 | The Sicilian Vespers |  |
5
ACT I.
SCENE.—An Avenue of the Palace of Procida.A Mariner enters, driven on by St. Clair; Procida enters behind, observing them.
ST. CLAIR.
Begone, audacious miscreant!—dare you mutter?
MARINER.
I speak but for mine own. I have been robbed,
And lawfully may say so.
ST. CLAIR.
Art thou silent?
Avoid my path, or I shall teach thee law
Thou'lt dearly pay for. Thou hast no property.
Thou art a stubborn traitor; and thy life
Is ours, to take or spare.
[Exit.
MARINER
(drawing a dagger, and about to follow him.)
Beware thine own.
PROCIDA
(stopping him.)
Madman! dost know no better means of vengeance?
6
Canst thou instruct me better?
PROCIDA.
Ay; put up
Thy good stiletto,—it shall serve anon.
Thou art a mariner, and haply know'st not
What's passing in the city.
MARINER.
Well I know
I am not the only desperate man in it.
PROCIDA
(mysteriously.)
West of the port lives Paullo Zuckarelli,
Well known,—a brother sailor,—seek him out.
If thou wouldst kill thy foe and live thyself—
Live free and fearless—he will teach thee how.
MARINER
(understanding him.)
I thank thee! This I would have heard. Thou hast made
A friend,—a firm one. Heartily I thank thee.
[Exit.
Salviati enters.
SALVIATI.
The garb of a Cordelian monk—tis he!
(Procida recognises him, and advances.)
Welcome, most welcome! Joy to Sicily!
Our chief among us! Speak!—assure my senses
Thou'rt Procida indeed.
PROCIDA.
In the firm grasp
That patriot binds to patriot, when a cause
Like ours unites them, know and welcome me.
Health to my countryman! Palermo, hail!
Hail, and be free; for I have sworn thou shalt be.
SALVIATI.
Thousands have sworn it. On the verge of Fate,
And only respited from day to day,
Lives the light Frenchman, till a word of thine
7
Now, briefly, how hath fared thy long self-exile?
PROCIDA.
It hath been
Bitter, but fruitful. No meek pilgrimage
Of idly-measured steps, and holy patience;
Each tuft or stone that bore my weary head
Served as an altar for my vows of vengeance.
Through our devoted cities long I roved
'Mid insolence and outrage, and beheld
The treasures of our husbandmen given o'er
To spoil and reckless waste. My busy zeal,
In ever-changing shapes to shun observance,
Wrought to its purpose—now beneath the cowl,
At nightfall, in some cloistered shade, I roused
The deep, remorseless rage of the fanatic;
Like the gaunt maniac, now, with haggard stare,
I loudly raved against the foreigners
In curses and wild prophecies; and now,
Fashioned like some shrewd citizen, discussed
Their free and fatal licence with our dames,
Till in pale lips and flashing eyes I saw
The sallow demon of Sicilian breasts
Awake and fanged for mischief. Through the Isle
All hearts were ours. Then, sailing east and west,
Briefly to speak, I have secured for you
The King of Arragon, the eastern Cæsar,
And the great Pontiff's thunders.
SALVIATI.
We'll build you monuments.
PROCIDA.
Now, what is our dependence in Palermo?
SALVIATI.
The best and strongest still. The stern Borella,
Julian de Fondi, and Alberto d'Aquila,
Mario, Lazarra, and the Loricelli,
With fifty other as determined men,
Pant for the day of onset. Such among us
As hold familiar intercourse with Montfort,
8
Have thus diverted him from dangerous note
Of aught that might alarm him. Even now
'Twere best to strike,—a time of festival,—
The people loose,—their priests to stir their fury,—
Our victims all abroad and unprepared!
What says our leader?
PROCIDA.
We'll advise on't quickly.
Ranks not my son among your chiefs? Methinks
You named him not?
SALVIATI.
Touching your son, the charge you left with us
Will best revert to your paternal prudence:
Nor I, nor any of your friends, have dared
Propound our views to him. The brilliant Montfort
Hath wholly won him: even in your palace
He holds his court at Loridan's entreaty.
PROCIDA.
That I had heard, but deemed it a device
To aid your purpose. Loridan his friend!
Is he so potent to ensnare men's hearts?
SALVIATI.
In truth, his noble nature may defy
His enemy's report. Humane and generous,
Were he as vigilant to spy abuse
As eager to redress it, this our cause,
In the main source and sinews of its strength,
Lacking the griefs that nerve it, he had withered.
Rich in the polished arts of peace, he bears
The first renown in arms; and though impetuous
To meet offence, he hath a gracious frankness
That speedily repairs the wrong he does,
And pardons that he suffers. Confident
As he is brave and guileless, he would meet
The bravo's dagger levelled at his breast,
And, smiling, tell him he mistook his victim.
PROCIDA.
He represents a tyrant,—stands in trust
For rank oppression. I expect my son.
