University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Rosmunda, Romilda.
Ros.
Perfidious woman, put up to the skies
Thy unavailing vows; address to Heaven,
Which hears thee not, thy ineffectual prayers.
Meanwhile the sanguinary battle rages
On the Ticinus' shores; e'en to this place
I hear its clamour: nor in doubtful hope
Doth my heart waver: certainty of conquest
Do I infer from the high martial virtues
Of my new consort.

Rom.
Yes, if in the camp
Thy Almachilde be as much distinguish'd,
As he himself distinguish'd in this palace,
Then when he sacrificed with trait'rous hand
My father Alboino, he will conquer:
But Clefi, who is now his adversary,
Does not now lie immersed in indolence,
Clasp'd in a guilty consort's arms, as lay
Thy husband Alboino on that night
Of memorable horrors. Round his standard
The noblest heroes Clefi hath collected:
He with his warriors doth at once maintain
The sacred cause of violated faith,
Of outraged heaven, of multitudes oppressed,
And of the infringed laws of Lombardy:
And fervently I pray for his success.

Ros.
The dregs of Lombardy alone have flock'd
Round Clefi's mutinous standard; he counts not
One man of noble blood among his followers:
Indeed, he well deserves that thou shouldst be
So strenuous in his cause. For art not thou
The daughter of a king? Oh! fortunate
My fate, in truth, that made me not thy mother!
Sprung from a monarch, canst thou entertain
The vile desire to see the royal power
Cast with the throne to earth?

Rom.
Upon the earth
Rather would I behold the throne, than fill'd
By a contaminating, guilty upstart.
The consort and the daughter of a king,
Say, wert not thou? Thou, who hast dared to give
Thy hand in marriage to a trait'rous subject?

Ros.
To any man, that dared avenge my cause
This hand of mine was a due recompense.
I was constrain'd by dire necessity
To luckless nuptials with thy cruel father.
Yet reeking with the life-blood of Comundus,
My wretched father, Alboino gain'd me
Orphan and captive: the impious Alboino,
He that discomfited my partizans,
The spoiler of my patrimonial realm,
The insultor of my wretchedness. At length
From this inexorable fatal yoke,
'Neath which I languish'd for so many years,
I breathe. And now the rancour will burst forth
Which with so many conflicts I suppress'd:
Now thee, the abhorred child of Alboino,
(Of whom, for my especial happiness,
I'm not the mother,) I will banish thee
For ever from my sight. Thee I dispatch
A spouse to Alaric.

Rom.
I? ... I the spouse
Of Alaric?

Ros.
Yes. This appears to thee
A small revenge, and small indeed I deem it,
When set against the injuries I endured
From Alboino: but it pleases me
Thus from my sight for ever to remove
The impious remnant of thy father's blood.
I, for the covenanted aid received
From Alaric against the troops of Clefi,
Have, to the former, pledged my royal faith,
As an equivalent, to yield thyself.
Exult: thou wilt have, as thou dost deserve,
A spouse magnanimous: and though a realm
Vast as the one usurp'd by Alboino,
The Eruli on Alaric bestow not,
Yet he assuredly may vie with him
In frantic cruelty. Thee, Alaric
Happy will make, as Alboin' made me.

Rom.
Do not expect that I should ever yield
To nuptials dire as these. If thou'rt victorious,
And thirstest for a plenary revenge,
Amid these very walls (round which doth stray
The unavenged spectre of my father,
Where the vile traitor, by whose hands he fell,
Lies by thy side e'en in his very bed,)
The daughter thou shouldst immolate: and there
Opprobrious torments, and protracted pangs,
On her inflict. But thou presume to yield
My hand in marriage? ...

Ros.
Thou, with Alaric,
Wilt find the furies of a cruel step-dame
Join'd to the furies of a barbarous consort.
Those whom, at once, I fear and execrate,
With death I punish: thee, whom I fear not,
I would chastise with life.

Rom.
Say, who can be
Thy rival in barbarity? Not I.
There are no tears, no cries of innocence,
That can thy bosom pierce: yet, save my tears,
I now have no defence ... Oh Heaven! but no:
I can, and I know how to, ease myself
Of the intolerable load of life,
So that I go not to this destined marriage ...
Perhaps 'twould be more expedient for me,
Bringing thy dagger, and thy noble arts,
To Alaric as a dowry, thus to make
My coveted alliance cost him dear:
But am I Rosamund?

Ros.
I am; and feel
Proud in the consciousness that I am she.
The world knows well that I was not the first
To practise cruelty.

