 | The actress of Padua, and other tales |  |
2. ACT II.
Scene I.—A gallery at the chateau. Enter Euphemia and Count Rosenberg.Rosenberg.
My dear Euphemia, how sensibly am
I touched by these marks of your affection! Every
thing breathes new life at my appearance, and seems
to be animated by your sentiments for me.
Euphemia.
Yes, my lord, even the humblest villager
participates in the happiness I find in your return
after so long an absence.
Rosenberg.
I revel in delights. But if you would
indulge me, postpone your preparations for a fete
until the arrival of the Marquis de Valmore. He
is on his way to France, with a treaty recently ratified
by our sovereign, and is unwilling to quit Lithuania
without first paying his respects to you. He
may be hourly expected.
Euphemia.
Alas! if our child were still living,
that I might have the joy of dividing between you
the tenderness that fills my heart at this moment.
Rosenberg.
O! harrowing thought! Banish a reflection
so distressing. Your child is no more.
Look upon her death as the last punishment that
Heaven will inflict upon us.
Euphemia.
The severest, though it may not be
else may follow.
Rosenberg.
Your grief is natural, but your tears
awaken in my heart thoughts that time can never
obliterate, and such as I have not the courage to lay
open to your eyes. Spare my feelings, cease to cherish
your own sorrows, and thank Heaven that you
were distant from the wretched scene of which I
was a witness.
Euphemia.
Were her last moments then so awful.
Rosenberg.
For heaven's sake change the discourse.
Tell me who is that young person whom
you have mentioned to me so frequently in your letters?
Do you know any thing respecting her birth?
Euphemia.
Nothing more than that she is of
French origin. She has been three months at Marcelle's
cottage, where, by accident, I first met her.
Her noble and modest demeanour interested me,
and every succeeding interview tended to deepen
the impression. Her image is constantly in my
mind; her virtues have penetrated my heart; and,
with the exception of the love I bear you, there is
no feeling more powerful than my attachment for
this lovely orphan.
Rosenberg.
I trust she may prove worthy of your
good opinion.
Euphemia.
I do not doubt that you will approve
of my predilection. I wish a friend, who can reciprocate
my regard, and in some measure supply
the place of the unfortunate we have lost.
Rosenberg.
Your wishes shall always be a law to
me.
Enter a Page.
Page.
A stranger desires to speak to the count.
Euphemia.
Ah! show him in. It is Montalban
your old friend.
Rosenberg.
Montalban!
Euphemia.
I recommend this unfortunate father
to your sympathy.
He has it. I feel for him—O! God,
how exquisitely!
Euphemia.
The féte shall be delayed until the
arrival of de Valmore, and I will give orders that
he may be received in a manner worthy of his rank.
As soon as Olympia arrives, I shall take occasion
to present her to you.
[Going out meets Montalban, and makes a sign to him
to approach her husband.] exit.
Rosenberg.
You here!
Montalban.
I came to tax your friendship for the
last time, and was far from thinking that my presence
here would be so essential to your peace.
Rosenberg.
What have you done with that wretched
being who has occasioned me so many tears?
Montalban.
Should I not rather ask you that
question, when I find her here.
Rosenberg.
Here! Explain.
Montalban.
Concealed under the name of Olympia,
she has practised on the feelings of the princess,
until she has gained her affections.
Rosenberg.
Ah! Is it possible!
Montalban.
Have you not seen her yet?
Rosenberg.
I see her!—Could I, without overwhelming
her with reproaches; without treating her
as one who merits any thing but pity.
Montalban.
Be prudent, or you will yourself divulge
the shame you dread to encounter.
Rosenberg.
Ah! Montalban!—Nature is struggling
in her behalf in my bosom, but in vain. Her
crime will admit of no extenuation; she is unworthy
even of compassion. I cannot see her. Frame some
pretext to bear her from this place, and free me from
her sight for ever.
Montalban.
That may be readily done. I intend
to pass the seas to some distant land where prejudice
may not reach me. Condescend to aid me in
the execution of this project, and I shall soon remove
from your presence that guilty one, whose
existence only tends to your dishonour.
Be it so. I approve your plan, and
will forward it to the extent of my power.
Montalban.
[Apart.]
Success is mine!
Rosenberg.
