University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Siffredi,
alone.
The Prospect lowrs around. I found the King,
Tho' calm'd a little, with subsiding Tempest,
As suits his generous Nature, yet in Love
Abated nought, most ardent in his Purpose;
Inexorably fix'd, whate'er the Risque,
To claim my Daughter, and dissolve this Marriage—
I have embark'd, upon a perillous Sea,
A mighty Treasure. Here, the rapid Youth
Th' impetuous Passions of a Lover-King
Check my bold Course; and there, the jealous Pride
Th'impatient Honour of a haughty Lord,
Of the first Rank, in Interest and Dependants
Near equal to the King, forbid Retreat.
My Honour too, the same unchang'd Conviction,
That these my Measures were, and still remain
Of absolute Necessity, to save
The Land from Civil Fury, urge me on.
But how proceed?—I only faster rush
Upon the desperate Evils I would shun.
Whate'er the Motive be, Deceit, I fear,
And harsh unnatural Force are not the Means
Of Publick Welfare or of Private Bliss—
Bear Witness, Heaven! Thou Mind-inspecting Eye!
My Breast is pure. I have preferr'd my Duty,
The Good and Safety of my Fellow-Subjects,
To all those Views that fire the selfish Race
Of Men, and mix them in eternal Broils.

Enter an Officer belonging to Siffredi.
Officer.
My Lord, a Man of noble Port, his Face
Wrap'd in Disguise, is earnest for Admission.

Siffredi.
Go, bid him enter—
[Officer goes out.
Ha! wrap'd in Disguise!
And at this late unseasonable Hour!
When o'er the World tremendous Midnight reigns,
By the dire Gloom of raging Tempest doubled—

SCENE II.

Siffredi. Osmond, discovering himself.
Siffredi.
What! Ha! Earl Osmond, you?—Welcome, once more,
To this glad Roof!—But why in this Disguise?
Would I could hope the King exceeds his Promise!
I have his Faith soon as To-morrow's Sun
Shall gild Sicilia's Cliffs, you should be free.—
Has some good Angel turn'd his Heart to Justice?

Osmond.
It is not by the Favour of Count Tancred
That I am here. As much I scorn his Favour,
As I defy his Tyranny and Threats—
Our Friend Goffredo, who commands the Castle,
On my Parole, ere Dawn, to render back
My Person, has permitted me this Freedom.
Know then, the faithless Outrage of To-day,
By him committed whom you call the King,
Has rouz'd Constantia's Court. Our Friends, the Friends
Of Virtue, Justice, and of Publick Faith,
Ripe for Revolt, are in high Ferment all.
This, this, they say, exceeds whate'er deform'd
The miserable Days we saw beneath
William the Bad. This saps the solid Base,
At once, of Government and private Life;
This shameless Imposition on the Faith,
The Majesty of Senates, this lewd Insult,
This Violation of the Rights of Men.
Added to These, his ignominious Treatment
Of Her th'illustrious Offspring of our Kings,
Sicilia's Hope, and now our Royal Mistress.
You know, my Lord, how grossly These infringe
The late King's Will; which orders, if Count Tancred
Make not Constantia Partner of his Throne,
That He be quite excluded the Succession,
And She to Henry given, King of the Romans,
The potent Emperor Barberossa's Son,
Who seeks with earnest Instance her Alliance.
I thence of You, as Guardian of the Laws,
As Guardian of this Will to you entrusted,
Desire, nay more, demand, your instant Aid,
To see it put in vigorous Execution.

Siffredi.
You cannot doubt, my Lord, of my Concurrence.
Who more than I have labour'd this great Point?
'Tis my own Plan. And, if I drop it now,
I should be justly branded with the shame
Of rash Advice, or despicable Weakness.
But let us not precipitate the Matter.
Constantia's Friends are numerous and strong;
Yet Tancred's, trust me, are of equal Force.
E'er since the Secret of his Birth was known,
The People all are in a Tumult hurl'd
Of boundless Joy, to hear there lives a Prince
Of mighty Guiscard's Line. Numbers, besides,
Of powerful Barons, who at heart had pin'd,
To see the Reign of their renown'd Forefathers,
Won by immortal Deeds of matchless Valour,
Pass from the gallant Normans to the Suevi,
Will, with a kind of rage, espouse his Cause—
'Tis so my Lord—be not by Passion blinded—
'Tis surely so—O if our prating Vertue
Dwells not in Words alone—O let us join,
My generous Osmond, to avert these Woes,
And yet sustain our tottering Norman Kingdom!

