 | Angiolina Del' Albano ; Or Truth And Treachery |  |
61
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
—ANOTHER ROOM IN COUNT DEL' ALBANO'S HOUSE.Enter Leonora.
LEONORA.
The marriage ceremonials were postponed
To make sad room for the offices of death!
Well! the first shock I have recover'd from,
But scarcely yet can smile, and laugh, and trip,
As I was ever wont to do before,
Like some gay fairy o'er a moonlit green!
Death is an awful and a mighty thing—
I feel his presence now through all the house;
It hangs o'ershadowingly where'er I move;
I start at mine own steps!—O saints! a sound!
Once more! a crack! a creak! a rustle!—Mercy!
Spirit perturbed!—rest!—rest!—Madonna guard me!—
[Enter Guiscardo.
Why is it, thou?—thou stupid, creeping—cherub!
Why dost thou come so stealthily and softly
To make my heart freeze over with its fears?
Thou art the worst protector—my best love!
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To say the truth—adorable Leonora!—
Myself am rather shaken now and troubled:
Death is a gloomy guest in any house,
But such a change as this, from fêtes and galas,
The light of promise and the flush of joy,
The life of merriment, the soul of gladness,
Unto the terrors of the funeral darkness,
Th' o'erwhelming horrors of the house of death!
It is too much for me—too much for man!
LEONORA.
Thou'rt surely not afraid?
GUISCARDO.
Afraid! why—no!
Perhaps not just exactly, but I feel
No sort of inclination to remain
Too near the chamber where the Count deceased
Is laid in state amid black flowing draperies—
Tall candelabra, banners, plumes, escutcheons!—
When 'tis my turn to watch beside the corpse,
I know not what will happen to me!
LEONORA.
Nay!
Thou surely never can have felt a fear!
My doughty darling! my chivalrous chuck!
I will not think it—in thy strong right arm
I trusted, Oh, thou hero of my heart!
My Priam of old Troy! my Nebuchadnezzar!—
My Alexander and Bucephalus!—
My man-Minerva and my wooden horse!
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(muttering).
An thou hadst cried—“thy wooden ass!”—'twere likelier:
A plague of these fine flourish'd words, say I!
LEONORA.
I ever thought thee earth's most lion-hearted!
A very dragon in all valour's virtue!
And so thou art, too, though thou know'st it not!
GUISCARDO.
I think I am sufficiently courageous:
Yes, something of a lion—doubt it not!
Our Lady shield us!—Heard'st thou that dread noise?
LEONORA.
Dread noise!—help!—save me!—there again!—Oh, shame!
Look, look, Guiscardo—'tis a little mouse!
There, running by the wainscotting—
GUISCARDO.
Ahem!
The echo that it woke though, roll'd like thunder!
LEONORA.
Very like thunder!—I thought so myself!
You need not write yourself a coward for that!—
'Tis an extraordinary fact, Guiscardo,
That mice sometimes (in certain circumstances)
Will make a noise as loud as tumbling mountains!—
GUISCARDO.
Strange! most extraordinary—'tis, indeed!—
LEONORA.
Once I was crossing the old stone corridore—
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Well! mind not now your memories of past mice!—
Your tail'd and snouted reminiscences.
I'll tell thee what, I fear we are two old fools!
LEONORA.
Indeed, beloved Guiscardo, you're past bearing,
A very false, and foul, and worthless—treasure!—
Most insupportably uncivil thus
To interrupt me!—I could gladly break
That thick calf's head of yours! What! not cast down?
You brazen-faced, unblushing, heathenish—Idol!—
GUISCARDO.
Wilt hear me speak? Why, sweet! I know by heart
Thy long-drawn histories—think'st thou I forget
What once thou tell'st me?—never!
LEONORA.
That shows better!
Still, sweet Guiscardo, thou hast but little grace
When thou dost tenderly address thy love;
Thou still forget'st to place the attesting hand—
(I cull'd those fine words from a sweet romance)
Upon thy heart—as thus: stop! lower—no, higher,—
More to the north—a trifle more to the eastward!—
GUISCARDO.
