University of Virginia Library

THE SIEGE OF ANCONA.

MALE CHARACTERS.

• The Consul of Ancona.
• The Archbishop of Mentz.
• The Bishop of Ancona.
• Antonio Stamura.
• Father John.
• Minuzzi.
• Costanzio.
• Corrado, brother of Costanzio.
• Paolucci, formerly Consul.
• Marchesella.
• Herald, Senators, Officers, Priests, People.

FEMALE CHARACTERS.

• Erminia, the Consul's daughter.
• Nina, her companion.
• Angelica, mother of Antonio Stamura.
• Malaspina.
• Countess of Bertinoro.
• Marca, attendant on Erminia.

ACT I.

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.
O what a sight! The youth and maidens fly,
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?

Erminia.
My dress would show the dust; or else . .
I run to tell my father: go, tell yours.

SCENE II.

CONSUL'S HOUSE. Consul and Erminia.
Erminia.
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 surplices,
And waving hair; not like church servitors,
But princes' sons. I would give all the world
To see their faces . . not quite all the world . .
For who would care about 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.

Consul.
What archbishop comes?

Second Senator.
Of Mentz.

Consul.
Then close the gates, and man the walls,
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.

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
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.

Officer
(enters).
Sir! ere you hasten to the walls, look once
Toward the harbour.

Consul.
Gracious Heaven! what sails
Are those? Venetian?

Officer.
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
(Their patron) slew his brother. Thus would they. [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.

Consul.
Go thou, tell Campiglio
To intercept them, if he can, before
They join the Germans on the hills above.

Erminia.
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?
The weather has been rough; there is a swell
From the Adriatic. Leave me now, Erminia!

Erminia.
Alone, dear father?

Consul
(placing his hand on the head of Erminia).
He who watches over
The people, never is alone, my child!

Erminia
(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
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,
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!
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
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?

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-east
Hard into port: else must ye to the walls,
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.
[They go.
Father John enters.

Consul
(presses his hand).
And these are breasts despotic power would crush!

[Minuzzi going, meets Father John, who had listened.
Father John.
Talk ye of hatchets?

Consul.
Father John! good day!

F. John.
Yea, with God's blessing, we will make it so.

Consul.
I want your counsel on a perilous move.
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 enterprise!

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
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?

Minuzzi.
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
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! [To the Man.

We have all the day before us
And not long work (tho' rather hard) to do.

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 run across the street
To help a lame man up or guide a blind man
But that one wins it: never hear one speak
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.

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 saw him.

Consul.
But suppose him handsome.
Indeed I hear much of his comeliness.

Erminia.
Is that enough?

Consul.
And virtues.

Erminia.
That alone
Is not enough, tho' very, very 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,
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,
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.

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;
I am your daughter; yours, whom not one voice
Raised over all, but thousands.

Consul.
I resign
My station in few days.

Erminia.
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 was 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;
And laying the city's keys before his feet.

Erminia.
Hath he not Peter's? What can he want more?
O 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!
I have made you unhappy many times,
You never made me so until this hour:
Bear with me, O my father!

Consul.
To my arms,
Erminia! Thou hast read within my breast
Thy lesson backward, not suspecting guile.
Yes, I was guileful. I would try thy nature:
I find 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 father place the power supreme
Within his hands, becoming his vicegerent.
I turn aside from fraud, and see how force
May best be met, in parley with the German.

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.

Archbishop.
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 ‘honour.’

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 chimæra.

Archbishop.
And therefore you refused a conference
Unless I pitch my tent beneath your walls,
Within an arrow's shot, distributing
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.

Consul.
Let the lame man teach the lame
To walk, the blind man teach the blind to see.

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?

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 Cæsar.

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
Ye offer to your Gods? And will the next
Be more acceptable? 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 Cæsar what is Cæsar's, man!

Consul.
God will do that for us. Nought owe we Cæsar
But what he sent us when he sent you hither,
To cut our rising wheat, our bleeding vines,
To burn 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.

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 we 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.
'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.

