEANTHE.
Save him!—what base heart,
What impious arm has dared to—

LORIDAN.
Curse me not!
His hand was raised against my father's life.
(Here Montfort appears, tottering and exhausted, assisted by Julia and Villanelli.)
Horrible vision!

LEANTHE.
Montfort!—pale and bleeding!
Yet not to die! Despair not! Live—yet live!—
We'll heal thy wounds.

MONTFORT.
Leanthe!—heavenly kind!
Thus to behold and hear thee brings indeed
Unlook'd for comfort to my toiling spirit.
All else is hopeless!

LEANTHE.
Say not so!—Recline thee.

MONTFORT.
Not for my life, but for my peace above
Put up thy prayers. Oh, wherefore should I live
To mourn my miserable countrymen,
And gaze upon the scene that shall await
To-morrow's dawn. No; in the common doom
Heaven's mercy joins me. O'er my fading sight
The clouds of death are gathering. Read there still,
Ere all be dark, my gratitude to thee.
Hold dear my memory, as thou dost thy Conradin's,
And keep thy vow to Loridan.

LEANTHE.
Thy murderer!

MONTFORT.
No; 'twas he arm'd me for a soldier's death,
And such a death he dealt me. Comes he not?

JULIA.
He is before you.

LORIDAN
(rushing forward towards him.)
Montfort, can you bear
To look upon a wretch who would redeem
Thy life with years of anguish. Take once more
My sword. Revenge thee, and forgive me.

MONTFORT.
Who dies but to forgive! Too many errors
Will stand, I fear, in judgment on my memory.
The ruler of a discontented land
Hath not a charge of pastime. I have held it,
Alas, too lightly! Learn, ye conquerors!
Frail are your conquests, perilous your sway,
Unfounded in the hearts of those ye conquer.
Draw near me both. Let the King know me loyal,
Nor e'er retaliate, for my country's honour,
The rage of these Sicilians. Better far
To fall as we fall than like them to conquer.

(Dies.)
LEANTHE.
Ha! speak again—yet speak! No sound—no breath!
Stand off!—I will not rave! Insatiate Death
(stupor)
Here too hath laid his icy hand. 'Tis welcome!
To Montfort and to Loridan, farewell—
Farewell for ever!

[Exit, led by Lady Julia.
LORIDAN.
Why, so, 'tis past! Let heaven and nature mourn,
Black storm and whirlwind howl—that marble smile
Should mock their wailings. I have wept my last!

VILLANELLI.
These words become ye, Sir. This is no hour
For sorrow's orgies, nor a night for slumber.
Though here the foe is crushed, a band well arm'd,
And strong in numbers—so the rumour runs—
Approach the city—summoned, as we deem,
By Gaston, from Messina.

LORIDAN.
Stirring news!
Well arm'd, too! They are foes a soldier seeks.
I have a father, Sir; let him not blush for me.
Follow me close—a brave man be my witness
I'm a Sicilian, and have slain my share.
Here's massacre shall weigh against their thousands.
I swore an oath to kill him—am I perjured?
And now for havoc! Bring your ruffian hosts—
Ye whose accursed deeds his life hath paid,
And heaps on heaps, in reeking hecatombs,
Revenge his shade.

[Exeunt.
(Shouts.)

SCENE IV.

An outer Hall.
Procida and other conspirators.
PROCIDA.
He must be found,—through all the palace seek him;
He had an oath to Sicily, and does he
Fail us at such an hour! New foes upon us,
And this right arm grown powerless! Calumny
Is busy with his name in all our streets!
Ho! Loridan! Nor he nor his sworn foe,
Living or dead, console these anxious eyes.

Enter Salviati.
SALVIATI.
My lord, your patriot fears are at an end:
Ranging the vacant palace, we have found
The body of the Viceroy, pale and bleeding,
His gallant spirit fled!

PROCIDA.
Is't so? That's much.
My heart's disburdened of the worst. Haste now
Where yet the strife is raging. Let me hear
My son is in the midst.
(Borella enters.)
Hold! here are tidings.

BORELLA.
And of the best. The unexpected band
Spread terror and defeat, when suddenly
Your son, as if in envy of his Montfort,
Rush'd, madly shouting, to the fight. On, on!
Follow the traitor Loridan, he cried,
For Procida and Sicily! All hearts
Hail'd him, and follow'd. Every arm struck death
Around his path, and he careers in lightning.

PROCIDA.
Your words are life to me.

BORELLA.
Our native archers
Bring down the runaways,—they choke our streets.
Where'er a Frenchman shelters, sword and brand
Still hunt him with exterminating wrath.

PROCIDA.
Brave tidings! Yet methinks our vengeance lingers—
Fate tampers with us! Come, we'll forth and front her.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Square in the City.—Alarums.—Conclusion of the Massacre —The Stage and Terraces strewed with the dead. —The Houses of the French consumed.
Loridan enters, eagerly, yet tottering with debility; suddenly rests on his sword, unable to proceed. Villanelli, with other citizens and conspirators, with torches, follow and surround him.
VILLANELLI.
You strive in vain. Rest here!

LORIDAN.
My father!

VILLANELLI.
Your friends on every hand are seeking him.
Behold, he comes!

Enter Procida, Salviati, Borella, &c.
PROCIDA.
My son! (Loridan seizes on his hand and falls.)

How is it with thee?

LORIDAN.
Well; all now is well.
The storm but sweeps away a blighted thing,
Not worth the weeping for.
Palermo's free, and—Montfort—is no more.
Our name is not dishonoured!

PROCIDA.
Thou art the bravest of our race. I've wrong'd thee.

LORIDAN.
No! thou hast done thy noble name but justice.

PROCIDA.
Curse on the tyrant! Could I but restore
The blood to that pale cheek—

LORIDAN.
'Tis freely shed!
In the red torrent that oppression pours
Thine own hath mingled; and if more of mine,
My country's victory is at little cost.
My heart's last wish my tongue now dares utter—
Thou wilt respect a hero's ashes—Montfort
Shall be entombed with honour.

PROCIDA.
Else be Heaven
Deaf to my prayers for thee, for Sicily!

LORIDAN.
'Tis all I live to hear. (Dies.)


PROCIDA
(after a solemn pause.)
Not less than this! Not less than this, my country!
Oh, Loridan! My brave, unhappy boy!
Art thou then gone for ever? Am I left
Childless and lonely-hearted in my day
Of pride and glory! Oh! my friends, forgive
This gush of sorrow,—Nature must awhile
Subdue the patriot for a father's tears.
(Suppressed but deep emotion; then recovering from the struggle with renewed energy.)
Be ready with the dawn to crown our triumph!

Martial salute.
THE CURTAIN FALLS.