9
Hath also summoned him.
He comes. We'll speak in private: see our friends,
And say I'll follow quickly.
[Exit Salviati.
Loridan enters.
LORIDAN.
It is my father! (embrace.)
Welcome! Oh, most welcome!
PROCIDA.
My heart repays thee.
LORIDAN.
Why this dark approach?
After so long an absence, do I meet you,
And in the very precincts of your palace,
Masked like the midnight robber?
PROCIDA.
In my palace
Dwells one I hate, and thou shouldst blush to see there—
Thy country's foe!—
The man entrusted to confirm her bondage!
LORIDAN.
If you would speak of Montfort, everywhere
The best and bravest may respect his virtues.
Brothers in arms, his hand conferred on me
The scarf of knighthood, and he hath, beside,
Done me such favour as I cannot choose
But in my best requite.
PROCIDA.
No more of this;
These are the shallow flatteries of Frenchmen,
And fool thine inexperience.
LORIDAN.
No, sir. True
He hath his hours of lightness, some may think
More than become him; but he wears no mask,
Nor speaks the thing his heart avouches not.
10
And though the laurels cluster o'er his brow,
He pants for honour as if none were his.
Beneath one standard are we pledged to join
Our chivalrous career.
PROCIDA.
My son, be warned—
Warned by a father's love; or, if thou wilt not,
Trust him, and learn thy wisdom of repentance.
Wouldst know the proud career he means for thee?
He'll waste thy youth, make profit of the zeal
That fires thee in his service, and at last
Withhold thy recompence, control thy fortune,
And clip thy laurels, lest they o'ershade his.
And hast thou never, 'mid these new temptations,
Said to thyself, Palermo is in chains!
Ne'er heard in her forlorn and wretched streets
The muttered execration; marked at dusk
Her citizens in watchful clusters met
To whisper of revenge? Was Loridan
So school'd in rough and Roman independence,
And is he now so supple? Hath a courtier,
And an oppressor of thy country, too,
Estranged thee from her, rooted from thy soul
The sacred memory of Conradin,
Our martyr'd prince?—nay, stolen thee from thyself,
Thy honest self? If thou art thus degenerate,
Thou'rt not my son, thou'rt not my countryman.
LORIDAN.
I never was disloyal, Sir, nor can be.
PROCIDA.
The royal orphan, too, thy loved Leanthe,
Hath she, and hath the oath that binds thee to her,
Lost all their power?
LORIDAN.
Heaven witness for me, no!
There, there, my father, be my kind counsellor.
Would my Leanthe were unchanged as I am.
Search thou her thoughts: she weeps, yet tells not why.
I saw the knights of France assail her heart
11
That conqueror of all hearts.
PROCIDA.
Thy Montfort!
LORIDAN.
Yes;
He loves her; yet I dare not doubt his justice.
But yesterday, in open confidence,
Not knowing of my love, he told me his;
Nay, came a suitor for my intercession.
You have a brother's power with her, he said,
And now must use it for thy friend.
In dumb perplexity I bowed my head—
Throbs checked my utterance. I dared not trust
My eye to look on him, my tongue to speak.
When, on a sudden duty called, he left me.
PROCIDA.
And shall his slave dare cope with him? 'Tis gross!
Let nature and thy duty counsel thee:
Think how thou mayst defy him. Feed thy gall;
And let the venom'd thoughts of yesterday
Brood and beget bold deeds. There is a way
To make all sure and do thy country justice.
Didst never dream on't?
LORIDAN.
Speak not darkly, Sir.
What you would say, why should I shrink to hear?
PROCIDA.
I have been absent long, have journeyed far,
Amid privation, misery, and danger,
And think'st thou vainly? Hast thou ne'er surmised
Why I departed, wherefore thus return
In mystery? I loathed my home! My soul
Was dungeoned there. It would be free—it shall;
And in its native Sicily. Come near,
And tell me—if a glorious work were now
Ripe for the doing—thou art pale! Farewell.
Go play the babbler to thy Montfort. Crouch—
Cling to thy chains, and die defending them.
12
You know me better, Sir. My life is yours.
Be my thoughts free, and speak at full your meaning.
PROCIDA.
Who comes?
LORIDAN.
The princess, bending towards the chapel,
To do those sacred offices she now
Makes her so frequent custom.
PROCIDA.
Fit occasion!
I'll cross her path, and thus, unknown, awake
Timely remembrance of her solemn vows.
LORIDAN.
Do this; and whatsoever dark intent
Lie struggling under that resentful brow,
Your fate is mine.
PROCIDA.
That pledge I shall exact.
Enter Leanthe and Attendant; Procida approaches them.
LEANTHE.
Save ye, good father.
PROCIDA.
Benedicite!
Princess, I crave a moment's hearing.
LEANTHE.
Speak.
PROCIDA.
Know ye this signet?
LEANTHE.
Ha! 'tis Procida's!
