University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Garden belonging to Siffredi's House.
Sigismunda, Laura.
Sigismunda
, with a Letter in her Hand.

Laura.
Madam, Rodolpho
Urg'd me so much, nay, even with Tears conjur'd me,
But this once more to serve th' unhappy King—
For such He said He was—that tho' enrag'd,
Equal with Thee, at his inhuman Falsehood,
I could not to my Brother's fervent Prayers
Refuse this Office—Read it—His Excuses
Will only more expose his Falsehood.

Sigismunda.
No.
It suits not Osmond's Wife to read one Line
From that contagious Hand—she knows too well!

Laura.
He paints him out distress'd beyond Expression,
Even on the Point of Madness. Wild as Winds,
And fighting Seas, he raves. His Passions mix,
With ceaseless Rage, all in each giddy Moment.
He dies to see you and to clear his Faith.

Sigismunda.
Save me from That!—That would be worse than all!

Laura.
I but report my Brother's Words; who then
Began to talk of some dark Imposition,
That had deceiv'd us all: when, interrupted,
We heard your Father and Earl Osmond near,
As summon'd to Constantia's Court they went.

Sigismunda.
Ha! Imposition?—Well!—If I am doom'd
To be, o'er all my Sex, the Wretch of Love,
In vain I would resist—Give me the Letter—
To know the worst is some Relief—Alas!
It was not thus, with such dire Palpitations,
That, Tancred, once I us'd to read thy Letters.
[Attempting to read the Letter, but gives it to Laura.
Ah fond Remembrance blinds me!—Read it, Laura.

Laura
reads.

Deliver me, Sigismunda, from that most exquisite
Misery which a faithful Heart can suffer—To be
thought base by Her, from whose Esteem even Virtue
borrows new Charms. When I submitted to my
cruel Situation, it was not Falshood you beheld, but
an Excess of Love. Rather than endanger That, I
for a while gave up my Honour. Every Moment,
till I see you, stabs me with severer Pangs than real
Guilt itself can feel. Let me then conjure You to
meet me in the Garden, towards the Close of the

Day, when I will explain this Mystery. We have
been most inhumanly abused; and That by the means
of the very Paper which I gave you, from the warmest
Sincerity of Love, to assure to you the Heart and
Hand of

Tancred.

Sigismunda.
There, Laura, there, the dreadful Secret sprung!
That Paper! ah that Paper! it suggests
A thousand horrid Thoughts—I to my Father
Gave it; and He perhaps—I dare not cast
A Look that way—If yet indeed you love me,
O blast me not, kind Tancred, with the Truth!
O pitying keep me ignorant for ever!
What strange peculiar Misery is mine?
Reduc'd to wish the Man I love were false!
Why was I hurry'd to a Step so rash?
Repairless Woe!—I might have waited, sure,
A few short Hours—No Duty that forbade—
I ow'd thy Love that Justice; till this Day
Thy Love an Image of all-perfect Goodness!
A Beam from Heaven that glow'd with every Virtue!
And have I thrown this Prize of Life away?
The piteous Wreck of one distracted Moment?
Ah the cold Prudence of remorseless Age!
Ah Parents Traitors to your Children's Bliss!
Ah curs'd, ah blind Revenge!—On every hand
I was betray'd—You, Laura, too, betray'd me!—

Laura.
Who, who, but He, whate'er he writes, betray'd you?
Or false or pusillanimous. For once,
I will with you suppose, that his Agreement
To the King's Will was forg'd—Tho' forg'd by whom?
Your Father scorns the Crime—Yet what avails it?
This, if it clears his Truth, condemns his Spirit.
A youthful King, by Love and Honour fir'd,
Patient to sit on his insulted Throne,
And let an Outrage, of so high a Nature,
Unpunish'd pass, uncheck'd, uncontradicted—
O 'tis a Meanness equal even to Falsehood!

