University of Virginia Library

Scene the last.

—Aversa. Grand Interior of the Chapel of the Monastery.
Enter Choir Boys, Priests, Queen, a Legate, Monks, Duke and Duchess of Durazzo, Bruno, Talano, Guards, and many Attendants.—They arrange themselves by the Altar, which is illuminated.—Solemn music.
Queen.
When, pious Legate! you return to Rome,
Forget not with your golden eloquence,
To set the jewel of our gratitude
In meet array, before your gracious Shepherd.
Against the vehement and savage mind,
Hungry for vengeance, of our royal brother,
The sanction of his Holiness, your guard,
And our known innocence, suffice for safety.
Wherefore with great Durazzo and our sister
We have made peace; and sent to royal Louis,
That at this shrine we may consult together,
And farewells, ere he quit our realm, exchange.

[Flourish without.
Legate.
It is announced, even now he waits without.

Queen.
Admit him, instantly!
[Exit a Monk.
Your pardon, Legate,
If with him there be need we bear a state
Too haughty for a hallowed place like this.

Legate.
The need shall be the pardon. Here he comes.

[Flourish again, nearer.
Enter Louis.
Louis.
Due reverence first to sacred precincts made;
Then let my speech have freedom to approach
The acquitted Queen of Naples!

Queen.
Less of scorn!

Louis.
Scorn! More of it! Take Sanctuary here!
'Tis well ye do! 'tis where the Murderess should!—

Queen.
Murderess!

Legate.
The Pontiff has acquitted her—

Louis.
I crave your pardon! Has he so, indeed?
And so the righteous Hunger of my soul
May still ache-on, and feed on its own rage,
With appetite that's ne'er to be appeased!

Queen.
Would you appease it on the innocent?

Louis.
Who are the guilty? Be they one or ten,
Or be they backed with armies, let me know them—
My heart is more than hosts! wilder my wrath
Than men on carnage bent! By all that's here
Adorable, in shrine, or niche, or vault,
By rarest relic, or the dearest name
Of saint or hero, were he set before us,
Had he a thousand shapes, I'd quench them all
There—on that altar—as ye would a taper,
And with as deep devotion in the rite!

Queen.
Devotion irreligious—

Monk.
One Giulio seeks
Your Majesty.

Queen.
From Naples. Bring him hither!
So!—
[Exit a Monk.
Enter Giulio.
What now, Giulio?

Giulio
(kneeling).
Pardon me,
If I implore, that, even while I speak,
It please you, send forth messengers, to save
Poor old Salvator's life!

Queen.
Where is he?

Giulio.
Some
Half mile hence on the road to Naples—

Queen.
Go—
[Bruno and Talano go out.
Now speak!—

Giulio
(rising).
This morn, Salvator reached, at day-break,
St. Elmo's rock, just as the bell was tolling
The execution of Montoni's race—

Queen.
Their execution?

Giulio.
O, the innocent blood!
'Twas shed ere he arrived! Too late we met him,
With certain of the Lazzari, lately found,
Whom he convicted, in the Chancellor's presence,
Of royal Andreas' murder. Here's the record
Of their confession, for your Majesty!
[Delivering paper.
Which to obtain, I left him on the road,
And lost him on returning. Long my search—
At length, thank Heaven! I found him!—Against a slope,
He lay exhausted, having fasted long
And worn himself with travel. Though too weak
To bid me hasten on, he scorned all aid,
Till that you saw, could clear the Countess' fame!

Queen.
This document, you mean?

Louis.
What news is this?

Queen.
I cannot read it! every word is fire.
Scorching my eyeballs!

[Handling it to Louis.
Louis
(having read it).
Ha! your men, Durazzo!

Duke.
Safe in the Chancellor's clutch! What did he with them?

Louis.
Put them to death at once; stopping their mouths,
To save his mistress' honour, and his own.

Queen.
'Twas on his own responsibility.

Louis.
Even so he saith! A politic Chancellor!
(Aside.)
So much for that—but there is more to come
'Tween you and me, Durazzo? Suddenly,
I am grown calm! 'Tis well! the storm is brooding!
Here comes the old man too. I'll wait what follows—

Queen.
O, haste inopportune! But never more
Shall Hugh del Balzo be our Chancellor!
Enter Salvator, supported by Bruno and Talano.
Come in, old man! this is a Christian place,
Where you may hope for Christian usage yet,
Whatever cause you've had, these walls beyond,
To doubt if, in the world, be Christian hearts.

Salvator.
A cup of water!—that my lips unparched
May speak a word or two. I am foodless, but
A crust would choke me!—By-and-by, perhaps,
I will take bread—not now! Some water!
[Bruno brings him a cup.
Thank you!— (Drinks.)

How richer 'tis than wine!

Louis.
Old man! when last
We met, you preached forgiveness to me. Can
You now forgive your daughter's murder? It
May be a virtue that befits your station,
But is not fitting mine. Nor will I, peasant!
Be duped of my revenge! Durazzo's guile
Has saved my brother's murderers from my hand,
To perish by another's. Lions brook not
To have their prey rest from them; Courage joys
To prove itself on its own enemies,
And not to dare by proxy!—Duke! what say you?
You should—you shall—be proxy now for them,
As you have made your Chancellor one for me!
By all of honour that is left to you,
I charge you, let us quit this sacred ground,
And freely, man to man, confer together!

