University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—An Apartment at the Countess di Castellanaria's Palace. Morning.
COUNTESS DI CASTELLANARIA and EVA.
Gia.
And wilder still hath he appeared of late?—

Eva.
Alas! I deem so,—day by day, methinks
More fiercely troubled grow his looks and words!
His words!—too fearful oft to dwell upon!—
The Horror, that is heavy at his heart—
Will have its way.—

Gia.
(starting.)
How! hath he told thee all?—

Eva.
What told me?—oh, no!—nothing—save by sighs!—
Great heavens! hath he told thee?—thou'rt pale and changed!

Gia.
'Tis but the heat!—nay—pity's pang for thee!—
That wrings my very heart!— (Aside.)
Now must I strive
To urge her to that end must be accomplished!—
(aloud.)
I see but one hope left, and that is—

Eva.
(eagerly.)
What?

Gia.
For thee to penetrate his bosom's depth—
Possess thyself of whatsoe'er may be
The armed monster-image of his morbid thought,
For be thou sure some wild distempered dream
Lies at the bottom of this sea of strife.
First, thou this hideous phantasy must sound
Ere thou canst soothe him.—Trust me!—there is a hope,
If this can be achieved! A much loved friend
Of mine, at Venice—long a sufferer thus—
Even by these means, was gradually restored—
Without professional assistance quite.
Whene'er he opens unto thee his soul,
Soothe him, and seek to shape thy tone by his;
Administering such comforts and such balm
As thou mayst best devise.—Hast thou observed
That aught, or any one, especially
Rouses his fevered fancy's fury?

Eva.
Yes!
'Tis since young Bellafiore hath been here,
There hath been increase of his malady—
Constant and swift progression—rapid growth
Of each most dreadful symptom!—

Gia.
Ha!—indeed!—
And do they ofttimes meet?— (aside,)
—my jealous heart!
Silenced in suffocating stillness lie!
Doth Guido much frequent your princely home?

Eva.
Nay, seldom is he absent!—

Gia.
So!—What cause?

Eva.
Hast thou not guessed, nor heard—sweet Flora's eyes
Shine the bright load-stars that attract him there:
He is devoted to her gentle charms!—

Gia.
Distraction!—that—that is,—I mean to say—
Distraction through all stages still requires
The kindliest care and tenderest watchfulness.
Follow my counsel to the letter, now,
And then report to me how thou hast sped.
I do rejoice to hear your cousin hath
Stolen the proud, fiery heart of Bellafiore!—
'Twill be a brave alliance for her—troth!
Through his lamented sister's mournful death
Is he sole heir to vast possessions, left
By a most wealthy mother to the daughter;
Or rather by the grandsire, who bequeathed
His treasure to his daughter's daughter—born
In time to be the idol of his age,
And failing her, to any after issue.
Thus Guido hath enormous mines of wealth!—
Alas! thou heed'st me scarce; thy wandering thought
Is hovering o'er Montalba's suffering head!—
Be mindful, I implore thee!—act thy part
With firmness and decision—'twill succeed!

Eva.
Rest thou assured I will!—I now must bend
My sorrowing steps to my unhappiest home,
Yet something soothed by that thou hast held out,
Of reassurance to my sinking heart!
Farewell my kind Giacinta!

Gia.
Sweet!—farewell!—
[Exit Eva.
Detested worm! but I will crush thee yet!
And feast upon thy writhings and thy pangs!
Doubly I hate for this vile news thou'st brought!—
Torture and anguish!—Have I lost him?—No!
I will not lose him.—She hath loveliness—
And there is all!—that sums her wealth at once!—
Have I no loveliness?—and add to that,
A soul of fire—a heart like Passion's Sun,
A-blaze with gorgeous treasures of delight!—
Then have I aids and adjuncts—golden keys
To the heart's coffered core—ambition!—pride!
Excitement!—patriotism!—Yet—oh!—yet
I will be conqueror in these lists of love!
But would to heaven Montalba's dark affair
Were to the issue brought!—till then I stand
As on the brink of an abhorred abyss—
And all athirst for vengeance, which my lip,
Hot as the vampire's to the dregs would drain!—
Aye! with their life-blood crimsoning in the draught!—
Montalba!—Ha!—hadst thou but wedded me,
Stead of that pale-faced puppet yonder—then
That sharp remorse which cuts with trenchant edge,
Through thy pierced soul, were swallowed up,—were merged
In thousand mightiest interests!—not an hour
Should have gone o'er thy head, without its freight
Of stirring keen excitements!—So shouldest thou
Have lost Thyself, and Memory, and Remorse,
And lived one hurrying life of restlessness!—
Whirled in one vortex of o'erwhelming strife!—
I had built up between thee and the Deed
That shakes thy soul to think on, dazzling walls;—
That with their splendour and their loftiness,
Had shut the fearful shadowy spectre out;—
My hated rival's self is my revenge;
She leaves him to the tyranny of his thought!—
To that dread pow'r—that fiend of fiends—ourselves!—
He should be roused!—fired!—wildly borne along
Adown the flashing rapids of excitement.
She lets him stagnate in reflection's lake,
Which glass one image, and one colouring wear.

