University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

—Naples. Regal Closet in Castel-Novo.
Andreas (seated) and Fra Roberto, discovered.
Andreas.
But will it happen?

Roberto.
Who has said it?

Andreas.
You!

Roberto.
An answer! good!—What I do prophesy,
The saints fulfil. To-morrow, shall the Earthquake
Rock Naples, and o'erwhelm her in her sins;
Unless, like Nineveh, she first repent.
Therefore, this evening, let the multitudes,
In long procession, to the churches go—
Women unsandalled, with bewildered hair,
Their children in their arms—and cry for mercy;
Nor be your Queen exempt, though young and fair.
What! will it happen? Wherefore do I crawl,
A bald-head, barefoot wretch, attired in rags,
Scarce covered, and die daily; if the heavens
Should falsify themselves, to cozen me?
So lay all gauds aside—

Andreas.
That, in my case,
Is done already. The Hungarian fashion
I still have kept in Naples, and wear here
My native garb and manners, at your bidding;
Albeit “the Catanese” pronounce them rude
And borish; me proclaiming weak and ignorant,
Thus swayed by your instruction.

Roberto.
Let her talk!
Best look she to herself! What is she, pri'thee?

Andreas.
The Countess of Montoni—

Roberto,
But what was she?
The daughter of a fisherman of Catania,
In Sicily—no more;—whom chance first made
The foster-mother of a prince, and then
Court-favor a Court-lady. Impolicy!
When democratic insolence rears its front,
As now it doth in Rome, constraining even
His very Holiness to recognise
The authority of its self-christened Tribune,
Cola Rienzi! Here in Naples, too,
To give the low-born such dominion!—Pish!
'Tis to subvert all government at its base,
Hereditary Title! Has she power?
Let her guard well the magic whence it comes,
Or, with my counter-charms, her spells may sicken!

Andreas.
Yet with her Father still you correspond?

Roberto.
For my own ends—or, rather, those of justice.
Saints may consort with sinners for high ends;
Ends consecrate all means. Even now, good Andreas!
The Old Man from Catania hath arrived,
That he, by counsel and by skill, may save
The City and his Child, . . . or perish with them.

Andreas.
'Tis a strange notion. Poor old man! Here comes
The Countess—

Roberto.
Yes—at length!

Enter Philippa.
Philippa.
Your Majesty
Sent for me—

Andreas.
Yes. We must needs rule, it seems,
Through you; nay, even, when divinest mercy
Should be by right implored, must supplicate
Your intercession with our gracious Queen,
To mediate with God for us and Naples,
Against the threatened judgement.

Roberto.
Potent lady!
You must divest you of those princely robes,
Those courtly ornaments, those signs of rank,
Not native to you; these must be put off;
And you, and such as you,—hereditaries,
Or upstarts,—equal both in heaven's just eye,—
Must forth, in rags,—like mine,—and pay your vows,
Where'er the clement Virgin boasts a shrine.

Philippa.
Were you as clement as the Virgin, friar!
Less bitter had your adjuration been.
'Twere better you would learn, our manners here
Befit the gentle clime, even as the vine,
The cedar, and the citron, do the soil;
And songs and gondoliers the twilight sea.
But to my duty. Know, her majesty
Bids me acquaint you, that she hath already
Made preparation for devout procession,
Commanding my attendance.

Roberto.
By your advice?
—Which ever would anticipate my own!

Philippa.
Anticipate?

Roberto.
Yes—'tis your policy—

Philippa.
Honesty is my only policy.

Roberto.
The policy of heretics it is,
Who have no consecration but their virtue,
Which, till the Church confirm it, is worse evil!
Howbeit, not always have you thus advantage—
I am beforehand with you!

Philippa.
How?

Roberto.
Your father!

Philippa.
Stop! Has the sum of years he was to breathe,
Been numbered? No! Then God be thanked!—But why
Should I ask you? Where is my messenger?
Who should, before you could, have told me all?

Roberto.
A brother of my order—Geronimo—

Philippa.
Ay—he! By him full many a time have I
Sent gifts and greeting, still disdained and spurned.
Poor would my father be, nor feed my pride,
By recognition of my state and power.

