University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—The Terrace of a Castle.
Eribert. Vittoria.
Vittoria.
Have I not told thee, that I bear a heart
Blighted and cold?—Th'affections of my youth
Lie slumbering in the grave; their fount is closed,
And all the soft and playful tenderness
Which hath its home in woman's breast, ere yet
Deep wrongs have sear'd it; all is fled from mine.
Urge me no more.

Eribert.
O lady! doth the flower
That sleeps entomb'd thro' the long wintry storms
Unfold its beauty to the breath of spring;
And shall not woman's heart, from chill despair,
Wake at love's voice?

Vit.
Love!—make love's name thy spell,
And I am strong!—the very word calls up
From the dark past, thoughts, feelings, powers, array'd
In arms against thee!—Know'st thou whom I lov'd,
While my soul's dwelling place was still on earth?
One who was born for empire, and endow'd
With such high gifts of princely majesty,
As bow'd all hearts before him!—Was he not
Brave, royal, beautiful?—And such he died;
He died!—hast thou forgotten?—And thou'rt here,
Thou meet'st my glance with eyes which coldly look'd,
—Coldly!—nay, rather with triumphant gaze,
Upon his murder!—Desolate as I am,
Yet in the mien of thine affianced bride,
Oh, my lost Conradin! there should be still
Somewhat of loftiness, which might o'erawe
The hearts of thine assassins.

Eri.
Haughty dame!
If thy proud heart to tenderness be closed,
Know, danger is around thee: thou hast foes
That seek thy ruin, and my power alone
Can shield thee from their arts.

Vit.
Provençal, tell
Thy tale of danger to some happy heart,
Which hath its little world of loved ones round,
For whom to tremble; and its tranquil joys
That make earth, Paradise. I stand alone;
—They that are blest may fear.

Eri.
Is there not one
Who ne'er commands in vain?—proud lady, bend
Thy spirit to thy fate; for know that he,
Whose car of triumph in its earthquake path
O'er the bow'd neck of prostrate Sicily,
Hath borne him to dominion; he, my king,
Charles of Anjou, decrees thy hand the boon
My deeds have well deserved; and who hath power
Against his mandates?

Vit.
Viceroy, tell thy lord,
That e'en where chains lie heaviest on the land,
Souls may not all be fetter'd. Oft, ere now,
Conquerors have rock'd the earth, yet fail'd to tame
Unto their purposes, that restless fire,
Inhabiting man's breast.—A spark bursts forth,
And so they perish!—'tis the fate of those
Who sport with lightning—and it may be his.
—Tell him I fear him not, and thus am free.

Eri.
'Tis well. Then nerve that lofty heart to bear
The wrath which is not powerless. Yet again
Bethink thee, lady!—Love may change—hath changed
To vigilant hatred oft, whose sleepless eye
Still finds what most it seeks for. Fare thee well.
—Look to it yet!—To-morrow I return.
[Exit Eribert.

Vit.
To-morrow!—Some ere now have slept, and dreamt
Of morrows which ne'er dawn'd—or ne'er for them;
So silently their deep and still repose
Hath melted into death!—Are there not balms
In nature's boundless realm, to pour out sleep
Like this, on me?—Yet should my spirit still
Endure its earthly bonds, till it could bear
To his a glorious tale of his own isle,
Free and avenged.—Thou should'st be now at work,
In wrath, my native Etna! who dost lift
Thy spiry pillar of dark smoke so high,
Thro' the red heaven of sunset!—sleep'st thou still,
With all thy founts of fire, while spoilers tread
The glowing vales beneath?
(Procida enters disguised.)
Ha! who art thou,
Unbidden guest, that with so mute a step
Dost steal upon me?

Pro.
One, o'er whom hath pass'd
All that can change man's aspect!—Yet not long
Shalt thou find safety in forgetfulness.
—I am he, to breathe whose name is perilous,
Unless thy wealth could bribe the winds to silence.
—Know'st thou this, lady?—

(He shows a ring.
Vit.
Righteous Heaven! the pledge
Amidst his people from the scaffold thrown
By him who perish'd, and whose kingly blood
E'en yet is unatoned.—My heart beats high—
—Oh, welcome, welcome! thou art Procida,
Th'Avenger, the Deliverer!

Pro.
Call me so
When my great task is done. Yet who can tell
If the return'd be welcome?—Many a heart
Is changed since last we met.

Vit.
Why dost thou gaze,
With such a still and solemn earnestness,
Upon my alter'd mien?

Pro.
That I may read
If to the widow'd love of Conradin,
Or the proud Eribert's triumphant bride,
I now entrust my fate.

Vit.
Thou, Procida!
That thou shouldst wrong me thus!—Prolong thy gaze
Till it hath found an answer.

Pro.
'Tis enough.
I find it in thy cheek, whose rapid change
Is from death's hue to fever's; in the wild
Unsettled brightness of thy proud dark eye,
And in thy wasted form. Ay, 'tis a deep
And solemn joy, thus in thy looks to trace,
Instead of youth's gay bloom, the characters
Of noble suffering;—on thy brow the same
Commanding spirit holds its native state
Which could not stoop to vileness. Yet the voice
Of Fame hath told afar that thou shouldst wed
This tyrant, Eribert.

Vit.
And told it not
A tale of insolent love repell'd with scorn,
Of stern commands and fearful menaces
Met with indignant courage?—Procida!
It was but now that haughtily I braved
His sovereign's mandate, which decrees my hand,
With its fair appanage of wide domains
And wealthy vassals, a most fitting boon,
To recompense his crimes.—I smiled—ay, smiled—
In proud security! for the high of heart
Have still a pathway to escape disgrace,
Tho' it be dark and lone.

Pro.
Thou shalt not need
To tread its shadowy mazes. Trust my words:
I tell thee, that a spirit is abroad,
Which will not slumber till its path be traced
By deeds of fearful fame. Vittoria, live!
It is most meet that thou shouldst live, to see
The mighty expiation; for thy heart
(Forgive me that I wrong'd its faith) hath nursed
A high, majestic grief, whose seal is set
Deep on thy marble brow.

Vit.
Then thou canst tell,
By gazing on the wither'd rose, that there
Time, or the blight, hath work'd!—Ay, this is in
Thy vision's scope: but oh! the things unseen,
Untold, undreamt of, which like shadows pass
Hourly o'er that mysterious world, a mind
To ruin struck by grief!—Yet doth my soul,
Far, midst its darkness, nurse one soaring hope,
Wherein is bright vitality.—'Tis to see
His blood avenged, and his fair heritage,
My beautiful native land, in glory risen,
Like a warrior from his slumbers!

Pro.
Hear'st thou not
With what a deep and ominous moan, the voice
Of our great mountain swells?—There will be soon
A fearful burst!—Vittoria! brood no more
In silence o'er thy sorrows, but go forth
Amidst thy vassals, (yet be secret still)
And let thy breath give nurture to the spark
Thou'lt find already kindled. I move on
In shadow, yet awakening in my path
That which shall startle nations. Fare thee well.

Vit.
When shall we meet again?—Are we not those
Whom most he loved on earth, and think'st thou not
That love e'en yet shall bring his spirit near
While thus we hold communion?

Pro.
Yes, I feel
Its breathing influence whilst I look on thee,
Who wert its light in life. Yet will we not
Make womanish tears our offering on his tomb;
He shall have nobler tribute!—I must hence,
But thou shalt soon hear more. Await the time.

[Exeunt separately.