University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE V.

A Gothic Hall, with a Gallery and Staircase.
Enter Honoria and Agnes.
Honoria.
A pris'ner, said'st thou?—in my father's castle!—
Here! where from infancy my growing reason
Has taught me to look forward with delight!
Is this the noontide of so blithe a promise?
Oh! Agnes, happy is the mountain peasant
That wakes exulting with the morning beam,
And, still a stranger to the cares of greatness,
Sinks to soft slumbers with the setting sun!
The seasons are to him but pleasing changes
Of labour and repose; his wife, his infants,
The smiling subjects bound by nature's laws
To decorate his little world of love!

Agnes.
Yet 'tis not always thus; for oft we see
That virtue, to the rugged wild retir'd,
Still finds the thorn affliction in its way.

Honoria.
But the rough child of nature knows no guile;
No honey'd poison meets his healthful lips,
Steep'd in the gilded chalice of deceit:
By poverty, from envy far remov'd,
No fawning sycophant assails his door,
Where holy innocence presides, secure!

Agnes.
Give not your thoughts to melancholy musing;
By pond'ring o'er past woe we oft neglect
The means of future joy.

Honoria.
Now, hear me, Agnes;
This night I promis'd in the forest's gloom
To meet my Alferenzi; there to pour
All my vast store of sorrows in his breast,
And then to seek oblivion!

Agnes.
Yet, Forbear!
Be not so rash; parental rage is transient,
And nature bends the heart to suffering virtue!

Honoria.
Oh! could transcendent virtue's charm subdue
The haughty spirit of my father's soul,
He had not with remorseless rage depriv'd
An only child of a fond mother's care.
But she's in Heav'n!

Agnes.
Yet, see thy Alferenzi—

Honoria.
[Valmont appears in the gallery.
Ah! do not mock my anguish; gods! to see him,
O'er the bleak desert or the craggy mountain,
Bow'd by the yelling blast and beating tempest,
No light save that the livid flash afforded,
Still would I wander, pleas'd and unrepining!

Agnes.
Attend—without the prospect of such danger,
You may hold converse freely; the stern guard
Your father makes the keeper of your prison
I can persuade to pity; if you'll venture,
The western portal shall be open to you,
And in the forest, by the midnight moon,
You may confer in safety, and unseen.

Honoria.
O! blessings on thee!—soft, this ray of hope
Dazzles my aching senses, and I start
As from a dream of horror, where the brain,
Stampt with the semblance of some phantom dire,
Reflects it, waking, to the fearful gaze!
Now, gentle Agnes! seek my Alferenzi!
Tell him, the gloom that hides a maiden's blush
Presents no terror to the spotless soul!
Guilt fears the witching hour of spectred night,
When on the murd'rers front the starting drop
Sits like the dew upon the pois'nous toad!
But virtue, guided by its own pure ray,
Treads the rude path, undaunted and secure.
Now to thy task, and may the pow'rs of pity
Guard thee from every ill! I will away,
And in my prison chamber wait thy signal.

[Exeunt severally.
[Valmont descends from the gallery.
Valmont.
Go, disobedient fiend!
Long shalt thou wait before thy minion comes:
The midnight moon, reflecting what she sees,
Shall veil her placid brow with tints of blood!
No sound shall greet thine ear with signal kind;
But the lone owl, with horror-boding shriek,
Shall pierce thy love-sick, palpitating heart.
How like her mother look'd the froward girl!
On that dread night, when her proud father fell,
So did she lure me to her fatal snare.—
Away, reflection! vengeance calls me hence;
And I obey the summons.

SCENE VI.

Before the Castle. Moonlight.
Enter Albert, wrapped in a Venetian cloak.
Albert.
I cannot be deceived!
I heard the voice of Agnes from the terrace
Call soft on Alferenzi! if he attends
The guilty bidding, ere the twilight gleams,
Or he or I must fall! now sullen night
Flings her star-spangled mantle o'er the globe,
And spirits hostile to the soul of man
Weave the dark web of mischief! bodings strange
Knock at my heart and make my pulses beat
As tho' the life-stream struggled with my fate.
[A light appears in the tower.
That is Honoria's chamber; and she wakes
At this unusual hour; 'tis passing strange!
Hah! she approaches!