Osmond.
But how, Siffredi? how?—If by soft Means
We can maintain our Rights, and save our Country,
May his unnatural Blood first stain the Sword,
Who with unpitying Fury first shall bare it!

Siffredi.
I have a Thought—The glorious Work be thine.
But it requires an awful Flight of Virtue,
Above the Passions of the vulgar Breast,
And thence from thee I hope it, noble Osmond—
Suppose my Daughter, to her God devoted,
Were plac'd within some Convent's sacred Verge,
Beneath the dread Protection of the Altar—

Osmond.
Ere Then, by Heavens! I would devoutly shave
My holy Scalp, turn whining Monk myself,
And pray incessant for the Tyrant's Safety!—
What! How! because an insolent Invader,
A Sacrilegious Tyrant, in Contempt
Of all those noblest Rights, which to maintain
Is Man's peculiar Pride, demands my Wife;
That I shall thus betray the Common Cause
Of Human kind, and tamely yield Her up,
Even in the Manner you propose—O then
I were supremely vile! degraded! sham'd!
The Scorn of Manhood! and abhor'd of Honour!

Siffredi.
There is, my Lord, an Honour, the calm Child
Of Reason, of Humanity and Mercy,
Superior far to this punctilious Demon,
That singly minds it self, and oft embroils
With proud barbarian Niceties the World!

Osmond.
My Lord, my Lord!—I cannot brooke your Prudence—
It holds a Pulse unequal to my Blood—
Unblemish'd Honour is the Flower of Virtue!
The vivifying Soul! and He who slights it
Will leave the other dull and lifeless Dross.

Siffredi.
No more—You are too warm.

Osmond.
You are too cool.

Siffredi.
Too cool, my Lord? I were indeed too cool,
Not to resent this Language, and to tell Thee—
I wish Earl Osmond were as cool as I
To his own Selfish Bliss—ay, and as warm
To That of Others—But of This no more—
My Daughter is thy Wife—I gave her to Thee,
And will against all Force maintain her Thine.
But think not I will catch thy headlong Passions,
Whirl'd in a Blaze of Madness o'er the Land;
Or, till the last Extremity compel me,
Risque the dire Means of War—The King, Tomorrow,
Will set you free; and, if by gentle Means
He does not yield my Daughter to thy Arms,
And wed Constantia, as the Will requires,
Why then expect me on the Side of Justice—
Let that suffice.

Osmond.
It does—Forgive my Heat.
My rankled Mind, by Injuries inflam'd,
May be too prompt to take and give Offence.

Siffredi.
'Tis pass'd—Your Wrongs, I own, may well transport
The wisest Mind—But henceforth, noble Osmond,
Do me more Justice, honour more my Truth,
Nor mark me with an Eye of squint Suspicion—
These Jars apart—You may repose your Soul
On my firm Faith and unremitting Friendship.
Of That I sure have given exalted Proof,
And the next Sun, we see, shall prove it further—
Return, my Son, and from your Friend Goffredo
Release your Word. There try, by soft Repose,
To calm your Breast.

Osmond.
Bid the vext Ocean sleep,
Swept by the Pinions of the raging North—
But your frail Age, by Care and Toil exhausted,
Demands the Balm of all-repairing Rest.

Siffredi.
Soon as To-morrow's Dawn shall streak the Skies,
I, with my Friends in solemn State assembled,
Will to the Palace and demand your Freedom.
Then by calm Reason, or by higher Means,
The King shall quit his Claim, and in the Face
Of Sicily, my Daughter shall be yours.
Farewel.

Osmond.
My Lord, good-night.

SCENE III.

