University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—A Pass in the Mountains near Messina.
Enter Guiscardo and Stephano.
Guis.
His words were fire—both light and heat! At once
With zeal, they warm'd us; and convinced, with reason.
I had read and heard of eloquence before;
How 'tis despotic, takes the heart by storm—
Whate'er the ramparts, prejudice, or use
Environ it withal—how, 'fore its march,
Stony resolves have given way like flax,
How it can raise, or lay, the mighty surge
Of popular commotion, as the wind,
The wave that frets the sea;—but till to-day,
I never proved its power. When he began,
A thousand hearers prick'd their ears to list,
With each a different heart; when he left off,
Each man could tell his neighbour's by his own.

Steph.
Is't John of Procida?

Guis.
So rumour says.
Who else? The constant'st friend of Sicily—
The friend that loves, yet suffers for his love.
Heard'st ever lips before, with power like his?
A holy man, and brigand, near me stood,
Wedged by the press together; churlishly
They first endured their compell'd neighbourhood,
And shrank from contact, they would fain escape.
The one with terror; and with scorn, the other,
Who blazed with life and passion, like a torch
Beside a taper;—such the man of prayer
Appear'd, in contrast with the freebooter.
But lo! the change! soon as the orator
That universal chord, with master skill,
Essay'd—the love of country—Like two springs,
Ravines apart, whose waters blend at last
In some sweet valley; leaning cheek to cheek,
Attracted by resistless sympathy,
Their tears together ran, one goodly river!
Hark! the dispersing crowd, taking their leave
From the last hill-tops. Let us join them.

[They cheer.
Steph.
Hither
Come Andrea and John of Procida.
Let's on, my friend, nor interrupt their converse,
For it seems deep, and earnest.

Guis.
Have with you.
I would Fernando had been here, that friend
I scarce can boast, yet can't refrain from loving.
If there be latent virtue in his blood,
Like what endears the land that gives us birth,
Such heart enforcement sure had call'd it forth!

[They go out.
Enter Procida, disguised as a Cordelier, and Andrea.
And.
You move my wonder, past the speaking on't.
I never dream'd, in such extremity,
Such hope could be so near!

Pro.
'Tis in the crisis
The fever does or dies. Our friends abroad
Are warm, and not a few; the fleet, you see
In the offing, and suppose the Pope's, is ours;
At home, Sicilians are as one single man,
Their thoughts, their feelings, their resolves, the same.
In this disguise, each quarter of the isle
Where man hath habitation, house, or cave,
I have visited; and tuned the minds of all
To the same temper and the selfsame aim,
Vengeance and liberty! Before a week
The hordes of France shall dwindle to the man
Whose execution ends them.

And.
Retribution
Indeed!

Pro.
Yes; sweeping and definitive.
Thou seem'st to lower at it. Hast any part
In France? Dost owe her kindliness or ruth?—
Thy tyranny that Sicily weeps, daily,
With blood!—her children's scourge, as testify
Murder and rapine, that unblushingly
Enact their parts in open day, and lust,
With quite as little shame! I know that men
Will turn to tigers in a storméd town
That's yielded them to sack; but Syracuse,
Palermo, and Messina, stood no siege;
And yet were they sack'd, and still the game goes on,
And in cold blood! What weighs upon thy heart?
Or what can weigh when thy dear native land
Is nigh to throw her grievous burden off?

And.
'Twas not with heed for France my visage fell,
But thee.

Pro.
But me! For what?

And.
Those who devote themselves
To virtuous causes, where bad men prevail,
And breed contamination, have at times
A hard and most ungracious part to play,
When those, they love, behoves they mark to suffer.

Pro.
Whom do I mark to suffer, yet do love?
I have no kindred, have I? If I have,
It must be only in that far degree
Where distance genders strangeness.

And.
Hadst thou not
A son?

Pro.
Thou know'st I had! Thou know'st he's dead!
The infant perish'd in the sacking of
My castle.—So it was affirm'd by one
Who brought the horrid tale—Is he alive?