[Albert draws back.
Agnes comes forth from the castle.
Agnes.
Francisco is our friend;
Thus far kind fortune smiles upon our hopes!
How lovely is this silence! The faint breeze
Sleeps like an infant lull'd by its own song!
Scarcely three hours have wing'd their tardy flight,
Since from the watch-tow'r I distinctly marked
The pensive Alferenzi: on a bank
O'er-canopied by od'rous myrtle boughs,
With folded arms, like one not loving life,
Mournful he stood, inclining o'er the stream,
That seem'd to soothe him with its murm'ring sound.
[She hears footsteps.
Now all the spirits of the night protect me!

[Exit.
Albert.
Oh! busy, cunning minister of ill!
Thou draw'st thy victim to that dizzy point
From whence my sword shall hurl him to destruction!
Come, sweet revenge, thou haggard imp of hell,
Come, let me riot in thy iron arms,
And glut my soul with luxury of hate!
Some one approaches—to my hiding place
Till I make sure of vengeance!

[Retires into the wood.
Enter Valmont, from behind the castle.
Valmont.
Ha! does the coward shun me?
Thus have I caught the thief in his own snare:
It must be Alferenzi, like a traitor,
Lurking in ambush, with a villain's hand,
To steal a father's treasure. Day's proud Lord
Soon as he decks his eastern car with fire,
Shall see the wily serpent writhe in death!
Thou God of retribution! Thou whose voice
Bids the pale caitiff dread the thunder's bolt,
Now shield my arm, and let it strike securely.

[Exit.
They fight in the wood.
Valmont re-enters, pale and aghast; one hand holds a drawn sword, the other is bleeding. Honoria opens a small door in the tower, and comes upon the battlements.
Honoria.
Agnes, oh! speak! is Alferenzi there!
[A deep groan issues from the wood. Valmont starts.
Hark!
Do my startled senses yet deceive me,
Or did I hear a soul-departing groan
In yon dark tangled wood? Who passes there?
Speak, or the castle bell shall raise the country.
It must be some unwary traveller,
Benighted in this solitary gloom,
Waylaid and murder'd by conceal'd banditti!

Valmont
(fearfully.)
Be still, Honoria, 'tis thy father, child.
Send round a vassal to unbar the gate,
For I am faint with anguish.

Honoria.
Heav'ns! why that piercing tone of trembling fear?
I thought, ere now, that sleep had folded you
On the soft couch of safety and repose.
I will dispatch a vassal instantly
To give you entrance.

[Retires into the Tower.
Valmont.
Oh! thou blushing sword!
Thou instrument accurs'd, that gave away
My foul, sin-spotted soul, where shall I hide thee?

[The gate opens. Valmont enters.

SCENE VII.

—Honoria's Chamber.
A lamp burning near a window. A door open to the battlements, from which Honoria enters. The moon seen half concealed by clouds, opposite the door.
Honoria,
who wears the scarf of Alferenzi.
Agnes not yet return'd! That groan of death
Still vibrates on my brain, and bids me fear
For Alferenzi's safety—Heav'n protect him!

Valmont enters, with his sword drawn and his hand smear'd with blood. He shrinks at the sight of Honoria, who shrieks and runs towards him.
Honoria.
Prophetic pow'rs! Hah! what am I to think?
Why is that hand so gash'd, and stain'd with blood?
Speak, ere the current of my heart congeals,
And all my faculties freeze up with horror!
Thou'rt deadly pale! and the cold dew of fear
Doth glisten on thy brow! Alas! my father!

[Falls on his neck.
Valmont
(wildly.)
Peace! be silent. Heard you not the tempest
That shook our lofty tow'rs from their foundation?
Saw you the black wing of the howling blast
Sweeping our turrets, red with human gore?

Honoria.
I pray thee, help me bind this bleeding hand.
Ah! let me call assistance; thou art faint!

[Honoria binds the scarf round Valmont's bleeding hand.
Valmont.
Call, call the world's vast multitude to curse me!
Let hungry vultures batten on my heart;
Pluck out mine eyes to feed the eagle's brood,
Lest they, by gazing on thee, fear thy beauty!

Honoria.
Whence comes this strange disorder of thy brain?

