 | Julian |  |
31
ACT III.
SCENE.
A Magnificent Cathedral. A Gothic Monument in the Foreground, with Steps round it, and the Figure of an old Warrior on the top.D'Alba, Leanti, Valore, Calvi, and other Nobles.
Calvi.
Where stays the King?
Leanti.
He's robing to assume
The Crown.
Calvi.
What a gloom reigns in the Cathedral!
Where are the people, who should make and grace
This pageant?
Valore.
'Tis too sudden.
D'Alba.
Saw ye not
How coldly, as the slow procession moved,
Men's eyes were fixed upon him? Silently
We passed amidst dull silence. I could hear
The chink of money, which the heralds flung,
Reverberate on the pavement. They, who stooped
To gather up the coin, looked on the impress
Of young Alfonso, sighed and shook their heads
As 'twere his funeral.
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Methinks this place
The general tomb of his high line doth cry
Shame on us! The mute citizens do mourn him
Better than we.
D'Alba.
Therefore the gates are closed,
And none but peers of Sicily may pass
The guarded doors.
Leanti.
Where is Prince Julian?
D'Alba.
Sick.
Here comes the Mighty One, and the great Prelates
That shall anoint his haughty brow; 'tis bent
With a stern joy.
Enter Melfi, in Royal Robes, preceded by Nobles, Officers, &c. bearing the Crown, Archbishop, Bishops, &c.
Melfi.
No! To no tapered shrine.
Here, reverend Fathers, here! This is my altar:
The tomb of my great ancestor, who first
Won from the Paynim this Sicilian crown,
And wore it gloriously; whose name I bear
As I will bear his honour'd sceptre. Here,
At this most kingly altar, will I plight
My vow to Sicily, the nuptial vow
That links my fate to her's. Here I'll receive
Her Barons' answering faith. Hear me, thou shade
Of great Rugiero, whilst I swear to guard
With heart and hand the realm thy valour won,
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To prince and people! To defend their rights,
To rule in truth and justice, peacefully,
If peace may be; and with the awful arm
Of lawful power to sweep the oppressor off
From thy blest Isle; to be the Peasants' King—
Nobles, hear that!—the Peasants' King and yours!
Look down, Ancestral Spirit, on my oath,
And sanctify and bless it! Now the crown.
D'Alba.
What noise is at the gate?
Melfi.
Crown me, I say.
Archb.
'Tis fallen! Save us from the ill omen!
Melfi.
Save us
From thy dull hands, old dotard! Thou a Priest,
And tremble at the touch of power! Give me
The crown.
D'Alba.
It fits thee not.
Melfi.
Give me the crown,
And with a steady grasp it shall endue
These throbbing brows that burn till they be bound
With that bright diadem.
Enter Julian and Alfonso.
Jul.
Stop. Place it here!
This is the King! the real, the only King!
The living King Alfonso!
Melfi.
Out, foul traitor!
'Tis an impostor.
Jul.
Look on him, Count D'Alba!
Calvi, Valore, look! Ye know him well.
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His father's lineaments? Remove thy hand
From that fair forehead. 'Tis the pallid brow
Bent into pensiveness, the dropping eyelid,
The womanish changing cheek—his very self!
Look on him. Do ye know him? Do ye own
Your King?
Calvi.
'Tis he.
D'Alba.
The boy himself!
Jul.
Now place
The crown upon his head; and hear me swear,
Low at his feet, as subject, kinsman, Prince,
Allegiance.
Alf.
Rise, dear Cousin.
Jul.
Father, kneel,
Kneel here with me, thou his first subject, thou
The guardian of the state, kneel first, and vow
Thy princely fealty.
Melfi.
Hence, abject slave!
And thou, young minion—
Jul.
to Alf.
Fear not. Father, kneel!
