University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

—The Station of St. Elmo in the Forest.—Silisco in pilgrim's weeds.
Silisco.
Full many from the Holy Land return
Less holy than they went; my pilgrimage,
In gratitude and earthly love begun,
To heavenly, let me hope, shall lead at last;
For 'twas not ended when I westward turn'd,
Nor was I more in Palestine, methinks,
A pilgrim and a stranger in the land
Than here in Sicily I feel myself.
Hark! there are voices! travellers, no doubt;
This shelter then will not be all mine own.
Why should it be? So churlish am I now
That nothing pleases me but Solitude,
She that for shadows keeps an open house
And entertains the Future and the Past.
Yes—there are voices—from which side I know not;
And through the mist is nothing to be seen
But apparitions thin—the ghosts of trees.
Enter the Provost and Marshalsmen, with Ruggiero as a Prisoner.
God's mercy! 'Tis Ruggiero! Hush, be still,
Unruly tongue! In custody, I think.

Provost.

Foul ways, foul ways! When a bog, a fog, and
a forest conspire, 'tis well for travellers to be housed
betimes. Hey! but here's a Pilgrim before us! Light
a fire, my lads. Ha! here's the blood of old Guffo on
the hearth-stone still. He resisted to the death and we
were forced to slay him. God save you, Sir Pilgrim!

Silisco.

Save you, Sir!

Provost.

You see here a great man, Sir, that was
once. But we will say no more. The course of justice,
Sir.

Silisco.

I have heard that greatness and justice come
together more often as opposites than allies.

Provost.

Hey! How is that? Seek about, lads, in
the wood for the driest sticks you can find, and I'll fetch
down the rushes from the loft—looking to locks and bars
though first.

[Exeunt Provost and Marshalsmen.
Silisco.
Ruggiero!

Ruggiero.
Sir, you know my name; what more?

Silisco.
Much more, Ruggiero. Am I then so changed
You know me not? Were you as changed as I
I scarce can think that beard or gown or hood,
Or tawny paintings of the Syrian sun,
Or inward alteration working out,
Could hide Ruggiero from Silisco.

Ruggiero.
Ha!
Silisco! Grace defend us! whence art thou?

Silisco.
From Palestine. But is it thus we meet?
What courtly perfidy or princely lapse
Hath brought these cursed fetters upon hands
That might have preach'd with Paul?

Ruggiero.
Of that anon;
'Tis but the chafing of the love-sick King
At losing of Lisana. And you come
From Palestine? Then the good Count is dead?

Silisco.
No care could save him. To my charge he gave
A priceless relic for Rosalba's hands,
Wherewith I now repair to Malespina.

Ruggiero.
Hush! here's the Provost.

Re-enter the Provost from above.
Silisco.
Did you hear a cry?
A howling as of wolves? no, did you not?
Where be your men?

Provost.
What! wolves Sir? Blockheads! dolts!
If there be wolves, why come they not within?

[Exit.
Silisco.
Go, seek thy fellow-blockheads in the fog
And spare us time to speak. Lisana, said you?
Was she the cause of quarrel?

Ruggiero.
She it was;
Seeing I hid her from his amorous quest,
And where, he cannot to this day divine.
'Tis in the convent of San Paolo,
Whereof my aunt is Abbess. She fulfils
The time of her noviciate there, which past
She takes the veil. I kept myself conceal'd
Till that were done; and now the day draws near,
St. Michael's Eve, and, luckless that I am!
These marshalsmen have clutch'd me.

Silisco.
Luckless? No;
When we two come together, I deny
That Fortune can be adverse. Two to four?
What could we wish? Ruggiero, by my life
My blood is bounding in me at the thought
As wildly as an unbroken Barbary horse.
Hark! are they coming?

Ruggiero.
Now I know thee well;
Thy blooming, gay, ungovernable youth
Comes back upon thy face; but rein it in,
Rein in, Silisco, the wild Barbary horse;
These marshalsmen, untoward as they are,
But execute the service that they owe;
I would not harm them.

Silisco.
Circumvent them then;
By stratagem we'll spare to break their bones:
Yes, yes, I see; by stratagem we'll work;
We'll touch them not; we will not lift a hand;
Yet shall they fly like madmen through the wood
And leave you free. My wits have been to school
In many an exigency exercised
Since last we met, and scarce shall find their match
In clowns like these.

Re-enter the Provost and the Marshalsmen, the first carrying rushes and utensils for cooking, the others dry sticks.
Provost.

Ay, put a light to these and we shall soon
have a blaze.

Silisco.

