University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE XIV.

The Front of an old Monastery; with a View of the Appennines at Sun-set.
Enter Honoria.
Honoria.
Here, in this awful, this monastic gloom,
I trust my weary soul will find repose!
As late I stood upon the cavern'd cliff,
List'ning the cat'ract's desolating roar,
I mark'd the spires of this lone habitation
Red with the lustre of the sinking sun!
The solemn silence that surrounds these walls
Well suits the shrine of holy meditation,
And feasts the mind with luxury of thought.
This is the goal where, faint with life's dull toil,
The feeble woe-worn trav'ller stops, and smiles
To know the busy hour of grief is past!
For, after all, what is this fev'rous state?
A transient day, of sun-shine and of storms;
A path, bestrew'd with thorns and roseate wreathes;
We journey on with hope, or lag with fear,
Still, minute after minute, cheating time,
Till, at the close, we stumble on the grave.
[Light appears thro' the painted windows of the Chapel.
It is the hour of vespers, which prepares
The mind serene of virgin innocence
For slumbers undisturb'd by ruthless care;
Oh! apathy! thou kindly numbing pow'r!
Thou opiate! rivalling the Theban drug,
Lulling the nimble passions of the soul,
And binding fast in sweet oblivious spells
The wild rebellious fancy, here thou dwell'st!
But I shall know thee not; my weary life
Unfading memory presents before me,
Dark as the clouds that shroud the coming storm!
When will the day-star rise, that shall proclaim
My morn eternal in the realms of bliss.

[The gate opens. Constantia comes forward.
Constantia.
I heard the voice of mis'ry complaining,
While at the holy altar of our saint!
And Heav'n forbid the temple of religion
Should e'er be shut against the child of woe!

Honoria.
Alas! I ask but little, rev'rend mother.

Constantia.
Make your request; I only wait your will.

Honoria.
A lonely speck of consecrated earth!
A narrow pallet in the silent grave!

Constantia.
Have you no kindred to relieve your cares?

Honoria.
I had a father when the sun did rise!

Constantia.
And does he let thee wander thus forlorn?
Where is he, gentle stranger?

Honoria.
He's in Heav'n!
Is he in Heav'n?—Yes, yes; I hope he is!
He was a very stern and rash old man;
But still he was my father! He is gone!
Cold drops of blood freeze on his silver hairs,
Like the small flow'rs that peep thro' Alpine snow!

Constantia.
Holy Saint Peter! Was he murder'd, lady?

Honoria
(confused.)
I fear he was: most sure I am he died!
His cheek was pale, and petrified, and cold!
But I entreat you let us change the matter,
For 'tis a wounding subject; and, alas!
I own I'm strangely wild when I do think on't!

Constantia.
Oh! my heart feels thy sorrows in its own;
Like thee, sweet maid, in youth's exulting bloom,
I found within these solitary walls
A blest asylum from oppressive woe!
My noble kindred long have mourn'd me lost;
For since this awful sanctuary I sought
No tidings have I sent to tell my fate.

Honoria.
Indeed! I pray you, do not count my youth
Too apt and forward, if with curious speech
I question you, How long in this deep gloom
Your beauty has been shrouded from the world?

Constantia.
Just twenty summers, half my days of woe,
Here have I pass'd sequester'd and unknown.
So long has suff'rance borne affliction's thorn,
Deep rankling in the breast of wedded love!

Honoria.
Of wedded love! art thou then married? Speak!

Constantia.
Oh! would I were not But th' omniscient pow'r,
I trust, in pity, will, with tenfold joys,
Requite my child for all her mother's wrongs!
If yet she breathes, Heav'n show'r down blessings on her,
And guide her thro' this wilderness of woe!
Oh! could I once behold her ere I die,
Could I but clasp her in my fond embrace,
I would forgive her father's cruel scorn
And bless the name of Valmont.

Honoria.
Oh! 'tis she!
I am thy child! thy lov'd, thy lost Honoria!
The hapless offspring of the murder'd Valmont.

Constantia.
Support me, Heav'n!

[Faints.
Honoria
(supporting her.)
What has my rashness done?
Oh! do not leave me, angel! mother! Speak!
Honoria calls thee! let not death's fell grasp
Tear the fond parent from her long lost child!
[Constantia revives.
She lives! she breathes! Oh! cherish in thy heart
The only comfort of thy widow'd days:
[they embrace.
We will, when fainting hope denies to cheer us,
Mingle our tears, and smile at ruthless fate,
In all the proudest luxury of woe!
By day I'll strew thy lonely path with flow'rs,
And all the live-long night thy slumbers watch,
And chant my orisons for blessings on thee!

Constantia.
Alas! my child! such pious hopes are vain;
Here must I stay for ever! Thou art born
For gaudier scenes of splendour and delight!