Osmond
alone. [After a long Pause.
I like him not—
Yes—I have mighty Matter of Suspicion.
'Tis plain—I see it—Lurking in his Breast,
He has a foolish Fondness for this King—
My Honour is not safe, while here my Wife
Remains—Who knows but he this very Night
May bear Her to some Convent as he mention'd—
The King too—tho' I smother'd up my Rage,
I mark'd it well—will set me free To-morrow.
Why not To-night? He has some dark Design—
By Heavens! he has—I am abus'd most grosly;
Made the vile Tool of this old Statesman's Schemes;
Marry'd to One—Ay, and he knew it—One
Who loves young Tancred! Hence her swooning, Tears,
And all her soft Distress, when she disgrac'd me
By basely giving her perfidious Hand
Without her Heart—Hell and Perdition! This,
This is the Perfidy! This is the fell,
The keen, envenom'd, exquisite Disgrace!
Which to a Man of Honour even exceeds
The Falshood of the Person—But I now
Will rouze me from the poor tame Lethargy,
By my believing Fondness cast upon Me.
I will not wait his crawling timid Motions,
Perhaps to blind me meant, which he To-morrow
Has promis'd to pursue. No! ere his Eyes
Shall open on To-morrow's orient Beam,
I will convince him that Earl Osmond never
Was form'd to be his Dupe—I know full well
Th' important Weight and Danger of the Deed:
But to a Man, whom greater Dangers press,
Driven to the Brink of Infamy and Horror,
Rashness itself, and utter Desperation,
Are the best Prudence—I will bear Her off
This Night, and lodge Her in a Place of Safety.
I have a trusty Band that waits not far.
Hence! Let me lose no Time—One rapid Moment
Should ardent form, at once, and execute
A bold Design—'Tis fix'd—'Tis done!—Yes, then,
When I have seiz'd the Prize of Love and Honour,
And with a Friend secur'd Her; to the Castle
I will repair, and claim Goffredo's Promise
To rise with all his Garrison—My Friends
With brave Impatience wait. The Mine is laid,
And only wants my kindling Touch to spring.

SCENE IV.

Sigismunda's Apartment.
Sigismunda. Laura.
Laura.
Heavens! 'tis a fearful Night!

Sigismunda.
Ah! the black Rage
Of midnight Tempest, or th' assuring Smiles
Of radiant Morn are equal all to me.
Nought now has Charms or Terrors to my Breast,
The Seat of stupid Woe!—Leave me, my Laura.
Kind Rest, perhaps, may hush my Woes a little—
Oh for that quiet Sleep that knows no Morning!

Laura.
Madam, indeed I know not how to go.
Indulge my Fondness—Let me watch a while
By your sad Bed, till these dread Hours shall pass.

Sigismunda.
Alas! what is the Toil of Elements,
This idle Perturbation of the Sky,
To what I feel within—Oh that the Fires
Of pitying Heaven would point there Fury here!
Goodnight, my dearest Laura!

Laura.
Oh I know not
What this Oppression means—but 'tis with pain,
With Tears, I can persuade myself to leave you—
Well then—Goodnight, my dearest Sigismunda!

SCENE V.

Sigismunda.
And am I then alone?—The most undone,
Most wretched Being, now beneath the Cope
Of this affrighting Gloom that wraps the World!—
I said I did not fear—Ah me! I feel
A shivering Horror run thro' all my Powers,
O I am nought but Tumult, Fears and Weakness!
And yet how idle Fear when Hope is gone,
Gone, gone forever!—O Thou gentle Scene
[Looking towards her Bed.
Of sweet Repose, where by th' oblivious Draught
Of each sad toilsome Day, to Peace restor'd,
Unhappy Mortals lose their Woes awhile,
Thou hast no Peace for me!—What shall I do?
How pass this dreadful Night, so big with Terror?—
Here, with the Midnight Shades, here will I sit,
[sitting down.
A Prey to dire Despair, and ceaseless weep
The Hours away—Bless me!—I heard a Noise—
[starting up.
No—I mistook—Nothing but Silence reigns
And awful Midnight round—Again!—O Heavens!
My Lord the King!

SCENE VI.