Roberto.
Yes! power abused to ends that ruin Naples,
And wake the wrath of heaven!

Philippa.
'Tis false, base monk!
But now, what of my father?

Roberto.
By this, he has
Arrived in Naples. I depart to meet him.
Since guilt like yours brings vengeance on the city,
He hopes that, if the earthquake will receive him,
His voluntary death may expiate,
Both the transgression, and the punishment.

(Exit.)
Philippa.
Go, intermeddling and fanatic monk—

Andreas
(interrupting her).
You'll wait upon us to her majesty—

Philippa
(not heeding him).
Thou hast abused thy opportunity,
And, therewithal, a father's ear and heart!
'Tis well! now face to face, I nothing fear;
For not illiterate, nor rude of mind,
Though poor, I learned of him what has sufficed
To raise me to a rank—

Andreas.
Will you wait on us?—

Philippa.
My royal lord! your pardon!—

Andreas.
To the Queen!

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

—Exterior of the Castel-Novo. (Churches, Terraces, Gardens, Citrons, and Cedars.)
Enter Roberto, Geronimo, and Salvator.
Salvator.
Since you must go, farewell! receive my thanks
For having brought me hither. Fare you well.

Geronimo.
Roberto's care will serve.

[Exit.
Salvator.
'Tis well!—Proceed.

Roberto.
As I was saying, while we came along,
Doubtless the Church has much authority,
And, for the exercise of magic art,
Might make example of her; but, Salvator,
Because she is your daughter, and you have been
A true son of the faith, we fain would spare her—

Salvator.
I am beholden to you.

Roberto.
Yet 'tis hard
To shew forbearance in so plain a case,
When all in Naples know, her sway at Court
Hath been by witchcraft won—But she's your daughter.
Dissension between states is of her causing.
Maria, the Queen's sister, should have wedded
Louis of Hungary, the King's elder brother;
When, lo, she plots Durazzo's marriage with her,
Whence Hungary and Naples are at strife;
Which, 'stead of healing, she persuades the Queen
To tastes and customs alien from the King's,
Whence those of the two kingdoms, in our streets,
Brawl nightly on their quarrel; these affecting
Our northern manly manners, those the soft
Luxuriance taught us by the poets now,
Petrarca, Dante, and Boccaccio.

Salvator.
There is the girl, my own! I taught her song!
Good friar, be not harsh; but spare the Poet,
Who seldom hath his guerdon till he dies.
The Sun's a Poet, and his poetry
The stars of heaven, that shine when he is absent:
So live men's verses best when they are dead,
Gilding the night of time. 'Tis joy at eve,
To the Sicilian fisherman, to hear
His wife sing from the shore, and to respond
Far out amidst the waters. See! who comes?

Enter Duke and Duchess Durazzo, with Men, Women, and Monks, barefoot, &c., in procession, chanting a hymn.
Roberto.
That is Durazzo's Duke, I told you of;
The Princess that, Maria, with her maidens;
And their retainers; in religious state,
Seeking the Virgin's altars.

Salvator.
To the soul,
Priceless as water, vital as the air,
Is piety. The mercy it brings down,
From the encircling heavens, absolve this land
Of every curse she merits!

Duke.
Stay, awhile,
Our ceremonial walk: I would repay
This strange but solemn greeting. Art thou he,
(I know thou art,) the Countess' aged sire,
Of whom but now she spake?

Salvator.
Does she draw nigh?

Duke.
She does; with such profound humility,
As, were she the magician he reports,
Would, from a witch, translate her to a saint,
Or more—a blessed martyr.

Salvator.
Welcome news!
Repentance changes Heaven as well as Man:
Methought, she were not lapsed beyond all hope!
No soul so lost, repentance may not find:
Good sleeps in all. The meanest, grossest clod
Is a bright splendor, but outshone by others;
And, fitly wrought, may far outshine the brightest!
—Where is my daughter? I'll go meet her.

[Exit.
Duke.
Friar!
You are well and holily employed, in lying
'Gainst the Queen's friends—

Roberto.
Your highness might be better,
Than railing 'gainst the King's—

Duke.
Base Monk of Hungary!

Roberto.
Smooth Prince of Naples!

