 | The Sicilian Vespers |  |
31
ACT III.
SCENE.—A Court of the Palace.—The Entrance of a Chapel.Leanthe enters in disorder, with an Attendant.
LEANTHE.
I cannot tarry longer in the chapel:
My brain is dizzy. Bid the priest forgive me!
The air, the boundless air, will best restore me.
ATTENDANT.
Shall I not seek assistance?
LEANTHE.
No! That stranger,
That man of mystery, who crossed my path,
Gave me—and yet, I dare not tell of it. Didst mark
My wild and wandering speech?
ATTENDANT.
You spake of Montfort.
LEANTHE.
Heaven will forgive me! Dark forebodings hung
A spell on all my senses; still I saw
His form before me. Through a mist it broke
Of drizzly blood; then gazed on me with looks
That mildly spake at once reproach and pardon;
And ever thus still vanished and returned.
(Julia Villanelli enters in haste.)
My Julia! Oh! most welcome!
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How is this?
What mean these looks?
LEANTHE.
'Twill pass away—'tis nothing!
JULIA.
My husband's free! and the enraged St. Clair,
Encountering the Viceroy, dared accost him
In mutinous and bold affront, which soon
His sword avenged. Struck mortally, 'tis said,
The recreant fell beneath it. Can I less
Than plead for favour for this generous Frenchman?
LEANTHE.
From whom? For favour! Hush! the priest will hear us.
Heaven will avenge the sacrilegious words;
Madden, and drive us from its altars. Hush!
JULIA.
I know your bosom's grief.
LEANTHE.
Did I not tell you
My vows to Loridan? Fiends will tear my heart;
And for their bitterest mockery call me, Woman!
JULIA.
Sweetest Leanthe! Can I see thee thus,
Nor bid thee seek thy happiness? I cannot.
Shall that resentment, due to guilt alone,
Visit the virtuous, and revolt the good?
Are hearts assign'd and sympathies bequeath'd
Like base extrinsic things, which all alike
Receive or pass away? No; such a bond
Nature proclaims 'twere greater sacrilege
To keep than set at nought; a bond of wrong,
Which, were your Loridan as generous Montfort,
He would release you from and tear asunder.
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Delude me not! Speak rather of the tyrant
Who banish'd Loridan his home—disgraced him!
JULIA.
The hasty turbulence of baffled pride!
He'll reassume his clemency, and quit you,
Perhaps to bear away a broken heart,
And leave one to avenge it. Must he die?
LEANTHE.
Die! ay—'tis so decreed. Revenge and death
Are lurking round him. See, I bear his sentence!
Read! Shall we not avert it?
(Takes a paper from her bosom and delivers it.)
JULIA
(reads.)
“True to your duties and the blood of Mainfroy,
“Fear not the tyrant's threats. His doom awaits him!
“Rest in the palace, tranquil and assured,
“To welcome there, at last, your friends in triumph!”
LEANTHE.
Dark plots and daggers aimed against his life!
JULIA.
How came this paper in your hands?
LEANTHE.
'Twas given me
By one close mantled, as I sought the chapel.
I went to pray for Loridan, and still
My ear was startled with the name of Montfort.
Then the priest marvell'd, and his angry brow
Drove me, disorder'd, from his awful presence.
JULIA.
He comes! Entreat him to remain within.
LEANTHE.
I tremble to behold him!
34
MONTFORT.
Fair Princess! if I am again your suitor,
It is for pardon only. Armed with power,
I have employed it rashly, and I fear
The eye of jealousy enlarged my wrongs.
Forgive me, nor believe me yet so base
That I would persecute the gentle heart
I cannot win. So it atone to you,
Let Loridan return. Entreat it of him,
If uncontroll'd your faith is pledged to him;
His fortune triumphs, and I bend resigned.
Henceforth I am his guest no more. 'Tis fit
With honest Gaston I depart at once;
My state will follow. Madam, fare ye well!
LEANTHE.
How! Leave the palace with no more attendance?
MONTFORT.
These fears from you! Are they a bye-word, then—
The fashion of the hour?
LEANTHE.
They should be so!
Does no dark boding come upon your mind—
Hear you no whisperings of untimely fate?
MONTFORT.
I have indeed such warnings, and would hush them—
Prophetic whisperings of despair and death;
But from no bravo's hand, or enemy's—
Mine is a gentle executioner.
LEANTHE.
Alas, you will not heed!—I charge you, stay—
Your life's in instant danger!
MONTFORT.
Shall I fear
The loss of that which now I value not?
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Such thoughts are sinful.
Do not go now—I pray you, do not go!
