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The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy · Chapter 3Scene II

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The hall of pillars. It is night. The stage is lighted from above by a single large lamp. DONNA ISABELLA and DIEGO advance to the front. ISABELLA. As yet no joyful tidings, not a trace Found of the lost one! DIEGO. Nothing have we heard, My mistress; yet o'er every track, unwearied, Thy sons pursue. Ere long the rescued maid Shall smile at dangers past. ISABELLA. Alas! Diego, My heart is sad; 'twas I that caused this woe! DIEGO. Vex not thy anxious bosom; naught escaped Thy thoughtful care. ISABELLA. Oh! had I earlier shown The hidden treasure! DIEGO. Prudent were thy counsels, Wisely thou left'st her in retirement's shade; So, trust in heaven. ISABELLA. Alas! no joy is perfect Without this chance of ill my bliss were pure. DIEGO. Thy happiness is but delayed; enjoy The concord of thy sons. ISABELLA. The sight was rapture Supreme, when, locked in one another's arms, They glowed with brothers' love. DIEGO. And in the heart It burns; for ne'er their princely souls have stooped To mean disguise. ISABELLA. Now, too, their bosoms wake To gentler thoughts, and own their softening sway Of love. No more their hot, impetuous youth Revels in liberty untamed, and spurns Restraint of law, attempered passion's self, With modest, chaste reserve. To thee, Diego, I will unfold my secret heart; this hour Of feeling's opening bloom, expected long, Wakes boding fears: thou know'st to sudden rage Love stirs tumultuous breasts; and if this flame With jealousy should rouse the slumbering fires Of ancient hate—I shudder at the thought! If these discordant souls perchance have thrilled In fatal unison! Enough; the clouds That black with thundering menace o'er me hung Are past; some angel sped them tranquil by, And my enfranchised spirit breathes again. DIEGO. Rejoice, my mistress; for thy gentle sense And soft, prevailing art more weal have wrought Than all thy husband's power. Be praise to thee And thy auspicious star! ISABELLA. Yes, fortune smiled; Nor light the task, so long with apt disguise To veil the cherished secret of my heart, And cheat my ever-jealous lord: more hard To stifle mighty nature's pleading voice, That, like a prisoned fire, forever strove To rend its confines. DIEGO. All shall yet be well; Fortune, propitious to our hopes, gave pledge Of bliss that time will show. ISABELLA. I praise not yet My natal star, while darkening o'er my fate This mystery hangs: too well the dire mischance Tells of the fiend whose never-slumbering rage Pursues our house. Now list what I have done, And praise or blame me as thou wilt; from thee My bosom guards no secret: ill I brook This dull repose, while swift o'er land and sea My sons unwearied, track their sister's flight, Yes, I have sought; heaven counsels oft, when vain All mortal aid. DIEGO. What I may know, my mistress, Declare. ISABELLA. On Etna's solitary height A reverend hermit dwells,—benamed of old The mountain seer,—who to the realms of light More near abiding than the toilsome race Of mortals here below, with purer air Has cleansed each earthly, grosser sense away; And from the lofty peak of gathered years, As from his mountain home, with downward glance Surveys the crooked paths of worldly strife. To him are known the fortunes of our house; Oft has the holy sage besought response From heaven, and many a curse with earnest prayer Averted: thither at my bidding flew, On wings of youthful haste, a messenger, To ask some tidings of my child: each hour I wait his homeward footsteps. DIEGO. If mine eyes Deceive me not, he comes; and well his speed Has earned thy praise. MESSENGER, ISABELLA, DIEGO. ISABELLA (to MESSENGER). Now speak, and nothing hide Of weal or woe; be truth upon thy lips! What tidings bear'st thou from the mountain seer? MESSENGER. His answer: "Quick! retrace thy steps; the lost one Is found." ISABELLA. Auspicious tongue! Celestial sounds Of peace and joy! thus ever to my vows. Thrice honored sage, thy kindly message spoke! But say, which heaven-directed brother traced My daughter? MESSENGER. 