Duke.
Fall we into rank—
Salvator is returning.

Re-enter Salvator.
Salvator.
Here I'll wait
Philippa. Scarce I know her, such the change
So many years have made in her and me.

Duke.
She follows in the troop that now approaches.
Enter Philippa, the Count Evoli, Lady Sancha, Count Terlizi, Giulio, and others, in procession, chanting, &c.
That is her son, the Count Evoli, leads;
Her beautiful grand-daughter, Sancha, next;
And then her husband, Count Terlizi—

Salvator.
Why,
I'm founder of a noble family!
The peasant father of a line of princes!
Hath witchcraft done this? Look, Philippa, here!
That I may know my child!

Philippa.
Salvator! father!

Roberto.
Embrace her not! Avoid the sorceress!
Avoid the Scarlet Horror!

Salvator.
Gently, monk!
Nay! give me leave.—When Nineveh repented,
Jonah was wroth. Her penitence, perhaps,
May save, by good example, Naples too!
Stand not 'tween me and her! These tears enough
Blind me, without you!

Roberto
(aside).
Softness will spoil all—
I meant that he should challenge her in the street
Of witchcraft, that the populace might be raised
With passionate exhibition. Would the earth,
Now gaping, whelmed them both!

Philippa.
An age ago
You were my father—ere you made a vow
Still with your poverty to shame my pride.
Am I now proud? Nor has it been by pride,
That I have flattered power into my keeping.
But hypocrites, who have your conscience' key,
Have still your credulous ears corrupted, telling
Of bad ambition, by unearthly means,
Charming dominion, like a falcon, down,
My wrist to grace; that never, by such means,
Not even in desire, was lured thereto.
Thine honorable heart has been deceived—
But now with us in these devotions join,
And from their majesties themselves shall you
Hear and judge my demerits.

Salvator.
Be it so!

Philippa.
We meet the Royal Couple at the Bay,
Whereat three galleys have arrived from Cyprus,
Three others anchored there already; also,
One with four hundred galley-slaves on board.
We fear for them, if come the stormy wrath!
But never was there a serener sky,
Than, on this dreaded eve, laughs over Naples,
With promise of a glad rejoicing morrow.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

—The Bay of Naples, with several Galleys in Harbour, by moonlight. Rock of Sant' Elmo, Fortress, and Cathedral. Anxious Groups: among them, the Carpenter at his bench, the Shoemaker with his tools, the Maccaroni dealer at his stall, and the Lazzare with his basket; also Beppo, Ghino, and Zeppa. Crowds, likewise, walking in different directions. Hungarians and Neapolitans.
Beppo.
See you what number of Hungarian habits
Shame the passeggio?

Ghino.
Let come the earthquake—
I'd benefit by the tumult, and would rid
Our Naples of a few—

Zeppa.
The Chancellor!
A better time will come to strike for freedom!

[They retire.
Enter Hugh del Balzo, Talano, and Bruno.
Balzo.
What said the Lazzari? Keep watch upon them!
Not very likely, in so fair a night,
Earthquake should threaten—

Talano.
What should dream it,
But a monk's addled brain, gone mad upon
Astrology?

Balzo.
It is but nine days' since
We had a shock, though slight: they do not use
To come so soon.

Bruno.
It is an idle terror!
Here hastes Geronimo, Roberto's brother—

Balzo.
His spy!—more rude and obstinate in mind,
And more uncivil in his speech, withal;
As dull, and yet as sharp, in his retorts,
As shot poured back from the unflashing rock!
Enter Geronimo.
What now, good Friar?

Geronimo.
How then, wise Chancellor?

Balzo.
Have you just left their Majesties' retinue?

Geronimo.
You see I have.—I am their messenger.
The Queen has risen from Sant' Elmo's altar,
And hither with her train expects your duty.
Though barefoot, and in rags of penitence,
Though humbled before heaven, yet Majesty
Needs service still on earth from mortal man.

Balzo.
We are in waiting on their Majesties.

Enter (descending by Sant' Elmo's rock) the Queen (Giovanna), Andreas, and numerous Attendants; followed by the Duke and Duchess Durazzo, and Philippa, Salvator, Roberto, and their respective Trains.
Queen.
Balzo, our trusty Chancellor.

