University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene I.

—A Chamber in Prince Diodati's Palace.
Enter Costanza, preceded by Silvio.
Cos.
Know'st thou Signor Algarves—gentle boy?—
The youthful Spaniard who—

Sil.
Nay! Lady!—nay!—
I know him not—but I do know right well
His follower and attendant, named Rodriquez—
Also of Spanish birth, as all may guess
Who scan his olive-coloured visage—faith!
I know him—since he pays devoted homage
To Angiolina, my fair Lady's maiden—
Her first and favourite—

Cos.
(thoughtfully.)
Should he come, be sure—

Sil.
Rodriquez?—gracious Madam!—

Cos.
Nay!—what mean'st thou?—
Bold—malapert boy!—

Sil.
Thy pardon, Lady!—pray thee—
But I was speaking of Rodriquez—

Cos.
Mark!—
When he—Signor Algarves—comes—be sure
To bring him straight into my presence!—stay—
Your Lady is from home?—

Sil.
Yes! fair Signora!—

Cos.
I pray observe!—when she returneth home,
Then make it known to her, that he is here—
Be sure to make it known to her, I say—
And to none other!—

Sil.
All your high commands,
Most honoured Lady—shall be well obeyed!—
[Exit Silvio.

Cos.
Now let me strive to hush my heart to peace!—
Must I do battle with thee, Heart?—down, down!—
Heavens!—how I love!—how fearfully!—how fondly!—
The tempests of my mighty-rushing thoughts,
Strong with the strength of Night and Death, now dash
My frail Life to and fro!—but hush!—he comes!—

Enter Algarves.
Al.
Oh!—Beautiful!—and art thou here indeed!—
How my Heart drinks that maddening aspect now!—
Intoxicated with its breathing sweetness—
My glad Soul bursts its bounds with swelling strength—
With rapturous and delirious overflow!—
And how it loves thee, from its deep of deeps—
To its Heaven-shrouded crowning topmost thought!—
My Heart is winged!—my thoughts all toweringly
Mount far beyond their farthest flights before—
Aye! ne'er ere this did they exultant spring
Thus high-imperiously—thus passionate-royally,
To sway a world of new-created joy!—

Cos.
Oh! much I tremble at thy troubled words!—
Too wild—too fervid!—

Al.
Tremble not! best loved!—
Nay, tremble not!—my words shall gentlier flow!—
Let not thy heavenly Nature be disturbed—
The calm Cerulean of thy mind o'er-clouded!—
Stay—sweetest Soul!—still in thy Spirit-Heaven!—
And undescending—hearken to me!—since
My love, though fiery, though most fervid, grows
At thy mild blessed bidding—thy sweet beck—
Saintly and Seraphlike—as e'en that Soul—
That Soul itself—which all Heaven's Angels love!—
But tell me that thou lovest me—say but that!—

Cos.
Give me to make mine answer!—if I may!—
Oh! there are things which language, taxed and tasked
Even to its farthest full triumphant height,
With burning rushing eloquence will blazon,
And dignify with strange dominion's mastery,
And aid to live in Lightnings to the thought,
And teach to walk in Victory and in Power,
Along the hushed—stilled—sea-like Souls of Men!—
And there are things that mock such eloquence—
That tread its fires to dullest embers down,
And leave it barren as a tinkling sound—
And of these last is Love!—none! none can speak it!—
The Immortal Mystery, glorying, spurns expression!—
Whose strength expires in efforts void and vain—
Yet would I seek to utter it!—Alas!
'Twere all as well to strive to speak the Sun—
To express in words the Innumerable of Worlds—
To syllable the Immeasurable of Space!—
Yet would I something say—my mounting Soul
Must breathe one moment—battling try one effort,
Though vain!—It must be vain!—Oh! grant me help—
Make me a World of Words to say—I love!—

Al.
Enough!—sweet Soul!—I am made Earth's happiest one!—
My Life shall speak my heart's out poured thanksgivings—
Thou spok'st all spiritually!—

Cos.
No!—'tis vain!—
No!—the airy affluence of the common coin
Of words—is nothing!—worse than nothing!—no!—
'Tis vain—all vain!— (Looking upwards.)
Speak for me—Angels dear!—
Tell him from Heaven how I do love him now!—
Or better still—thyself, Love!—speak for me—
And give me all my soul!—

Al.
The Pain of Joy!—
Too much!—too much!—I did not ask so much!—
I am tormented with this happiness!
I cannot speak it!—I shall die with it!—

Cos.
Alas! there is enough to check it!—think—
Oh! think, Algarves! what dire bars there be
To thwart our mutual Tenderness!—