Rom.
If towards thyself
My sire was cruel, rights of war produced
That cruelty; but thou since ...

Ros.
Rights of war?
In the most cruel and inhuman clime,
Say, was it e'er a right, that impious rage
And sacrilegious scorn should violate
The unburied relics of the dead? E'en now
Doth Alboino not before my eyes
For ever glare at that unnatural banquet,
(Banquet of death to me!) with pride, and blood,
And fury drunk, at his dire table placed,
Wantonly gibing! Do not I behold him,
Sated with wine and beastly gluttony,
(Ah, horrid sight!) with a malicious coolness
Quaff his protracted and intemperate draughts
From my slain father's skull? Then send to me,
Mantling with the abhorred beverage,
The execrable chalice? In my ears
Doth not that scornful sanguinary challenge
Eternally reecho? “Drink, Rosmunda;
“Drink with thy father,” tauntingly he cried.
And thou, from such a monster born, dost stand
Before my eyes? If having first slain him,
I had suborned the vilest miscreants
First to contaminate, and then murder thee;
If having burn'd your bodies, I had then
Scatter'd your ashes to the winds of Heaven,
Yea, even thus, I never had obtain'd
A vengeance equal to the wrongs I've suffer'd.
Go; vex me now no more. 'Twill be to me
A grateful spectacle to see thee dragged,
Spite of thyself, to this abhorr'd alliance:
Now thou in vain resistest; thou by force
Shalt go. Be other hands, rather than mine,
Polluted with thy blood. But, go meanwhile;
I do not wish thee here, now I expect
My Almachilde conqueror from the camp.
Go; and prepare thee by to-morrow's dawn
For thy departure: 'tis my will: obey.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Rosmunda.
Ros.
How much I hate her not e'en I can tell ...
There are sufficient reasons for this hatred;
But it too nearly doth concern my peace
The cause most irrefragable and valid
Not to investigate. A dreadful doubt
Distracts my heart ... But perhaps I am deceived ...
Ah! no; there is no doubt; the certainty
Is no less positive than desperate.
My consort, with those alienated looks,
Beholds her not, with which the murderer
Should contemplate the daughter of the murdered.
He speaks sometimes without aversion to her;
And also speaks without aversion of her.
Perhaps by her false insinuating arts,
For I can ne'er impute it to her charms,
He is entangled? ... This suspicion never
Shall ripen into certainty. Far, far,
From hence, for ever be Romilda; far ...
At such a thought I feel my burning blood
Rush through each throbbing vein. Must I, in thee.
Oh Alboino's execrated child,
A rival also find? Suspicion, hence ...
Hither comes Almachilde ... Let us see
Whether or not I am deceived.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Rosmunda, Almachilde, Soldiers.
Ros.
Already the acclamatory shouts,
The festive banners waving to the wind,
And the demeanour of the stately ranks,
All, all proclaim it; thou art conqueror.

Al.
Saved, and secure, and victor, thou dost see me;
But not by my own prowess. Life and power,
Freedom and conquest, Ildovaldo only
Confers on me this day. He was my shield;
He my magnanimous defender: he,
In my behoof, such proofs of valour gave
As far surpass my powers of recompense.

Ros.
If I conjecture rightly, thy sublime,
Impetuous valour had impell'd thee thither
Where most the danger raged. Ah, little then,
Didst thou recall to mind the agonies,
The tears, the apprehensions of Rosmunda.
Thou know'st how much I fear'd thy too great valour.
Yet in the promise which thou mad'st to me
Before the battle, not to expose thyself
Incautiously or vainly, I confided.
This I besought of thee; and thou to me
Didst swear compliance; ah! what should I be,
Tell me, bereft of thee? My throne is nothing,
My life is nothing, if with thee not shared.

Al.
Thee, and thy fondness, I recall'd to mind.
But I was forced, by bravely meeting death,
To shew myself Rosmunda's worthy spouse,
And worthy of the crown of Lombardy.
How could I, in the camp, save with my sword,
Make an atonement for that fatal blow
Wrought by my guilty hand?

Ros.
What? dost thou dare
Profess repentance that thou hast avenged me?

