University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Pavilion at Valmont.
Enter the Marquis Valmont and Prince Montalva.
Valmont.
It shall be so! Think not, my honour'd liege,
That after a long life of busy toil
My reason can be sway'd by a weak girl:
From the first dawn of helpless infancy,
I've taught her mild obedience to my will,
And count upon her duty more than love.

Montalva.
I know her fix'd aversion to my son.

Valmont.
So weak a thought will not disturb my hopes.
Firm to my purpose, tho' the heav'ns should yawn,
And hurl their red bolts on my aged head,
I would not waver! For your son has worth
That makes his high descent his second claim!
This day, in single combat, he shall prove
The bravest youth that Lombardy e'er saw.

Montalva.
The sacred friendship that has link'd our minds,
From the warm sunny hour of lusty youth
To the chill winter of declining age,
First turned my fancy towards the fair Honoria!
Yet, rather than by sorrow's icy touch
To bend so sweet a blossom to the grave,
I would renounce my hopes, and her, for ever.

Enter Duke Albert.
Albert
to Valmont.
I greet you, noble Sir; and in your looks
Behold the herald of my future joy.

Montalva.
Alas! my son, fate frowns upon thy hopes;
The fair Honoria, rich Italia's star ------

Albert.
Say, what of her? Is there from nature's hand
So rare a model of transcendent worth?
The brilliant Hesperus that leads the day
Is not so cheering to the Pilgrim's sight
As she to mine!

Montalva.
Now, Albert, hear me speak:
When last I saw her, on the tender theme,
I mark'd on her pale cheek a trickling drop
The silent herald of approaching woe!

Albert.
O! 'tis the pure and fascinating gem
That nature gives to maiden modesty,
To make her work more lovely! Does not the flow'r
Most court the sense when deck'd with morning's tears?

Montalva.
And wouldst thou blast the sweet, the drooping bud?
Come, like a nipping, an untimely frost,
And wither all its beauties to the dust?
My son, I will not think so basely of thee;
A noble nature cannot taste of joy
That leaves another bankrupt and forlorn.

Albert.
I know that love can take all forms to please;
And think not that I nurse too vain a fancy,
If I dare hope Honoria will be mine!
A blush of meek complacency o'erspread
The snow of her pure bosom, when I told
My tale of tender import! Thus we mark
The lily, blended in a garland sweet,
Flush'd with the soft reflection of the rose!

Valmont.
Enter Honoria.

Honoria.
Indeed! I think this mandate somewhat cruel!
Relentless pow'r may drag me to the altar;
But the free soul shrinks from the tyrant's grasp
And lords it o'er oppression!

Valmont.
Silence, rash girl!
Again I urge, and with a father's right,
A proud alliance with the noble Albert.

Honoria.
Perish his name! for it is hateful to me.
O! I had rather be the poorest wretch
That on the barren mountain stands forlorn,
An exile from his kindred and his home,
Than barter honesty for empty shew!
Those who for paltry gold would part with peace
At best can prove themselves but thrifty fools.

Valmont,
grasping Honoria's hand.
Take heed, ungrateful girl, and mark me well;
The soul of Valmont cannot brook denial.

Honoria.
------ By yon azure dome
That flings its wondrous concave o'er the world,
I will encounter poverty or death
Rather than sell my freedom! This proud heart
Would burst with indignation, could my tongue
Pronounce a vow degrading to its honour!
Does the vain suitor arrogantly hope
To buy me like a slave?

Valmont.
Think on the splendours that await thy will.

Honoria.
Can the gay wreaths that bind a victim's breast
Conceal the agony that throbs within?
Give to the child of folly toys for fools;
My soul disdains them! I am Valmont's daughter;
Nor will I e'er disgrace my noble name
By being less than what that title makes me!

Valmont.
I would augment the lustre of thy days,
Place thee amidst such dazzling rays of glory,
That ev'ry eye should wonder to behold thee!

Honoria.
So the fierce flame of a meridian sun
Gilds the poor insect which it dooms to death!

Valmont.
Perverse destroyer of a father's hopes!
And dar'st thou disobey, when I command?

Honoria.
I dare not sell my soul!

Valmont.
Go, self-will'd fool!
Thy disobedience covers me with shame!
Oh! had thy mother liv'd, her gentle heart
Had throbb'd with anguish at thy wayward scorn;
'Tis for thy honour I this union urge,
What else can prompt me?—

Honoria.
Ambition!—not that emulative zeal
Which wings the tow'ring souls of godlike men!
But bold, oppressive, self-created pow'r,
That, trampling o'er the barrier of the laws,
And scattering wide the tender shoots of pity,
Strikes at the root of reason, and confines
Nature itself in bondage! Oh! 'tis vile!
But, thank the Gods! no spells can curb the mind,
While splendour's proudest claim is less than virtue!

