University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Siffredi
alone.

SCENE II.

Osmond. Siffredi.
Osmond.
My Lord Siffredi,
I from the Council hasten'd to Constantia,
And have accomplish'd what we there propos'd.
The Princess to the Will submits her Claims.
She with her Presence means to grace the Senate,
And of your royal Charge young Tancred's Hand
Accept. At first indeed, it shock'd her Hopes
Of reigning sole, this new surprizing Scene
Of Manfred's Son, appointed by the King
With Her Joint-Heir—But I so fully shew'd
The Justice of the Case, the publick Good
And sure establish'd Peace which thence would rise,
Join'd to the strong Necessity that urg'd her,
If on Sicilia's Throne she meant to sit,
As to the wise Disposal of the Will
Her high Ambition tam'd. Methought, besides,
I could discern that not from Prudence meerly
She to this Choice submitted.

Siffredi.
Noble Osmond,
You have in this done to the Publick great
And signal Service. Yes, I must avow it;
This frank and ready Instance of your Zeal,
In such a trying Crisis of the State,
When Interest and Ambition might have warp'd
Your Views; I own, this truly generous Virtue
Upbraids the Rashness of my former Judgment.

Osmond.
Siffredi, no.—To you belongs the Praise;
The glorious Work is yours. Had I not seiz'd,
Improv'd the wish'd Occasion to root out
Division from the Land, and save my Country,
I had been base, been infamous for ever.
'Tis You, my Lord, to whom the many Thousands,
That by the barbarous Sword of Civil War
Had fallen inglorious, owe their Lives; to You
The Sons of this fair Isle, from her first Peers
Down to the Swain who tills her golden Plains,
Owe their safe Homes, their soft domestick Hours,
And thro' late Time Posterity shall bless you,
You who advis'd this Will—I blush to think,
I have so long oppos'd the best good Man
In Sicily—With what impartial Care
Ought we to watch o'er Prejudice and Passion,
Nor trust too much the jaundic'd Eye of Party!
Henceforth it's vain Delusions I renounce,
It's hot Determinations, that confine
All Merit and all Virtue to itself.
To yours I join my Hand; with you will own
No Interest and no Party but my Country.
Nor is your Friendship only my Ambition:
There is a dearer Name, the Name of Father,
By which I should rejoice to call Siffredi.
Your Daughter's Hand would to the Publick Weal
Unite my private Happiness.

Siffredi.
My Lord,
You have my glad Consent. To be allied
To your distinguish'd Family, and Merit,
I shall esteem an Honour. From my Soul
I here embrace Earl Osmond as my Friend,
And Son.

Osmond.
You make him happy. This Assent,
So frank and warm, to what I long have wish'd,
Engages all my Gratitude; at once,
In the first Blossom, it matures our Friendship.
I from this Moment vow myself the Friend,
And zealous Servant of Siffredi's House.

Enter an Officer belonging to the Court.
Officer
to Siffredi.
The King, my Lord, demands your speedy Presence.

Siffredi.
I will attend him strait—Farewel, my Lord:
The Senate meets; there, a few Moments hence,
I will rejoin you.

Osmond.
There, my noble Lord,
We will compleat this salutary Work,
Will there begin a new auspicious Era.

SCENE III.

Osmond
alone.
Siffredi gives his Daughter to my Wishes—
But does she give herself? Gay, young, and flatter'd,
Perhaps engag'd, will she her youthful Heart
Yield to my harsher, uncomplying Years?
I am not form'd, by Flattery and Praise,
By Sighs and Tears, and all the whining Trade
Of Love, to feed a Fair-one's Vanity;
To charm at once and spoil her. These soft Arts
Nor suit my Years nor Temper; these be left
To Boys and doating Age. A prudent Father,
By Nature charg'd to guide and rule her Choice,
Resigns his Daughter to a Husband's Power,
Who with superior Dignity, with Reason,
And manly Tenderness, will ever love her;
Not first a kneeling Slave, and then a Tyrant.