Enter Giulio.
Giu.
Giacinta!—art prepared to meet thy friends?—

Gia.
Entirely! let them be admitted straight—
And stay,—mark! Giulio, I have late received
This fresh provision of stout arms!—behold!
(Opens a large cabinet.)
'Tis a fair store, besides what are already
Distributed without reserve, I'm told,
Among the heads and leaders in the—plot—
No, no—the imperial and heaven-sanctioned war!
Didst say they were at hand?

Giu.
They wait thy will.

Gia.
Conduct them instantly, I pray thee, here.
[Exit Giulio.
Oh! Guido! Guido!—shall I see thee now?
Courage, my heart! and cope with this strong joy!

Enter Giulio with De Tours, Guido, and Conspirators.
Gia.
(to De Tours.)
I trust thou hast acquaintance made with these
Right gallant champions in our lofty cause.

De Tours.
Nay, madam, I have had acquaintance, late,
To make with things not such good company,
But of necessity that must be seen—
Your Romish ruins, vast and wondrous! Led
By Curiosity and Cicerones,
I have explored the entire old city—faith!
In two hours and a half—thank, heaven, 'tis done,
A wearying task—but one must see those things!—
Each several town I reached, in my late travel,
Exclaimed I to my courier, fervently,
“Pietro! I trust there's nought here to be seen;—
Museums, churches, pictures, ruins, nor galleries,
Shrines, prisons, palaces, nor catacombs;”
But for my sins had seldom such good luck.
A traveller's trade is most fatiguing!

Giu.
Well!—
We must to business.—Countess! hast thou gained
Due information late from Lombardy?

Gia.
Most satisfactory!—E'en like wild-fire, there,
The electric spirit's kindlingly aroused!—
Swiftly and suddenly—the storm-wind's speed!—
The blow should scarce be long deferred, I deem,
But taken at the tide—the popular zeal,—
Lest that the generous ardour which inspires,
Should suffer chill abatement. Now!—strike now!—
And we shall chain success!

Guido.
(aside.)
Oh! queen-like voice!—
Its silvery championship might pierce proud way
Through banded legions—and all-conquering win
The battle with one word! (To Gia.)
Thou, lady! thou,
That like creation's empress, stand'st girt round
With all the appanage that fits ambition,
As all the ambrosial attributes of beauty—
Dost like a radiant prophetess foretell,
And with thy conquering smile ensure success!

Giu.
(aside.)
By Heaven! he loves her! madness and despair!

Gia.
My noble cousin,—'tis enough to nerve
A poor weak woman, to behold around her
Such gallant sons of glorious chivalry,
Panting to give their country all she needs
To make her yet the loftiest—Liberty!

Guido.
Thyself art all a Heavenly Chivalry!—
Now I conceive how white-robed angels warred!—

Gia.
Hear me but welcome thee with heart and soul,
To our resolvéd band!—for thou hast all
That most is needed in so high a quarrel!—
A soul to do and dare—and to defy
A world in arms, for thy wronged country's sake—
Devotion to that country—true and leal—
Aspirings lofty as thy plumy crest,
Bright with red sunshine of the thousand wars,
Where thy brave lion-fathers fought and bled,
And honour stainless as those hundred 'scutcheons,
Whose blazonries adorn thy princely house.
Courage, that eagle-plumed, ne'er checked its flight,
Genius to prompt—and judgment to arrange—
And power to execute the noblest ends!
Be thou the God-given star to lead our war.
Thy name—thy fame's a very victory-cry!

Giu.
(aside.)
Ye gods! she loves him!—let me hate them, both!

Guido.
Nay! madam!—my poor merits you o'errate—
(aside.)
'Tis too like flattery this, and doth not please me:
It looks like some design—some studied wile.