Al.
Ah, yes! 'Tis not the vengeance, but the mode
By which that vengeance was obtain'd, that grieves me:
And which I shall eternally regret.
To cleanse my character from such a stain,
I was compell'd, e'en to the latest drop,
With reckless prodigality, to spill
My tainted blood. I heard myself proclaim'd,
With fulminating vehemence, a traitor,
By Clefi and his heroes: I confess,
That to the centre of my guilty heart
The well-deserved, insufferable name
Resounded. I deny it not, that then,
Mindless of all except my impeach'd honour,
Where most the combatants and weapons thicken'd,
I fling myself: with unimaginable rage
Desperate, I wheel in circles my bright sword;
And with its trusty blade give ample proof
That I far less deserved the name of traitor
Than that of hero. Instantly around me,
Of slain, and of disabled warriors,
Mountains are piled: when my good charger falls,
Beneath my weight transfix'd; on earth I spring;
But on the ground, slippery with blood, my foot
Ill planted, slips, so that I fall again.
Swiftly the hostile troops conglomerate,
And with their strength collected rush on me.
In vain my impotent and baffled sword
Gives ill-aim'd proofs of its expiring prowess.
When swifter than the lightening's vollied flash,
'Mid troops, and spears, and shrieks, and swords, and blows,
With a few followers, Ildovaldo opens,
E'en to my side, opens a fearful track.
The assailants instantaneously disperse;
To right and left they fly; in complete rout,
Broken, they slink away. My followers
Having resumed their courage, on their heels
Press irresistibly; their griding swords
Obtain an ample harvest; whence, at once,
The uncertain fortune of the day is changed
To overthrow, and universal carnage.

Ros.
At length I breathe: at length thou'rt safe: I fear'd
No other obstacle to thy success
Than that of thy imprudent hardihood.
Already 'mid the chiefest of this realm
Was Ildovaldo rank'd; now will he be
Second to none but thee.

Al.
And towards him
So much more grateful I am bound to be,
E'en in proportion, as before the fight
Some envious miscreants sought to render him
By me the more suspected. He it was
Whose foresight warn'd me not to trust the aid
Of Alaric, long deferred, and haply faithless.
More than the assistance of a thousand others
His sword avails: he is my chosen champion:
And he not only has with triumph closed
The fortunes of the day, but of the war.
Fame, though with different and discordant tongues,
Yet with them all speaks prodigies of him.
That Clefi now is in his hands a prisoner;
Now that he's wounded mortally by him;
And there are those who furthermore affirm
That he is slain already. I refused
To trace the footsteps of the fugitives:
I am accustom'd only to behold
The faces of my foes: but their defeat,
By Ildovaldo's lofty hardihood
Ere now is consummated. I rely
On him implicitly; he, in one day,
This menacing array of hostile strength
Hath utterly abolish'd by his skill.

Ros.
I grieve that Alaric's retarded arms
Had not a share in this day's victory.
Yet not the less with him will I preserve
My faith inviolate. In future times
He may assist us; and, which is a point
Of more importance for us to remember,
Us he can always injure. 'Tis decreed
Romilda should be his: this I to her
Already have announced. Wouldst thou believe it,
She dares deny her hand to Alaric!

Al.
Oh! can I hope so much? ... And can she dare
So much to hope?

Ros.
Yes. But in vain denies it:
I have inform'd her that to-morrow's dawn
Must witness her departure. Rather would I
Forfeit my throne than thus betray my faith.

Al.
But yet ... compassion for the unhappy daughter.

Ros.
Daughter of whom? compassion, dost thou say?
What do I hear? Should she who is the child
Of him who slew my sire be aught but wretched?

Al.
It seems to me, that by severe commands
We should not sadden this victorious day.
Romilda is the last remaining issue
Of the ancient kings of Lombardy: e'en yet
We on the throne are insecurely seated:
Each subject here doth cherish in his heart
The recollection of the martial virtues,
And of the rapidly increasing power
Of Alboino, their legitimate lord.
The Lombards, led by his victorious steps,
Have ravaged, bound in fetters, or have burn'd
The whole of Italy, far as the Po
Doth water her, far as the Appenine,
The Alps, and the Adriatic sea extend.
The slaughter of a king so prosperous
Entails on us a mighty stress of care,
Inveterate hatred, and incessant peril.
Tired of an arbitrary king, the people
Presumed to raise the standard of revolt:
'Twas easy to repress them: since the veterans
Preferr'd the undivided sway of one.
But if the troops should see the daughter wronged
Of their once great commander, who could then
To their allegiance trust? And what are we,
Tell me, bereft of them?

Ros.
To me it happens,
Without a precedent, and unexpected,
That thou to-day, in an affair of state,
Shouldst feel discordantly from what I feel.
Arms I resign to thee; but, in my palace,
Who shall prevent me from being absolute
In arts of peace? Ah, do thou come to give
To nature the repose it so much wants!
'Gainst open hostile arms thou art to me
A shield: but each less noble care, unmeet
For a proud warrior, to me belongs.