Balzo.
I attend
Your pleasure; touched, by the humility
Which now your royal person undergoes,
To wonder, that would worship you, as you
The Virgin, with profound devotedness.

Philippa
(after a pause).
Balzo! the silence of our royal mistress
Rebukes this adulation. And your ear
Is needed now, while truth from clouds of time
Emerges, and grows audible, long mute.

Balzo.
Speak not in riddles—

Philippa.
Let my Father speak,
As speak the poor, right out.

Balzo.
Produce him—

Philippa.
Here—

Queen.
We would that of his witness you be audient—
Since it the powerful doth implicate.
Say now, Salvator! what you have to say.

Salvator.
Pardon me, lady! if, in royal presence,
I should demean me with too bold a speech.

Queen.
Speak freely on, as to a fellow-creature:
We all are equal in a time like this—

Salvator.
Taught by my parents to respect the Church,
My mind grew up in Catholic belief,
Referring all I knew to law divine;
Whence I was curious in the lives of Saints,
Of Anchorites, and other holy men,
And learned from them, and such discourse as theirs,
To value their Religious Poverty;
But, prizing still the freedom of my life,
Desired to make, and keep, the Vow they took,
Without forsaking worldly business.
This did I formally, at earliest manhood,
In secret to a priest; nor boasting made,
But cherished it in conscience as my law.

Philippa.
Not then to shame my pride, to mock my state;
But simply as a fore-appointed rule
Of temperance, the vow, whereof they spake,
By thee was perseveringly maintained,
'Gainst the temptations I assailed it with?

Salvator.
No more, Philippa! 'twas their treasonous falsehood,
Which late I have detected. Look! that monk,
Geronimo, from you so often sent
To my Catanian dwelling, nine days since,
Came there, and broached the suit, which findeth me
In Naples now.

Queen.
Stand forth, Geronimo!—
Go on, Salvator! with thy tale; it pleases.

Salvator.
Thus I obey your Majesty's commands.
This monk, as I have said, did visit me,
'Gainst her still pleading witchcraft and ambition,
Pride and oppression, mainly of the poor!

Philippa.
O God! O God!—

Queen.
Be calm, Montoni!—Well?

Salvator.
And roused my anger to a towering pitch:
Then of Roberto's prophecy he spake—
“Come,” said he, “and serve now the cause of God,
Of the poor, and of the Church—the time is come!
With me to Naples, while the popular mind
Seethes in the ferment that increases daily,
And charge her, though your daughter, (for what reck
Relationships of earth, when Heaven demands
The sacrifice of every natural feeling,
For interests that the world itself transcend?)
And charge her publicly with public guilt;
Then, in the tumult of the storm thereafter,
(For it will surely come,) we will enflame
The passions of the multitude, incite
Revolt, set free the slaves on board the galley,
To' enhance confusion; in the midst whereof,
The Queen, the Countess, and their partisans,
Being seized, may be deposed, and, with acclaim,
Andreas pronounced sole monarch!”

Queen.
Speak, my Andreas!
What dreadful part had you in this dark plot?

Andreas.
None, royal wife! Or else the old man lies,
Or else the monk spake from himself alone!

Salvator.
I lie not, sir! Ask him!

Roberto.
Nay, ask not him—
He nothing says, unless you first concede,
His order vouches him incapable
Of wrong in word or act.

Queen.
That were to grant
What would preclude enquiry—

Salvator.
Which not now
May be pursued. Even now the Earthquake hastes!
Look not incredulous—for it is true!
The starry proofs, which well as he I know,
Trust me, prohibit hope!—While we discourse,
Lo, the serene and lovely midnight sky
Is shadowed, and the wan and westering moon
Doth hide herself behind St. Martin's mount,
Her face much darkened, partly veiled with clouds!
Big pattering drops prelude the impatient storm!
Stand still, and listen! Know ye not the sounds
Precede the crash?—It comes! (Loud rumbling noise.)
The Earth is shaken!

[Loud thunder. All the groups are startled—their furniture of trade, &c., overthrown. Many cast themselves on the ground.
Roberto.
Forth to the churches! fall before the Virgin!