Montalva.
Honoria, spare thy anguish and thy scorn;
And know, that ere the glories of my name
Should dimly gleam beneath a tear of thine
I would behold them perish; curs'd be those
Who, to advance their own ambitious hopes,
Would trample on the rights of truth and nature!
[Trumpets without.
My son, that summons chides thy tardy lance!
I will attend thee, boy. Valmont, farewell.

[Exeunt Montalva and Albert.
Honoria.
Who is the cautious hero that accepts
The vaunting challenge of the haughty Albert?

Valmont.
I dare not tell; for 'tis the stranger's wish
That none should seek to know his rank or name.
From Sicily he comes, and nobly born;
Right well he wields the lance, and is most apt
In feats of chivalry and bold exploit!

Honoria.
From Sicily! my soul is chill'd with fear!
[Aside.
Sir, I attend your will, and proud shall be
To witness Albert's valour! for believe,
Altho' I cannot love, I can be just;
Nor will the hero's youthful laurels fade
Because they twine not with the myrtle bough.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

[Opens, and discovers a spacious court in the palace of the prince Montalva, splendidly decorated for a tournament. Various spectators seated on rising benches; on one side a canopy, beneath which are seated, Honoria, (attended by Agnes) the prince Montalva (with Albert standing near him) and the Marquis Valmont.
On the opposite side of the stage stand three knights in armour, each wearing a scarf and helmet of the same colour as the standard borne by his page, who waits near him: Alferenzi stands at some distance, nearer the wing than the other knights, with his page also.

1st. Yellow, with a burning mountain.
2nd. Green, with a wreath of flowers and fruits.
3rd. Composed of silver waves, plain.

White, with the motto, Virtue is Nobility. His scarf white with gold fringe. As the curtain rises to soft music, children strew flowers and laurels. Then follow warlike trophies to martial music. When the stage is arranged, Albert descends from the steps of the throne, and approaches the armed knights.]

Albert
(to the first.)
If that my senses do not play me false,
Or my eyes dazzle with your noble bearings,
Methinks I read, beneath these quaint devices,
Illustrious names! This flaming standard,
Emblem of Etna's brow, that scorches Heav'n!
This crest of gold, that like a meteor burns,
Mocking the noon's fierce fires! do give thee out
Messina's Prince, illustrious Belmonti!

The Prince bows acknowledgment.
Albert
(to the second.)
This verdant ensign, this enamell'd wreath
(Tinted with rainbow dyes) which seems to grow,
And, while its perfume scents the unseen air,
Blushes with modest grace! I well devise
Sprang from the 'witching garden of the world,
Luxurious Italy! and therefore greet
Verona's noble Duke, the brave Lorenzi!

[The Duke bows acknowledgment.
Albert
(to the third.)
This silv'ry banner, that doth like the waves
Play in fantastic gambols with the air,
Dancing light-blossom'd in the sunny beam,
Bespeaks the Adriatic! Beauteous sea!
That doth encompass Venice with a zone
Bright as the morning sun! Thou dost declare
The offspring of Bellarmo, Duke of Venice.

[The Duke bows acknowledgment.
Albert
(approaching Alferenzi.)
Now, gallant stranger, let me ask, nor think
I mean uncourteously to mock your fancy,
Why thus conceal'd you enter in the lists?
What are your rights armorial?

[Alferenzi points to his standard.
Albert.
'Tis not enough
That innate lustre beams about your soul!
What are your claims to mingle in the contest?

Alferenzi.
Those claims that place the good above the proud!
The stream that rushes thro' these ardent veins
Flows from a source that never knew pollution!
Though sprung, brave Albert, from a sire whose arm
Has made the enemies of virtue tremble,
I scorn to shield me with another's name,
And only boast the honours I achieve.

Albert.
Most nobly urged! What is your passport here?

Alferenzi.
Nor gold, nor gems, nor purchas'd adulation,
Nor vap'rish vaunting, nor the breath of fools!
Nor flatt'ry's airy fame that bubbles down
The broad stream of the world, and bursts at last
In blank oblivion!

Albert.
High-sounding words
Beguile with magic power the sense they seize,
And cheat it into faith. But ere your name
Shines on the list of valour, of your worth
'Tis fit you give some sample.

Alferenzi.
Take my scorn!
[Throwing his gauntlet.
Thus do I hurl my gauntlet at your feet
And mock your scrutiny; the hand it owns
Has neither palm'd with fools, nor let the base
Its blood contaminate! what would you more?

Albert.
If that thy soul be lofty as thy speech,
Thou art indeed right noble! I shall expect
That thou wilt give me proof without delay.

Alferenzi.
I do not fear; my lance will do that for me.

[The onset begins; Alferenzi stands more forward than the rest on the stage. Albert vanquishes Belmonti.]
Alferenzi
(aside.)
So falls the vaunting self-enamour'd fool!
The flame that soars too high evaporates,
And wastes in empty nothing!

