University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—The Bay of Palermo, with the City on the opposite shore. On the R. U. E. is a large tent guarded by two Sentinels. On the L. 2 E. stands another tent.
Numerous Knights, with Pages and Attendants serving them, are discovered drinking at separate tables, and of the roughest kind, placed R. Towards L., stands a table covered with a rich cloth, and by it are two gilt arm chairs. After a few bars of the Introductory Chorus, Robert of Normandy, and the Knight Bertram enter from the tent, L., with several Pages and Attendants, and take their places at the table L.
Alberti.
(advancing L. with Bruno.)

Hark thee, Bruno;
a word in thine ear.

Bruno.

What is't, Alberti?

Alberti.

What think'st thou of this foreign knight who has
pitched his tent right close to ours? By my troth, his wealth
must be enormous! Hast thou noticed his numerous train, his
army of squires, pages, and attendants?

Bruno.

He has a noble presence, and his armour is magnificent.

Alberti.

But can'st tell who he be? and what brings him
here to Sicily?

Bruno.

He comes, no doubt, like to ourselves, to break a
lance at the tournament given by the king of Sicily; and the
rich prize of which is to be the fair Isabel, his daughter.
There be knights from all parts of Christendom.

Alberti.

True! but they are known, whilst this stranger—
have you even heard his name?

Bruno.

No; he comes from Normandy—'tis all I've learnt.

Alberti.

And his black-looking companion, there?

Bruno.

Oh, he bears too ill a countenance for me to court
his acquaintance. (they retire to the table.)

Robert.
(to Bertram.)

How now, Bertram—thy wine
languishes in the cup. What ho! (to Cup-Bearers.)
Fill
again! Illustrious cavaliers, what shall be our toast?

Bruno.
(raising high a cup.)

“To the conqueror in this
day's tourney!”

All.

A pledge! Hurrah!

MARTIAL SONG.—Robert.
[Robert]
The tourney begins! Behold the knight advancing!
Arm'd cap-à-pie he enters the field;
Proudly array'd his eager steed is prancing,
While firmly he grasps his lance and his shield.
The trumpet rings loud! The barriers wide-extending,
Onward he spurs with fierce and deadly aim;
His foe bites the dust; while, to the skies ascending,
Loud shouts around the victor proclaim.

Chorus of Knights.
His foe, &c.,

[Robert]
What is the meed for knightly valour meetest,
When conquered foes in chains are bound?
What is the meed to warrior's heart the sweetest,
When with the wreath of victory he's crown'd?
Glory and love are fairest in his eyes!
Sordid desires his bosom ne'er defile;
And still he deems his proudest prize
The guerdon of fame, and beauty's smile!

Chorus of Knights.
And still, &c.

Enter Alan down descent from R., preceding Arnaud.
Alan.
(respectfully to Robert, who has reseated himself at table, L.)

Most gracious lord, I bring before you a joyous minstrel,
whom we have just stopped, thinking he might contribute
to your entertainment. He says he has just arrived from
France.

Robert.

Ay? From what part?

Alan.

From Normandy.

Robert.
(with lively emotion.)

From Normandy?

Bertram.
(in a low voice to Robert, across the table.)

From
your ungrateful country.

Robert.
(rising and addressing Arnaud.)

Come forward,
varlet! Thou hast the skill of minstrelsy? Is it so?

Arnaud.

Why, truly, mighty sir, I can't deny my skill; and
what's more, I care not to keep it to myself.

Robert.
(throwing him a purse.)

Take this, and requite my
largess with thy choicest legend.

Arnaud.

Shall it be gay or pitiful? For I have many tales
very gay, and many exceedingly pitiful. Or shall it be terrible?
A tale likely to make everybody wretched that listens to me;
or miraculous, or—

Robert.

Pshaw! Any thou wilt, so thou'lt begin.

Arnaud.

In truth, gentle knight, all my tales are so very
good, that it be no easy matter to know which of them to begin

with. It will depend upon taste, and the humour of the listeners.
But I will sing you a right merry ditty which is a
general favourite.

LEGENDARY BALLAD.—Arnaud.

Robert.
(after many signs of impatience.)

A plague of thy
cat, thou mewling idiot! No trifling, fool! know'st thou where
thou art? Hast thou no true story?