Queen.
Away! away! Stay not behind, Montoni!

Philippa.
Who would take shelter now, when even the buildings,
We seek to shield, may topple down, and crush us?
—I follow, royal mistress! One word only,
First, with Salvator!

Queen.
As you will! Lead on!—

[Exeunt omnes, except Salvator, Philippa, Evoli, Sancha, Terlizi.—Thunder.
Philippa.
Even midst this tumult of the elements,
Let calm dwell in the temple of our souls!
And now a solemn hush comes o'er them, too;
'Tis thus they teach us peace, even in their angers!
My husband and my children! this is he,
Whose wisdom, I so frequently have said,
Built up the mind within me, being thus
A double parent to me. (To Salvator.)
See your grandchild!
Her name is Sancha, after the fair Queen
Of good King Robert, in whose grace I grew.
(The stillness seems to deepen—though it darkens;
The hovering rain-clouds gather thick and fast!)
What say you, Sancha! to our noble sire?
Revere him as a memory changed to hope—
Our ancestor, uprisen from the grave
Of a past generation!

Sancha.
I'll worship him as
The Father of my fathers!

Philippa.
To his arms,
And let him feel himself, he is such indeed!

Salvator.
The founder of a race! O, wicked monks!
Whom their own wickedness deceived! translating
My words into their meaning!

Philippa.
What words! Father!
The storm abates, and I can listen!

Salvator.
Thus
Said I, after Geronimo had finished:
“Such storm, such earthquake, will, indeed, shake Naples
To her foundations—I will go with you,
And, if the earth should open with the shock,
Will plunge myself into the gulf, like Curtius;
For, haply, heaven may pardon, for the sake
Of such a martyrdom, both the guilty city,
And they who rule her; most of all, Philippa:
Or should they perish, I will perish too!”

[Thunder.
Philippa.
Mercy of heaven! Earth shakes again—'tis past!
Thou hast saved Naples, father! but not me.
This act of thine brings discontent to head;
Henceforth, my foes are enemies indeed;
And I, or they, must perish in the sequel.
But that confide we to the saints!

[Storm, which increases.
Salvator.
Say you?

Philippa.
Peace—peace!

[Rain—wind—lightning—thunder, &c.
Salvator.
No peace! The storm is up! Heavens! what a storm!

Philippa.
Let's seek the Queen—

Salvator.
Go you, and seek her straight—
I've work elsewhere! Believe me! No delay!
Trust in my wisdom! Quick! Which is the galley
That holds the slaves?

Philippa.
That—that!

Salvator.
Enough—Go—Quick—
Farewell!

Philippa.
Farewell!—and let us say for ever!
For we may never meet again!

Salvator.
We shall!
But, ne'ertheless, farewell—as if for ever!

[Exeunt omnes, except Salvator.
Salvator
(alone).
That hold of galley-slaves! They're tampering there!
What I have said is little, if I let
Them do their work. Upon that galley's deck
My foot must tread—my presence must be there!
The way—the way? Be Providence my guide!
An old man's life like mine is little risk;
Yet guard it, heaven! for the city's sake!

[Exit. Violent Storm, and convulsion of the Sea in the Bay. It becomes quite dark.
Enter Roberto and Andreas.
Andreas.
Roberto! where art thou? It darkens strangely!

Roberto.
Here! take my hand! What! fearest thou? O, let
A royal soul inform a royal bosom!

Andreas.
The dread contention of the elements
Is universal—

Roberto.
Nothing less than this:
A terrible conspiracy of all
The Mediterranean, and the Adriatic,
With earth and heaven!

Andreas.
Conspiracy—most clear—
Divulged—as ours! Without, within, is storm,
And earthquake, ruin, horror, and remorse!
I am myself the mere wreck of a King!

Roberto.
Of a Queen's husband—yet to be a King!
If policy and courage but cohere!
The ruin is a Chrysalid, wherefrom
The entombëd Sylph emerges, winged and crowned—
Even so the statue's in the block contained,
But needs the Sculptor's hand to set it free—
And such be mine!

[Storm continues.
Andreas
(vehemently.)
Tempt me no more!—

Roberto
(surprised and troubled).
How now?