And.
Be patient! You remember, do you not,
When he was four years old, or thereabouts—
You told me his age, for he was then a boy,
Might pass for six, and so I rated him,
He was so fine a child—you recollect
At e'en that tender age a hard excrescence,
And something like a wart, but larger, which
Like threatening mischief had begun to grow;
At thy request, I from his fore-arm cut.
'Twas rooted deep; as deep of course the wound,
And, answering to the knife, of crucial form!

Pro.
I recollect it! Is the boy alive?

And.
Listen! 'Twas here I cut it from his arm.
'Tis true another might have such a cause
For surgery in even such a place,
And such a scar the remedy might leave;
Though to my own hand I could safely swear.

Pro.
Hast seen the mark on any one?

And.
I pray you
Hear what I have to tell, then draw yourself
The inference.

Pro.
O Heaven! I have a son,
And he's in jeopardy, and I the cause!

And.
Remember you one Angelo Martini?

Pro.
Master-of-arms?

And.
The same; I went to see
The practice at his school. One—a young man
Of most commanding person, and of 'haviour
To win all hearts—took up the foil to play,
And baring his right arm for freer use—

Pro.
You saw the mark! You saw the scar!

And.
I did.
The very cicatrix my knife had left.

Pro.
I have not heard news of late—and such as this
Comes somewhat suddenly. Is he a man
Of honour?

And.
I would think him so.

Pro.
Would think?
Nay, then, I see what he is!

And.
Indeed, my friend,
I cannot say he is, nor yet, is not.

Pro.
You say he stands in danger, and from me.
'Tis clear as day—I comprehend it all!
He takes the part of France! His heart is French!
What Sicily gave to him he gives to France,
The curse of Sicily! And if a sword
Light on his head for that, who'll blame the smiter?
Not his own father?—Where abideth he?

And.
In Messina, with the governor.

Pro.
Perdition!
Scarce is the worst told, ere worse follows it!
The governor!

And.
Nay, John of Procida,
Command thyself!

Pro.
Couldst thou, if thou wast I?
Didst question him about that scar? Perhaps
'Tis not my son! O Heaven! in what a strait
A father may be put. I wish'd him dead
Just now. I own I did. Didst speak to him
About that mark?

And.
No—there were standers-by.

Pro.
You follow'd him out?

And.
No.

Pro.
No!

And.
One beckon'd me
Apart, and held mine ear; and when I turn'd
To look for him, I miss'd him. He had gone.

Pro.
You have seen him since, and spoken with him!

And.
No:
I have craved an audience, but was out of time.

Pro.
Indeed? A mighty man! You should have thrust
All let aside, and walk'd into his chamber,
And told him who you were—and what he was!

And.
Nay, you forget I was a stranger to him.

Pro.
Nay, you forgot you were his father's friend,
And by that title had a right to see him
At any place, at any hour o' the day.
Whom does he pass for?

And.
Not thy son.

Pro.
That's right!
I am very glad of that!

And.
All I could learn
Was this;—that in the sacking of thy castle
Your son alone escaped, a little child.
The governor adopted him, and gave him
The liberal training of a cavalier,
Favour on kindness grew, and love on favour,
And e'en to-day the governor bestows
His only daughter on him.

Pro.
Pestilence
Spring from their union if they wed!

And.
My friend!

Pro.
When is the ceremony?

And.
I have said
To-day.

Pro.
The hour—I mean the very hour.

And.
At twelve.

Pro.
Let the world end ere it takes place!
It must be stopp'd!

And.
And who shall stop it?

Pro.
I!
Straight to Messina. Come! The shortest way!

[They go out.

SCENE II.

—A Street in Messina.
Enter Stephano, Thomaso, Carlo.
Carlo.
No mischief come, last night, to any friends
Of yours?

Steph.
None, sir, that I have heard.

Carlo.
No throat
In frolic cut? No gamesome robbery?
No courtesy on wife or daughter forced
Of any that you know?

Steph.
None.

Carlo.
Luckless man!
My brother was compell'd keep open shop
After the hour of shutting—customers
So hot, there's not a shelf he has but gapes
For new replenishing—and that took place
Not half a month before. No pleasant news
With you?

[To Thomaso.
Thom.
None yet!