Tancred. Sigismunda.
Tancred.
Be not allarm'd, my Love!

Sigismunda.
My Royal Lord! why at this Midnight Hour,
How came you hither?

Tancred.
By that secret Way
My Love contriv'd, when We, in happier Days,
Us'd to devote these Hours, so much in vain,
To Vows of Love and everlasting Friendship.

Sigismunda.
Why will you thus persist to add new Stings
To her Distress, who never can be thine?
O fly me! fly! You know—

Tancred.
I know too much.
O how I could reproach Thee, Sigismunda!
Pour out my injur'd Soul in just Complaints!
But now the Time permits not, These swift Moments—
I told thee how thy Father's Artifice
Forc'd me to seem perfidious in thy Eyes.
Ah, fatal Blindness! not to have observ'd
The mingled Pangs of Rage and Love that shook me;
When, by my cruel Publick Situation
Compell'd, I only feign'd Consent, to gain
A little Time, and more secure Thee mine.
E'er since—A dreadful Interval of Care!—
My Thoughts have been employ'd, not without Hope,
How to defeat Siffredi's barbarous Purpose.
But thy Credulity has ruin'd all,
Thy rash, thy wild—I know not what to name it—
Oh it has prov'd the giddy Hopes of Man
To be Delusion all, and sickening Folly!

Sigismunda.
Ah, generous Tancred! ah thy Truth destroys me!
Yes, yes, 'tis I, 'tis I alone am false!
My hasty Rage, join'd to my tame Submission,
More than the most exalted filial Duty
Could e'er demand, has dash'd our Cup of Fate
With Bitterness unequal'd—But, alas!
What are thy Woes to mine?—to mine! just Heaven!—
Now is thy Turn of Vengeance—hate, renounce me!
O leave me to the Fate I well deserve,
To sink in hopeless Misery!—at least,
Try to forget the worthless Sigismunda!

Tancred.
Forget Thee! No! Thou art my Soul itself!
I have no Thought, no Hope, no Wish but Thee!
Even this repented Injury; the Fears,
That rouze me all to Madness, at the Thought
Of losing Thee; the whole collected Pains
O my full Heart, serve but to make thee dearer!
Ah, how forget Thee!—Much must be forgot
Ere Tancred can forget his Sigismunda!

Sigismunda.
But you, my Lord, must make that great Effort.

Tancred.
Can Sigismunda make it?

Sigismunda.
Ah! I know not
With what Success—But all that feeble Woman
And Love-entangled Reason can perform,
I, to the utmost, will exert to do it.

Tancred.
Fear not—'Tis done!—If thou canst form the Thought,
Success is sure—I am forgot already!

Sigismunda.
Ah Tancred!—But, my Lord, respect me more,
Think who I am—What can you now propose?

Tancred.
To claim the plighted Vows which Heaven has heard,
To vindicate the Rights of holy Love,
By Faith and Honour bound, to which compar'd
These empty Forms, which have ensnar'd thy Hand,
Are impious Guile, Abuse, and Profanation—
Nay, as a King, whose high Prerogative
By this unlicens'd Marriage is affronted,
To bid the Laws themselves pronounce it void.

Sigismunda.
Honour, my Lord, is much too proud to catch
At every slender Twig of nice Distinctions.
These for th'unfeeling Vulgar may do well:
But Those, whose Souls are by the nicer Rule
Of virtuous Delicacy nobly sway'd,
Stand at another Bar than that of Laws.
Then cease to urge me—Since I am not born
To that exalted Fate to be your Queen—
Or, yet a dearer Name—to be your Wife!—
I am the Wife of an illustrious Lord,
Of your own princely Blood; and what I am,
I will with proper Dignity remain.
Retire, my Royal Lord—There is no Means
To cure the Wounds this fatal Day has given.
We meet no more!