Oh, Sir! I pray you, Sir, do not step upon the
hearth-stone; nor you, Sir, nor you.

1st Marshalsman.

What should hinder us? what's in
the hearth-stone?

Silisco.

I beseech you, do not. See now! they have
trampled over it, all three of them.

Provost.

Why what, Sir? what then?

Silisco.

Why, did you not say that stain on it was from
the blood of some malefactor?

Provost.

Ay, it was old Guffo. How hard he died,
the old fool! He was hacked and chopped from nape
to chine before he fell, and the blood streaming down
his white beard! Ugh! it makes me shudder to think
of it!

Silisco.

And know ye not, then, that this is the night
of the release of Barabbas?

Provost.

I knew it not; but what if it be?

Silisco.

Must a man travel to the Holy Land to know
that? Surely ye are not so ignorant but ye know that

there is this night a jubilee of all the malefactors in the
regions below, and that if any one shall have trodden
this day on the blood of a malefactor, his ghost is
permitted to rise at twelve o'clock of the night, on the spot
where his blood was trampled.

Provost.

Where heard'st thou that, Sir
Pilgrim?

Silisco.

What is there!

[Starts back and overturns the table. The Marshalsmen rush out of the house, the Provost following and calling them back.

Did I not tell you that their wits were weak? I'll
warrant them to run three miles through bog and briar,
before they stop to take breath.

Ruggiero.

An easy riddance so far; but the Provost
is a shrewd fellow and ere long will bethink himself of
his charge.

Silisco.

Should he waylay us, we have but to trip up
his heels and bind him to a tree; and if he hath upon
him the key which unlocks these fetters, there is the edge
of a file saved. But whither shall we go?

Ruggiero.

The convent of San Paolo is not far distant;
St. Michael's Eve is at hand; and I would fain bid
Lisana farewell, and see her take the veil. We will not
seek harbour there before that day, lest we should be
tracked and she be hindered; but if thou wilt, let us
live like wild hunters in the woods till St. Michael's Eve.

Silisco.

Have with you! there's no roof-tree that I love
Like the live roof-tree of the forest. Come.

Scene II.

—A Room of State in the King's Palace at Palermo.—Rosalba, Fiordeliza, and an Usher.
Usher.

Madam, his good Lordship your father bade
me say he is seeking the King and will presently bring
you word what day is fixed for your investiture.

[Exit.
Rosalba.
This is the chamber. When I see again
The tapestry and old chairs, a very dream
Seems the past year, from which awakening now,
My childhood seems the sole reality.

Fiordeliza.
Yet if I err not, when we last were here
Your childhood was the dream; the life you then
Were wakening to seem'd very sweetly real.
Do you remember? 'twas the second time
You met Silisco.

Rosalba.
Three long days had past
(Long though delightful, for they teem'd with thoughts
As Maydays teem with flowers) since I had first
Beheld him, standing in the sunset lights
Beside a wreck half-buried in the sand
Upon the western shore. I see him now,
A radiant creature with the sunset glow
Upon his face, that mingled with a glow
Yet sunnier from within. When next we met
'Twas here, as you have said; and then his mien
Was lighter, with an outward brightness clad,
For all the Court was present; yet I saw
The other ardour through.

Fiordeliza.
And when he came
Before the throne and knelt, I watch'd you both,
For I was half suspicious, and I saw
How from the King his quick eye glanced aside
And gaily for a furtive moment fix'd
Upon yon Venus rising from the sea
Wrought in the tapestry; then he rose and bow'd
To you, who answer'd with your sweetest smile,
Whilst old Count Ugo ....

Rosalba.
Oh, my Fiordeliza!
These tears—these tears—they ought to be for him,
The good old man—so pious, so benign,
So generous,—they ought to be for him,
And yet they are not. It is God rewards
Such bounty and benignity as his!
God saw his heart, that it was fill'd with love,
And mine a cold, unhallow'd, thankless void,
And took him from me—took him to Himself—

Fiordeliza.
Hush! here's your father.

Enter Ubaldo.
Ubaldo.
I have sought the King,
But vainly. He secludes himself, they say,
Being St. Michael's Eve, for castigation,
(Good, excellent man! what land was e'er so blest!)
That he may hold high festival unhurt
To-morrow. But I doubt not of the day.
Be here to-morrow when the Court is held
And you shall take your lands.

Rosalba.
Oh, father dear,
May not this homage be more private?

Ubaldo.
What!
A private homage! never heard of one.
'Tis coram curiâ; it must be. Come.
St. Michael's Eve shall be no fast for us
And you shall find a table spread below.

