 | Clementina |  |
1
ACT I.
An Apartment in Anselmo's Palace.Enter Clementina and Elizara.
Clementina.
Distraction! here so soon?
Eliz.
This very hour—
Your good, your noble, yet misguided father,
This moment chill'd me with the hated tale;
Then seizing eagerly my trembling hand,
“Tell Clementina, tell your stubborn friend,”
Cry'd he, in accents positive and stern,
“That brave Palermo, just return'd from chains,
“Chains greatly purchas'd in his country's cause,
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“As suits her virtue, and Anselmo's daughter.—
“Tell her my word's irrevocably giv'n,
“And bid her guard the honour of her father.”
Clem.
Why let the storm exert its utmost rage;
And burst in thunder on my wretched head!
Let this severe, this unrelenting father,
Cast me a houseless wand'rer on the world,
Yet shall my soul with unabating firmness
Deny her sanction to Palermo's claim.
O Elizara, you who know the cause,
The endless cause of Clementina's tears,
Who saw the awful, tho' the secret rite
That gave this hand, now widow'd, to Rinaldo;
Is there, in all the various rounds of woe,
A curse so great, a pang so exquisite,
As this poor breast is singled out to feel?
Eliz.
Indulge not thus a painful recollection!
Clem.
Oh memory! ev'n madness cannot lose it!
Mangled with wounds, amidst unnumber'd foes,
My hapless husband for his country fell!
Yet, the sad story of our loves conceal'd,
I was allow'd no privilege of tears,
But doom'd to hide the anguish of my heart.—
And now, in all the fulness of despair,
To have another forc'd upon me! horror!
It is not to be borne!—But I'm resolv'd,
And will devote the remnant of my life
To lost Rinaldo's memory, or die
Some little hour before my griefs would end me.
Eliz.
Alas, I feel the sorrows of your bosom.
With all the ardent sympathy of friendship;
And now how souls so delicate as yours,
Must spurn th'idea of a second lord.
Yet blame no more the sternness of Anselmo;
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Between your angry father and Rinaldo's,
First urg'd the measure of a private union.
A stranger therefore to your grief, Anselmo
Claims but the right which custom, and which nature,
Have long giv'n parents o'er their children's hearts.
Clem.
What claim, what right, misjudging Elizara,
Can tyrant custom plead, or nature urge
To force the free election of the soul?
Say, should affection light the nuptial torch,
Or should the rash decision of a father
Doom his sad race to wretchedness for ever?
No, Elizara; custom has no force,
Nature no right, to sanctify oppression;
And parents vainly tell us of indulgence,
When they give all but happiness to children.
Eliz.
True—yet a cruel crisis in your fate,
Has much to offer for the good Anselmo.
He fondly thinks his daughter disengag'd;
Believes too, fondly, that Palermo's merit
Must touch the gentle bosom of my friend:
If then determin'd to reject his choice,
At once throw off constraint—at once be open,
And seal his lips for ever on the subject,
By a frank mention of your fatal story.
Clem.
What! and expose my dear Rinaldo's kindred
To all the fury of enrag'd Anselmo,
The now acknowledg'd ruler of the state;
Who, tho' renown'd for wisdom and for justice,
Yet in the points, the cruel points of honour,
Is rigid, stern, and fatally severe?
No, Elizara; tho' these fading eyes
No more must hope to gaze upon Rinaldo,
Tho' the soul-swelling language of my woes,
Falls unregarded on the silent tomb,
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From the dark, dreary mansions of the dead;
Still let me guard whatever he held dear,
Nor pluck down added ruin on his house!
Eliz.
Anselmo's justice will o'ercome his hatred—
Were he inclin'd to make his will his law,
Or wish'd for means to gratify resentment,
He has the pow'r already; but his mine,
Superior ever to the thought of wrong,
Can feel no passion to disgrace his virtue.
Clem.
The best may err, nor will I tempt his rage;
The mighty measure of my woe is full—
Why then, when fate's unmerciful decree
Has curs'd me up to such a height of ill,
Why should I shudder at the gathering storm,
Or seek for shelter in another's sorrow?
I now have no assylum but the grave:
Tho' did peace court me from the bow'rs of bliss,
My soul would scorn to hear the charmer's voice,
If she requir'd me to perform a deed,
That either shock'd my justice, or my honour.
Eliz.
Then summon all your firmness, Clementina!
For here Anselmo comes, and brings Palermo;
O that your terrors for Rinaldo's kindred,
May still subside, and hear the voice of reason!
Your soul is ill adapted to disguise;
And without cause to disappoint his views,
Must be as fatal as to tell him all.
Clem.