Al.
And yet
Thine Uncle's manner yesternight was such,
As well might give us hope—'twas passing strange!—

Cos.
Oh! promise me that thou wilt nought neglect
To win him—please him—conquer him—at last—
But promise this!—

Al.
Thou canst not doubt my wish!—
(Aside.)
Alas! how all things seem as they conspired
Against my peace and precious happiness!—
Not only thus doth Lambertazzi's Hate
(Strange!—I forgot to read that scroll he gave me!)
Frown back my Hope—but hers—my Mother's too—
'Gainst him mysteriously and darkly roused—
And her deep strong injunctions—

Cos.
Say! Beloved!—
What ponderest thou?—reply!—and wilt thou not—
Wilt thou not love mine Uncle for my sake—
And strive to please, change, soothe, and seek to melt him?—

Al.
(embarrassed.)
I would—but I much fear 'twere worse than vain!—
I doubt this sudden kindness of his words—
(Aside.)
My Mother charges me to thwart him—vex him—
In every way supplant him and incense—
(Aloud.)
Yes! I consent—if this may be without
Abasement on my part, or weak concessions—
But much I fear—'twill prove in vain!—

Cos.
And now,
I pray thee go—I fear, lest he perchance
Should follow here my footsteps, as at times
It is his wont to do—Farewell!—

Al.
Oh! Sweet!—
Keep me within thy precious Heaven of Heart!—
Farewell, and bless thee!—
[Exit Algarves.

Cos.
All my Soul goes with him!—
His absence with a pang of anguish thrills me!—
The moment he is gone—the Light seems snatched
With painful suddenness from my filmed sight!—
The moment he is gone—my Life is Death!—
The blessed Sun is plucked from out the skies—
The flowers from out the Earth—I sink—I change!—
Yes! yes! my Soul goes with him—failing—fainting—
The annihilating Absence is upon me!—
Absence from him and from myself at once!—
But blessedness to the height of torture late
Hath been mine own—and ev'n its memory still
Tosses my Spirit on unquiet seas!—
Yet might that happiness have risen still higher!—
Could I but dare to look on him—to gaze
But half a moment—I were more than blest!—
I would give worlds on worlds but once to look,
And live in that deep look ten thousand lives!—
I dare not!—if I do—I am blind at once—
Most dazzled and most dizzy—I see nothing!—
My Soul flies,—flies out at mine eyes, even then,
And breaks as far away as Heaven from Earth!—
To look—were all the treasures of delight,
That crown a Life in one brief instant crowded!—
But no! I dare not—cannot gaze on thee!—
Thine eyes burn up my thoughts as they look through me,
And leave Existence all a desert blank!—
But hush! I heard a step!—'tis her! my Friend!—

Enter Fiorilina.
Fio.
Silvio hath told me all, my gentle One!—
Oh! thou'rt most happy!—

Cos.
I am happy!—yes!—
I cannot tell thee, nor myself, how blest!—
There is not room in all the Universe
For my vast heart-deep Happiness and me!—
I am afraid of it!—I do cower back—
I tremble and I faulter—and I shrink!—
I am too glad!—If in this World, indeed,
Are Graves and Mourners—Sufferings, Pangs, and Crimes—
Then—then—this should not be!—the heart should check
Such passioned hope's intoxicating transports!—
If in this World are Tombs, and Tears, and Sorrows,
My Joy unbounded grows an impious thing,—
For 'tis the unbounded—th'uncontroulable!—
The Earth beams like the Sun beneath my feet!—
Rays after rays!—Delirium of Delight!—
The riot of this rapture makes me faint!—
Oh! Joy!—thou'rt a terrific thing, when Love
Doth drive thee thus in whirlwinds through the Soul—
And crowds Amazement, still on sweet Amazement—
At the Ecstacy on Ecstacy—fast hurried
Through all the tranced and trembling Spirit's Life!—
Give help to bear this Happiness—sweet Saints!—
I am all a mounting Madness!—one Delight!—
Alas!—a Dream! a Dream!—a dear Illusion!—
Reality's cold hand hath touched my Heart,
And all the fever of the Feeling's frozen—
A Dream of bliss!—

Fio.
Nay! yet 'twill be fulfilled!—
A proud and happy love is thine, indeed!—

Cos.
True! true!—and yet my thoughts blush at their fervour!—
Yet precious and delicious Shames flow in—
Flow through my soul—and bear it all away
Upon their flushing, trembling tides,—and still
Conflicting feelings trouble and o'erwhelm me!—
Now mounts the great Emotion of my Soul,
And spreads itself to mirror back the Sun—
So high-imperious-ostentatiously,—
That I would trumpet to the World my passion!—
Now shrinks it back upon itself again—
Till I but ask to shroud it and conceal—
And sunk in these strange, sweet, and precious shames,—
In seas of these delicious dreams and doubts—
Would hide my Soul even from its Sovereign Lord!—