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
That flew from them: but this arrests my arm
Perhaps beyond to-morrow.

Angelica
(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
The sallyport.

Another Soldier.
What held she in her hand?

Another Soldier.
A distaff.

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?

Soldier.
Those all are Italian.

Another Soldier.
Look! How yon tower curls outward, red and reeling!

Soldier.
Ay; it leans forward as in mortal 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
Which none will gather. See it, while you can;
It totters, parts, sinks. What a crash! The sparks
Will blind our archers.

Another Soldier.
What a storm of fire!

SCENE II.

THE CONSUL'S HOUSE. Consul, Erminia.
Erminia.
The men you spoke with in the port have pass'd
The window, and seem entering.

Consul.
Friends, come in.

Minuzzi
(entering with 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.
Erminia! coverest thou our scanty fare
Because 'tis scanty, and not over-nice?
Child! thou hast eaten nothing.

Erminia.
Quite enough.

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.
Half a cake.

Erminia.
Of beans,
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).
Signor 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 . .

Stamura.
Such toil 'twas not.

Erminia.
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!

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.

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 drink, 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,
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,
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
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
After this dip. [Aside.

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!

Erminia
(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?

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
My pilot-fish was with me; that Stamura
Would never leave me.

Erminia.
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! [Aside.

Forgetful, heedless, reckless of himself
He held a shapeless shield of cork before me,
Wherefrom a silent shower of arrows fell
From every galley, amid shouts like hunters'
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.

Father John.
Not while it pleases God to use my arm
Or wits, such as they are, to serve 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.

Minuzzi.
Stamura saved our country, saving you.

Father John.
And you too, both of you, did well your duty.

Minuzzi.
A ground are five good galleys, and their crews
Await your mercy.

Father John.
Did Stamura bring
His captive, that spruce Roman-spoken gallant?

Consul.
He brought none hither.

Minuzzi.
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
(I trow) a pasty German ere he see her;
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.

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 divides it house by house.
Horses no fewer than three score are dragged
Within the gates, from the last charge against us:
What would ye? Wait another charge, and take it.

People.
Brave, brave Antonio!

SCENE IV.

ARCHBISHOP'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?

Corrado.
Who made men the rabble?

Archbishop.
Will not your treason and your death afflict him?

Costanzio.
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;
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?

Costanzio.
Because we saw it sinking.

Corrado.
While it prosper'd
It needed no such feeble aid as ours.
Marquises, princes, kings, popes, emperors,
Courted it then: and you, my lord archbishop,
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.

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.

[To the Guards.
Archbishop.
Lead off these youths. Separate them.

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 life!

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 thou 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,
Altho' such men as that man there have said it.

SCENE V.

CONSUL'S HOUSE. Stamura. Erminia.
Stamura.
Lady! you need not turn your face 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.

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 goes.

Shameless! to ask him! Never did we meet
But, if his eye caught mine, he walk'd aside:
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?

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?

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.

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 trifle 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
Stands there; you are his captive, and not mine.

Clovio.
He knows me well. He threw my whole boat's crew
(Four of them) overboard, but found his match
In me.

Erminia.
It seems so: does it not, Antonio?

Stamura.
More; how much more!

Clovio.
There! He could not deny it.

Erminia.
And now he has persuaded my kind father
To grant you audience.

Clovio
(to Stamura).
She is proud: I'll tame her.

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
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. [To the Consul.

With your permission, Sir! I have yours, lady!

[Stamura goes.
Erminia.
Father! I am unwell. This gentleman
Comes unexpectedly, demands abruptly . .

Clovio.
Impatiently, but not abruptly.

Erminia.
Sir!
I will not marry: never, never, never.

[Erminia goes.
Clovio.
Ha! ha! all women are alike, Sir Cousul.
Leave her to me.

Consul.
Sir Clovio Fizzarelli!
I will do more than what you ask of me.
I grant you freedom. Go aboard the pinnace
Which 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 true!) “All women are alike.”

ACT III.

SCENE I.

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
A mother, who loathes ordinary food . .
Not ordinary, but most bitter lupin:
She has no other in the house.

