Chapter V: Act I: SCENE I.-- The port of Messina-- on one side the viceroy’s palace

_Benedetto_, _Teresa_, _Carlo_, _Pietro_, _Giovanni_, and
servants are discovered.

_Ben._ Bless my heart! bless my heart! no signs of them yet! tis past mid-day, and yet not coming? surely some misfortune has happened, or they must have been in sight ere this.

_Teresa._ Your impatience makes the time seem long, Benedetto; else you’d know, that on these great occasions it wouldn’t be for the viceroy’s dignity to move with more expedition. Besides, all the grandees of Messina are gone out to receive and conduct him to his palace; and with such a crowd of gallies and gondolas, take what care they may, I’m sure, twill be a mercy, if half the good company dont get tumbled into the water.

_Ben._ Well, well, Teresa, perhaps you’re in the right; but no wonder, that every minute appears an age, till I once more embrace the knees of my excellent master. However, I’ll be calm, Teresa, I’ll be calm; I’ll wait quietly for the arrival of the gondolas without uttering a single impatient word. Only, my good Carlo, do just run up the leads of the palace, and try whether you can’t see the gallies coming at a distance.

_Carlo._ That I’ll do with all my heart, master steward, and I’ll make what speed I can.

_Ben._ Oh, I’m not at all impatient; I assure you, I can wait very contentedly for your return: so pray dont hurry yourself; only my dear good fellow, do just make as much haste as you can.

[Exit _Carlo_.

_Ben._ Bless my heart! what an agitation I am in! oh, how happy will Sicily be under this good man’s government! how happy too will it make the poor marchioness, when after an absence of four long years she again embraces her invaluable brother.

_Teresa._ The poor marchioness indeed! well, Benedetto, for my part I feel no pity for misfortunes which people bring upon themselves. Why did not the marchioness take her daughter with her to the court of Naples? why did a mother ever consent to trust her daughter out of her sight! but forsooth she must be left behind in a convent, where soon afterwards an epidemic complaint attacks the sisterhood, and Josepha, abandoned to the care of strangers, sinks into an untimely grave, the victim of her mother’s neglect and imprudence.

_Ben._ But the dangers of the voyage-- Her confessor had so often assured her that Josepha would be more safe in the convent--

_Teresa._ More safe? more safe indeed: where can a daughter be more safe than in the arms of her mother? and then as to her confessor--

_Pietro._ What, the prior of St. Mark’s? he with that humble hypocritical air-- who speaks so softly and bows so low--

_Teresa._ Ay, ay; the same-- oh, I can’t bear the sight of him!

_Pietro._ Nor I.

_Giovanni._ Nor I.

_Ben._ Stop, stop! not so violent, my good friends, not so violent; for as to the prior, you must permit me to tell you that for my part, I can’t say I like him any better than yourself. And yet, signor Venoni, who is a man of great sense, believes that since the world was a world, there never was such a saint as this father Cœlestino!

_Teresa._ Ah! poor signor Venoni! where is he now, Benedetto?

_Ben._ Still in St. Mark’s monastery, whither he fled in despair on losing his destined bride, the lady Josepha.

_Pietro._ And his senses-- are they right again?

_Ben._ Why, as he believes father Cœlestino to be a saint, I should rather suppose, that they must still be very wrong indeed.

_Pietro._ Perhaps that friar, who twice this morning has inquired at the palace whether the viceroy was arrived, is the bearer of some message from Venoni?

_Ben._ Very likely, very likely! and therefore, Pietro, should that friar call again----

_Carlo._ (_appearing at the balcony of the palace_) Benedetto, Benedetto! the gallies, the gallies!

_Ben._ Indeed! are you sure? yes, yes, yes, I hear the music! (_shouting without_) and hark, Teresa! hark! the mob are huzzaing like---- bless my heart, I shall certainly expire at his feet for joy! they come! oh! look, look, look!

[A marine procession arrives-- the _viceroy_ lands from the
state-galley, accompanied by the grandees of _Messina_, who
conduct him to the palace gate, and take their leaves of him
respectfully. While the grandees, &c. retire, _Benedetto_ and the
servants pay their homage to the viceroy, who receives them
graciously. _Teresa_ and the rest then busy themselves in taking
charge of the baggage, and retire into the palace. The viceroy
motions to _Benedetto_ to remain.]

_Viceroy._ (_to the servants, as they go off_) Farewell, my friends, and for your own sakes take good care of yonder chests; part of their contents will convince you, that during my absence your fidelity and attachment have still been present to my recollection.

[Exeunt _Teresa_ and _servants_.

_Ben._ Ay! ay! just the same kind master! ever attentive to others!

_Vice._ And without the attention of others, how could I exist myself? good Benedetto, in imparting pleasure we receive it in return: to make ourselves beloved is to make ourselves happy; and never can others love that man, who is not capable himself of loving others.

_Ben._ My dear, dear lord!