[Albert disarms Lorenzi.
Alferenzi
(aside.)
Honours full blown, like summer flow'rs, decay!
I thought thy emblem was too fair to last!

[Albert vanquishes Bellarmo.
Alferenzi
(aside.)
So the swift storm scowls o'er the sunny spheres;
Brave offspring of the proud and silv'ry main,
Thou see'st that fame is fickle as the waves!

[Albert advances and gazes at Alferenzi.
Albert.
Now, haughty stranger, I will prove thy lance;
And either dim it with dishonour's stain,
Or sink beneath thy scorn!

[They fight; after a fierce onset, Alferenzi disarms Albert, and instantly kneeling, presents his scarf to Honoria, while the curtain falls to martial music.]

SCENE III.

—A Pavilion.
Enter Honoria and Agnes.
Honoria.
It is my Alferenzi, gentle Agnes!
He is the conqueror, and he well deserves
The proud affections of my captive heart!
Oh! didst thou mark him, when his glitt'ring lance,
Like the blue lightning arm'd with threat'ning death,
Rush'd on the bosom of his vanquish'd foe?

Agnes.
Each eye with admiration follow'd him
Thro' all the varying conflicts of the scene!
What is his parentage? his name is noble!

Honoria.
His father is a man of loftiest birth,
A brave Sicilian! This, his only son,
Was train'd to arms, and all Calabria's shores
Have rung with plaudits at his bold exploits!
Illustrious in himself, all outward show
Borrows those graces which it cannot lend,
For he derives no dignity from pow'r,
By fortune less distinguish'd than by fame!
Some few months since in Tuscany we met,
And there profess'd such vows of tender faith,
As neither time nor absence e'er can change.
Hither he came disguis'd, in hopes to win
My father's love by deeds of chivalry;
He has unlock'd the treasure of his heart
To my relentless parent, whose stern mind
Is still devoted to Montalva's heir!

Agnes.
Alas! I know not how to give you counsel.

Honoria.
I did not think that Nature's finest art
Could fashion Reason to sustain such woe!
Heav'n knows there's nothing so forlorn as I!
The sea-beat mariner, who on the shrouds
Hangs at the mercy of the warring winds,
Rock'd by the howling spirits of the deep,
May count him in a cradle of repose,
And think the roaring blast a zephyr's breath,
Compar'd with passion's wild and madd'ning storm!
Amidst the mingling labyrinths of thought,
Bewilder'd Patience turns, and turns again,
Till, hopeless and o'erwhelm'd, she faints and dies!

Agnes.
From childhood uncontrol'd, your soften'd mind
But ill can combat life's perplexing thorns.
Sole mistress of this castle's rich domains—

Honoria.
Aye! There again, oh! most disastrous state!
A mother's care in infancy I lost,
But the sad hour or manner of her death
I never yet could learn; my father's frowns,
Whene'er I press'd inquiry of her fate,
Still aw'd me into silence. Oh! if she liv'd,
Tho' poor, deserted, friendless, and oppress'd,
I would, o'er burning plains, or wastes of snow,
A barefoot wand'rer, seek her out, and bless her!

Agnes.
Strange rumours have been buzz'd abroad, and some
Have dar'd accuse—

Enter Albert.
Albert.
Honoria! is my destiny decreed!
Wilt thou not bend thy footsteps to that altar
Where meek-ey'd pity bathes the wounds of love?

Honoria.
Never! yon host of saints that know my thoughts,
Know they are fix'd, and tow'ring o'er my fate,
Like the vast rocks that bound the stormy main!
Let the fierce tempest of a father's rage
Dash my soul's purpose, as the foaming waves
Waste their vain fury on the flinty shore!
I can with patience bear all human ills;
All that gaunt poverty can heap upon me;
The cold disdain of insolence and pride,
Peace-wounding calumny, or death itself!
Rather than break my vows to Alferenzi.

Albert.
Perdition blast his hopes! the daring villain!
But he shall perish!

Honoria.
What—because he loves?
Oh! do not scatter my wild thoughts to frenzy!
'Tis not the province of a noble nature
To plunge a poniard in the vanquish'd heart!
Stain not thy glowing laurels, won by valour,
With the pale lustre of a woman's tears.
Albert, embattled legions have beheld
Thy dauntless crest bound with immortal wreaths!
Then know, the sword that's steep'd in gallant blood
Should at the fount of pity cleanse its stains,
Ere reason aches to see it! Spare thy foe,
Nor let the poison fell of private hate
Disgrace thy kindred or thy country's fame!

Albert.
I will be calm, if thou wilt bid me hope.