SCENE IV.

Osmond. Barons.
Osmond.
My Lords, I greet you well. This wondrous Day
Unites us all in Amity and Friendship.
We meet to-day with open Hearts and Looks,
Not gloom'd by Party, scouling on each other,
But all the Children of one happy Isle,
The social Sons of Liberty. No Pride,
No Passion now, no thwarting Views divide us:
Prince Manfred's Line, at last, to William's join'd,
Combines us in one Family of Brothers.
This to the late good King's well-order'd Will,
And wise Siffredi's generous Care we owe.
I truly give you Joy. First of you all,
I here renounce those Errors and Divisions
That have so long disturb'd our Peace, and seem'd,
Fermenting still, to threaten new Commotions—
By Time instructed, let us not disdain
To quit Mistakes. We all, my Lords, have err'd.
Men may, I find, be honest tho' they differ.

1st Baron.
Who follows not, my Lord, the fair Example
You set us all, whate'er be his Pretence,
Loves not with single and unbiass'd Heart
His Country as he ought.

2d Baron.
O beauteous Peace!
Sweet Union of a State! What else, but Thou,
Gives Safety, Strength, and Glory to a People
I bow, Lord Constable, beneath the Snow
Of many Years; yet in my Breast revives
A youthful Flame. Methinks, I see again
Those gentle Days renew'd, that bless'd our Isle,
Ere by this wasteful Fury of Division,
Worse than our Ætna's most destructive Fires,
It desolated, sunk. I see our Plains
Unbounded waving with the Gifts of Harvest;
Our Seas with Commerce throng'd, our busy Ports
With chearful Toil. Our Enna blooms afresh;
Afresh the Sweets of thymy Hybla flow.
Our Nymphs and Shepherds, sporting in each Vale,
Inspire new Song, and wake the pastoral Reed—
The Tongue of Age is fond—Come, come, my Sons
I long to see this Prince, of whom the World
Speaks largely well—His Father was my Friend,
The brave unhappy Manfred—Come, my Lords;
We tarry here too long.

SCENE V.

Two Officers, keeping off the Croud.
One of the Croud.
Shew us our King,
The valiant Manfred's Son, who lov'd the People—
We must, we will behold him—Give us way.

1st Officer.
Pray, Gentlemen, give back—it must not be—
Give back, I pray—on such a glad Occasion
I would not ill entreat the lowest of you.

2d Man of the Croud.
Nay, give us but a Glimpse of our young King.
We more than any Baron of them all
Will pay him true Allegiance.

2d Officer.
Friends—indeed—
You cannot pass this Way—We have strict Orders,
To keep for Him himself, and for the Barons,
All these Apartments clear—Go to the Gate
That fronts the Sea—You there will find Admission.

All.
Long live King Tancred! Manfred's Son—Huzza!

[Croud goes off.
1st Officer.
I do not marvel at their Rage of Joy:
He is a brave and amiable Prince.
When in my Lord Siffredi's House I liv'd,
Ere by his Favour I obtain'd this Office,
I there remember well the young Count Tancred.
To see him and to love him were the same.
He was so noble in his Ways, yet still
So affable and mild—Well, well, old Sicily,
Yet happy Days await thee!

2d Officer.
Grant it Heaven!
We have seen sad and troublous Times enough.
He is, they say, to wed the late King's Sister,
Constantia.

1st Officer.
Friend, of That I greatly doubt.
Or I mistake, or Lord Siffredi's Daughter
The gentle Sigismunda has his Heart.
If one may judge by kindly cordial Looks,
And fond assiduous Care to please each other,
Most certainly they love—O be they blest,
As they deserve! It were great Pity aught
Should part a matchless Pair: the Glory He,
And She the blooming Grace of Sicily!

2d Officer.
My Lord Rodolpho comes.

SCENE VI.

