 | Aurelio And Miranda |  |
ACT III.
SCENE, Leonella's House.Enter Leonella and Antonia.
Leonella.
Well, Niece, nothing of your professing Lorenzo!
So passionate a lover, and so dilatory in
his visits; but his coming at any time will make
his peace. O, when I was in my teens, it was
quite another affair. Such adoration! such assiduity!
Ant.
There might be difference in the manner,
dear Aunt, but the passion I fancy was always
nearly the same.
Leo.
Oh, nothing like it, Chuck. Lovers in my
time were flung at such a distance—
Ant.
I am afraid the distance was too great,
Ma'am.
Ant.
How too great, Child?
Ant.
Why, ceremony kept the lovers so very
far asunder, that some of the parties are never like
to join issue.
Leo.
Well, well, you never will become a convert
to my doctrine, till you see the charming Don
Christoval lead me to the altar.
I fear that altar burns only the incense,
which fancy offers to the idol Vanity.
Leo.
Aye, aye. Unbelief is blind. Mark the
event.
Enter Servant.
Serv.
A young nobleman desires the honour to
kiss your hands.
Leo.
Admit him. [Exit Servant.]
My Christoval,
I know it by my palpitation.
Ant.
I hope it is Lorenzo. How, Don Christoval!
Enter Christoval.
Chr.
Ladies, your slave. There's my dromedary.
[Aside.]
Leo.
I trust, Signor, you have enjoyed tolerable
health, since I last had the honour of your attendance.
Chr.
Never better in my whole existence.
Leo.
Nay, nay, not quite so well, I am sure.
Absence must chill the lover's heart; nor can its
purple streams e'er bound with joy, till she for
whom it beats restore their vital heat.
Chr.
Where the devil is this Lorenzo? I shall
be ravished if he does not come to my rescue.
('Sblood, I'd sooner lay me in the sear-cloth with
an Egyptian mummy, than come within the clasp
of that hyæna.)
[Aside.]
Ant.
Poor woman! how ridiculous she makes
herself! I must step in to his relief.
[Aside.]
your friend Lorenzo?
Chr.
Heaven bless you, Madam! He directed
me to meet him here. The last time we parted,
I left him robbing the church.
Ant.
Robbing the church!
Chr.
Yes, Madam, of a Sister.
Ant.
How, Sir!
[alarmed]
Are you in earnest,
Signor?
Leo.
To be sure he is, Child. O, the difference
of men!
Chr.
Yes, yes—But it is his own sister.
Ant.
Oh!—I'm satisfied.
Leo.
Explain yourself, Don Christoval.
Chr.
The Sister Donna Agnes of St. Clare. He
was about to extricate her from purgatory, and
give her to the man of her heart, his friend, Don
Raymond. Not finding him here, ladies, and
being anxious to know his success, I humbly take
my leave, and wish upon you all the felicity that
your best desires could fancy, and so, ladies—
[Edging off.]
Leo.
What, and have you hired out to him all
your sweet things for the day? Nothing to offer on
your own account? Are all those charms which you
admired so much, the ardour that you owned, the
pangs you felt forgotten? Vows too poured out
even at church! And was I treated only like a
child—a May game—made a queen o'the May,
foolery? [Follows him about.]
Chr.
Hear me, dear, good, old lady, hear me.
How was it possible you should think me serious?
Friendship leads a man into dreadful situations.
Let me escape but this once, and if ever I am
caught mumbling withered apples instead of seasonable
fruit, may matrimony harpoon me! May
I be bound like whalebone to the back of a grannum
of eighty, leave off swanskin, and warm myself
with a leathern doublet!
[Exit.
Leo.
O, the monster! The cruel, barbarous, perfidious,
dear, handsome deluder!—But I'll forget
all that. I shall go distracted with my wrongs.
Such a face, that looked all sincerity! Such a
tongue too, that might deceive a saint!—I feel it
at my heart. O, I shall never recover it.
Ant.
Come, come, Aunt—Revenge his infidelity
on the whole sex. Disclaim all communion with
these betrayers.
Leo.
I will, Antonia. Never, though they were
dying at my feet—No, not all their protestations,
their despair, their death—I shall go distracted.
[Exeunt.
SCENE, Aurelio's Cell.
Enter Aurelio.
Aur.
In vain I strive to lull these thoughts to rest;—
Since Passion grew an inmate of my soul,
Can Nature's impulse be unholy fire?
Yet what is virtue, but surmounted passion?