'Twas thy eldest born that found The deep-secluded maid. ISABELLA. Is it Don Manuel That gives her to my arms? Oh, he was ever The child of blessing! Tell me, hast thou borne My offering to the aged man? the tapers To burn before his saint? for gifts, the prize Of worldly hearts, the man of God disdains. MESSENGER. He took the torches from my hands in silence And stepping to the altar—where the lamp Burned to his saint—illumed them at his fire, And instant set in flames the hermit cell, Where he has honored God these ninety years! ISABELLA. What hast thou said? What horrors fright my soul? MESSENGER. And three times shrieking "Woe!" with downward course, He fled; but silent with uplifted arm Beckoned me not to follow, nor regard him So hither I have hastened, terror-sped. ISABELLA. Oh, I am tossed amid the surge again Of doubt and anxious fears; thy tale appals With ominous sounds of ill. My daughter found— Thou sayest; and by my eldest born, Don Manuel? The tidings ne'er shall bless, that heralded This deed of woe! MESSENGER. My mistress! look around Behold the hermit's message to thine eyes Fulfilled. Some charm deludes my sense, or hither Thy daughter comes, girt by the warlike train Of thy two sons! [BEATRICE is carried in by the Second Chorus on a litter, and placed in the front of the stage. She is still without perception, and motionless. ISABELLA, DIEGO, MESSENGER, BEATRICE. Chorus (BOHEMUND, ROGER, HIPPOLYTE, and the other nine followers of DON CAESAR.) Chorus (BOHEMUND). Here at thy feet we lay The maid, obedient to our lord's command: 'Twas thus he spoke—"Conduct her to my mother; And tell her that her son, Don Caesar, sends her!" ISABELLA (is advancing towards her with outstretched arms, and starts back in horror). Heavens! she is motionless and pale! Chorus (BOHEMUND). She lives, She will awake, but give her time to rouse From the dread shock that holds each sense enthralled. ISABELLA. My daughter! Child of all my cares and pains! And is it thus I see thee once again? Thus thou returnest to thy father's halls! Oh, let my breath relume thy vital spark; Yes! I will strain thee to a mother's arms And hold thee fast—till from the frost of death Released thy life-warm current throbs again. [To the Chorus. Where hast thou found her? Speak! What dire mischance Has caused this sight of woe? Chorus (BOHEMUND). My lips are dumb! Ask not of me: thy son will tell thee all— Don Caesar—for 'tis he that sends her. ISABELLA 'Tell me Would'st thou not say Don Manuel? Chorus (BOHEMUND). 'Tis Don Caesar That sends her to thee. ISABELLA (to the MESSENGER). How declared the Seer? Speak! Was it not Don Manuel? MESSENGER. 'Twas he! Thy elder born. ISABELLA. Be blessings on his head Which e'er it be; to him I owe a daughter, Alas! that in this blissful hour, so long Expected, long implored, some envious fiend Should mar my joy! Oh, I must stem the tide Of nature's transport! In her childhood's home I see my daughter; me she knows not—heeds not— Nor answers to a mother's voice of love Ope, ye dear eyelids—hands be warm—and heave Thou lifeless bosom with responsive throbs To mine! 'Tis she! Diego, look! 'tis Beatrice! The long-concealed—the lost—the rescued one! Before the world I claim her for my own! Chorus (BOHEMUND). New signs of terror to my boding soul Are pictured;—in amazement lost I stand! What light shall pierce this gloom of mystery? ISABELLA (to the Chorus, who exhibit marks of confusion and embarrassment). Oh, ye hard hearts! Ye rude unpitying men! A mother's transport from your breast of steel Rebounds, as from the rocks the heaving surge! I look around your train, nor mark one glance Of soft regard. Where are my sons? Oh, tell me Why come they not, and from their beaming eyes Speak comfort to my soul? For here environed I stand amid the desert's raging brood, Or monsters of the deep! DIEGO. She opes her eyes! She moves! She lives! ISABELLA. She lives! On me be thrown Her earliest glance! DIEGO. See! They are closed again— She shudders! ISABELLA (to the Chorus). Quick! Retire—your aspect frights her. [Chorus steps back. RORER. Well pleased I shun her sight. DIEGO. With outstretched eyes, And wonderstruck, she seems to measure thee. BEATRICE. Not strange those lineaments—where am I? ISABELLA. Slowly Her sense returns. DIEGO. Behold! upon her knees She sinks. BEATRICE. Oh, angel visage of my mother! ISABELLA. Child of my heart! BEATRICE. See! kneeling at thy feet The guilty one! ISABELLA. I hold thee in my arms! Enough—forgotten all! DIEGO. Look in my face, Canst thou remember me? BEATRICE. The reverend brows Of honest old Diego! ISABELLA. Faithful guardian Of thy young years. BEATRICE. And am I once again With kindred? ISABELLA. Naught but death shall part us more! BEATRICE. Will thou ne'er send me to the stranger? ISABELLA. Never! Fate is appeased. BEATRICE. And am I next thy heart? And was it all a dream—a hideous dream? My mother! at my feet he fell! I know not What brought me hither—yet 'tis well. Oh, bliss! That I am safe in thy protecting arms; They would have ta'en me to the princess, mother— Sooner to death! ISABELLA. My daughter, calm thy fears; Messina's princess—— BEATRICE. Name her not again! At that ill-omened sound the chill of death Creeps through my trembling frame. ISABELLA. My child! but hear me—— BEATRICE. She has two sons by mortal hate dissevered, Don Manuel and Don Caesar—— ISABELLA. 