Book 2 / Act 5 — SCENE I. (continued 2)

[He throws his arms around her with passionate tenderness.

I loved thee, as I ne'er had loved before, When thou wert strange; and that I bear the curse Of brother's blood, 'tis but because I loved thee With measureless transport: love was all my guilt, But now thou art my sister, and I claim Soft pity's tribute.

[He regards her with inquiring glances, and an air of painful suspense—then turns away with vehemence.

No! in this dread presence I cannot bear these tears—my courage flies And doubt distracts my soul. Go, weep in secret— Leave me in error's maze—but never, never, Behold me more: I will not look again On thee, nor on thy mother. Oh! how passion Laid bare her secret heart! She never loved me! She mourned her best-loved son—that was her cry Of grief—and naught was mine but show of fondness! And thou art false as she! make no disguise— Recoil with horror from my sight—this form Shall never shock thee more—begone forever!

[Exit.

[She stands irresolute in a tumult of conflicting passions—then tears herself from the spot.

Chorus (CAJETAN).

Happy the man—his lot I prize That far from pomps and turmoil vain, Childlike on nature's bosom lies Amid the stillness of the plain. My heart is sad in the princely hall, When from the towering pride of state, I see with headlong ruin fall, How swift! the good and great! And he—from fortune's storm at rest Smiles, in the quiet haven laid Who, timely warned, has owned how blest The refuge of the cloistered shade; To honor's race has bade farewell, Its idle joys and empty shows; Insatiate wishes learned to quell, And lulled in wisdom's calm repose:— No more shall passion's maddening brood Impel the busy scenes to try, Nor on his peaceful cell intrude The form of sad humanity! 'Mid crowds and strife each mortal ill Abides'—the grisly train of woe Shuns like the pest the breezy hill, To haunt the smoky marts below.

BERENGAR, BOHEMUND, and MANFRED.

On the mountains is freedom! the breath of decay Never sullies the fresh flowing air; Oh, Nature is perfect wherever we stray; 'Tis man that deforms it with care.

The whole Chorus repeats.

On the mountains is freedom, etc., etc.

DON CAESAR, the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (more collected). I use the princely rights—'tis the last time— To give this body to the ground, and pay Fit honors to the dead. So mark, my friends, My bosom's firm resolve, and quick fulfil Your lord's behest. Fresh in your memory lives The mournful pomp, when to the tomb ye bore So late my royal sire; scarce in these halls Are stilled the echoes of the funeral wail; Another corpse succeeds, and in the grave Weighs down its fellow-dust—almost our torch With borrowed lustre from the last, may pierce The monumental gloom; and on the stair, Blends in one throng confused two mourning trains. Then in the sacred royal dome that guards The ashes of my sire, prepare with speed The funeral rites; unseen of mortal eye, And noiseless be your task—let all be graced, As then, with circumstances of kingly state.

BOHEMUND. My prince, it shall be quickly done; for still Upreared, the gorgeous catafalque recalls The dread solemnity; no hand disturbed The edifice of death.

DON CAESAR. The yawning grave Amid the haunts of life? No goodly sign Was this: the rites fulfilled, why lingered yet The trappings of the funeral show?

BOHEMUND. Your strife With fresh embittered hate o'er all Messina Woke discord's maddening flames, and from the deed Our cares withdrew—so resolute remained, And closed the sanctuary.

DON CAESAR. Make no delay; This very night fulfil your task, for well Beseems the midnight gloom! To-morrow's sun Shall find this palace cleansed of every stain, And light a happier race.

[Exit the Second Chorus, with the body of DON MANUEL.

CAJETAN. Shall I invite The brotherhood of monks, with rights ordained By holy church of old, to celebrate The office of departed souls, and hymn The buried one to everlasting rest?

DON CAESAR. Their strains above my tomb shall sound for ever Amid the torches' blaze—no solemn rites Beseem the day when gory murder scares Heaven's pardoning grace.

CAJETAN. Oh, let not wild despair Tempt thee to impious, rash resolve. My prince No mortal arm shall e'er avenge this deed; And penance calms, with soft, atoning power, The wrath on high.

DON CAESAR. If for eternal justice Earth has no minister, myself shall wield The avenging sword; though heaven, with gracious ear, Inclines to sinners' prayers, with blood alone Atoned is murder's guilt.

CAJETAN. To stem the tide Of dire misfortune, that with maddening rage Bursts o'er your house, were nobler than to pile Accumulated woe.