You must above all things be cautious
to keep the secret of her parentage concealed from her.
Montalban.
Depend on my discretion. You see,
count, how highly I prize your esteem! By disavowing
Clara as my child, I might return with honour
to society; but gratitude for the services you
have rendered me, seals my lips. Self-interest has
never been the motive of my actions. I gave convincing
proof of that when Clara's marriage with the
Count de Valmore was projected. In the zeal of
the moment, you wrote me that if I succeeded in
effecting the union, you would pay my debts, and
bestow a pension of six thousand florins upon me
for my services. Another, less scrupulous, to have
enjoyed your bounty, would have concealed the situation
of de Valmore; but I preferred your esteem to
wealth acquired by deception, and informed you of
all. The result was, you changed your opinion, and
directed me to break off the overtures. I did not
hesitate to obey, and, renouncing the brilliant fortune
you had promised me, required Clara to quit
the chateau of her lover. Then came the fatal resolution
that destroyed her.
Rosenberg.
Be calm. Your services are not forgotten,
and you shall soon have substantial proof
that there is no need to excite my gratitude. Count
de Valmore is momentarily expected here.
Montalban.
De Valmore! If they should meet!
Rosenberg.
I dread it. It is necessary to accelerate
your departure, to avoid the fatal results of such
an interview.
Montalban.
It is doubtful whether she will consent
to follow me. She regards me as a severe judge,
whose presence is a constant and painful reproach;
and I fear that the friendship with which the princess
honours her may encourage her to resist my
authority.
Rosenberg.
Will she have the audacity?
She is capable of any thing.
Rosenberg.
True; we have bitter proof of that—
but still she looks upon you as her father.
Montalban.
Doubtless. But if the princess oppose
her departure, it may lead to explanations that
it would be prudent to avoid.
Rosenberg.
Should she compel us to that, we must
make known her crime.
Montalban.
Fatal expedient! Is there no one
here upon whose prudence you can depend?
Rosenberg.
Explain.
Montalban.
If reason fail to have influence over
Clara, we must have recourse to stratagem. She
may be secretly abducted.
Rosenberg.
And must be, rather than be permitted
to remain here.
Montalban.
Some one approaches. Dismiss this
intruder, and let us hasten to form a plan that will
relieve you from all your anxiety.
Enter Marcelle and Peter.
Peter.
My lord, I have come to report myself.
You see I have arrived safe and sound after all.
Slow and sure. That's my maxim.
Rosenberg.
It is well, Peter; you come in good
time. [To Montalban.]
This simpleton will answer
your purpose.
Peter.
Allow me to offer a continuation of my
services, my lord. I am very well satisfied with
both you and your cook, and if you are equally so
with me, there needs but two words to the bargain.
Rosenberg.
I will still retain you.
Marcelle.
This kindness, my lord, to my poor
boy—
Rosenberg.
Yes, Marcelle, he shall enter upon his
duties from this hour; and, to commence, I enjoin
upon him to obey whatever orders he may receive
from this gentleman.
Peter.
Obey orders if you break owners; that's
my maxim.
Rosenberg.
Have you, Marcelle, brought with you
your cottage?
Marcelle.
She is with the princess, who loves her
so fondly that, previous to presenting her to you,
she wished her to appear in a manner worthy of herself.
Rosenberg.
Go, and tell the princess to send
Olympia to me, as I would speak to her a few moments
alone. Mark you, alone. [Marcelle hesitates.
Peter.
Devilish strange! Every body wishes to
have a tête-a-tête with pretty Olympia. Shouldn't
object myself.
Rosenberg.
You have heard me. You may add
that I ask it as a favour, and await her compliance.
Marcelle.
But, sir, if the princess—
Rosenberg.
No remarks, but obey.
Peter.
Shut your fly trap, mother, when the big
bugs are abroad. That's my maxim. [exit Marcelle.
Rosenberg.
[To Peter.]
Follow this gentleman,
and obey without hesitation whatever he may command.
[To Montalban.]
See that the horses are
ready, and depart the first favourable moment. I
shall see you within an hour, and give you unequivocal
proofs of my gratitude.
Montalban.
I go to afford additional evidence of
the value I set on your friendship. Come along,
Peter. Courage, Montalban! [exit.