Giu.
Are we met here to waste the precious time
In petty compliments?—the day!—the day—
The hour—the place—the signal—all's prepared.
A simultaneous rising were the best,
In different quarters.—Aye! it must be so!
Not in one point concentrated can we
Assemble our brave forces; but the when,
The how, the whereabouts, must we discuss,
And speedily press on.—Shun, shun delay!—

First Conspirator.
And we, young nobles of this glorious land,
Like champing coursers, scarce can bear the bit;
But be the word once spoken, and we spring,
With one proud bound of rapture, to the field,
To stamp the foot on crushed oppression's neck!

De Tours.
Be careful that you do not break your own
In such a headlong leap—such things have chanced.

Second Consp.
Swell out the thundering triumph of the acclaim!
Let the loud battle-cry go echoing on!
Let the earth heave victory-rocking round our steps,
Till every nation answers ours, and starts
To giant-stature up, aye!—sword in hand,
The armed nations shall start up, and tow'ring stand,
And then— (pauses.)


De Tours.
What then? then all sit down again.

Second Consp.
Pshaw! trifling!— (Turns to Guido.)
Seems this hero of young France
Scarce fired, methinks, with that high energy—
Those keen aspirings that should prompt and steel
In such an undertaking as our own!

Guido.
Thou hast given utterance to my brooding thought!

First Consp.
I will not stay to hear him desecrate
Our theme of themes with his irreverent tongue!
[Exit First Consp.

Third Consp.
Now, now let the everlasting deed be done!—
Oh! for one swift hour of the earthquake's might—
One moment of the storm and thunderbolt!
Come to the true, bright vineyard!—war's red stage—
Come forth! ye vintagers!—in rushing throngs—
Come, ye grape-gatherers—ho! the grapes are ripe.

De Tours,
(shrugging his shoulders.)
I hope and trust we shall not find them sour!
Nothing would less surprise me, I confess.
Also, Heaven grant, the wine of this fine vintage
May not unsettle seriously our heads— (feels his own.)

Mine feels a thought unsteady on my shoulders!—
A bosom-friend of mine, but the other day,
At Paris, bent on some refined amusement,
Met with an awkward accident.

Guido.
And what?
What happened to thy friend?

De Tours.
The guillotine!
That's all!—a trifle—but it spoilt his beauty,
Disturbed his morning's rest seven hours too soon;
(On a cold, raw spring-morning scarcely pleasant!)
Disordered much his dress, and marred his mirth!—
This same good guillotine's a sharp-set friend.
Like you your friends to cut you?—I do not!

Guido.
(to Gra.)
He is a spy! He mocks our schemes, by heaven!
He hath not at his heart our righteous cause.

Gia.
'Tis but his reckless manner.—This I know,
He is the bravest, noblest, and most zealous—
The war-soul of young France is in his breast.
These sallies are but smoke-wreaths—born of Fire!—
(To Guido.)
'Twere best to shorten this our conference—now!
I tremble, lest these headlong spirits chafe,
Angered to meet so hair-brained an ally!—
Already some, I mark, have disappeared!—
(To the rest.)
My lords, the proud conclusion yet shall come,
The noble consummation of our hopes!
But for short period must be yet deferred.
Advices we expect from distant parts,
And must yet pause till messengers return,
Whom we've despatched to our wide-scattered bands.—
Let the great act be instantaneous then!—
Monies and arms in vast profusion poured
Are secreted i' the hidden mountain-dens
Of our brave brigands,—and the brigands all
Well organized, and placed in certain posts,
With understanding how they are to act,
And how unite themselves together then,
And to our party.

Guido.
Lady! heard I right?
Brigands! saidst thou? Is't possible—is't true?

Gia.
Aye! dost despise such tools?—Thou'rt wrong, my prince!
Scorn'st thou the sword—for that its shining metal
Was dug of old from disembowelled earth?—
Thou must stoop low to find the staunchest help.
'Tis this base mould that gives our iron mail!—

De Tours.
Also a charming chiming toy—called gold—
Which moves the world—and Archimedes' boast
Turns into simple truth.

Fourth Consp.
I grieve to hear,
Fair countess! we must yet curb in our souls,
Impatient for their burst from hated bonds.
But we obey.—The thrice-blessed day will come!—
And earth shall see that noblest spectacle—
A nation struggling for her proudest rights!
In sooth, earth's mightiest spectacle!—

De Tours.
Most true!—
That is the general aspect of the strife!
Collectively—not individually—
For ugly accidents too oft occur,
That rather spoil the beauty of the face,
Unsuited to a delicate complexion:—
But soldiers deal in Generalities!
(And sometimes, slightly too, confuse their terms—)
A body—that's ten thousand bodies—squeezed
In some small compass—a large live machine—
Where the individual legs and arms and heads
Go but to make the monster of the many!—
Battle-array—what is't?—No toilette, made
With exquisite and graceful taste: no, no,—
'Tis but the order of the Army!—but
The appearance of the Million—not o'the one,
The studied, strict costume—'tis but the troops
In uniform precision. By the way—
Talking of uniforms—pray what is ours?
What sort of tailors have you here in Rome?
I vote the colour should be blue, dark-blue,
The livery of cerulean Italy!
What is the banner?