He bade me when I saw it to respect
The bearer for his sake. What tidings of him?
13
He is in health, and you will meet ere long.
On this he'd have ye silent, and meantime
Enjoins you by that token to respect
Thy brother's dying words, by which he claims
A daughter's love of thee, his son a husband's.
Soon as your reason and your heart's matured,
Joining your hands upon his tomb, your vows
Confirmed his wishes. You remember it?
LEANTHE.
His goodness to me and my vows to Heaven
I never can forget. Who, then, suspects me?
[Glancing at Loridan.
LORIDAN.
Alas! I love not lightly, my Leanthe,
Nor would be doubtfully or coldly loved.
PROCIDA.
Forgive him. I would have his thoughts now free,
For I would use them to a noble purpose.
The spirit of Conradin is now abroad,
Inspiring every bold Sicilian heart,
And will avenge a sister's perjury.
Say thou'lt be true.
(Leanthe much embarrassed.)
LORIDAN.
She dares not.
PROCIDA.
Speak!
LEANTHE.
I will.
PROCIDA.
Be just, then, Loridan—deserve thy fortune.
As she respects her duty, think of thine;
Be mindful of thy pledge.
Let each devout remembrance I have raised
14
Farewell. Ere noon thou'lt hear of me.
[Exit.
LORIDAN.
Can you forgive me?
LEANTHE.
Loridan, I have.
LORIDAN.
Yet there is still
Displeasure on your brow.
LEANTHE.
Alas! alas!
Why may I not in some lone convent's gloom,
Without a hope, save that I may reserve
In heaven, consigned to penitence and prayer,
Wear out my days!
LORIDAN.
What words are these?—they freeze me;
Blighting the hope your heart denies to cherish,
And shaming still my blindness. Say, what guilt
Demands your penitence?—what grief your tears?
LEANTHE.
Have I not cause to weep?
LORIDAN.
You have, you have—
A deep and fearful one. Long since you wept
For Conradin; and I have seen those tears
Yield gently to the beams of peace and gladness.
Some care hath sprung anew that will not be,
Save to the eye of dotage, masked or hidden.
That it should be so—protestations, oaths!
In woman's heart some new caprice will come,
O'ermastering all!
LEANTHE.
I meant not to offend you—
What have I said?
15
Have you a grief, Leanthe,
That shuns the sympathy of Loridan,
And shall I doubt its source? You know I cannot.
Nor by the wrath that waits your broken vow
Will I thus live in abject misery!
Have I not marked you in the festive maze
Till my heart sickened at my eyes' observance?
Have I not track'd you to the altar's foot,
And almost listened to the sacred words
Consigned to him who had less right to hear them?
Confess:—a dazzling troop now court your smiles;
And one above the rest, who, when he wins them,
Will bear aloft his plume with fresher grace;
Or, at the fête, touch his Provençal lute
To softer strains of his own minstrelsy,
And steal into your heart. These blandishments
Are none of mine; and who shall boast them more
Than he, your new, avowed adorer, Montfort!
What ails you, Madam? You are strangely moved.
LEANTHE.
That a wild fancy should mislead you thus!
LORIDAN.
That a wild fancy should mislead you thus!
What, I have told you more than he had dared,
And the proud thought hath shook thy poor dissembling.
Yes; if to know your power be dear to you,—
And dear to every woman's heart it is,—
Montfort hath own'd he loves you—own'd to me—
Nay charged me with his suit.
LEANTHE.
You check'd it, then,
And told him—
LORIDAN.
No; my words were fruitless. Mark me!
Your voice alone can humble his bold hopes;
And must, without an hour's delay. Assert
My claims, and dare all human power to shake them!
16
And this alone.
LEANTHE.
You know not what you ask.
How should I do this? How should I command
Or courage or occasion?
LORIDAN.
Better thoughts
Will bring you both, or both must be commanded.
For the occasion, doubtless 'twill arrive.
Thy feeble courage, Heaven forgive and strengthen!
Nay, speak not now—your words or silence now
I dread alike: and with my youth's fair friend,
So gentle, so religiously beloved,
My wrongs may deal too roughly. Only this
Before we part. A friendship more devout,
Of purer source, or firmlier based, ne'er sprung
In human breast than I have felt for Montfort!
'Tis light as air, or woman's lighter vows,
Pois'd with my love for thee! Look to my rights!
No vague, ambiguous word to tamper with.
If we contend as rivals but a day,
Our arbiter is death!
[Exit.
LEANTHE.
How stern an empire does he take already
Over my weakness; and my guilty thoughts
Turn then to all the tenderness of Montfort!
That dangerous homage, frank, yet how respectful!
Modest, yet free from all servility!
Heaven and the sufferings of my martyr'd brother
Sustain me in the anguish of my struggle;
And let the secret of my heart consume me
Ere it escape or sway me from my duty!
One effort, and we meet no more.
[Exit.
END OF ACT I.
| The Sicilian Vespers | |