University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene a Prison.
Enter Granville in Chains.
Granville.
Where shall I turn—they have me now secure—
Was I however singled out alone,
To bear the utmost malice of the stars,
I cou'd, unshrinking, look upon these chains;
But when I think what Clementina suffers,
When in the eye of agonizing fancy,
I paint my wife all weltering in her blood,
Or what more deeply damns me in reflection,
Suppose her dragg'd to hot Palermo's bed;
My heart faints instantly with apprehension,
And almost dies at bare imagination;
Yet, gracious fountain of unbounded mercy!
Let one blest drop from your exhaustless source,
In pity fall, and save my Clementina;
Save her, O save her in the hour of peril,
And teach the world that—

Clem.
[within]
Hear me, O Anselmo!
I conjure you hear me—

Gran.
She's now in danger—
The slaves now tear the victim to the altar.
She is my wife—Barbarians, hear you that!
These chains—these chains—damnation on these chains!
The prison blazes—Hell yawns quick before me—
Where does this lead? No matter where—Despair
Is prudence now—

[Exit.
Scene changes to an Apartment in Anselmo's Palace.
Enter Anselmo and Palermo.
Ansel.
And yet, my good Palermo,
My secret soul inclines to hear her too.
O did you mark her undissembled anguish?

Paler.
I did—I did—and felt it most severely—
Her burning eye expanding into blood,
Stood desperately fix'd, while on each cheek,
Each pallid cheek, a single tear hung quiv'ring,
Like early dew-drops on the sick'ning lily,
And spoke a mind just verging into madness.

Ansel.
I'll see her once again—for when I weigh
All the nice strictness of her former conduct;
When I reflect, that to this cursed day,
She look'd, as if her person, wholly mind,
In Dian's breast cou'd raise a sigh of envy,
I cannot think her utterly abandon'd:
Abandon'd too, in such a little space!
Despise me not, Palermo—for the father
Still rushes strongly on my aching heart,
And fondly seeks for argument to save her.

Paler.
Check not the tender sentiments of nature,
But see her—make her, if possible, disclose
Who Granville truly is, since she affirms
He is not what he seems, and is her husband—
That he's a Frenchman, and of noble rank,
Appears too plainly from his high commission—
But still some secret strongly heaves her soul;
And hid beneath this mystery of woe,
Who knows how far that secret may not merit
Compassion, or excuse—

Ansel.
I'll try at least—
I'll act as fits the fondness of a father;
Forgive, as far as honour can forgive,
And if her guilt exceeds a father's mercy,
I'll beg of heaven the firmness of a man—

[Exit.
Paler.
Unhappy, gen'rous, excellent old man!
I cou'd not quench his little ray of hope,
And tell him all I thought of Clementina.
She is indeed distrest—But pride alone,
A disappointed pride, and lawless love,
Now harrow up her soul—Had she an honest,
Rational excuse—a tale that cou'd behold
The light—ere now she had discover'd it—
This seeming mystery, is wholly art,
To save this new-made husband—Monstrous—monstrous!
Shame rises upon shame, and each fresh guilt
Out-damns the former with its deep'ning blackness—

Enter Granville, bursting from the back Scene.
Gran.
I've forc'd a way—Infernal villain, turn!
Chain'd as I am, you shall not fly me now.

Paler.
Why this exceeds my utmost expectation—
This is revenge that pays an age of torture.
Yes, fraudful lord, this meeting gives me transport;
And long ere now my vengeance had you felt,
But that the perjur'd partner of your crimes
Appear'd most guilty, and to justice seem'd
Less the seduc'd, than infamous seducer—

Gran.
Talk not of justice, O consummate coward!
Talk not of justice, little-minded spoiler!
When, dead alike to sentiment and shame,
You seek by force—by force, inhuman ruffian!
To drag a helpless woman to your bed;
And tho' despis'd—detested—execrated—
Attempt, assisted by her savage father,
To make her yours, thro' actual rape and murder.