Duchess.
Go not with him!

Duke.
I must—I will!—or live
The scorn of my own mind!

Louis.
Ay, scorn's the word!
Nor you alone should plague! Thou, haughty Queen!
I quit thy realm, but leave behind my curse!
Thou'st spent a hecatomb of lives, to clear
What yet will ne'er be clean—thy character,
Of that suspicion, which the blood thou'st wasted
Only makes bloodier!

Queen.
Silence, rude of mouth!
Savage of heart, implacable, and fierce!

Louis.
I speak but truth; but, speaking't, speak a curse
That will cleave to thee! Take therewith my scorn!
Farewell to Naples! Duke! for thee, without,
I have a special valediction—come!

Salvator.
Pause! ere thou goest—Blood hath been shed enough!
Thou know'st it hath! thy lips have spoken it!

Louis.
Peasant, away!—

[Throwing him off rudely—Salvator falls.
Queen.
Discourteous tyrant! thus
To spurn my subject!

Louis
(to Salvator).
I hope I have not killed thee—
I would not give base blood the cause to boast
'Twas shed by a King's hand!

Salvator.
It cannot now!
'Tis sunk i'th' earth, where I must follow it!

Louis.
I cannot heed thee! Duke! go forth! I follow

[Exeunt together.
Duchess.
Are here the wise and prudent? nay, the holy?
Yet suffer this to be! My lord! my lord!
O, heathen tyrant! strange to all that's civil!
I'll follow, too! I will not be restrained!
Who stops me? You!
[To Bruno and Talano.
Attend me rather, caitiffs!

[Exeunt.
Queen.
My sister! stay! O most unkingly manners!
[Duchess shrieks without—Flourish, which grows distant.
Can that be she? Beat, my appallëd heart!
Or thou'lt be ice again!
Re-enter Talano and Bruno.
What would ye say,
Yet look as if ye could not utter it?

Talano.
No sooner, madam, had the Hungarian king
The threshhold crossed, than on the Duke he called
To stand, and guard himself; which ere he could,
He plunged his poniard in him, to the hilt—
Then, circled with his train, rode swift away!

Queen.
Support me, pride!—Go, bring the Duchess in!

Talano.
Close by the corse she kneels, and will not quit!

Queen.
How shall I know what is the right to do?
Would that I were not Naples—but a woman!
My heart would teach me then?—Ha! there is he!—
Salvator too! Go, raise him from the ground!
His Daughter was my friend—the dearest—truest!
I'll know no other friend! But, like the flower
That in its petals bears a hero's name,
And disappointed sigh; my heart will think
Alone of her, and bleed with every thought!
—How is't with thee, Salvator?

Salvator.
Like the dogs,
Gorging themselves upon the carcases
Left by a city's siege, neglect their duty
And let the stranger pass—so 'twas with ye;
Ye were too busy with your own contentions,
To care for me, or Naples! Now ye've done
With havoc, ye have time to tend her peace;
For me, care comes too late!

Queen.
Too late for all!
O, the Hungarian tiger! Should we not
Have chained or caged him, ere he shed alike
The blood of peer and peasant? But the charm
Of Rome was on our person, we had fallen!
—Too late, says he? Is't possible?

Salvator.
His blow
Only anticipated famine's work,
By a few seconds. Prithee, move me not!
Some vital chord, cannot be seen, is snapt!
It must be, I bleed inwardly!—Weak—weaker!

Queen.
Now, who would wear a crown? Uncrown me, King
Of Kings, and Lord of Lords—thou Only-Wise!
My brain is crushed with the dull weight, and I
Know not, if what I do be human, or
What else the heart should loathe!—Farewell to ease!
My duty 'twas to reign, and not look on!
Now have I none to trust, but am alone!
Henceforth, my realm to me, who would be social,
Though populous, a ghastly solitude!

Salvator.
Thanks—thanks—my head swims—lift me up—that's better!
Where is her Majesty?—

Queen.
Thou monitor
Of guilty princes! spare me thy rebuke!
I will atone all wrongs! be sure, I will!
I will do good to Naples, such as none
Could do before, or will do after me—
Attest it, Heaven!

Salvator.
'Tis heard! Fatigue,
Hunger, with Wrong and Age, conspire against me—
Few words—but hear them!—for Death speaks in me,
And, like the phantast sleep, he prophesies!
Thou shalt reign many years, wed many lords,
And do much good to Naples, yet shalt live
Suspected and unhappy; and thy name,
After thy death, shall glory be or shame,
As men shall read thy doubtful history!
—Mine is the poor man's fate; to labour much,
Yet find therein no cure for penury;
Show skill at need, yet still be deemed unwise;
To be mistrusted even by those he serves,
To suffer for his need as for a crime,
Even when protected; and when not, to perish
Of negligence, or brutal accident,
And die—as I do now!—

[Dies.
Legate.
A requiem!