Bishop.
No other?
Poor soul! This famine is a dreadful thing!
Pestilence always follows it! God help us!
I tremble; I start up in sleep.

Father John.
My lord!
An ounce of meal, a single ounce, might calm
These tremblings, well applied. The nurse that should be
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 very 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.
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.

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 sights
Indeed!

Bishop.
But all will give their confessor
Part of their pittance; and the nearer death
The readier; knowing what the church can do.
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 family
Sits round the table at the spare repast.
Sometimes they run and hide it.

Bishop.
Most unmannerly!
Inhuman, I would add unchristianlike.

Father John.
Sometimes they push toward me the untasted
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
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!

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 the 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.
Can there be ever concord (peace there may be)
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 very court . . shed tears
At such affliction, at such utter ruin,
At such wide wails, such universal woe.
They all were equal then; for all were slaves,
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 Cæsar?
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
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?
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
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 harvest: and these winds
Are adverse. They know that who now defy us,
Blockading us alike by sea and land.

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 fruits and flocks, are nutriment,
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,
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;
He shakes our best supporters.

Another.
Give the sign.
To those without.

[People enter.]
Consul.
Who called you hither?

[Various voices.
First.
Want.

Second.
Famine.

Third.
Our families.

Fourth.
I had three sons;
One hath been slain, one wounded.

Fifth.
Only one
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? will peace restore
Lost honour? will peace heal the wounds your sons
And brothers writhe with? They who gave those wounds
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
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.

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!
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,
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, tho' 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
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 cry peace!
Not knowing peace from servitude.

Senator.
For quiet,
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,
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.

People.
We swear to do our best.

Consul.
Sworn wisely! Life
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.

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
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
The slain?

Paulucci.
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.

Paolucci.
While life remains life's sufferings will arise,
Whether from famine or from sharper sting
Than famine: upon every hearth almost
There creeps some scorpion never seen till felt.
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 as rules 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 . .
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,
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 Officer.
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?
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,
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:
Hie to the walls: I will sue her. To arms!
To arms! the consul of past years commands you.

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.

Erminia.
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.

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 wisdowm, zeal, and probity, when consul.
Ancona then was flourishing; but never
Were those compensated who served their country,
Except by serving her; 'twas thought enough;
We think so still. Beside, the treasury
Is emptied, that it may procure us food
And troops. Be sure the very first that eats
The strangers' corn (if any reach our port)
Shall be no other than yourself: your age
And virtue merit from us this distinction.

Paolucci.
Sir Consul! I want more than that.

Consul.
Receive it
And welcome from the father and the man,
Not from the consul. Now would you yourself
Act differently (I ask) on this occasion?

Paolucci.
More kindly, no; but differently, yes.

Consul.
What would you from me?

Paolucci.
High distinction, consul!

Consul.
I will propose it, as I justly may,
And do regret it has been so deferred.

Paolucci.
May I speak plainly what ambition prompts?

Consul.
I hear all claims.

Paolucci.
Those sacks hold heavy sums.

Consul.
Avarice was never yet imputed to you.

Paolucci.
'Tis said you can not move them from the town.

Consul.
Difficult, dangerous, doubtful, such attempt.
The young Stamura loves bold enterprises,
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.

Paolucci.
They would not seize me.
One loaf there is at home: that boy shall share it.

Erminia.
He would not, though he pined.

Consul.
A youth so abstinent
I never knew.

Paolucci.
But when we are afloat . .

Consul.
We shall not be:
We think not of escape.

Paolucci.
No: God forbid!
We will meet safety in the path of honour.

Consul.
Why say afloat then?

Paolucci.
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.

Consul.

Paolucci.
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.

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.

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,
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 in, retires.
Paolucci.
I come, O countess!
Imploring of your gentleness and pity,
To save from fire and sword, and, worse than either,
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!
We have not met since childhood . . mine, I mean.

Paolucci.
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.

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?

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
To lead me! Grant one favour more; and hint not
To our young friend that we have learnt his prowess.