Look where thou art. This is no place, my lord,
To dally with thy duty: underneath
Thy fathers' sleep; above their banners wave
Heavily. Death is round about us, Death
And Fame. Have they no voice for thee? Not one,
Of our long storied line but lived and died
A pure and faithful Knight, and left his son
Honour—proud heritage! I am thine heir,
And I demand that bright inheritance
Unstained, undimmed. Kneel, I implore thee! I,
Thy son.
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Off, cursed viper!
Off, ere I hurl thee on the stones!
Jul.
I've done
My duty. Was it not my duty?
Alf.
Julian,
Sit here by me; here on the steps.
D'Alba.
Again
We must demand of thee, my Lord of Melfi,
How chanced this tale of murder? Here's our Prince,
Safe and unhurt. But where's the assassin? Where
The regicide? Where he that wounded thee?
Melfi.
(pointing to Julian)
Demand of him.
D'Alba.
Where be these murderers?
Art sure thou saw'st them, Duke? Or was't a freak
Of the deft Fay Morgana? Didst thou feel
The trenchant blade? Or was the hurt thou talk'st of
A fairy wound, a phantasm? Once again
I warn thee, speak.
Melfi.
Demand Prince Julian, Sir.
This work is his.
D'Alba.
He speaks not. Little King,
What say'st thou?
Alf.
Julian saved me.
D'Alba.
Saved! From whom?
From what!
Alf.
A king should have no memory
But for good deeds. My lords, an it so please you,
We'll to the Palace. I'll not wear to-day
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I'm weary. Let us home.
D'Alba.
Aye, take him hence.
Home with him, Count Valore. Stay by him
Till I come to ye. Leave him not. Nay, Calvi,
Remain. Hence with the boy.
Alf.
My mousin Julian,
Wilt thou not go with us?
Jul.
I've done my duty.
Was't not my duty? But look there! look there!
I cannot go with thee. I am his now.
All his.
Alf.
Uncle—
Melfi.
Away, bright spotted worm—
D'Alba.
What, ho! the guard!
Alf.
My lord, where Julian is
I need no guard. Question no more of this,
But follow us.
[Exeunt Alfonso, Valore, and other nobles.
Melfi.
I do contemn myself
That I hold silence. Warriors, kinsmen, friends,
Barons of Sicily, the valiant princes
Of this most fertile and thrice famous Isle,
Hear me! What yonder crafty Count hath dared,
With subtle question and derisive smile,
To slide into a meaning, is as true
As he is false. I would be King; I'd reign
Over fair Sicily; I'd call myself
Your Sovereign, Princes; thine, Count D'Alba, thine,
Calvi, and old Leanti—we were comrades
Many a year in the rough path of war.
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Fit for this warlike nation, which brooks sway
Only of men. Yon slight fair boy is born
With a woman's heart. Let him go tell his beads
For us and for our kingdom, I'll be King.
I'll lend unto that title such a name,
As shall enchase this bauble with one blaze
Of honour. I'll lead on to glory, lords,
And ye shall shine in the brightness of my fame
As planets round the sun. What say ye?
D'Alba.
Never!
Calvi, &c.
Never!
Melfi.
Say thou, Leanti, thou'rt a soldier
Worthy of the name,—a brave one! What say'st thou?
Leanti.
If young Alfonso—
D'Alba.
Peace. Why this is well.
This morning I received a tale—I'm not
An over-believer in man's excellence;
I know that in this slippery path of life
The firmest foot may fail; that there have been
Ere now ambitious generals, grasping heirs,
Unnatural kinsmen, foul usurpers, murderers!—
I know that man is frail, and might have fallen
Though Eve had never lived,—Albeit I own
The smiling mischief's potency. But this,
This tale was made up of such several sins,
All of them devilish, treason, treachery,
And pitiless cruelty made murder pale
With their red shame,—I doubt not readily
When man and guilt are joined—but this the common
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Forbade to believe. Yet now before you all,
His peers and mine, before the vacant throne
He sought to usurp, before the crown that fell
As conscious from his brow, I do arraign
Rugiero, Duke of Melfi, General, Peer,
Regent and Prince, of Treason.
Melfi.