Fio.
Hush! hist!—I heard the Count's step on the stair!—

Cos.
'Tis him!—kind Fiorilina, leave me now!—
Let me alone now meet him in his anger,
Or in his gentleness—Heaven only knows
Which o'the twain 'twill be,—myself can dream not—
But leave me now!—

Fio.
I go! thy wish shall sway me!—

Cos.
And dearest! when we meet again, must thou
Unfold thy feelings and thy heart to me—
Alas! my selfishness of joy forgot thee!—

Fio.
And let it still forget me—Me and Sorrow!—
[Exit Fio.

Cos.
Will he again besiege my shuddering ear
With pleadings for Lorenzo?—

Enter Lambertazzi.
Lam.
My fair Flower!—
Thou hast transplanted thy sweet self betimes
Into another's garden—far too soon—
Knew'st thou not young Lorenzo was to come?—

Cos.
Hear me—my Guardian!—Father!—Friend!—mine All!—
I must not longer leave thee in delusion—
If thou indeed dost think I e'er will give
This hand unto Lorenzo—never!—never!—

Lam.
Hear me too thou!—if thou indeed darest nurse
A monstrous Passion—for this wanderer-youth,
The boy Algarves,—take good heed, I say,
Take heed that thou hold'st not to a most vain,
Detestable delusion!—be advised!—
Far rather would I see thee dying—dead—
Dead at my feet—than wedded to Alphonzo!—

Cos.
Despair! despair!—yet wherefore changed thy tone?—
Toward him last night, why kindlier breathed thy words?—
(Since thou'st discovered thus my secret Soul,
Dissimulation were unduteous folly)—
Wherefore! oh! wherefore didst thou lend us hope?—

Lam.
I had—and have my reasons!—but beware—
Nor hint to him what thou hast heard me say!—
No sound—no breath—no slightest word I charge ye—
Of mine abhorrence of your union!—

Cos.
How!—
Wouldst have me then deceive him and beguile
With false belief that—

Lam.
Silence!—hear and heed—
E'en so I charge thee, in the name of Him
Who made thee—let him think thou shalt be his!—

Cos.
I cannot!—no!—'twould foully top indeed—
Aye! the infinite of Injury and Injustice—
'Twere the uttermost of Cruelty!—

Lam.
No more!—
Be calm! strange steps approach!—be still!—

Enter Diodati and Visconti.
Dio.
Lord Count!—
An old dear Friend of thine who chanced to see
Thine entrance here, hath followed thus thy steps,
And hastening comes, to give good morrow to thee—
Now let me leave ye to your friendly gossip,
To rakings up of good old days and doings,
And tramplings down o'the present generation!—
Most fair Costanza!—wilt thou see my Sister!—
She and her 'broidery-frame—ill-matched companions—
Remain in the inner room,—her diligent tongue
Finding strict silence difficult, falls out
With this poor passive frame, the which, unable
To give reply, is taunted with being sulky!—

[Exeunt Cos. and Dio.
Vis.
I am most anxious, dear old Friend! to know
How thou hast sped since this strange youth's return—
Thy foe—Algarves—hast thou heard the news?—
The Duke hath e'en this day conferred on him
The title of a Count, with lands beside
As appanage!—

Lam.
The black Plague choke him dead!—
Alas! Visconti!—in some few brief words
Will I relate to thee what hateful things
Have passed most strangely and mysteriously,—
Such things as have made Life to me a rack
Of most perpetual pining agony!—
The reason ask me not, but I have cause
To think this mushroom-upstart—this detested—
This most unutterably despised Intruder,
Is Andrea's Son, the long unheard-of Heir—
Mine own lost Nephew!—Silence! on your Soul!—
Now and for ever silence! as you love me!—
The Miniature that ever was hung round
The neck of the infant Heir, with mine own eyes,
Yestreen, I saw suspended round the throat
Of this new Count—this same Algarves—yes!—
I cannot doubt it!—It was whispered me,
To try and see this picture—I succeeded!—
Presenting him a secret scroll, and praying
That he would read it at some leisure-hour,
(The history of which scroll thou yet shalt hear!—)
I saw him thrust it in his bosom, thus
Opening his vest, which gave the face to view!—
Oh! this hath maddened me!—

Vis.
And I have heard
The rumour spreads in Florence, that thy Niece,
The sweet Costanza, loves him!—

Lam.
And thou know'st—
If this is Andrea's Son—he is to her
No less than Brother!—

Vis.
Tell her your suspicions!—

Lam.
Never!—

Vis.
Yet surely!—

Lam.
Never! no! my Friend!—
I have deep reasons for concealing them!—
Nay! stand not thus astonished!—ah! thou think'st—
I see what thou dost think!—'tis not so—trust me!—
Thou wrong'st me!—'tis for her!—and I at once
These hoards of wealth will yield!—But come with me!—
Come home with me—and then will I unfold—
Unveil to thee my motives and intentions!—

Exeunt.