Arnaud.

True? That's a slur upon my budget! Noble
knight, all my stories are true stories, “Sir Palamede and the
the Fiery Dragon,” “The bear and the Brazen Tower,” but
stay! there is one tale more especially famous throughout all
France, and of awful interest; nor more nor less than “The
true History of our young Duke of Normandy, surnamed
Robert the Devil.”

Knights.

Robert the devil?

Arnaud.

Ay! Robert the Devil—that profligate limb of
Lucifer who, for his evil doings, has been chased away from his
native land, no one caring what has become of him.

(Robert draws his dagger, Bertram hastily stops his hand.
Bertram.

Be more prudent!

Robert.
(turning to Arnaud, with ill assumed indifference.)

Let it be that; begin.

Arnaud.

Ahem! be silent and pay attention; if ye be
knights of taste, it be worth the hearing.

LEGENDARY BALLAD.—Arnaud.

Knights.
(with curiosity.)
Well? as they tell—

Arnaud.
One of the fall'n! of man the foe!
He was a fiend! a fiend from hell!

Knights.
Bless us! a fiend?

Arnaud.
A fiend from hell.

Knights.
(laughing among themselves.)
He tells it well.

Arnaud.
A fiend from hell!

Knights.
(smiling to each other.)
Beware his spell!

Arnaud.
His father's look and heart he bears,
And is, like him, a fiend from hell.

Knights.
(bantering as before.)
He, too, is a fiend!

Arnaud.
A fiend from hell.

Knights.
Robert's a fiend!

Arnaud.
A fiend from hell!

Robert.
(who has with difficulty curbed his anger.)

I can
control my rage no longer. Ho! men-at-arms. Seize this
insolent vassal; I am his liege and master; I am Robert of
Normandy.

All.
(startled.)

How!

Arnaud.
(falling on his knees.)

Mercy! mercy! Sweet
angelic master, forgive me!

Robert.

I have power of thy life as my serf and vassal.

Arnaud.

I don't dispute it.

Robert.

I grant thee one short hour. Make thy speediest
prayer, and then— (turning coolly to his Followers.)
let him
be hanged on the nearest tree.

Arnaud.

Oh la! oh la! Take pity on me, noble knight
and infernal master! I'm come all the way from Normandy
with my bride that is to be, and it will break her heart if I
should be hanged before we're married.

Robert.

Thy intended bride, say'st thou? Hold a while!
(the Guards release Arnaud.)
She is doubtless pretty?

Arnaud.

They call us in Normandy the beautiful couple. It
would be a pity to spoil the pair.

Robert.

Thy words soften me.

Arnaud.

Bless your soft heart.

Robert.

On account of thy sweetheart's charms, I grant
thee thy life.

Arnaud.
(with a sigh of relief.)

You grant me what I most
value.

Robert.
(emphatically.)

But—

Arnaud.

Eh! wha—what means your terrible but?

Robert.

I claim her as my property. Go, some of ye, and
lead her here. (Alan and a party go off up the slope, R. H.)

Sir Knights, ye are gallant, and I commit her to your hands.

Arnaud.

My Alice to their hands! A lamb to the wolves!
Oh, most gracious Duke Robert, Robert the Dev—

Robert.

Be silent! Dar'st thou still to murmur when I
have had the goodness to pardon thee?

Arnaud.
(aside.)

Oh, confound your goodness! miserable
devil that I am! I lose my wife before marriage! If it had been
after, indeed—

Robert.
(returning to the table, L. H.)
Fill the cups again!

Enter Alice, down slope, R. H., forcibly conducted by Alan, and the Duke's Pages.
Alice and Knights.
Alice.
Why this rudeness? Ah, for mercy, let me go!
Why is't ye seek to fright me?

Knights.
A glorious prize! both young and fair.

Alice.
Spare me! your mercy shew!

Knights.
No, no! the gift is all too rare;
In faith, it were pity to slight thee.
A kiss to each thou'lt not deny?
The forfeit due thou may'st not fly;
Come, then, be kind; do not say no!
Such slight reward quickly bestow.

Alice.
(breaking from them.)
Away! discourteous knights, your sport forego.

Robert.
(turning round.)

Ha! what do I see? Alice!

Alice.
(casting herself at his feet.)

