University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

STRENI, VICTORIA.
STRENI.
'Tis but a qualm, a fit o' th' spleen, that's all.
'Twill soon blow over.

VICTORIA.
Consider it not so slightly,
My Lord: she's dreadfully ill; so much unhinged
The down that hardly lights might turn the scale
And sink her past recovery.—O 'twas frightful
To see her agonies!

STRENI.
How was she taken?

VICTORIA.
With a countenance so changed I hardly knew her,
Sobbing and trembling, shockingly pale as from
A mortal wound, she burst into the room
And flounced upon the floor. I flew to raise her;
Let me lie still and die, she said: half raised
Flat on her face she rush'd again, and lay
Like one abandoned to despair. Astonish'd
What this should mean, I learnt at last a tale
Enough to make her mad indeed.—You know it.

STRENI.
It happened ill; 'twas pity. But what next?

VICTORIA.
After the sad recital, long she sat
Pensive, and lost in thought: one might as well
Have talk'd to a statue; at last she started up
And walk'd about and muttered frantickly.
Music, her favourite study and delight,
I hoped might calm her; but no sooner rushed
The harmony on her ears than down she sunk
Upon a couch, and wept immoderately.
I thought my heart would have broke.—

STRENI.
My poor OLYMPIA!

VICTORIA.
I sent to stop the music. After a pause
Of silent grief, a fit of laughing seized her,
So violent, so unnatural as it seemed,
'Twas perfectly shocking. It left her quite exhausted;
And now she sleeps.

STRENI.
She has had such fits before.
This kind repose will cure her. Poor OLYMPIA
Has ever been too sensible to grief,
To joy, to all impressions; the misfortune
Of delicate spirits, which shake at every gust
That blows or hot or cold. Do, my VICTORIA,
Go keep all quiet, and when she wakes send hither.
She'll soon be well.

VICTORIA.
Would I were sure of that!

STRENI.
O never doubt it.—Who's there?—How I'm beset
With teizing cares and fretful circumstances!

SCENE II.

STRENI, a Servant.
STRENI.
No news yet of the Count? not one returned yet
Of those that went to search?

SERVANT.
Not one, my Lord.

STRENI.
You sent them different ways?

SERVANT.
My Lord, I did.

STRENI.
I doubt some misadventure. Go, LORENZO,
Speed me the news whate'er they be, and rid me
Of this suspense.

SCENE III.

STRENI.
There's mischief in the wind.
He slipt abruptly from me, after some
Ambiguous words, which then I did not mark.
They've surely met. That reconcilement was
A sham to blind me. I remember now
At shaking hands they whisper'd something.—Death!
I might have guess'd it. But who could have dreamt
He would have been so mad? What, in the name
Of all that's blundering, could provoke a man
Of courage so well proved, at such a time
To meet a foe whose challenge at any time
He might more to his dignity refuse?
Curse on his ill-tim'd valour!—I hope he's kill'd.
By heaven I care not! Such romantic fools
Should have no friends, and when they fall deserve
No pity.—Gods! will none come breathless in
To tell me he lies cold?—Here comes the tale.
Out with it—speak—the worst at once.

SCENE IV.

STRENI, a Servant.
SERVANT.
My Lord,
The gates are all beset with armed men.

STRENI.
Confusion! What is this? What armed men?
Is this young ruffian mad? From its firm base
He heaves this marble-pillar'd castle first,
And mounts it on the wind—He force these gates!
Were he an earthquake shot from hell he should not.—
What armed men?

SERVANT.
The servants of the state.

STRENI.
O God! God! God!

SERVANT.
Their leading officer,
My Lord, desires an audience.

STRENI.
Send him hither.

SCENE V.

STRENI.
O monstrous! monstrous! O amazing villain!
I'm stupified to death. The world might rush
And I not feel it now.

SCENE VI.

STRENI, OFFICERS.
OFFICER.
My Lord, I come
On an unpleasing duty, to demand
On the state's part, one whom may justice find
Without a flaw, a guest of this fair roof—
Count CLAUDIO.

STRENI.
Sir, he was here, but is gone;
And may all plagues go with him. Sir, he's vanished.
He disappeared, as fiends do, suddenly.
By this he shakes all hell with laughing at
Our fruitless search.

OFFICER.
My Lord, you cannot mean
To hide him from the state. Th' attempt were vain,
Might turn suspicion into certainty.
Where'er he be, if I may judge, my Lord,
'Twere wise he fhould surrender.

STRENI.
Sir, this house
[Rings.]
Is open to you; find him if you can.
These walls shall screen no traitor. If he's here
I'm much deceived.

OFFICER.
I doubt not, good my Lord,
Your well known honour. But the state's command
Must punctually be followed; and I hope
My Lord will pardon to our present office
What rigid form exacts.

STRENI.
You're welcome, Sir.
Who's there?—LORENZO, shew these Gentlemen
That if there lurks a traitor here; this house
Is sick till it disgorge him.

