University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—A GRAND SALOON IN THE DUKE'S COUNTRY PALACE, NEAR MANTUA.
The Duke and Azzo Durazzo discovered.
DUKE.
Her perseverance is most strange!

AZZO.
Most strange,
My liege, to those who like ourselves, perchance,
Have slight acquaintance with the ways of virtue!

DUKE
(aside).
Insolent flouter! yet must I endure it!
He is just now the soul and master-mover
Of all my schemes! (Aloud.)
Ha! ha! thou'rt right, good Azzo!
Thy sense is keen, good Azzo—troth, thou'rt right,
Thou bear'st a brain!

AZZO.
A poor one,—at your service!
Now as regards that rank disease called Virtue!

DUKE.
Ha! ha! thou'rt right, good Azzo—ever right!—

AZZO.
It varies in its symptoms very strangely!—
This same meek Virtue—put not from her path,
May be a sociable good soul enough;
But touch her in her points of honour—plaff!
Off—off she goes like trains but newly-fired!
By all the saints—a girl of gunpowder!

DUKE.
Aye! such explosions I could bear and echo,
But fix'd resistance Rock-like—

AZZO.
Would'st thou know
A scheme I have late devised?

DUKE.
At once!—speak!—speak!—

AZZO.
Hold! not so fast!—The forfeited estates
Of Count di Moria—those large sums squeezed out,
By false accusal, from the old Jew Demetrio—
Half Campeodoria's confiscated lands—
The administration of the affairs of Mantua,—
All must be promised me, and promised safely,
Writ, sign'd, and seal'd! What think'st thou, gracious Duke,
All men must be rewarded, bribed, enrich'd,
Except thy faithfullest and best of servants?

DUKE
(aside).
High-souled, disinterested,—infernal miscreant!
(Aloud.)
Content! All, all, and guaranteed to thee
Without a chance of failure or of flaw.
I swear to thee—by mine own soul I swear it!—
Now quick,—thy plan!

AZZO.
A forced, pretended marriage!
I—Prince!—will ably personate the priest!—

DUKE.
Most excellent! I thank thee—ha!—I thank thee!
Tho' forced—when once, poor fool! she deems and dreams
That sacred knot is tied, she will not dare
Resist her lawful lord—her wedded spouse,
No longer mounted on that mettled steed
(Whose caracolling shakes all earth beneath it)
Of rampant Virtue! She will change her tone,—
Will by degrees forget Hippolito,
For him she shall imagine she is bound
To love, obey, and honour!

AZZO.
Is it good?

DUKE.
The best! I thank thee—thank thee.—Who is here?

[Enter an Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
A man from Mantua, may it please your Highness,
Who, driven by urgent business, and despising
Representations and remonstrances,
Insists on instant audience of yourself.

LUIGI
(rushing in and embracing the Duke's knees).
Most gracious Duke! I come for right—for justice!
Oh! justice—justice—Duke!

DUKE.
Thy wrong?—what is't?

LUIGI.
A villain, Duke!—a foul, pernicious villain,
Hath stolen my daughter from my hearth away!
Think, mighty Duke!—my daughter—my sole child!
In midst of all her beauteous, blossoming youth,
Her maidenly light-heartedness and joyaunce,
And glowing hopes! She loves him not, great Duke!
I know she is detain'd 'gainst her sweet will.
The villain is a man of wealth and power,
And I an humble handicraftsman,—thus
He hoped to silence my complaints—blind wretch!—
All earth and heaven shall hear—shall right my wrongs!
Grace—justice—Duke! afford the father help
To rescue the innocent—the cherish'd darling,—
From such foul grasp of lawless love! Haste—speak—
And give me instant justice—special help,
And spare at once the father and the child!
The impious contemner of the laws—great Duke,
Just Duke!—good Duke!—avenger of the oppress'd!—
Is Count di Sforza—let him feel thy power!
Avenge!—spare!—save!—protect!—give justice!—justice!—

DUKE
(who has shrunk away during this speech, plucks his robes from the man's hands, and exclaims)
Away! thou dragg'st me, ruffian!—dragg'st me down,
Into the dust thou'lt drag me! Loose thy hold!
Hence! I am ill!—Hence, hence, thou dost me harm!
I cannot comprehend thee! I am ill—
Oh, I am very ill—my temples throb—
A dizziness hath seized me! I am poison'd!
A chilliness comes o'er me! I am murder'd!
Drag hence the man—I know not what he says—
How dared ye bring the maniac to our presence?
He raves!—

LUIGI.
I rave! aye, reasoning I may rave—
I well may rave in reasoning o'er my wrongs!
Oh! if thou'rt ill, great, gracious Prince!—at least
(Lest thou should'st die, as every mortal must,)
Let thy last act an act of justice be!—