Sigismunda.
Laura, no more—We have already judg'd
Too largely without Knowledge. Oft, what seems
A Trifle, a meer Nothing, by itself,
In some nice Situations, turns the Scale
Of Fate, and rules the most important Actions.
Yes, I begin to feel a sad Presage:
I am undone, from that eternal Source
Of human Woes—the Judgment of the Passions
But what have I to do with these Excuses?
O cease, my treacherous Heart, to give them room!
It suits not Thee to plead a Lover's Cause;
Even to lament my Fate is now Dishonour.
Nought now remains, but with relentless Purpose,
To shun all Interviews, all Clearing up
Of this dark Scene; to wrap myself in Gloom,
In Solitude and Shades; there to devour
The silent Sorrows ever swelling here;
And since I must be wretched—for I must—
To claim the mighty Misery myself,
Engross it all, and spare a hapless Father.
Hence, let me fly!—the Hour approaches—

Laura.
Madam,
Behold he comes—the King—

Sigismunda.
Heavens! how escape?
No—I will stay—This one last Meeting—Leave me

SCENE II.

Tancred, Sigismunda.
Tancred.
And are these long long Hours of Torture past?
My Life! my Sigismunda!

[Throwing himself at her Feet.
Sigismunda.
Rise, my Lord.
To see my Sovereign thus no more becomes me.

Tancred.
[Rising.

Sigismunda.
How! when I heard myself your full Consent
To the late King's so just and prudent Will?
Heard it before you read, in solemn Senate?
When I beheld you give your Royal Hand
To Her, whose Birth and Dignity, of Right,
Demands that high Alliance? Yes, my Lord,
You have done well. The Man, whom Heaven appoints
To govern others, should himself first learn
To bend his Passions to the Sway of Reason.
In all you have done well, but when you bid
My humbled Hopes look up to you again,
And sooth'd with wanton Cruelty my Weakness—
That too was well—My Vanity deserv'd
The sharp Rebuke, whose fond Extravagance
Could ever dream to balance your Repose,
Your Glory and the Welfare of a People.

Tancred.
Chide on, chide on. Thy soft Reproaches now,
Instead of wounding, only soothe my Fondness.
No, no, Thou charming Consort of my Soul!
I never lov'd Thee with such faithful Ardor,
As in that cruel miserable Moment
You thought me false; when even my Honour stoop'd
To wear for Thee a baffled Face of Baseness.
It was thy barbarous Father, Sigismunda,
Who caught me in the Toil. He turn'd that Paper,
Meant for th' assuring Bond of Nuptial Love,
To ruin it for ever; he, he wrote
That forg'd Consent, you heard, beneath my Name,
Nay dar'd before my outrag'd Throne to read it!
Had he not been thy Father—Ha! my Love!
You tremble, you grow pale.

Sigismunda.
Oh leave me, Tancred!

Tancred.
No!—Leave thee?—Never! never! till you set
My Heart at peace, till these dear Lips again
Pronounce Thee mine! Without Thee I renounce
My self, my Friends, the World—Here on this Hand—

Sigismunda.
My Lord, forget that Hand, which never now
Can be to thine united—

Tancred.
Sigismunda!
What dost Thou mean? Thy Words, thy Look, thy Manner,
Seem to conceal some horrid Secret—Heavens!—
No—That was wild—Distraction fires that Thought!

Sigismunda.
Enquire no more—I never can be thine.

Tancred.
What, who shall interpose? who dares attempt
To brave the Fury of an injur'd King?
Who, ere he sees Thee ravish'd from his Hopes,
Will wrap all blazing Sicily in Flames—

Sigismunda.
In vain your Power, my Lord—This fatal Error,
Join'd to my Father's unrelenting Will,
Has plac'd an everlasting Bar betwixt Us—
I am—Earl Osmond's—Wife.

Tancred.
Earl Osmond's Wife!—
[After a long Pause, during which they look at one another with the highest Agitation and most tender Distress.
Heavens! did I hear thee right? what! marry'd? marry'd!
Lost to thy faithful Tancred! lost for ever!
Couldst thou then doom me to such matchless Woe,
Without so much as hearing me?—Distraction!—
Alas! what hast thou done? Ah Sigismunda!
Thy rash Credulity has done a Deed,
Which of two happiest Lovers—that e'er felt
The blissful Power, has made two finish'd Wretches!
But—Madness!—Sure, Thou knowst it cannot be!
This Hand is mine! a thousand thousand Vows—

SCENE III.

