University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Ildovaldo, Romilda.
Il.
Drag her? ... what do I hear! Ah, kill me first ...
Oh Heaven! Romilda ... must I lose thee then? ...

Rom.
Ah! since the moment that my father died,
And I beheld myself within the power
Of such a step-dame, in my breast I cherish
No other hope, except the one of death.

Il.
But, while I breathe ...

Rom.
Believe me, there remains
Nought else for me. I am prepared to die,
More than perhaps thou thinkest: in my heart
I wished to see thee yet once more, and give thee
The last farewell of love ...

Il.
Ah, hold thy peace!
Loving thou'rt loved, and speak'st to me of death
While I breathe vital air, and wield this sword?
My soul, indeed, with sorrow is oppress'd,
Yet I despair not.

Rom.
Say, from what quarter then
Can I expect relief?

Il.
From hands like these,
And cannot I avail to rescue thee?

Rom.
Yes, thou may'st do it; but what will ensue?
They have a throne; and, in abundance, hence
The instruments of persecution: fierce,
Yet at once subtle, is Rosmunda's wrath.
Can that be baffled? ... And should I once more
Fall in her power? ... Now flatter not thyself:
My faith I cannot keep, except by death,
Inviolate to thee: thy sword, thy valour,
Thy life, do thou preserve, blows to inflict,
By which my father's shade may be appeased,
And my shade also. Live; I leave to thee
T'avenge a father and a king betray'd,
And thy most faithful mistress.

Il.
What do I hear?
Oh, Heaven! my heart thou rendest. Ah! ... if thou
Shouldst ever leave me ... certainly for vengeance,
And nothing else, I live. But yet I hope
That thou wilt see fulfill'd, with thy own eyes,
The vengeance of my king and of thy father.
'Tis true, that kingly power I do not boast:
But much the terror of my name can do.
I in the bosoms of the valiant reign;
The abject I despise. Beneath the banners
Of Alboino I have fought already.
I, in the camp, have many partizans
In arms accoutred; in the ranks of war
Oft have the Lombards witness'd my exploits.
Each living man the venerated name
Of Alboino with a sigh pronounces;
And thou'rt that Alboino's only child.
And, as respects the multitude, if all
That I now say were not; speak, if thou canst,
Whether, 'mid those who shew thee violence,
One man can be adduced, who, in his heart,
So as to bear comparison with me,
Burns with an elevated flame like mine.
Rosmunda, much as step-dame can, indeed,
Hates thee; but I love more than she abhors,
I, who at thy least nod would rush to death,
To give it or receive it.

Rom.
Oh sublime,
Incomparable lover! ... Yet though great,
Thy fondness hath no strength to countervail
Her frantic and inexorable hate.

Il.
Think not preposterous hope doth make me blind:
I am sustain'd by valid arguments,
Add too, that Almachilde, as thou heardest,
Dares to oppose the execrable rite.

Rom.
From him what canst thou hope?

Il.
Were I constrain'd
To stoop for thy deliverance to deceit,
I on his aid should ground no trifling hope.
I see already that his guilty consort
Is become irksome to him. To remorse
He yet appears to me accessible;
The fear of her alone, in which he lives,
Renders him timid and irresolute.
That which he feebly counteracts in words,
I can induce him more effectively
To counteract in deeds. I do not doubt
My skill to fortify his half-resolves
With my entire resolves.

Rom.
Thou little knowest
Rosmunda. Dost thou dream that force can be
A hindrance to her will? Prayers I address'd
To Almachilde, (and I now repent it,)
That he would intercede for me. Vain hope!
Shall that man, who to a flagitious wife
Has sold his reputation and himself,
That man who owes whatever he possesses,
Nor to another owes it, to his blind,
No less than infamous subserviency,
Shall he, I say, assist, against the wife
Who holds him thus in thrall, her hated rival?

Il.
Ere it be night, let prayers, or menaces,
Or blows take place, let fate determine which,
So that I lose thee not: still of this day
Enough remains my purpose to mature.
Quickly shall I discover if in others
Or in myself alone I must confide.
Hither shall I return to thee ere long:
If then our only remedy is death,
Death is decreed. Then, then will I receive
The last farewell which thou would'st yield me now;
But thou no sooner shalt to me have given it,
Than, drunk with love, and anger, and revenge,
I swear to open with my own right hand
A horrid path of blood ... At least the death
Of many victims shall precede my own.
But can it be that others can exult
In our extinction? No one do I see
Betwixt the throne and thee, except Rosmunda.

Rom.
And Almachilde? ...

Il.
Almachilde, sayst thou?
To-day this sword of mine his life preserved:
And should he be ungrateful, this my sword
May also give his death wound. Time and chance
Shall shape my independent purposes.
Meanwhile, a swift return, eternal faith,
A lofty vengeance for thy murdered father,
I swear to thee.

Rom.
I would not rob thy heart
Of all its hope; but in myself one hope
Alone still lingers, once more to behold thee;
And on that hope I live. That I should now,
If thine I am not, drag on life, in vain
Wouldst thou desire. And that I should be thine
What expectation can I now retain? ...
But in returning here to me be not
Tardy, I do conjure of thee.

Il.
I tremble
When I behold how desolate thou art.
No not to live, I ask of thee alone
Delay, till death be indispensable:
This swear to me.

Rom.
I swear it.

Il.
I believe thee.
To give my last instructions I fly hence;
And here I speedily return to thee.