Rodolpho, from the Senate.
Rodolpho.
My honest Friends,
You may retire.
[Officers go out.
A Storm is in the Wind.
This Will perplexes all. No, Tancred never
Can stoop to these Conditions, which at once
Attack his Rights, his Honour, and his Love.
Those wise old Men, those plodding grave State-Pedants,
Forget the Course of Youth; their crooked Prudence,
To Baseness verging still, forgets to take
Into their fine-spun Schemes the generous Heart,
That thro' the Cobweb System bursting lays
Their Labours waste—So will this Business prove,
Or I mistake the King—Back from the Pomp
He seem'd at first to shrink; and round his Brow
I mark'd a gathering Cloud, when by his Side,
As if design'd to share the public Homage,
He saw the Tyrant's Daughter. But confess'd,
At least to me, the doubling Tempest frown'd,
And shook his swelling Bosom, when he heard
Th' unjust the base Conditions of the Will.
Uncertain tost, in cruel Agitation,
He oft, methought, address'd himself to speak
And interrupt Siffredi; who appear'd,
With conscious haste, to dread that Interruption,
And hurry'd on—But hark! I hear a Noise,
As if th' Assembly rose?—Ha! Sigismunda,
Oppress'd with Grief and wrapt in pensive Sorrow,
Passes along—

[Sigismunda and Attendants pass thro' the Back Scene. Laura advances.

SCENE VII.

Rodolpho, Laura.
Laura.
Your high-prais'd Friend, the King,
Is false, most vilely false! The meanest Slave
Had shown a nobler Heart; nor grossly thus,
By the first Bait Ambition spread, been gull'd.
He Manfred's Son! away! it cannot be!
The Son of that brave Prince could ne'er betray
Those Rights so long usurp'd from his great Fathers,
Which he, this Day, by such amazing Fortune,
Had just regain'd; he ne'er could sacrifice
All Faith, all Honour, Gratitude and Love,
Even just Resentment of his Father's Fate,
And Pride itself; whate'er exalts a Man
Above the groveling Sons of Peasant-Mud,
All in a Moment—And for what? Why, truely
For kind Permission, gracious Leave, to fit
On his own Throne with Tyrant William's Daughter!

Rodolpho.
I stand amaz'd—You surely wrong him, Laura.
There must be some Mistake.

Laura.
There can be none!
Siffredi read his full and free Consent,
Before th' applauding Senate. True indeed,
A small Remain of Shame, a timorous Weakness,
Even dastardly in Falshood, made him blush
To act this Scene in Sigismunda's Eye,
Who sunk beneath his Perfidy and Baseness.
Hence, till to-morrow he adjourn'd the Senate—
To-morrow fix'd with Infamy to crown him!
Then, leading off his gay triumphant Princess,
He left the poor unhappy Sigismunda,
To bend her trembling Steps to that sad Home
His faithless Vows will render hateful to her—
He comes—Farewel—I cannot bear his Presence!

SCENE VIII.

Tancred, Siffredi, Rodolpho.
Tancred
, entering, to Siffredi.
Avoid me, hoary Traitor!—Go, Rodolpho,
Give Orders that all Passages this Way
Be shut—Defend me from a hateful World,
The Bane of Peace and Honour—then return—
What! dost Thou haunt me still? O monstrous Insult!
Unparallel'd Indignity! Just Heaven!
Was ever King, was ever Man so treated?
So trampled into Baseness!

Siffredi.
Here, my Liege,
Here strike! I nor deserve, nor ask for Mercy.

Tancred.
Distraction!—O my Soul!—Hold, Reason, hold
Thy giddy Seat—O this inhuman Outrage
Unhinges Thought!

Siffredi.
Exterminate thy Servant!

Tancred.
All, all but this I could have borne—but This!
This daring Insolence beyond Example!
This murderous Stroke that stabs my Peace for ever!
That wounds me there—there! where the human Heart
Most exquisitely feels—

Siffredi.
O bear it not,
My royal Lord! appease on me your Vengeance!