[Exeunt.
Enter The King and Nitido, Groom of the Chambers.
Nitido.

I have tracked her, my Lord; I have smelt
her out; and she shall be found in the convent of San
Paolo.

The King.

Is that certain?

Nitido.

She was seen there by the bedside of a singing
girl called Aretina, once one of the wild ones at Palermo,
now dying devout in the convent hospital and nursed by
Lisana. Aretina sent for her brethren to speak a word
of warning to them before she died; they saw Lisana and
brought me word that she was then about to profess, her
noviciate being just out.

The King.

Go to Haggai, the old Jew, and bid him
come to me instantly. Provide me a habit of a
Franciscan friar and meet me here an hour after sunset.

Scene III.

—The Chapel of the Convent of San Paolo.—The Abbess, Silisco, and Ruggiero.
Ruggiero.
A welcome day! And is her mind then given
To heavenly thoughts and totally discharged
Of that unhappy passion which so seized
Her spirit for the King?

Abbess.
With but one moon
Of her noviciate, it had drifted by
Like the soft tumult of a summer storm.
But, cousin, of yourself? say whither next?
May I in this deliverance rejoice?
Will you live safely now beyond the seas?

Ruggiero.
Not so; it was but for Lisana's sake
That I was fain to skulk; her lot secured,
I feel my freedom; I am free thenceforth
To enter on captivity.

Silisco.
He scorns
To hide his head upon his own behalf
When charges lie against him that assault
His unstain'd honour. Would that I could wend
With him to Court; for thither, as I learn,
Resorts Count Ugo's widow, whom I seek.
But in Palermo is a villainous tribe
Of Jews that set their faces like a flint
Against me, and with rights my folly gave
To back them formerly, should they find my slot,
Would hunt me to the death, although my skin
Were all my death could give them. Madam, here
I fain would hide my head.

Abbess.
Ruggiero's friend
Is more than welcome; and for you, my Lord,
You're opportune; there's here a hapless girl
Upon her deathbed who craves constantly
To see you, harbouring in her breast, it seems
Some secret that concerns you.

Silisco.
And her name?

Abbess.
Silvestra, but the name she went by once
Was Aretina.

Silisco.
Ha! I knew her well;
How came she hither?

Abbess.
Brought some six months since
Upon a litter by a turbulent troop
Of wild and shaggy men, who seem'd her friends,
And craved our care to cure her of a wound
Whereof she languish'd, given her in a brawl.
We made her welcome to the hospital,
And there Lisana nursed her night and day,
And though her body might no more be heal'd,
Breathed health upon her soul; and now her hour
Approaching, there remains upon her mind,
She says, this only burthen. Rest you here,
Good cousin; here Lisana comes anon,
And ere the rite proceeds you'll take your leave.
My Lord, I'll bring you to this girl at once,
Lest Death precede us, for he comes with wings.

[Exeunt Abbess and Silisco.
Ruggiero
(alone).
Time was when with a sorrowful regard
I had beheld the clustering tresses clipp'd,
The black veil dropp'd upon a face that beam'd
With youthful beauty. It is so no more.
The fairest flower that e'er was born of earth
Were better cropp'd than canker'd.

Enter Lisana.
Lisana.
Oh! my Lord,
In this a crowning kindness you confer;
I pray'd for this, and faithless as I was,
Now that the day had come that was the last,
I thought my prayer denied. Oh! friend beloved,
Who propp'd this weak heart in its weakest hour,
Rejoice with me, and evermore rejoice!
Your work is done, your recompense achieved,
A thankful soul is saved.

Ruggiero.
Lisana, yes;
I will rejoice; I do; though mortal eyes
Must still have lookings backwards. Yet 'tis best;
The holiest verily are the sweetest thoughts,
And sweetest thoughts were ever of your heart
The native growth.

Lisana.
No more of that, my Lord;
It savours of the blandishments of earth.
Look onward only—up the eminent path
To which you led me—which my feet have trodden
With gladness, issuing daily to the light,
Till, meeting now the radiance face to face,
Earth melts, Heaven opens, Angels stretch their hands
To take me in amongst them, glory breaks
Upon me, and I feel through all my soul
That there is joy, joy over me in Heaven.

Ruggiero.
Then joy too shall be over you on earth.
Mine eyes shall never more behold your face
Till, looking through the grave and gate of death,
I see it glorified and like to His
Who raised it; but I will not waste a sigh
On what, if seeing, I should see to fade.

Lisana.
Farewell! my Master calls me.

Ruggiero.
Fare you well.
I pace a lower terrace; but some flowers
From yours fling down to me, at least in prayer.