Paler.
Ere I reply to this injurious charge,
Let me, tho' fate hangs o'er your guilty head,
On equal terms, allow you room to answer.
Here I unloose your chains—Now hence with me,
And fight the cause of this abandon'd woman.
Palermo dares you forth to single combat:
Palermo too, shall arm his vanquish'd foe,
Nor ev'n, while Venice dooms him to the axe,
Once name his crimes, to shun the claims of honour—

Gran.
Hence—With the promis'd sword alone I'll answer;
For tho' my soul thro' all her enmity,
Feels a kind something for this gallant anger,
In blood alone she'll speak her obligation.
[Exeunt.

Scene changes to a Chamber.
Enter Clementina.
Clem.
He'll see me—endless blessings on his head—
Yes—Elizara's counsel was most just:
There is no other way to save my husband—
If I persist in hiding who he is,
He dies beyond a doubt—whereas revealing
The fatal secret, tho' replete with horror,
May wake the father in Anselmo's bosom;
And when he finds his daughter still unsullied,
The sudden torrent of surprize and joy,
May lead him yet to pity and forgiveness—

Enter Anselmo.
Ansel.
I come at last, unhappy girl, to hear
If there's indeed, in this mysterious conduct,
Aught that can have pretensions to excuse?
I come ev'n hoping ardently for motives
To justify an offer of my pardon;
For O! I wish, I wish to find you guiltless—
Speak then at once, I earnestly conjure you;
Give me but room to exercise my fondness,
And come again securely to my heart—

Clem.
O Sir! restrain, restrain this wond'rous goodness!
It pierces like a dagger thro' my heart,
And shews me doubly, what a wretch I was
To wrong so good, so excellent a father.
Had I at first reveal'd my wretched story—
Had I but said who Granville truly is,
I see, 'twere possible to hope for pity.

Ansel.
Deserve that pity, and receive it now—
Prove that you are not lost—prove that this Granville
Is not the vile seducer of an instant,
Shew me but this—and leave a partial father,
If you can wipe away the charge of shame,
To overlook the crime of disobedience,

Clem.
How cou'd I be a monster so deprav'd,
As once to forfeit tenderness like this!
O Sir—if you can graciously forgive
One fault—one fatal fault—wretch as I am,
We may be happy yet; and long, long days
Of future joy o'erpay these hours of sorrow—
Know then that Granville—

Ansel.
Well

Clem.
Is not of France.

Ansel.
Proceed.

Clem.
He is a citizen of Venice—

Ansel.
What citizen?

Clem.
Rinaldo.—

Ansel.
Ha! confusion!
Son of my foe—nay more, a foe to freedom!

Clem.
He's not your foe, Sir, nor a foe to freedom;
Our hearts were just united, when the fatal
Quarrel, between his sire and you, took place:
I need not mention how he fought for Venice;
You saw him fall, and saw his country weep:
A train of wonderful events has since
High-rais'd him in the court of France, and duty
To an indulgent, to a royal master,
Join'd with his wishes to behold your daughter,
Has led him to this dang'rous embassy:
O save him then, my father—I know
His life is forfeit to the laws—But sure,
As your unequall'd virtue has preserv'd
The state, the state will readily preserve
Your hapless son.

Ansel.
'Tis hard, 'tis hard at once
To conquer our resentments—Hard to take
Those to our hearts, whom we have hated deadly;
But 'tis such bliss to find you still unspotted,
That what before had fir'd my soul to madness,
Brings rapture now, and cancels disobedience.

Clem.
How shall I speak the feelings of my heart?
How, sacred Sir, repay this wond'rous goodness!

Ansel.
I have a daughter still—Rinaldo never
Was lost to worth, tho' I abhorr'd his father;
Nor shall his country, for this first transgression,
Forget the merit of his former service.
Now you're my child again—your husband lives;
Thus, thus I bury your offence for ever,
[Embracing her.
And fly to bring Rinaldo to your arms.
[Exit.

Clem.
O teach me, heaven! O teach me to express
The strong sensations of my swelling bosom!
Do not oppress me with this weight of mercy,
And yet destroy my feeble pow'r to thank you:
But my Rinaldo, my deliver'd lord,
Shall speak our mutual praise—Joy, boundless joy
And gratitude absorb my little sense
Beyond the reach of recollection—and
Transport grows too exquisite for words.