Treason! D'Alba.
We quarrel not for words. Let these but follow
And bold emprise shall bear a happier name.
Sicilians, have ye lost your Island spirit?
Barons, is your ancient bravery tamed down
By this vain scoffer? I'll to the people. They
Love their old soldier.
D'Alba.
Stop. Duke, I arraign thee
Of murder; planned, designed, attempted murder,
Though incomplete, on the thrice sacred person
Of young Alfonso, kinsman, ward, and King.
Wilt thou defend this too? Was't a brave deed
To draw the assassin's sword on that poor child?
Seize him!
Melfi.
Come near who dares! Where be thy proofs?
Where be thy witnesses?
D'Alba.
There's one. Prince Julian,
Rouse thee! He sits erect and motionless
As yon ancestral image. Doth he breathe?
Rouse thee, and answer, as before thy God,
As there is truth in Heaven, Didst thou not see
Thy father's sword at young Alfonso's breast?
Lay not the boy, already dead with fear,
At his false guardian's feet? Answer!
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Aye, speak,
Prince Julian! Dost thou falter now? On, on,
And drive the dagger home! On, on, I say.
Calvi.
We wait your Highness' answer.
Jul.
Which among ye
Dares question me? What are ye, Sirs?
D'Alba.
The States
Of Sicily.
Jul.
The States! Without a head!
Without a King! Without a Regent! States!
The States! Are ye the States that 'gainst all form
Of justice or of guardian law drive on
To bloody trial, him your Greatest? Here, too!
Here! Will ye build up scaffolds in your churches?
And turn grave priests to headsmen? I'll not answer.
Calvi.
The rack may force thee.
D'Alva.
He but smiles. Convey
The Duke to the Hall of Justice. We shall follow.
Go summon Juan Castro thither. Hence!
Why loiter ye?
Melfi.
A word with thee, Prince Julian.
I pray ye listen, 'tis no treason, lords.
I would but say, finish thy work. Play well
The part that thou hast chosen. Cast aside
All filial yearnings. Be a gallant foe.
Rush onward through the fight. Trample me down.
Tread on my neck. Be perfect in that quality
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Let me respect the enemy, whom once
I thought my Son.
Jul.
Once, Father!
Melfi.
I'm no Father!
Rouse not my soul to curse thee! Tempt me not
To curse thy Mother—She whom once I deemed
A saint in purity; Be resolute,
Palter not with them. Lie not.
Jul.
Did I ever?
Melfi.
Finish thy work. On, soldiers!
(Exit Melfi, guarded.
D'Alba.
Answer, Prince!
The Duke, as thou hast heard, disclaims thee.
Jul.
Dare not
A man of ye say that. I am his son—
Tremble lest my sword should prove me so;—a part
Of his own being. He gave me this life,
These senses, these affections. The quick blood
That knocks so strongly at my heart is his—
Would I might spill it for him! Had ye no fathers,
Have ye no sons, that ye would train men up
In parricide? I will not answer ye.
D'Alba.
This passion is thy answer. Could'st thou say
No; in that simple word were more comprised
Than in a world of fiery eloquence.
Canst thou not utter No? 'Tis short and easy,
The first sound that a stuttering babe will lisp
To his fond nurse,—yet thy tongue stammers at it!
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Traitor and Murderer, and he cannot say,
No!
Jul.
Subtle blood-thirsty fiend! I'll answer
To nought that thou canst ask. Murderer! The king
Lives. Seek of him. One truth I'll tell thee, D'Alba,
And then the record of that night shall pass
Down to the grave in silence. But one sword
Was stained with blood in yonder glen—'twas mine!
I am the only guilty. This I swear
Before the all-seeing God, whose quenchless gaze
Pierced through that twilight hour. Now condemn
The Duke of Melfi an ye dare! I'll speak
No more on this foul question.
Leanti.
Thou the guilty?
Thou!
Jul.
I have said it.
D'Alba.
I had heard a tale—
Leanti.