Carlo.
Take comfort, it will come
Before we get to the end of the next street.
The Frenchman loves us, sirs; and, like true friend,
Will keep our spirits from stagnation, though
It be against our wills. 'Tis good for our health!
Come on. We'll have news yet, and plenty on't.

[Going.
Guis.
[without, at the opposite side].
Thomaso! Stephano! Stop! Turn! [Enters.]
At last
You hear me, sirs! I am breath'd with chasing you!
Why were you not at home?

Thom.
Why, what's the matter?

Guis.
Blood, sirs!

Carlo.
The news!

Guis.
News! 'Tis the common cry
Of every day!

Thom.
Yes; but the common'st thing
That affects others, has a stranger's face
When it comes home to us. Whose blood, Guiscardo?
Take breath and tell us.

Guis.
Are you not akin
To Angelo Martini?

Thom. and Steph.
What of him?

Guis.
His roof-tree suffer'd shame last night!—His daughter!
His only child!—That force could dare assail
A temple of such holy chastity!
The spoiler of her honour and her life—
For with her virgin jewel he purloin'd
The witness of the theft—a mangled corse,
Cast into the street by Angelo, who came
Too late to save, but timely for revenge,
Lies 'fore the father's gate, which hounds beset,
More monstrous for the human forms they wear,
Howling to lap the blood of Angelo;
And casting looks of savage purposes
On the few friends, that, holding yet aloof,
With augmentation might defy their fangs!
Have you your weapons?

Steph.
Yes. Who goes without them
That walks through streets of licensed murderers?

Guis.
Grasp them then! Hie ye straight to Angelo,
While to the castle I, in hope to move
A friend's good offices to stop the fray,
The favourite of the governor—Fernando.
And be ye resolute, comes it to more blood!
Death's nothing to the fear! There lies the pang,
And that we suffer every hour in the day.

[They go out severally.

SCENE III.

—A Chamber in the Castle.
Enter Martel and Louis.
Martel.
What uproar keeps this din without the castle?

Louis.
I know not, but the town is all astir;
Hither and thither fly the citizens.
What can it mean?

Martel.
Here's one will give the cause.
Enter Ambrose.
Well, Ambrose?

Amb.
Count de Marlez has been murder'd,
And cast into the street! his body hack'd
From head to foot.

Martel.
Who did it?

Amb.
Angelo
Martini.

Martel.
Was it in a quarrel, or
Did he assassinate him?

Amb.
I know not.
This moment come I from before the house
Of Angelo Martini, which the friends
Of the slain count beset; while, close at hand,
Those of Martini wait, as if prepared
To take part with the murderer; who, the while,
From open casement in the upper floor,
With savage looks, holds forth a gory arm,
Grasping a blade of the same ghastly hue,
And, waving 't o'er the body of his child,
Blanch'd milk-white of her blood, and half-exposed,
Declares he'll ne'er surrender, save a corse
Mangled like his below,

Martel.
Some love affair!
Conquerors will not brook coy mistresses!

Louis.
This falls out ominously, does it not,
Upon the nuptial day?

Martel.
The nuptial hour!
Strange nuptials, sir! It oft has moved my wonder,
The Governor, a stern and gloomy man,
Should so affect the young Sicilian.
Is't love? I have mark'd him oft, with looks that spoke
Aught but content, gazing upon Fernando
Minutes together; then, with deepest sigh,
Break off the scrutiny—for such it seem'd—
And turn to moody pondering. His daughter
Were better wed, methinks, to one of France
Than to a son of Sicily, of blood
Unknown, and all unfriended like her bridegroom.

Le Clerc
[without].
Prevent him! Stop him!

Guis.
[without].
Nay,
I will pass in!

Martel.
Suffer him, good Le Clerc;
I know him. He's Fernando's friend, and comes
Doubtless to speak with him.

Louis.
How wild he looks!

Amb.
And spectre-like.

Guis.
[Rushing in, followed by Le Clerc.]
Fernando! Sirs! Fernando!

Martel.
Why, what's amiss?

Guis.
Don't question me, dear sirs;
Fernando!

Martel.
Here he is.

Enter Fernando.
Guis.
[Catching Fernando by the arm.]
Come forth with me!
Come!—Angelo Martini!—

Fern.
[Resisting.]
Stop.