Lisana.
Oh beautiful on the mountains are the feet
Of those who bring what you have brought to me!
And joy and beauty shall bestrew your path
If prayers of mine may prosper. Fare you well.

[She retires within the rail of the altar in the backscene. Sacred music is heard. Processions of monks and nuns pass in. She kneels; her hair is shorn; a blessing is pronounced upon her by a Bishop; she retires; and the monks and nuns follow.
Ruggiero.
There passes from the sight of man a face
More fit for angels than for men to see;
A face that I shall think of in my prayers
To nourish my devotion. Now for earth
And earth-encumber'd ways. Oh wilderness,
Whose undergrowths and overgrowths conspire
To darken and entangle—here a mesh
Of petty prickly hindrance, there the wreck
Of some high purpose stricken by the storm—
What wary walking shall suffice to thrid
Thy thickets? Happy they who walk by faith
And in the dark by things unseen upheld,
Knowing that clouds and darkness lead to light
Else haply not attained, and knowing too
That in this mortal journeying, wasted shade
Is worse than wasted sunshine.
Enter Silisco.
How is this?
A tear upon your cheek?

Silisco.
Is that so strange?
Dear soul! Her death was worthy to be wept
With showers of tears.

Ruggiero.
Is Aretina dead?

Silisco.
Died in my arms but now, meek penitent!
With love and joy upon her lips—so sweet
'Twas as the dying of a summer's day;
And blessed was the chance which brought me here
In time to make her happier in her death.

Ruggiero.
What was it you could do?

Silisco.
Her mind, poor girl,
Was burden'd with two secrets—one the love
She bare me in her earlier jocund days
Which 'twas a solace to disclose in death—
The other of strange import—on her tongue
To tell me when we jostled in the cave
And base Spadone stabbed her from behind.
'Twas this,—that that same treasure which was brought
From Rhodes on board the luckless Maddalena,—
That treasure which we deem'd Calabrian Seas
Had swallow'd with the Boatswain and the Mate
What time you chased them riding on the storm
And saw them wrecked,—yes,—that that treasure still
Is extant upon earth, lodged in that cave.

Ruggiero.
Why then your fortunes are retrieved!

Silisco.
Much more
The fortunes of those three rapacious Jews
Whose claim to my late foundered fortunes clung
And now will choke them as they come to the top.
Still am I fortunate that I can face
All claimants, be they Christians, Jews, or Turks;
And fortunate beyond my hope in this,—
Than I can instantaneously repair
In person to Palermo, to fulfil
My mission to Rosalba.

Ruggiero.
Speed you well!
I'll follow you to-morrow. For this night
In courtesy I needs must sojourn here.

Scene IV.

—The Pass of Smarrimento in the Mountains near the Convent of San Paolo.—Haggai and Sadoc.
Haggai.
There's more of moonshine than enough; but here
The shadows of the rocks fall black. Ay, here,
If we stand close, he comes forthright upon us
Without a glimpse to scare him.

Sadoc.
Three to one
Were better though than two. Should Shallum fail ...
But let me whistle once again.
[Whistles.
Lo! See—
He comes.

Enter Shallum.
Shallum.
My brethren, what is here to do?
Your messenger was instant and I came;
But truly for these mountains and this pass,
I like them not, and left my purse behind.

Sadoc.
Then thou hast nought to lose.

Shallum.
Except my life.

Haggai.
And hark you! much to win. Put on this cloak;
And when thou hear'st a step, upon thy face
Pull down this mask.

Shallum.
What, what! I will not—nay!
What's this ye have in hand?

Haggai.
Hush! not so loud.
Do as I bid thee and I'll tell thee all.
Ere long a traveller will this way wend
In Friar's weeds. That traveller is the King.
He brings the gold and jewels, got from us,
For some importunate and secret end,
Ten thousand ducats worth: with some few more
Deftly bestowed, I fathomed his intent;
(Yon Nitido would give his soul for gold)
'Tis from the Convent of San Paolo,
By traffic partly and by stratagem,
To wrest a Novice for his prey, whom else
They presently should cloister. Foul design
And monstrous! which to baffle we take back
The gold that in our ignorance we gave.

Shallum.
What! Haggai, would'st thou rob the King?

Haggai.
The King?
Yea, mine own father, were it for his good.

Shallum.
But nay, the very stones of every street
Should rise and join the hue and cry amain
To catch the robbers who had robbed the King.

