University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Almachilde, Romilda.
Al.
... Ah pardon me, if perhaps inopportunely
I dared to ask of thee in this thy threshold
A transient audience; but to prove to thee
How thoroughly my heart doth disavow
The cruelty of thy malignant step-mother,
Is of deep import to my bosom's peace.

Rom.
And shall I trust thee? Ah! if this were true! ...
But what, am I so wretched that I ought
To owe the smallest solace to thy bounty? ...
Oh my hard fate! I am, alas! too wretched!—
From these abominable marriage rites
Ah do thou respite me; and I perchance
To thee shall owe my peace.

Al.
Far more than this,
Far more, I'm ready to perform for thee ...
The prey of Alaric thou, by whom we've seen
Two wives already slain; one by the sword,
The next by poison? Thou, oh Heaven, design'd
Of every virtue, each accomplishment
To be the recompense; and who couldst make
Every man happy only by thy presence!—
—Ah, no; this, while I breathe, shall never be!
E'en if thou wished'st it, I would prevent it:
Infer from thence, if I will suffer it,
When unexampled violence is doom'd
To drag thee there. First arguments and prayers,
Then shall Rosmunda witness menaces,
And lastly deeds. And if I cannot win her,
She shall be wrested from the monstrous project.
There lives not one more ardent in the cause
Of thy defence than I: or thou shalt spend
Thy days within these walls, or I will lose
My kingdom with my life.

Rom.
And wherefore thus
Generous art thou towards me?

Al.
I never felt
Torment more exquisite from any cause
Than from thy hate.

Rom.
But can I ever cease
To hate thee? In indignant menaces
My unavenged father ...

Al.
What sayst thou?
I kill'd him not: Rosmunda murder'd him ...

Rom.
All are convinced that, by her menaces,
Thou to the horrid treachery wert compell'd:
But yet the alternative 'twixt thy own death,
Or of inflicting death upon thy king,
She gave to thee. 'Tis true, that thou already,
Ignorant thyself of the dire stratagem,
Hadst stain'd thy monarch's bed; but with thy blood,
And with the blood of thy immodest mistress,
Thou wert required to wash out such a stain;
That was the sole atonement for thy crime:
But thou dar'dst make atonement with a crime
Of a far deeper dye. That death which thou
Gavest another, to thyself was due:
Yet thou still sleepest in the injured bed;
A subject thou, the consort of thy king,
And the usurp'd and blood-besprinkled throne
Thou keepest still; and, doing this, dar'st thou
Boast of thy noble heart? speak of kind deeds?
And dost thou hope that I should trust to thee?
And dar'st thou hope that I should hate thee less?—
Portentous, melancholy as they are,
Let me no more from the everlasting night
Of silence such remembrances recall:
I may suppress them when I hear thee not.—
Rescue me now from this extreme distress,
And perhaps thou mayst appear to me my saviour.
But, if I think of thee, what art thou else
To me except the murderer of my father?

Al.
Must then my tears, my penitence, remorse,
Avail me nothing?

Rom.
To this subject now
Wherefore direct thy thoughts? Can I hurt thee?
What signifies to thee my enmity?
The powerless daughter of a murder'd king,
What profits it to flatter her?

Al.
To fail
Is human; but contrition for a fault
Distinguishes the virtuous from the wicked.
Thou canst not know the anguish of my heart;
Ah, if thou knew'st it!—From the day I weep,
That I became the inhabitant of these
Lugubrious walls, where always I behold thee
Immersed in tears; yet thou at once art seen
Mild in thy anger, modest in thy grief,
In suffering magnanimous ... What heart
Is there so hard that doth not feel for thee
Emotions of compassion?

Rom.
Thy compassion!
'Tis too humiliating for me to bear it ...
Yet ah, my destiny ... I am not able
Entirely to despise it.

Al.
Ere that aught
Which I can do challenge thy gratitude,
Say, is it that he is accounted cruel,
The only cause of thy antipathy
To Alaric?

Rom.
And Alboino's daughter,
Doth she not, in accepting thy assistance,
Betray herself sufficiently? Wilt thou
Also that she participate with thee
The secrets of her heart?

Al.
There then exists
With thee a motive for reserve towards me?
Perhaps thus the means of an effectual aid ...