Leave fooling, Leonora!
LEONORA.
What, sir! fooling?
Incorrigible that thou art, what mean'st thou?
Thou'st the most ordinary understanding,
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My Phœnix! of all men that walk the earth,
I grieve to say it, but the truth is truth,—
GUISCARDO.
At least it used to be so in my youth!—
Thou never saidst a truer thing than that:
But askest thou yet no tidings of thy lady?
LEONORA.
My dear, sweet mistress! have they sent to seek her?
Be quick and speak, you dolt!—I mean you dovekin!—
GUISCARDO.
Aye, but they cannot find her!
LEONORA.
How! 'tis strange!
GUISCARDO.
They cannot find her, and the general thought
Is that she must have gone with her betrothed,
Since he, too, hath not once been seen abroad
Since she was missing.
LEONORA.
Nay! unlikely that:
What probability,—when all was smooth,
All plain, and settled for her marriage?—
GUISCARDO.
True!
And yet the impatience of a hot-brain'd lover
Might shrink from waiting for that age—a week,
And thus he might persuade her to accompany—
LEONORA.
I see it all! Yes—yes, my Guiscardetto!—
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(To which add just three quarters, and seven weeks,
And now three days.)
GUISCARDO
(aside).
A bold assertion—faith!
Since, by the rood, on her side lay, methinks,
The whole of the persuasion! Come away,
Most dear Leonora! Come and learn the news;
There may, by this time, be fresh tidings gain'd!
LEONORA.
Stay!—Leave me not behind thee!—not so fast!—
Remember I am scarce as brave as thee,
My Hero and Leander!—Oh, my Hector!—
My dear, intrepid chick, I heard some noise!
GUISCARDO.
Run—run! I die with fear!
LEONORA
(screaming and running).
And I am dead!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
—A SPLENDID CHAMBER IN THE DUCAL PALACE IN THE COUNTRY NEAR MANTUA.ANGIOLINA,
(alone).
No hope of change—no chance of an escape!
Oh! what a miserable wretch am I!
Hark! was't a step? methought I heard a step!—
How do I start at sounds and fancied sounds,
And almost fear my own half-stifled breathing!
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When it announces but to me the same—
The most pernicious presence! Oh! despair!
Hippolito—my light of life! my dear one!
This cold despair hath not decreased my love,—
I do not cease to love 'mid all this anguish!—
Nay! better do I love than ever! Yet
That love seems grown a misery and a madness,
As though I suffer'd from its sweet infliction—
As I was crush'd to earth with the agony
Of Adoration's uttermost extreme!
(And not with lacerating doubts and terrors)
In truth, I scarce can bear the love I feel—
The unutterable submission of devotion—
The incomprehensible idolatries
That snatch my living soul from me away,
And put a burning passion in its place!
Hippolito! I never loved thee thus
In joy, and hope, and freedom, and repose!
It is the contrast—'tis the contrast, sure—
Betwixt that high and holiest tenderness
(Which virtue sanction'd and which Heaven approved,
And where already hovering seem'd to tremble—
The shadow of the saintly star of marriage,)
And this foul libertine's abhorr'd advances,
That make my blood to creep—my flesh to curdle,
With utter detestation, and all loathing!—
He comes!—and fear and madness do possess me!
[Enter Duke.
Avaunt! thou fiend!—
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Appear, thou loveliest angel!—
Appear unto my ever-longing eyes!
That know but night while thou art yet unvision'd.
Nay! veil not up the triumphs of thy face—
The blushing wonders of thy countenance!
Advance the banners of thy beauty here,
And all for me seems victory—transport—joy!
Throw off that envious veil, I must behold thee!
ANGIOLINA.
Oh! would it were my shroud! Thou heartless man,
How canst thou slay me thus by inches daily,
Still dealing death-blows at my heart and spirit?
How canst thou dare pretend to love—(To love!
It seems an infamy to join that name
That bright, and starry, and most precious word,
With aught of thee or thine!)—and yet to torture
With every art of cruelty refined?
DUKE.