Haggai.
But who shall say that he was robbed?
—not he;
To tell it were not more of harm to us
Than shame to him. No, no; he'll get him home
Discomfited, and hide his face. Look up!
Be of good courage; make a cheerful noise
Unto the God of Jacob; verily
I tell thee, when God put it in my heart
To think this thing, and that the gems and gold
At noon that left us should come back at night,
I was as one rejoicing in his own;
I skippéd like a ram.

Shallum.
I like not this;
I am an aged man; I am not bold
As one that gets his living on the road
With the strong hand.

Sadoc.
Hark!

Haggai.
Shallum, stand up here.

Shallum.
I cannot; my flesh trembleth—nay I cannot;
My belly cleaveth to the ground.

Sadoc.
Then, lo!
Get thee up yonder, and when we fall on,
Jump thou from rock to rock, and here cry “Ho!”
And there cry “Ha!” and “Smite him” on the right,
And “throttle him” on the left, that thou which art
But half a man, shall seem as thou wert ten.

Shallum.
Yea, I will get up yonder; I will jump.

Haggai.
Begone then, for I hear a step. Begone.

[Shallum climbs up the rocks.
The King enters, and is assailed by Haggai and Sadoc, with cries of “Booty! booty! Kill him! cut his throat! What! wilt thou? What! wilt thou? What! ten to one and stand out!” whilst Shallum shouts from the rocks overhead. Then enters Silisco.
Silisco.
What's here! a murder? Villains, take ye that.

[Stabs Haggai, who falls. Sadoc and Shallum fly.
Haggai.
I'm slain, slain, slain! Oh, woe is me! I die.
Oh, Sadoc, Shallum, cowards, traitors, knaves!
No manhood in you, none! I die, I die.

[Dies.
Silisco.
Sadoc and Shallum! As I live, this wretch
Is Haggai, the old Jew.

The King.
(taking the mask from the face).
Brave Pilgrim, yes;
I knew him, and 'tis he. But who art thou
To whom I owe my all unworthy life?

Silisco.
My name is Buonaiuto. Sir, for yours,
I am not so undutiful to ask
What, if the moonlight and my erring ears
Beguile me not, I may be bold to guess,
You loth to speak.

The King.
Sir, if you know me, this
You likewise know, that deep as is my debt
For this your service, I have power to pay.
Name what you will.

Silisco.
My Lord, when next we meet
It may be I shall ask you to remember
The business of to-night.

The King.
Meanwhile, good friend,
Be secret. In my tustle with those knaves
I got some hurts and strains. I pray you, Sir,
To help me hence, and find me, if you can,
A horse to take me to Palermo. So.
I walk but clumsily. I thank you. So.

Scene V.

—The Audience Chamber in the Palace at Palermo.—Enter Steward, Under-steward, and Attendants.
Steward.

Call you this a Hall of Audience? Why 'tis
a ship's cabin in a gale of wind. Here, Trollo, move
this table to the wall and set the throne upon its legs.
Where's Grossi? Be tender with it, for the three legs
that are old have the dry-rot and the one that is new
hath a warp. Is Grossi here?

Under-steward.

No, Sir, he is ill of a surfeit.

Steward.

I thought so; a walk betwixt bed and board
is the best of his day's work. Where is Tornado?

Under-steward.

He hath a quarrel with Secco, and will
not come in the same room with him.

Steward.
The cause—the cause?

Under-steward.
Nay, Sir, I know not that.

Steward.
Then I will tell you, Sir; short work's the cause;
Short work it is fills palaces with strife.
Nothing-to-do was Master Squabble's mother,
And Much-ado his child. A chair of state
Each side the throne. The Chamberlain's is one;
The other the Justiciary's. So.
A footstool for the Chamberlain. That gout
Will one day be the death of him. There—so—
Now all's in order as befits a Court;
Chambering is seated on the right of the King,
And Justice on his left. Here's Nitido.
Enter Nitido, with an ewer and napkins.
What, is the King not risen?

Nitido.
Risen but now;
Three hours behind his wont.

Steward.
Is he not well?

Nitido.
He says that, being troubled in his dreams,
He walk'd in sleep, and falling from the sill
Received some hurts and strains.

Steward.
Ay, truly, Sir!
And hath he seen the Doctor?

Nitido.
No, nor will;
He says he never in his life was sick
But when he saw the Doctor. He is robed
And will be here anon. Off! Off! he comes.

[Exeunt.
Enter The King, Ubaldo, and the Chief Justiciary, followed by the Principal Judicial Functionaries, a crowd of Officers and Courtiers, amongst whom is Silisco, still in his Pilgrim's garb. Tribolo the King's Fool, Fiordeliza, and Ladies of the Court.
Ubaldo.