Honoria.
There's not a wretch that breathes but dares to hope.
The wither'd tenant of a dungeon's gloom,
Who, shut unpitied from the face of heav'n
Almost forgets the radiance of the sun!
Still in his prison sees effulgent hope,
That dissipates the horrors of still night,
And bids him smile upon his galling chain!
That pow'r instinctive braves the tyrant's nod;
Secure within itself, the conscious soul
Still feeds on hope, and triumphs to the last!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Evening. Before Valmont's Castle. Enter Alferenzi.
Alferenzi.
This is the hour, when on yon lofty terrace
Honoria comes to taste the evening air,
And with the dulcet tinkling of her lute
Bids the lorn nightingale forget his tale,
And pause, in wonder rapt! The crimson west
Gilds the grey battlements with blushing gold,
And viewless myriads o'er the fainting flow'rs
Close their long sultry day with humming song.
As through the valley pensively I wander'd,
At ev'ry cottage door the weary hind
Sat 'midst his infant race, with ditty old,
Cheating the trav'ller Time; while twilight's hand
O'er the still landscape drew a dusky veil:
Ere now, the freckled carle forgets the world,
And in his unbarr'd chamber sweetly sleeps,
Lull'd by the music of the mountain breeze!

Enter Valmont, from the castle.
Valmont.
I thought to find the victor—Alferenzi!

Alferenzi.
Then thou art not deceived, for I am he—

Valmont.
It ill becomes a valiant son of honour
To lurk at this still hour, and seek occasion
To act a scene of darkness. Turn thy thoughts
To the broad field of conquest and renown;
Nor waste in am'rous folly manhood's prime,
While glory and ambition claim your sword.

Alferenzi.
I do not need your counsel, for I know
A soldier's valour is his country's fame!
Yet Heaven forbid ambition's furious tide
Should whelm the milder virtues of the soul:
The proudest triumphs that await the brave
Look not so beauteous in the sight of Heav'n
As mercy's humblest tear!

Valmont.
A weak evasion!
Again I tell thee, that Honoria's heart
Is pledg'd to brave Montalva's only heir!

Alferenzi.
Her hand, thou mean'st; but may the God of battle
Amidst whole legions of the foe forsake me,
May foul dishonour blight my fairest hopes,
If ever I renounce thy peerless child!
Curst be the sordid wretch whose grov'ling soul
Would bind in golden chains a trembling slave;
Or, like a dastard, traffic with the base,
To sell that freedom Heav'n design'd for all!

Valmont.
Thy rage, rash youth, can only move my pity;
Nor will I dim the lustre of my sword
To curb or to chastise—a daring stripling.

Alferenzi
(drawing his sword.)
Defend thyself!—yet, soft, a moment's pause—
Thou art the father of my soul's best darling;
The source of all the light that gilds my days!
And therefore—I forgive thee.

Valmont.
Vaunting slave!
What then, at last thou prov'st thyself a braggart!
An empty, bold, an arrogant presumer!
Boy, the young blood forsakes thy quiv'ring lip—
Is it the touch of fear or secret malice?
[Alferenzi raises his sword, then lowers it.
Guilt! conscious guilt unnerves thy trembling arm,
While her pale ensign blanches o'er thy cheek;
Nay, frown again, while I, with smiles repay
The foe I scorn to combat.

Alferenzi
(sheathing his sword.)
Have a care!
I do conjure thee, venerable man,
Urge not my hand to do a deed of horror!
I would not be thy murd'rer—

Valmont.
Nobly said!
Then swear, by faith, by honour, and your sword,
Never again to see her. Dost thou pause?

Alferenzi.
O! bid me rather curse yon glorious orb,
That rolls his burning chariot thro' the sky!
Tell me, with base and sacrilegious hands
To murder smiling infants, or profane
Religion's still and consecrated shrine:
Bid me rush forth, a damned parricide,
And drink the life-stream of a parent's heart!
There is no deed of horror so abhorr'd
As violation of my faith to her.

Valmont.
She will but mock you; for to-morrow's dawn
Will see her Albert's bride; and till that hour
She keeps her chamber: such are my commands;
And she respects a father's right too much
To think of Alferenzi!

Alferenzi.
'Tis false as hell.
She will not so degrade the soul she owns,
Nor will I brook a rival! Tell him so;
Tell the vain boaster that a father's pride
Shall by a lover's vengeance be chastis'd.

[The Castle bell strikes.
Valmont.
The bell now calls me home to ev'ning pray'r.
Mark me, rash boy; if ever you approach
These castle walls again, without my bidding,
That hour shall be your last! Think, and be wise.

[Exit.
Alferenzi.
To-morrow! if thou op'st thy golden eye
To see Honoria wedded to duke Albert,
Thy parting glance shall shine upon my grave!
Now will I to my solitary home,
To taste a lover's only food, sharp sorrow!
To paint on fancy's tablet my soul's joy,
And dream of bliss—tho' I should wake to madness.

[Exit.