Of cruelty? learn—
ANGIOLINA.
Cruelty the worst—
Thus girding me with doubts and madd'ning terrors—
Thus leaving me in desolate suspense,
That grinds—grinds down my withering, writhing heart—
A hideous state!
DUKE.
But speak the assenting word—
But say that thou'lt be mine, and thou art free,
And all thou lov'st are safe!
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'Tis there thou torturest,—
Grief for myself, though poignant 'tis and deep,
Seems nothing to the anguish I endure
At that cold, iron silence thou still holdest
Regarding all I pine so much to hear—
All that I yearn so shudderingly to know!
Thy lips are marble, and thy looks are ice!
Hippolito?—my father? Dar'st thou threat me—
Dar'st thou, with stern, abrupt, disjointed phrases—
Dar'st thou, i' the face of yon avenging Heaven—
Threat me—thou ruthless and ill-minded tyrant!—
With their destruction,—if I spurn thy baseness?
DUKE.
More measured terms would better far become thee,
Whilst thou and they are in my power. (Aside.)
She knows not
Her good old father is in no man's power:
Gone to his coffin,—not a whit too soon!—
(Aloud.)
Now hear me still—hear, haughty Angiolina!
ANGIOLINA
(clasping her hands).
Nay! thou relent'st! thine alter'd eye is softening!
How floweth the unfix'd purpose of thy mind?
What be thy changed thoughts?
DUKE.
Rocks!
ANGIOLINA.
Unriven?
DUKE.
Unriven
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No! tears shall shake what thunder should not shatter!
No! prayers shall thrill what earthquakes ne'er had shiver'd!
No! I will melt thee—win thee—save thee yet!
Aye! save thy soul from th' unaccomplished crime—
Th' uncompass'd—th' uncommitted wrong design'd!
Save—save thy soul alive from the uncrowned trespass!—
I kneel to thy remorse—thy late contrition;
I pray to that contrition—that remorse!
DUKE.
Remorse! contrition! Monks and woman's prate!—
I know them not; they are words!—unreal the feelings!—
Save where some drivelling, priest-rid dotard dreams!—
Yet hear me, haughtiest Angiolina!—hear!
No more thy lover but thy sovereign now!
ANGIOLINA.
Aught—all things but the first, and I will bless thee!
Yea!—though my tyrant, torturer, executioner!—
DUKE.
Peace, daring girl! I must be absent now
Some seven good hours—
ANGIOLINA.
For that my heart could bless thee!
Say 'tis for ever, and 'twould almost love thee!—
DUKE.
Enrage me not! 'Twere best thou held'st thy peace!
This time I give thee to think o'er again—
ANGIOLINA.
No!—I refuse it—No!—no times could change me!—
Not centuries—not milleniums—the age eternal!
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DUKE.
Beware!
ANGIOLINA.
No! I am desperate, and defy thee!
DUKE.
Think!—dread my power!—
ANGIOLINA.
No! I am arm'd to brave thee!
DUKE.
Cease!—yield!—
ANGIOLINA.
No! No! I am inspired, and curse thee!
Man! I am seconded, and back'd, and aided—
DUKE
(starts).
By whom?
ANGIOLINA.
By Heaven, and Hope, and Honour!
DUKE.
Dreamer!
Thou dost deceive thyself! but 'tis in vain!
Thy Heaven is far! Hope—Honour cannot save thee,
If thou'st no other friends and fast allies—
ANGIOLINA.
Aye! the true heart of my Hippolito!
DUKE.
The true heart of Hippolito! But, listen!
Since thou rejectest my offers, wilt not take
That time I did propose to thee for conquering
Thine own blind obstinacy—hear me farther!
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This moment—now—to be mine own, I go
To sign the order which shall place the life
Of young Colonna in a fearful strait!
I swear that he shall suffer for thy sin!
ANGIOLINA.
My Sin! thou bad, and bold, and dark blasphemer
Of innocence and virtue!
DUKE.
I will crush him!—
Will make his forfeit life the sacrifice—
ANGIOLINA.