Scene II.

—Algarves' House.
Algarves alone.
Al.
How am I tortured!—tortured!—yet close up—
Thou dread, dark Chasm, wide yawning at my feet!—
Abhorred Ambition!—all thy beauty fades!—
I trace the Arch-demon, where I dreamed the Archangel—
How dark a change some few swift hours have wrought!—
I loathe and do, what I abhor to think—
A terrible Fascination grows my Fate!—
My thoughts like twenty thousand trumpets swell!—
(No still small voice seems wakening Conscience now!)—
They roll and rise and thunder at my Soul—
Yet staggering rush I on—and rush on ruin!—
My Soul were iron everywhere—but there—
There 'tis the frail—the fallible—the failing!—
Yet let me think—more earnestly—more deeply—
Can I be wrong to immolate myself—
(My feelings—interests—friendships—duties even—
The lesser duties in the greater merged)—
For others?—for the good and bliss of others?—
'Tis strange!—my very thought of years stands up,
And smiles before me!—my unbreathed-of scheme—
My Phantasy of all Perfection's fulness!—
The Advancement of Mankind—and of the Mind!—
The exorcising of those most pestilent fiends—
Particular Interests, Lucre, Self-Ambition—
Temptations unto Luxury,—Rest,—Indulgence—
The lopping off of the old Abuses all!—
And oh! the Happiness of all that breathe—
Being made the One peculiar Aim of All!—
Each struggling for All Others, as of old,
Urged by the Almightiness of Circumstance—
The unspiritual Omnipotence of the Actual—
The unheavenly Providences of Occasion—
The dull unhumanizing Custom's Stress—
Each felt constrained to think but of himself—
To wake and watch and work for his sole good!—
'Tis the great thought of all my bye-past Life!—
The Hope—the Aim—the Vision—and the Dream!—
To banish Suffering—and unequal Fortunes!—
To give the fullest rights the firmest basis—
To make discoveries—mighty and perpetual
Discoveries for the cherished Good of Man—
Make them, or aid those most, who best atchieve them,
By Art's encouragement, and the help of Science—
To give Philosophy the Wealth of Worlds,
That she may yet add Worlds to Man's great Wealth,
And take the Golden Compasses of Creation,
And track the footsteps of the Almightiest Author,
And celebrate His triumphs to the Soul,
(The listening Soul suspended in all worship)—
And preach His wondrous mysteries, and unveil!—
While spangling out to lustres yet unknown,
The Mind's Illuminations light the Sun!—
Spread o'er another Firmament empyreal—
The Spiritual!—more vast than Space itself!—
To make men free—and in their Freedom—Glorious!—
And the universal Soul—the Ark and Temple
Of a most purified and raised Religion—
Freed from Fanaticism and Superstition—
(For the most galling, dangerous of all chains,
Are those the strong Mind fasteneth on the weak,
Which still the Hereditary heart-slaves wear,
In all the trembling of a Soul entrammelled!)—
Oh! I would make all climes one country only—
All Life one Love—all laws but links of blessings—
All thoughts one Harmony—all Earth a Heaven!—
My Hope is yet to raise, not rule Mankind—
To make the empurpled Power its trappings doff—
(Changed to an awful and most sacred thing)—
And be the unleisured Labourer—chief of Labourers—
The incessant—the indefatigable Travailler—
First, but in all priority of Penance—
And vast unspeakable Self-Sacrifice!—
In sacrifice of all things evermore,
For that great Sovereign Aim—the general good!—
That all may gain—right glad to lose—and find—
Its Guerdon in the Happiness it gives—
So let throned grandeur gloriously transferred,
Beam from THAT MIND which doth most generous service!—
And claim all homage from the advanced—the exalted!—
Above all things—my hope is still to spread
Great Education's boundless blessings round—
Till Knowledge whisper back Her Father's word,
“Let there be Light!” and all the Soul is Sun!—
A Firmament all Sun!—in dazzling unity!—
Even the Universal, and the Harmonious Soul!—
To give men o'er again the dormant Wealth—
The hidden gift of Heaven—its Heavenliest gift—
Their own great Minds, and aid Heaven's glory so—
Ten thousand Worlds commanding from the Silence—
Ten thousand Worlds compelling from the Darkness—
The cold dead Chaos—of the old Ignorance—
To call them forth as though 'twere to create!—
And bid them burst into their giant Birth—
To blaze and roll and sweep in Strength and Power—
Far kindling upwards, like a moving Heaven—
Ascending—and awakening—and developing—
Right toward the threshold of the Throne of Thrones!—
Enriching so the treasures of the Eternal—
While streaming through the unnumbered Worlds material—
(Ten thousand Worlds—through Worlds ten thousand streaming—
Thick-gathering glory still on glory heaped)—
Shall the immaterial Spirit-Worlds glow forth!—
While Universe by Universe thus made—
In proud Creation on Creation crowded—
Shall magnify the Glory of the Greatest!—
The Omnipotencies and the orbed Majesties
Which wait on thee, dread Lord!—shall thus seem ever—
Enlarged—reflected—mirrored—ONE and MANY!—
Yes!—they who opening raise the Minds of Men—
Do give Archangels to the Sire of Spirits!—
His own unsullied Image—lit—uplifted—
They offer back—transcendantly more glorious—
Back—thousand-fold more precious to their God!—
(After a Pause.)
Oh! guide me right, great Powers! a murtherous dread
At times steals o'er me!—Shall I then, indeed,
Be leagued with Plotters 'gainst my Friend, my Patron—
My best of Benefactors, while ev'n now
His youngest favour smiling courts my eyes?—
Yet am I loyal to that King—the People!—
And can I trust thee—Lambertazzi?—thee!—
My Mother too!—indignant would she grow,
To find me thus with him whom she abhors—
(For so it seemeth, though I dream not wherefore)—
In closest bands of sudden friendship linked!—
And yet her lofty princely-thoughted Soul—
(The Soul that fired me with august ambitions)—
Would be the first—I feel and know—to thrust
Away all petty circumstance that trenches
Upon the established rights of Reason's freedom—
And her great Heart would gladly immolate
All private prejudice—all selfish interests—
To the high cause of Nations and Mankind!—
He comes!—the Tempter?—no! the Teacher—he—
The Leader—and the Enlightener!—
Enter Lambertazzi.
Welcome here!—
Even to the core and centre of my Heart!—
Away with senseless spleen and grovelling grudges—
Now be they Friends who own all Beings—Brothers!—

