University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—INTERIOR OF COLONNA'S HOUSE.
Angiolina and Hippolito Colonna.
ANGIOLINA.
Would'st have me wed to-night?—must this be so?
Alas! my father,—yet unburied,—surely!
Oh! must it be? Decide for me, beloved;
I have now no protector, love, save thee!

HIPPOLITO.
It must be, if, indeed, thou would'st be saved!—

ANGIOLINA.
Yes—yes, it must be!—All a daughter's feelings
To my fair fame, and to our safety now,
And future weal, I thus must sacrifice—
Yet 'tis a sacrifice—a painful one—
Most painful! but accustom'd now I am grown
To pain, methinks, and can far better bear it
Than when at first it girded me with iron!

HIPPOLITO.
Our marriage must be secret, sweet,—most private.

ANGIOLINA.
Aye! decency would have it so—my father!—

HIPPOLITO.
I have a friend—a kind, true, worthy friend,
Who will give up, I know, at my request,
His house at once; within it stands a chapel,—
This chapel shall behold us two united
In wedlock's sacred, honourable bands!—
Try, Duke of Mantua!—try thy vaunted power,
When Angiolina is Colonna's bride!

ANGIOLINA
(shuddering).
Speak not the hated name! I almost fear it,
As 'twould invoke a fiend—that fiend to rise—
That human fiend before my loathing sight!

HIPPOLITO.
Sweet Angiolina! grant thy closest heed
While I detail to thee, in terms exact,
The method of our marriage, and the manner
In which we must elude and foil suspicion.
We must not go together from these doors!

ANGIOLINA.
Not go together! Must I go alone?

HIPPOLITO.
Indeed, thou must, in stealthy shrinking sort—

ANGIOLINA.
Ah! shrinking?—Yes!—indeed, in every nerve,
From every sound, at every sight—from all
I meet, or hear, or dream—man, woman, child,—
Ev'n from myself!—from thee ev'n if I saw thee!
Oh, dearest—dearest! must I go alone?
Let me not go alone—the terror's on me!
Oh! I shall swoon away with sickening dread,
And, wakening from that swoon to find myself
Deserted, helpless in the shadowy streets,
Shall die with fears of After and Before,
All struggling in my stricken soul at once!
Hippolito! I must not go alone;
My love—my life—I dare not go alone!

HIPPOLITO.
Thou dar'st distract me with this cold refusal—
Thou dar'st distress me with the worst distress—
Thou dar'st deny my wish—defy my will—
Destroy my hope—my heart! Oh! thou'rt courageous!

ANGIOLINA.
Oh, love! thy words, like poison'd daggers, pierce me.
I dare not disobey thee—never will!—
Yes! I will go alone!—Proceed!

HIPPOLITO.
Less fear
Be sure there is than if we went together.
Arrived in safety at my kind friend's house,
To which I will most specially direct thee,
(Nay, send a faithful follower there to guide thee,
Who shall await, some two streets off, thy coming,)
Thou must prepare to find me—

ANGIOLINA.
Ah, Colonna!
That needs but happy preparation!—

HIPPOLITO.
Listen!

ANGIOLINA.
My heart is hearing thee—aye, every word!

HIPPOLITO.
Arrived in safety, then, there entering softly,
Thou must prepare to find me mask'd, disguised.

ANGIOLINA.
Wherefore!—within the house?

HIPPOLITO.
What! see'st thou not
The vengeful Duke may by some means discover
Our place of hiding and burst in on us?
Mask'd and disguised we may escape him still;
How should he know my friend from me?

ANGIOLINA.
And I?—
Must I be mask'd?

HIPPOLITO.
'Twere needless—no!
Retain thy present excellent disguise:
These boy's habiliments themselves perform
The part of mask,—they change thy very features!
The hair, that wont to hang in thick-shower'd tendrils,—
(That gleam'd like cluster'd constellations shining,
I scarce could see its beauty for its brightness—
Scarce mark its softness through its trembling splendour!)
Adown each side of thy sweet, silken cheek—
Push'd back beneath thy cap—exposing thus
Thy smooth, broad brow and all thy heaven of face—
Much alters thee, and marks with strange disguisement,
That changes thee! The exposure plays the part—
And plays it well—of most perplexing mask!
So ever in thy virginal array
Didst thou in shrinking modesty remain,
Half-hidden like a fresh slow-budding rose—
Screen'd 'mid its leaves—a golden cloud of hair
O'ershadowing thy sweet seraph countenance!
A cloud?—a glory rather, loveliest One!—
A glory of fair glistering hair—all splendour!—
A precious lustre—all a living light—
A dazzling veil, indeed!—sole worthy crown—
For so much beauty, more like heaven's than earth's!—