They're here—let us retire—Palermo's presence
Is now a thousand deaths—and tho' prepar'd
With fortitude to act—still, Elizara,
While I can shun the conflict, let me spare,
Spare ev'n the feelings of a cruel father!
[Exeunt.
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Ansel.
Gone so abruptly!—gone at our approach!—
And yet, my son, the crimson hue of virtue
Will always deepen at a lover's sight,
Who comes to ask his certain day of transport,
And knows the hour of apprehension o'er.
Paler.
'Tis just, my lord—but still however lovely,
The soft emotion of these gentle terrors,
Spreads in the blooming daughters of perfection,
Still Clementina might have kindly giv'n
A long lost lover welcome from his bonds;
And nobly told him that his ruin'd fortunes
Were ev'n deem'd merit with Anselmo's daughter.
Ansel.
Think not, Palermo, of your ruin'd fortunes;
My Clementina, with her father's eyes,
Regardless looks on dignity and wealth;
And holds the mind pre-eminent in both,
That boasts a bright pre-eminence in virtue.
Paler.
When sharp adversity has stung the mind,
It makes us doubly conscious of neglect:
And sure a soul less sensible than mine
Had room to start at Clementina's coldness.
Judge then by all that headlong fire of youth
Which once swell'd up your own impassion'd breast,
If I could let indifference pass unnotic'd?
He never lov'd that bore a slight with temper,
Nor ever merited a worthy heart,
Who meanly stoop'd, contented with a cold one.
Ansel.
No more, my son!—This day rewards your suff'rings,
For Clementina shall to-day be yours;
And while love courts you with his ripest roses,
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Shines out to crown you with his warmest beams—
Our native land—but what exceeds all price,
Our native liberty shall soon be ours;
And soon Palermo nobly shall revenge
On haughty Ferdinand, that scourge of earth,
The wrongs ill fated Venice has sustain'd
The wrongs which heedless of a soldier's glory
Th'imperial plund'rer on my son himself
So poorly, meanly, infamously heap'd,
When in a base exaction for his ransom,
He seiz'd his all, nor left th'indignant warrior
A home to rest in from the weight of chains—
Our French ally, the nobly-minded Lewis,
This hour dispatches an embassador,
To give our country renovated being,
And burst asunder ev'ry yoke of Spain.
Paler.
The glorious news o'erpays an age of bonds!
O for a curse, a quick dispatching curse,
To blast the rutheless tyrant on his throne,
And mark him out thro' all succeeding ages,
A dread example to despotic kings!
But say, and bless me with some certain hope;
On what foundation does the royal Lewis,
Bid us thus boldly, confidently look
For instant vengeance, and for instant freedom?
Ansel.
That I am yet to learn.—But noble still
I ever found him in our various treaties;
And therefore cannot, will not, doubt him now.
Sunk by his late distresses, Ferdinand
Now mourns his dreams of universal empire,
And shrinks in secret at the arms of France.
Paler.
Eternal praises to the God of battles!
Yes, scepter'd savage, we may reach you yet,
And boldly tell you in the face of nations,
That royal robbers from unerring justice
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The needy ruffian, in his hour of hunger,
Has some excuse for prowling on his neighbour;
But when the arm, the mighty arm of kings,
That shou'd protect all mankind from oppression,
Is stretch'd to seize on what it ought to guard,
Then heaven's own brand in aggravated fire,
Shou'd strike th'illustrious villain to his hell;
And war in mercy for a groaning world.
Ansel.
Oh, nobly said!—Our cause is just, and heaven,
Fights on our side: for late, the Spanish troops
In two great fields were wholly overthrown,
And fill'd the plains with myriads of their dead.
Our navies too, tho' some Venetian cities
Lye humbled still beneath the tyrant's yoke,
Fill Spain with constant and with just alarms;
For such a blaze of unexampled glory
Has crown'd the fleets entrusted to my care,
That tho' depriv'd of more than halt our realm,
We still remain a formidable foe,
And rule triumphant o'er the boundless wave.
Paler.
How the bright prospect bursts upon my view,
And lifts me up in fancy to the stars!
O did the fair, the matchless Clementina,
View me with eyes less rigidly severe,
This one blest hour had madden'd me with rapture.
Ansel.
Again, Palermo?—But I cease to chide,
And go, my son, to end your doubts for ever.—
If I know aught of Clementina's heart,
'Twill beat in honest unison to mine,
And give an added welcome to your claim,
Because you've now, an added need of fortune.
Paler.
Too generous Anselmo!
Ansel.
Nay, no thanks!
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A double will to ratify engagements,
Stands self-convicted at the bar within,
The base assassin of his native honour.
[Exit.
Paler.
[alone.]
Why did I wound his venerable bosom,
With any doubt of Clementina's truth?