This must be sifted.
D'Alba.
In that twilight hour
A mortal eye beheld them. An old Spaniard,
One of the guard—By Heaven it is a tale
So bloody, so unnatural, man may scarce
Believe it!
Leanti.
And the king still lives.
D'Alba.
Why 'tis
A mystery. Let's to the Hall of Justice
And hear this soldier. Sir, they are ambitious,
Father and son—We can pass judgment there,
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Than thou canst guess.
Jul.
Aye, by a thousand fold!
I am an eaglet born, and can drink in
The sunlight, when the blinking owls go darkling,
Dazzled and blinded by the day. Ambitious!
I have had day dreams would have shamed the visions
Of that great Master of the world, who wept
For other worlds to conquer. I'd have lived
An age of sinless glory, and gone down
Storied and epitaphed and chronicled,
To the very end of time. Now—But I still
May suffer bravely, may die as a Prince,
A Man. Ye go to judgment. Lords, remember
I am the only guilty.
Calvi.
We must needs,
On such confession, give you into charge
A prisoner. Ho! Captain.
Leanti.
Goes he with us?
D'Alba.
No; for the hall is near, and they are best
Questioned apart. Walk by me, good Leanti,
And I will shew thee why.
Leanti.
Is't possible
That Julian stabb'd his father?
D'Alba.
No. Thou saw'st
They met as friends; no! no!
[Exeunt Calvi and other Lords.
Enter Annabel.
Ann.
Where is he? Where?
Julian!
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Fair Princess—
Ann.
Stay me not. My Julian!
D'Alba.
Oh, how she sinks her head upon his arm!
How her curls kiss his cheek! and her white hand
Lies upon his! The cold and sluggish husband!
He doth not clasp that loveliest hand, which nature
Fashioned to gather roses, or to hold
Bunches of bursting grapes.
Leanti.
Count D'Alba, see,
We are alone. Wilt thou not come?
D'Alba.
Anon.
Now he hath seized her hand, hath dared to grasp,
He shall not hold it long.
Leanti.
They'll wait us, Count.
D'Alba.
That white hand shall be mine.
[Exeunt D'Alba and Leanti.
Jul.
My Annabel,
Why art thou here?
Ann.
They said—I was a fool
That believed them!—Constance said she heard a cry,
Down with the Melfi! and the rumour ran
That there had been a fray, that thou wast slain.
But thou art safe, my Julian?
Jul.
As thou seest.
Thou art breathless still.
Ann.
Aye. I flew through the streets,
Piercing the crowds like light. I was a fool;
But thou hadst left me on a sudden, bearing
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Fixed in thine eye. I knew not—Love is fearful;
And I have learnt to fear.
Jul.
Thou tremblest still.
Ann.
The Church is cold and lonely; and that seat,
At the foot of yon grim warrior, all too damp
For thee. I like not thus to see thee, Julian,
Upon a tomb. Thou must submit thee still
To thy poor nurse. Home! By the way thou'lt tell me
What hath befallen. Where is Alfonso?
Jul.
Say
The King! the rightful, the acknowledged King!
Annabel, this rude stone's the effigy
Of the founder of our line; the gallant chief
Who swept away the Saracen, and quelled
Fierce civil broils; and, when the people's choice
Crowned him, lived guardian of their rights, and died
Wept by them as a father. And methinks
To-day I do not shame my ancestor;
I dare to sit here at his feet, and feel
He would not spurn his son. Thou dost not grieve
To lose a crown, my fairest?
Ann.
Oh no! no!
I'm only proud of thee. Thy fame's my crown.
Jul.
Not fame but conscience is the enduring crown,
And wearing that impearled, why to lose fame
Or life were nothing.
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Where's thy father, Julian?
Forgive me, I have pained thee.
Jul.
No. The pang
Is mastered. Where? He is a prisoner
Before the States. I am a prisoner here.
These are my guards. Be calmer, Sweetest. Rend not
This holy place with shrieks.
Ann.