Tancred. Osmond. Sigismunda.
Osmond.
[Snatching her Hand from the King.
Madam, this Hand, by the most solemn Rites,
A little Hour ago, was given to me,
And did not sovereign Honour now command me,
Never but with my Life to quit my Claim,
I would renounce it—thus!

Tancred.
Ha! who art Thou?
Presumptuous Man!

Sigismunda,
aside.
Where is my Father? Heavens!

[Goes out.
Osmond.
One Thou shouldst better know—Yes—view me—One!
Who can and will mantain his Rights and Honour,
Against a faithless Prince, an upstart King,
Whose first base Deed is what a harden'd Tyrant
Would blush to act.

Tancred.
Insolent Osmond! know,
This upstart King will hurl Confusion on Thee,
And all who shall invade his sacred Rights,
Prior to Thine—Thine founded on Compulsion,
On infamous Deceit, while His proceed
From mutual Love and free long-plighted Faith.
She is, and shall be mine!—I will annul,
By the high Power with which the Laws invest me,
Those guilty Forms in which you have entrap'd,
Basely entrap'd, to thy detested Nuptials,
My Queen betroth'd; who has my Heart, my Hand,
And shall partake my Throne—If, haughty Lord,
If This thou didst not know, then know it now!
And know besides, that, having told Thee This,
Shouldst Thou but think to urge thy Treason further—
Than Treason more! Treason against my Love!—
Thy Life shall answer for it!

Osmond.
Ha! my Life!—
It moves my Scorn to hear thy empty Threats.
When was it that a Norman Baron's Life
Became so vile, as on the Frown of Kings
To hang?—Of That thy Lord the Law must judge:
Or if the Law be weak, my Guardian Sword—

Tancred.
Dare not to touch it, Traitor! lest my Rage
Break loose, and do a Deed that misbecomes me.

SCENE IV.

Tancred. Siffredi. Osmond.
Siffredi
entering.
My gracious Lord! what is it I behold?
My Sovereign in Contention with his Subjects?
Surely this House deserves from Royal Tancred
A little more Regard, than to be made
A Scene of Trouble and unseemly Jars.
It grieves my Soul, it baffles every Hope,
It makes me sick of Life, to see thy Glory
Thus blasted in the Bud—Heavens! can your Highness
From your exalted Character descend,
The Dignity of Virtue; and, instead
Of being the Protector of our Rights,
The holy Guardian of Domestic Bliss,
Unkindly thus disturb the sweet Repose,
The sanctimonious Peace of Families;
For which alone the freeborn Race of Men
To Government submit?

Tancred.
My Lord Siffredi,
Spare thy Rebuke. The Duties of my Station
Are not to me unknown—But Thou, old Man,
Dost Thou not blush to talk of Rights invaded?
And of our best our dearest Bliss disturb'd?
Thou! who with more than barbarous Perfidy
Hast trampled all Allegiance, Justice, Truth,
Humanity itself, beneath thy Feet?
Thou knowest Thou hast—I could, to thy Confusion,
Return thy hard Reproaches; but I spare Thee
Before this Lord, for whose ill-sorted Friendship,
Thou hast most basely sacrific'd thy Daughter.
Farewel, my Lord!—For Thee, Lord Constable,
Who dost presume to lift thy furly Eye
To my soft Love, my gentle Sigismunda,
I once again command Thee, on thy Life—
Yes—chew thy Rage—but mark me—on thy Life,
No further urge thy arrogant Pretensions!

SCENE V.