ANGIOLINA
Look not so keenly on me, loved Colonna!—
There is a restless movement in thine eye—
There is a quivering flutter in thy voice—
There is a hurrying shiver on thy lip—
There is a feverish tremble in thy hand:—
Oh! what portend these most unquiet signs?
Compose thee, dear Colonna!—I am thine!
I will be thine!—no power shall more divide us!
Thou look'st—oh Heaven! I reck not why!—thou look'st
As thou wert going yet once more to lose me—
As thou wert losing me—even now! Not so!
Thou hast not lost me, dear one!—I am here!
Thou wilt not lose me! Shall I not be there?
Thou'lt never lose me!—I am at thy heart!—
There—there!—for ever at thy heart! Our life—
Our future mingling life is love for ever!
Ne'er more,—drear Thou and I,—and Thine and Mine,—
One endlessly united “We” and “Ours!”—
Look not again with such sad scrutiny—
Such curious-earnest looks into my soul!
'Tis true, thine image there is shadow'd o'er
Just now, dear love!—'tis shadow'd o'er, and deeply!—
But by the memory of a late-lost father!—
Thou art not jealous, mine adored! of that;
Nought else lives housed within but love and thee!

HIPPOLITO.
Mine Angiolina!

ANGIOLINA.
Voice of my beloved!—
How dost thou glide into my deepest spirit,
And make it all a moving melody,
Till not thyself is more one precious music!
But tell me, my Colonna—bridegroom—husband!
How shall I know thee, mask'd and thus disguised?

HIPPOLITO.
Nay! be but firm—nor conjure up vague terrors!

ANGIOLINA.
A thousand trepidations will assail me;
How many masks will be there in that house?

HIPPOLITO.
But two!—myself and my most faithful friend.
And thou shalt know me by this half-blown rose,
Worn here—without my heart, as thou within it.

ANGIOLINA.
Methinks, I wish that the awful time were come,
And yet I dread it!

HIPPOLITO.
Cheer thee!—have no dread!
Soon as the blessed ceremonial's o'er,
The fleetest steeds shall bear us far away
From enemies and hate to endless love!
I have a friend at Rome that will receive us.
And oh! remember, princes may not dare
To burst the bonds Religion's self hath bless'd!
Power there is weakness,—Pride must there bow down!
The tyrant's self must be a suppliant there!—
More 'specially in Rome's Tiara'd City—
The sacred clime—and country of the Church!
Religion's capital and citadel!—
There we may breathe indeed in happiest freedom,
Safe shall we rest from the inroads of oppression!
Once the solemnity is o'er—

ANGIOLINA.
Oh! say—
Must I not visit ere I go, alas!
(Though sure 'twill cause me mortal pangs of grief),
My venerable sire's beloved remains!

HIPPOLITO.
Why would'st thou harrow up thy gentle feelings?
The good old man is happy—is at peace!
No sufferings, sorrows, shames, temptations, trials,—
No Time—no Crime—no Earth—Death—Buryings—more!—
Oh! who would envy not the enfranchised dead?
At thy return thou may'st beside his grave
Keep solemn vigils!—Did I grant thy prayer,
And let thee look on him to-night, ev'n so
Might all be risk'd again; that might be cause
Of wondering, doubt, discovery, and detention!
Now, Angiolina, fare thee well awhile!