DUKE.
Ho! varlets—villains—whither have ye 'scaped?—
Help! treason—treason!—bear the madman off!
Grind him till nothing but his gore is left!
Grind him! as he hath crushed me, to the dust!
Azzo Durazzo! quick—thine arm—support me—
Azzo! I say—haste!—guide my steps—here—hold me—
A fever seizes me!—my heart's on fire!—

[Exeunt Duke and Azzo.
(Attendants come and seize Luigi.)
LUIGI.
How! spurn'd—insulted—when for holy justice
I sued—as for a favour, not a right!—
Ha! what!—for justice—for the eternal justice—
(The which I knelt for as myself had done
Some crime unparallel'd!) this—this! what! this!
The immense of all injustice!—threats—contempt—
And such wild outbreak of insane suspicion!
Back, menials! Have ye children?—Had ye parents?—

[He is borne away.

SCENE II.

—A WIDE STREET IN MANTUA IN WHICH IS COLONNA'S HOUSE.
Enter Angiolina and Imelda disguised as pages.
ANGIOLINA.
Escaped! escaped! the saints be praised for this!
But Oh, my father!—Oh, my poor lost father!
Thy terrible tidings, mine Imelda! chill me.
No! to that house I could not bend my steps,
I could not bear the agony of thoughts
That then should rush on my bereaved—wrung soul!
Best—first of fathers! noblest—kindest—truest!

IMELDA.
Nay, sweet! be comforted—have prudence—prudence!
Be silent! we may be perceived, suspected.
There stands Colonna's house, and lo! behold,
Against the balcony seems some one leaning!—

ANGIOLINA
(eagerly).
Is't him? Oh! I am safe!

IMELDA.
No! 'tis not him!
Some menial of the household. Let me speak,
Thy quivering voice might fatally betray thee.
Good friend! a messenger from the honour'd Duke!
His Highness hath commanded the Signor,
If now at home, should instantly admit him.

SERVANT.
Thy name?

IMELDA.
'Tis Hyacinth! this youth's is Andrea!
He bears despatches for Signor Colonna,
Sent from his royal master!

SERVANT.
Wait one moment!
The doors shall be unbarr'd.

[Servant leaves the balcony.
ANGIOLINA.
And shall I see him?
Oh! are we safe? Shall we escape together?
But oh! my poor—poor father!

[Servant opens door.
SERVANT.
Enter!

IMELDA.
Go!
[Angiolina enters the house with the servant.
Now may her wits work well,—and work well mine!—
I am for home to acquaint my worthy guardian
That he may have a gentle guest to-night,
And make swift preparations carefully
For well bestowing her in secret safety,
With unsuspected, prompt accommodation—
Lest there should chance some strait that should require it:
May there be no occasion for't!—'twere best!
Now let me think: the Duke's own private signet
Hath Angiolina (by my care secured)
Now safe in her possession; thus can they,
If prompt and prudent now in their proceedings,
Pass—aye! Colonna (though detained in durance
He may be, by the Duke's unjust commands)
By aid of this same signet shall pass free!
All will be well!—Who is't approaches softly?
I tremble!—Ha! good Pietro, is it thou?

PIETRO.
Yea, gracious madam! I am bade to haunt
The precincts of this house and give th' alarm,
Should any violence be here attempted
Against the inhabitants from outward foes!

IMELDA.
'Tis good! Thy master, where remains he,—say?
The Count di Castagnola?—where's his post?

PIETRO.
Hard by the mansion of the Count Durazzo;
Signor Emmanuel Lorio keeps good watch
Near to the ducal palace, which, thou know'st,
Is not from hence far distant.

IMELDA.
And thine orders?

PIETRO.
Are, lady, to remain the night through here,
And stir not save the house should be attack'd,
Or any scenes of violence take place.

IMELDA.
Mind well thine orders—still be on the alert,
Guard well thy post, good Pietro, be most cautious—
And oh! most vigilant—have hundred eyes,
And thousand ears—and Oh! within thine arm,
If need should be, the unconquerable strength
Of twenty thousand arms, for such the cause,
'Tis as a host in its own hallow'd self—
The unvanquishable strength of right is in it,
And standing 'gainst th' unrighteous must o'erthrow him,
Though tower'd he legions strong, and mountain-stablish'd!
Be mighty! 'tis a strong—bless'd—righteous cause!

PIETRO.
Lady! I yield not till the death, Heaven speeding!—

IMELDA.
Watch not too near the dwelling of Colonna,
(Though within hearing), lest it rouse suspicion!

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE III.

—INTERIOR OF COLONNA'S HOUSE.
Angiolina and Hippolito Colonna.
ANGIOLINA.
Would'st have me wed to-night?—must this be so?
Alas! my father,—yet unburied,—surely!
Oh! must it be? Decide for me, beloved;
I have now no protector, love, save thee!

