The Works of Mary Russell Mitford

Once more I ask

Jul.
His doom, for that is mine. If ye have dared,
In mockery of justice, to arraign

And sentence your great ruler, with less pause
Than a petty thief taken in the manner, what's
Our doom?

D'Alba. Sir, our great ruler (we that love not
Law's tedious circumstance may thank him) spared
All trial by confession. He avowed
Treason and regicide; and all that thou
Had'st said or might say, he avouched unheard
For truth; then cried, as thou hast done, for judgment,
For death.

Jul. Leanti.

I can die too.

A milder doom Unites ye. We have spared the royal blood.

D'Alba. Only the blood. Estates and honours all
Are forfeit to the King; the assembled States
Banish ye; the most holy Church declares ye
Beneath her ban. This is your sentence, Sir.
A Herald waits to read it in the streets
Before ye, and from out the city gate
To thrust ye, outlawed, excommunicate,
Infamous amongst men. Ere noon to-morrow
Ye must depart from Sicily; on pain

Of death to ye the outlaws, death to all
That harbour ye, death to whoe'er shall give

Food, shelter, comfort, speech. So pass ye forth
In infamy!

Ann. Eternal infamy

Bert. Towards the gate: be sure to meet Prince Julian. D'Alba. For that I care not, so that I secure The vision which once flitted from my grasp And vanished like a rainbow. Bert. Still dangerous. D'Alba.

Yet is Julian

Why, after noon to-dayAnd see the sun's already high!--he dies If he be found in Sicily. Take thou Two resolute comrades to pursue his steps, Soon as the time be past. Did'st thou not hear The proclamation? Know'st thou where he bides? And Melfi?

Certain 't is that yesternight
He walked from out the Judgment Hall like one
Dreaming, with eyes that saw not, ears that heard
No sound, staggering and tottering like old age

Or infancy. And when the kingly robe
Was plucked from him, and he forced from the gate,
A deep wound in his side burst forth; the blood

Rest on your heads, false judges! Outlawed! Ban- Welled like a fountain.

ished!

D'Alba.

And he died?

Fainting; and Julian, who had tended him
Silently, with a spirit so absorbed

His own shame seemed unfelt, fell on his neck
Shrieking like maddening woman. There we left him,
And there 't is said he hath outwatched the night.
D'Alba. There on the ground?

My tongue cleaves to my mouth. Water! Will none
Go fetch me water? Am I here alone?
Here on the bloody ground, as on that night→→
Am I there still? No! I remember now.
Yesterday I was a King; today I'm nothing;
Cast down by my own son; stabbed in my fame;
Branded and done to death; an outlaw where
I ruled! He, whom I loved with such a pride,
With such a fondness, hath done this; and I,
I have not strength to drag me to his presence
That I might rain down curses on his head,
Might blast him with a look.

Is the litter

My lord, he waits

An please you, Sir, I was.

Dost know the Princess?

Doth she know thee?
Renzi.
Full well, my Lord. I tended
Prince Julian's favourite greyhound. It was strange
How Lelia loved my lady,-the poor fool

Hath pined for her this week past, and my lady
Loved Lelia. She would stroke her glossy head,
And note her sparkling eyes, and watch her gambols,
And talk of Lelia's beauty, Lelia's speed,

Till I was weary.

D'Alba.

And the angel deemed

This slave as faithful as her dog! The better.
Dost thou love ducats, Renzi?

(Tossing him a purse. Canst thou grace

Ay.

A lie with tongue and look and action?

Renzi.

Enter Julian.

Here's water. Drink!

Melf. What voice is that? Why dost thou shroud thy face?

Dost shame to show thyself? Who art thou?

Jul..

I pray thee, drink!

Melfi
Jul.

Is't poison?

"T is the pure

Drink!

And limpid gushing of a natural spring
Close by yon olive-ground. A little child,
Who stood beside the fount, watching the bright
And many-coloured pebbles, as they seemed
To dance in the bubbling water, filled for me
Her beechen cup, with her small innocent hand,
And bade Our Lady bless the draught! Oh drink!
Have faith in such a blessing!
Melfi.
Thou should'st bring
Nothing but poison. Hence, accursed cup!
I'll perish in my thirst. I know thee, Sir.
Jul.
Melfi. I have no son.
I had one once,
A gallant gentleman; but he-What, Sir,
Didst thou never hear of that Sicilian Prince,
Who made the fabulous tale of Greece a truth,

D'Alba. Go to the Princess; say thy master sent And slew his father? The old Laius fell

thee

To guide her to him, or the young Alfonso,--`
Use either name, or both. Spare not for tears,
Or curses. Lead her to the litter; see
That Constance follows not. Bertone 'll gain
Admittance for thee. Go.

Melfi. What! have they banished thee?
Jul.

In very truth, I should have gone with thee,
Ay, to the end of the world.

Melfi.
What, banish thee!
Oh, foul ingratitude! Weak changeling boy!
Jul. He knows it not. Father, this banishment
Came as a comfort to me, set me free
From warring duties and fatiguing cares,
And left me wholly thine. We shall be happy;
For she goes with us, who will prop thy steps,
As once the maid of Thebes, Antigone,
In that old tale. Choose thou whatever land,-

But they were just men, Julian! They were holy. They were not traitors.