They seek thy life!
They'll sentence thee! They'll kill thee! No! they shall not,
Unless they kill me first. What crime—O God,
To talk of crime and thee!—What falsest charge
Dare they to bring?
Jul.
Somewhat of yon sad night
They know.
Ann.
Where's Theodore? the page? the King?
Doth he accuse thee too?
Jul.
Poor gentle Cousin!
He is as innocent as thou.
Ann.
I'll fetch him.
We'll go together to the States. We'll save thee.
We, feeble though we be, woman and boy,
We'll save thee. Hold me not!
Jul.
Where would'st thou go?
Ann.
To the States.
Jul.
And there?
Ann.
I'll tell the truth, the truth,
The irresistible truth! Let go. A moment
May cost thy life,—our lives. Nothing but truth,
That's all thy cause can need. Let go.
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And he,
My father?
Ann.
What's a thousand such as he,
To thee, my husband! But he shall be safe.
He is thy father. I'll say nought can harm him.
He was ever kind to me! I'll pray for him.
Nay, an thou fear'st me, Julian, I'll not speak
One word; I'll only kneel before them all,
Lift up my hands, and pray in my inmost heart,
As I pray to God.
Jul.
My loving wife, to Him
Pray, to Him only. Leave me not, my dearest;
There is a peace around us in this pause,
This interval of torture. I'm content
And strong to suffer. Be thou—
Enter D'Alba, Calvi, Leanti, and Nobles.
Ha! returned
Already! This is quick. But I'm prepared.
The sentence!
Ann.
Tell it not! Ye are his Judges.
Ye have the power of life or death. Your words
Are fate. Oh speak not yet! Listen to me.
D'Alba.
Aye; a long summer day! What would'st thou?
Ann.
Save him!
Save him!
D'Alba.
He shall not die.
Ann.
Now bless thee, D'Alba!
Bless thee! He's safe! He's free!
Jul.
Once more I ask
His doom, for that is mine. If ye have dared,
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And sentence your great Ruler, with less pause
Than a petty thief taken in the manner, what's
Our doom?
D'Alba.
Sir, our great ruler (we that love not
Law's tedious circumstance may thank him) spared
All trial by confession. He avowed
Treason and regicide; and all that thou
Hadst said or might say, he avouched unheard
For truth; then cried, as thou hast done, for judgment,
For death.
Jul.
I can die too.
Leanti.
A milder doom
Unites ye. We have spared the royal blood.
D'Alba.
Only the blood. Estates and honours all
Are forfeit to the King; the assembled states
Banish ye; the most holy Church declares ye
Beneath her ban. This is your sentence, Sir.
A Herald waits to read it in the streets
Before ye, and from out the city gate
To thrust ye, outlawed, excommunicate,
Infamous amongst men. Ere noon to-morrow
Ye must depart from Sicily; on pain
Of death to ye the outlaws, death to all
That harbour ye, death to whoe'er shall give
Food, shelter, comfort, speech. So pass ye forth
In infamy!
Ann.
Eternal infamy
Rest on your heads, false judges! Outlawed Banished!
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Best of the good, greatest amongst the great,
My Julian! Must they die that give thee food
And rest and comfort? I shall comfort thee,
I thy true wife! I'll never leave thee. Never!
We'll walk together to the gate, my hand
In thine, as lovers. Let's set forth. We'll go
Together.
Jul.
Aye; but not to-night. I'll meet thee
To-morrow at the harbour.
Ann.
No! no! no!
I will not leave thee.
Jul.
Cling not thus. She trembles.
She cannot walk. Brave Sir, we have been comrades;
There is a pity in thine eye, which well
Beseems a soldier. Take this weeping lady
To King Alfonso. Tell the royal boy
One, who was once his Cousin and his friend,
Commends her to him. Go. To-morrow, dearest,
We'll meet again. Now for the sentence. Lords,
I question not your power. I submit
To all, even to this shame. Be quick! be quick!
[Exeunt.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
| Julian | |