Peter.
What the devil does he want with me!—
If his heart now should be as black as his muzzle!
I begin to feel rather uncomfortable.
Rosenberg.
Well, what are you doing there. Begone.
Be obedient and discreet, and trust to me
for your reward.
Peter.
O! I smell a galley business here. Pardon,
my lord, I obey. Here I go, neck or nothing;
that's my maxim. [exit Peter.
Rosenberg.
Dreadful duty! To tear the daughter
from the mother's arms, and break the hearts of
both. But tyrant honour rules the lofty mind with
whips and scourges, and I must triumph over my
own feelings, lest her opprobrium fall upon my head
This I feared, and foresee that it will be a difficult
task to separate them.
Enter Euphemia and Clara, splendidly dressed.
Euphemia.
Is it true, my lord, that you would
have deprived me of the pleasure of presenting my
Olympia to you?
Rosenberg.
Her presence agitates me, and I am
interested in spite of myself. [aside.
Euphemia.
I could not believe it, and imagined
that Marcelle had misunderstood your words.
Rosenberg.
She faithfully communicated my
wishes. I would interrogate the young stranger,
and discover whether she is deserving of the favour
you have bestowed upon her.
Clara.
If firm attachment and profound respect
for that virtue of which the princess is so bright a
model, are sufficient title to the bounties her kindness
proposes, I will be bold to say, there is no one
more worthy than myself of her regard and confidence.
But, my lord, though I am young, and destitute
of experience, vanity has not yet assumed
such an ascendancy over reason as to induce me to
accept so rashly an honour for which I was never
destined.
Rosenberg.
[To Peter.]
She does herself justice.
Euphemia.
[To Peter.]
I have not deceived
you. She is as diffident as she is lovely.—[to Clara.]
You fear the court and its deceitful splendour.
That salutary fear will save you from danger. Your
indifference to grandeur will excite no jealousy, and
all hearts will be ready to pay you homage.
Rosenberg.
[To Peter.]
I feel for her.
Clara.
I only aspire to your friendship, and instead
of the many proffered favours, I would ask
you to grant but one.—Did I not fear to displease
the Count I would beseech him to use his influence
in obtaining it.
Rosenberg.
A favour; name it.
Euphemia.
An extravagant idea. She would retire
of its most lovely ornaments! What has the world
done to one so young and innocent that you should
manifest such an aversion?—You are distant from
your parents; the court and myself will supply their
places, and we shall love you as our child.
Rosenberg.
[aside.]
Love her as our child!—
Euphemia.
You will recall to our hearts feelings
that have been rudely crushed, and console us for
the heavy loss we have sustained.
Rosenberg.
No, madam, that idea can never be
effaced from my memory. The image of my expiring
child will pursue me to the grave.—I see her—
I hear her still.—Her voice clings to my soul.—She
is overwhelmed with trouble and despair, and in vain
I strive to cast a veil over the fearful catastrophe!—
Urge this no farther, but permit Olympia to follow
her own inclinations. She wishes to renounce the
world and I approve of her decision.
Euphemia.
You fill me with surprise.
Rosenberg.
One of her youth and beauty, destitute
of parents and fortune, cannot better escape the
snares of a corrupt world, than by flying to a place
of refuge where sin may not enter.
Euphemia.
Strange reasons! Have I not said that
I would be as a mother to her.
Rosenberg.
Persist Olympia in your resolution.—
I will aid you to the extent of my power.—Make
choice of your asylum, and this hour, if you desire
it, I will see that you are conducted there, and that
you receive all the comforts becoming your new condition.
Clara.
This kindness overwhelms me.
Euphemia.
Can it be possible, that you, my lord,
who possess a heart so noble and compassionate—
Rosenberg.
Still does it sympathise in the afflictions
of others, though in itself it is but a gloomy
record of a life of sorrows. But let us break off this
interview; it distresses me. She doubtless has not
adopted this course without imperative reason, to
her motives and applaud her resolution.
Clara.
[aside.]
Ah! whither does this tend?
Rosenberg.
Retire, Olympia. They wait to conduct
you to Marcelle's cottage, and to-morrow all
your wishes shall be realized.
Euphemia.
