University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Street near the Palace.
RODOLPHO and MENTZEL.
MENTZEL.
Oh! how I suffer for Constantia's sake;
I tremble, lest some fatal error shou'd ensue.

RODOLPHO.
All future ages must applauding hear
When the brave Count, her husband, hence was forc'd
By rigid sentence to the Cave of Idra—
A torpid interval numb'd every sense,
And all the wheels of life a while stood still;
But bounteous Nature soon reviv'd their springs:
Then all the horrors of her dread condition
Rush'd ghastly—glaring on her tortur'd soul.

MENTZEL.
At such a sight, humanity must shudder!

RODOLPHO.
No words can utter what her heart endur'd
Beneath th'impression of the horrid blow:
She flew to court to plead her husband's cause;
Her language such as guardian angels utter,
Who pray for mortals at the throne of grace.

MENTZEL.
And yet, alas! she met not with success!
Where was Lorenzo then to back her suit?

RODOLPHO.
The insolence of Seyfert had provok'd
His gen'rous nature up to such degree,
His friends by force withdrew him from the court,
Lest his too warm resentment shou'd incur
A treatment base as Count Alberti has;—
But let us seek and strive to comfort him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

ALBERTI'S House.
CONSTANTIA and LAURA.
LAURA.
Madam, for Heav'n sake moderate your grief!
Nor let fierce anger prey upon your mind!
With patience wait; a retributive hour
Will amply pay the agonies you feel.

CONSTANTIA.
Preach patience to the winds—to roaring seas,
But not to me!—Comfort I ne'er shall know;
Its healing balm disclaims a wretch like me:
A wretch who caus'd the noblest hero's fall
That e'er with bold atchievements grac'd the field;
For me he's lost, my honour to assert!
Oh! there's distraction in the horrid thought!
It kindles a new Etna in my bosom,
And drives me mad! a prey to wild despair!

LAURA.
Good angels calm the tempest in her heart!

CONSTANTIA.
How!—be refus'd a common suppliant's right!
Admittance, and a hearing from my prince!
In the behalf of his most gallant chief!
To be debarr'd from bidding him adieu!
And taking a last farewel kind embrace!
This to the wives of criminals they grant:
Why am I singled out for such disgrace!
Th'affront is meant to me—thro' Seyfert's malice:
He may afflict—but ne'er shall bend my soul!—

Enter SERVANT,
SERVANT.
Madam, this paper's from Lord Seyfert brought.

CONSTANTIA,
“To Lady Constantia.”
“It is commanded by th'imperial will,
“That in her house Constantia be confin'd,
“And dare not zealous application make
“In vain behalf of the condemn'd Alberti.
“Shou'd she repugnant prove to this decree,
“The Emperor commands without appeal,
“She forthwith to a convent be convey'd,
“In its sequester'd gloom to end her days.”

LEOPOLD.

SEYFERT.

Vain threats to one who's fix'd, resolv'd, already;
[Throws down the paper—Laura takes it up.
I'll fly this town where tyranny resides,
To find a speedy death, or my Alberti—
Relentless holder of an iron sceptre,
In the last moments of thy cruel life,
May th'ear of Heav'n prove deaf as thine to pity—
And barr'd against you be the door of mercy!
But in this world to punish lawless pow'r,
May ceaseless thunder bellow round your walls;
May the keen light'nings shoot in vollies down,
And of your city make one gen'ral blaze!
At which my soul will feel luxurious joy—
When all Vienna is reduc'd to ashes,
Rise! swell! O Danube from thy lowest bed,
And with a foamy torrent sweep away,
That not a relique of its pride remain
To tell posterity that such things were.

LAURA.
Alas! her reason's gone, and madness now prevails!

CONSTANTIA.
Come! let us hasten from these hated walls,
And e'er their ranc'rous hate prevent my flight,
I'll mounted on a whirlwind's friendly wing
O'ertake Alberti, who's the world to me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Cave in the Quicksilver Mines of Idra.
Enter EVERARD and FAULKNER—lighted by a SLAVE.
EVERARD.
In all our travels thro' the eastern world,
No sight of greater wonder or dismay
E'er struck our eyes than this of Idra's cave!
Of all whose horrors I'll a picture just
Give to Alberti, near th'imperial throne
The foremost courtier, my much honour'd friend.—
What horrors strike me in this hideous path
That leads directly to the door of death?
My frighted senses have their functions lost!
My eyes, my ears, my feeling, and my judgment,
Are robb'd of their accustomed faculties;
Nay, startled nature knows not here her own
Establish'd laws! a hollow dreadful chaos!