Tancred.
Did ever Tyrant image aught so cruel!
The lowest Slave that crawls upon this Earth,
Robb'd of each Comfort Heaven bestows on Mortals,
On the bare Ground, has still his Virtue left,
The sacred Treasures of an honest Heart,
Which thou hast dar'd, with rash audacious Hand,
And impious Fraud, in me to violate—

Siffredi.
Behold, my Liege, that rash audacious Hand,
Which not repents its Crime—O glorious! happy!
If by my Ruin I can save your Honour.

Tancred.
Such Honour I renounce! with sovereign Scorn
Greatly detest it, and its mean Adviser!
Hast thou not dar'd beneath my Name to shelter—
My Name for other Purposes design'd,
Given from the Fondness of a faithful Heart,
With the best Love o'erflowing—hast thou not
Beneath thy Sovereign's Name basely presum'd
To shield a Lye? a Lye! in Public utter'd,
To all deluded Sicily? But know,
This poor Contrivance is as weak as base.
In such a wretched Toil none can be held
But Fools and Cowards—O thy flimsy Arts,
Touch'd by my just my burning Indignation,
Shall burst like Threads in Flame!—Thy doating Prudence,
But more secures the Purpose it would shake.
Had my Resolves been wavering and doubtful,
This would confirm them, make them fix'd as Fate;
This adds the only Motive that was wanting
To urge them on thro' War and Desolation—
What! marry Her! Constantia! Her! the Daughter
Of the fell Tyrant who destroy'd my Father!
The very Thought is Madness! Ere thou seest
The Torch of Hymen light these hated Nuptials,
Thou shalt behold Sicilia wrapt in Flames,
Her Cities raz'd, her Valleys drench'd with Slaughter—
Love set aside—my Pride assumes the Quarrel.
My Honour now is up; in spite of Thee,
A World combin'd against me, I will give
This scatter'd Will in fragments to the Winds,
Assert my Rights, the Freedom of my Heart,
Crush all who dare oppose me to the Dust,
And heap Perdition on Thee!

Siffredi.
Sir, 'tis just.
Exhaust on me your Rage; I claim it all.
But for these public Threats thy Passion utters,
'Tis what Thou canst not do!

Tancred.
I cannot! Ha!
Driven to the dreadful Brink of suck Dishonour,
Enough to make the tamest Coward brave,
And into Fierceness rouze the mildest Nature,
What shall arrest my Vengeance? who?

Siffredi.
Thy Self!

Tancred.
Away! dare not to justify thy Crime!
That That alone can aggravate it's Horror,
Add Insolence to Insolence—perhaps
May make my Rage forget—

Siffredi.
O let it burst
On this grey Head devoted to thy Service!
But when the Storm has vented all it's Fury,
Thou then must hear—nay more, I know, thou wilt—
Wilt hear the calm, yet stronger Voice of Reason.
Thou must reflect that a whole People's Safety,
The Weal of trusted Millions should bear down,
Thy self the Judge, thy fondest partial Pleasure.
Thou must reflect that there are other Duties,
A nobler Pride, a more exalted Honour,
Superior Pleasures far, that will oblige,
Compel thee, to abide by this my Deed,
Unwarranted perhaps in common Justice,
But which Necessity, even Virtue's Tyrant,
With awful Voice commanded—Yes, thou must,
In calmer hours, divest thee of thy Love,
These common Passions of the vulgar Breast,
This boiling Heat of Youth, and be a King!
The Lover of thy People!

Tancred.
Truths ill-employ'd!
Abus'd to colour Guilt!—a King! a King!
Yes I will be a King, but not a Slave!
In This will be a King! in this my People
Shall learn to judge how I will guard their Rights,
When they behold me vindicate my own.
But have I, say, been treated like a King?—
Heavens! could I stoop to such outragious Usage,
I were a mean a shameless Wretch, unworthy
To wield a Scepter in a Land of Slaves,
A Soil abhor'd of Virtue, should bely
My Father's Blood, bely those very Maxims,
At other times, you taught my Youth—Siffredi!