DON CAESAR. The curse of old Shall die with me! Death self-imposed alone Can break the chain of fate.

CAJETAN. Thou owest thyself A sovereign to this orphaned land, by thee Robbed of its other lord!

DON CAESAR. The avenging gods Demand their prey—some other deity May guard the living!

CAJETAN. Wide as e'er the sun In glory beams, the realm of hope extends; But—oh remember! nothing may we gain From Death!

DON CAESAR. Remember thou thy vassal's duty; Remember and be silent! Leave to me To follow, as I list, the spirit of power That leads me to the goal. No happy one May look into my breast: but if thy prince Owns not a subject's homage, dread at least The murderer!—the accursed!—and to the head Of the unhappy—sacred to the gods— Give honors due. The pangs that rend my soul— What I have suffered—what I feel—have left No place for earthly thoughts!

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, The Chorus.

ISABELLA (enters with hesitating steps, and looks irresolutely towards DON CAESAR; at last she approaches, and addresses him with collected tones). I thought mine eyes should ne'er behold thee more; Thus I had vowed despairing! Oh, my son! How quickly all a mother's strong resolves Melt into air! 'Twas but the cry of rage That stifled nature's pleading voice; but now What tidings of mysterious import call me From the desolate chambers of my sorrow? Shall I believe it? Is it true? one day Robs me of both my sons?

Chorus.

Behold! with willing steps and free, Thy son prepares to tread The paths of dark eternity The silent mansions of the dead. My prayers are vain; but thou, with power confessed, Of nature's holiest passion, storm his breast!

ISABELLA. I call the curses back—that in the frenzy Of blind despair on thy beloved head I poured. A mother may not curse the child That from her nourishing breast drew life, and gave Sweet recompense for all her travail past; Heaven would not hear the impious vows; they fell With quick rebound, and heavy with my tears Down from the flaming vault! Live! live! my son! For I may rather bear to look on thee— The murderer of one child—than weep for both!

DON CAESAR. Heedless and vain, my mother, are thy prayers For me and for thyself; I have no place Among the living: if thine eyes may brook The murderer's sight abhorred—I could not bear The mute reproach of thy eternal sorrow.

ISABELLA. Silent or loud, my son, reproach shall never Disturb thy breast—ne'er in these halls shall sound The voice of wailing, gently on my tears My griefs shall flow away: the sport alike Of pitiless fate together we will mourn, And veil the deed of blood.

DON CAESAR (with a faltering voice, and taking her hand). Thus it shall be, My mother—thus with silent, gentle woe Thy grief shall fade: but when one common tomb The murderer and his victim closes round— When o'er our dust one monumental stone Is rolled—the curse shall cease—thy love no more Unequal bless thy sons: the precious tears Thine eyes of beauty weep shall sanctify Alike our memories. Yes! In death are quenched The fires of rage; and hatred owns subdued, The mighty reconciler. Pity bends An angel form above the funeral urn, With weeping, dear embrace. Then to the tomb Stay not my passage:—Oh, forbid me not, Thus with atoning sacrifice to quell The curse of heaven.

ISABELLA. All Christendom is rich In shrines of mercy, where the troubled heart May find repose. Oh! many a heavy burden Have sinners in Loretto's mansion laid; And Heaven's peculiar blessing breathes around The grave that has redeemed the world! The prayers Of the devout are precious—fraught with store Of grace, they win forgiveness from the skies;— And on the soil by gory murder stained Shall rise the purifying fane.

DON CAESAR. We pluck The arrow from the wound—but the torn heart Shall ne'er be healed. Let him who can, drag on A weary life of penance and of pain, To cleanse the spot of everlasting guilt;— I would not live the victim of despair; No! I must meet with beaming eye the smile Of happy ones, and breathe erect the air Of liberty and joy. While yet alike We shared thy love, then o'er my days of youth Pale envy cast his withering shade; and now, Think'st thou my heart could brook the dearer ties That bind thee in thy sorrow to the dead? Death, in his undecaying palace throned, To the pure diamond of perfect virtue Sublimes the mortal, and with chastening fire Each gathered stain of frail humanity Purges and burns away: high as the stars Tower o'er this earthly sphere, he soars above me; And as by ancient hate dissevered long, Brethren and equal denizens we lived, So now my restless soul with envy pines, That he has won from me the glorious prize Of immortality, and like a god In memory marches on to times unborn!

ISABELLA. My Sons! Why have I called you to Messina To find for each a grave? I brought ye hither To calm your strife to peace. Lo! Fate has turned My hopes to blank despair.

