University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE XII.

A Wood, Morning.
Enter the Prince Montalva and Francisco.
Montalva.
'Twas at the entrance of this lonely wood
My mules were to be station'd—are they come?

Francisco.
Not yet my lord; so, please you, wait awhile
In this cool shade; the sun swift journeys high,
And soon will shed intolerable day.

Montalva.
Is there no lowly hut where we may rest?
Affliction preys upon my feeble frame,
And bends me to the earth: I fain would live
A little while, to do an act of justice.
My vassals all are arm'd, and on the watch,
And yet we have no tidings! Let us seek
Some hospitable shed to stay their coming.

Francisco.
Among the craggy hills, not far from hence,
An hermit dwells; a poor, but holy man!
Time that has furrow'd o'er his meagre cheek
Ne'er saw it blush for any act of shame:
His herds, his vineyard, foster'd by his hand,
Repay his labours with that homely fare
Which conscious virtue renders passing sweet!
If in so low a dwelling you can rest,
I think you'll be right welcome.

Montalva.
Well I know,
'Tis not beneath the gilded dome of state,
Nor 'midst the gaudy sycophantic tribe,
That peace delights to dwell; she bends her way
To the poor hermit's hospitable roof,
Where Liberty, the fairest child of heav'n!
Smiles on his board, and with her sacred voice
Bids him look down upon the high-born base,
Tho' great in splendour, if they're less than men!
Now to the mountain hut. Lead on, Francisco.

[Exeunt.

SCENE XIII.

Among the Apennines. Leonardo, as an hermit, comes forth from a small hut, with two baskets and a wicker bottle.
Enter the Prince Montalva and Francisco.
Francisco.
Good father, bless you!

Leonardo.
Thanks for your greeting;
And bless you, gentle son; is it your wish
To stay awhile, and mend your strength with food?

Montalva.
We'll enter, honest heart, with your good leave;
And for your cheer will recompense you nobly.

Leonardo.
Divine benevolence repays itself!
And much it grieves me to deny your suit;
But my good-will is shackled by restraint,
While seeming churlishness, in truth, is pity.

Montalva.
We will not be denied.

Leonardo
(guarding his hut, and setting down his basket, &c. &c.)
Sooth, but you must!
Not for an empire should your footsteps pass
This narrow threshold. I will bring you food.

Francisco.
What dost thou mean? Thy miserable hut
Hath never shelter'd yet a guest so noble.

Leonardo.
Think'st thou I prize the gifts which fortune owns?
If he has true nobility of soul,
He tow'rs above the attributes of wealth,
And wants no other charm to make him great!
But wherefore scoff at this, my poor abode?
It is mine own; these wither'd hands did raise it:
My board is simply strew'd; but what of that?
'Tis with the gifts of Heav'n! and who shall say
The proudest mortal can be better fed?
I flatter no man, and am no man's slave!
My garb is coarse and scant; but let the vain,
Wrapp'd in the vital labours of the worm,
Say if their pulses beat as calm as mine!
No bed of down or canopy of gold
Here pampers fev'rish luxury to rest;
But on my lonely pillow temp'rance waits,
And prompts repose that splendour cannot give!
How many, deck'd in all the pride of state,
With ermine stole, and starry wreath of gems,
Would gladly lay their guilty trappings by,
To taste the tranquil joys that mark the hours
In what thou call'st, my miserable hut!

Montalva
(taking out his purse.)
Then do not act the churl; and drive us hence,
Wanting the lowly lodging we would hire
At ten-fold value; this will buy men's souls,
And tempt the sternest sanctity to sin!
Bid the cold anchoret renounce his vows;
The rosy vestal sell her youthful hopes,
To wed with shrivell'd age; and, with its gloss,
So dazzle mortal eyes, that nature smiles
To see philosophers the slaves of fools,
And her own dross, the bribe of their dishonour!
What cannot gold subdue?

Leonardo.
Philanthropy!—
That sympathetic love of human kind
Which instinct cherishes in souls sublime!
Which bids pale mis'ry raise the languid eye,
While the recording cherub seals the bond
That Heav'n repays with rapture!