What haste! Do you think Count,
that I can so readily renounce the happy illusion
that my imagination had formed. We cannot be
separated, at all events not so abruptly.—Whether
my partiality is the result of an excited imagination,
or of a sentiment that I am unable to define, I have
not sought to discover, but the source is a pure one
and my project merits your approbation.
Clara.
Ah! madam, my griefs have been sufficient;
do not let me reproach myself with being the
cause of misunderstanding between yourself and
husband.
Enter Montalban.
Montalban.
Count, the Marquis de Valmore has
this moment arrived.
Clara.
[aside.]
Valmore!— [Shouts without.
Montalban.
The shouts of your vassals announce
his presence.
Rosenberg.
My love, let us go and bid him welcome.—
[apart to Clara.]
Olympia, I prohibit you
from appearing in his presence.
Clara.
[aside.] What means that injunction?
Euphemia.
Olympia, I trust you will not leave
the chateau without first seeing me.—[embraces her.]
You promise.—Why do you tremble child?—
Clara.
I promise.—
Montalban.
[apart to Rosenberg.]
All is ready.
Rosenberg.
[to Montalban.]
Conduct her to Marcelle's
dwelling; to night I will meet you there.
Olympia, remain not here.—Montalban, conduct
her into the adjoining apartment, and keep a vigilant
eye upon her.
[Euphemia expresses surprise, Clara horror. Euphemia
takes Rosenberg's hand with impatience, and appears
to quit Clara with regret.]
[Exeunt Rosenberg and Euphemia.
You have heard the orders of the
Count.
Clara.
[too much agitated to hear him.]
Valmore
beneath the same roof with me!—I have not seen
him since that day of ceaseless agony.—Chance has
conducted him to this spot; another opportunity may
never occur on earth, and I will seize the occasion
to justify myself.—That thought inspires my heart
with renewed energy.
Montalban.
What madness do you contemplate?
Can you imagine that de Valmore will remain for an
instant in your presence.
Clara.
He shall remain. During the course of my
fatal trial I in vain endeavoured to see him. He refused.—But
since the hand of fate has at length
brought us together, he shall hear me, until his heart
confesses how deeply I've been injured.
Montalban.
I will not consent to so distressing an
interview.
Clara.
He believes me criminal. Doubtless detests
me!—and I sink beneath the burthen of his
hate.—Alas! I do not aspire to his love. I renounce
that hope forever; but still I may regain his esteem,
and when he knows how cruelly I have suffered he
may accord to me a tear of pity.—Convinced of my
innocence, he will cease to curse a name once so
dear to him, and perhaps, strive to soothe a lacerated
heart where his image is indelibly engraved.
Montalban.
[aside.]
Dangers are gathering fast.
—Retire my child.
Clara.
No.— I will not retire.
Montalban.
Do not oblige me to step beyond the
character of a father to enforce obedience.
Clara.
Nor me, beyond the duty of a child to vindicate
myself.—Here I remain.
Montalban.
Audacious girl!
Clara.
Banish your fears. I shall justify myself
in his eyes without accusing you. Your secret is
buried in my bosom, and I have already given sufficient
proof, that even the rack cannot extort it from
me.—Rest satisfied.
a
Montalban.You count too much upon your resolution.—They
come.—This way; follow me.—Resistance
is useless.—Clara, I beseech you leave this
place, ere you encounter a man whose presence excites
so much apprehension.
Clara.
Go, and leave me. I am resolved to meet
him.
Montalban.
For the last time I bid you withdraw.
—[seizes her.]
I will not hear you.—Nay, then,
if persuasion fail force must be resorted to.
Clara.
Monster! Is this then the reward for all
my sacrifices.
[She breaks from him and runs to the door. Montalban
follows and closes it. She returns and shrieks in despair.]
Help, help, for the love of Heaven!
[Montalban seizes her by the arm and forces her off by a
door in the side wing.]
Montalban.
You struggle in vain. And thus I
avert the fearful destiny that you would madly call
down upon us both. [exeunt.
[Enter in procession, pages and guards preceding Euphemia.
Then Rosenberg and de Valmore, to whom
Euphemia gives her hand. They are followed by vassals
of both sexes, with Marcelle at their head.]
Euphemia to Valmore.