It is a trick of youthful blood. In my youth
I too would walk in my sleep. I remember Filipo Reni
mistook me for the ghost of Angelina Spinola, whom he
had forsaken.

Tribolo.

And I would walk too. I remember,
walking in my sleep one night, I came into Mistress Barbara
Malfatto's bedchamber, and again very suddenly
proceeded forth of it by the way of the window; but
whether sleeping I walked out or waking was tumbled
out, is not written in the Clown's Chronicle.

The King.

Didst thou fall far?

Tribolo.

I fell in the garden, and the stem of a
daffodilly was broken, besides my leg. My leg was set,
and some foolish women call it the best leg in Palermo
to this day; but the daffodilly died of it; and his last
words were ...

Ubaldo.

Enough, Fool; stand aside.

Ubaldo.
Now, if it please your Majesty, this child—
Where is she?—shall perform her homage due,
And take investiture of Count Ugo's lands.
Where is the Countess?

Fiordeliza.
She was here but now;
She went but to her chamber.

Ubaldo.
Go and fetch her.

[Exit an Usher.
The King.
Meanwhile, if any here, Sirs, hath a suit,
This is St. Michael's festival; tis now
His time to speak.

Silisco.
(stepping from the crowd).
Sir, if it please your Grace,
A suit have I.

The King.
What suit it be I know not;
But this I know, that thou hast rights and claims
Which none but I can rate. Prefer thy suit,
Or let the recompense be mine to name
Unsued for and unsought. Three Jews there be,
The one called Haggai, who died yesterday,
The other two, Sadoc by name, and Shallum,
Whose lives and goods are forfeit to the law.
Those goods, whate'er the value, shall be thine,
Good Pilgrim; Fame delivers them not less
Than a King's ransom; but if Fame should err,
Ask more, and it is granted.

Silisco.
Sire, the sense
Of loyal service done is, unbegilt,
Worth what you say, the ransom of a King.
These goods, the forfeits of those felon Jews;
Were sometime own'd by that unhappy youth
They prey'd upon, the Lord of Malespina.
I would accept them gladly at your hands;
And yet ....

The King.
Speak freely; aught beside?

Silisco.
And yet
More gladly would forego them, and receive
Another boon,—the pardon, shall I say,
Where fault is none?—the pardon of a man
Whom should you in your royal heart replace
You should yourself replenish, and repay
My service fifty-fold—the pardon, Sire,
Of one whom once you counted with the first
Of councillors and friends, the Lord Ruggiero,
Count of Arona.

Ubaldo.
Pilgrim, art thou mad?
Know'st thou this presence?

The King.
Let him speak, my Lord;
He knows his privilege and the presence too;
He's by permission bold. The suit he moves
Is one of grave concern. That outlaw'd Count
I have some cause to think was falsely charged.
It may be that too light an ear I lent
Too willingly to enemies of his
That were no friends to me. But whilst he hides
And bids defiance to our writ, our grace
Can scarcely flow toward him.

Silisco.
Sire, not long
Shall that obstruction stand against the tide
Of your free grace and favour.

The King.
Here is she
Whose comely presence, wheresoe'er she moves,
Makes in itself a festival; the day
Is more adorn'd.
Enter Rosalba.
Lady, before I claim
The homage to my sovereignty owing,
'Tis fit that to that sovereignty of yours
Which Nature crowns, I bow. Queen had I been,
Not King, I gladly would have given my crown
In barter for your beauty.

Rosalba.
Nay, my Lord,
You had not then so easily been pleased.
I pray you, father, prompt me with those words
I ought to speak.

Ubaldo.
Kneel first and put thy hands ....

The Justiciary.
Beseech you pardon me, Lord Chamberlain,
This homage by the law may not proceed
Until Count Ugo's testament be read.
None doubts the Countess by the will inherits;
Still doth the law demand that it be read.

Ubaldo.
Ho, ho! my Lord Justiciary! What's this?
Here is the King, the fountain-head of justice!
Who is it that shall dare block up its course
With muddy gatherings and old wrecks of laws?
You, Sir? or you? or you? The good Count died
In Palestine, and if a will there was
No note of it remains.

The King.
Indeed, my Lord!
I would it were not so; for I must needs
Stay this procedure. Deem not I was false,
Sweet Lady, or but coining courtly words
In owning to a sovereignty of yours;
For over both of us the Law is King
And I am most constrain'd.

Enter an Usher with Gerbetto.
Usher.
So please your Grace,
Gerbetto, the Physician.