[To a Page.

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 me rather by the name he bore.

Countess.
It must be known and cherisht.

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, high 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.

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.

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.

Countess.
Are they anywhere?

Paolucci.
His deeds,
If glorious in themselves, require no glory.
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
That would have fill'd it and have turn'd its course.
And in the great deliverers of mankind
Whom find ye? Those whom varlet 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 clipt them. Father John, before he went,
Show'd me them, how they workt. He himself held
The double crescent of sharp 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
Time to take breath upon the upper wave,
When down they sank again and there swang round
Another prow, and dasht upon the mole.
Then many blithe Venetians fell transfixt
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,
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?

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 . .

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 . .

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
Affront her with the mention of my name.
When the great work which you have undertaken
Is done, admit me in your castle-walls,
And never let me see our own again.

Countess.
I think I may accomplish what you wish;
But, recollect, I make no promises.

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?
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.

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.

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.

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!
I 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
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
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.

L. 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 one!
God will feed thee! Be sleep thy nourisher
Until his mercies strengthen me afresh!
Sink not: take heart: advance: Here, where from heaven
The Virgin-mother can alone behold us,
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
Like sleep? Ah, who then, who would fear to die?
How beautiful is all serenity!
Sleep, a child's sleep, O how far more serene,
And O, how far more beautiful than any!
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!

(Two Priests are passing.)
First Priest.
Who sits yonder? bent
O'er her dead babe? as many do within
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.

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,
May soon be wanting.

Second Priest.
God will never let
That greater woe befall us.

[The Priests go.
Malaspina.
Who runs hither? [The Soldier falls 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!

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,
With german letters round its inner rim . .
And . . full of wine! Yet did his lips burn 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.

Maidens.

[They prostrate themselves.
L. Malaspina.
How faintly sound those voices! altho' many;
At every stave they cease, and rest upon
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
Where it may yet draw life from me, my child!
Thou, who alone canst save him, thou wilt save.

[She dies: the child on her bosom still sleeping.

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
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.

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?

Consul.
What Italian! All, sir; all.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

TENT OF MARCHESELLA, NEAR ANCONA. EARLY MORNING. Marchesella. Officers. Paolucci.
Officer.
My general! easily I executed
Your orders.

Marchesella.
Have they fled, then?

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?

Officer.
There 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
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;
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
Suspect, and well they may, some stratagem.

SCENE II.

ERMINIA'S CHAMBER. Erminia. Maria. [Maria is going. Erminia calls her back.
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.
You afraid! Whom should you fear?
Beautiful as she is, are not you more so?

Erminia.
So you may think; others think otherwise.

Maria.
She is so affable! When many lords
Stood round about her, and the noblest of them
And bravest, Marchesella, who would give
His lands, his castles, even his knighthood for her . .
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.

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!

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! 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,
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.

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.

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 weeps
Erminia.
Let me weep away
A part of too much happiness.

Countess.
I wish
One more could see it. From these early showers
What sweets, that never spring but once, arise!

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! But can words, can deeds, requite
The debt of our deliverance?

Countess.
What I ask
Should not infringe your freedom. Power is sweet,
And victory claims something. I am fain
To exercise a brief authority
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.

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 are there many voices that can sing
Your praises. 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,
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 child,
Who hears your name, should bless you evermore.

Countess.
I find, sir, I must win you through your daughter.

Consul.
The girl is grateful: urge her not too far:
I could not, without much compunction, thwart her.
Erminia! go: we meet again to-morrow.

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.

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.
I, who saved her.

[Father John enters.
F. John.
What! and am I to be without reward?

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
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;
But 'twas in one day only my device
Ever wrought woe on any man alive.

[Paolucci enters.
Consul.
Who enters?

Paolucci.
Who? The bridesman.

(embracing him).
My brave friend!
My father's!
Paolucci.
Ay, thy grandfather's to boot.
And there was one, about my age, before him,
Sir Stefano, who wore a certain rose,
Radiant with pearls and rubies and pure gold,
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.

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.