Ha! Duke Robert,
protect me from their violence!

Robert.
(sternly to the Knights, who have followed her.)

Stand back! I am her protector. The same breast hath

nourished us, and that is a sacred claim. I pray ye, sirs, to
retire hence, and leave us to ourselves.

Bertram.

Follow me, Sir Knights, and I can lead where a
livelier sport shall entertain us, and be a welcome change.

Exeunt Bertram and Knights, R. H.
Arnaud.
(humbly to Robert.)

Mayn't I remain too, noble
knight?

Robert.

No—begone!

Arnaud.

What, and leave you all alone with—

Alice.
(aside to Arnaud.)

Wait for me on yonder hill, and
I will rejoin thee speedily.

Arnaud.

The sooner the better, for I don't like your present
company; he's as great a devil as ever he was.

Exit up the slope, R. H.
Alice.
(kneeling to Robert.)

Oh, my prince, my master!

Robert.
(raising her kindly.)

Call me thy brother. Banished
by my rebellious subjects, I wander an exile in a foreign
land; but my heart is still the same. And now, Alice, wherefore
is it that I see thee in Sicily? what comest thou to do at
Palermo?

Alice.

I have quitted my humble cottage in our own dear
Normandy on a mission to seek you, and fulfil the command of
your lady-mother.

Robert.

My mother! speak! whatever be her desire I will
instantly obey it.

Alice.

Alas, my lord, her sorrows have ceased; she is—
dead!

Robert.

Dead! adored parent! dead! oh, anguish!

Alice.

Her last thoughts were for you, Lord Robert. I
attended her throughout her fatal illness, and her sole consolation
was her dear son's remembrance.

(Robert sinks on the chair, L. H. and drops his head on the table, overcome with grief.
AIR.—Alice.

Robert.

And the son she so loved received not even her
dying blessing!

Alice.

Her last wishes she confided to me alone. “When
I have ceased to live,” she said, “seek out my son. Tell him,
for his soul's welfare, to beware! There is a dark and evil
power hovers round him that would drag him to perdition!
Be thou his good angel, Alice, and save him; and bid him,
some day when he shall be worthy of it, to read this writing
traced by an expiring mother's hand!”

(Alice offers a sealed paper to Robert, who shrinks from receiving it.
Robert.

No, no; I am not worthy of it; let the precious
trust still remain in thy keeping. Alas! every grief assails me
at once. To thy friendly bosom I will confide that (added to
my other woes) I am doomed to the torments of a fruitless
passion.

Alice.

You love?

Robert.

Without hope. Know all my misery; when I
first beheld the Princess of Sicily, the beautiful and far-famed
Isabel, her charms won my soul! she smiled with favour on
my suit, and I fancied I had touched her heart, when, one day,
maddened with love and jealousy, (for I had heard her hand
was promised to the Prince of Grenada) I boldly endeavoured
to bear her off. I withstood her father, and the united attack
of all his cavaliers.

Alice.

Rashness!

Robert.

I was on the point of falling beneath their swords,
when suddenly there stood at my side a powerful knight, in
ebon armour, and mounted on a black steed. With lightning
speed he felled my antagonists to the ground, and bore me off
unhurt. To him, to Sir Bertram, my preserver, and ever since
my friend, I owe the victory and my life; but, alas! I lost Isabel
and happiness for ever.

Alice.

And the princess?

Robert.

From that day I have never beheld her. I am now
returned hither only in the fond hope thst, contesting the prize
of arms at the tournament, I may see her once more, and
perhaps yet win her.

Alice.

If her heart ever preferred you, she will still be
faithful to you.

Robert.

Yet how be sure of that?

Alice.
(smiling.)

It is a question easily asked. Write, my
lord.

Robert.

Thou counsel'st me to my liking. (going to his tent and calling.)

What ho! my scribe. I will sue for pardon,
and plead my passion's violence.

Enter the Duke's Secretary with writing gear, and Robert signs to him to sit at the table, which he does, and prepares to write.

Yet, Alice, now I bethink me, the letter written—who may
deliver it?

Alice.

I, my lord; the wit is keen that serves whom it
doth love.

Robert.

'Tis well.

(he dictates to the Scribe in dumb show.
Alice.

Be you not far from me, my lord; for I have hope
of bringing a speedy and a welcome answer.