[in a softened Tone of Voice.
Siffredi.
Behold, my Prince, behold thy poor old Servant,
Whose darling Care, these twenty Years, has been
To nurse thee up to Virtue; who for Thee,
Thy Glory and thy Weal, renounces all,
All Interest or Ambition can pour forth;
What many a selfish Father would pursue
Thro' Treachery and Crimes: behold him here,
Bent on his feeble Knees, to beg, conjure Thee,
With Tears to beg Thee, to controul thy Passion,
And save thy self, thy Honour, and thy People!
Kneeling with me, behold the many Thousands
To thy Protection trusted: Fathers, Mothers,
The sacred Front of venerable Age,
The tender Virgin and the helpless Infant;
The Ministers of Heaven, Those, who maintain,
Around thy Throne, the Majesty of Rule;
And Those, whose Labour, scorch'd by Winds and Sun,
Feeds the rejoicing Public: see them all,
Here at thy Feet, conjuring Thee to save them,
From Misery and War, from Crimes and Rapine!
Can there be aught, kind Heaven! in Self-indulgence
To weigh down These? This Aggregate of Love,
With which compar'd the dearest private Passion
Is but the wafted Dust upon the Ballance?
Turn not away—Oh is there not some Part,
In thy great Heart, so sensible to Kindness,
And generous Warmth, some nobler Part, to feel
The Prayers and Tears of These, the mingled Voice
Of Heaven and Earth!

Tancred.
There is! and thou hast touch'd it.
Rise, rise, Siffredi—Oh! Thou hast undone me,
Unkind old Man!—O ill-entreated Tancred!
Which Way soe'er I turn, Dishonour rears
Her hideous Front—and Misery and Ruin!
Was it for This you took such Care to form me?
For This imbued me with the quickest Sense
Of Shame; these finer Feelings, that ne'er vex
The common Mass of Mortals, dully happy
In blest Insensibility? O rather
You should have fear'd my Heart; taught me that Power
And splendid Interest lord it still o'er Virtue;
That, gilded by Prosperity and Pride,
There is no Shame, no Meanness: temper'd thus,
I had been fit to rule a venal World.
Alas! what meant thy Wantonness of Prudence?
Why have you rais'd this miserable Conflict
Betwixt the Duties of the King and Man?
Set Virtue against Virtue?—Ah Siffredi!
'Tis thy superfluous, thy unfeeling Wisdom,
That has involv'd me in a Maze of Error,
Almost beyond Retreat—But hold, my Soul,
Thy steady Purpose—Tost by various Passions,
To this eternal Anchor keep—There is,
Can be, no Public without Private Virtue—
Then mark me well, observe what I command;
It is the sole Expedient now remaining—
To-morrow, when the Senate meets again,
Unfold the whole, unravel the Deceit;
Nor That alone, try to repair it's Mischief;
There all thy Power, thy Eloquence and Interest,
Exert, to reinstate me in my Rights,
And from thy own dark Snares to disembroil me—
Start not, my Lord—This must and shall be done!
Or here our Friendship ends—Howe'er disguis'd,
Whatever thy Pretence, thou art a Traitor!

Siffredi.
I should indeed deserve the Name of Traitor,
And even a Traitor's Fate, had I so slightly,
From Principles so weak, done what I did,
As e'er to disavow it—

Tancred.
Ha!

Siffredi.
My Liege,
Expect not This—Tho' practis'd long in Courts,
I have not so far learn'd their subtle Trade,
To veer obedient with each Gust of Passion.
I honour Thee, I venerate thy Orders,
But honour more my Duty. Nought on Earth
Shall ever shake me from that solid Rock,
Nor Smiles nor Frowns.—

Tancred.
You will not then?

Siffredi.
I cannot!

Tancred.
Away! Begone!—O my Rodolpho, come,
And save me from this Traitor!—Hence, I say,
Avoid my Presence strait! and, know, old Man,
Thou my worst Foe beneath the Mask of Friendship,
Who, not content to trample in the Dust
My dearest Rights, dost with cool Insolence
Persist, and call it Duty; hadst thou not
A Daughter that protects thee, thou shouldst feel
The Vengeance thou deservest—No Reply!
Away!