Montalva.
Thy words most strangely contradict thy deeds!
Thou talk'st of kindness, yet with churlish mien
Bidst the lorn traveller with hunger faint.
Shame on the wretch who vaunts humanity
But to draw forth the misery he mocks
With curious eye to scrutinize the heart,
And yet refuse the pity that would heal it!
He has no right to pry into my fortunes
Who has no tear to mitigate their woes!

Leonardo.
Nay, now you rate me with reproach so keen,
That my old eyes are drown'd in drops of grief!
Full twenty winters have my weary feet
Trod the white pathway of these frozen hills;
Yet never did I bar my humble cell
Against the trav'ller faint; but I have sworn,
And may I perish if I break my oath,
To shield from ev'ry eye the gorgeous gem
That casket rude contains! Forth I repair'd
To gather fruits and rob the limpid spring
For my sweet fugitive, who seems most sad
And vanquish'd by despair. Are ye not men?
And can ye blame or wonder at the zeal
That snatches beauteous woman from the grave?
Long have I brav'd the bleak and stormy wind;
Forsworn all intercourse with worldly joy;
Liv'd a poor hermit, cheerless and alone!—
When the fann'd snow fell fast upon my roof,
Whole nights I've listen'd to the howling wolves;
Fear never thrill'd my heart nor blanch'd my cheek;—
Yet have I not the courage to behold
A fellow creature fall, whom I could save!

Montalva.
A task so pious must not be delay'd.
Pursue thy way, good heart, and, trust my word,
I will not trespass, or with curious eye
Profane thy dwelling blest! but near the door
Will watch with zeal so pure, that none shall dare
To pass the threshold.

Leonardo.
I will soon return;
My vineyard is hard by; be of good cheer.

[Exit Leonardo.
Francisco.
Oft have I seen this melancholy sage,
When by the side of these snow-mantled cliffs
I chas'd the fire-ey'd wolf. His manners mild
And hospitable cell have spread his fame
Beyond the borders of the rushing Po;
For many an infant, on its grandsire's knee,
With fond attention and inquiring eye,
Prattles of good Anselmo.

Montalva.
Anselmo!
He that is nam'd the hermit of the cliffs?

Francisco.
The same; and much it moves surprise in all,
That so much virtue, and so rich a mind,
Should give to solitude their cheerless days.

Re-enter Leonardo.
Leonardo.
First to my beauteous fugitive, and then
Together we will make our healthful meal.
Here, courteous stranger, spread the frugal treat
On the green bank, and I'll return to bless it.

[Gives one basket to Francisco, and with the other enters the cell, but instantly returns.
Leonardo.
She sleeps! The weary senses charg'd with grief
Are numb'd by their own anguish, stealing health
E'en from the poison that did sicken them!

Montalva.
In truth, good hermit, you excite my wonder!
Nor can ingenious reason find a cause
Why choice should lead you to a spot so drear,
That spurr'd necessity recoils to view it!

Leonardo.
Alas! a story so replete with woe,
So full of horror, will but move your pity!
Sprung from an ancient race, my morn of life
Gave the bright earnest of a lustrous day!
But in those hours when young intemp'rate blood
Seizes the fever of uncurb'd desire,
It is not strange that reason's sober ray
Was quench'd and smother'd by impetuous breath.
A friend!—Oh! how did he blaspheme the name!—
Woo'd a sweet lady: she was Milan's rose;
That shed rich lustre on each humbler flow'r!
Her sire ador'd her, and with tender care
Sought such alliance as might grace her birth.
My friend was but his father's youngest son,
And small his means, compar'd with his descent.
One fatal night, 'twas when the blushing spring
Fann'd my warm bosom with the austral breeze,
Flush'd with the grape, in merry, harmless mood,
Beneath her lofty window we repair'd,
And, with the dulcet tinkling Mandolin,
Beguil'd her of her rest. The father watch'd,
And on my young associate fiercely sprang,
Who, all unarm'd, was sinking to the ground.

Montalva.
So fell my gallant boy! and did he perish?

Leonardo.
Urg'd on to frenzy by this bold assault,
I rush'd between them, sav'd the friend I lov'd,
And smote the barb'rous ruffian on the breast:
He fell, his own stiletto reach'd his heart!
'Twas a rash deed, but could I tamely see
The dear companion of my youthful days
Vanquish'd and murder'd by a villain's hand?

Montalva.
And did he wed the cause of your mishap?