Robert.

Thou art my guardian angel. Here! good speed
attend thee!

(imprinting the pummel of his sword upon the letter, he gives it to Alice, who is running off towards R., when suddenly encountering Bertram, who has just entered, she retreats with an exclamation of fear to L. C.)
SONG.—Alice and Robert.
Alice.
Ha! (in a low voice to Robert, pointing to Bertram.)

Who's yon? that man of louring brow?

Robert.
The knight I nam'd just now;
My friend, my more than brother.
Such look of wild dimay
Why doth thy face display?

Alice.
(trembling.)
'Tis because, in the house of my mother
There hangs an ancient picture, showing
Th' Archangel Michael, Satan overthrowing;
And I find—

Robert.
Go on! what makes thee thus tremble?

Alice.
—He much doth resemble—

Robert.
(eagerly.)
The Archangel?

Alice.
(with trepidation.)
Not at all. The other!

(pointing downwards.
Robert.
What childish folly! There, haste away.

Alice.
You shall not reproach me with delay.

(she kisses Robert's hand, and keeping aloof from Bertram, runs up the ascent, R., where Arnaud is seen to meet her joyfully, and both disappear.
Bertram.

Thy new conquest, Robert, seems wholly devoted
to thee.

Robert.

Her gentle breast is moved by gratitude.

Bertram.
(with sarcastic bitterness.)

Gratitude! And thou
believest in gratitude? It is ever the foremost word in the
mouth of the ungrateful. Tell me, what was thy conference
with Alice?

Robert.

I'll tell thee all. She is my messenger to Isabel,
to apprise her of my arrival, and to obtain my pardon.

Bertram.
(gloomily.)

Thou still wilt go, in this, 'gainst all
my counselling.

Robert.

I cannot, will not live without Isabel. In spite of
every opposer, I will win her in the tournament.

Bertram.
(aside.)

Thou never shalt!

Robert.

My coursers are strong, and my armour hath
been tried against the bravest in the world.

Bertram.
(aside,)

I will strip thee of it this very hour!

Robert.

My wealth, too, gives me level with the proudest
suitor.

Bertram.
(aside.)

Thou shalt not long possess it. (turning with a smile to Robert.)

Thou say'st truly in all, Robert; but
I am dull with thy love musing, and till the trumpet ring us to
the lists, let us seek for pastime. And, lo! 'tis at hand; for,
in happy hour, the knights are assembling, and seem prepared
to try a few casts of the dice. What say'st thou? Shall we
join, and play also?

Robert.
(moodily.)

I have forsworn play for ever.

Bertram.

More of thy folly! Fortune, in smiling mood,
may add to thy riches, and make thee surer of thy Isabel.
Come, we'll make them our bankers, and draw largely on their
purses.

Robert.

Well, with all my heart; I yield to thee in everything.

During the foregoing, the Knights re-enter; their Pages bearing caskets filled with money. The table is covered with a rich tapestry by four Pages, and dice-boxes are placed upon it.
CONCERTED PIECE.
Bertram.
(advancing courteously towards the Knights.)
Brave knights, the Duke of Normandy
To join your game you'll not deny?

Robert.
In the Lists, lance to lance,
A rougher game we'll try;
But to-day at the game of chance
Our strength we'll measure.

Knights.
Your challenge, brave knight of France,
We all accept with pleasure.
Let fortune's hand declare
Who shall, at play, the trophy bear.

Robert.
Make a friendly ring;
And while roll the dice along,
In chorus let us sing
Your old Sicilian song—
How never “golden treasure”
Could yet “compare with pleasure,”—
We'll sing it as we play.

Knights.
That old Sicilian lay,
Familiar as the day,
We'll sing it as we play.
To our game, to our game!
And Fortune, the purblind dame,
Shall rule the day.

SICILIAN BALLAD, WITH CHORUS.
Robert and Knights.
Fortune! in thy smiles confiding,
Thy protection I demand.
Come! and o'er me now presiding,
Guide aright my daring hand.
Gold's a vanishing treasure;
The wise still make it fly;
While gold brings hours of pleasure,
To lose it never sigh!

Bertram.
Let Fortune smile or Fortune frown,
To me life's all a jest;
With wine, sorrow I drown,
Whilst I win, I laugh at the rest.