HIPPOLITO.
It must be, if, indeed, thou would'st be saved!—

ANGIOLINA.
Yes—yes, it must be!—All a daughter's feelings
To my fair fame, and to our safety now,
And future weal, I thus must sacrifice—
Yet 'tis a sacrifice—a painful one—
Most painful! but accustom'd now I am grown
To pain, methinks, and can far better bear it
Than when at first it girded me with iron!

HIPPOLITO.
Our marriage must be secret, sweet,—most private.

ANGIOLINA.
Aye! decency would have it so—my father!—

HIPPOLITO.
I have a friend—a kind, true, worthy friend,
Who will give up, I know, at my request,
His house at once; within it stands a chapel,—
This chapel shall behold us two united
In wedlock's sacred, honourable bands!—
Try, Duke of Mantua!—try thy vaunted power,
When Angiolina is Colonna's bride!

ANGIOLINA
(shuddering).
Speak not the hated name! I almost fear it,
As 'twould invoke a fiend—that fiend to rise—
That human fiend before my loathing sight!

HIPPOLITO.
Sweet Angiolina! grant thy closest heed
While I detail to thee, in terms exact,
The method of our marriage, and the manner
In which we must elude and foil suspicion.
We must not go together from these doors!

ANGIOLINA.
Not go together! Must I go alone?

HIPPOLITO.
Indeed, thou must, in stealthy shrinking sort—

ANGIOLINA.
Ah! shrinking?—Yes!—indeed, in every nerve,
From every sound, at every sight—from all
I meet, or hear, or dream—man, woman, child,—
Ev'n from myself!—from thee ev'n if I saw thee!
Oh, dearest—dearest! must I go alone?
Let me not go alone—the terror's on me!
Oh! I shall swoon away with sickening dread,
And, wakening from that swoon to find myself
Deserted, helpless in the shadowy streets,
Shall die with fears of After and Before,
All struggling in my stricken soul at once!
Hippolito! I must not go alone;
My love—my life—I dare not go alone!

HIPPOLITO.
Thou dar'st distract me with this cold refusal—
Thou dar'st distress me with the worst distress—
Thou dar'st deny my wish—defy my will—
Destroy my hope—my heart! Oh! thou'rt courageous!

ANGIOLINA.
Oh, love! thy words, like poison'd daggers, pierce me.
I dare not disobey thee—never will!—
Yes! I will go alone!—Proceed!

HIPPOLITO.
Less fear
Be sure there is than if we went together.
Arrived in safety at my kind friend's house,
To which I will most specially direct thee,
(Nay, send a faithful follower there to guide thee,
Who shall await, some two streets off, thy coming,)
Thou must prepare to find me—

ANGIOLINA.
Ah, Colonna!
That needs but happy preparation!—

HIPPOLITO.
Listen!

ANGIOLINA.
My heart is hearing thee—aye, every word!

HIPPOLITO.
Arrived in safety, then, there entering softly,
Thou must prepare to find me mask'd, disguised.

ANGIOLINA.
Wherefore!—within the house?

HIPPOLITO.
What! see'st thou not
The vengeful Duke may by some means discover
Our place of hiding and burst in on us?
Mask'd and disguised we may escape him still;
How should he know my friend from me?

ANGIOLINA.
And I?—
Must I be mask'd?

HIPPOLITO.
'Twere needless—no!
Retain thy present excellent disguise:
These boy's habiliments themselves perform
The part of mask,—they change thy very features!
The hair, that wont to hang in thick-shower'd tendrils,—
(That gleam'd like cluster'd constellations shining,
I scarce could see its beauty for its brightness—
Scarce mark its softness through its trembling splendour!)
Adown each side of thy sweet, silken cheek—
Push'd back beneath thy cap—exposing thus
Thy smooth, broad brow and all thy heaven of face—
Much alters thee, and marks with strange disguisement,
That changes thee! The exposure plays the part—
And plays it well—of most perplexing mask!
So ever in thy virginal array
Didst thou in shrinking modesty remain,
Half-hidden like a fresh slow-budding rose—
Screen'd 'mid its leaves—a golden cloud of hair
O'ershadowing thy sweet seraph countenance!
A cloud?—a glory rather, loveliest One!—
A glory of fair glistering hair—all splendour!—
A precious lustre—all a living light—
A dazzling veil, indeed!—sole worthy crown—
For so much beauty, more like heaven's than earth's!—