Jul. Strive against these thoughtsThou wast a brave man, father!—fight against them, As 'gainst the Paynims thy old foes. He grows Paler and paler. Water from the spring; Or generous wine;-I saw a cottage near. Rest thee, dear father, till I come. [Exit Julian. Melfi.

Again

That music! It is mortal; it draws nearer.
No. But if men should pass, must I lie here
Like a crushed adder? Here in the highway
Trampled beneath their feet?-So! So! I'll crawl
To yonder bank. Oh that it were the deck
Of some great Admiral, and I alone
Boarding amidst a hundred swords! the breach
Of some strong citadel, and I the first

To mount in the cannon's mouth! I was brave once.
Oh for the common undistinguished death

Of battle, pressed by horses' heels, or crushed
By falling towers! Any thing but to lie
Here like a leper!

Enter Alfonso, Valore, and Calvi.
Alf.
'Tis the spot where Julian-
And yet I see him not. I'll pause awhile;
"Tis likely he 'll return. I'll wait.

Melfi. For pardon. Calvi.

I fain would kneel to thee

Listen not, my liege. The States
Sentenced the Duke of Melfi; thou hast not
The power to pardon. Leave him to his fate.
Val. "Twere best your Highness came with us.
Alf.
A void

The place! Leave us, cold, courtly lords! Avoid
My sight! Leave us, I say. Send instant succour,
Food, water, wine, and men with hearts, if courts
May breed such. Leave us. [Exit Calvi and Valore.
Melfi.
Gallant boy!
Alf.

Alas'

Talk not thus. I'll grow

The time is past.

Alf.

I have good cause to be so. Valore. Nay, nay, cheer up. Alf.

From yonder craggy mountain. How it swings

Didst thou not tell me, Sir, Upon the wind, now pausing, now renewed,

That my poor Uncle's banished, outlawed, laid Under the church's ban?

Regular as a bell.

Melfi.

A passing bell.

Oh, no! no! no! I cannot bear Thy blessing. Twice to stab, and twice forgivenOh curse me rather!

D'Alba.

Not all.

Under the Church's ban.

I tell thee, Annabel, that learned Priest,
The sage Anselmo, deems thou art released
From thy unhappy vows; and will to-night-

Ann. Stop. I was wedded in the light of day
In the great church at Naples. Blessed day!
I am his wife; bound to him evermore

In sickness, penury, disgrace. Count D'Alba,
Thou dost misprize the world, but thou must know
That woman's heart is faithful, and clings closest
In misery.

D'Alba. If the Church proclaim thee free-
Ann. Sir, I will not be free; and if I were.
I'd give myself to Julian o'er again-
Only to Julian! Trifle thus no longer.
Lead me to him. Release me.

Now heaven

Ann. Have mercy on us! D'Alba, at thy feet, Upon my bended knees-Oh pity! pity! Pity and pardon! I'll not rise. I cannot. I cannot stand more than a creeping worm Whilst Julian's in thy danger. Pardon him! Thou wast not cruel once. I've seen thee turn Thy step from off the path to spare an insect; I've marked thee shudder, when my falcon struck A panting bird;--though thou hast tried to sneer At thy own sympathy. D'Alba, thy heart Is kinder than thou knowest. Save him!

D'Alba. Be mine.

Ann.

D'Alba.

Save him, D'Alba!

Am I not his?

Be mine; And he shall live to the whole age of man Unharmed.

Ann. I'm his-Oh spare him!—Only his. D'Alba. Then it is thou that dost enforce the law On Julian; thou, his loving wife, that guid'st The officer to seize him where he lies Upon his father's corse; thou that dost lead Thy husband to the scaffold;-thou his wife, His loving wife! Thou yet may'st rescue him. Ann. Now, God forgive thee, man! Thou torturest

Worse than a thousand racks. But thou art not

So devilish, D'Alba. Thou hast talked of love;

D'Alba. Mercy! Ay, such as thou hast shown to me Through weeks and months and years. I was born

One whom thou lov'st, stands in my danger. Wed me Would'st see me die here at thy feet? Have mercy!
This very night-I will procure a priest
And dispensations, there shall nothing lack
Of nuptial form-Wed me, or look to hear
Of bloody justice.

Ann.

My poor father, Melfi! D'Alba. The Regent? He is dead. Ann. God hath been merciful. D'Alba. Is there no other name? no dearer ? Ann.

Ha! D'Alba. Hadst thou such tender love for this proud father,

Who little recked of thee, or thy fair looks;

Is all beside forgotten?

strong

In scorn, the wise man's passion. I had lived
Aloof from the juggling world, and with a string
Watched the poor puppets ape their several parts:
Fool, knave, or madman; till thy fatal charms,
Beautiful mischief, made me knave and fool
And madman; brought revenge and love and hate
Into my soul. I love and hate thee, lady,
And doubly hate myself for loving thee.
But, by this teeming earth, this starry Heaven,
And by thyself the fairest stubbornest thing
The fair stars shine upon, I swear to-night
Thou shalt be mine. If willingly, I'll save
Prince Julian;-but still mine. Speak. Shall he live?
Canst thou not speak? 'Wilt thou not save him?

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