The Vespers of Palermo A Tragedy, In Five Acts |
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Scene V.
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 | The Vespers of Palermo |  |
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Scene V.
—A Banquetting Hall.Provençal Nobles assembled.
1 Noble.
Joy be to this fair meeting!—Who hath seen
The viceroy's bride?
2 Noble.
I saw her, as she pass'd
The gazing throngs assembled in the city.
'Tis said she hath not left for years, till now,
Her castle's wood-girt solitude. 'Twill gall
These proud Sicilians, that her wide domains
Should be the conqueror's guerdon.
3 Noble.
'Twas their boast
With what fond faith she worshipp'd still the name
Of the boy, Conradin. How will the slaves
Brook this new triumph of their lords?
2 Noble.
In sooth
It stings them to the quick. In the full streets
They mix with our Provençals, and assume
A guise of mirth, but it sits hardly on them.
'Twere worth a thousand festivals, to see
With what a bitter and unnatural effort
They strive to smile!
1 Noble.
Is this Vittoria fair?
2 Noble.
Of a most noble mien; but yet her beauty
Is wild and awful, and her large dark eye,
In its unsettled glances, hath strange power,
From which thou'lt shrink, as I did.
1 Noble.
Hush! they come.
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Eribert.
Welcome, my noble friends!—there must not lower
One clouded brow to-day in Sicily!
Behold my bride!
Nobles.
Receive our homage, lady!
Vittoria.
I bid all welcome. May the feast we offer
Prove worthy of such guests!
Eri.
Look on her, friends!
And say, if that majestic brow is not
Meet for a diadem?
Vit.
'Tis well, my lord!
When memory's pictures fade, 'tis kindly done
To brighten their dimm'd hues!
1 Noble
(apart.)
Mark'd you her glance?
2 Noble.
(apart.)
What eloquent scorn was there! yet he, th'elate
Of heart, perceives it not.
Eri.
Now to the feast!
Constance, you look not joyous. I have said
That all should smile to-day.
Con.
Forgive me, brother!
The heart is wayward, and its garb of pomp
At times oppresses it.
Eri.
Why, how is this?
Con.
Voices of woe, and prayers of agony
Unto my soul have risen, and left sad sounds
There echoing still. Yet would I fain be gay,
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A village-maid!
Eri.
But, being as you are,
Not thus ignobly free, command your looks,
(They may be taught obedience,) to reflect
The aspect of the time.
Vit.
And know, fair maid!
That if in this unskill'd, you stand alone
Amidst our court of pleasure.
Eri.
To the feast!
Now let the red wine foam!—There should be mirth
When conquerors revel!—Lords of this fair isle!
Your good sword's heritage, crown each bowl, and pledge
The present and the future! for they both
Look brightly on us. Dost thou smile, my bride?
Vit.
Yes, Eribert!—thy prophecies of joy
Have taught e'en me to smile.
Eri.
'Tis well. To-day
I have won a fair and almost royal bride;
To-morrow—let the bright sun speed his course,
To waft me happiness!—my proudest foes
Must die—and then my slumber shall be laid
On rose-leaves, with no envious fold, to mar
The luxury of its visions!—Fair Vittoria,
Your looks are troubled!
Vit.
It is strange, but oft,
Midst festal songs and garlands, o'er my soul
Death comes, with some dull image! as you spoke
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Who, in a darkness thicker than the night
E'er wove with all her clouds, have pined so long:
How blessed were the stroke which makes them things
Of that invisible world, wherein, we trust,
There is, at least, no bondage!—But should we
From such a scene as this, where all earth's joys
Contend for mastery, and the very sense
Of life is rapture; should we pass, I say,
At once from such excitements to the void
And silent gloom of that which doth await us—
—Were it not dreadful?
Eri.
Banish such dark thoughts!
They ill beseem the hour.
Vit.
There is no hour
Of this mysterious world, in joy or woe,
But they beseem it well!—Why, what a slight,
Impalpable bound is that, th'unseen, which severs
Being from death!—And who can tell how near
Its misty brink he stands?
1 Noble.
(aside.)
What mean her words?
2 Noble.
There's some dark mystery here.
Eri.
No more of this!
Pour the bright juice which Etna's glowing vines
Yield to the conquerors! And let music's voice
Dispel these ominous dreams!—Wake, harp and song!
Swell out your triumph!
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Mess.
Pardon, my good lord!
But this demands—
Eri.
What means thy breathless haste?
And that ill-boding mien?—Away! such looks
Befit not hours like these.
Mes.
The Lord De Couci
Bade me bear this, and say, 'tis fraught with tidings
Of life and death.
Vit.
(hurriedly.)
Is this a time for ought
But revelry?—My lord, these dull intrusions
Mar the bright spirit of the festal scene!
Eri.
(to the Messenger)
Hence! tell the Lord De Couci we will talk
Of life and death to-morrow.
[Exit Messenger.
Let there be
Around me none but joyous looks to-day,
And strains whose very echoes wake to mirth!
(A band of the conspirators enter, to the sound of music, disguised as shepherds, bacchanals, &c.
Eri.
What forms are these?—What means this antic triumph?
Vit.
'Tis but a rustic pageant, by my vassals
Prepared to grace our bridal. Will you not
Hear their wild music? Our Sicilian vales
Have many a sweet and mirthful melody,
To which the glad heart bounds.—Breathe ye some strain
Meet for the time, ye sons of Sicily!
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The festal eve, o'er earth and sky,
In her sunset robe, looks bright,
And the purple hills of Sicily,
With their vineyards, laugh in light;
From the marble cities of her plains
Glad voices mingling swell;
—But with yet more loud and lofty strains,
They shall hail the Vesper-bell!