Leonardo.
He did; and, to requite my honest zeal,
Turn'd, like a serpent, on my fost'ring breast,
And stung the heart that lov'd him! With fell rage,
Threaten'd, himself, to be my base accuser,
And spurn'd me from him like a guilty slave!
Disgusted with the treach'ry of his soul,
I fled; and from that fatal hour have been
The solitary tenant of this cell,
The scene of meditation, pray'r, and peace!

Montalva.
Curs'd be the villain, wheresoe'er he dwells!

Leonardo.
Oh! do not curse him; for he was—my brother!

Montalva.
Of noble birth, and yet so vile a soul!

Leonardo.
All outward semblance of attractive grace,
Hereditary splendours, beauty, valour,
Wit, learning, fancy, eloquence divine!
Where godlike virtue dwells not in the soul,
May feed upon the vapour, adulation,
And boast an unsubstantial glitt'ring name,
That dazzles only for a fleeting day.
But innate glory shall outstrip the grave!
And shine when all of pageantry and pride,
Like the false meteors on the wings of night,
Shall waste in empty air!

Enter Honoria from the Hermitage.
Montalva.
Mysterious Heav'n! Honoria still alive!

[Aside.
Honoria.
Hapless Montalva! whither bend thy way?
I counsel thee to seek thy peaceful home,
Nor thus pursue the phantom of revenge.
Remember, he who can forgive his foe,
Is nobler far than he that bids him die!
We all can kill; and, vaunting our own strength,
We crush the thing we hate; but can we give
The spark that bids the meanest reptile breathe!
Oh! did the pow'rful dare with impious rage
To murder the defenceless, who, alas!
Could look with rapture for to-morrow's dawn?

Montalva.
I go to seek the murderer of my son.

Honoria.
Then spare thy feeble age such thriftless toil;
The murderer of thy son sleeps in the grave!
He was as dear to this afflicted heart
As Albert was to thine.

Montalva.
Misguided girl!
Thy caution thinly veils the wretch thou lov'st;
That villain, Alferenzi, was't not he?

Honoria.
Old man, I will not tell thee who it was;
For, if his death will not appease thy wrath,
Thou hast no Christian mercy in thy soul,
And art not worth my pity!

Alferenzi
(speaking without.)
Where is this cell, good fellow?
Thou dost not give thy feet that willing zeal
Which my impatience urges.
Enter Alferenzi. Seeing Montalva and Honoria, he stops suddenly and amazed.
Montalva!
Hah! How is this? Am I at last betray'd?
My feet seem rooted to this speck of earth,
And guilty pangs convulse my tortur'd frame!
Shake off thy blood-stain'd garb, my trembling soul,
And let a brighter semblance cheat men's eyes.
It will not be! I dare not meet their glance.

Honoria
(to Alferenzi, aside.)
Thy crime is secret, as the will of Heav'n.

Alferenzi
(Montalva and Leonardo talk aside.)
I cannot spurn this busy fiend away:
Is this what men call conscience? Oh! 'tis hell!
I am a wretch, a coward! Leave me, leave me.

Montalva.
Well may'st thou start, and tremble at my gaze,
Thou homicide abhorr'd! now meet thy fate;
'Tis Albert's sword that strikes thee.

[They fight.
Honoria
(rushing between them.)
He did not kill thy son; the murd'rer was ------

Montalva.
Who?

Honoria.
My father! Marquis Valmont!

Leonardo.
My brother!

Honoria.
Oh! all ye hosts of Heav'n! Do I behold
The venerable, noble Leonardo!

Leonardo.
Let my tears answer thee, before their source
Is petrified with wonder! Oh! my child,
Art thou the offspring of ill-fated Valmont?

[Embracing Honoria.
Montalva.
Most injur'd Leonardo, Heav'n at length
Has paid the recompense thy virtues claim'd.
We will return to Valmont, where thy life
Shall, like the sun that triumphs o'er the storm,
Amidst resplendent glory sink to rest!

Leonardo.
Now let us, in my solitary cell,
Refresh our weary spirits for a time;
Then each shall tell his melancholy tale,
And shed a kindly sympathetic tear,
To wash away the traces of past woe!