Tancred.
Oh barbarous Sigismunda!
And canst Thou talk thus steadily? thus treat me
With such unpitying, unrelenting Rigour?
Poor is the Love, that rather than give up
A little Pride, a little formal Pride,
The Breath of Vanity! can bear to see
The Man, whose Heart was once so dear to thine.
By many a tender Vow so mix'd together
A Prey to Anguish, Fury and Distraction!—
Thou canst not surely make me such a Wretch,
Thou canst not, Sigismunda!—Yet relent,
O save us yet!—Rodolpho, with my Guards,
Waits in the Garden—Let us seize the Moments
We ne'er may have again—With more than Power
I will assert Thee mine, with fairest Honour.
The World shall even approve; each honest Bosom
Swell with a kindred Joy to see us happy.

Sigismunda.
The World approve!—What is the World to me?
The conscious Mind is its own awful World.—
And yet, perhaps, if thou wert not a King,
I know not, Tancred, what I might have done.
Then, then, my Conduct, sanctify'd by Love,
Could not be deem'd, by the severest Judge,
The mean Effect of Interest, or Ambition.
But now not all my partial Heart can plead,
Shall ever shake th' unalterable Dictates
That tyrannize my Breast.

Tancred.
'Tis well—No more—
I yield me to my Fate—Yes, yes Inhuman!
Since thy Barbarian Heart is steel'd by Pride,
Shut up to Love and Pity, here behold me
Cast on the Ground, a vile and abject Wretch!
Lost to all Cares, all Dignities, all Duties!
Here will I grow, breathe out my faithful Soul,
Here, at thy Feet—Death, Death alone shall part us!

Sigismunda.
Have you then vow'd to drive me to Perdition?
What can I more?—Yes, Tancred! once again
I will forget the Dignity my Station
Commands me to sustain—for the last time
Will tell thee, that, I fear, no Ties, no Duty,
Can ever root Thee from my hapless Bosom
O leave me! fly me! were it but in Pity!—
To see what once we tenderly have lov'd,
Cut off from every Hope—cut off for ever!
Is Pain thy Generosity should spare me.
Then rise, my Lord; and if you truly love me;
If you respect my Honour, nay, my Peace,
Retire! For tho' th'Emotions of my Heart
Can ne'er alarm my Virtue; yet, alas!
They tear it so, they pierce it with such Anguish—
Oh 'tis too much!—I cannot bear the Conflict!

SCENE VII.

Tancred. Osmond. Sigismunda.
Osmond,
entering.
Turn, Tyrant! turn! and answer to my Honour,
For this thy base insufferable Outrage!

Tancred.
Insolent Traitor! think not to escape
Thyself my Vengeance!

[They fight. Osmond falls.
Sigismunda.
Help here! Help!—O Heavens!
[Throwing herself down by him.
Alas! my Lord, what meant your headlong Rage?
That Faith, which I, this Day, upon the Altar
To You devoted, is unblemish'd, pure,
As Vestal Truth; was resolutely yours,
Beyond the Power of aught on Earth to shake it.

Osmond.
Perfidious Woman! dy!—
[Shortening his Sword, he plunges it into her Breast.
and to the Grave
Attend a Husband, yet but half aveng'd!

Tancred.
O Horror! Horror! execrable Villain!

Osmond.
And, Tyrant! Thou!—Thou shalt not o'er my Tomb
Exult—'Tis well—'Tis great!—I die content.—

[dies.

SCENE VIII.

Tancred. Siffredi. Rodolpho. Sigismunda. Laura.
Tancred.
(throwing himself down by Sigismunda.
Quick! here! bring Aid!—All in Palermo bring
Whose Skill can save Her!—Ah! that gentle Bosom
Pours fast the Streams of Life.

Sigismunda.
All Aid is vain,
I feel the powerful Hand of Death upon me—
But O it sheds a Sweetness thro' my Fate,
That I am thine again; and, without Blame,
May in my Tancred's Arms resign my Soul!

Tancred.
Oh, Death is in that Voice! so gently mild,
So sadly sweet, as mixes even with mine
The Tears of hovering Angels!—Mine again!—
And is it thus the cruel Fates have join'd Us?
Are These the horrid Nuptials they prepare
For Love like ours? Is Virtue thus rewarded?
Let not my impious Rage accuse just Heaven!
Thou, Tancred! Thou! hast murder'd Sigismunda!
That furious Man was but the Tool of Fate,
I, I the Cause!—But I will do Thee Justice
On this deaf Heart! that to thy tender Wisdom
Refus'd an Ear—Yes, Death shall soon unite us!