'Tis myself! Behold thy mother! BEATRICE. Have I heard thee? Speak! ISABELLA. I am thy mother, and Messina's princess! BEATRICE. Art thou Don Manuel's and Don Caesar's mother? ISABELLA. And thine! They are thy brethren whom thou namest. BEATRICE. Oh, gleam of horrid light! ISABELLA. What troubles thee? Say, whence this strange emotion? BEATRICE. Yes! 'twas they! Now I remember all; no dream deceived me, They met—'tis fearful truth! Unhappy men! Where have ye hid him? [She rushes towards the Chorus; they turn away from her. A funeral march is heard in the distance. CHORUS. Horror! Horror! ISABELLA. Hid! Speak—who is hid? and what is true? Ye stand In silent dull amaze—as though ye fathomed Her words of mystery! In your faltering tones— Your brows—I read of horrors yet unknown, That would refrain my tongue! What is it? Tell me! I will know all! Why fix ye on the door That awe-struck gaze? What mournful music sounds? [The march is heard nearer. Chorus (BOHEMUND). It comes! it comes! and all shall be declared With terrible voice. My mistress! steel thy heart, Be firm, and bear with courage what awaits thee— For more than women's soul thy destined griefs Demand. ISABELLA. What comes? and what awaits me? Hark With fearful tones the death-wail smites mine ear— It echoes through the house! Where are my sons? [The first Semi-chorus brings in the body of DON MANUEL on a bier, which is placed at the side of the stage. A black pall is spread over it. ISABELLA, BEATRICE, DIEGO. Both Choruses. First Chorus (CAJETAN). With sorrow in his train, From street to street the King of Terror glides; With stealthy foot, and slow, He creeps where'er the fleeting race Of man abides In turn at every gate Is heard the dreaded knock of fate, The message of unutterable woe! BERENGAR. When, in the sere And autumn leaves decayed, The mournful forest tells how quickly fade The glories of the year! When in the silent tomb oppressed, Frail man, with weight of days, Sinks to his tranquil rest; Contented nature but obeys Her everlasting law,— The general doom awakes no shuddering awe! But, mortals, oh! prepare For mightier ills; with ruthless hand Fell murder cuts the holy band— The kindred tie: insatiate death, With unrelenting rage, Bears to his bark the flower of blooming age! CAJETAN. When clouds athwart the lowering sky Are driven—when bursts with hollow moan The thunder's peal—our trembling bosoms own The might of awful destiny! Yet oft the lightning's glare Darts sudden through the cloudless air:— Then in thy short delusive day Of bliss, oh! dread the treacherous snare; Nor prize the fleeting goods in vain, The flowers that bloom but to decay! Nor wealth, nor joy, nor aught but pain, Was e'er to mortal's lot secure:— Our first best lesson—to endure! ISABELLA. What shall I hear? What horrors lurk beneath This funeral pall? [She steps towards the bier, but suddenly pauses, and stands irresolute. Some strange, mysterious dread Enthrals my sense. I would approach, and sudden The ice-cold grasp of terror holds me back! [To BEATRICE, who has thrown herself between her and the bier. Whate'er it be, I will unveil—— [On raising the pall she discovers the body of DON MANUEL. Eternal Powers! it is my son! [She stands in mute horror. BEATRICE sinks to the ground with a shriek of anguish near the bier. CHORUS. Unhappy mother! 'tis thy son. Thy lips Have uttered what my faltering tongue denied. ISABELLA. My soul! My Manuel! Oh, eternal grief! And is it thus I see thee? Thus thy life Has bought thy sister from the spoiler's rage? Where was thy brother? Could no arm be found To shield thee? Oh, be cursed the hand that dug These gory wounds! A curse on her that bore The murderer of my son! Ten thousand curses On all their race! CHORUS. Woe! Woe! ISABELLA. And is it thus Ye keep your word, ye gods? Is this your truth? Alas for him that trusts with honest heart Your soothing wiles! Why have I hoped and trembled? And this the issue of my prayers! Attend, Ye terror-stricken witnesses, that feed Your gaze upon my anguish; learn to know How warning visions cheat, and boding seers But mock our credulous hopes; let none believe The voice of heaven! When in my teeming womb This daughter lay, her father, in a