Robert.
Of all the gifts that life can crown,
Pleasure is the best.

(Scene of the Dice.—Beginning the game of hazard, a purse being staked on each side—Alberti rattles the dice, and makes the first throw, while the Knights anxiously crowd round, and look on—Robert throws in return, by which time Bertrand has advanced to his side.
Robert.
(with careless indifference.)
Ay, I've lost. My revenge now;
Come on—three purses of gold.

(taking the purses from a casket held by a Page, he stakes them on the table.
Knights.
Your turn to throw.

Robert.
(throws.)
Fourteen!—that's a fair cast, ye see;
Fortune, capricious, may now favour me.
(one of the Knights throws a higher number.
Ha! deuce take the dice; I've lost my luck of old.

Bertram.
Tut, tut! Double your lay.

Robert.
(becoming gradually excited.)
I stake down two thousand piastres.

Bertram.
Not half enough, I say—
Five thousand.

Knights.
Five thousand! (aside to each other.)

Their play is bold.

Bertram.
That's the way,
When you play,
To retrieve all disasters;
The best plan, in the main.

Robert.
Think you so?

Bertram.
It's quite plain.

(the throws are renewed on both sides, but still to the advantage of the Knights, who shew their gratification.
Robert.
(chafed.)
Ha! 'sdeath and hell—lost again!

Bertram.
(soothingly.)
Nay, but keep cool;
That's the best rule.
Anger is wrong,
What says the song?
“What's gold? A vanishing treasure;
“The wise still make it fly!
“If gold buy hours of pleasure,
“To lose it wherefore sigh?”

Knights.
(laughing.)
Right!—“What's gold?” &c.

Robert.
(now much excited.)
In spite of the frowns of Fate,
I'll not yet the game forsake.
'Gainst ye all round, see here—I stake
My case of diamonds—

Knights.
(eagerly.)
Diamonds, d'ye say?

Robert.
And my service of plate.

Knights.
And a service of plate?
'Tis just the thing! your bet we take.
(aside.)
We'll win his diamonds and his plate.

Bertram.
Wisely done; a mere troublesome weight
To carry about, are diamonds and plate.

(Alberti throws for the Knights, Robert after him.
Robert.
(striking the table violently.)
By hell!—no more I'll play! Curst Fate!

Bertram.
(as before.)
Nay, nay, dear friend, be cool!
Your passion rule!
Anger is wrong,
Saith not the song—
“What's gold?” &c.

Robert.
(desperate.)
My horses I lay; my arms, and mail also;
(he unbuckles his sword and lays it on the table.
'Tis all that's left me now,
Like the rest let 'em go;
I'll play in Fate's despite!

Bertram.
Perfectly right—very right!
P'rhaps Fortune asham'd may grow,
And send us a lucky throw
Shall all we've lost repay.

Knights.
(with joy, aside.)
He's fast our prey!

Robert.
(having thrown with the utmost excitement.)
Fifteen!

Knights.
(after their throw.)
Just the same!

Robert.
(throwing again.)
Sixteen!

Bertram.
Said I not? Bravely done!

Knights.
(throwing again.)
Eighteen! Hurrah!

Robert.
(with dismay.)
Oh, despair! My all is gone!

Knights.
(aside, with exultation.)
His all we've won.

(the Knights take up the purses, diamonds, sword, &c., and the Pages bear away the table.)
Robert.
(with depression.)
Yet, (worse than all to me,)
My friend, my blind folly ruins thee.
My arms, too—and my steeds! 'Tis childish to repine;
Go, give them up the wealth no longer mine.
(Bertram goes into the tent, L., accompanied by two or three of the Knights; and the armour and the chests of plate are seen conveyed across to the opposite tent by Robert's soldiers.
Oh, rage and despair!
This shame must I bear?
(turning furiously on the Knights.
By some hellish snare
My destruction ye've plann'd!
My passion beware!
To mock me but dare,
By Heaven, I swear
Ye shall die by this hand.

Knights.
(to each other, deriding Robert's agitation.)
Behold! his loss he can't bear;
With spite hear him swear!
His rage and despair
He cannot command.
Ah, Sir Knight, pray forbear,
Your angry words spare,
Or our wrath yet beware;
Our swords are at hand.

