Jul. Alas, poor boy! he hath no other friend
Since thou, who should'st defend him-Father, Father,
Three months have scarcely passed since thy dear
brother,
(Oh surely thou lovedst him!) with the last words
He ever spake, besought thy guardian care
Of his fair child. Next upon me he turned
His dying eyes, quite speechless then, and thou—
I could not speak, for poor Alfonso threw
Himself upon my breast, with such a gush
Of natural grief, I had no utterance-
But thou didst vow for both protection, faith,
Allegiance; thou didst swear so fervently,
So deeply, that the spirit flew to Heaven
Smiling. I'll keep that oath.
Melfi.
Thy sword-
Urge not that on me. "Tis a fire
Here in my heart, my brain. Bethink thee, father, Soldier or statesman, thine is the first name
Of Sicily, the General, Regent, Prince,
The unmatch'd in power, the unapproach'd in fame ;
What could that little word, a King, do more
Jul. Send me just risen from a sick couch to Mad- For thee?
Melfi. That little word! Why that is fame,
Send me from home, from thee! Banish me! Father! And power, and glory! That shall fill the world, Canst thou not bear my sight?
Lend a whole age its name, and float along
The stream of time, with such a buoyancy,
As shall endure when palaces and tombs
Are swept away like dust. That little word!
Beshrew thy womanish heart that cannot feel
Its spell!
(Guns and shouts are heard without.
Hark! hark! the guns! I feel it now.
I am proclaimed. Before I entered here
'Twas known throughout the city that I lived,
And the boy-king was dead.
(Guns, bells, and shouts again.
Hark, King Rugiero!
Dost hear the bells and shouts? Oh 't is a proud
And glorious feeling thus at once to live
Within a thousand bounding hearts, to hear
The strong out-gushing of that present fame
For whose uncertain dim futurity
Men toil and slay and die! Without a crime—
I thank thee still for that-Without a crime-
For he'll be happier-I am a King. (Shouts again.
Dost thou not hear, Long live the King Rugiero?
Of all the earth can force upon my brow
That heritage of guilt. Cannot I die?
But that were happiness. I'd rather drag
A weary life beneath the silent rule
Of the stern Trappist, digging my own grave,
Myself a living corse, cut off from the sweet
And natural kindness that man shows to man;
I'd rather hang, a hermit, on the steep
Of horrid Etna, between snow and fire;
Rather than sit a crown'd and honour'd prince
Guarded by children, tributaries, friends,
On an usurper's throne.
Melfi. We'll talk of this anon. Where is the boy? Jul.
What a gloom reigns in the Cathedral! Where are the people, who should make and grace This pageant?
Here comes the Mighty One, and the great Prelates
That shall anoint his haughty brow; 'tis bent
With a stern joy.
Enter Melfi, in Royal Robes, preceded by Nobles,
Officers, &c. bearing the Crown, Archbishop,
Bishops, &c.
Melfi. No! To no tapered shrine. Here, reverend Fathers, here! This is my altar: The tomb of my great ancestor, who first Won from the Paynim this Sicilian crown, And wore it gloriously; whose name I bear, As I will bear his honour'd sceptre. Here, At this most kingly altar, will I plight My vow to Sicily, the nuptial vow That links my fate to her's. Here I'll receive Her Barons' answering faith. Hear me, thou shade Of great Rugiero, whilst I swear to guard With heart and hand the realm thy valour won,
The laws thy wisdom framed-brave legacy
To prince and people! To defend their rights,
To rule in truth and justice, peacefully,
If peace may be; and with the awful arm
Of lawful power to sweep the oppressor off
From thy blest Isle; to be the Peasants' King-
Nobles, hear that!-the Peasants' King and yours!
Look down, Ancestral Spirit, on my oath,
And sanctify and bless it! Now the crown.
D'Alba. What noise is at the gate?
Melfi.
Crown me, I say. Archb. "Tis fallen! Save us from the ill omen! Melfi.
From thy dull hands, old dotard! Thou a Priest, And tremble at the touch of power! Give me The crown.
And thou, young minion-
Jul. to Alf.
Look where thou art. This is no place, my lord,
To dally with thy duty: underneath
Thy fathers sleep; above their banners wave
Heavily. Death is round about us, Death
And Fame. Have they no voice for thee? Not one
Of our long storied line but lived and died
A pure and faithful Knight, and left his son
Honour-proud heritage! I am thine heir,
And I demand that bright inheritance
Unstained, undimmed. Kneel, I implore thee! I,
Thy son.
Melfi. Off, cursed viper!
Off, ere I hurl thee on the stones!
[Exeunt Alfonso, Valore, and other Nobles.
I do contemn myself
That I hold silence. Warriors, kinsmen, friends,
Barons of Sicily, the valiant princes
Of this most fertile and thrice famous Isle,
Hear me! What yonder crafty Count hath dared,
With subtle question and derisive smile,
To slide into a meaning, is as true
As he is false. I would be King; I'd reign
Over fair Sicily; I'd call myself
Your Sovereign, Princes; thine, Count D'Alba, thine,
Calvi, and old Leanti-we were comrades
Many a year in the rough path of war.