Valmont.
From that infernal gulph where guilty souls
Howl in despair! Oh! 'twas a stormy hour!
The earth was palsied, and the vaulted spheres
Flash'd forth indignant flames, while all around
Pale spectres yell'd in triumph o'er the deed!

Honoria.
Thy fancy doth beguile thy better reason;
A night more still and calm I ne'er have seen!
'Tis the sweet pause when nature sinks to rest,
To wake again with renovated charms!
No object seems to move, save the thin clouds,
That, slowly floating o'er the grey expanse,
Veil the bright forehead of the silv'ry moon.

Valmont.
Thou art deceiv'd!
There is a fiend abroad with mildew wing,
Blighting creation! Hell yawns forth monsters,
And the blue air is chok'd with poison'd mists,
Thick'ning to hide the gen'ral wreck of nature!
Say, wilt thou aid the ministers of wrath
To curse an aged father?

Honoria.
Heav'n shield me from the thought!
Why dost thou ask such incoherent questions?
Whose were the crimson drops that stain thy sword?

Valmont.
He met me on my way; he cross'd my path;
Revenge, unsated, panted for his blood!
Would I had perish'd ere my sword had reach'd him.

Honoria.
Whom dost thou mean?

Valmont.
Thy lover!—Alferenzi!

Honoria.
Oh! monstrous and inhuman! quit my sight,
Lest I should, darting o'er the bounds of reason,
Tear all the bonds of filial love asunder,
And brand thee with the name of an assassin!
Go, hide thyself for ever, rash old man,
For thy deep-furrow'd cheek is stampt with murder!

Valmont.
Restrain thy frenzy; know, a father's life
Depends upon thy silence: I must hence
Before the broad and blabbing eye of day
Glares on the scene of slaughter! Fare thee well!
I would embrace thee ere we part for ever,
But that these red contaminated hands
Would stain thy white and unpolluted soul!

[Going.
Honoria.
Thou shalt not leave me:
Thou, whom the voice of nature taught me first
To love and honour, art more dear than ever,
Because thou art more wretched.
[She goes to embrace her father, sees the bloody sword, and recoils with horror.
Put up that sword! It blasts my shatter'd senses!
Oh! I am lost! my wild ethereal spirit
Springs o'er the confines of this world's despair,
And flies to Alferenzi!

Valmont
(sheathing his sword.)
Already the grey dawn steals o'er the forest,
And tips our battlements with dusky light;
Danger comes trembling on the wings of time,
And time, not daring to record the deed,
Flies swiftly on! Come, let me lead thee, love.

Honoria
(wildly.)
Oh! lead me where all memory shall fade;
Where blank oblivion desolates the scene!
Yet, stay; I have a secret to unfold.
Seest thou yon star, that in the rosy East
Stands, like a lacquey, at the gates of day,
Scatt'ring afar the shadow-vested clouds
That on the glitt'ring threshold ling'ring hung?
All will be well! The sun will warm his breast,
And Heav'n's own tears, unseen by mortal eyes,
Will consecrate his grave! so pure is pity!

Enter Francisco. Honoria endeavours to conceal her father, particularly his hand.
Honoria
to Francisco (wildly.)
Well? Is he dead? What else has brought thee hither?
All guiltless souls devote this hour to sleep;
Then why are we still waking? Who art thou?

Francisco.
Forgive me, lady, for this bold intrusion;
But the deep groans I heard beneath our walls
Urg'd me to seek the Marquis—

Honoria.
Why? what is it to him? He knows not of it;
And if he did, 'tis now, alas! past cure.

Valmont.
This is the wand'ring of her scatter'd thonghts;
Do not disturb her farther; now, good night;
Get thee to bed [sternly]
, and when the sun peeps forth,
We'll to the forest—but your lady's safety,
Her mind disorder'd by some unknown cause,
Requires that I should watch her for a time:
Nay, no reply. Francisco, fare thee well.
[Exit Francisco.
Come, let me lead thee.

Honoria.
Would it were to my grave!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

A Pavilion at Montalva's Castle.
Enter the Prince Montalva meeting Francisco.
Francisco.
Oh! venerable Prince! I've news to tell
Will seize the feeble fibres of thy brain,
And tho' thy nerves could mock the temper'd steel,
Would shiver them with horror!