OFFICER.
After what
You have declared, my Lord, our search becomes
A fruitless office, a mere ceremony;
Which you'll excuse.

STRENI.
O Sir, most heartily.

SCENE VII.

STRENI.
O this infernal traitor! what could move him
T' abuse me thus!—He thought perhaps to screen
His frauds by my alliance. Subtle fool,
This unaccomplish'd treaty binds us not.
Or if it did; were he my daughter's husband,
And she a mother by him, he should find me
No patron of his crimes. Ah poor OLYMPIA!
How I have plagued myself and tortured thee,
To match thee thus unworthily!—Death and hell!
What madness, what curs'd dæmon, prompted me
T' anticipate the day? Had I not been
Bereft of judgment and all patience this
Disgrace could ne'er have touched us.—O fool! O shame!
To be this felon's tool! Yet who could dream
He should be such a villain? How unshaken,
He stood what conscious innocence might shrink at!
But callous villainy feels no shame—

SCENE VIII.

STRENI, a Servant.
SERVANT.
My Lord,
I bring disastrous news.

STRENI.
Let those who ne'er
Have felt misfortune start when sorrow's named.
For me I grow so hardened to all shocks
I might defy the fates. Then tell thy tale,
Were it as mortal as the cannon's mouth
Discharge it on mine ear.

SERVANT.
My Lord,—ALPHONSO
Is kill'd.

STRENI.
Unfortunate youth!

SERVANT.
The Count is fled,
With fifty horsemen at his heels.

STRENI.
I grieve
For poor ALPHONSO.—Where found you him?

SERVANT.
In the Grove.
Shot thro' the breast; just dropt; his hand clinch'd on
His half-drawn sword.

STRENI.
O murderous villain!—Go,
Compose the body privately; and let
No whisper of this sad event steal out
T' alarm too tender ears.—

SCENE IX.

STRENI.
Ah poor OLYMPIA!
How shall thy tottering senses bear this shock?
Had I not fatally interposed thou mightst
Have been the happiest—

SCENE X.

STRENI, VICTORIA.
VICTORIA.
O my Lord! my Lord!—

STRENI.
What now, VICTORIA?

VICTORIA.
Poor OLYMPIA!—

STRENI.
What!

VICTORIA.
O mad! mad! mad! The poor dear creature's mad!

STRENI.
Just heaven forbid!

VICTORIA.
Alas! it is too sure.—
Just now from a most unquiet sleep, that seem'd
Nature conflicting with despair, she started;
Cried murder! murder! help! ALPHONSO's murder'd!
Then with such wildness in her looks and action,
Such frantic vehemence of terror, grief,
And pity, she address'd th' invisible air;
It chill'd us all with horror.—You'd have thought
ALPHONSO had been kill'd indeed, and that
His ghost stood there.

STRENI.
Amazement!

VICTORIA.
By and by
She flew to the window; whence, her delicate frame
Is with convulsive violence so possess'd,
'Twas all that three of us could do to hinder
A fatal leap.

STRENI.
Heaven guard my child!

[Going.]
OLYMPIA, bebind the Scenes.
Away!
Away! I say.—

STRENI.
Hush!

OLYMPIA.
Hold me not, good fiends!
In God's name vanish! Fly, fly, fly!

WOMAN.
Dear Madam!—

SCENE XI.

STRENI, VICTORIA, OLYMPIA, Women,
OLYMPIA.
Dear me no dear! I'll not be dear'd. Avaunt,
Ye wheedling witches! I know who taught you that.
Off, I conjure you—Go—Hah! what are these!

STRENI.
How does my dearest child!

OLYMPIA.
This looks so like
My father, and speaks so like him!

STRENI.
I am, I am.
Dost thou not know me?

OLYMPIA.
Are you not a ghost then?
Mere visible nothing, as inessential
As the vain rainbow? With reverence let me touch
Your hand. I shall know by that.—O 'tis, 'tis, 'tis
My real father, let me kiss for ever
This sacred hand. I'll never part with it more.—
But why d'ye look so sad? There's something troubles you.

STRENI.
Alas, my child!—

OLYMPIA.
O do not weep; that's dreadful.
My heart is ready to break to see you thus:
And yet I cannot weep. Oh! Oh!—Come, this way,
Let us go home.

STRENI.
Thou'rt there already.

OLYMPIA.
O fye
That you should talk so!—D'ye see these creatures?

STRENI.
Yes.
Your faithful servants.

OLYMPIA,
Witches! witches! witches!
The mermaids of the burning sea!—Heaven snatch us
From these enchanted walls!—Th' arch conjurer
Will soon be here, and then all's lost.—

STRENI.
Who's that?

OLYMPIA.
His name is—I forget it, but you may guess.—
Do not be angry. My head's confused a little:
But I hope I said no harm. I named no body:
Yet I'm afraid you're angry.—O blast me not
With your heavy curses!