Rom.
And if there were another? ... But thou art ...
What saidst thou?—Hitherto I here have lived,
And here 'twould sooth me by my father's side
To share his tomb: art thou not satisfied?
All my thoughts now are centred in the grave;
But death to me would be more welcome here:
Hence this I ask from you, to you a light,
But to myself a most important gift.

Al.
Death! Ah, Romilda! I to thee repeat it,
Here shalt thou have a cheerful dwelling place;
And more I say to thee, I hope to see thee
Here reinstated in thy usurped rights.
I can, if not thy sire, thy throne restore;
I ought to do it, and I will; and I
Will make thee, by no doubtful proofs, behold
The bias of my heart ... how deeply there ...
Nay how indelibly ... I bear impress'd ...
Thy image ...

Rom.
What is this I hear? Alas!
What looks! ... What meanest thou to say to me?

Al.
... That which I cannot how conceal from thee ...
That which thou mayest on my trembling face
Now read engraved ... I burn, and long I've burned
With love ... for thee.

Rom.
What dar'st thou to confess?
Oh cruel destiny! hast thou reserved me
For such an outrage?

Al.
If thou dost esteem
My love an outrage, I have ample means
Myself to punish ...

Rom.
Ah, thou wretch! dared'st thou
Colour with virtue thy atrocious passion?

Al.
Alas! ... Oh hear me ... criminal desires ...
But criminal effects thou ne'er shalt see ...
For thee I will do all; but from thyself
I demand nothing.

Rom.
Peace. Shall thou, defiled
Still with my father's blood, name love to me?
Thou love to me!—thou art Rosmunda's spouse,
And of no other worthy.

Al.
Ah! what name
Of execration do I not deserve! ...
Yet that I love thee is my destiny,
Inevitable destiny; and never,
Never will I this prostrate posture quit,
If first ...

Rom.
Arise, be silent, and depart ...
But here comes one who quickly will extinguish
A flame like this ...

Al.
Who is it I behold?

SCENE THE SECOND.

Rosmunda, Almachilde, Romilda.
Rosmunda.
Me thou dost see, perfidious traitor! me.—
Ye are well match'd in turpitude: to learn
The certainty of your disloyalty
Stabs me the deepest: but I will not bear
Its penalty alone. Your guilty plots
I come to disappoint.—Miscreant, dost thou
Render me such a recompense?—And thou,
With thy feign'd virtue ...

Rom.
Keep them all for him,
Those names appropriate to himself alone:
He is the sole delinquent; he the traitor,
He the dissembling liar; he maintains
With thee such faith as thou deservest; such
As should the guilty with the guilty keep.
I the delinquent am not; he suborned me,
With base contrivances, to hear his words ...

Al.
I will myself, since thou hast learn'd a part,
Divulge the whole to thee. I love, adore
Romilda; nor is this a flame at which
I need to blush. Seek in thyself, and thou
The conscious reason speedily wilt find,
Whence thou hast not my love, as thou pretendest.
I, not for crimes design'd, could I e'er love
Her who seduced me to them? Space immense
Betwixt Rosmunda and Romilda lies;
Thou feel'st that it is so. I love Romilda,
And traitresses abhor. In what perdition
Thy fierce and haughty vengeance can o'erwhelm me,
I know already; yes, thou art to me
But too completely known! Ah, could I thus,
As I have slain her father, could I die!
Could I appease Romilda's just disdain
Expiring! Ah, that I had never been
To thee a husband! That I were not now
A traitor and a regicide! and then
Romilda had not had her heart so closed
Against my love.

Rom.
I! I should hate thee still,
Not the assassin of my sire, not girt
With his ill-gotten crown, and not espoused
To a fierce step-mother. Far greater merit,
Far greater than thy own, far nobler heart,
Do I require to make me hear of love.
E'en as my murder'd father renders thee
To me abominate, so much and more,
Thy wife betray'd, though such a wife she be,
Makes thee in my esteem contemptible.
Renown'd by her means, your united guilt,
That blood which thou hast spill'd, should have joined thee
To her in everlasting fellowship.
I cannot, even in my own behalf,
Treason endure; how much less then can I
Endure a traitor! In my breast I bear
Another flame more noble, whence my face
Is not discolour'd with the blush of shame.
I am prepared to die, but not prepared,
No, never, never to resign my love.