_Vice._ But inform me, Benedetto; my sister?--

_Ben._ The marchioness, my lord, is still inconsolable; and in truth, she has good cause to be so. The marquis wished his daughter to be married immediately; my lady chose to defer it for a year, and my lady was obstinate. The marquis wished to take his daughter with him to Naples; my lady chose she should remain in a convent; and my lady was obstinate. Her daughter fell ill there, and died; my lady says, that she shall never recover her death, and it is but fair that my lady should be now as obstinate on this point, as she has formerly been on every other.

_Vice._ Beloved unfortunate Josepha!-- and Venoni----?

_Ben._ Good lack, poor gentleman! he was absent, when this sad event took place: for you must know, my lord, that when after the departure of her parents he went to visit his betrothed at the convent-grate, the sour-faced old abbess would’nt suffer him to see the lady Josepha. Nay, what is the strangest circumstance of all, she produced a letter from the marchioness commanding positively, that during her absence no person whatever should have access to her daughter.

_Vice._ Most unaccountable!

_Ben._ The poor signor was almost frantic with surprise and grief: away he flew for Naples; contrary winds for awhile delayed his arrival; but at length he did arrive, and hastened to plead his cause to the parents of his mistress.

_Vice._ And was the marquis aware of his lady’s strange orders to the abbess?

_Ben._ Oh, no! and Venoni returned to Messina, authorized to see Josepha as often and for as long as he pleased. Alas, he was destined never to see her more! the report had reached me, that a contagious disorder had broken out in the Ursuline convent. I hastened thither. I inquired for the dear lady; “she was ill!” I implored permission to see her; the marchioness’s commands excluded me. I returned the next day; “she was worse.” Another four-and-twenty hours elapsed and-- merciful heaven! she was dead!

_Vice._ (_concealing his tears_) Josepha! thou wert dear to me as my own child, Josepha! (_after a moment’s silence, recovering himself_) And where is Venoni now?

_Ben._ In the monastery of St. Mark, of which your sister’s confessor is now the superior.

_Vice._ What! the father Cœlestino?

_Ben._ Even he-- Venoni’s grief brought him to the brink of the grave. They say, that his senses were disordered for a time. But it is certain that he only exchanged the bed of sickness for a cell in St. Mark’s monastery, where he shortly means to pronounce his vows.

_Vice._ What! so early in life will he quit the world? his immense wealth too----

_Ben._ His wealth? ah, my good lord, I suspect tis that very wealth which has proved the cause of his seclusion from the world. The prior Cœlestino knew of his riches, and kindly came to comfort him in his distress. He talked to him-- he soothed him-- he flattered him-- he is as subtle as a serpent, and as smooth and slippery as an eel! he wormed himself into Venoni’s very heart; the deluded youth threw himself into his arms, and the seducer bore him to the convent.

_Vice._ Benedetto, he shall not long remain there. My sister’s afflictions claim my first visit; but that duty paid, I’ll hasten to St. Mark’s, dissipate the illusions by which Venoni’s judgment is obscured, and tell him plainly that the man commits a crime, who is virtuous like him, and denies mankind the use and example of his virtues. Venoni has youth, wealth, power, abilities: let him not tell me, that he quits the world, because it contains for him nothing but sufferings; he must remain in it, to preserve others from suffering like himself. Let him not tell me, that his own prospects are forever closed; the noblest is still entirely open to him, that of brightening the prospects of others!-- oh! shame on the selfish being who looks upon life as worthless, while it gives him the power to impart comfort, or to relieve distress; who, because happiness is dead to himself, forgets that for others it still exists; and who loses not the sense of his own heart’s anguish while contemplating benefits with which his own hand’s bounty has blest his fellow creatures! [Exit.

_Ben._ Ah! very true, my good master! all very true! but lord, lord, lord! it is really mighty difficult to forget one’s own dear self. Heaven knows, poor sinner that I am, a few twinges of the gout are always enough to make me as hard-hearted as a rock of adamant; and even when dear lady Josepha died, I’m almost afraid I should have felt very little for any body but myself, if just at that time I had happened to have a touch of the toothach! ah! we are all poor weak creatures! poor weak creatures! poor weak creatures! (_going_)

Father _Michael_ enters hastily.

_Michael._ Friend! hist! friend!

_Ben._ (_returning_) Well, friend! hey a monk? I beg your pardon then; well, father!

_Mich._ The viceroy is at length arrived?

_Ben._ He is.

_Mich._ Conduct me to him: I must speak with him instantly.

_Ben._ Stop, stop! no hurry-- the viceroy is already gone out.

_Mich._ Unfortunate! my business is of such importance----

_Ben._ Well, well! I dare say, some few hours hence----

_Mich._ My superior knows not that I am absent; I have ventured here without permission, I dare not stay, and perhaps my return may be impossible!

_Ben._ Indeed! that’s a pity! and is your superior then so rigid, that he would’nt excuse-- (_looking at his habit_) ha, ha! I see now how it is. Is not your superior the prior Cœlestino?

_Mich._ The same! and-- (_looking round anxiously, and lowering his voice_) and I am no favourite with him.

_Ben._ No? that’s very much to your credit.

_Mich._ (_acquiring confidence_) Nor am I partial to him.

_Ben._ Nor I neither, heaven knows! there’s my hand upon it. Father, you’re a very sensible honest man.