And yet disquiet hangs about my heart;
A secret voice incessantly suggests,
That Clementina was not born for me:
But let me not anticipate misfortune!
When fate has struck, 'tis time enough to feel;
And he is best prepar'd against the blow,
Whose conscious virtue never has deserv'd it.
[Exit.
Scene changes to Clementina's Apartment.
Clem.
[alone.]
Now, Clementina,—now the trial comes—
Call up th'inherent greatness of your soul,
And shew Anselmo, shew this rigid sire,
That his own firmness animates his daughter!
What, does he think that force can move my temper?
No; sacred spirit of my dear Rinaldo,
If kindly hov'ring round your wretched wife,
You still observe her in this world of woe,
Look, and applaud her in an hour of terror!
Look, and behold, how faithful to her vows,
She braves a sure destruction for your sake;
Braves all the stings of poverty and scorn,
Her father's fury, and her house's hate,
To live the ceaseless mourner of your fall!
Enter Anselmo.
Ansel.
Well, Clementina,—Have I yet a daughter?
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Say rather, Sir—if I have yet a father?
Ansel.
Yes, Clementina, an unhappy father,
Who now implores compassion from his child:
I see, I see with infinite regret,
Your scorn, your fix'd aversion to Palermo;
And tho' I came determin'd to exact
A strict, a rigid instance of your duty,
My aching soul, quite melted at your tears,
Rejects the stern sentiment of force,
And bends the weeping suppliant to a daughter.
Clem.
O could the secret volume of my heart,
Be laid this moment openly to view,
My father there, would read my pride to please him.
Let him ask all from Clementina's duty,
Which wretched Clementina can perform;
Let him do this, and he's at once obeyed.
But when he asks her to direct her wishes,
To turn the mighty current of the mind,
And join the firearms, the ever-warring streams
Of boundless love and limitless aversion;
There he exceeds her utmost stretch of pow'r,
And only gives occasion for her tears.
Ansel.
Look round on all th'accomplish'd sons of Venice,
And say who shines superior to Palermo?
Take then this hand, and bless your doating father!—
Let us not now in poverty desert him,
Nor aid the arrow of a galling need,
With the keen dart of disappointed love!
No Clementina, let us nobly claim
A great alliance with his ruin'd fortunes,
And give a bright example to our country,
That worth is all things, with the truly worthy;
Clem.
Palermo's merits, and Palermo's wants,
A like receive my praises, and my pity;
But, venerable Sir, if e'er my peace.
My soul's dear peace, was tender to your thoughts,
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Let the brave youth, so honour'd with your friendship,
Partake your wealth, but do not kill your daughter.
Do not, to give him a precarious good,
Doom me to certain wretchedness for ever!
I have an equal claim upon your heart,
And call as much for favour as Palermo.
Ansel.
A little time, sweet soother of my age,
Will charm that gentle bosom into rest,
And ev'n return Palermo love for love.
Then, Clementina! O my soul's whole comfort,
Refuse a kneeling father if you can.
[Kneels.
Here at your feet, the author of your being.
Who never stoop'd to aught before but heaven,
Begs for compassion—Must he beg in vain?
Clem.
O Mercy, mercy! Will you kill your daughter?
Rise Sir, O rise, and save me from distraction!
Ansel.
[rising.]
My word, my child, has never yet been broken.—
Do not in age expose me to dishonour!—
Save your poor father at the verge of life,
O nobly save him from the guilt of falshood!
In this reversal of Palermo's fortunes,
The sland'rous tongue of all my house's foes,
Will mark me out to universal shame;
And tell the world his poverty alone,
Has lost the daughter of the base Anselmo.
Clem.
No more—I yield—and am a wretch for ever.
Ansel.
O say not so, my heart's supreme delight!
Applauding heav'n shall bless your filial virtue,
And give your heart that joy you give your father.
My transport grows too mighty to be borne—
O let me hasten to the brave Palermo,
And raise him from despondency to rapture!
[Exit.
Clem.
[alone.]
Rinaldo's widow, wedded to Palermo!
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Or how root up the agonizing thought,
That brings this horrid marriage to my view?
I was prepar'd for all a father's fury,
But was not arm'd against a father's tears.
How could I see him weeping at my feet,
Tost in a whirlwind of contending passions,
And yet retain the purpose of my soul?
Ev'n if the sainted spirit of my husband,
From the bright mansions of eternal day,
Beheld the anguish of his struggling heart,
It must have kindly prompted me to pity—
O this Palermo!—This detested union!—
Married to him?—The widow of Rinaldo?—
Give me, ye blessed ministers of peace,
Some instant portion of that soothing stream,
Which pours a deep oblivion on the mind,
And drowns the sense of memory for ever!
| Clementina | |