Gerbetto.
To your Grace
I bear a mission from the Count deceased,
Whom I to Palestine attended: this
He charged me to deliver to none but you.

[Delivers a packet to the King.
The King.
'Tis the Count's hand, though shaken. 'Tis his will.

Ubaldo.
Ah! there's a guardian Angel ever waits
Upon your Grace! You cannot, if you would,
Run cross or counter! See, Sirs, here's the will!
You're right, my Lord; the law is still supreme!
A will there should be, and a will there is.

The King.
'Tis strange in purport. “I, Count Ugo, leave
My body to the earth, my soul to God.
My worldly chattels to my wife I leave
Should she remain unwedded. Should she wed,
Or quit this life, I leave them to a friend
And fellow-pilgrim to this shrine, by name
‘Buonaiuto.’ Witnessing whereto
I set my hand and seal.”

Ubaldo.
A pilgrim quotha!
A pilgrim to succeed! Impossible!
A man unknown, unheard of!

The Justiciary.
Strange bequest!

Ubaldo.
Waste paper! Rubbish! A preposterous will!
The good old Count had doubtless lost his wits
Before he died; we saw what small remains
Were left him when he took the mad resolve
To travel; and that little he had left
Did plainly die before him.

Rosalba.
Speak not so,
Dear father! he had doubtless good designs
And knew what he was doing.

The King
(to Gerbetto).
Was it so?

Gerbetto.
The wits that he took hence, my Lord, he kept
To his last breath. But I can partly solve
The riddle of this will. The man it names
Was with the Count throughout; by sea and land,
In troubles and in dangers numberless,
In perils of the elements in ships,
In perils of wild beasts in woods and wolds,
In perils of the midnight robber's knife,
By thirst and hunger in the desert tried,
Fever and sickness in the river's mouth,
By strife and blows in cities; and through all
That pilgrim bare himself as vow'd and sworn
To think of danger, sickness, pain, and death
As accidents unworthy to be weigh'd
With one hour's comfort he could yield the Count.
Thus therefore is it that the Count was moved
Doubtless to make this will.

The King.
And what became
Of this good pilgrim? Hast thou seen him since?

Gerbetto.
We parted, Sire .... By Heaven, I see him now!
This is the man!

The King.
This he? our friend at need!
He's some knight-errant then that roams the earth
In search of bold adventures.

Silisco.
Sire, not so;
That which for good Count Ugo I perform'd
Fell short of what I owed him, which was more
Than kingdoms could repay.

Rosalba.
Whate'er it be
You owed him, Sir, it cannot be the half
Of what I owe to you. The lands he left
Will never through my second marriage fall,
As he provided, to redeem the debt;
But I would fain devolve them ....

Ubaldo.
Daughter! Child!
I pray you take me with you. Faith of my body!
Devolve them truly!

Silisco.
Lady, is it so?
And will no second nuptials pay your debt?
And have you then forgotten that dear pledge
Which lifted from the dust one downcast heart
And bid it for a season soar to Heaven?
Or will you not remember him to whom
That pledge was given? 'Tis not long since, though long
To him the time; for measuring time by change
Threescore and ten he numbers; grief and care
Were summon'd to a reckoning and paid up
Their long arrears, and from his prime of youth
Wherein he rambled to his knees in flowers
As heedless as Persephoné watch'd by Dis
On yonder plain, he seem'd to pass to age
Through life-long tracts of time, nor marvels now
That many in this presence know not him
Who scarce may know himself; and yet by you,
If by none else, he hoped to be remember'd;
But be he like or unlike what he was,
Known or renounced, remember'd or forgot,
You see, thus stripp'd of this dissembling garb,
Him that was once the Lord of Malespina.

Fiordeliza.
Rosalba, are you ill? What face is this
To greet a friend withal? Look up, look up.

Rosalba.
Oh, Fiordeliza, is it he indeed?
Is it Silisco?

Fiordeliza.
God in heaven can tell!
Men are such masquers I were loth to say.
But if you list to look him in the face
Perchance some gleam may cross you. What I see
Is a well-favour'd sunburnt gentleman,
Whom I, good easy soul, could be content,
For fault of one should counterfeit him better,
To call my friend, Silisco.

Silisco.
Yes, in name,
Perhaps in fortunes, but in nature not,
The same Silisco. Lady, once you said,
“A spendthrift never yet was generous.”
The word dwelt with me, and its strength and truth,
By anguish aided and adversity,
Wrought in my heart an inward change entire,
And some things you have heard may seem to show
I am not what I was, ungenerous.
But should I press you now for my reward
I well might seem so. Thus once more to touch
This hand with lips unused to softness now
Is all I hazard.

