University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—Alfonso's Tent.
Alfonso and Claudia.
Alf.
Were the time still more urgent, I would pause.
League with a man so worthless, as Albanio?
I think, I know Fontano's humour better!
Join with a man, who wars against his country?
The mere suspicion is a flagrant wrong!

Clau.
Infatuated man!

Alf.
(Impatiently.)
I've known him long!
Were he intent upon a royal crown,
Would he consult Albanio for his means?
No!—he would choose an instrument more noble,
To build the structure of his fortune with.

Clau.
A bad intent requires a worthless agent!

Alf.
He's had an army at command so long;
Has raised so many from a low estate;
Conferr'd so many favors on his friends;
That tools, like these, in such advent'rous cause,
With threats, and promises, and dubious words,
He'd model to his desp'rate purpose.—No!—
—And where's your proof?—In your accusations,
I learn not that, which most would prove the fact,
That he has tamper'd with my body-guard.

Clau.
He has been tampering with thy body-guard.
I wish Manfredi were but here to prove it!
He tells me, he has letters in possession,
Which place the fact beyond the power of doubt;
Letters, that bear Fontano's sign and seal!

Alf.
Letters, that bear Fontano's sign and seal?
Fontano's letters?—Let me see them.

Clau.
Why?
Shouldst thou see them, some wild insidious doubt,
Some feeble thought will raise some weak resolve,
Till doubts, and weak resolves, will end in ruin.

Alf.
This language seems too strong for truth.

Clau.
—Ah!—no!
Thou know'st, he has so strong an empire o'er thee,
Thou wilt not trust the evidence of sight!—
—But in the struggle for pre-eminence,
Thou'lt be the first to feel, though last to see.—
Stay—there's Manfredi.—How the idiot creeps!
Mark—how he starts, and falters in his walk!
He sees the danger, and his mind's disturb'd.

Enter Manfredi.
Alf.
Signor Manfredi!—I'm but ill prepared
To bear a treason from Fontano.—Where?
Where is thy proof, in evidence of guilt?

Manf.
My liege!—This paper will command conviction. (Gives the letter.)


Alf.
(reads.)
It bears his sign:—There is no truth in man!
I loathe my nature!—'Tis Fontano's hand!

Clau.
(aside.)
The poison operates!

Manf.
(in answer, aside.)
Hush!—To think is dangerous!—

Alf.
(reads.)

“To Signor Ursino, Captain of the
Guard.—I received thy letter by the messenger.
'Tis well!—I thank thee, for thy continued offers of
service. These offers I will repay, not with thanks
only, but with substantial rewards.”— (About to tear the letter.)

Clau.
—Read the whole!—
The evidence is yet to come.—

Alf.
Enough!—
I've read enough to prove Fontano's guilt!
—Yes!—'tis his hand:—it is the traitor's hand!
(Reads.)

“All that depends on me is ready. Albanio,
too, informs me, that his troops are well prepared.
—The king totters!—and I am on the rack of
impatience.—Meet me to-morrow, at St. Michael's.”

“Thine faithfully, but impatiently, Fontano.”

And I am all impatience, my good Signor,
To give thy treachery its deserved reward!
But tell me, Signor, by what happy chance,
Thou gain'st possession of this paper.

Clau.
Ah!
Let us hear that; thou didst not tell me that.—

Manf.
I've lately mark'd a strange, mysterious, air,
In this good instrument, Ursino.—When
Doubt and wild daring towards high exploits
Combine in one, unequal to the hazard,
A mean suspicion is engendered, which
Never sits easy on the man, that wears it.—
Such did I mark in him; and, therefore, mus'd
For many a night, upon Ursino's change.
At length, one evening, as returning home,
Through the long pillars of St. Michael's aisle,
I saw Fontano and Ursino there.
I marvell'd much!—For I had long observed
A striking coolness, that accorded ill
With such mysterious courtesy and friendship.

Alf.
It look'd suspicious!

Clau.
Yes! indeed it did.

