University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—A Chamber in the Castle. Loud knocking outside, repeated two or three times.
Enter from the opposite side Ambrose hastily.
Amb.
Give o'er!—What makes you knock so loud? Come in!

[Opens.
Louis.
[Entering.]
The Governor!

Amb.
He sleeps.

Louis.
Awaken him!

Amb.
Must I?—Till now he has not tasted rest;
His mind distemper'd by unquiet thoughts,
Things of no substance—visions, which his fancy
Has conjured up to cheat his senses with.
Gazing on air, as 'twere endued with form,
Sinews and motion; and with silence holding
Discourse, as it could hear, and had a tongue;
Sleep hath but new composed him; I am loth
To abridge her friendly visit.

Louis.
Better thou
Than death! Messina swarms on every hand
With signs of ferment. Ere the custom'd hour,
The citizens forsake their couches, for
The scarcely lighted streets; and frequent pass
From house to house, or here and there in groups
Stand muttering to one another; while
On our patrols, for whom they scarce make way,
Instead of looks of deprecation, scowls
They cast, that talk of blood as openly
As threats of murder. Something is on foot
Which instant harsh example may suppress,
Whereto we wait the will of the Governor.

Amb.
I'll call him then,—Soft,—he is here! Observe,
Attired as yesterday, rejecting all
The appliances of sleep!

Gov.
[Entering.]
I am the dupe
Of mine own fancy, and I know it; yet
I am its dupe! My reason giveth way.
I come from my own chamber, where I stood
Just now in the hall of John of Procida!
I knew 'twas my own chamber, yet it seem'd
His hall; and at the further end there sat
His wife, or else a spectre in her shape.
She did not breathe, methought, and yet she sat
Her chair erect, and saw; and glared at me
Until her eyeballs froze me. I come out
Into my antechamber. I am here!—
I am sure I am!—Still seem I standing yet
In that abhorréd hall with that companion
Of aspect most unnatural, that makes
My flesh to creep and breathing grow so thick
I doubt 'tis air I draw!

Louis.
He dreams, although
He seems awake.

Amb.
No—no!—He does not dream!
It is not dreams men see with open eyes.
This mood hath grown upon him since he heard
Of John of Procida. My lord—my lord!

Gov.
O, Ambrose, is it you? I am glad you are here.

Amb.
I am, my lord; and here is Louis too,
Who dreads some ferment in Messina. Scarce
'Tis dawn, and yet the citizens have left
Their beds, and throng the streets with sullen looks,
Threatening disaster to their masters, which
To avert, behoves we force them to keep house,
And make, of the resisting, sharp example.

Gov.
Take measures as occasion calls for them,
Arouse the garrison. Let one and all
Be under arms. Shed no more blood than's needed.
[Louis goes out.
No news of John of Procida! The face
He saw not; 'twas the figure only struck him;
Recalling the impression of a man
He once had seen, but where he could not tell,
Nor who it was, till he at last bethought him
Of John of Procida, then told his thought
Not as a thing of doubt but certainty.
And then the disappearance all at once
Of him he so remark'd, was circumstance
Corroborative. Ever since, my heart
Hath felt a chill like that the body feels
When cold hath smit it to the bone! so deep,
No art medicinal can draw it out,
And the wretch shivers at the very fire!

Amb.
He is forgetful I am near him. Mark.

Gov.
Hangs then my fate on John of Procida?
My heart forebodes it does. Forebodes it right?
If so, when he's at hand, my doom is near.
Ha! as I live 'tis gone. Spectre and all!
O! now I see you, Ambrose. Who comes yonder?
Is't not Le Clerc?

Amb.
I'd say it was, my lord,
But for those marks of blood! He spent last night
Some two miles distant from Messina.

Enter Le Clerc, supported by Martel and a Soldier.
Martel.
Here's
Le Clerc come wounded home. He threw himself
From his horse into our arms, and without word,
Made for the staircase, which he stagger'd up,
As if by superhuman effort, and
Made straight for your highness' chamber.

Gov.
Well, Le Clerc?
What would you with me, friend? What has befallen you?
He strives to speak, but cannot. Voice is fled,
And life is following it. One word, Le Clerc.
He dies in the attempt.—Yes; he is dead!
Remove him. Good Martel, be on the alert.
Arouse our friends. Look to the citizens!
[Martel and the others go out, bearing the body between them.
Of some dread visitation this must be
The dark, but sure, forerunner. Death is abroad.
Be sure of it. Yes, Ambrose, death is abroad!
Death!—Death!

Louis.
[Entering hastily.]
My lord, the sentinels upon
The walls hear sounds as of a multitude
Advancing on Messina. Scouts are sent;
What it behoves us look for, we shall learn
A few brief minutes hence

Gov.
Brief, do you say?
Years are not brief, and minutes now are years!
What of the citizens?

Louis.
Their numbers swell.
They move in masses up and down the city,
Returning dogged silence to our orders
To clear the streets. We wait for augmentation
To drive them into their houses. List, my lord,
Our trumpets sound to arms.

Enter François, conducting Pierre, much exhausted.
Gov.
Ay, lustily
They tell their need. What other spectre this?
Who is't? He is ours, and yet I know him not.
Who is't, I say?

Fran.
One from Palermo, sir,
Whose speed has cost him his good courser's life
To bring unwelcome news.

Gov.
What tells it, friend?

Pierre.
The massacre of every living soul
Of Gallic birth or blood, that in Palermo
Drew breath the day on which I 'scaped from it,
Preserved by feigning death!

Martel.
[Rushing in.]
A whelming flood—
A whelming human flood—comes raging on
Right for Messina. Haste, sirs! Massacre
Is at our very gates. Flight is cut off.
Resistance is our only hope. Forth!—Forth!
Houses are certain tombs!

[All go out but the Governor, who seems transfixed.
Gov.
'Tis Procida!
'Tis Vengeance!—Vengeance without mercy!—fierce!—
Implacable! On every side the sword!
I cannot hope to live—yet cannot die!
Flight—flight—the coward's refuge! Nothing else
Is left me! This way leads into the street!
The garden? Yes, it opes without the walls;
Conscience, 'tis thou, not I!—Except for thee
I would not quail!—The spectre here again!
Again the hall of John of Procida!
Away!—Flight!—Nothing else!—Away!—Away!

[Rushes out.