SCENE IX.

Tancred. Rodolpho.
Rodolpho.
What can incense my Prince so highly
Against his Friend Siffredi?

Tancred.
Friend! Rodolpho?
When I have told thee what this Friend has done,
How play'd me like a Boy, a base-born Wretch,
Who had nor Heart nor Spirit! thou wilt stand
Amaz'd, and wonder at my stupid Patience.

Rodolpho.
I heard, with mixt Astonishment and Grief,
The King's unjust dishonourable Will,
Void in itself—I saw you stung with Rage,
And writhing in the Snare; just as I went,
At your Command, to wait you here—But That
Was the King's Deed, not his.

Tancred.
O He advis'd it!
These many Years he has in secret hatch'd
This black Contrivance, glories in the Scheme,
And proudly plumes him with his traiterous Virtue.
But that was nought, Rodolpho, nothing, nothing!
O that was gentle, blameless to what follow'd!
I had, my Friend, to Sigismunda given,
To hush her Fears, in the full Gush of Fondness,
A Blank sign'd by my Hand—and he—O Heavens!
Was ever such a wild Attempt!—he wrote
Beneath my Name an absolute Compliance
To this detested Will; nay, dar'd to read it
Before my self, on my insulted Throne
His idle Pageant plac'd—Oh! Words are weak,
To paint the Pangs, the Rage, the Indignation;
That whirl'd from Thought to Thought my Soul in Tempest,
Now on the Point to burst, and now by Shame
Repress'd—But in the Face of Sicily,
All mad with Acclamation, what, Rodolpho,
What could I do? The sole Relief that rose
To my distracted Mind, was to adjourn
Th' Assembly till To-morrow—But To-morrow
What can be done?—O it avails not what!
I care not what is done—My only Care
Is how to clear my Faith to Sigismunda.
She thinks me false! She cast a Look that kill'd me!
O I am base in Sigismunda's Eye!
The lowest of Mankind, the most perfidious!

Rodolpho.
This was a Strain of Insolence indeed,
A daring Outrage of so strange a Nature,
As stuns me quite—

Tancred.
Curs'd be my timid Prudence!
That dash'd not back, that Moment, in his Face,
The bold presumptuous Lye—and curs'd this Hand!
That from a Start of poor Dissimulation,
Led off my Sigismunda's hated Rival.
Ah then! what, poison'd by the false Appearance,
What, Sigismunda, were thy Thoughts of me!
How, in the silent Bitterness of Soul,
How didst thou scorn me! hate Mankind, thy self,
For trusting to the Vows of faithless Tancred!
For such I seem'd—I was!—The Thought distracts me!
I should have cast a flattering World aside,
Rush'd from my Throne, before them all avow'd Her,
The Choice, the Glory of my free-born Heart,
And spurn'd the shameful Fetters thrown upon it—
Instead of that—Confusion!—what I did
Has clinch'd the Chain, confirm'd Siffredi's Crime,
And fix'd me down to Infamy!

Rodolpho.
My Lord,
Blame not the Conduct, which your Situation
Tore from your tortur'd Heart—What could you do?
Had you so circumstanc'd, in open Senate,
Before th' astonish'd Publick, with no Friends
Prepar'd, no Party form'd, affronted thus
The haughty Princess and her powerful Faction,
Supported by this Will, the sudden Stroke,
Abrupt and premature, might have recoil'd
Upon your self, even your own Friends revolted,
And turn'd at once the publick Scale against you.
Besides, consider, had you then detected,
In its fresh Guilt this Action of Siffredi,
You must with signal Vengeance have chastis'd
The treasonable Deed—Nothing so mean
As weak insulted Power that dares not punish.
And how would that have suited with your Love?
His Daughter present too? Trust me, your Conduct,
Howe'er abhorrent to a Heart like yours,
Was fortunate and wise—Not that I mean
E'er to advise Submission—

Tancred.