ANGIOLINA
Look not so keenly on me, loved Colonna!—
There is a restless movement in thine eye—
There is a quivering flutter in thy voice—
There is a hurrying shiver on thy lip—
There is a feverish tremble in thy hand:—
Oh! what portend these most unquiet signs?
Compose thee, dear Colonna!—I am thine!
I will be thine!—no power shall more divide us!
Thou look'st—oh Heaven! I reck not why!—thou look'st
As thou wert going yet once more to lose me—
As thou wert losing me—even now! Not so!
Thou hast not lost me, dear one!—I am here!
Thou wilt not lose me! Shall I not be there?
Thou'lt never lose me!—I am at thy heart!—
There—there!—for ever at thy heart! Our life—
Our future mingling life is love for ever!
Ne'er more,—drear Thou and I,—and Thine and Mine,—
One endlessly united “We” and “Ours!”—
Look not again with such sad scrutiny—
Such curious-earnest looks into my soul!
'Tis true, thine image there is shadow'd o'er
Just now, dear love!—'tis shadow'd o'er, and deeply!—
But by the memory of a late-lost father!—
Thou art not jealous, mine adored! of that;
Nought else lives housed within but love and thee!

HIPPOLITO.
Mine Angiolina!

ANGIOLINA.
Voice of my beloved!—
How dost thou glide into my deepest spirit,
And make it all a moving melody,
Till not thyself is more one precious music!
But tell me, my Colonna—bridegroom—husband!
How shall I know thee, mask'd and thus disguised?

HIPPOLITO.
Nay! be but firm—nor conjure up vague terrors!

ANGIOLINA.
A thousand trepidations will assail me;
How many masks will be there in that house?

HIPPOLITO.
But two!—myself and my most faithful friend.
And thou shalt know me by this half-blown rose,
Worn here—without my heart, as thou within it.

ANGIOLINA.
Methinks, I wish that the awful time were come,
And yet I dread it!

HIPPOLITO.
Cheer thee!—have no dread!
Soon as the blessed ceremonial's o'er,
The fleetest steeds shall bear us far away
From enemies and hate to endless love!
I have a friend at Rome that will receive us.
And oh! remember, princes may not dare
To burst the bonds Religion's self hath bless'd!
Power there is weakness,—Pride must there bow down!
The tyrant's self must be a suppliant there!—
More 'specially in Rome's Tiara'd City—
The sacred clime—and country of the Church!
Religion's capital and citadel!—
There we may breathe indeed in happiest freedom,
Safe shall we rest from the inroads of oppression!
Once the solemnity is o'er—

ANGIOLINA.
Oh! say—
Must I not visit ere I go, alas!
(Though sure 'twill cause me mortal pangs of grief),
My venerable sire's beloved remains!

HIPPOLITO.
Why would'st thou harrow up thy gentle feelings?
The good old man is happy—is at peace!
No sufferings, sorrows, shames, temptations, trials,—
No Time—no Crime—no Earth—Death—Buryings—more!—
Oh! who would envy not the enfranchised dead?
At thy return thou may'st beside his grave
Keep solemn vigils!—Did I grant thy prayer,
And let thee look on him to-night, ev'n so
Might all be risk'd again; that might be cause
Of wondering, doubt, discovery, and detention!
Now, Angiolina, fare thee well awhile!

ANGIOLINA.
Nay! speak not such a word! if thou must go,
Pass like a spirit from me suddenly;
Then shall my soul swoon gently off with thee,
And following thee by sweet unconscious instinct,
Not know thou'rt gone till time to meet again!
But that terrific word—that dark “Farewell,”—
Frowns—starts like the executioner to the heart,
And bids it to prepare for death and doom!
Say not “Farewell!” for when we hear that word,
Absence in all its anguish doth o'erwhelm us!
Already low we're plunged into its depths—
Its fathomless abysses of all gloom!
Far doth “Farewell” our souls in suffering speed—
(Anticipating all an age of absence!)
Down the precipitous bleak paths of parting—
Still doth Farewell—a fiat of destruction—
Teach the pain'd soul the whole despair of parting,
Ere yet the fond and faithful ones are parted!
The whole despair! aye, true, the unmeasured whole
Beginning and Continuation lingering—
And not the end of parting! Oh, my love!
May that for us be an eternal meeting!
Ten thousand blessings!—we shall meet again!

HIPPOLITO.
Yes, Angiolina! we shall meet again!

ANGIOLINA.
Think how my heart must pine for that dear hour,
Since I have no protector now but thee;
An orphan, newly made to, and bereft
Of one—the tenderest and most fond of fathers!
No mother have I, sisters, brothers,—none!
My father's friends are of the world before me,
Another generation!—quickly gather'd
Must they be, like my father, to their graves!
But thou, Colonna, thou wilt be mine all—
Spouse, parents, guardian, tutor, friends, and kin,
Ev'n like a Providence on earth to bless me!
For one so signally bereaven, seems
To claim the especial care of gracious Heaven,
That can and shall raise up in one dear heart
A host of loves, such as surround and shield
The better-fortuned children of the earth,
In many bosoms beating—and divided—
For them—in One concentrated and gather'd!