Would I had never climb'd this giddy height,
This pyramid of earthly vanity!
Each mounting step is less and less secure;
And when we reach the summit of the spire,
The very eminence disturbs the brain,
And down we fall, the scoff of humbler fools.
Miranda without.
Mir.
Are you within, good Father?
Aur.
Come in. O how that gentle voice thrills through me!
Mir.
[entering]
Are you alone, Aurelio?
Aur.
Alone!—Most true!
Guilt is of dark soul, and loves privacy.
Mir.
Unkind Aurelio, thus to brand as crime
A passion your own excellence inspires!
Aur.
Thou dear deluder,—give me back myself.
Talk not to me of excellence and virtue,
I never had them—or, if once call'd mine,
Thy conqu'ring beauty drove them from my breast,
And fill'd it with a love I should disclaim.
Mir.
When purity like yours embraces love,
It chastens it from ev'ry touch of grossness,
And makes it but the wish of soul for soul.
Enchanting accents!—but believ'd no longer.
Imperious passion scorns the frozen bounds
Of this refinement—I am new created.—
The fetters of monastic apathy
Are burst and shiver'd by resistless nature;—
The saint was all a dream—the man awakes.
How could I wish thee to forsake these walls!
Mir.
What! was my very sight oppressive to thee?
Aur.
Thou wonder of thy sex, in whom combine
All that can glad the eye, or charm the soul,
O, thou art born to conquer all resistance.
I see thee, angel as thou art in form,
Yet lovelier far than form alone could make thee!
Beauty is often but the painted snare
That lures the heedless eye to what is worthless—
Nature to thee has giv'n, to crown her work,
The mind, beyond the scope of vulgar being!
Intelligence she thron'd upon thy brow;
And sense and feeling do thee hourly homage.
Mir.
O praise, too grateful from Aurelio's tongue,
That, like a sudden gale of rich perfumes,
Hits the frail nerves too exquisitely keen,
And pains with its delight!
Aur.
'Tis destiny.
The dreams of purity immaculate,
That virgin'd me for years, are melted all
Take me, thou bright perfection, to thy arms!
Miranda, I am ever, ever thine.
[A knocking at the door.]
What noise was that? Retire, retire, Miranda,
Into my Oratory. Now I come.
[Exit Miranda.
Enter Pedro.
What is your pleasure?
Pedro.
[Aside]
I thought I saw the hem of a petticoat.
—Mercy upon us! Most holy Sir, the Prioress
of St. Clare would trespass on your leisure and your
counsel, if for a moment only you will grant it.
Aur.
I shall expect her now, so tell your lady.
I wish'd to see her.
Pedro.
I will, right reverend.
[Aside]
Yes, and
I'll watch you closely too. Here's a hypocrite for
you! Dooms the poor Agnes to destruction for one
slip, while himself riots here in security!
Aur.
Art thou not gone?
Pedro.
The Prioress is here.
Enter Prioress.
And a pitiless pair there is of ye.
[Exit.
Aur.
May peace and blessing ever rest upon you!
How does the sister Agnes?—Well, I hope.
Poor girl! I much desir'd to speak with you,
Touching the course to win her from her error.
Her failings and her merits are with Him
Who weighs us in the balance of his justice.
Aur.
Most true: but something still remains with us:
I mean—to draw the sliding back to safety,
Deduce a lesson from convicted evil,
Confirm the strong, and strengthen those that tremble.
Prio.
You lead me to the object of my visit.
If, holy Sir, you would but deign to treat
With eloquence like yours this foul offence,
This guilty love, that dares profane the altar,
The lesson would be written in all hearts.
Aur.
Aurelio, art thou pure thyself from stain?
Is thy robe spotless?— [Aside]
Prio.
Do not, Sir, deny me.
The interests of holiness are yours.
Aur.
Sister, I yield with pleasure—but the subject
Seiz'd my attention on the instant hearing,
And wrapt me thus in thought.
[A bell tolls.]
Why tolls that bell?—
Pri.
It summons us to give her to the earth.
Aur.
Give her? Give whom?
Pri.
I thought you understood me;
The sister Agnes.
Aur.
Agnes! Is she dead?
[Exit Prioress.
I've sacrific'd to justice, too, too sternly.
Enter Miranda.
O impious rigour! O inhuman pride!
Mir.
Be comforted—for holy was your purpose.
Aur.
Talk not to me of purposes, Miranda—
What right has man to banish pity from him?
Do we not feel we live but by its influence?
And where's infallibility in me?