[They embrace.
Lam.
I greet the noblest Champion of the Cause—
Creation's Cause and the Creator's!—thus
In hailing thee!—and I rejoice to think it!—
Now know why, until now I shrunk from thee!—
Still, still, I feared thee the Enemy of Freedom—
The Friend to Tyranny and Despotism—
Not that our Sovereign (blessings on his head!)
Is tyrant, or is despot!—save as made so
Even by the unnatural nature now of things—
(Become so,—it might seem by long fixed habit)—
Their order and officiation now!—
Entrammelled by his very trappings e'en—
And all the accompanyings of Sovereignty!—
He moves—encumbered and oppressed and straightened—
As is his meanest subject by his yoke!—
Doubt not his Heart beats like our own, and higher—
When once the spell is broken,—and Truth's glass—
That glorious glass is held up to his Soul—
He will become our Partner and Ally,
In this great Work of Reformation's rising!—
Oh! never doubt!—

Al.
Couldst thou then think, indeed,
Algarves was the friend to despot-sway!—

Lam.
Aye!—and of wars—oppression of the People—
Profusion of the Court—and partial laws—
And grinding impositions!—

Al.
Hold!—declare—
What made thee change that thought thus on the sudden!—

Lam.
Some words that fell from sweet Costanza's lips,
When I reproached her for her love for thee—
The Tyrant-lover, and the People-hater!—
Then rushed the Thought upon me thus to make thee—
Even thee—a Brother of our noble Band—
Long sworn and 'stablished!—

Al.
How, I pray thee tell,
Could Millaflores—that most grovelling groundling,
Become by any means—so undeserving—
Associated in this vast enterprise,
With spirits of aspiring generous nature—
That thing—that creeping worm!—

Lam.
The enormous wealth
He and his crawling Forefathers have heaped,
(Wrung from the People through the Court's connivance,)
Make him a valuable assistant—still—
The Workmen's tools you must not scorn and spurn—
Because nor good nor beauty in themselves
They seem to boast!—but use—apply them well—
And Good and Beauty shall spring up beneath them—
As flowers beneath the dull grey dropping rain!—