HIPPOLITO.
Nay, speak not thus! I cannot bear it—no!
Away! away!—

ANGIOLINA.
Again thy voice is flutter'd—
Again thy lip is shivering like a leaf—
Thine eye glares changefully—thy hand is trembling—
Thy cheek,—a flame-bright fever spot is there,
Blood-red and burning! Oh! thou'rt ill—thou'rt ill!
Nay, go not forth! a blight is in thy veins!
No! that hot flush is fading swift away!
Thy countenance is calmer—look at me—
Oh! look at me, my love! thy deep—deep eye
Is fixing now into tranquillity!
It glistens! ah! it glistens! What! a tear?
(Hippolito weeps.)
Weep not, or thou wilt whelm my heart in tears—
Aye, thou wilt drown it in thy tears for ever!
Why weep'st thou? Sacred powers! why weep'st thou?—speak!

HIPPOLITO.
Why, what should over-joy that scarce can speak—
What should it do but weep for want of words?
Ne'er, ne'er before my free-wing'd thoughts have thus
Joyed—high-fantastically!—passionate-glorying—
With zeal, whose strong excess shames eloquence!
Hence! let me hence, for there is much to do—
Nor is there time for tears, nor words, nor silence—
One kiss! no! not upon thy stainless brow!
I tell thee, no! upon thy hand!
(He takes her hand.)
Soft hand!
I could not crush thee in my stronger grasp!
I could not have the heart to crush thee, no!
And some can crush the soul—the trusting soul!

ANGIOLINA.
No soul yet ever trusted as doth mine—
Mine at this moment! Oh! 'tis all thine own!
I do repose such confidence in thee,
As babes in mothers—martyrs in their creeds!—

HIPPOLITO.
No more! peace—peace! remember—oh, remember!

ANGIOLINA.
Nay, fear not me! Think'st thou I am but half true?
[Exit Hippolito.
How the last echo of his steps seems precious?
'Tis past! and now my heart hath sunk indeed;
Inquietudes seem gathering round at once—
In absence' deepening and oppressive gloom,
Forth starting as the superstitious dream
Dark spirits start at midnight from the graves!
And I must go alone—disguised—at night—
With fear of that stern man before mine eyes—
The tyrannous, deadly-hating Duke, for so
I deem of his destroying, blighting passion;
'Tis hatred to mine honour and my soul!
Hippolito, I will obey thee still—
Obey thee—to the letter will obey thee!
And may my guerdon be thy happiness!
For mine—'tis pale within my father's shroud,
And long 'twill be ere it can smile again!
My very hope is silent as a sorrow,
And weeps without a tear—but yet it weeps!
And this pale-stricken joy, this death-touch'd hope,
To thy bless'd memory—Oh! my sainted father—
Perchance proves tenderer tribute—and yet deeper—
Than many a Grief might be without these adjuncts—
Than many a Sorrow that is Sorrow only!
[Exit Angiolina.

SCENE IV.

AND LAST.—A ROOM IN DURAZZO'S HOUSE, COMMUNICATING WITH A SMALL CHAPEL, THE DOORS OF WHICH ARE OPEN.
Enter Angiolina, then the Duke, and Hippolito, masked, and Azzo Durazzo habited as a Priest.
DURAZZO.
My daughter, sign the contract. Here!

ANGIOLINA.
Aye, Father!
But pause a moment yet—my sight is dim—
My heart aches heavily! Thou, holy man,
Know I stand here afflicted with a loss—
No less a loss than a most tender parent;
One that at this grave hour should be beside me,
To aid, sustain, encourage, soothe, and bless me;
The Funeral calls me and I seek the Espousals!
I am an orphan!—Priest, forgive my sorrow!

AZZO.
Forgive it!—nay, I honour that and thee;
It is a seemly sorrow, and most blessed,
(One of the masks shews signs of impatience.)
But, daughter, be consoled—thy lover waits,
And pants to prove thy best protector now!
Quick! sign thy name, and at the holy altar
Receive his vows of tenderness and truth.

(She takes the pen.)
ANGIOLINA.
My soul swerves from me—knock my knees together—
Mine every nerve's unstrung—mine every pore
Turns to a chill of iciness!—I shiver
As might a dying wretch beneath a blow,—
Another wound unto his death-wounds added!—
And now I feel in statue-stillness bound.
I am a frost!—no! no! there comes a thaw;
Sweet tears! ye melt me to myself again!—
Give me the pen once more, O Father!