(Robert, finding himself unarmed, in his transport of rage, snatches up a seat, while the Knights stand on the defensive.
Bertram, at this moment, re-enters from the tent.
Bertram.
Wherefore this noise?
What mean these cries?
(advancing to Robert.
Come, come, be cool,
Your passion rule;
Anger is wrong,
Goes not the song—
“What's gold?” &c.

Knights.
(resheathing their swords and laughing.)
Well said; yes “What's gold?” &c.

(chinking the purses they've won.)
Robert.
(as before.)
Oh, rage and despair! &c.

Knights.
(as before.)
He's wild with despair! &c.

(the Knights retire joyously into tent, R.
Robert.
(impetuously.)

Bertram, 'tis thy evil counsel has
led me to this.

Bertram.

Do I not share in thy ill fortune?

Robert.

Oh, Isabel! thou art now lost to me, indeed. But
ere I seek my death, I will once more, and for the last time,
behold thee.

Exit Robert, L.
Bertram.

This eventful day will unite or part us for ever.
Should he gain Isabel, he is torn from me. The art of hell
must be employed to thwart him. His despair will do much,
and Isabel may furnish him with arms. Their possession must
be rendered useless. The renowned Prince of Grenada, though
certain to overcome all others, is no equal match against
Robert's power and skill; a more potent adversary must be
found, and I will summon him straight. Ye Spirits of the
middle Air, that are linked with us in evil, darken around me
the light of day that, invisible to all, I may pursue my purpose.

(the light is obscured, and a peal of thunder is heard, accompanied by a flash of lightning.)

Well have ye obeyed. Lend me thy fire, thou electric fluid!

(he holds up the point of his sword, and as a lightning flash strikes it, a portion of fire adheres to it.

Astoroth! spirit of the undying flame! quit thy regions of
everlasting fire, and attend my call. By the triple spell that
commands thee, obey me!—appear! appear!—thrice I bid thee
—appear!

The earth opens, and Astoroth, the Spirit of Fire, rises, his head surrounded by a circlet of blue flame, his wings extended, and in his hand a blazing spear.
Ast.

Thy spell I obey, and thy commands will execute.

Bertram.

Fold thy wings, and come forth from thy circle
of flame.

Ast.

Thy bidding is done.

Bertram.

From this, till midnight strikes, I claim thy
services.

Ast.
(bowing submissively.)

Thou art my master.

Bertram.

Thou must assume the mortal shape and title of
Granada's Prince; and forthwith, with full retinue, present
thyself at the King of Sicily's court. Conquer in the tournament
all opposers, and claim for thy prize the Princess Isabel.

Ast.

The Prince of Grenada hath arrived within two
leagues.

Bertram.

This shall prevent his further advance until tomorrow.

(plucking a lock of hair, and dropping it into the fiery circle.
Fall his steed!
Its rider bleed,
And, till dawn of day,
From Palermo stay!

'Tis done; haste, and meet me at the palace.

Exit Bertram—while Astoroth re-enters the circle of fire in which he rose, and disappears.

SCENE II.

—The Exterior of the King of Sicily's Palace. A spacious terrace with steps, leading into an extensive garden.
Pages of the Princess Isabel, Sentinels, and Attendants, are discovered; as also several young Peasant Girls, with petitions in their hands, waiting the approach of the Princess.
Enter Isabel, R., followed by two Maids of Honour.
RECITATIVE.—Isabel.
AIR.

Isabel.

Heartless grandeur, how I disdain thy mockery!
Pageantry and feasts surround me, but happiness flies me.
Wretched Isabel! thy ungrateful Robert slights and resigns
thee without a sigh. Oh, that I but knew whither he has fled!

Peasant Girl.
(aside to her companions.)

We may approach
her without fear; the petitions of the wretched she has never
yet slighted. (advancing to Isabel.)
Revered Princess, assist
the unfortunate, who claim thy protection.

(the Princess graciously receives her petitions, which she commits to the care of her Maids of Honour.
Enter Alice, L. U. E., with Robert's letter.
Alice.
(aside.)

The opportunity seems favourable—why
should I hesitate? Goodness speaks in her features. (advancing, and presenting the letter.)

Revered Princess, assist the unfortunate
who claim thy protection.