Al.
Thou lovest?

Rom.
Ildovaldo.

Al.
This indeed,
This is indeed the blow that quite unmans me.

Ros.
Speakst thou the truth, or dost thou still deceive me?
Dost thou love Ildovaldo?

Rom.
I adore him
With such affection as not e'en in thought
Ye can conceive, much less then feel in heart:
We are not for participated crimes
Scourged with remorseful visitings; our souls
Unspotted, 'twixt each other have no strife
Save that of which shall love the other best.
To him those mournful days, those days in which
I have perchance unluckily survived
My murder'd sire, to him I consecrate:
To me his life, his lofty fame, his sword,
His sword invincible, he consecrates.
But should our life be cheated of its objects;
Should we of all deliverance, all revenge
Be disappointed, yet e'en then were we
Eternally less desolate than you.
Death were our refuge then, and unsubdued
Shall we obtain it; for to abject minds
The noble never yield: exultingly
Shall we embrace him since betwixt us shared,
From penitence and from reproaches free,
From terror and remorse; and finally
We shall obtain a death a thousand times
More sweet than your appalled, degraded lives.

Ros.
Enough; depart. Thou soon shalt know thy fate.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Rosmunda, Almachilde.
Ros.
Perfidious, infamous, disloyal, perjured!—
At last without constraint, I may pour out
On thee my curses. Dost thou love another? ...
But heaven hath well ordain'd; and such return
Awaits thy passion as that passion merits.
Oh joy ineffable! For who could bear,
Who, save myself, the love of such a miscreant?
Almost Romilda hath my fondness won
Since I have heard her speak to thee. Oh why,
As much as she does, cannot I detest thee?
To me dost thou return such recompense,
To whom thou ow'st so much?—To me, oh vile!
Who even from the throne to thee have stoop'd?
Now answer me ... but what canst thou adduce
That may extenuate thy turpitude?

Al.
Extenuate! Delinquents always seek,
And seldom find, a plausible excuse.
But to love virtue such as never heaven
Lodged in a lady's bosom, I account
A glory, and no crime.

Ros.
Dost thou then add
Insult to perfidy?

Al.
Thou dost esteem
All homage that to virtue is awarded
An insult to thyself; I know it well;
But what of that? Where I discover worth,
Should I, on this account, admire it less?
Romilda hates me; this I've heard too clearly;
And with a fresh wound hath she pierced my heart.
Hence in myself a sorrow do I feel
Surpassing every sorrow. To the winds
I know my sighs are scatter'd; all my hopes
Are baffled and betray'd: yet not for this
Can I e'er cease to love her!—Thou canst not
Reproach my want of faith, who knowest well
Where, how, and wherefore I on thee bestow'd it.
Thou, who know'st well that thou didst there constrain me
Death to receive or give; that thou didst arm
My wavering right-hand with the murderous sword:
Dost recollect? and there, 'mid tears and treason,
Darkness and blood, didst thou, exacting love,
Swear love to me; but say, does love permit
Her oaths to be exchanged where foul revenge
Her altars has erected? That I there
Was criminal I cannot contradict.
But couldst thou, lady, e'er esteem the faith
Required, and given, at such a horrible time,
The genuine offspring of a lasting love?

Ros.
Yes; I deceived myself: I should have known
That never is the bosom of a traitor
With one perfidious action satisfied.
'Twould have been wiser to have avail'd myself
For my revenge, of thy imperfect courage,
And afterwards, by immolating him
That slew his circumvented king, have sought
To appease that murdered king's vindictive shade.
This was the recompense befitting thee;
Not my right-hand; not my imperial bed;
Not a participation of my throne;
Not of my heart.