Manf.
At length they rose; and walking slowly on,
I heard Fontano whisper to Ursino,—
“No fear there is of that:—I know the room,
“In which Alfonso sleeps!”—On which they parted.
As I returned to where they had been sitting,
I found this paper, which Ursino dropt.

Alf.
Ye gracious powers! I would ye had ordain'd
Me some lone shepherd, that amid deep glens,
And cloud-capt mountains, watch their bounding flocks!
Would I'd been taught to fell the sturdy oak;
To till the soil, or prune the purple vine:—
Yea!—to learn any thing, however mean,
Vile and ignoble:—e'en to watch the goat,
Browsing o'er herbage on a snowy heath,
Rather than guide the vessel of a state!—

Clau.
How many a man would wreck the world to do it!

Alf.
So many humours to consult withal!
So many interests to combine and guard!
So many factions to control and guide!

Clau.
A noble science!

Alf.
Yes!—for those, whose hearts
Long have been steel'd with tempered coats of mail!

Clau.
(impatiently.)
Fontano—

Alf.
Yes! The state demands him:
Do with the traitor, as becomes the danger:
Yet spare his life.—I once esteem'd and lov'd him:
Remember that, when justice pleads for vengeance. (To Claudia.)

Nay—do not speak!—I tell thee, spare his life!

[Exit.
Manf.
Life?—Yes!—His life with pleasure we will spare;
Only to curse him with a heavier fate!

Clau.
Signor Manfredi! Tell me, tell me how—
—How shall I thank thee, as becomes my state?
But what?—what more?—Oh, speak!—why look'st thou thus?

Manf.
I would advise, that thou attend the king.
Let him not weigh the matter too minutely.
The hand! the hand! 'tis not Fontano's hand!
Therefore, to let him meditate too long
Were unsound policy.

Clau.
Indeed it were.
And yet the plot commands a sure success!

[Exit.
Manf.
I hope so too!—Alfonso's mistress!—well!

[Looking after her with contempt.
Enter Cavallo.
Cav.
What?—musing still, Manfredi?

Manf.
Thou art welcome!

Cav.
Signor, I hither came to be so.

Man.
Well—
Then thou art doubly welcome to my heart.

Cav.
I'd ask one question of thee.

Manf.
Speak, I charge:
Yet commune softly. Well: thy question?

Cav.
Whence—
Whence has arisen the practised Claudia's hate
To wise Fontano?

Manf.
Woman!—woman!—Ah!
Tis well thou'rt made with such materials, or
Manfredi ne'er had seen a day like this!

Cav.
I thought she lov'd him; and would fain have placed
Alfonso's crown upon his head.

Manf.
Away!—
He is not far from Venice, who is walking
On the Rialto. Times will change, my friend;
And so will passions. (whispering.)
He refused her love!

Cav.
Indeed!

Manf.
Yes!—on the faith of man!—ah, more!
He did not frown, or seem averse alone;
He scorn'd her, Sir, I tell thee:—she's a woman!
And will that sex submit to scorn and insult?
—He's but a fool, who does not know as much.

Cav.
Now then her conduct, which to me has seem'd
So wild, and so mysterious—

Manf.
Is explain'd!
Yes! yes! it is so: and my hate, thou know'st,
(Without intelligence from me) is bile,
Form'd by the opposition, he has raised,
To my advancement in Alfonso's court.
—The gentle Claudia has another cause—

Cav.
Not more effective than the last?

Manf.
Her son,
(Born of a youthful lover) has been charged
With several crimes against the public morals.
This youth Fontano has advised the king
To supersede in his command; and doom
To partial banishment!

Cav.
And this she wisely
Charges Fontano's hate with?—

Manf.
What so likely?
The boy deserv'd his fate, though:—but, Cavallo,
Let us not waste the time thus.

Cav.
Thou hast gain'd
The end and summit of thy hopes at last?

Manf.
No!—no!—Cavallo.

Cav.
Why what now, good Signor?
Is not Fontano fettered to thy wish?
Is not thy rival, Angelo, at length
Banish'd the city?—what then would'st thou more?

Manf.
These are most true! but these are not enough!
I must complete my vengeance. I have done
Little—nay nothing; if I do no more
Than this—

Cav.
Done nothing?