Thou darest not!—
DUKE.
Try!
ANGIOLINA.
Thou wilt not!
DUKE.
Wait!
ANGIOLINA.
Thou shalt not!—
DUKE.
Death!—thwart me!—thwart!—and see!—
ANGIOLINA.
Thou should'st not!—shalt not!—
By Earth and Heaven, thou shalt not! Oh! Colonna!
My choice!—my cherish'd!—dearer soul and self!
My Soul—my dearer One!—and Self—my nearer One!
My Love—mine only One!—would'st thou for me
Not die—not yield all wealth, gifts, treasures, blessings,
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All sacrifice—all sacrifice—surrendering,
To save my threaten'd peace—my threaten'd life!
(Duke going.)
Return!—retract thy words! Grant—grant my prayers!
DUKE.
Thy promise!—quick!
ANGIOLINA.
I promise! No! no! no!
And blister'd be my tongue for such a word!
Hippolito! thyself would scorn my gift,
Bought at so horrible—accursed a price!
Such offering of my weak, unworthiest love
Were worse than all th' invented ills of tyranny—
The last—worst outrages of crown'd oppression!
I will not promise thee—I still defy thee;
Do thy dark will as Heaven shall do its bless'd one!—
Kill!—kill! Aye! stab him, like the hired assassin!
Strike with such blows as thou now deal'st on me—
On all my shivering—shuddering soul convulsed
With agonies that should, indeed, be death's!
(And shall!—the only death of soul—deliverance—
Translation from this world unto a better!)
Then, with such wounds upon his mortal frame—
Then will he suffer little, and not long—
Freed in a moment from his fleshly fetters!
DUKE.
Thou'lt change!
ANGIOLINA.
To Clay!—ere I can cease to loathe thee!—
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Thou'lt change!
ANGIOLINA.
To Immortal, and not cease to love him!
DUKE.
Thou'lt bow!
ANGIOLINA.
To trample on thy soul with mine!
DUKE.
A moment yet!—but speak the word—the word!
What! silent? Not ev'n tears? Wilt save his life?
ANGIOLINA.
And sign our death of soul?—No! tyrant!—never!
That were indeed our death of soul if sin,
Should yawn betwixt us!—Worse than that thou deal'st!
Which slays through suffering, even to free at last,
Through very inability to bear it!
No—no! Accursed soul-killer as thou art
Thou shalt not thus make me one!
DUKE
(takes out parchment).
Here!—behold!
One word—and he is safe! One word—he dies!
ANGIOLINA.
Hence! Hateful tempter—back!
DUKE
(going to table and taking up a pen).
If once I sign it,
All earth—all heaven, shall make me not retract it!
One moment more!
ANGIOLINA.
Myself would sign it! Yea—
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I was despair, affliction, anguish, madness!
The Extremities of such profound despair,
Affliction, madness, anguish,—these have changed me—
I am submission, firmness, strong decision!
One only wish remains—to die with him!
DUKE
(signing paper).
'Tis done!—and 'tis thy deed. Farewell, proud maiden!
His blood be on thy head! I go.
[Exit Duke.
ANGIOLINA
(falling on her knees, covering her face).
Gone!—gone!
Grant Heaven that he is gone! ' is over now—
Done—past recall. (Starts up.)
Yet—yet there gleams a hope!
I will not think he dares do what he threatens.
But yet, there sure is hope!—that gentle page,—
He look'd with such compassionating kindness!—
And spake sweet words, too, of mysterious import—
That yet assured me he would serve me staunchly.
I straight will seek him. He is here!—'tis well.
[Enter Hyacinth.
Ah! aid me, gentle boy!—and save me—spare me!—
'Tis in thy power.
HYACINTH.
Nay, gracious lady! How?
ANGIOLINA.
Bear but a letter for me.
HYACINTH.
'Tis against
His Highness's express commands.
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Dear boy!
Oh! pitiful and tender soul! strive—strive!
Oh! find some way to serve my mortal need.
Come—come!—to thy inventions! Think!—but think!
HYACINTH.