Rosalba.
Oh, forgive, forgive
The joy that, overjoy'd, belies itself
And mimics grief. I would not if I could
Dress it in words, but God, who gave the joy,
Will give you light to see it. Then will you see
A love that from the hour when first we met,
That instant of the meeting of our eyes,
Possess'd my soul, and suddenly as with a flood
And bursting of the chambers of the deep
O'erflow'd my life and nature. Wrestling much
With destiny, with duty, and with love,
I sought for guidance and I seem'd to err;
But God in mercy to my sinking soul
Has brought it back to life and back to peace,
Awakening thus upon a sun-bright shore
With Love and Hope to greet me.

Ubaldo.
Well! why, well!
This wheel of Fortune turns about, my Lord.
'Tis very strange! but I believe you well,—
That you will use your riches thus restored
With better sense of what they're worth.

The Provost.
My Lords.
My duty bids me disabuse your minds;
This is no more my Lord of Malespina
Than I am King of Sicily.

The King.
What? what?

The Provost.
This is that very rogue that tripp'd me up
And in the forest set my prisoner free,
The Lord Ruggiero.

Silisco.
Sire, I needs must own
That I was guilty of that rescue. Still
I hope to be forgiven; for here is he
I rescued, ready to repair the fault
By re-surrender.

Enter Ruggiero.
Fiordeliza.
Oh, Rosalba, see!
See who is here! What will be done? Oh, Heaven
Yet the King looks not angry.

The King.
Count, not yet—
Speak not till I have spoken, lest thy pleas
Forestall me of my justice in acquittal.
Of that offence which thou wert charged withal
Touching thine office, I confess thee free:
Some flatterers of some follies of mine own
Were forgers of the charge. I think, besides,
Thou canst acquit thee on a separate score,
Though there myself was thine accuser, moved
I know not by what promptings of the Devil:
I think that thou canst render good account
Of that fair maid Lisana, whom by stealth
Thou took'st so suddenly from the Court.

Ruggiero.
My Lord,
The maid you speak of is profess'd a Nun;
A Nun since yesterday. I lived conceal'd,
For her sake solely, till the Church could claim
That guardianship she had till now from me.

The King.
Something of this had reach'd me. You stand clear
With me, my Lord; and with no little shame
Nor light compunction for my own misdeeds
Your offices and honours I restore.
But where is she with whom to stand absolved
Is best of absolutions—where is she
To whom to be restored is more, I know,
Than Kings can give or take?

Ruggiero.
When last we met
A cloudy fate had compass'd me about
And I was not so fortunate to please
Her whom to please in duty, faith, and truth,
Has been my life's endeavour: am I now
More happy, standing in the light?

Fiordeliza.
To me
Is it you speak?

Silisco.
Rosalba, look! the tears
Break o'er the saucy brightness of her face
First to make answer.

Fiordeliza.
What am I to say?
I wonder, Sir, what business 'twas of yours
To make that maid a runaway at first,
And then, when you were tired of her, a Nun.

Ruggiero.
Lady, I think you ask me this in sport;
But were it ask'd in earnest, I should pray
Gerbetto to make answer.

Gerbetto.
Lady, yes,
'Tis I should speak to this. When summon'd hence
To Palestine, I left my child in charge
To this good Knight, and well hath he fulfill'd
The trust he took upon him.

The King.
Surely now
You will not so untoward be to try
His patience longer; think how many a year
His suit has linger'd.

Fiordeliza.
Well, Sir, if your Grace
Has less of patience left in looking on
Than I that bear the burthen,—then, I think
It may be, for your ease and for mine own,
I shall be tutor'd to say “Yes”—in time.
The scarecrow, Sir, was married to the maypole
In time; but, bless me! 'twas a tedious courtship.

Ruggiero.
On your own time and humour will I wait
As heretofore.

Fiordeliza.
Then, dear Ruggiero, Yes.
For 'tis my humour that the time be now.

Silisco.
Then shall this glorious Now be crown'd the Queen
Of all the hours in all the ages past,
Since the first Morning's rosy finger touch'd
The bowers of Eden. Grace defend my heart
That now it bound not back to what it was
In days of old, forgetting all that since
Has tried and tamed it! No, Rosalba, no—
Albeit yon waves be bright as on the day
When, dancing to the shore from Procida,
They brought me a new joy, yet fear me not—
The joy falls now upon a heart prepared
By many a trouble, many a trial past,
And striking root, shall flourish and stand fast.