MONTFORT.
Pray Heaven to give me strength,—I cannot tarry.
LEANTHE.
Ungrateful man!—Must I, then, sue in tears?
MONTFORT.
Tears and ingratitude! For what ungrateful?
Is, then, my state so fallen, that I must now
Lavish my gratitude on mere compassion!
Madam, you hasten my retreat. Farewell!
LEANTHE.
Assassins lurk for you!—yet stay—oh, stay!—
Live for thy sovereign's, for all good men's love!
MONTFORT.
'Tis vain!
LEANTHE.
For mine, then!
MONTFORT.
Heavens! Did I hear—
LEANTHE.
Madness!
JULIA.
The truth. She loves you! Heaven has heard it!
Despair no longer. Live for her. Learn here
Your danger. (Gives the paper.)
MONTFORT.
Joy!—delirious joy
Obscures my sight! 'Tis some dark warning, doubtless,
Yet comes to me an oracle of bliss!
Receive my vows of endless gratitude.
36
Kneel not to me, to Heaven lift up thy hands,
And let thy purer prayer avert the blow
From my devoted head.
MONTFORT.
You cannot sin.
Infinite virtue! Heaven is around you.
Gaston enters.
GASTON.
My lord, forgive me if again I check
The courtier's dalliance for the statesman's duty.
MONTFORT.
Say on, old friend. My life is precious now,
And I will guard it; list thy warning voice,
And share thy dreams of danger.
GASTON.
You have guess'd
My errand truly; and be sure, my lord,
I am no dreamer. Dangers palpable
Are gathering round us, and claim all your thoughts.
I come to make disclosures.
MONTFORT.
Make them quickly.
Here you will speak as to my single self.
GASTON.
I hinted of my fears in Procida;
Last night he landed on the coast in secret.
LEANTHE
(aside.)
What tale is this?
MONTFORT.
Is't certain? Whence your knowledge?
37
I had some cause to look for his arrival,
Derived from vigilant and wide research.
Disguised as a Cordelian monk, a veteran
Guarding the palace recognised his person;
Of which informed, I ordered his arrest.
The guard conducts him hither.
LEANTHE
(aside).
He is lost!
MONTFORT.
You have done loyally and wisely, Gaston;
Yet here I am his debtor and his guest.
How should I treat him as a criminal?
GASTON.
Proofs may escape him.
LEANTHE
(eagerly.)
Give me back that paper!
GASTON.
A paper! Not if it concern our safety;
You cannot, nor you will not.
MONTFORT
(aside to her.)
Calm your fears,
Lest they betray those whom you mean to save.
Should it contain—
[Peruses the paper.
LEANTHE.
Conduct me hence. My sight
Is darkening, and my heart—the wrath of Heaven
Already punishes my perjury.
[Exit, supported by Julia.
MONTFORT.
This to suppress would make of me a traitor.
GASTON.
We must be firm. No man must yield him now
To sensibilities that guard from spleen
38
Insanity hath seized on every Frenchman.
To-day, in spite of studied provocations,
The people shew a strange, unshaken patience;
And hence they laugh and deem the rebels tamed.
Far other signs I see which they regard not,—
The teeth fast clenched, the rankling spleen held down,
The circling glance of caution, and the sneer
Of hollow self-control that feels revenge
Assured and not far distant. Be not rash!
Young Loridan has re-appeared, and comes
With loud remonstrance on his sire's behalf.
'Tis bold! But why has he concealed his coming?
MONTFORT.
That let him answer. I am sure he's guiltless.
He comes—and mark!—erect as when we parted.
Loridan enters, followed by Procida, in the custody of Guards.
LORIDAN.
If I have dared, beneath my natal roof,
Again appear before your generous mercy
Recalled me to my own, think not I come
To brave your power. Your wounded pride may plead
Strong against me;—but what against my father?—
What guilt is his, save in the dreams of dotage,
Or conscience-sick imaginations?
PROCIDA.
Be temperate, my son. What is my crime?
MONTFORT.
Strong circumstance sustains us in our charge.
You are an active foe to this our empire;
The kindler of a fierce, disloyal spirit
That threatens us with rupture and revolt.
Too proud to do us service, and too weak
To shake us in domestic opposition,
You have been tampering, we are well advised,
For foreign aid against us.
39
I have led
A wandering life of discontent and sorrow,
Which, for a plotter, I have ill concealed;
And shallow politicians hence infer
The worst against me.
MONTFORT.
If we still offend you,
Why this return? What seek you now?
PROCIDA.
A grave.
Howe'er disgusted with my generation,
I would be buried with my ancestors.