Enter Granville, leaning on his Sword, pale and bloody: entering he falls against the side of the Scene, where he continues some time.
Clem.
My husband—horror—welt'ring in his blood!
Oh who has rais'd his arm against your life?

Gran.
Behold I come ev'n in the pangs—support me,
Clementina—of death to save my love,
To prove my right—and guard her from dishonour.

Clem.
Ye heavenly ministers—O say if this,
If this is all my happiness at last!

Gran.
My Clementina—But it will not be—
The hand of fate is on me—and Palermo
Triumphs after all—O had I giv'n him
Blow for blow—I cou'd enjoy these pangs—But
Thus, thus to fall—
[Falling down, Clementina kneeling over him.

Clem.
Well now what farther business
Have I with life?—

Gran.
My dearest Clementina!

Clem.
What says my love?

Gran.
They have not yet undone you?

Clem.
Am I not yet alive—let that convince you—
Anselmo too is reconcil'd—And O!
I look'd for years, for long, long years, of joy:
But what is reconciliation now?
Or what is joy?—From dreams of heav'n I wake,
To added woe, to aggravated torture—
And must we part, Rinaldo?

Gran.
O for ever!
Life ebbs apace, and all is darkness round me,
Save Clementina—Save my gallant friends—
They're yours—my father too—farewel! One look,
One last dear look—farewel—farewel for ever.
[Dies.

Clem.
Here too my sun eternally shall set—
Rinaldo—friend—companion—lover—husband—
Hard as our doom is, it is kind in this,
And joins us now, to sever us no more!

Enter Anselmo.
Ansel.
Palermo has acquainted me with all—
And is he gone so soon?—O hapless girl!
But yet Palermo's not to blame—Rinaldo,
Provok'd his fate—He urg'd him to the combat,
And the survivor, conscious who has fall'n,
Deplores most deeply the disast'rous blow.

Clem.
Hence with his more than crocodile complaining,
Hence, to th'inferior monster of the Nile,
Let him teach tears of yet unfancy'd falshood—
There lies my husband slaughter'd by his hand,
Heav'n's worst of woes—Heav'n's worst of woes upon him!
And thinks he now with sounds of lamentation,
To charm down griefs of magnitude like mine?
No, here I shake of wretchedness and life;
Here I attend my dear Rinaldo's spirit,
And leave the world to beings like Palermo.
[Stabs herself.

Ansel.
O Clementina—O my child—my child!
Had you no pity for a weeping father?
Was I not curs'd enough, enough a wretch,
Without this blow to rend my breast asunder?

Clem.
I scarce know what I act—my reason totters;
Yet while an interval of sense remains,
O see me, Sir, with less endearing goodness—
Wretched no less as daughter than as wife:
In life's decline I mark you out to woe,
And here I murder my unhappy husband:
'Tis time the grave shou'd hide so foul a monster!
My brain, my brain, my brain—Who's that—Palermo—
[Raving.
Again—There, savage—there, that blow is ample vengeance—
Look down—look down, Rinaldo—see your wife!
There lies the murd'rer slain by Clementina!
Prepare to meet my spirit in the skies!
Prepare to meet me in eternal morning!
Elysium spreads upon my raptur'd view,
And I die blest, since dying I revenge you—
[Sinks.

Ansel.
O when I cast a retrospective glance
On all the graces of her infant years;
When I reflect how, rip'ning into beauty,
My eager eyes wou'd strain in transport on her,
Her faults, her follies vanish from my view,
And nought remains but tenderness to torture.

Clem.
Where am I?—O I shall remember soon—
That is Anselmo—that my rev'rend father:
O Sir, forgive me—beg down mercy on me!
And in the grave unite me to Rinaldo.
[Dies.

Ansel.
She's gone—she's gone; my lily there lies blasted,
No more to know returning spring—no more
To blossom in the pride of beauty.—Where,
Where shall I fly to lose my recollection?
The world is now detestable to thought,
Since all that once delighted me is lost.
O wretched child—O miserable father!
But let me not blaspheme: good heav'n—good heav'n!
I yield submissive to the dreadful stroke,
And only ask that this unhappy story,
To future times, may forcibly point out
The dire effects of filial disobedience.
[Exit.