(She takes the pen, and signs.)
DUKE
(exclaims aloud suddenly).
Done!
'Tis done!—

ANGIOLINA.
My love! spok'st thou? No! 'twas not thou!—
Hippolito! art there? That voice, I knew it—
It scared my senses from me with its sound—
It struck me down as with a stabbing stroke!
Hippolito!—all silent?—nay! one word!—
Is't life or death?—a silence of the grave!—
Speak to me—some one speak—in mercy speak!
Speak to me—speak to me!—the silence answers!
Oh, ruin—ruin! Hope is dead—alas!—
New horrors open to devour me now,—
Yawn—to devour their living, life-cursed prey—
(Goes to the priest with her hands joined.)
Oh! holy Father, hear a wretched orphan!
My plighted, promised husband is not here!
Some treacherous art hath kept him from my side,
Black as the arts of those that tempt our souls:
To thee then, Father, I must trembling turn!—
Deserted by all earth—betray'd—destroy'd—
Now must I turn to thee—and Heaven!—Oh, hear me!
For That will hear me!—be not deaf. Hear! Father!—
Protect me from these dark—these dangerous men!
Oh! by the altar, at whose sacred foot
I was about to kneel (the thought is madness!)—
By Death, and Resurrection, and the Judgment,
I pray thee, grant me now some safe asylum—
Some solemn sanctuary—or I must turn
From thee still—still to Heaven—and to the tomb!

AZZO.
Peace! daughter! nay, thou'rt dreaming—'tis thy husband!
Already, by that contract signed, ye are wedded!

ANGIOLINA.
'Tis false!—I am not wedded!—will not wed!
I dream! I do believe I dream! but 'tis
A dream of terrible and ghastly horrors—
A dream of maddening mysteries—hideous things!
(Looks earnestly at the Priest.)
Art thou, indeed, the priest?—I doubt—I doubt!—
(Shrieks.)
Oh! powers eternal! know I not that face?—
A face I feel that I have shrunk from—swoon'd from—
With deadly sickening of profound aversion!
Azzo Durazzo!—Now I know thee, wretch!
Fate—phrenzy—torture—whither shall I turn?
No more escape—no help at hand—no mercy!—
A world of wickedness—and form'd to whelm me.
Caught, snared, betray'd, and fallen and lost for ever!
Ye have kill'd Hippolito!—ye have waylaid him!
Pierced—Heaven knows how—into our inmost counsels,
By some black artifice! Sweet Virgin! save me—
Save my beloved Hippolito and me!
Speak! have ye slain him?—Speak! that word may kill me!
Oh! speak then, quickly!—be that sound a sword
Plunged in my heart in one deep, desperate minute,
To spare me ages of all agonies!
Have ye—oh! have ye slain him?

DUKE.
No!—he lives!

ANGIOLINA.
Then he will save me! Tremble—tremble, traitors!

DUKE.
He will not save thee!—and thou'rt mine—mine own!
Thou'st sign'd the contract, and thou'rt made my bride!

ANGIOLINA.
Thy bride!—the grave's bride sooner! Ye have slain him!

DUKE.
He lives! I tell thee!

ANGIOLINA
(mournfully).
No! it cannot be!
Or he would surely be beside me here!
(Energetically.)
Here—to defend me!—Here!—to tear me from thee—
Here, 'gainst the united universe to stand—
If, that the united universe abused me!

DUKE.
Listen! He doth resign thee, and to me!

ANGIOLINA.
Stand from my sight, thou groundling groveller!—Off!
Avoid thee!—back—give back!—Hence!—stay me not!
Out of my path, thou reptile! and obey me!—
Out of my path, I say! Ho! let me pass!

DUKE.
A thousand phrenzies fire thee!—nay, remain!
Lady! thou stirr'st not from this spot!

ANGIOLINA.
Give back—
Give back, thou dastard tyrant of a woman—
Oppressor of the fallen and fatherless!
Fallen!—nay, not so!—I am above thy soul!
Where bides Hippolito—my lord—my husband?
Say! if he lives—where—where remains he now?

DUKE.
Would'st know, indeed?—I tell thee he resigns thee!

ANGIOLINA.
And I tell thee I scorn thy savage words—
Still marvelling that great Heaven should strike thee not—
Aye! with the lie upon thy false lips—dead!

DUKE.
The lie! Wilt thou believe, thou raging woman?—
Wilt thou believe himself, if he shall tell thee
That he resigns thee?

ANGIOLINA.
Aye! 'twill be in death!
Yet he shall not resign me! No!—Oh, no!
Not thus, even thus shall he resign me—never!
For I will creep into his frozen bosom—
And be the bride of his sepulchral chamber!
Where art thou?—where—my heart's Colonna?

(Duke and Hippolito unmask.)
HIPPOLITO.
Here!

(Angiolina darts forward to him and falls at his feet.)
ANGIOLINA.
Oh! pardon me!—Oh! joy—a dream!—Colonna!
A dream of miserable, strange dismay!
Thou thought'st to play with my too dubious heart!—
What means it all?—'tis mystery!—Answer—answer—
Thou husband of my heart,—what means it?

(Hippolito takes her hand, and attempts to give it to the Duke.)
HIPPOLITO.
This!