MONTFORT.
You would be lighting up the brand of mischief;
Let loose the stubborn malice of your soul,
Which now you think has made its purpose sure,
And stake the desperate trial.
PROCIDA.
This becomes you.
Provoke my age to some unguarded act,
Some treason rash and sudden, that at length
I may die free amid a land of slaves.
MONTFORT.
Must you be taught respect?
PROCIDA.
Who first may claim it?
Youth plumed in power, of lawless force deriv'd,
Or age, bent down with shame and grief beneath it?
MONTFORT.
Nor shame nor sorrow arm the dark assassin.
Your guilt is known. The proof is in our hands.
You seek my life.
40
MONTFORT.
You! The foul design
Is here disclosed; and all suspicion points
Firmly and undiverted still to you.
For Loridan, despite his wrongs, each thought,
Each candid feeling of my heart defends him.
His soul's of finer temper, and his word
Acquits him, or condemns. Know ye that paper?
Or aught of its contents?
LORIDAN.
Amazement! Yes.
PROCIDA.
My son!
LORIDAN.
How came it in your hands? What treachery—
Oh! this is agony beyond my fears.
MONTFORT.
What would you say? Not that it came of you?
LORIDAN.
Ay, though the rack should follow. Aimless, hopeless,
Betrayed, given o'er to shame, disgrace, distraction,
Rend every limb, 'twill ease my tortured spirit.
MONTFORT.
Thou a conspirator!
LORIDAN.
My guilt's my own—
Associates I disclaim. Provoked with wrongs
High spirits cannot tamper with, I sought
Your life, sought of myself alone. Revenge
Yearn'd for its prey; yet hand to hand had offered
Open encounter. If my desperate thoughts
Took ampler field, it was in wildness all:
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My father claims his freedom, justly due
To this avowal.
MONTFORT.
Brief and vain perversion!
The raw and ill-trained rebel thou hadst made
Were more an object of our grief than terror.
LORIDAN.
Respect my hate, or it may foil your clemency.
MONTFORT.
How shall I aggravate the punishment
Your crime hath met already. In Leanthe,
Your father gave what nature's voice denied
His right to give. This wrung the secret from her.
(Shews the paper.)
The heart that never could be yours is mine—
Ay, honourably mine. Reply not thus,
Nor let high Loridan, in sordid envy,
Disclaim a friend, who—let Leanthe witness—
Resolved to do that justice he requires.
Spite of yourself, for me you yet shall live:
A vessel shall convey you from the coast,
Till I secure your pardon from the King.
PROCIDA
(to Loridan.)
I charge you, curb your rashness.
MONTFORT.
Well advised!
Be you, Sir, his companion! You incur
Too much suspicion to be here at large
In times like these; your palace be your prison.
(To Loridan.)
Knight of St. Louis! battle with foul thoughts:
We're Christian soldiers all, and know our duty—
Your vengeance failed, mine may be more successful.
[Exit, followed by his train and guards.
PROCIDA.
Will he not charm thee to forgiveness?
42
Never!
Hast thou no refuge? Shall my fears for thee
Stifle a wrath of fire? And must we fly,
Like baffled demons, fangless and despised,
To brood on our despair?
PROCIDA.
Despair!—for shame!
That dastard word we know not or despise—
The tongue of manhood scorns to utter it.
I've hope for thee.
LORIDAN.
Undaunted soul, say on!
And let me owe to thee a second life.
PROCIDA.
Gaston is here! When he retires, we'll talk on't.
Gaston enters.
GASTON.
The viceroy, Sir, confiding in his friend,
Fearless betakes him to his 'custom'd hour
Of stillness and repose. To Loridan
He leaves the privilege of one at home;
But has required, on special intimations,
That you, Sir, till the hour of your embarking,
Be burthen'd with my presence.
PROCIDA.
What you deem
A burthen, Sir, but meets my earnest wish.
I feel the viceroy's favour to my son;
And on a matter much importing you,
Importing, too, the welfare of the state,
Had sought your private ear.
GASTON.
You now command it. Follow me.
[Exit.
43
to LORIDAN.
We'll not be long asunder.
[Exit.
LORIDAN.
What may this mean? Is this his vaunted hope?
Can Procida prove renegade, to seek
His safety in desertion—treachery—
And talk of hope that points not to revenge?
No matter—I have none. Yet let me not
Yield blindly to the fiend that suddenly
Darts his black poison through my veins. It may be
A boastful rival may abuse me. Ay;
Leanthe must alone decide my fate.
[Exit.
END OF ACT III.
| The Sicilian Vespers | |