Guis.
Nay, come!
Come!

Fern.
What's the matter?

Guis.
Read it in my looks,
And save the time of telling on't!—or come,
And I will tell you as we go along!
Come!

Fern.
Hold! you'll tear my sleeve. Do you not know
It is my wedding-day?

Guis.
Do you not know
A man call'd Angelo Martini, and
Not that he's in danger?

Fern.
I infer so.

Guis.
Thou dost? and art not now upon the way
To his house? Thy tutor! Angelo Martini!
'Sdeath, art thou flesh or stone? Offer'st thou not
To move!

Fern.
You'll find it husbandry of time
To spend what's needed; else, you save to waste.
What of Martini?

Guis.
Ay!—So!—Is't the way?
Ought friends to take it leisurely in straits
Where hottest speed is slow for those they love,
Lying in jeopardy? Sit down, sir. Well
[Seats himself.
We sit as stand!—we progress either way
As fast! Sit down and listen. Yesternight—
Pray you your chair—I cannot well go on
Until I see you at your ease. [Fernando sits.]
—Last night,
As I said, a thief—not such as filches coin—
Was the unbidden guest of Angelo;
Chamber'd with his fair child, without her leave,
As her gored breast can vouch for you; Angelo—
I trust my tongue does not outstep your ear?

Fern.
Go on!

Guis.
In good time, sir. Well! Angelo
Waked by a shriek—'twas not without the house,
But came from the quarter where his daughter couch'd—
And—taking the strange summons with more heat
Of apprehension, than will suffer one,
That hath the use of limb, to lie abed,
Or sit his chair as we do—to afford
The aid was needed, rush'd where he might give it,
And at the door encounter'd him who had made him
A host without his privity or wish,
Dagger in hand, sir, slinking from the bier,
Had been, an hour before, the virgin's bed!

Fern.
What follow'd?

Guis.
One might guess, a blow!—Yes, sir—
While the blood runs 'twill heat or cool upon
Occasion. Yes, sir; Angelo, our friend,
A generous man, although we say it, like
To exact penalty for injury
Done to a common friend—and how much more
An only child!—struck—nor with naked hand,
Nor easily contented! Blow begot
Blow, till the body of the Count—

Fern.
What count?

Guis.
The Count de Marlez.

Fern.
Was he stabb'd by Angelo?

Guis.
And stabb'd till not a palm's breadth of his body
But bears the crimson seal that witnesses
The glut of ravening vengeance, as it lies
In the street, cast forth the casement, of whose sill
Angelo makes a bier to show his child
To some amaze-confounded lookers on.
While the retainers, countrymen, and friends
Of the Count assault the gate of Angelo
To get at him and tear him limb from limb;
The which thy timely presence had prevented.
But not enough thou know'st thy friend requires thee;
Behoves his need be woven a history;
And while the loom's a-going, which I must ply,
They massacre the man who taught and loved thee!

Fern.
Go forth, my friends, and succour Angelo.
Take others with you—all the aid you can!
Dissuade his enemies from violence.
Use the Duke's name! Command them to forbear,
And leave rebuke to him.

[Martel and others rush out.
Guis.
Go'st thou not too?
Play'st thou the friend by heartless deputy,
To foil the foes that work with all their hearts!
Keep'st thou the castle when Martini's house
Is made the stall of savage butchery?
Lend'st him a finger when he wants thy hand,
Thy limbs, and body?

Fern.
'Tis my wedding-day;
The very hour I lead my bride to church.

Guis.
Thou wast his son to Angelo Martini,
And when thy presence would be life to him,
And it is ask'd of thee, thou givest it not,
But send'st him that of men who would look with coldness,
If not with joy, upon Martini's carcass;
Because thy nuptials may not be delay'd!
Ached thy bride's head, would it not stop them?—or
Would they go on, fell the Duke sudden sick?
Or chanced to shake Messina with a fit
Of the earthquake? or the Cataracts of Ætna
Began to play?—But not a pause, although
Thou heard'st the life-blood gurgling in the throat
Of Angelo Martini! Fare thee well—
If well ingratitude fared ever.
Mingle thy blood with those, at thought of whom,
Wast thou the tithe of a Sicilian,
Thy blood would curdle! We were brothers once;
One mind—one soul! We now are two—apart!
Disjoin'd! Opposed! Never to meet again
Except to the woe of the one or t'other of us.