Al.
My Liege!—my Friend!—my kind and kingliest Master!—
My good and gracious—great and generous Patron!—
Swear, with the deepest oaths man ever perilled
His inmost Soul in uttering desperately—
That his dear life shall be unthreatened—guarded—
No hair of his most honoured head in danger—
And that if this our Enterprise succeeds—
The noblest offices—the highest functions—
(Which yet remodelled Governments shall suffer,)
Shall wait his will, and hang upon his word—
To be at choice concentred in his person—
Swear!—swear to this by oaths tremendous!—swear!—

Lam.
By all things Holy, Dreadful, or Adorable—
By all my Hopes of Heaven, and Fears of Hell—
By mine own Soul, and Him who made it—saved it—
By every Mystery in our hallowed Faith—
And all that solemn is—or great or awful—
The Sovereign's honoured life is safe from harm,
Through any plot, or scheme, or strife of mine!—
If we succeed he yet shall bless our efforts!—

Al.
Enough!—

Lam.
Now one more word—then—business—business!—
When all is—as we hope—in Peace atchieved—
Costanza's love shall crown the crowned Success!—
Even as all honours shall rain down on it—
All blessings both from men and angels light it!—

Al.
Oh! no!—I feel—I fear—I know not what!—
But speak thou not of Her—nor Blessings!—say—
Didst tell me this hath long been planned—devised?—

Lam.
Long—long—and deeply but we needed most—
A master-spirit to be made our Chief!
And such I feel is found—ev'n found in thee!—
I marked the towerings of thy kingly Soul
Long since—but much misjudged thee, and conceived
The unroyal end of thine aspiring dreams
Was self-aggrandizement—the old stale—Ambition!—
Now those triumphant towerings wake my thought
To loftier zeal;—I know their goal of glory!—
(Aside.)
How gross a Fool!—but 'tis a very babe!—
His reason's stifled still in swaddling-clothes!—
(Aloud.)
Now let me urge thee carefully to shun,
When Millaflores joins us, aught that he
May fairly construe into proud contempt—
He is a fool—a tool—but vital—needful!—

Al.
Nay! fear me not!—though I must feel regret,
To see such scatter-brains as he, disgracing
The slow-built sanctuary of Man's new freedom—
The Holy of Holies of the Watcher-Heart!—

Lam.
I feel with thee!—but let the expedience guide us!—
It seems a miracle, so dull a Soul
Should e'er espouse the cause—but flattery well
And most judiciously administered—
And dreams of golden opportunities—
Of realizing yet more heaps of treasure,
Through a whole world's fond gratitude to him,
(I need not say how futile and how wild!)
Have won him over, and his wealth—to us!
Poor fly!—'tis meshed— (aside,)
and half devoured already—
Thyself, sweet Signior!—
Enter Millaflores.
What!—thou'rt here! most punctual!—
Now, noble Marquess, honour with thy homage
This glorious Convert we have lately made!—
(Aside.)
All prospers!—Fiorilina's thine!—the Duke
Will pour profusion of all honours on thee,
For thou shalt be the one that, to his ear,
Shall this pretended Plot ere long unfold—
This trap to catch the incipient traitor, laid
By his true loyallest servitors and subjects!—
His gratitude to thee shall know no bounds!—

Milla.
(Aside.)
'Tis well! I feel that all will crown my efforts!
(Aloud.)
Before we enter on discussions grave—
Lord Count Algarves— (Al. starts)
such your title now—
And though sworn foes to titles we are all,
I would not lop off the honours yet, that bud
From the great Tree of Honour in the State,
And fall upon the favourites of the Hour,
Till that the tree itself shall be hewn down!
(Aside to Lam.)
Is that well mouthed?—is that the style patriotic?—
The twang heroical?— (Aloud.)
Ere yet we speed
With our adventurous tongues our great emprize—
I fain would ask your sage opinion, Sir,
Of Lady Fiorilina's love for me—
Think'st thou 'tis lasting, or but fleeting Passion?—
I think she fears my Heart is too, too changeful!—

Al.
(smiling.)
I think she will resist her love and thee—
Inspired with that deep dread, and e'en refuse thee!—

Milla.
Refuse! impossible!—I have now a scheme
To make her give me one kind rendezvous,
In my proud Funeral Vault!—She must be won
There—there she must be won!—made all my own!—
She never could resist the aspect fair
Of those sweet coffins, nor unsoftened look
On their moth-eaten arms and coverings tarnished!
Her purposed Heart—must to those hatchments melt!—
She could not shut her eyes 'gainst those Inscriptions—
The nails,—the plates,—the handles!—