Manf.
No!—by this right hand!
The deed, which we have planned to execute,
This coming night, shall not complete my hope!
Claudia would, doubtless, stop at this; but I—
Hast seen the beauteous Angelina?

Cav.
No!

Manf.
(whispering.)
The lovely fair one bends beneath my power!
I will inflict such vengeance on Fontano;
And on his daughter—

Cav.
On his daughter?

Manf.
Yes!

Cav.
Thou lov'dst her once!

Manf.
I did so, good Cavallo;
Marry and do!—

Cav.
Then why extend revenge
To one thou lov'st?—

Manf.
Because I hate the father
More than I love the daughter. Hatred is
The master passion of the two: and can I
Ruin his hopes, his happiness, and pride,
More than by her dishonour?

Cav.
Dost thou not
Intend to marry Angelina then?

Manf.
No!—I do not!—But wherefore trifle thus?
Meet me, this evening, near Fontano's prison;
The eager Claudia will reward thee well!

Cav.
(Aside as he goes out.)
I loathe already this detested trade!

[Exit.
Manf.
(Looking after him with suspicion.)
I fear he is but half a villain yet!
Thou hast so often thwarted my designs,
Abhorr'd Fontano, that my nature loathes thee.
Loathe thee?—Ah! worse than I abhor Albanio!
This day beyond, you'll see the sun no more!
Look at it well, while yet the time remains;
For never shalt thou see it set again.
No!—never—never—shalt thou see it more!
This fatal dust I'll throw into thine eyes;
And then will lead thee to the neighbouring wood,
Poor; blind; deserted;—and accost thee thus:—
“Go—wander where thou wilt;—and where thy feet
“Tread the green sod, oh! may the green sod wither.”

[Exit.

SCENE II.

An Olive Grove, with a ruinous edifice in the background.
Enter Angelina, attended by Agnes.
Angeli.
Heaven sheds its mercy upon those, good Agnes,
Who pity the unfortunate.—Then tell me, tell me—
Why to this ruin I am brought?—Oh Heaven!
My senses are bewilder'd by this mystery.

Agnes.

I am not hard hearted, Signora Angelina,
though I may sometimes appear so:—and one day,
perhaps, I may tell you all, I know of the matter;
which, heaven knows, is little enough.—At present,
I dare not do any such thing.

Angeli.
But, my sweet Agnes; yes, thou knowest, there must be
Something in this, thou never canst approve!
My father gave me to the guardian care
Of Signor Paulo; with the strictest charge,
To guide me safe to Venice. We had travell'd
Scarce five short leagues, when, from the public road,
We turn'd into a forest.—Then we journied
Through the lone windings of a darksome glen,
Re-echoing with hoarse cataracts;—and came,
What time the moon was waning in the west,
Silent and awe-struck, to this ivied ruin.
Tis now five days—But do, my sweetest Agnes,
Say, why I'm hither brought?—I pray thee, tell me.

Agnes.

The Signor will come tomorrow, Signora,
and then he will tell you himself.

Angeli.
The Signor?—what Signor?—who is the Signor?—speak!
Is it Albanio?—Tell me, who it is.

Agnes.

I dare not tell you, Signora. The Signor
will tell you himself.—Have patience till tomorrow
comes.—I pity you, I am sure, from my heart. But
I cannot do, what I dare not do.—But why will you
not listen to the warbling of these birds?—I love
music, Signora. Do you not love music, too,
Signora?

Angeli.

Oh!

(weeping.)
Agnes.

Her sighs and her tears really do go to my
heart, so, that I know not what I shall do.—She
has neither ate, nor drank, these two days!

Angeli.
Agnes!—

Agnes.
Signora!—

Angeli.
Think, my good Agnes, think how hard 'twould be,
Were thy dear father suddenly overwhelm'd
With dire misfortunes:—If thy lover rov'd
An exile from his native city;—and thyself
Taken, like me, unknowing, to this ruin—

Agnes.

I am afraid I must tell her!—and yet, if I
do, what will become of myself?