[Exeunt Montalva, Leonardo, Francisco, and the Peasant, into the Hermitage.
Alferenzi.
Ah! stay, Honoria! Do not leave me thus;
Look up, my love, nor let affliction's shaft
Bathe in the ruby current of thy heart.
Time will wear out these dark corroding spots,
And wing thy hours with joy!

Honoria.
Oh! Never! Never!
Time, that with ceaseless labour can unfold
The wondrous page of nature! that can lay
The loftiest temples level with their base!
Steal the soft graces of the fairest form,
And, by the shadow of his restless wing,
Eclipse the sun of intellectual light!
Can bring no meliorating balm, to heal
The wounded sense, where memory still lives!
Day after day the cank'ring worm, reflection,
Feeds on the with'ring fibres of the heart,
And poisons all its hopes!

Alferenzi.
Where wouldst thou seek repose, oh! tell me, sweet?

Honoria.
In death! where he whose undelighted days
Have been but tardy scenes of chequer'd woe,
Assail'd by poverty, despair, and pain!
On the same pillow lays his weary head
Where kings must sleep, when earthly pow'r shall fade,
And nature whispers, here thy journey ends!

Alferenzi.
Think not so deeply, love; oh! look upon me;
Thy Alferenzi's fate is link'd with thine.

Honoria.
That I have lov'd thee, Heav'n can bear me witness,
Beyond what truth can paint or fancy form!
With thee I could have liv'd, and been content,
Beneath some mountain hovel's rushy roof;
Have shar'd the busy task of daily toil,
And smil'd and sung the weary hours away!
When gaudy Summer deck'd the glowing scene,
I would have trimm'd our citadel of joy,
Have call'd our humble meal a princely feast,
Our myrtle bow'r a canopy of state!
Or when stern Winter swept the frozen plain,
And tumbling torrents drown'd the valley's pride,
I would have crept, half trembling, to thy arms,
And mock'd the howling of the midnight storm!
But visionary scenes of joy are past;
Horror and guilt assail where'er I turn,
And all is anguish, frenzy, and despair!

Alferenzi.
Dress not thy fancy in such weeds of grief!
Let hope and love enchant thee to repose.

Honoria.
Can love or hope restore a parent lost?
Ah! little dost thou know the tender claims
That bind in feath'ry spells each vagrant thought.
Love should be gentle as the twilight breeze,
And pure as early morn's ambrosial tears,
Spangling the lily on the mountain's side.
I cannot wed the murd'rer of my father!

Alferenzi.
Oh! do not call it murder! He whose life
Pays the due forfeit to offended Heav'n,
Having by outrage blurr'd his country's laws,
Deserves that country's hate; and only falls
To benefit her safety!

Honoria.
Yes; but when rigour, cherish'd by revenge,
Treads on the heels of justice, thrusting back
Humanity itself, the trembling scale
Preponderates at will, and makes the deed
Scarce less than legal murder! Be resign'd,
Appease the wrath of Heav'n, and let me rest!

[Exit into the Hermitage.
Alferenzi.
O Hope! inconstant as the summer gales
That kiss the fragrant bosom of the rose,
Thou shalt no more beguile me: I awake!
Conviction tells me, in this wondrous mass,
All joy is transient, and the fairest scenes
Fraught with deception! Earth, air, seas; e'en man
Deceives, while most he is himself deceiv'd,
Glozing with smiles the hypocrite he hates!
The flow'ry path we tread is sprinkled o'er
With pois'nous weeds, and dews that threaten death.
The skilful pilot ploughs his glitt'ring way,
Nor fears the coming danger, till the deep,
Black'ning and foaming, now a yawning gulph,
And now a liquid mountain, swells with rage,
And the gay gallant bark—is seen no more!
The eagle grandly soars to greet the sun!
Sweeps the bland concave with his lordly wing,
And revels in the plenitude of day!
Soon, on the viewless pinions of the storm,
The rolling clouds obscure the beamy plains,
Th' imprison'd lightnings break their sulphur bonds,
And 'midst the blaze th' exulting tyrant dies!
Oh! blissful termination of all ills!
Ambrosial drop! that lingers in the dregs
Of fate's embitter'd cup! oblivious death!
Would I could taste thee, and forget my woes!
But coward mis'ry clings to airy hope,
Grasping from hour to hour a feeble chain,
Which breaks at last, and hurls him to despair!

[Exit.