Lam.
Nay! awhile
Forget the enchanting Fiorilina!—

Al.
(Aside.)
Best,
Methinks, to put off for awhile discourse
Upon our plans—till we are rid of him!—
Not pressing sayest thou, now is the exigence—
At least, not as regards some hours the later!—

Lam.
No!—at the hour of sunset I will come—
Bring with me all the documents and papers—
The names and signatures—and thou shalt add
Thine own to those already gleaming there—
Upon that noblest-blazon roll of Fame!—
The Fame to be!—and to be everlasting!—
True!—true!—'tis vain to seek to dwell on business
With this poor addle-brained, vain Marquess here—
So—loved associate!—I will quit thee now—
Will come alone this evening, or bring one
More suited to the emergency and question,
For soon must all be ready for the rising!—
Wilt please thee, Marquess, bear me company?—
Farewell, Algarves!—Comrade!—Brother!—Friend!—
Farewell!—

Al.
Heaven speed ye!—

Milla.
Farewell thee well—Lord Count!—

[Exit Milla. and Lam.
Al.
Lord Count!—a pang shoots through my breast and brain!—
It did before—and doubly doth it now—
Without the insinuating Lambertazzi
To step in with his smoothness, and beguile it!—
But now that thus alone again—alone?—
Methinks to be alone becomes a terror!—
What am I?—Rebel!—Ingrate!—Traitor!—Monster!—
To my munificent and trusting Master!—
I feel as though the scales dropped off mine eyes—
The dream from off my Heart!—I have been mad!—
And I must be so still!—abhorrent thought—
No way can I escape!—my Guardian Angel
Hath surely fled away and left me—fallen!—
No way remains!—for either way I now
Must be a Traitor and a perjured Villain—
I must betray my Party or my Prince!—
I stand in marvelling horror at myself!—
This fever-dream is gone!—I see—I own—
With shuddering wonder—my enormous guilt—
And ev'n yet more enormous folly!—Heavens!—
I feel weak—weak as some most feeble moth
That speeds unto the bright Destruction still—
Though touched—scorched—warned—and I—yes!—some hours back,
Ere yet that devilish scroll disturbed my Reason,
I was the Lion in such loneliness!—
Most unapproached and unapproachable
By fear or dull dismay!—'tis thus—'tis this—
The honest Heart in its high consciousness,
Stands armed with all the thunderbolts of Heaven,
And the dishonest Heart instinctively,
(That which hath suddenly and deeply fallen,)
Turns them with all their terrors 'gainst itself!—
The Instinct of Vice avengeth Virtue thus!—

Enter Rodriquez.
Rod.
My gracious Master, at your doors awaits
A stranger-Lady, veiled from head to foot,
Who earnestly requests a moment's parley!—
Your honoured answer?—

Al.
How! Rodriquez! sure
This must be my dear Mother!—I suspected
The deep-veiled stranger of last night was her!—

Rod.
The stature and the shape in nought resemble
Your Lady Mother's.

Al.
(Aside.)
Ah!—my Heart!—thou throbb'st,
As though to celebrate the adored One's coming!—
Can it be thee, Costanza?— (Aloud.)
Well! admit her!—
[Exit Rodriquez.
My thronging thoughts assembling round my Heart,
Seem strangely conscious of the precious Presence—
Yet not of Happiness! no! shame,—pain,—anguish,—
Dark Heralds for her beautiful approaching!—

Enter Costanza; she unveils.
Cos.
Thou canst not think that I this step would take
Boldly—unblushingly!—

Al.
I cannot think it!—
Thus seeing thee as beautiful as Heaven—
Rosier than summer-sunset's clouds of bloom,
When all the summer and when all the sun
Seem gathered into one imperial glow,
That scarce will spare its rays from its own height,
Concentred in one crowning-flush of glory,
That makes all else seem darkness!—while there—there,—
Light showeth like the living Angel's aspect,
Blushing ethereal Beauty!—but it fades!—
That glow celestial—that beatific bloom—
And in its stead, 'tis the Evening's Star's sweet pallor!—
Costanza! all my Soul turns pale before thee!—

Cos.
And is there cause!—

Al.
Aye!—deadly, desperate cause!—
Look not upon me—I deserve it not!—
'Twere bliss!—oh! hate me!—

Cos.
Couldst hate ME, Alphonzo?—

Al.
Oh!—I am vile—the vilest of the low!—

Cos.
Then Love shall more ennoble thee!—

Al.
Disgraced!—

Cos.
More dear in desolation, if—

Al.
Dishonoured!—

Cos.
Then I can die—and hear not of it!—

Al.
Hold!—
I am unworthy of thee—I resign thee!—
Yea!—

Cos.
Then—destroy me! cruel! first, destroy me!—

Al.
And dost thou love so well?—there yet is Hope!—
There shall be hope!—an Angel's visit thus
Once more may bode deep good, for the condemned one!