Angeli.
Come, my good Agnes!—Let us to yon garden.
There let us sit upon a bank of flowers,
Or'neath the scented shade of eglantine,
And tell me all thou know'st!—There's my sweet Agnes.
Ah!—now I love the very name of Agnes.
Come—let me take thine hand.—

Agnes.

What shall I do?—The Signor told me not
to say. If I did, he said, I should live to repent it
all the days of my life.

Angeli.
Repent!—Oh! no.—Thou never canst repent
A virtuous deed; Oh! never—never!—No—
Not if thou live—e'en for a thousand years!
Come then:—There—lean thine arm on one,
Who fain would love thee as a daughter;—come!—

[Exeunt.
Enter Angelo and Propertio.—The latter with a lute in his hand.
Ang.
Here let us sit.—I'm weary!—What a life
An exile leads!—

Pro.
Nay—be not melancholy.
Manfredi lives a far worse life, than thou.—
I would not feel the anguish of his heart,
For all the universe.—Come—cheer thee up
We are not far from Angelina now.
There—take this lute—

Ang.
It is no time for music!

Pro.
Nay, I request thee—

Ang.
Music is design'd
For happier spirits. [Takes the lute.

Ah! the world—the world
Must needs be cruel, since I loathe my lute.
[Tunes a wild flourish.
I could not draw one rich, harmonious, note,
Were it to gain an empire!

[Returns the lute.
Pro.
I have done!—

Ang.
Thou art the noblest of the sons of friendship!
For often hast thou chear'd my sinking heart,
When care has weighed my anxious spirit down.

Pro.
Nay—nay:—It ill becomes thee to indulge,
In such deep draughts of melancholy thought.
I well remember, when,—in love with nature,—
We've wander'd oft within the forest wide,
That screen'd thy father's castle, thou wert wont,
For hours, to loiter near the mossy brook,
That murmur'd music down the deepening glen.—
Fair nature then, in all her wild display,
Shot rapture through thy frame.—Each wood, each vale,
Each torrent, rushing from high cataracts,
Then had their graces and sublimities; but now!—

Ang.
'Tis true!—But when we've mixt with men, and felt
The influence of their passions, it excites,
In our disgust at them, distaste for Nature.

Pro.
It seems to have that influence upon you!
For e'en yon woods, whose very leaves are sacred,
Nor e'en yon mountains, towering up to heaven,
Call forth one note of holy admiration.
I wonder much!—Why!—e'en the setting sun,
(Sublimest image of eternal glory!)
Colours yon clouds with golden tints in vain!

Ang.
Of late, Propertio, I have drunk too deep,
In sorrow's bitter cup!—Yon glowing sun
Ne'er smiled on one, so lovely and so fair;
So fruitful in all virtues of the heart;
And so abounding in the gifts of mind,
As good Fontano's daughter.—

Pro.
Lovelier far
Than fancy e'er can paint!

Ang.
—Where is she now?—
Perhaps the victim of Manfredi's love!
Oh!—Angelina!—Thou art doom'd to ruin!—
Thrilling with horror in the midst of shame;
Unless kind heaven take pity on thy tears!

Pro.
And heaven will do so,—or I'm much deceived!
Didst thou not say, that, near this woody spot,
The ruin stands, in which thy fair-one weeps.

Ang.
Yes!—In a ruin hid with ivy:—there
Manfredi purposes her destiny.—

Pro.
Then let us—

Ang.
Meet the hated monster there?
I've planned it so!

Pro.
Then whence this gloomy mood?

Ang.
Fontano!—Oh my friend!—Fontano's lot
Is yet more melancholy far than mine!—

Pro.
I've heard the dreadful tale; and, hearing, dropt
The tear of tenderest sympathy!—yet since—
But what is this?—A ruin!—Is it here?
Can it be here, that Angelina dwells?

Ang.
This is the spot!—Oh!—Fortune, thou'rt my friend.—
Tread lightly!—List!—come;—let us to yon wood,
And meditate the rescue.—Then thou may'st
Return to save Fontano's house from ruin.

[Exeunt.