Isabel.

Thou seemest a stranger?

Alice.

I am but newly come to this land; but the person—
(markedly.)
from whom I come, and who is waiting nigh, is no
stranger to your highness.

Isabel.
(opening the letter, and with sudden joy, aside.)

Ha!
may I believe the welcome tidings? Robert so near me! Fate,
thou dost relent at last! Come hither, stranger; return, and
lead hither the person who sent thee. Use thy best speed, and
I will give thee cause to rejoice.

Alice.
(aside, exultingly.)

I knew my counsel was good.

Exit, L.
Isabel.
(gazing fondly on the letter.)

Ah, Robert! thou hast
nought to fear from me.

AIR WITH CHORUS.
[Isabel]
Dear idol I adore,
Oh, haste and glad mine eyes;
The boon thou dost implore,
To grant my bosom sighs!

Peasant Girls.
Princess whom all adore,
May Joy e'er light thine eyes!
To aid all who implore,
Thy breast still sighs.

(Isabel, with marks of kindness, dismisses the petitioners, who retire R. U. E.
Enter Alice with Robert, L. U. E.
Alice.

Take heart, my lord, and cast yourself at her feet.
She has consented to hear you, which is very nearly a full pardon.

Exit Alice, L.
Robert.
(advancing to Isabel, and sinking on his knee.)

Fair Isabel, let my penitence disarm your anger! The love
that caused my guilt should plead my pardon.

Isabel.

Arise, Sir Knight.

Robert.

Do you, then, generously forgive my offence?

Isabel.

I ought to have fled your presence, or been deaf to
your words; but my heart is too weak towards all it loves.

Robert.

Words of rapture!

Isabel.

If your heart be not changed, Lord Robert, you
may, in the approaching trial of arms, prove it, and I will pray
for your victory!

Robert.

Alas, Isabel, I am robbed of hope!

Isabel.

How!

Robert.

My folly maddens me. Oppressed by Fortune's
spite, I have lost my armour and my trusty sword.

Isabel.

'Tis not yet too late; the loss shall be repaired.

Robert.

Ha!

Isabel.

Pages—haste and bring hither to this knight the
best and richest suit within the palace armoury.

Exeunt Pages, R.
Robert.

Then I may defy the worst!

Isabel.

Thou knowest, perhaps, that my father has proclaimed
my hand the prize of the tournay?

Robert.

I know it, and am blest.

Isabel.

But he did so because he deems his choice, the
Prince of Grenada, invincible.

Robert.

Invincible! He hath borne that title for the last
time.

Isabel.

He is looked for every moment, and, by my father's
command, I must in this very place receive and welcome him.
Leave it not, I beseech you, that my eyes may dwell, with
anticipating joy, upon my deliverer.

Robert kneels and kisses her hand—the Pages re-enter bearing a rich suit of polished armour.

Behold!

Robert.
(enthusiastically.)

Armed by you, victory cannot
fail to crown me.

DUET.—Isabel and Robert.
Base fears, away now depart!
This/Thine arm shall win the fight.
High beats my bounding heart,
With hope and soft delight!

Exit Isabel, followed by two of the Pages, R.—the other two remaining with the armour.
Enter, from the terrace, Bertram, with Demon-Herald.
Bertram.
(apart to the Demon-Herald.)

Astoroth hath
placed thee under my orders, and I have fully instructed thee:
Now, look thou do my bidding well, or tremble!

Demon.

Dread master, I will.

Bertram.

Under thy guise of Herald, lead him hence, and
lose his steps in the neighbouring forest.

Demon.

He shall not fail to follow me.

Robert.
(who has been gazing after Isabel.)

Oh! would
that instead of meeting my rival in harmless tilting, I had him
before me in single and deadly fight! (turning and seeing the false Herald.)

What wouldst thou?

Demon.

To thee, Robert of Normandy, the Prince of
Greneda, my master, sends formal challenge; and by my voice
defies thee, not to a pageant tournay, but to deadly combat.

Robert.
(with joy.)

Ha! my dearest wish is granted!
Where is he? Guide me to him.

Demon.

Follow me; he waits thee in the neighbouring
forest.

Robert.

One of us shall never quit it more.

Exit Robert, following the Demon Herald, and attended by the Two Pages, bearing his armour.
Bertram.
(advancing.)