Illustrious cavalier, in
whom loyalty and valour so happily conjoin, behold
in the homage of my people, the esteem of the Lithuanians
for the powerful nation you represent.
Valmore.
These voluntary tributes are grateful to
the receiver, and eulogy is doubly flattering from
the lips of a princess such as you are.
[Euphemia gives signal, and the fete commences. During
the prelude she perceives Marcelle, and whispers
to her. Marcelle manifests joy and goes out. Valmore
and Rosenberg conduct Euphemia to her place.—
Dance.—After the ballet, Marcelle enters in haste and
says—
Marcelle.
Madam, hasten to the aid of Olympia.
They have borne her away, and her resistance proves
that it is contrary to your wishes and her own.
Borne her away! Quick, fly my friends
and restore her to me. [Exeunt vassals.
Marcelle.
Luckily, madam, my son Peter drives
the carriage, and when he heard my voice he refused
to go on.
Euphemia.
What audacious wretch has committed
this outrage within the very precincts of my palace.
Rosenberg.
Nothing has been done without my
orders.
Euphemia.
Your orders! Count, you amaze me.
Rosenberg.
I cannot longer conceal from you that
Olympia is unworthy of your bounty. She is here
under an assumed name, and the person who has
borne her away has claims upon her of a more sacred
nature than yours.
Vassals.
[behind.]
She is here, she is here.
Enter Clara, Montalban, and Vassals.
Marcelle.
[goes to Clara.]
My dear Olympia, let
me conduct you to the arms of your benefactress.
There no danger can approach you.
Clara,
[apart.]
Valmore! I tremble in his presence.
[Throws herself into the arms of Euphemia, who receives
her with transports.
Valmore.
O! heavens! Do my eyes deceive me,
or is it Clara that I behold!
Montalban.
Yes, signor, it is my wretched daughter,
whom I in vain endeavoured to keep from your
presence.
Euphemia.
Your daughter!
[Looks with horror upon her.
Clara.
[to Valmore, throwing herself at his feet.]
Ah! signor, stay, stay I beseech you. Moderate the
indignation with which you behold me. Hear the
appeal of persecuted innocence, for it is perhaps
the last time you will be allowed to hear it.
Valmore.
Innocence! Wretched girl, withdraw—
the sight of you is horror!
Clara.
No, no, I will cling to your knees until
you deign to hear me. I have more than life at
shall hear me.
Valmore.
Too many proofs attest your crime. In
return for love the most devoted, you assassinated
my child. You, whom he adored—called by the
tender name of mother, and clung to as his support
and guide. Is it for a father to pardon an outrage
so horrible!
Clara.
[rising.]
I answer, no! But the more
atrocious the crime the less reason you have to impute
it to me.
Valmore.
Who else had an interest in doing it?
Sole possessor of the wealth of my ancestors, his life
defeated the ambition that inflamed your soul, and
you wished to open to your children a source of
fortune, of which his existence would have effectually
deprived them.
Clara.
God, what a thought! Where is there
safety on earth, when the pure in heart can impute
the blackest motives to the innocent, and upon their
bare knowledge of human frailty convict the accused
of crimes too horrible even for fiends to contemplate.
Valmore.
What other motive could exist?
Clara.
Again! Say then it did exist—that idea
alone should draw the veil from your eyes;—still
think me capable of a crime so atrocious; believe
me the calculating fiend you have pictured, in spite
of all that has passed between us, and then answer
me whether it would have been in character to have
selected the time we were about to be united, for the
performance of such a deed. No. Once your wife,
and the step-mother of Julian, would I not have had
a thousand occasions to have destroyed him without
leaving the slightest vestige of my crime.
Valmore.
These thoughts are the result of after
reflection.
Marcelle.
[regarding Mont. with indignation.]
He hears it all, and is silent. Not even a frown.
Defend her, sir.
Montalban.
[manifests rage]
Away!
a
Euphemia.What means this, Marcelle?
Marcelle.
Is he not her father?
Valmore.
What can he urge in her defence? She
was condemned before her judges. It was there he
should have spoken.
Marcelle.
And did he not speak—not even there?
Valmore.
What could he allege against truth
which overwhelmed her with shame and dismay.
Marcelle.