First Consp.
Say the tricolor!
Freedom's own chosen rainbow for long years.

De Tours.
Not so! 'tis rather out of fashion now,
And casts an unbecoming shade around.
I saw a handsome standard-bearer once
Beneath its inauspicious glare appear,
Indeed, all colours of the rainbow!—Say
Crimson!—'twere better much!

Guido.
(aside.)
Insufferable!
What frontless impudence!—what frivolous mirth.

Giu.
'Twere better, lest some slight suspicions were,
Haply, by your protracted stay aroused
With the fair countess, here to separate now,
Even without more delay! If ye approve,
My noble friends! our watchword's still, “Rienzi!”

De Tours.
I think you're right: we've been too long assembled.
'Twere dangerous— (aside)
—and grows rather tedious too.
Farewell! most lovely amazonian queen!—
Heed not my merriment—thou'lt praise my mettle,
When France—no! Italy and glory call,
And all the young and brave go forth in joy.

[Exeunt De Tours, Consp. &c.
Giu.
(aside to Countess.)
Giacinta! leave us. I have much to say
To this young Bellafiore—much to teach.
Scarce yet initiated, he requires
Counsel and explanation, and likes not
To seem in your eyes but a raw recruit.

Gia.
I go.—I fear this wild de Tours hath harmed
Our solemn cause already!—think'st thou so?

Giu.
I own I tremble—but of this anon.

[Exit Giacinta.
Giulio goes to the Cabinet of Arms and brings two swords.
Giu.
Prince Guido, thou hast done me mortal wrong—
Thus give me reparation!—choose thy sword!

Guido.
How done thee wrong?—first let me know the cause!

Giu.
Thou hast supplanted me with her I love,
The beauteous countess!—Not a word—enough—
Defend thyself, or thou'rt a rank, base coward.

They fight. Giacinta rushes in and flings herself between them.
Gia.
What noise!—hold, hold—why? Giulio! Guido, hear!
Hold—hold, I say!—what mad, wild transport's this?

Giu.
I answer as I answered thee, Giacinta—
Ask thine own heart, and let that give reply.

Gia.
Put up—put up! for shame, ye recreant knights!
The red-right arms your suffering country needs
Should ye thus raise against each other?—shame—
Shall light, rude brawls disgrace, and mar, and stain
The dignity of that we have to do?—
Put up, I say, till that tremendous hour,
Fraught with the destinies of thousands, then
Leap forth those swords, like lightnings, from their sheaths:—
Put up!—put up!—I charge ye fight no more,
Or I will send, demanding a strict guard,
This instant to the authorities and powers,—
Then have ye bound in sureties to keep peace.
Ten thousand shames on both!—quick!—quick! put up!
If ye are leal staunch loyal knights.—But swear,
For my sake swear, and sacred guard your oath,
You will not draw again:—be quick!—swear, swear!—

Giu.
(sullenly.)
I swear, since I have sworn before to make
Thine every word my law.

Guido.
And I too swear:—
I have no quarrel with Count Giulio!—none!—

Gia.
'Tis well—once more I leave you, and do trust
Implicitly to your joint honour. (significantly)
Peace!
[Exit Giacinta.

Giu.
She hath thus sheathed our swords—but 'tis in vain—
We must not draw again—but we may die!
Let the survivor claim his radiant prize—
Lo! thus let lots decide the question, ha!—
Draw for the death-lot—'tis the longest—let
Whichever of us twain draws that one—die!

(He prepares lots.)
Guido.
Hold! Thou art mistaken—hast misunderstood.
I do not love the countess—and yet more,
I do adore another, and ere long
Shall hail that other, as I hope, my bride!

Giu.
Indeed! Then give me thus to grasp thy hand:
Wish me success—as I wish thee—the same.

Guido.
I do most truly!—prosper in thy suit—
And woo and win and wear—thy gem of worth.
I honour and admire the proud Giacinta—
But for my heart—another reigneth there!

[Exeunt together.