Siffredi. Osmond.
Osmond.
Ha! arrogant Pretensions! Heaven and Earth!
What! arrogant Pretensions to my Wife?
My wedded Wife! Where are we? In a Land
Of Civil Rule, of Liberty and Laws?—
Not on my Life pursue them?—Giddy Prince!
My Life disdains thy Nod. It is the Gift
Of parent Heaven, who gave me too an Arm,
A Spirit to defend it against Tyrants.
The Norman Race, the Sons of mighty Rollo,
Who rushing in a Tempest from the North,
Great Nurse of generous Freemen! bravely won
With their own Swords their Seats, and still possess them
By the same noble Tenure, are not us'd
To hear such Language—If I now desist,
Then brand me for a Coward! deem me Villain!
A Traitor to the Publick! By this Conduct
Deceiv'd, betray'd, insulted, tyranniz'd.
Mine is a common Cause. My Arm shall guard,
Mix'd with my own, the Rights of each Sicilian,
Of social Life, and of Mankind in general.
Ere to thy Tyrant Rage they fall a Prey,
I shall find Means to shake thy tottering Throne,
Which this illegal this perfidious Usage
Forfeits at once, and crush thee in the Ruins!—
Constantia is my Queen!

Siffredi.
Lord Constable,
Let us be stedfast in the Right; but let us
Act with cool Prudence, and with manly Temper,
As well as manly Firmness. True, I own,
Th' Indignities you suffer are so high,
As might even justify what now you threaten.
But if, my Lord, we can prevent the Woes
The cruel Horrors of intestine War,
Yet hold untouch'd our Liberties and Laws;
O let us, rais'd above the turbid Sphere
Of little selfish Passions, nobly do it!
Nor to our hot intemperate Pride pour out
A dire Libation of Sicilian Blood.
'Tis Godlike Magnanimity, to keep,
When most provok'd, our Reason calm and clear,
And execute her Will, from a strong Sense
Of what is right, without the vulgar Aid
Of Heat and Passion, which, tho' honest, bear us
Often too far. Remember that my House
Protects my Daughter still; and ere I saw her
Thus ravish'd from us, by the Arm of Power,
This Hand should act the Roman Father's Part.
Fear not; be temperate; all will yet be well.
I know the King. At first his Passions burst
Quick as the Lightning's Flash: but in his Breast
Honour and Justice dwell—Trust me, to Reason
He will return.

Osmond.
He will!—By Heavens, he shall!—
You know the King—I wish, my Lord Siffredi,
That you had deign'd to tell me all you knew—
And would you have me wait, with duteous Patience,
Till he return to Reason? Ye just Powers!
When he has planted on our Necks his Foot,
And trod us into Slaves; when his vain Pride
Is cloy'd with our Submission; if, at last,
He finds his Arm too weak, to shake the Frame
Of wide-establish'd Order out of Joint,
And overturn all Justice; then, perchance,
He, in a Fit of sickly kind Repentance,
May make a Merit to return to Reason.
No, no, my Lord!—There is a nobler Way
To teach the blind oppressive Fury Reason:
Oft has the Lustre of avenging Steel
Unseal'd her stupid Eyes—The Sword is Reason!

SCENE VI.

Siffredi. Osmond. Rodolpho, with Guards.
Rodolpho.
My Lord High Constable of Sicily,
In the King's Name, and by his special Order,
I here arrest you Prisoner of State.

Osmond.
What King? I know no King of Sicily—
Unless he be the Husband of Constantia.

Rodolpho.
Then know him now—Behold his Royal Orders
To bear you to the Castle of Palermo.

Siffredi.
Let the big Torrent foam its Madness off.
Submit, my Lord—No Castle long can hold
Our Wrongs—This, more than Friendship or Alliance,
Confirms me thine; this binds me to thy Fortunes,
By the strong Tie of common Injury,
Which nothing can dissolve—I grieve, Rodolpho,
To see the Reign, in such unhappy sort,
Begin.

Osmond.
The Reign! the Usurpation call it!
This Meteor King may blaze awhile, but soon
Must spend his idle Terrors—Sir, lead on—
Farewel, my Lord—More than my Life and Fortune,
Remember well, is in your Hands—my Honour!

Siffredi.
Our Honour is the same. My Son, farewel—
We shall not long be parted. On these Eyes
Sleep shall not shed his Balm, till I behold Thee
Restor'd to Freedom, or partake thy Bonds.
Even noble Courage is not void of Blame,
Till nobler Patience sanctifies its Flame.