What could not a parent allege in defence
of a child! O! if he had been a father, nature
would have furnished him with voice and argument,
though truth had flashed like a stream of light
from heaven.
Rosenberg.
[aside.]
That thought!
Clara.
You speak of my judges. They were but
mortals, liable to be deceived, and took appearances
for reality.
Rosenberg.
It was for you to enlighten their consciences.
Why did you not do it? The situation
in which you were surprised admitted of but two
constructions. You were either the author or the
witness of the assassination.
Valmore.
Reply to that.
Marcelle.
[apart.]
O! that I dare.
Clara.
Fatal duty!
Euphemia.
Answer, Clara. We all desire that
you should appear innocent.
Clara.
I am innocent. I asserted it before my
judges—I proclaim it to the whole world—I repeat
it with the accents of despair—I swear it in the
presence of Him who reads the inmost thoughts of
all hearts—I am innocent! But such is the horror
of my destiny that I dare not cite the guilty wretch
before a human tribunal to meet the heavy punishment
imposed on me.
Valmore.
I have listened to you too long. Hence,
from my sight forever.
Clara.
What! you still refuse to credit me? Ah!
Valmore do not turn from me—do not crush the last
hope I have on earth. [approaches him.
Valmore.
[recoiling.]
Approach me not. I still
my child; and his death remains unavenged. Fly,
fly from my presence. Hate and disdain have taken
the place of love in this wounded heart. Away—
lest in my agony I curse you.
Clara.
Curse me!
Valmore.
If there is justice in heaven it will yet
inflict all the anguish on your heart that you have
heaped on mine.
Clara.
[wildly.]
What!—wherefore do you pursue
me? Is there no hiding place on earth?—no
safety this side the grave!
Valmore.
Montalban, free me from her odious
presence.
Clara.
Still, still they follow me! That voice!
Men are changed to fiends, and hunt me down. Still
I care not though all on earth were open-mouthed
against me, if that voice were not in the fearful cry,
urging them on. O! that voice!
Montalban.
Come, come, my child.
Clara.
[in despair.]
O! God, if it is your will to
try me, I will bear all. Give me but strength, but
strength!
Montalban.
Clara, we must begone.
Clara.
Not yet, it is not time. Hark! they follow,
and I am too feeble to move. Hide me! Ha!
darkness surrounds me. That is well. Hist!—my
heart throbs with pain—my head is bursting—my
eyes grow dim! All's dark—dark—dark—
[She places her hands on her forhead, and stands stupified.
Rosenberg.
Painful sight.
Euphemia.
My heart bleeds for her.
Clara.
[Looks wildly around, and beholds Montalban.
She fixes her eyes steadfastly on him, then recoils
with horror.]
Where am I! You here! Wherefore
are you here? Speak, where am I?
Montalban.
With your heart-broken father.
Clara.
My father! You my father! O, mockery!
[Gesture as if she would repulse him.
Is it possible that in her frenzy she
can spurn even me! [approaches her.
Clara.
Go, go, go—I ask but that.
Euphemia.
What means this terror at the sight of
her father?
[Clara again casts her eyes over the scene. She approaches
Rosenberg, who points out Montalban to her.
She recoils.]
Clara.
O! no, no, no! Not even a tear bedims his
eyes, although he is my father! You would not have
me follow him? You cannot mean it!
[Rosenberg turns from her; she tremblingly approaches
de Valmore, who points to Montalban. She exclaims
in a tone of despair—
Send me to the grave. I will meet death cheerfully,
if it is your will, but save me from that man.
Montalban, do your duty.
Clara.
I have said I would die. Will not that
content ye? Ye can but have my life, and I will
yield it.
Rosenberg.
Montalban, I say!
Clara.
They are not human! [Turns to Euphemia.]
I appeal to you. Angel of light! do not
abandon me! They are not human! How have
they treated me! They charge me with the worst
of crimes—yet I am innocent! Pursue me as a
wretch unfit to live—yet will not let me die!
[Euphemia averts her face.
Do not turn from me! Not one look!—one word!
abandoned at last by you—even you! 'Tis well,
'tis well! I now can die!
[Faints, supported by Marcelle.
Euphemia.
This trial has been too severe. I will
protect her until the truth's discovered!
Tableau.
[Curtain falls.
| The actress of Padua, and other tales | |