Montalva.
Where's my son?
All the long night I watch'd for his return.
Heav'n grant no ill betide him.

Francisco.
Well I know,
He that reports ill news ungracious seems,
Howe'er his phrase be fashion'd: therefore hear
A tale that mocks all harmony of speech!
Startled by groans of anguish, I arose
Ere I had pressed my pillow one short hour,
And to the forest, where the tow'rs of Valmont
Rear their dark battlements, pursu'd my way;
There, hold my heart while I reveal a story
Big with all Hell's worst horrors! your brave son
Lay by the thicket side, a piteous corse;
The ruddy stream once mantling o'er his cheek
Had flown to drench a dire assassin's sword!

Montalva.
Nay, then, my weary journey soon will end,
And my long pilgrimage of worldly woe
Fade like a fev'rish dream! The source is still
From whence my spring of rapture rose so bright!
The flow'r that deck'd my silver hairs is dead!
Blasted and scatter'd by the ruthless storm!

Francisco.
Oh! 'twas a cruel deed—

Montalva.
Alas! Francisco!
And shall I never see my child again?
Never, in converse sweet, beguile the hour
That closes life's dull scene? It is most strange,
So near the castle, and at night's still noon,
When ev'ry moaning breeze distinctly steals
O'er meditation's ear, to be so butcher'd!

Francisco.
I know not what to think; yet much I fear
Some secret malice urg'd the murd'rer's sword
More than the hope of plunder.

Montalva.
Even so!
Oh! good Francisco! Heav'n absolve my soul,
If, without proof, I judge a fellow creature;
But shrewd suspicion points at Alferenzi:
A rival's hate alone could prompt an act
So fraught with ruin! Oh! my gallant Albert!

Francisco.
Say, shall I lead you to him? The rude swains
And village girls have strew'd his graceful corse,
And ev'ry fragrant bud was steep'd in tears!

Montalva.
Ah! let me not behold him; for my eyes,
If once they fix'd upon my murdered boy,
Would start with anguish from their humid spheres,
And yield me up to darkness! Here I swear,
Never to cherish hope or seek repose
Till I have dragg'd the curst assassin forth,
And, by the last deep groan that rends his heart,
Appeas'd the spirit of my valiant son!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

—In the castle of Valmont.
Enter Alferenzi and Agnes.
Alferenzi.
Gone! said'st thou Agnes? Both, at break of day,
Their course unknown, sudden, and unattended
What can it mean? Tell me, good gentle damsel,
Left she no word of kind remembrance for me?

Agnes.
I knew not of their flight till they departed;
Before the midnight hour crept half way on
To that which time proclaims the new-born day,
With sighs and tears, and many earnest pray'rs,
She vow'd her love and truth to Alferenzi.

Alferenzi.
Say on, fair Agnes! To the tortur'd wretch,
Stung by the pois'nous spider to the heart,
The sound of minstrelsy is not so sweet!

Agnes.
Wrung to the soul by a stern father's rage,
Last night she form'd the fatal resolution,
In cold monastic gloom to end her days;
And scarce an hour before her sudden flight
Me she dispatch'd to give you timely notice,
That to the forest she would steal at midnight,
And, by the waning lustre of the moon,
Bid her fond hopes and you farewell for ever.

Alferenzi.
Oh! most inhuman thought! most barb'rous wish!
Why did she fail to keep her promise then?

Agnes.
Alas! I know not; after tedious search
To find you wand'ring at th' appointed place,
I hasten'd to the castle, where I found
The outward gate unbarr'd; I pass'd along
The solitary courts, o'erwhelm'd with fear!
No light appear'd around the spacious pile,
Save a small lamp, which at a lattice grate
Shot from the western tow'r a feeble ray.

Alferenzi.
Why from the western tow'r? Who rested there?

Agnes.
It was the prison of my lovely mistress.
[Alferenzi starts.
The melancholy stillness of the night
Made my own footsteps echo as I trod
The gothic cloisters that surround the courts:
On the white marble of the banner'd hall
I mark'd fresh drops of blood! and further on—

Alferenzi.
Hold! and be careful, I conjure thee, Agnes;
There is more terror in those little words
Than in the prospect of eternal pangs!
The father of Honoria! Oh! my soul!
This is thy last dread trial: she is dead!
The barbarous fiend has blotted nature's page,
And written murder with his poniard curst
Steep'd in the fountain of his daughter's heart!