DON CAESAR. Whate'er was spoke, My mother, is fulfilled! Blame not the end By Heaven ordained. We trode our father's halls With hopes of peace; and reconciled forever, Together we shall sleep in death.

ISABELLA. My son, Live for thy mother! In the stranger's land, Say, wouldst thou leave me friendless and alone, To cruel scorn a prey—no filial arm To shield my helpless age?

DON CAESAR. When all the world With heartless taunts pursues thee, to our grave For refuge fly, my mother, and invoke Thy sons' divinity—we shall be gods! And we will hear thy prayers:—and as the twins Of heaven, a beaming star of comfort shine To the tossed shipman—we will hover near thee With present help, and soothe thy troubled soul!

ISABELLA. Live—for thy mother, live, my son— Must I lose all?

[She throws her arms about him with passionate emotion. He gently disengages himself, and turning his face away extends to her his hand.

DON CAESAR. Farewell!

ISABELLA. I can no more; Too well my tortured bosom owns how weak A mother's prayers: a mightier voice shall sound Resistless on thy heart.

[She goes towards the entrance of the scene.

My daughter, come. A brother calls him to the realms of night; Perchance with golden hues of earthly joy The sister, the beloved, may gently lure The wanderer to life again.

[BEATRICE appears at the entrance of the scene.

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CAESAR, and the Chorus.

DON CAESAR (on seeing her, covers his face with his hands). My mother! What hast thou done?

ISABELLA (leading BEATRICE forwards). A mother's prayers are vain! Kneel at his feet—conjure him—melt his heart! Oh, bid him live!

DON CAESAR. Deceitful mother, thus Thou triest thy son! And wouldst thou stir my soul Again to passion's strife, and make the sun Beloved once more, now when I tread the paths Of everlasting night? See where he stands— Angel of life!—and wondrous beautiful, Shakes from his plenteous horn the fragrant store Of golden fruits and flowers, that breathe around Divinest airs of joy;—my heart awakes In the warm sunbeam—hope returns, and life Thrills in my breast anew.

ISABELLA (to BEATRICE). Thou wilt prevail! Or none! Implore him that he live, nor rob The staff and comfort of our days.

BEATRICE. The loved one A sacrifice demands. Oh, let me die To soothe a brother's shade! Yes, I will be The victim! Ere I saw the light forewarned To death, I live a wrong to heaven! The curse Pursues me still: 'twas I that slew thy son— I waked the slumbering furies of their strife— Be mine the atoning blood!

CAJETAN. Ill-fated mother! Impatient all thy children haste to doom, And leave thee on the desolate waste alone Of joyous life.

BEATRICE. Oh, spare thy precious days For nature's band. Thy mother needs a son; My brother, live for her! Light were the pang To lose a daughter—but a moment shown, Then snatched away!

DON CAESAR (with deep emotion). 'Tis one to live or die, Blest with a sister's love!

BEATRICE. Say, dost thou envy Thy brother's ashes?

DON CAESAR. In thy grief he lives A hallowed life!—my doom is death forever!

BEATRICE. My brother!

DON CAESAR. Sister! are thy tears for me?

BEATRICE. Live for our mother!

DON CAESAR (dropping her hand, and stepping back). For our mother?

BEATRICE (hiding her head in his breast). Live For her and for thy sister!

Chorus (BOHEMUND). She has won! Resistless are her prayers. Despairing mother, Awake to hope again—his choice is made! Thy son shall live!

[At this moment an anthem is heard. The folding doors are thrown open, and in the church is seen the catafalque erected, and the coffin surrounded with candlesticks.

DON CAESAR (turning to the coffin). I will not rob thee, brother! The sacrifice is thine:—Hark! from the tomb, Mightier than mother's tears, or sister's love, Thy voice resistless cries:—my arms enfold A treasure, potent with celestial joys, To deck this earthly sphere, and make a lot Worthy the gods! but shall I live in bliss, While in the tomb thy sainted innocence Sleeps unavenged? Thou, Ruler of our days, All just—all wise—let not the world behold Thy partial care! I saw her tears!—enough— They flowed for me! I am content: my brother! I come!

[He stabs himself with a dagger, and falls dead at his sister's feet. She throws herself into her mother's arms.

Chorus, CAJETAN (after a deep silence). In dread amaze I stand, nor know If I should mourn his fate. One truth revealed Speaks in my breast;—no good supreme is life; But all of earthly ills the chief is—Guilt!

THE END