And now ye know me all. I'll be a King
Fit for this warlike nation, which brooks sway
Only of men. Yon slight fair boy is born
With a woman's heart. Let him go tell his beads.
For us and for our kingdom, I'll be King.
I'll lend unto that title such a name,
As shall enchase this bauble with one blaze
Of honour. I'll lead on to glory, lords,
And ye shall shine in the brightness of my fame
As planets round the sun. What say ye?
Never!
Calvi, &c. Never!
Melfi.
Say thou, Leanti, thou 'rt a soldier
Worthy of the name,-a brave one! What say'st thou ?
Leanti. If young Alfonso-
The States! Are ye the States that 'gainst all form
Of justice or of guardian law drive on
To bloody trial him your Greatest? Here too!
Here! Will ye build up scaffolds in your churches?
And turn grave priests to headsmen? I'll not answer.
Calvi. The rack may force thee.
D'Alba.
He but smiles. Convey
We shall follow.
The Duke to the Hall of Justice.
Peace. Why, this is well. Go summon Juan Castro thither. Hence!
This morning I received a tale-I'm not
An over-believer in man's excellence;
I know that in this slippery path of life
The firmest foot may fail; that there have been
Ere now ambitious generals, grasping heirs,
Unnatural kinsmen, foul usurpers, murderers!-
I know that man is frail, and might have fallen
Though Eve had never lived.-Albeit I own
The smiling mischief's potency. But this,
This tale was made up of such several sins,
All of them devilish; treason, treachery,
And pitiless cruelty made murder pale
I With their red shame,-I doubt not readily
When man and guilt are joined-but this the common
And general sympathy that links our kind
Forbade to believe. Yet now before you all,
His peers and mine, before the vacant throne
He sought to usurp, before the crown that fell
As conscious from his brow, I do arraign
Rugiero, Duke of Melfi, General, Peer,
Regent, and Prince, of Treason.
Melfi.
We quarrel not for words. Let these but follow
And bold emprise shall bear a happier name.
Sicilians, have ye lost your Island spirit?
Barons, is your ancient bravery tamed down
By this vain scoffer? I'll to the people. They
Love their old soldier.
D'Alba.
Stop. Duke, I arraign thee
Of murder; planned, designed, attempted murder,
Though incomplete, on the thrice sacred person
Of young Alfonso, kinsman, ward, and King.
Wilt thou defend this too? Was 't a brave deed
To draw the assassin's sword on that poor child?
Seize him!
No; in that simple word were more comprised
Melfi. Come near who dares! Where be thy proofs? Than in a world of fiery eloquence. Where be thy witnesses?
D'Alba.
There's one.
Rouse thee! He sits erect and motionless
As yon ancestral image. Doth he breathe?
Rouse thee, and answer, as before thy God,
As there is truth in Heaven. Did'st thou not see
Thy father's sword at young Alfonso's breast?
Lay not the boy, already dead with fear,
At his false guardian's feet? Answer!
Melfi.
Prince Julian! Dost thou falter now? On, on,
And drive the dagger home! On, on, I say.
Calvi. We wait your Highness' answer.
Jul.
Canst thou not utter No? 'Tis short and easy,
The first sound that a stuttering babe will lisp
To his fond nurse,-yet thy tongue stammers at it!
I ask him if his father be at once
Traitor and Murderer, and he cannot say,
No!
Jul. Subtle blood-thirsty fiend! I'll answer
To nought that thou canst ask. Murder! The king
Lives. Seek of him. One truth I'll tell thee, D'Alba,
And then the record of that night shall pass
Down to the grave in silence. But one sword
Was stained with blood in yonder glen-'twas mine!
I am the only guilty. This I swear
Which among ye Before the all-seeing God, whose quenchless gaze
Pierced through that twilight hour. Now condemn
The States The Duke of Melfi, an ye dare! I'll speak
No more on this foul question.
Dares question me? What are ye, Sirs?
D'Alba.
Of Sicily.
Jul. The States! Without a head!
Without a King! Without a Regent! States!
Ay, by a thousand fold!
I am an eaglet born, and can drink in
The sunlight, when the blinking owls go darkling,
Dazzled and blinded by the day. Ambitious!
I have had daydreams would have shamed the visions
Of that great master of the world, who wept
For other worlds to conquer. I'd have lived
An age of sinless glory, and gone down
Storied and epitaphed and chronicled,
To the very end of time. Now-But I still
May suffer bravely, may die as a Prince,
A man. Ye go to judgment. Lords, remember
I am the only guilty.
Say
The King! the rightful, the acknowledged King!
Annabel, this rude stone's the effigy
Of the founder of our line; the gallant chief
Who swept away the Saracen, and quelled
Fierce civil broils; and, when the people's choice
Crowned him, lived guardian of their rights, and died
Wept by them as a father. And methinks
To-day I do not shame my ancestor;
I dare to sit here at his feet, and feel
He would not spurn his son. Thou dost not grieve To lose a crown, my fairest?
[Exeunt Calvi and other Lords. Is mastered. Where? He is a prisoner
D'Alba. That white hand shall be mine. [Exeunt D'Alba and Leanti. My Annabel,
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