_Mich._ You appear to be well acquainted with the prior’s character: but for heaven’s sake do not betray me!

_Ben._ I betray you? to be sure one ought not to wish one’s neighbour ill. But if the fire, which lately consumed a wing of your convent, had consumed in it-- you understand me, I wont say no more: but if a certain event had taken place, I dont believe I should have broken my heart for grief, father.

_Mich._ The prior was absent at the time of the conflagration; he ran no danger; but that accident may be the source of other dangers to him, of which at present he little dreams.

_Ben._ Indeed! as how, pray, as how? as how? dear, I shall be mighty glad to hear how.

_Mich._ I dare not explain myself except to your lord. But tell me, good old man, is not the viceroy greatly interested in the fate of young Venoni?

_Ben._ Extremely.

_Mich._ Is he aware, that tomorrow Venoni will pronounce his vows?

_Ben._ Bless my heart! so soon!

_Mich._ The victim of despair, looking on the world with horror and disgust, considering as the only good left for him on earth, the permission to inhabit an asylum contiguous to that which contains the ashes of his beloved. (_mysteriously_) For you are aware, that our monastery is only separated from the Ursuline convent by a party-wall.

_Ben._ Indeed? the Ursuline convent? it was there, that Josepha breathed her last-- if I remember rightly, it is under father Cœlestino’s direction?

_Mich._ (_expressively_) Under his direction? you are right! yes! it is under his direction; and who says that, says every thing.

_Ben._ Well, father; and so Venoni-- ?

_Mich._ (_with energy_) Assists the superior’s views, and languishes till the hour arrives when he must sacrifice his liberty for ever: when, renouncing the world and himself, he will become subject to the insolent caprice, to the arbitrary commands, to the tyrannical hatred of a man frequently unjust, never to be appeased; and who is himself the prey of all those worldly passions, which he secretly and dearly cherishes in his own heart, but whose slightest indulgence he punishes without mercy upon others.

_Ben._ Well, father, this at least I must say for you, you seem to be perfectly well acquainted with the moral characters of your fellows. Dear, dear! and so then it is tomorrow, that this poor gentleman, so amiable-- with talents so brilliant, with a heart so generous and so good--

_Mich._ His talents? his heart? those perhaps are still unknown to our superior:-- but Venoni is immoderately wealthy, and of that the prior was perfectly well informed. But the viceroy returns not, and I dare not tarry longer!-- good old man, give your lord this letter; say that my seeing him before tomorrow is of the utmost importance to Venoni-- to himself!

_Ben._ You will return then?

_Mich._ Alas! that will be impossible! entreat, that for heaven’s love, the viceroy would deign to visit me at my convent. He must inquire for father Michael.

_Benedetto._ For father Michael? I’ll not forget; and he shall have this letter immediately.

_Mich._ I thank you-- as to the manner in which I have spoken of my superior, the most profound secrecy----

_Ben._ Oh! mum’s the word.

_Mich._ Should it reach his knowledge-- blessed saints, protect me! Jeronymo, the prior’s confidant, comes this way! (_drawing his cowl over his face in great agitation_) should he observe me-- my liberty-- perhaps my life-- friend, farewell! (_going._)

_Ben._ (_opening a side door in the palace_) Stay, stay! go down this passage; at the end of it, turn to the left-- it leads to the garden; traverse it, and you will find a little door unlocked, which will let you out unseen within a bow-shot of your monastery.

_Mich._ Heaven’s blessing be with you! a thousand, thousand thanks!

[Exit hastily.

_Ben._ (_calling after him_) That’s right! a little further! take care, there are two or three steps. To the left, to the left!-- that’s it-- your most obedient servant-- (_with a low bow; after which he turns from the palace_) and now-- mum, mum!

Enter father _Jeronymo_.

_Jer._ Bless you, son!

_Ben._ Save you, father!

_Jer._ Was not a friar of our order here even now?

_Ben._ Not that I saw-- (_aside_) there’s a good round lie now!

_Jer._ I suppose, then, I was mistaken.

_Ben._ I suppose you were: I can’t conceive any thing more likely.

_Jer._ (_aside_) I could have sworn, that father Michael-- this shall be inquired into further-- _salve_, son!

[Exit.

_Ben._ (_bowing_) Your sanctity’s most obedient.-- And this is the prior’s confidant? then the prior’s confidant is as ill-looking a hang-dog, as I’ve set my eyes upon this many a day!

Enter _Fishermen_.

_Ben._ Now lads, now! why, you look busily.

_1st fish._ Well we may, signor: the viceroy entertains all the grandees of Messina this evening, and our fish will bear a treble price. Come, come, look to the nets, lads, (_they go to their boats_)

_Ben._ Ay, ay! good luck to you! and now I’ll seek my lord with this letter. So, so, my reverend father Cœlestino!-- a convent of nuns under your direction! only separated by a party-wall!-- ha, ha! that looks to me very much as if-- hush, hush, signor Benedetto! what you are saying is not quite so charitable as it should be! bless my heart, bless my heart, how naturally is a man disposed to think the worst he can of his neighbours! ah, fy upon you, Benedetto; fy upon you!

[Exit.

_1st fish._ (_in the boat_) