University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An olive grove.—A ruinous edifice on one side; a bridge over a stream on the other.
Enter Manfredi.
'Tis here—at evening—Angelina walks,
To meditate on absent friends.—I'll make her mine!
Fool—that I was—to trust so young a boy,
To lead her father to a precipice!—
Fool!—fool!—unworthy of a high estate!
The boy, as every idiot might foresee,
Pitied the wretch, because the wretch was blind
And leads him on, as I am taught to fear,
By secret paths to Venice. There he hopes
To meet his daughter.—Little does he think—
Ah!—little dreams he, that the friend, he chose,
To guide his daughter to the court of Venice,
Bribed high by me, convey'd the treasure here.
Oh! sightless idiot!—Hope deludes thy fancy!
Meet thee at Venice?—Hail thy hopes at Venice?
Yes!—yes!—she'll meet thee, miserable father,
Meet thee, and stun thee, with her sighs and tears,
Ruin'd and dishonor'd.—She appears!
List—list—she comes!—Her steps resound with music!

[Retires.
Enter Angelina, attended by Agnes.
Angeli.
Ah!—with what pensive pleasure does the mind
Dwell on those moments of delighted youth;
When, led by Angelo, through vallies deep,
We've culled sweet violets from soft beds of moss,
Or snatch'd wild roses from a wilderness
Of thorns and briery brakes:—enchanting time!

Agnes.

Signora!—Bless me!—she is so melancholy,
that she will not speak to me.—Poor heart!—she is
not proud—she is only sad!—

(Manfredi comes a little forward, and conceals himself behind one of the trees, not far distant from Angelina.
Angeli.
Sometimes we've wandered on the rocky shore,
To hear the murmur of each curling wave:
Sometimes the colours of departing day
Have charm'd our footsteps up the mountain side.
Till in the east, in silent state, the moon
Ting'd every cloud with most bewitching hue;
And o'er the shadowy scene such glory cast,
That Nature paus'd, and gazed, with silent rapture,
On this her fair creation.

Manf.
(aside.)
How each word
Sinks to the deep recesses of my soul!

Angeli.
But why recal those happy moments now?—

Agnes.
Why do you then?—present sorrows,
Signora, are always enough for the time.

Angeli.
Ah, my good Agnes, what thou say'st is true.
Oh! my dear father!—How my sinking heart
Bleeds for thy sorrows!—Lead me to thy chamber:
My eyes feel heavy; and my life a burthen.

Agnes.

Come then, good Signora;—come with me.
I've made a bed for you, as soft as rose-leaves.—Singing,
sleeping, and dreaming, Signora, are the best pastimes
of a body's life.

Angeli.
Yes!—when we sing
With a pleas'd heart, and sleep with soundest sleep,
And dream of those we love.—Oh! why didst wake me,
So early in the morning?—

Agnes.

What did you dream about, then, good
Signora?—Not about Signor Manfredi?—No!—no!
—It was not about Signor Manfredi!—

Manf.
(aside.)
Thou haggard serpent!—Yes!—
Thy withered bones
Shall ache with torture all thy life to come.

Angeli.
Methought, last night, I saw my father's arms
Stretched out to save me.—'Twas an airy dream!—
Ah Heaven!—I thank thee, that he knows not yet,
What woes I've suffered; and what anguish now
Wrings his poor daughter's bosom with despair.

Agnes.

Oh!—do not weep, Signora,—do not weep.
Alas!—alas!—she does not hear me.—Poor lady
—I pity her from my heart.—Oh!—good heaven—the
Signor!—

(Manfredi comes forward.
Angeli.
Signor Manfredi!—Then I'm lost indeed!

Manf.
(Points to Agnes to go off.)
(Exit Agnes.
Not lost, fair ingrate!—But why drown'd in tears?
Is this my only recompence?—Oh!—Why
Those looks so haughty?—Did I love thee less,
Ill should I brook such dignified returns.

Angeli.
'Tis well such conduct meets with such reward!
Did'st thou not steal me from the friends, I loved?
And at a time, too, when my father,—ruined—
Needed the solace of his daughter most?
Was that a moment to distress me more?
Oh!—yes—a time, most meet for such design!

Manf.
Fair Angelina!—some officious friend
Has, with successful malice, wrong'd thine ear.
I call the sainted spirits to be witness—

Ange.
Away!—away!—No more!—Wert thou to call
E'en Heaven itself, it would avail thee nought.

Manf.
By Heaven thou wrong'st me.—No, my Angelina,
I lov'd thy father, though he lov'd not me.
I lov'd his virtues;—I admired his zeal:
And, if I cou'd have imitated any,
His was the model, I'd have copied from.

Angeli.
Has Heaven no judgments for hypocrisy?

Manf.
Ah! how thy words do sully thy sweet lips!
Nay!—Angelina, do—I charge,—dismiss
Doubts of my sacred honour, which ne'er yet,
E'en by the venom of a slanderer's tongue,
Has once been breath'd on.—

Angeli.
I'm the slanderer then!

Manf.
Come my sweet maid.—

Angeli.
Oh! miracle of meanness—
What?—would'st thou stoop to take a wife so cold,
So loathing, and so hating?—Who, from youth,
Has pledged her faith to one, the proudest boast
Of all the maids of Italy.—His name
I will not, need not, breathe—

Manf.
Insulting maid!
This—this is past endurance.—

Angeli.
Who as much,
In all the true nobility of heart,
As in his form and manners, does surpass
Thee;—as, in turn, thyself eclipsest all,
The poets dream of, when they paint a monster.

Manf.
Why all this anger?—Fair, deluded maid!
Why all this anger? 'twill avail thee nought—

Angeli.
Signor Manfredi!—rather would I die
Ten thousand deaths, than listen to thy prayers.
Angelo!—earliest idol of my heart!

Manf.
Angelo?—Yes!—This goodly Angelo
Now pays dear penance for his treachery.
And can this youth be Angelina's idol?
Theme of her boast, and monarch of her heart?
Oh! he would stain it, lady; he would stain it—

Angeli.
Thy tongue speaks slander, thou unworthy man!
He is all honour; full of noblest thoughts.—
E'en now he animates my glowing breast
With all his virtues; and inspires my heart
With hatred for thy crimes.—Could Angelo—

Manf.
Not Angelo, nor Heaven itself, can now
Secure thee from my arms.—

Angeli.
Oh!—Heaven—To thee
I call for my revenge!—This friendly dagger—

(Takes a dagger from her bosom and prepares to strike, when Manfredi seizes her arm, and snatches it away.
Manf.
Is weak and powerless in a woman's hand!
There—get thee hence—thou enemy to love—
(Throws it away.
Fair Angelina—

Angeli.
Vilest wretch!—Away.

Enter Angelo.
Angeli.
This way the noise was.—Yes:—The fiend is here!
Turn, son of hell; thy hated visage turn.

[Manfredi turns, draws, and rushes upon Angelo. After fighting some time, he retreats upon the bridge, and falls into the stream, that flows beneath.
Ang.
There, worthless miscreant, buffet with the stream;
And let thy Fortune save thee, if she will.
[Flies to Angelina, who has fainted.
Fair Angelina!—'Tis thy love that calls.
Thy father lives—he journeys on to Venice.
Look up, my angel;—yes—thy father lives—
Indeed he lives!—Propertio's gone to Naples,
To save the remnants of his shattered fortune.

[Takes her in his arms.
(Cries of Manfredi heard, as he floats down the stream.)
A Woodman passes hastily over the stage.
Wood.

Bear up, Signor.—I'll bring you to shore,
whoever you are. (without.)
Take hold of this bough,
Signor.—Holloa—holloa!—

Ang.
The woodman saves him!—See—he drags him to the shore!
Look up, my fair:—'tis ruin here to stay.
Just Heaven, how cold!—Alas!—she dies—she dies!

[Carries her into the forest.