ANGIOLINA.
Is't life?—is't death?—I perish—now I perish!
There was a world—there is a chaos now!
My soul is dead—before me!—it is gone!
And I am vacancy—my soul hath perish'd!—
I am annihilation! Nothing is—
Time, earth, all perishes—all Nature dies!
The worlds are wither'd, and the space is sunless.
Speak! dreadful shadow of my virtuous lord—
Speak! horrid thing, resembling his dear mould—
My heart aches deathfully! Yet—answer!—say,
What arts infernal—

HIPPOLITO.
Angiolina, hear!
I have resign'd my claim unto thy hand;
I yield thee to the Duke, our Liege and Sov'reign!—
Do thou obey me—yield thyself to him.
Deny me not!

ANGIOLINA.
Deny thyself, and die!
Pass from me darkly—hence! Be air—be nothing!
Deny thyself, and shew thou'rt but a shadow.
Hence, monster'd mockery of a human shape—
Creation of the fear-distemper'd fancy!—

HIPPOLITO.
It boots not thus to look with the eye of phrenzy—

ANGIOLINA.
How dar'st thou meet my looks, and die not, villain!
If—if, indeed, the Horror hath a life!
Thy monstrous, nameless, strange, impossible falsehood—
Makes night a blazing sun beside its blackness!
But what seems horrible beyond all else—
What strikes me to the dust with shame and misery!—
So that I pass by Thee to greet new Evil,
So that I leave the worst to find a worse—
Is, that my soul is blacken'd with thy soul;
My heart hath answer'd to thine impious heart!
I am contaminated!—I am corruption!
My thoughts have been infected with thy thoughts—
My feelings fester'd with thy feelings' contact!—
Oh! must my spirit go with thy lost spirit?
No! thou unutterable traitor!—no!
That soul shall speed from earth and thee at once—
For all earth now seems infamy and thee!

[Draws a dagger from her vest, and is about to stab herself. Hippolito snatches it from her, and flings it out of the window. She flies to the opened window, and screams.]
ANGIOLINA.
Help!—mercy! help!—Help! murder!

DUKE.
Gag her straight!
Heavens! we shall have all Mantua at the doors.
Drag her away!—Conceal her!—Quick!—Steps—steps!
Make fast the doors!

ANGIOLINA.
Help!—mercy!—Help!—oh!—help!

(A loud knocking is heard.)
DUKE.
Who knocks?—Who comes at this unseemly hour?

Voices
outside.
Unbar the door, or we will force our way!

ANGIOLINA
(struggling).
Haste!—haste!—Oh!—help!—Oh!—succour me!—Oh save me!—

(The door is burst open, enter Giulio, Emmanuel, and Pietro.)
GIULIO.
Ah! thou here, Duke? Well, well, may'st thou cower back!
Doth conscience wake then at the approach of vengeance?
Amazement on amazement! Thou, Colonna!—
Thou, here!—and yet this wrong'd, afflicted maid,
All agonising with affright's worst panic,
Even to the fever'd flush of phrenzy's height!—
Thou here, her sworn protector!—and thy bride—
Thine own affianced one—not safe and shelter'd,
As underneath the mother bird's own wing?—
Or thou gash'd grimly with a world of wounds—
Each wide enough to let out fifty lives!—
Thy limbs hack'd into million quivering pieces!—
What means this uttermost of mystery? Speak!—
Could thy right arm not shield her—save—preserve her?
Speak!—speak! was Strength not strengthen'd in such cause?

ANGIOLINA.
My tongue shall tell, if I live through the telling,
Though ev'ry word its separate wound must give—
Down with thy high soul to the dust—the dust!—
Thou, noble Giulio!—would'st thou understand
What I have utter'd, and have yet to utter?
Oh! Christ!—the ruin of my peace were nought—
A slight offence—that should be pardon'd quickly,
Forgiven, and yet forgiven o'er—o'er again,
But thus conspiring for my fair fame's ruin—
Thus entering in the abhorr'd league 'gainst mine honour!—
Oh! when I think of this supreme of treachery!—
That foul, false priest—that violated altar!—
Save!—Giulio, save me from myself and madness!

GIULIO.
Thou'rt safe! Oh! be not thus disturb'd—distress'd!
Panting and flutter'd like the frighten'd dove!
Nay, peace!—thou art safe! recall thine own sweet spirit!
For thou seem'st hovering o'er creation's confines,
Suspended in some Life-and-Death-like trance.

ANGIOLINA.
Giulio! behold that foulest of earth's traitors!
Behold! I say, and blush that thou art human!
Behold! and be ashamed that thou art a man!
Behold that miracle of desperate falsehood—
One who would sell the soul that worshipp'd him
To everlasting ruin and despair!