In her sunset robe, looks bright,
And the purple hills of Sicily,
With their vineyards, laugh in light;
From the marble cities of her plains
Glad voices mingling swell;
—But with yet more loud and lofty strains,
They shall hail the Vesper-bell!
Oh! sweet its tones, when the summer breeze
Their cadence wafts afar,
To float o'er the blue Sicilian seas,
As they gleam to the first pale star!
The shepherd greets them on his height,
The hermit in his cell;
—But a deeper power shall breathe, to-night,
In the sound of the Vesper-bell!
Their cadence wafts afar,
To float o'er the blue Sicilian seas,
As they gleam to the first pale star!
The shepherd greets them on his height,
The hermit in his cell;
—But a deeper power shall breathe, to-night,
In the sound of the Vesper-bell!
[The Bell rings.
Eri.
—It is the hour!—Hark, hark!—my bride, our summons!
The altar is prepared and crown'd with flowers
That wait—
Vit.
The victim!
(A tumult heard without.)
(Procida and Montalba enter, with others, armed.)
Procida.
Strike! the hour is come!
Vit.
Welcome, avengers, welcome! Now, be strong!
(The Conspirators throw off their disguise, and rush, with their swords drawn, upon the Provençals. Eribert is wounded, and falls.
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Now hath fate reached thee in thy mid career,
Thou reveller in a nation's agonies!
(The Provençals are driven off, and pursued by the Sicilians.
Con.
(supporting Eribert.)
My brother! oh! my brother!
Eri.
Have I stood
A leader in the battle-fields of kings,
To perish thus at last?—Ay, by these pangs,
And this strange chill, that heavily doth creep,
Like a slow poison, thro' my curdling veins,
This should be—death!—In sooth a dull exchange
For the gay bridal feast!
Voices.
(without,)
Remember Conradin!—spare none, spare none!
Vit.
(throwing off her bridal wreath and ornaments.)
This is proud freedom! Now my soul may cast,
In generous scorn, her mantle of dissembling
To earth for ever!—And it is such joy,
As if a captive, from his dull, cold cell,
Might soar at once on charter'd wing to range
The realms of starr'd infinity!—Away!
Vain mockery of a bridal wreath! The hour
For which stern patience ne'er kept watch in vain
Is come; and I may give my bursting heart
Full and indignant scope.—Now, Eribert!
Believe in retribution! What, proud man!
Prince, ruler, conqueror! didst thou deem heaven slept?
“Or that the unseen, immortal ministers,
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“In burning characters, had laid aside
“Their everlasting attributes for thee?”
—Oh! blind security!—He, in whose dread hand
The lightnings vibrate, holds them back, until
The trampler of this goodly earth hath reach'd
His pyramid-height of power; that so his fall
May, with more fearful oracles, make pale
Man's crown'd oppressors!
Con.
Oh! reproach him not!
His soul is trembling on the dizzy brink
Of that dim world where passion may not enter.
Leave him in peace!
Voices
(without.)
Anjou, Anjou!—De Couci to the rescue!
Eri.
(half-raising himself.)
My brave Provençals! do ye combat still?
And I, your chief, am here!—Now, now I feel
That death indeed is bitter!
Vit.
Fare thee well!
Thine eyes so oft, with their insulting smile,
Have looked on man's last pangs, thou shouldst, by this,
Be perfect how to die!
[Exit Vittoria.
Raimond enters.
Raimond.
Away, my Constance!
Now is the time for flight. Our slaughtering bands
Are scatter'd far and wide. A little while
And thou shalt be in safety. Know'st thou not
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Anselmo? He whose hermitage is rear'd
'Mid some old temple's ruins?—Round the spot
His name hath spread so pure and deep a charm,
'Tis hallow'd as a sanctuary, wherein
Thou shalt securely bide, till this wild storm
Have spent its fury. Haste!
Con.
I will not fly!
While in his heart there is one throb of life,
One spark in his dim eyes, I will not leave
The brother of my youth to perish thus,
Without one kindly bosom to sustain
His dying head.
Eri.
The clouds are darkening round.
There are strange voices ringing in mine ear
That summon me—to what?—But I have been
Used to command!—Away! I will not die
But on the field—
(He dies.
Con.
(kneeling by him.)
Oh heaven! be merciful,
As thou art just!—for he is now where nought
But mercy can avail him!—It is past!
Guido enters, with his sword drawn.
Guido
(to Raimond.)
I've sought thee long—Why art thou lingering here?
Haste, follow me!—Suspicion with thy name
Joins that word—Traitor!
Rai.
Traitor!—Guido?
Guido.
Yes!
Hast thou not heard that, with his men-at-arms,
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De Couci hath escaped?—And there are those
Who murmur that from thee the warning came
Which saved him from our vengeance. But e'en yet
In the red current of Provençal blood
That doubt may be effaced. Draw thy good sword,
And follow me!
Rai.
And thou couldst doubt me, Guido!
'Tis come to this!—Away! mistrust me still.
I will not stain my sword with deeds like thine.
Thou know'st me not!
Guido.
Raimond di Procida!
If thou art he whom once I deemed so noble—
Call me thy friend no more!
[Exit Guido.
Rai.
(after a pause.)
Rise, dearest, rise!
Thy duty's task hath nobly been fulfill'd,
E'en in the face of death; but all is o'er,
And this is now no place where nature's tears
In quiet sanctity may freely flow.
—Hark! the wild sounds that wait on fearful deeds
Are swelling on the winds, as the deep roar
Of fast-advancing billows; and for thee
I shame not thus to tremble.—Speed, oh, speed!
[Exeunt.
| The Vespers of Palermo | |