Yes! I do know a way: 'tis doubtful—dangerous;
But I will try it.
ANGIOLINA.
Blessings on thy head!
Blessings fall round thee like the dews of morning!
(She takes a letter from her bosom and gives it.)
Bear this as ' is directed. Haste!—haste!—haste!
HYACINTH.
I go!
ANGIOLINA.
Success go with thee!—Saints preserve thee!
[Exit Hyacinth.
Now!—my Imelda! well I know thy brain
Is quick at stratagems and keen devices!—
If such should fail, I have urged her to make public
The dark recital of my cruel wrongs.
My countrymen will rise at once to aid me.
Yes! I appeal from Tyranny to Them!—
The People! Yes! the People shall protect me.
The o'erflowing drop of foul oppression's cup
Baptizeth them as with their own shed blood
Into a nobler nature all at once;
And makes from slaves, a Sabaoth of avengers—
From thralls, a league of soul-anointed kings!
[Exit Ang.
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SCENE III.
—A CHAMBER IN THE HOUSE OF IMELDA.Enter Imelda with a letter.
IMELDA.
Astonishment! and oh! profoundest anguish!
How do I blush at my remember'd love—
A load of infamy upon my soul!
I loved thee! Prince of Mantua!—loved thee well:
Not for thou wert a prince!—No! my true heart
Loved thee as poor love poor! Oh! artful copyist
Of all the charming aspects of pure virtue!—
But hence with thought, self-communing, and sorrow,
My friend's sad state should sole engross my mind!
Already have I form'd—matured a plan,
Which much I hope may compass her deliverance!
Already sent for one I know will aid me—
The long-devoted Guilio!—for Colonna—
In the Duke's power it seems that he is placed—
Though little can I share the racking fears
Of Angiolina, that the Duke will dare
Achieve his ruin if indeed—He comes—
The noble Giulio!
[Enter Giulio.
Lose not, sir! one moment
In saying if, on reading my despatch,
Thou dost consider my planned scheme may be
A feasible and sound one!
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Lady! Yes!
I am perplex'd! Indeed the want of time—
The abruptly-pressing exigence o' the case,
Might well bewilder clearer heads than mine;
And with my heart, too, rack'd and riven—
IMELDA.
At once
'Twere best then I assumed this deep disguise:
The youthful page, methinks, resembleth me:
His hair—complexion, of the self-same colour;
His stature, to an inch mine own; his features,—
Not much unlike.—I shall not be discover'd!
But say, ere yet I seek mine injured friend,
What tidings hast thou learned of lost Colonna?
GIULIO.
I have much reason to believe he is
A prisoner for the present, strictly made
In his own house, where I have ask'd in vain
To greet him (if, indeed, still there abiding),
I was denied admittance surlily,
Plainly, and peremptorily. Methinks,
All circumstances well considered o'er
'Twere best, if truly (as Heaven grant thou may'st!)
Thou thus effectest escape with Angiolina!—
That she, in like disguise of some young page
(If possible the Duke's own livery wearing),
Should gain access unto Colonna's house,
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This pestilent storm may have blown over.
IMELDA.
Good!
Thyself remain upon the watch to serve us,
Arm'd at all points, and press Emmanuel, too,
Into this holiest service! She once safe,
Will I speed back unto this house, to make
Due preparations for her quick reception,
In case she needs such refuge and concealment.
First, she would haply in Colonna's mansion
(Her father dead, as doubtless knows the Duke,)
Be sought for—yet ah! no! it cannot be,
Not steel-faced tyranny dare trench so far
On human holy rights! I pray thee watch;
Do thou and brave Emmanuel (who I feel
Will promptly pledge himself to aid the cause)
Well sentinel the streets, especially
Near to the palace and the princely house
Of that deceiver—that dark-soul'd Durazzo!
I doubt not, he hath, helped these horrors all!
GIULIO.
Count upon me as on thine own strong soul!
'Tis for her safety—for her weal, I work!
[Exeunt together.
END OF ACT IV.
| Angiolina Del' Albano ; Or Truth And Treachery | |