Sigismunda.
Live, live, my Tancred!—Let my Death suffice
To expiate all that may have been amiss.
May it appease the Fates, avert their Fury
From thy propitious Reign! Meantime, of me
And of thy Glory mindful, live, I charge Thee,
To guard our Friends, and make thy People happy—
[Observing Siffredi fixt in Astonishment and Grief.
My Father!—Oh! how shall I lift my Eyes
To Thee my sinking Father!

Siffredi.
Awful Heaven!
I am chastis'd!—My dearest Child!—

Sigismunda.
Where am I?
A fearful Darkness closes all around—
My Friends! We needs must part—I must obey
Th' imperious Call—Farewel, my Laura! cherish
My poor afflicted Father's Age—Rodolpho,
Now is the Time to watch th' unhappy King,
With all the Care and Tenderness of Friendship—
Oh my dear Father! bow'd beneath the Weight
Of Age and Grief—the Victim even of Virtue!
Receive my last Adieu!—Where art thou, Tancred?
Give me thy Hand—But ah!—it cannot save me
From the dire King of Terrors, whose cold Power
Creeps o'er my Heart—Oh!

Tancred.
How these Pangs distract me!
O lift thy gracious Eyes!—Thou leav'st me then!
Thou leav'st me, Sigismunda!

Sigismunda.
Yet a Moment—
I had, my Tancred, something more to say—
Yes—but thy Love and Tenderness for me
Sure makes it needless—Harbour no Resentment
Against my Father; venerate his Zeal,
That acted from a Principle of Goodness,
From faithful Love to Thee—Live, and maintain
My Innocence imbalm'd, with holiest Care
Preserve my spotless Memory!—I die—
Eternal Mercy take my trembling Soul!—
Oh! 'tis the only Sting of Death! to part
From Those we love—from Thee—farewel, my Tancred!

[Dies.
Tancred.
Thus then!

[Flying to his Sword is held by Rodolpho.
Rodolpho.
Hold! hold! my Lord!—Have you forgot
Your Sigismunda's last Request already?

Tancred.
Off! Set me free! Think not to bind me down,
With barbarous Friendship, to the Rack of Life!
What Hand can shut the Thousand Thousand Gates,
Which Death still opens to the Woes of Mortals?—
I shall find Means—No Power in Earth or Heaven
Can force me to endure the hateful Light,
Thus robb'd of all that lent it Joy and Sweetness!
Off! Traitors! off! or my distracted Soul
Will burst indignant from this Jail of Nature!
To where she beckons yonder—No, mild Seraph!
Point not to Life—I cannot linger here,
Cut off from Thee, the miserable Pity,
The Scorn of Human-kind!—A trampled King!
Who let his mean poor-hearted Love, one Moment,
To coward Prudence stoop; who made it not
The first undoubting Action of his Reign,
To snatch Thee to his Throne, and there to shield Thee,
Thy helpless Bosom from a Ruffian's Fury!—
O Shame! O Agony! O the fell Stings
Of late, of vain Repentance!—Ha! my Brain
Is all on fire! a wild Abyss of Thought!—
Th' infernal World discloses! See! behold him!
Lo! with fierce Smiles he shakes the bloody Steel,
And mocks my feeble Tears!—Hence! quickly, hence!
Spurn his vile Carcass! give it to the Dogs!
Expose it to the Winds and screaming Ravens!
Or hurl it down that fiery Steep to Hell,
There with his Soul to toss in Flames for ever!—
Ah, Impotence of Rage!—What am I?—Where?
Sad, silent, all?—The Forms of dumb Despair,
Around some mournful Tomb!—What do I see?
This soft Abode of Innocence and Love
Turn'd to the House of Death! a Place of Horror!—
Ah! that poor Corse! pale! pale! deformed with Murder!
Is that my Sigismunda!

[Throwing himself down by Her.
Siffredi.
[After a pathetic Pause, looking on the Scene before him.