Honoria.
Not for the globe's vast treasures would I leave thee!
Thou shalt return to Valmont; to thy home;
The noble Leonardo's close of life
Will bloom a second spring of youth and joy,
Blest in the converse of a saint like thee!

Constantia.
That cannot be; nor must thou here be known.
My vows for ever bind me to this goal,
Where, till my last funereal peal shall sound,
My vesper pray'rs, my early matin songs,
Must still confirm my solemn league with Heav'n.
Thou art o'erwhelm'd with persecuting woe;
Come, let me lead thee to the shrine of peace.

Honoria.
Oh! best of angels! Here will I remain;
This venerable pile shall be our tomb,
Where we will rest together!
Moss-grown shrines,
Approaching the gate.
Where persecution shrinks from pity's gaze,
And penitence prepares the soul for Heav'n,
Oh! welcome to my dreary fev'rish soul!

[Exeunt into the Monastery

SCENE XV.

A thick Wood. Night.
The Convent's painted windows seen at a distance.
Enter Alferenzi, meeting an old Peasant.
Alferenzi.
Well! hast thou found her? Ev'ry tangled dell,
Each thorny labyrinth, and lonely glade,
In vain I've search'd and travers'd o'er and o'er!
I will not lose her so! What, like a coward,
Yield up my hopes, and be the passive fool
That fortune makes her plaything? All is still!
The moping bat has wheel'd his circling flight,
And hies him weary to his haunted home!
No wand'ring insect winds his little horn
To bid the drowsy traveller beware,
While perilous oblivion grasps the scene!
Oh! if I find her not, the gath'ring mists,
That hasten round us on unwholesome wings,
Will chill her gentle bosom—

Peasant.
Heav'n forefend!
Lightning.
'Twill be a stormy hour. Oh! gracious Sir!
In truth my heart is sorely wrung with pity;
For countless are the dangers that beset
The midnight wand'rer in these lonely haunts;
Nor are the famish'd wolves that roam for prey
More to be dreaded than the lawless swords
Of merciless banditti!

Alferenzi.
I fear them not.
[Thunder and lightning.
Horrors on horrors crowd so thick upon me,
That pall'd imagination, sick'ning, spurns
The sanity of reason! man can but bear
A certain portion of calamity;
For when the pressure heap'd upon the brain
O'erwhelms the active faculties of thought,
The pang acute subsides, and leaves the mind
A chaos wild of gorgeous desolation!

Peasant.
I hear the feet of passengers; their steps
Give hollow signal on the sun-burnt ground.

Alferenzi.
Here, take this good stiletto, honest carle,
And guard thy breast, if any ill should threaten.

Enter two Robbers.
First Robber.
My poniard is prepared with mortal poison,
And he that feels it dies.

Lightning.
[Alferenzi, perceiving the Robbers by the lightning.
Cowards! assassins!

[The Robbers assail Alferenzi and the Peasant. One is disarm'd by Alferenzi; the other, after piercing his side, escapes.
Alferenzi.
Ruffian! thou know'st thy life is in my pow'r;
Now tell me, if in this sequestered gloom
A beauteous lady met thee? quickly speak,
Or thou shalt perish!

Second Robber.
Such a one I met,
And saw her towards the convent bend her way;
Yon light will guide you thither; she is safe.
I could not harm the maid, she look'd so lovely!

Alferenzi.
Oh! Caitiff! if thou hadst, thy barb'rous soul
Should in the lowest hell have howl'd for mercy!
One act of virtue cancels all thy crimes;
So take thy life; repent, for I forgive thee.
[Exit Robber.
How much more merciful this villain seems,
Who on the instant gives the mortal wound,
Than he who by oppression wrings the heart,
And makes the wretch spin a long thread of life,
Steep'd in perpetual tears! The storm is past;
Thou know'st this convent! let us hasten thither.

Peasant.
Good noble youth, you faint; your voice doth faulter.

Alferenzi.
'Tis but a trifle; 'twas the coward's sword
That slightly pierc'd my side. Now lead the way;
If I behold her angel face once more,
Not all the demons of Despair shall part us.

[Exeunt.

SCENE XVI.

The Chapel of the Convent.
An altar, &c. The corpse of Honoria on a bier in the middle of the aisle, covered with a white transparent pall, edged with black velvet. As the curtain rises slowly, the nuns, arranged round the chapel, sing a solemn dirge, beginning low, and rising to full chorus. That done, the first nun comes forward, and the other nuns arrange themselves in a semicircle that hides the bier.
First Nun.
Thus have we offer'd up our fervent pray'rs
For the meek spirit of this beauteous maid.
Her mien bespoke her noble; and her breast
Seem'd the rich casket which contain'd a jewel
Glowing with native and resplendent light!
Ere from her fading lip the quiv'ring breath
Fled its fair mansion, to my care she gave
This costly picture: “Take it, pious sister,
“Take it,” she cried, “and keep with holy awe
“The once-lov'd image of my Alferenzi!”
That done, she knelt, and rais'd her eyes to heav'n—
Her piercing eyes—dark as her adverse fortune!
Breath'd a short pray'r, and, like a spotless flow'r,
Bow'd by the pitiless and pelting storm,
Sunk to the earth, and died!
[A loud knocking at the convent gate.
Who knocks so loud?

