University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Forest.
Claudia, reclining under an Olive Tree, attended by several Officers.
She comes forward, meditating.
Clau.
Why I was left in this wild forest thus,
I cannot yet divine. Alfonso told me,
He came to watch the motions of Albanio,
Strange mode of watching! Ah! I fear, I fear,
More is design'd, than suited him to say.
Manfredi, too! I'd give the world to see him.
What says his letter?—Thou mysterious slave!

“A Woodman saved me from drowning. I have
seen what has ruined me.”

Seen what has ruined thee? There's much in this.

“Albanio's camp shall be my court for awhile.”
Albanio's camp? Why sure the man is mad!

“Albanio's camp shall be my court for awhile.
“In which if I succeed—.”

(Flourish.)
(Puts up the letter hastily.)
What's this? The king! I tremble at my shadow.

Enter Alfonso, Sciolto, and a multitude of Officers. Fontano and Scipio remain in the back ground.
Clau.
My lord! I joy to see thee thus return'd!
Fontano's treachery—but why frowning thus?
Nay—I entreat thee. Why, alas! thine eye
So wildly rolls on Claudia—had she done
Some monstrous crime, oh! never couldst thou look
More wildly or more frightfully.—Explain.—
(The King remains silent: Sciolto and Officers observe Claudia with anxious attention.)
My lords!—can you expound this mystery?
What have I done to merit these wild frowns?

Alf.
Thou hast dissolved, thou traitress, all the ties,
Which bound me to thee! On this spot I vow,
Never to hold communion with thee more.
Nay—speak not; I'll not listen to thy tongue.
Cavallo told me all. I came—I proved—
And found Fontano honest as the day.

Clau.
Alfonso, hear! In spite of all this rant,
I will be heard. 'Tis true! What thou hast heard
Is to the letter true! And as the crime
Is of a nature, that it mocks compare,
I will not stoop t'extenuate. Do thy worst.

Alf.
Unhappy Claudia! I blush for thee,
With mingled blushes of reproach and shame.
Within a convent's consecrated walls,
Perchance, thy soul may learn the sacred hope,
Which penitence can give. Sciolto!

Sciol.
Lord!

Alf.
I charge thee with the ministry of this.
Deep in a valley—near the rocky base
Of yon proud eminence—a convent stands,
Bosom'd in wood. I charge thee to convey
This guilty lady to its cloistered walls.

Clau.
(Impatiently.)
I am most ready, Signor, to attend thee.
Move on! Since fate ordains it, I submit;
E'en with a willing conscience. Lead the way.

Alf.
Claudia, alas! I cannot quit thee thus,
And yet refuse to grant thee my forgiveness.
Would that heaven's pardon were as easy won!

Clau.
And does thine anger, then, subside so soon?
Why is thy face so calm? Thy words so mild?
I like them not. Recall, and give me harsher!
Pour down those epithets, that suit me more:
These words unnerve me, for they wound my pride;
They wound me every way. Oh! curse me! curse me!—

Alf.
No! much as thou hast wrong'd me, I'll not wound
Thy guilty feelings more. I can but feel,
That once I lov'd thee with a lover's weakness;
And that though fall'n, degraded, as thou art,
I feel degraded too! So fare—thee—well!

(Sciolto goes up to Claudia.)
Clau.
(in an under tone.)
Whither, Sciolto, whither would'st thou lead me?
I'm going a journey, Signor, whither thou
One day wilt journey too. Now lead the way.
I'm not without a friend—a faithful friend,
And which, ere long, shall hide me from myself!

[Exit with Sciolto.
Alf.
Farewell—with that farewell, would I could lose
All memory of thee!
(A shriek without.)
What wild shriek was that? Sciolto—Claudia?

Re-enter Sciolto bearing Claudia.
Sciol.
She's done a deed, I have no power to tell:
Look on this hand, still grasping firm the dagger.

Alf.
What hast thou done, unhappy Claudia?—Ah!—
Did I not tell thee, I forgave thee all?
Why dost thou, therefore, tempt th' Eternal thus,
And render every hope of his forgiveness,
Still more remote and difficult to gain?

Clau.
Oh!—I have sinned beyond the wish of life;
Beyond the hope of pardon!—Oh Alfonso!
On the dark margin of eternity,
I feel myself a coward. Almighty Father!
Thy mercy is most infinite indeed,
If thou canst pardon such a wretch as I.

Alf.
Oh! lay thine head upon this pitying breast.

Clau.
Hide me, oh! hide me:—'twas Fontano's voice.
Where is thy daughter? She is ruin'd—yes!
Manfredi ruin'd her, and I her father.
Manfredi?—Viper!—Viper!—Viper!—What,
Cavallo too?—Begone!—Oh save me—save me.

(Dies in the arms of Sciolto.)
Alf.
Why have I liv'd to such an hour as this?
So rich in wealth, in power, in dignity,
To be thus indigent in happiness,
Is much, too much, for this sad breast to bear!

(Cavallo comes slowly from behind; and, after gazing some little time on Claudia, bursts into tears.)
Cav.
How could I wrong my children and myself,
In such a cause as this? Did I not owe
A heavier debt, than I can ever pay,
To them, to injured justice, and to heaven,
I'd not survive thee!—Oh! my dearest babes—
How will ye meet the cruel eyes of scorn,
With which the world will visit ye?—

[Exit.
Alf.
(To Sciolto.)
Bear her to Naples; give a tear to weakness:
And on her fate be all for ever silent.

(Attendants exeunt with Claudia.)
Fontano and Scipio come forward.
Fon.
My liege!

Alf.
I thank thee for this sympathy.
Ah—good Fontano—'tis a just decree,
That disappointment, misery, and pain,
Should breathe infection over lawless passion.

Fon.
Ah!—what a lesson does this scene convey!

(Scipio, seeing Alfonso give way to strong emotion, goes up to him.
Sci.
Nay—do not sigh, my sovereign lord!
My master says, that every word,
And every sigh, unjustly given,
Are entered in the book of heaven.
And oft I've heard my mother say,
The time will come—oh! blissful day!—
When sighs and tears are wip'd away.
Then do not weep. Let Claudia die;
She was not worth a single sigh!
—But there is one—
In yonder wild and rocky grove,
The maiden and her lover rove.
Oh!—do my sovereign lord, impart
Some comfort to my master's heart!
He ne'er can sleep, till they are found:
Then let us search the woods around:
Come! Let us search each dale and hill;
I, too, can never sleep, until
My noble master's heart is still.

Alf.
Surely this earth has never yet beheld
A being like thee!

Fon.
'Tis my guardian angel!

Sci.

But look, Signor. Who is that, coming hither
so fast, that he seems, as if he were ready to fall at
every step?

Enter Carlo, breathless.
Carlo.
The king! the king! which is the king, Alfonso?

Alf.
I am the king!—Thine errand, Signor?—speak it.

Carlo.
Angelo!—Angelina!—They will die!—
Albanio, he has seized them! they will die—
I can no more.

Fon.
Oh, gracious heaven, receive me!

[Falls into the arms of Alfonso and Sciolto.
Sci.
Oh, my poor master!—Oh, my dearest master. [Weeping.


[Exeunt.