dream Saw from his nuptial couch two laurels grow, And in the midst a lily all in flames, That, catching swift the boughs and knotted stems Burst forth with crackling rage, and o'er the house Spread in one mighty sea of fire. Perplexed By this terrific dream my husband sought The counsels of the mystic art, and thus Pronounced the sage: "If I a daughter bore, The murderess of his sons, the destined spring Of ruin to our house, the baleful child Should see the light." Chorus (CAJETAN and BOHEMUND). What hast thou said, my mistress? Woe! Woe! ISABELLA. For this her ruthless father spoke The dire behest of death. I rescued her, The innocent, the doomed one; from my arms The babe was torn; to stay the curse of heaven, And save my sons, the mother gave her child; And now by robber hands her brother falls; My child is guiltless. Oh, she slew him not! CHORUS. Woe! Woe! ISABELLA. No trust the fabling readers of the stars Have e'er deserved. Hear how another spoke With comfort to my soul, and him I deemed Inspired to voice the secrets of the skies! "My daughter should unite in love the hearts Of my dissevered sons;" and thus their tales Of curse and blessing on her head proclaim Each other's falsehood. No, she ne'er has brought A curse, the innocent; nor time was given The blessed promise to fulfil; their tongues Were false alike; their boasted art is vain; With trick of words they cheat our credulous ears, Or are themselves deceived! Naught ye may know Of dark futurity, the sable streams Of hell the fountain of your hidden lore, Or yon bright spring of everlasting light! First Chorus (CAJETAN). Woe! Woe! thy tongue refrain! Oh, pause, nor thus with impious rage The might of heaven profane; The holy oracles are wise— Expect with awe thy coming destinies! ISABELLA. My tongue shall speak as prompts my swelling heart; My griefs shall cry to heaven. Why do we lift Our suppliant hands, and at the sacred shrines Kneel to adore? Good, easy dupes! What win we From faith and pious awe? to touch with prayers The tenants of yon azure realms on high, Were hard as with an arrow's point to pierce The silvery moon. Hid is the womb of time, Impregnable to mortal glance, and deaf The adamantine walls of heaven rebound The voice of anguish:—Oh, 'tis one, whate'er The flight of birds—the aspect of the stars! The book of nature is a maze—a dream The sage's art—and every sign a falsehood! Second Chorus (BOHEMUND). Woe! Woe! Ill-fated woman, stay Thy maddening blasphemies; Thou but disown'st, with purblind eyes, The flaming orb of day! Confess the gods,—they dwell on high— They circle thee with awful majesty! All the Knights. Confess the gods—they dwell on high— They circle thee with awful majesty! BEATRICE. Why hast thou saved thy daughter, and defied The curse of heaven, that marked me in thy womb The child of woe? Short-sighted mother!—vain Thy little arts to cheat the doom declared By the all-wise interpreters, that knit The far and near; and, with prophetic ken, See the late harvest spring in times unborn. Oh, thou hast brought destruction on thy race, Withholding from the avenging gods their prey; Threefold, with new embittered rage, they ask The direful penalty; no thanks thy boon Of life deserves—the fatal gift was sorrow! Second Chorus (BERENGAR) looking towards the door with signs of agitation. Hark to the sound of dread! The rattling, brazen din I hear! Of hell-born snakes the hissing tones are near! Yes—'tis the furies' tread! CAJETAN. In crumbling ruin wide, Fall, fall, thou roof, and sink, thou trembling floor That bear'st the dread, unearthly stride! Ye sable damps arise! Mount from the abyss in smoky spray, And pall the brightness of the day! Vanish, ye guardian powers! They come! The avenging deities DON CAESAR, ISABELLA, BEATRICE. The Chorus. [On the entrance of DON CAESAR the Chorus station themselves before him imploringly. He remains standing alone in the centre of the stage. BEATRICE. Alas! 'tis he—— ISABELLA (stepping to meet him). My Caesar! Oh, my son! And is it thus I meet the? Look! Behold! The crime of hand accursed! [She leads him to the corpse. First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR). Break forth once more Ye wounds! Flow, flow, in swarthy flood, Thou streaming gore! ISABELLA. Shuddering with earnest gaze, and motionless, Thou stand'st.