Cos.
Let me unfold the purport of my coming—
Lest some dark hindrance haply intervene!—
The Count—he smiles on thee—say! is't not so?—

Al.
He doth—'tis true!—

Cos.
Mistrust those treacherous smiles!—
With agony I speak such words 'gainst him—
They wound me in the uttering!—but I fear—
For thee I fear—and all my Heart is thine—
Thy feet are on the precipice—the fall
Is near at hand—and all of thee will be
Ere long—Destruction!—if I do not speak them!—
Oh! Love! Algarves! yet beware!—beware!—

Al.
I pray thee—

Cos.
Hear me further!—I suspect
There is some scheme—some poisonous perilous scheme
Now building, to devote thy Soul to ruin—
Abuse thy life to anguish and remorse—
Betray thy hands to chains—or heart to breaking!—

Al.
There is a Tempest gathering round me now—
A tempest of temptations that upteareth
My Soul's foundations in its tossing path,
But I will not be shattered, will not sink—
Will not be made the howling Horror's Prey—
Worse—the vain glittering Glory's Victim—no!—
I will stand firm!—

Cos.
On Rocks of Righteousness—
So Heaven's sweet Saints best speed ye!—but this morn
My faithful Maiden—Monna Laura—heard
By accident, a strange and dark discourse,
In which Count Lambertazzi bore a part.
'Twas question much of you and of the Duke,
And as I fear—to shake your true allegiance—
To make your Heart black with ingratitude—
Your Mind with treasonous stratagems, and mysteries—
Foul, viperous, villainous, and stained seditions!—
And much, my Lord Algarves!—much I fear—
My name will be—hath been—pronounced—dire Thought!
To lure thee on to loss of Faith and Honour!—
If so—but no! Algarves!—well thou know'st me—
I need not stand here with my cheeks on fire,
To tell thee, nor my hand, nor heart—should e'er
Be given to one foul, foul with hideous treacheries—
A lost toad-spotted Traitor!—

Al.
Now hear me!—
At the earliest opportunity that offers,
(Concealing with most rigid scrupulous care
Thine Uncle's name and share in this black scheme,)
I will lay bare my darkened Soul to him—
Whom I could outrage with the irreverend daring
Of libellous and most rebellious thinkings—
Yet I must own to them—I will not wrong them,
My comrades in this pestilent cabal—
(As I have wronged myself and him—my Sovereign—)
I must own all to them—I will not blind them—
Will not betray them, nor deceive them, no!
I will reveal to them my purposed deed—
Then leave them to their Consciences and Counsels!—
Hoping, though not suspecting them, the Prince
May be forewarned 'gainst all vile festering discords.
Costanza!—leave me, till my Soul is cleared
Of this dark burthen of profound remorse—
Thy Presence is a torture now to me—
Oh! leave me!—

Cos.
(timidly.)
I must hold unto the hope,
That this stern exigency, nought admitting
Of other agency or of delay,
Acquits me in your sight of boldness foreign—
I may say—foreign to my acts and feelings!—
And saves me from your harsher judgments thus—

Al.
Oh! save me!—but from worshipping thy sweetness—
And making thee an idol at this moment—
While loving with a love too great and awful!—
Strong grows the wild religion of the Heart!—
Thine air angelical, and acts and accents—
And the atmosphere of Virtue gathered round thee—
Maidenly Heavenly-mindedness and Honour,
And Purity in all Perfection's height
Oppress me, bend me to the earth, and ask
My knee—uplifted hands—and heart's obeisance!—

Cos.
Nay!—but think gently, very gently of me!—
And oh! forget thou not thy promise!—

Al.
No!—
So help me Heaven—and Heaven's!—for such thou art,
Sweet Soul! that came a Messenger of Light
To pluck me from the Pitfall of my ruin!—
To-morrow, I will all unfold!—to-morrow!—
And from this down-weighed mind discharge the load
Of sick remorse,—and consciences of evil!—
Good Angels keep thee!—and thy Heart keep me!—
So must I yet be right!—

Cos.
Farewell! Algarves!—
[Exit Costanza.

Al.
Thou noble Being!—pure and great and bright
Stands thy firm Spirit—all a rock of Truth!—
Oh! we should careful be on whom our choice
May fall with such strong fervency of feeling!—
Else 'stead of harmony and bliss and peace,
The Angel-eyed Love might scatter ravening Tempests!—
But Oh! thou art worthy—worthy thou art found
To be shrined intimately thus—and near
The eternal Image in another's Soul!—
[Exit Algarves.