[Goes out.
Fern.
Come back! Fool! Meddler! Braggart!

Iso.
[Entering.]
How is this?
What dost thou with thy weapon in thy hand!
Ha! by thy looks, it was not without need
Thou drewest it! Sweet heaven! I saw thee thus
Last night!

Fern.
Where, dearest?

Iso.
In my dreams, Fernando;
That brought me naught but fearful images!
Tumults, where daggers gleam'd and blood ran free
Along the kennels of the streets, instead
Of its own channels. There, my friend, were you
And I in the midst, your one arm circling me,
Your other my defence 'gainst horrid men
That stood around, a stride or two aloof,
Like hounds, awhile at bay, prepared to spring!
Ah! then I knew the taste of death—great Heavens!
The sickness on't! Yet e'en that sickness still
Sweetness, methought, to die along with thee.
They struck—you fell! I waked while yet the room
Rang with a shriek. Put up thy sword, lest now
A prodigy should harrow up my soul,
And drops of gore, uncall'd, start on its blade!
Is't up?

Fern.
It is.

Iso.
'Tis very strange, Fernando;
This is our wedding-day, and yet I feel
As though we should not marry.

Fern.
Wouldst thou, then,
Our nuptials should be marr'd?

Iso.
No!—would you think
'Twas the coy maid of but a week ago
That answer'd, now, so promptly? 'Twas not quickly,
I learn'd to love you—though, to do you justice,
No master ever labour'd more to teach.
But now, methinks, I have the lesson better
By heart than you have.

Fern.
Better!

Iso.
Yes, Fernando!
And so you'd find, were you to slight the pupil
You took such pains with once. I would not have
Our nuptials marr'd,—and, more, they shan't be so,
Have I the power to help it.

Fern.
Isoline—
Thy father!—

Iso.
Well?—Say on;
I'd hear thee say't, though all the world were by.

Fern.
I bless thee for thy bounteous love!

Enter Governor.
Gov.
Come, child!
And on my other hand, Fernando, come.
The bridal company, in readiness
To attend you to the altar, wait for you.
[As they are going, Martel and Louis enter hastily.
What would you, friends?

Martel.
A word, sir, with Fernando.

Gov.
Be brief, then, as you may.

[Leading Isoline off.
Iso.
[Stopping and turning.]
Fernando!

Fern.
Love,
A moment and I'm with you!

Gov.
Isoline!

Iso.
I come!—the ground appears to hold my steps.

[She goes out with the Governor.
Fern.
Well, friends; were you in time?

Martel.
To see the house
Of Angelo Martini in a blaze;
Lit by his own hand, the funereal pyre
Of his slain child! Whence, soon as 'twas in flames,
Taking advantage of the pause in which
Amaze enchain'd his foes, with clotted blade
Old Angelo burst forth, a spectacle
Of blood-congealing horror, that awhile
Deprived of use the members which, except
For such a frost, had dealt him fifty deaths.
But soon it turn'd to thaw, yet not until
Martini's friends surrounded him; and now
Along the streets a running fight they keep,
Marking an ample, ghastly track, with blood,
And here and there a body drain'd of it.

Fern.
For mercy's sake provide you with a guard
And use all pains to stop this hideous fray,
And above all to save Martini's life!
Fly friends! O spare not speed! Do all you can
This fray, untimely, to o'ertake, and stop!

[Martel and Louis go out; Fernando following.

SCENE IV.

—The Outside of a Church.
Enter Virgins strewing Flowers after the Bridal Party.
CHORUS OF VIRGINS.
As now the track with flowers we strew,
Your path of life with joys be fair!
Though wither these, no fading there;
Nor thorny care your footsteps rue.

[At the end of the Singing, Tumult is heard without at a distance.]
Gov.
What din is this that seems approaching us?

Le Clerc.
[Entering hastily.]
My lord, take shelter in the church! There's death
In the streets.