Al.
Illustrious penitence!
Thou art indeed Rosmunda.—Why not now
That which thou didst not perfectly perform,
Accomplish utterly? Send forth thy spies;
Another Almachilde fix upon
(There will not such be wanting;) let him quickly
Make me the counterpart of thy first lord:
And in the blood of me, thy second spouse,
Tell him to cleanse thy matrimonial sword,
Still reeking with my predecessor's gore.
Not for betraying thee, that were no crime,
For having served thee, a far greater fault,
I merit, and expect such recompense.
But while the heavens still keep it dubious
Which of us two shall first the other punish,
I, by the shade of murdered Alboino,
Swear, that Romilda of thy violence
Shall not be victim. Meanwhile let us try,
Myself, and Ildovaldo, which of her
Can prove ourselves most worthy; which most burns
With ardent fondness; which in enterprise
Is most intrepid; to obtain her, which,
To danger and to death, most dauntlessly
Will bid defiance.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Rosmunda.
Ros.
What canst thou accomplish?—
Who ever saw such mad temerity?—
But yet what can he not effect, since I
Have dared myself all military power
In him to lodge? ... To thee am I then known,
E'en as I am? No, no, thou know'st me not,
Not half my power thou know'st.—And I have loved thee? ...
That love is at an end, and thou shall see it.—
Rage, hatred, jealousy, and frantic passion,
And haughty contumely, my bosom quit;
Ye mixed and contradictory desires
Evacuate my heart: and thou, revenge,
Return, return, and make me wholly thine;
Fill me with all thy influence; if I
Have evermore accounted thee my first
And only deity!—But do I spend
My time and rage in inefficient words?
Rather should I anticipate his schemes,
And frustrate all his impious machinations ...
Whom do I see?

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Rosmunda, Ildovaldo.
Ros.
Here have the heavens themselves
Sent thee to me; come, Ildovaldo, come,
The avenger of my wrongs; the minister
Of thy eternal joy, and my revenge,
I hope, at once, to make thee. By Romilda,
Loving, thou'rt loved; I know the whole, nor blame it;
But transport inexpressible from thence
Rather derive. But thou dost not yet know
That the perfidious Almachilde, he
For whom thou hast such difficulties braved,
For whom, to-day, confronted death and dangers,
That very Almachilde, to thyself
Ungrateful, and to me perfidious,
Himself Romilda loves.

Il.
Ah, miscreant!
He by my hand shall die.

Ros.
Nor doth he love her
With lukewarm passion; no; for he betrays
For her each sacred duty; stands prepared
For violence the most extravagant:
He boasts of this excess, and I believe him.
'Tis true Romilda hates him fervently;
'Tis true that she, this instant, swore to him
Eternal hate; and, in my presence, swore,
At the same time, to thee eternal love;
For thy sake, she profess'd that death seemed easy ...
But Almachilde, though he heard her words,
Was not discouraged. Rather he derives
From every obstacle a fresh incentive.—
Who will restrain him if thou dost not do it?
I hope to find in thy persisting ardour
A prevalent hindrance to his base desires:
This to thyself thou owest; and to this
Do my commands excite thee.—I desist
From every other project for Romilda;
She is no longer Alaric's, but thine;
I will that she be thine. My ancient hate
Yields to this more engrossing enmity;
May she with thee be happy; take her thou;
And from my eyes eternally remove her.

Il.
Is then Romilda mine? Exquisite joy!
Whence could I not with this arm rescue her? ...
Is she then mine?—But who meanwhile fulfils
My unaccomplished vengeance?

Ros.
Go, collect
Thy faithful partizans; arm them forthwith;
Menace, deceive, use force: at all events
Rescue thy lady from the miscreant's hands;
But leave to my discretion final vengeance.
First let the guilty traitor see his prey
Snatched from his grasp; first in his rival's arms
Let him behold her placed; and at the sight
Let him despair, and impotently chafe ...

Il.
What? Is Romilda in his arms already?

Ros.
He is forestall'd; yet is he not less bold,
Nor less a lover than thyself ...

Il.
He is
In all things my inferior.

Ros.
Thou shouldst then
Prevent him, and delude him. To thy choice
I leave all projects; I would not expose
Thy passion to a dubious issue.

Il.
Fraud
Is irksome to me; for in fraud alone
Could Almachilde conquer me. Meanwhile
Watch thou o'er him; I to the camp repair,
There arm my forces, and, ere it be long,
Return here to Romilda.

Ros.
Quick; dispatch;
Reflect on all things, and for all provide;
And be alike in mind and body arm'd:
Thou'rt a true lover. Go, fly hence, return.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

Rosmunda.
Ros.
Meanwhile my measures I will here adopt.—
But shall I make her happy in her love
Whom I abhor? Happy?—Thou art not yet so:
And I yet live.