Agnes.
Next to the chamber of my darling mistress
I flew, with hurried step and beating heart;
There, strew'd about, I saw her rich apparel,
That deck'd her person when I parted from her;
Her cross of brilliants, and her em'rald zone,
Thrown carelessly aside.

Alferenzi.
O! damned monster!

Agnes.
Then, wild with horror! to the northern tow'r,
Where the stern father erst was wont to pass
The midnight hour in sullen meditation,
I rush'd impatient; 'twas the dawn of day,
And thro' the painted casements purple light
Cast a faint lustre on the fearful gloom.
I gaz'd around me—

Alferenzi.
Was the blood there too?

Agnes.
Yes; on the garment of the haughty marquis:
The vest he wore last night was crimson-spotted
With human gore; scarce cold when I beheld it!

Alferenzi.
Oh! 'tis most sure!

Agnes.
Now hear me, Alferenzi;
Prepare thy soul to meet another proof,
As black as hell itself! I then descended
By a small winding staircase, dark and damp,
To the long gall'ry where, in pictur'd pomp,
The steel-clad ancestors of Valmont hung.
The clock struck three! Beneath the fretted roof
The hollow-sounding echo ling'ring stole!
I started! Horror chain'd me to the spot!
When, gazing on the ground with fear-fix'd eyes,
I mark'd this blood-stain'd scarf, which, when I left
My angel mistress, veil'd her beauteous breast!

Alferenzi,
taking the scarf.
Oh! horrible! beyond what thought can frame!
[Puts the scarf into his bosom.
Grow to my anguish'd heart. Oh! wounded nature!
If in my breast one spark of mercy gleams,
Let these red drops extinguish it for ever!
[Enter Francisco.
Francisco, where's thy mistress? quickly speak.

Francisco.
I fear, most noble Sir, she's in her grave!
When last I saw her—

Alferenzi.
Was she not living?

Francisco.
Scarcely, my Lord; so sadly wan she look'd,
That my old eyes did make my manhood blush
Thro' many a trickling tear.

Alferenzi.
Poor victim!
And didst thou leave her so, unfeeling slave?

Francisco.
My Lord, I left her to a father's care;
She seem'd most deeply troubled; for her words
Were incoherent, wild, and sorrowful!
I would have call'd assistance, but the marquis
Commanded me to leave them.

Alferenzi.
Alone! Francisco?

Francisco.
Alone, my Lord; I dar'd not disobey;
His looks were terrible, and much I fear
Some direful purpose rankled in his soul.

Alferenzi.
Francisco, get thee hence; and let thy zeal
Give strict observance to thy searching eye.
Explore all secret corners of the castle,
Each darken'd niche, and ev'ry lofty tow'r;
Murder's a lurking fiend, and shuns the gaze
Of broad-ey'd honesty! Now fare thee well.
[Exit Francisco.
Agnes, this father is a vile assassin!
A barb'rous monster, sacrilegious slave!
Who to the demon of insatiate wrath
Has sacrificed the life of his dear child!
Oh! thou fell wolf, could not so sweet a lamb,
With all the graceful eloquence of nature,
Arrest thy butcher's hand, and turn the knife
On thy own curs'd and most relentless bosom!
All Erebus, conspiring with thy fate,
Sent forth its blackest fiend to aid the deed,
And drag thy trembling soul to deep perdition!

Agnes.
'Tis likely noble Albert interpos'd
Too late to save Honoria, and was slain
By the rash marquis to impede pursuit.

Alferenzi.
Impossible! none but the famish'd tiger
Would kill the thing it lov'd; if Valmont's soul
Could bend a moment from its churlish mood,
That Albert was the dearest to his heart.
Alas! Honoria was his only victim!
Her bosom was the unpolluted temple
Where innate truth, majestically thron'd,
Fear'd not the subtle glance of malice fell,
Till, like the Basilisk, it seal'd its prey,
And feasted on its idol! All the earth
I'll traverse o'er to seek the monstrous villain;
And may the blue-wing'd bolts of Heav'n destroy me,
If e'er I rest till vengeance is complete!

[Exeunt.