Gov.
What! Of Messina, sir; and I
Its governor? Am I to slink away
In fear? Swords, gentlemen! What man is he
Comes first? who flies, yet halts,—whom they, in chase of,
Striving, yet seem to fear, to overtake,
Turning pursuit to flight whene'er he stops
And shows them front?

Le Clerc.
'Tis Angelo Martini.

Gov.
What savage deed hath made a brute of him,
That men become a pack, and hunt him thus?

Le Clerc.
He has kill'd the Count de Marlez!

Fern.
Life for life!
The count first kill'd his daughter—little wrong,
To wrong more grievous that preceded it.

Gov.
You are sure of this?

Fern.
I am.

Gov.
Succour him, sirs.

Fern.
Too late!

Mart.
[without].
Take that!
[Enters staggering, followed by Guiscardo and others with swords drawn.
—Full payment, slave, and prompt!
As you are Christian men, don't suffer them
Hack me to death. I am wounded mortally!

[Falls.
Fern.
How is it, Angelo Martini?

Mart.
Thus,
Fernando, thus!—My daughter!—Where were you?
But I forgive you!

[Dies.
Fern.
O, look up, old man!

Guis.
He sleeps too sound, Fernando, to awake!
My lord, the Governor, protection for
The friends of Angelo Martini, who,
With naked weapons had not stood in the streets
But to protect him from foul butchery,
His mansion suffer'd violence, last night,
And murder in the person of his child;
Now burn'd to ashes with her natal roof,
Which Angelo himself in frenzy fired.
He caught and slew the caitiff, for which act,
By nature warranted, if not by law,
Began this game of death, which we would spoil,
But thus the just yet weaker side hath lost.

Gov.
Though great his crime first slain, the blood, so shed,
Was French! Moreover, it was noble! Look
Yourselves to your lives—I will not answer for them
Beyond Messina! Hence, and sheathe your blades.
Marks are upon them that offend our eyes,
And breed you danger!

Guis.
Are we safe, the while?

Gov.
You are, but quit Messina. Guard them to
The outskirts of the town.

Guis.
Fernando, speak.
Look there. Your bridal flowers have gone, you see,
To deck a bloody bier. So fare thy joys!

[Goes out with others guarded.
Gov.
Remove the body. In our way it lies.

Iso.
Nay, father; sooner let us go about!

Gov.
Come on, then.

Pro.
[Coming from the back of the stage.]
Stop. The rites must not proceed.

Gov.
They have not yet begun!

Pro.
Nor must begin!

Gov.
Who shall prevent them?

Pro.
Heaven. In the name of which
I charge you to desist!

Gov.
Your reasons?

Pro.
Those,
The bridegroom, when alone, shall learn; for him
They most regard.

Fern.
Impart them, then!

Pro.
Not here.

Gov.
You juggle with us!

Pro.
No; the part I act
Is honest.

Gov.
You are a religious man?

Pro.
A man devoted to a holy cause!
Young man, let go that hand and come with me!

Iso.
Is this the dark fulfilling of my dream?
Respect you, my Fernando, what he says?

Fern.
His tone, his words, his looks, his gestures, all
Declare authority.

Iso.
O, do not go?

Pro.
He must, would he escape my curse; which here
On him, and all who hold alliance with him,
I shall invoke, resists he my commands.

Gov.
You dare not do it!

Pro.
Dare not!—listen then—

Iso.
Peace!—Drop my hand and go.

Pro.
She bids thee go.
Come.

Iso.
Go, Fernando!

Pro.
Mark again; she bids thee.
Why shouldst thou hesitate? The cause is thine.
And thou thyself art constituted judge.
I hope thou'rt a brave man, and not afraid
To trust thyself with me. If idly, or
On slight pretence I interpose, thou knowest
Thou canst come back, and then the rites go on.
So mayst thou gain thy bride, and 'scape my curse.

Iso.
Shall he come back in any case?

Pro.
He shall.

Iso.
Go! go! Fernando.

Pro.
That is the third time
She bade thee go.

Fern.
I follow!

Pro.
Come along.

[Procida and Fernando go out. Isoline faints in her father's arms, as the latter disappears.