Ha, ha, ha!—go, and seek an empty
shadow. Thou can'st not escape me, Robert; thou must be
mine alone. The King of Sicily and his daughter approach,
and the Knights are preparing for the tournament. Haste
thee, Astoroth, the hour is come.

A confused crowd of Dancers, Singers, and Inhabitants of the city hasten down the terrace steps, and group themselves in various parties.

CHORUS AND DANCE.
Whilst around music is sounding,
In the dance, joyously bounding,
Come and join this festive day!
Isabel, may fortune bless thee;
Fondly may its smiles caress thee,
And keep grief from thee ever away!

During the above, enter, down the terrace steps, numerous Guards, Pages and Squires, carrying the arms and distinguishing pennons of the different Knights from all nations. They precede the King and Isabel, who are closely followed by the Nobles and Ladies of the court, Alice and Arnaud, Robert's Followers, Town-People, Populace, &c. The King and his Daughter ascend a raised throne, R. U. E.
King.

Warriors, and honoured signiors, ye are welcome to
our court. The appointed hour is nigh that will secure to the
chosen of victory the sweetest prize that valour ever yet conquered
or received; and we now but wait the appearance of
one justly dear to us, and by renown known to ye all, even the
Prince of Grenada, ere we bid the trumpet call ye to the lists.

Bertram.
(aside.)

Haste thee, sluggish Astoroth!

Enter a Royal Herald-at-Arms.
Herald.

Sire, the Prince of Grenada has entered the palace,
and claims the honour of being armed for the combat by the
hands of the Princess Isabel.

Bertram.
(aside.)

I triumph! The phantom duke is come,
while Robert wanders in the mazes of the wood.

King.

How now, daughter, hast thou no reply? Go, herald,
tell the prince his boon is granted, and our daughter awaits his
coming.

(Isabel mutely inclines her head to the Herald, who departs.
Alice.
(aside.)

Alas! where is Duke Robert? Honour calls
him, yet he appears not.

The trumpets sound, and the Banner, two Pages, and two Squires of the pretended Prince of Grenada precede Astoroth as he enters bareheaded in the armour of the Prince. He advances to the King and Isabel, and receives from the latter, (who has taken them from his Pages,) his casque and sword, while eight of his Attendant Knights sing the following chorus.
CHORUS.
Sound, trumpets, sound! your martial accents blending,
His praise proclaim whose banner we serve.
Sound, trumpets, sound! upon his shield descending,
Cupid and Mars his arm will nerve.

(the Pages of the various Knights present them their arms at the same time.)
Bertram.
(approaching Astoroth, aside.)

Remember,
Astoroth, to claim the princess for thy bride.

Ast.

I will not fail.

King.
(descending from the throne with Isabel.)

Prince, and
valourous knights, to horse! The tournament ended, I claim
ye for my guests at the royal banquet.

Isabel.
(aside.)

Alas, in vain I strain my eyes; I behold
him not. Doth he mock my love? Cruel thought! My hand
is the prize, and Robert's banner is absent!

King.

Isabel, let thy voice proclaim the lists are open, and
make the true hearts of chivalry beat high at thy accents.

FINALE TO ACT I.
(a loud call of trumpets is heard without.)
Chorus of Knights.
The signal we hear and obey!
Its sound calls aloud—“Haste away.”

Chorus of People.
Away!

Isabel.
Its voice calls aloud—“Haste away.”

AIR.—Isabel.
Hark! the trumpet afar
Rings its piercing call!
In the gay mimic war
Fly to conquer or fall.

Alberti & Knights.
Hark! hark, loud sounding,
The trumpets call!
Our hearts, high bounding,
In the gay mimic war
Fly to conquer or fall.

Isabel.
Where fame invites, the warrior flies
With swelling heart his might to prove;
He bravely fights, and nobly dies
For glory and his lady-love!

Full Chorus.
Hark! The trumpet afar
Rings its piercing call.
In the gay mimic war
Fly to conquer or fall.

(at the conclusion of Isabel's strain, the King leads her away, ascending the stairs, followed by Astoroth and Bertram; the Knights and Guards fall into order, and march singing the concluding bars of the chorus; while the rest, crowding after them, close the Procession as the curtain descends.