STRENI.
Heaven for ever bless
My dearest child!

OLYMPIA.
Indeed you are too kind
To your poor unduteous daughter. Heaven and you
Forgive my crimes! that I may die when I please.—
O curse on all mistakes!

STRENI.
What dost thou mean?

OLYMPIA.
I'll tell you when the mists are gone.—I have it.
I chid ALPHONSO cruelly—Heaven forgive me!—
Indeed he was not such a fickle coxcomb
As some suppose.—They told me he was married;
But I know other matters.—Oh! oh! oh!—

STRENI.
Kind Heaven restore her precious wits again,
And punish me with any other plague
But this!—

OLYMPIA.
D'ye know what I dreamt last night?—Oh 'twas
hide o us fancy!—

STRENI.
Never mind dreams, my child.

OLYMPIA.
The Moon spoke to me! 'Twas horrible. Yet that
Was a trifle to what happened afterwards.—
O this head! this head!—
I cannot put it into words; but while
Such dreams are going who would dare to sleep?—
I have not slept this month.

VICTORIA.
Come, dear OLYMPIA,
'Tis late, come go to bed. I'll watch by your side,
While sweet repose dissolves those idle fears.
Let us to bed.

OLYMPIA.
Away!—Are you a witch too!
You league against me too?—Cousin of vengeance,
Hark you, I'll never go to bed; I'll die first.—
O fye, fye, fye! to what would you betray me!
Go, go, vile-shocking creature!—

STRENI.
This to VICTORIA,
Your dearest friend, OLYMPIA?

OLYMPIA.
Yes, my friend!
Such friends as Heaven defend me from!—My friend,
To snatch the antidote of all sorcery from me?
The balm that heals all wounds.—Ah you're a trusty one;
Would I had known you sooner!

STRENI.
What means this?

VICTORIA.
Mere jealous fancies, sick imaginations,
Like all the rest.

OLYMPIA.
Hark ye:—Nay if you weep
I've done. I'm such a tender hearted fool.—
Ah VICTORIA, VICTORIA!—

VICTORIA.
Dear dear OLYMPIA!—

OLYMPIA.
Hush! What's that? Let me go.
He's coming.

VICTORIA.
Who, my dear!

OLYMPIA.
'Tis CLAUDIO.—Hide me!—

STRENI.
He'll trouble thee no more.—He's gone.

OLYMPIA.
Ah! would
I had never seen him! that's my prayer, and if
There's any harm in it—O Heaven!—See there!

STRENI.
Bless thee! What's there?

OLYMPIA.
See! See!

STRENI.
See what, my child?

OLYMPIA.
D'ye ask?

STRENI.
What should I see?

OLYMPIA.
A sight to break
A heart of rock, and make the lion whine
Like a whipt spaniel.—ALPHONSO pale and bloody!
O misery, misery! O most lamented youth!
Who did this cruel stern remorseless deed
No miracle can undo?—Dead, murder'd, butcher'd!
Speak, I conjure you. Dear dreadful vision, say
What ruffian shall be torn on the wheel for this?
Oh! 'tis not to be born to see you look so.—
Speak if thou canst—He's gone!

STRENI.
Alas! my child,
Thou speak'st to the winds.

OLYMPIA.
Good God!—VICTORIA!—

VICTORIA.
'Twas a mere fancy, for ALPHONSO lives;
And lives, I hope, for many happy days
With his OLYMPIA.

OLYMPIA.
Insupportable!
Must I be juggled out of my senses thus?
It seems I am a child, a fool. Wise cousin,
Pray do not laugh at me: do not, I say.
And yet it may be wit perhaps to jest
With torture and despair.

VICTORIA.
Can you suspect me
For such a monster?

OLYMPIA.
Did you not see him plainly?

VICTORIA.
Believe me, no.

OLYMPIA.
That's strange! that's strange, indeed!

STRENI.
How deadly pale,
She's grown!—Thou'rt sick, my child.

OLYMPIA.
Too well, too well!
Only a little chilliness wanders o'er me.—
Hark how my ears ring! Lend me your hand, VICTORIA.

VICTORIA.
Alas! thou shudder'st so thou canst not stand.
Cold sweats bedew thee; thou'rt ready to faint, dear girl.
Come, lean upon this couch. So.—

OLYMPIA.
As you will.
Do with me what you please.—Ha! there again!
Now if you do not see him you're blind.—Dear father
Behold! see there!—I come, I come, ALPHONSO!
Receive me Heaven—and you—

STRENI.
Ah! hold her up!
She falls like one shot thro' the brain.

VICTORIA.
Alas!
She's dead! dead! dead!

STRENI.
'Tis but a fit I hope.—
Hold up her head.—Help, help! Oh all the world
To hear her speak again!—Ah me! that face
Is fix'd in death. She's cold, cold—poor OLYMPIA!
I've liv'd too long. She's gone, my faultless child
For ever gone—and I her murderer—Oh!