Andreas
(disregarding him).
What water floods! what wind! and, hark! what thunder!
What fearful rumbling in the heavens above us!
What horrible tremblings in the earth we stand on!
What vehement commotions in the sea!
What shrieks of the amazed, distracted throng!
The darkness deepens!

Roberto.
Where left you the Queen?

Andreas.
Before the altar; with the priests at mass,
New-robëd for its celebration,
Stretched on the ground in supplicating prayer;
While her attendants, and the multitude,
Prostrate in fear,—

Roberto.
Ha! had Salvator stood
The putting-on, there 'mong them, even now,
I would have rushed, and, with deep-tonëd voice,
In strain prophetic, called upon the crowd,
To rise in mad revolt!

Andreas.
Obtuse the Monk,
Thus to mistake the letter for the spirit,
In what the old man said!

Roberto.
What! if he should,
Obedient to mere orders, without wit
To understand that what has happened since
Revokes them, be involving us more deeply?
Where is he?

Enter Geronimo.
Geronimo.
Ho! Roberto! Andreas!

Andreas.
There!

Roberto.
(Storm.)
His voice! How the earth reels! I'll answer him!
Geronimo!

Geronimo.
Here! Stand you where you are—
[Gropes about, and comes forward.
I've found you!—

Roberto.
(Storm.)
Earth is reeling! You are stedfast?

Geronimo.
At least, not easily moved—Yet have I been!

Roberto.
When?

Geronimo.
Just now!

Roberto.
Speak!

Geronimo.
Salvator is aboard
The galley' among the slaves—the maddened slaves!

Andreas.
Urging rebellion in his daughter's favour?

Geronimo.
No; I was there, according to instructions—

Roberto.
Fool! dolt!—But he?— (Storm.)
Till this shock passes, pause!—
Now speak, Geronimo!—

Geronimo.
How Salvator got
On board I know not; but he trod the deck,
Likest an ancient god, or risen saint.
His name was known, even there, in that sea-prison
(So fast same travels when ill-luck is busy);
And when he said, “I am Salvator!” they
Shouted aloud, and, at his word, enforced
My absence with a zeal, had been my death,
But for his softening—

[Storm.
Roberto.
Felt you not that shock?
Earth's drunken with heaven's anger! Well! no more?
Did the world reel, you were insensible!

Geronimo.
I reached the port, but strangely! There amidst,
Were scattered on the sea, and for the shore
Struggling, wave-battered, countless crowds of wretches,
The storm had dashed like shells against the beach,
Covered already with the drowned, half-drowned,
With fractured skulls, with limbs and limbless bodies.
The sands, whereon we wont to walk, boil up!
Messina's faro or Charybdis' whirlpool,
Are spots of safety to them!—See, those torches
At yonder horn of the Bay! A thousand or more
Of Neapolitan nobility,
Mounted on horseback, have assembled there,
To solemnise their country's obsequies.
The Queen and retinue in sacred silence,
This way return. Behold!

[Storm.
Re-enter Queen, Philippa, and processions—with lighted torches.
Philippa.
Where is the monk?
O Night! O Naples! Miracle, and Doom!
Not swart nor azure, as in common storms,
The billows roll, like tumbling hills of snow,
In ghastly whiteness through the grave of space!
The sea begins to undermine the ground:
They say, 'twill soon explode beneath our feet!
Where is the monk?

Geronimo.
I stand before you now.

Philippa.
Said you, Salvator boarded the slave-galley?

Geronimo.
I did.

Philippa.
O, gracious God! no vessel may resist
The gale! Send torches up Sant' Elmo's rock!
See how the galleys toss, and rise, and sink—
O, heaven and earth! for pity!—'tis in vain!
Three have gone down at once for ever! Which
Were they?

Geronimo.
The Cyprian—

Philippa.
Fool to forget it!
The others are in harbour. There—they heave
Against each other! Now they strike, and strike—
And they do sink—and all on board do perish!
Only the slave-ship lives! Spare that, O God! O God!

[Meanwhile, the rock becomes covered with torchlit groups; and a loud peal of music from the organ in Sant' Elmo cleaves the noise of the storm.
Curtain falls.