[Alferenzi rushes into the chapel, frantic, pale, and exhausted, followed by the old Peasant.
Alferenzi.
Oh! pious sisters, frown not on my rashness;
I am a man the most accurs'd and wretched!
Driv'n by the deadly storm of rending passions
To this my last asylum! Have ye seen,
Since ev'ning's star peer'd in the golden west,
A drooping angel, agoniz'd with grief?
More sweet than infant innocence, more pure
Than sainted spirits journeying to the sky?
[The nun turns from him.
Speak; and, if pity dwells within your breast,
Do not behold me perish!

Nun
(shewing the picture.)
Know'st thou this?

Alferenzi.
Oh! I have found her, for exulting bliss
Springs to my heart, and triumphs o'er despair!
This is the proud meridian of my days,
And my last glowing hour shall set in joy!
Now, call her forth; tell her 'tis Alferenzi;
She will, in pity, answer to the summons.

[The nuns draw back on each side, discovering the bier; one of them throws the pall off the face of Honoria.
Alferenzi
(wildly.)
Hah! Who has done this deed?
Is that her wedding suit? How pale she looks!
Soft; do not wake her; she is sick with sorrow;
The priest is waiting, and the perfum'd bands
Are gaily strew'd about the holy shrine;
I mark'd the spangling drops that hung upon them;
Some said that they were dying lovers' tears;
Were they not right? Soft, soft; where am I?
My senses much deceive me, or that corse,
So beautiful in death, is Valmont's daughter!

Enter Constantia.
Constantia.
Where is the wretch whose bold and impious rage
Has dar'd profane the sacred rites of woe?

Alferenzi.
I came to seek the gem of this world's wonders!
But she, too precious for this hated earth,
Now beams a constellation in that heav'n
Where I shall never see her! Oh! I lov'd her,
Better, far better, than I lov'd my soul,
For in her cause I gave it to perdition!

Constantia.
Ill-fated man! See in this faded form
The wife of haughty Valmont; twenty years
Have pass'd, in silent solitary grief,
Since I beheld my persecuted child.
Oh! my long-lost, my beautiful Honoria!
My earliest comfort, and my last fond hope!
I did not think to close thy eyes in death,
Or bathe thy ashes with a mother's tears!

[Kneels by the corpse of Honoria.
Alferenzi.
Is there on earth a wretch so curs'd as I?
What is my crime, ye ministers of hell,
That persecution, with a scorpion scourge,
Should drive me to the precipice of fate?
E'en there, the fiend will on the margin greet me,
And, as I gaze upon the gulph below,
Where mad revenge stands 'midst the foaming surge,
And smiling feeds upon the hearts of men,
Will snatch me back to linger in despair!
Is there no yawning grave in the green ocean,
No deadly venom in the teeming earth,
No lightning treasur'd in the stagnant air,
To end my weary pilgrimage of pain?

Peasant.
Tempt not the rage of heav'n with impious breath.

Alferenzi
(approaching the bier.)
Yet let me look upon her: 'Twill not be!
A burning torrent rushes thro' each nerve,
And more than frenzy feeds upon my brain!
The villain's sword was steep'd in mortal poison;
Its course, tho' slow, each antidote defies:
Now, now it freezes, and its icy thrill
Checks the faint current of my with'ring heart!
I thank thee, Caitiff; thou indeed wert kind!

First Nun.
Restore him, heav'n!

Alferenzi.
The fiends surround my soul! They are deceiv'd;
My heart-strings will not break, for they have borne
The miseries of love! Away! away!
[falls.
Let the same grave conceal our mould'ring ashes;
And if the pilgrim, penitent and poor,
Should drop a tear to consecrate the sod,
I ask no other requiem! Death is kind;
He flings his icy mantle o'er my sense,
And shuts the scene of horror! Oh! farewell!

[dies:
First Nun.
Farewell, sad victims of ambition's pow'r!
Now let us raise to Heav'n our holy song,
For the freed souls of these ill-fated lovers!
While nature shrinks to contemplate the scene,
And stern-eyed justice drops a silent tear,
The angel Pity, bending from the sky,
Shall draw the veil that hides their woes for ever!

[They sing the dirge as the curtain falls, Constantia still kneeling by the bier.