Do I not find me frail and vanquish'd also?
Should Heav'n judge me, as I have judg'd poor Agnes,
What were my future portion but despair?
Mir.
Let me keep peace between you and your conscience.
Her punishment was love, though dress'd in terrors.
Its rigour tended but to bring her back,
More dear to Heav'n than had she never stray'd.
Designs once pure, events must rest above.
Aur.
Poor frantic wretch! Her shrieks are in my ears!
Her denunciations pierce my very brain!
“You have disdain'd to listen to compassion,
And therefore on your conscience and your soul
I lay the death of me and of my child.”
Oh! thou poor lost one! all thy agonies
And terribly avenge the wrongs I did thee.
Mir.
'Tis horrible. Yet hear me, my Aurelio.
Aur.
O come not near me. You, you make my pangs
Too keen for me to bear—For, oh! in you
I see what Agnes saw, the mind's subduer:
Conscience arous'd now tells me of my vows;
Tells me, I murder'd whom I match in guilt.
What canst thou say to dead the soul's quick nerve,
And drive away Hell's ready slave, despair?
Mir.
O do not bid me leave you! Drive despair!
Yes, my Aurelio, love can chace that fiend—
It is the balm that heav'nly mercy made
To heal the wounded heart. A faithful breast
Is the soul's best physician—Trust its power.
Though in the mind the fiercest pangs increase,
Love lulls the pain, and smiles it into peace.
[Exeunt.
SCENE, the Prado.
A gang of Gypsies enter with a fife and tabour, triangles, hand-organ, and other street music. Zingarella suddenly stops.
Zin.
We are at our journey's end. Yonder
stands the Monastery to which my father directed
the question.
Claude.
What business can the tribe of Geber
have with his reverence, I wonder?
Zin.
Listen attentively, and learn. You know
how severely the late Duke de Medina persecuted
our order.
Claude.
Aye, aye, he filled our calendar with
martyrs. The stocks, the whipping-post, and the
town gaol never were so graced before.
Zin.
My father resolved to take a severe revenge,
and found means to steal away his nephew
and heir apparent to the dukedom. The boy
proved bright and apt, and the monks of that very
monastery took him in, and that boy is now the
famed Aurelio.
Claude.
Indeed!—Aurelio!
Zin.
Nothing more certain. And now we have
discovered, that his sister and her aunt are come
hither to solicit a pension. Lopez dogged them
into the Grand Church.
Enter Lopez.
Lop.
They are coming, they are coming. To
your sleights, my dears. The young one is Antonia;
the old woman, her aunt, Leonella. Strike
up! and, Zingarella, prophesy.
Zingarella.
[Sings.]
Cross my hand, and you shall know
All the Gypsy's art can show.
Would you have the past reveal'd,
Close by knavery conceal'd;
Would you know what blessings wait,
What ills annoy your future state;
Cross my hand, and you shall find
Destiny for once be kind.
[The crowd gather about them. Leonella and Antonia approach.]
Zin.
[to Antonia]
Bless you, sweet young lady!
May your fate be as gentle as your countenance!
Leo.
Methinks you might learn respect, good
stroller.
Zin.
What, to age? Then most respectfully I
turn to you. Would you choose a sample of my
art? Give me your hand, and be attentive.
Be respected, though not great.
Let not vanity engage
Your mind to trifle with your age.
All your flaunting days are over,
Never will you lure a lover:
For Ovid read some holy text;
Avoid this world, and seek the next.
O, this is an impostor, I see. Come away,
child. Don't listen to her impertinence.
Zin.
Art thou too an enemy to truth? Stay, I
charge you. It concerns you nearly.
[Sings.]
Many a strange perplexing line
Through this palm with cutting strife
Mars the quiet of thy life.
When what is deem'd your greatest loss
Is the chief champion of the cross,—
Then wealth and power consent to join
A lover's noble hand to thine.
Ant.
How singular was her address to me! I
would fain despise it, and yet my mind is not sufficiently
strong. Is it possible that—But no, the
future must be hidden from all eyes.
Leo.
A saucy vermin! Avoid this world, and
seek the next, indeed! I hope I am not to take a
Gypsy for my ghostly director. No lover neither,
when the handsomest cavalier in all Spain is—O
no—was dying for me at first sight!—O that my
will could bring upon them all the plagues of their
native Egypt!—But see, they are coming again!
—Come, come.
[Exeunt.
Chorus of Gypsies.
Cross her hand, &c.
| Aurelio And Miranda | |