GIULIO.
Perdition! but thou art fallen beneath my sword!
Thy blood should make it a dishonour'd weapon!
Stand forth, false Duke! I challenge thee to combat!
Stand forth, thou liar! traitor! slave! Have at thee!

DUKE.
Rebel and caitiff! dar'st thou challenge me?
Be proud that thus I deign to measure swords
With such an earthworm as thyself!

(They fight, Giulio disarms the Duke.)
GIULIO.
Yield! yield!
Submit thyself, false Duke! and wholly yield
All title to this hapless, injured lady!

DUKE.
I yield, Count Giulio! I resign the maiden:
Suffer me seek my palace unexposed.

GIULIO.
Begone! deliver us from such a presence!—
[Exit Duke.
Durazzo garb'd in garments of the Church!
Thou foul, irreverend infamy! Get thee hence!
Follow the master-fiend! Avaunt—avaunt!

DURAZZO.
Think'st thou that Power shall punish not for this?
Look to thyself!—proud rebel 'gainst thy Prince!

[Exit Durazzo.
IMELDA
(rushes in).
Safe—safe! My friend—my Angiolina safe!
Hippolito! thou here? What means this?—speak!
Methought I heard there was deception, treachery—
Methought thy cries had call'd deliverers round thee!
My gentle Friend!—methought thou wert in danger!

ANGIOLINA.
Oh! ask it not—it is the deadliest horror!

IMELDA.
I guess it—yes! methinks I read his soul—
'Tis stamp'd upon his low'ring guilty brow.

HIPPOLITO.
Nay, haughty lady! who made thee my judge?

IMELDA.
Thou hast yet a severer one within—
Thy loudly-crying conscience!—Angiolina,
Stand not thus statue-like in trance of thought!
Thank thy preservers—Giulio and Emmanuel!

ANGIOLINA.
Signor Emmanuel! here receive my thanks,
The warmest, deepest thanks that ere were given!
With mingling sobs, sighs, tears, and words, and tremours!
Thou hast deliver'd me from deadlier dangers
Than those the storm-worn mariner must dread
When strikes his ruin'd vessel on the rock:
Accept my thanks, prayers, blessings,—heart-poured wishes
For thy true happiness—Here and Hereafter!—

EMMANUEL.
Sweet lady! 'tis a blessing to have served thee!

GIULIO
(aside).
And not one word for me! Ah, cruel—cruel!
But I will hence, and rid thee of my sight!

ANGIOLINA.
Giulio! art going? yet awhile delay,
Giulio di Castagnola! I do owe thee
Far more than I can pay: yet, if indeed
Thou still remainest in the unmoved self-same mind,
Thou own'dst when last we held discourse together,
And this poor hand be precious fee for thee,—
I may give largesse for thy Life-dear service—
'Tis thine! wilt take it?

GIULIO
(taking her hand and falling on his knees before her).
I am lost in joy!
Will I? my Soul receives the infinite treasure,
And kneels to thee as I am kneeling now,
And blesses thee as fain my tongue would bless thee,
But seem my lips forgetting speech!—they murmur
Too faintly what my heart would cry aloud!—
Oh, Angiolina, I am lost in love!

ANGIOLINA.
My heart is labouring with a sorrow, Giulio!—
That thou wilt suffer it to cherish yet,
Wilt thou not let me mourn a little while?
My father, Giulio! (she weeps)
My dear father, Giulio!
Thou know'st I have one but in Heaven. I pray
Grant me a little while to weep!

GIULIO.
My heart
Weeps blood to mingle with thy tears' deep treasure!

IMELDA.
Emmanuel, I will make this sweet example
Of my heart's sister—gentlest Angiolina—
If so thou will'st it, pattern for myself,
And give thee for thine own this hand of mine,
Repudiating with scorn and utter loathing
The memory of my weak and ill-placed love!
Wilt thou receive this grateful, soften'd heart—
The heart that once could beat for Mantua's tyrant?

EMMANUEL.
Rapture! methinks I am caught above the clouds!
Eternal light seems breaking on my sense!
Is't the same earth an hour ago I trod?
My life is blessedness!—my soul is thee!

IMELDA
(to Hippolito).
Trebly lost villain! didst thou—couldst thou, then,
Beneath thy roof and at the altar's foot,
Plot 'gainst the hapless victim who adored thee?

HIPPOLITO.
Aye! I was tempted past my powers to bear;
And (while a willing prisoner in my house,
Through arts accurs'd assisting this foul scheme,)
Ev'n in the Sacredness of Solitude,
Dared sell my soul piecemeal!—from Guilt to Guilt
Press'd on, as now from Anguish driv'n to Anguish!

[He rushes out.
GIULIO.
'Tis well he is gone! his presence was a pain!
The Wretch groaned death-struck on his bosom'd rack!—
The Wicked ev'n how oft do vindicate
The Eternal's ways and works to wond'ring man!