SLAVE.
Ah! Sir, what think you then of us? Condemn'd
For life to groan in these infernal cells,
And never more to see the radiant sun?

EVERARD.
Can human hearts impose on fellow creatures
Such a curse?

SLAVE.
Ah, Sir! you see but little yet of what
We miserable wretches here endure.

FAULKNER.
What, are you here condemn'd to groan out life
For some atrocious crime? If so, sure death
To you and all wou'd be a welcome mercy.

SLAVE.
I ought, alas! but wretched mortals, Sir,
Will cling to nature, tho' she spurn them from her:
For crimes indeed, but disproportion'd crimes
Are many to this horrid cave condemn'd.

EVERARD.
Oh, tyranny! thou horrid, hateful pest!
Who gratifiest thy appetite of death.
With sights like these, and glut'st on misery!
My free-born nature startles at thy shape!
Oh, dear bought precious, precious liberty!
I taste thy heav'n descended cordial now!
Now, now, my happy country's name adore!—
Oh, blissful Britain! little do thy sons
Regard th'inestimable privilege
That they enjoy above the rest of mortals!
Their birthright, Liberty! that glorious claim;
That joy of reason! and that pride of man!

FAULKNER.
Say, finish'd ruin of thy former state,
Oh, say! wou'd not a speedy death be welcome?

SLAVE.
Indeed, good Sir, I felt it so at first,
And often call'd on death to set me free.
But thanks to Heav'n, whose wise, whose gracious ways
To human search are past the finding out.
My better angel, watchful at my side,
Still whisper'd messages of grace and love,
And pull'd my lifted arm with sweet persuasion down.

FAULKNER.
Can then such manly sentiments remain,
Such eloquence within a heart like thine?
My impatient soul with eager longing pants
To hear thy cruel fate! Say whence you came,
Your rank, and what misfortune brought you hither.

(Enter an Officer from the Cave.)
OFFICER.
Get hence unto thy task thou talking loiterer,
Thy time is not thine own, the breath thou draw'st
Belongs not to thyself, but to the Emperor:
Thou canst not long hold out—thy time is near;
Get hence thou slave! and work it to the last.

EVERARD.
Say, wretch, art thou of human clay compos'd?
Has custom turn'd to flint thy harden'd heart?
Forbear thy hateful hand—there's money for thee.

OFFICER.
Oh! Sir, you know, I see, the way to melt me.
Flinty as I am, Sir, this shall soften me.
Preach on, preach on, but make thy sermon short;
I shall not be thy hearer yet a while—

[Exit.
SLAVE.
Such are the hourly insults which we here
Endure; but thanks to Heav'n they'll quickly cease!
I feel my spirits fail, they bring me news
That weary life and I shall quickly part!

FAULKNER.
I pray, good Sir, indulge us with your story:
I long to hear it, and perhaps may serve thee.

SLAVE.

FAULKNER.
Your fault was fashion's crime;—I pity you:
Can nothing, Sir, be thought of for your service?
Have you no friend at court? no int'rest there?

SLAVE.
Alas! my int'rest in this world is vain,
And all redress to me wou'd come too late!

EVERARD.
By Heav'n a happy thought! thou shalt be free!
The manly, brave, the noble Count Alberti
Is my distinguish'd, ever honour'd friend!
Himself a soldier of the first emprize,
The Emperor will never him refuse
A boon like this; then hope, Sir, to be free.
(Enter the OFFICER.)
Get hence thou ugly fiend in human form!
This happy soul shall soon defy thy power,
Thy iron reign o'er him will quickly end!
Few days shall pass 'fore he's from hence releas'd!

OFFICER.
Releas'd! there is but one release from hence,
And death must be the bail! and ev'n then
The body here must rest; this cave his tomb!
You'll, Sir, remember me before you part.

EVERARD.
How vile extortion does itself sustain
In this midway to Tartarus—from thence
It came—and spread its baleful influence
In the world above—how this caitiff vile
This gaoler of a dungeon dark as hell
Holds forth his pitchy palm for venal bribes,
And impudently apes, forsooth, his betters.
Thou man afflicted! I prophetick feel
An impulse in my heart arise, that tells
Thou shalt e'er long be blest with sacred freedom;
Then hope—the Count Alberti is thy friend.

SLAVE.
I fain wou'd purchase yet another lease
Of life, and be at large to pay my thanks—
But hark! our nightly pious exercise
Begins—to hear't may not displeasing prove.
Follow, I'll guide where best you may behold!

THE SOLEMN HYMN.
By the Slaves.
CHORUS.