ANGIOLINA.
Nay! speak not such a word! if thou must go,
Pass like a spirit from me suddenly;
Then shall my soul swoon gently off with thee,
And following thee by sweet unconscious instinct,
Not know thou'rt gone till time to meet again!
But that terrific word—that dark “Farewell,”—
Frowns—starts like the executioner to the heart,
And bids it to prepare for death and doom!
Say not “Farewell!” for when we hear that word,
Absence in all its anguish doth o'erwhelm us!
Already low we're plunged into its depths—
Its fathomless abysses of all gloom!
Far doth “Farewell” our souls in suffering speed—
(Anticipating all an age of absence!)
Down the precipitous bleak paths of parting—
Still doth Farewell—a fiat of destruction—
Teach the pain'd soul the whole despair of parting,
Ere yet the fond and faithful ones are parted!
The whole despair! aye, true, the unmeasured whole
Beginning and Continuation lingering—
And not the end of parting! Oh, my love!
May that for us be an eternal meeting!
Ten thousand blessings!—we shall meet again!

HIPPOLITO.
Yes, Angiolina! we shall meet again!

ANGIOLINA.
Think how my heart must pine for that dear hour,
Since I have no protector now but thee;
An orphan, newly made to, and bereft
Of one—the tenderest and most fond of fathers!
No mother have I, sisters, brothers,—none!
My father's friends are of the world before me,
Another generation!—quickly gather'd
Must they be, like my father, to their graves!
But thou, Colonna, thou wilt be mine all—
Spouse, parents, guardian, tutor, friends, and kin,
Ev'n like a Providence on earth to bless me!
For one so signally bereaven, seems
To claim the especial care of gracious Heaven,
That can and shall raise up in one dear heart
A host of loves, such as surround and shield
The better-fortuned children of the earth,
In many bosoms beating—and divided—
For them—in One concentrated and gather'd!

HIPPOLITO.
Nay, speak not thus! I cannot bear it—no!
Away! away!—

ANGIOLINA.
Again thy voice is flutter'd—
Again thy lip is shivering like a leaf—
Thine eye glares changefully—thy hand is trembling—
Thy cheek,—a flame-bright fever spot is there,
Blood-red and burning! Oh! thou'rt ill—thou'rt ill!
Nay, go not forth! a blight is in thy veins!
No! that hot flush is fading swift away!
Thy countenance is calmer—look at me—
Oh! look at me, my love! thy deep—deep eye
Is fixing now into tranquillity!
It glistens! ah! it glistens! What! a tear?
(Hippolito weeps.)
Weep not, or thou wilt whelm my heart in tears—
Aye, thou wilt drown it in thy tears for ever!
Why weep'st thou? Sacred powers! why weep'st thou?—speak!

HIPPOLITO.
Why, what should over-joy that scarce can speak—
What should it do but weep for want of words?
Ne'er, ne'er before my free-wing'd thoughts have thus
Joyed—high-fantastically!—passionate-glorying—
With zeal, whose strong excess shames eloquence!
Hence! let me hence, for there is much to do—
Nor is there time for tears, nor words, nor silence—
One kiss! no! not upon thy stainless brow!
I tell thee, no! upon thy hand!
(He takes her hand.)
Soft hand!
I could not crush thee in my stronger grasp!
I could not have the heart to crush thee, no!
And some can crush the soul—the trusting soul!

ANGIOLINA.
No soul yet ever trusted as doth mine—
Mine at this moment! Oh! 'tis all thine own!
I do repose such confidence in thee,
As babes in mothers—martyrs in their creeds!—

HIPPOLITO.
No more! peace—peace! remember—oh, remember!

ANGIOLINA.
Nay, fear not me! Think'st thou I am but half true?
[Exit Hippolito.
How the last echo of his steps seems precious?
'Tis past! and now my heart hath sunk indeed;
Inquietudes seem gathering round at once—
In absence' deepening and oppressive gloom,
Forth starting as the superstitious dream
Dark spirits start at midnight from the graves!
And I must go alone—disguised—at night—
With fear of that stern man before mine eyes—
The tyrannous, deadly-hating Duke, for so
I deem of his destroying, blighting passion;
'Tis hatred to mine honour and my soul!
Hippolito, I will obey thee still—
Obey thee—to the letter will obey thee!
And may my guerdon be thy happiness!
For mine—'tis pale within my father's shroud,
And long 'twill be ere it can smile again!
My very hope is silent as a sorrow,
And weeps without a tear—but yet it weeps!
And this pale-stricken joy, this death-touch'd hope,
To thy bless'd memory—Oh! my sainted father—
Perchance proves tenderer tribute—and yet deeper—
Than many a Grief might be without these adjuncts—
Than many a Sorrow that is Sorrow only!
[Exit Angiolina.