—yes! there my hopes repose, and all That earth has of thy brother; in the bud Nipped is your concord's tender flower, nor ever With beauteous fruit shall glad a mother's eyes, DON CAESAR. Be comforted; thy sons, with honest heart, To peace aspired, but heaven's decree was blood! ISABELLA. I know thou lovedst him well; I saw between ye, With joy, the bands old Nature sweetly twined; Thou wouldst have borne him in thy heart of hearts With rich atonement of long wasted years! But see—fell murder thwarts thy dear design, And naught remains but vengeance! DON CAESAR. Come, my mother, This is no place for thee. Oh, haste and leave This sight of woe. [He endeavors to drag her away. ISABELLA (throwing herself into his arms). Thou livest! I have a son! BEATRICE. Alas! my mother! DON CAESAR. On this faithful bosom Weep out thy pains; nor lost thy son,—his love Shall dwell immortal in thy Caesar's breast. First Chorus (CAJETAN, BERENGAR, MANFRED). Break forth, ye wounds! Dumb witness! the truth proclaim; Flow fast, thou gory stream! ISABELLA (clasping the hands of DON CAESAR and BEATRICE). My children! DON CAESAR. Oh, 'tis ecstasy! my mother, To see her in thy arms! henceforth in love A daughter—sister—— ISABELLA (interrupting him). Thou hast kept thy word. My son; to thee I owe the rescued one; Yes, thou hast sent her—— DON CAESAR (in astonishment). Whom, my mother, sayst thou, That I have sent? ISABELLA. She stands before thine eyes— Thy sister. DON CAESAR. She! My sister? ISABELLA. Ay, What other? DON CAESAR. My sister! ISABELLA. Thou hast sent her to me! DON CAESAR. Horror! His sister, too! CHORUS. Woe! woe! BEATRICE. Alas! my mother! ISABELLA. Speak! I am all amaze! DON CASAR. Be cursed the day When I was born! ISABELLA. Eternal powers! DON CAESAR. Accursed The womb that bore me; cursed the secret arts, The spring of all this woe; instant to crush thee, Though the dread thunder swept—ne'er should this arm Refrain the bolts of death: I slew my brother! Hear it and tremble! in her arms I found him; She was my love, my chosen bride; and he— My brother—in her arms! Thou hast heard all! If it be true—oh, if she be my sister— And his! then I have done a deed that mocks The power of sacrifice and prayers to ope The gates of mercy to my soul! Chorus (BOHEMUND). The tidings on thy heart dismayed Have burst, and naught remains; behold! 'Tis come, nor long delayed, Whate'er the warning seers foretold: They spoke the message from on high, Their lips proclaimed resistless destiny! The mortal shall the curse fulfil Who seeks to turn predestined ill. ISABELLA. The gods have done their worst; if they be true Or false, 'tis one—for nothing they can add To this—the measure of their rage is full. Why should I tremble that have naught to fear? My darling son lies murdered, and the living I call my son no more. Oh! I have borne And nourished at my breast a basilisk That stung my best-beloved child. My daughter, haste, And leave this house of horrors—I devote it To the avenging fiends! In an evil hour 'Twas crime that brought me hither, and of crime The victim I depart. Unwillingly I came—in sorrow I have lived—despairing I quit these halls; on me, the innocent, Descends this weight of woe! Enough—'tis shown That Heaven is just, and oracles are true! [Exit, followed by DIEGO. BEATRICE, DON CAESAR, the Chorus. DON CAESAR (detaining BEATRICE). My sister, wouldst thou leave me? On this head A mother's curse may fall—a brother's blood Cry with accusing voice to heaven—all nature Invoke eternal vengeance on my soul— But thou—oh! curse me not—I cannot bear it! [BEATRICE points with averted eyes to the body. I have not slain thy lover! 'twas thy brother, And mine that fell beneath my sword; and near As the departed one, the living owns The ties of blood: remember, too, 'tis I That most a sister's pity need—for pure His spirit winged its flight, and I am guilty! [BEATRICE bursts into an agony of tears. Weep! I will blend my tears with thine—nay, more, I will avenge thy brother; but the lover— Weep not for him—thy passionate, yearning tears My inmost heart. Oh! from the boundless depths Of our affliction, let me gather this, The last and only comfort—but to know That we are dear alike. One lot fulfilled Has made our rights and wretchedness the same; Entangled in one snare we fall together, Three hapless victims of unpitying fate, And share the mournful privilege of tears. But when I think that for the lover more Than for the brother bursts thy sorrow's tide, Then rage and envy mingle with my pain, And hope's last balm forsakes my withering soul? Nor joyful, as beseems, can I requite This inured shade:—yet after him content To mercy's throne my contrite spirit shall fly, Sped by this hand—if dying I may know That in one urn our ashes shall repose, With pious office of a sister's care. [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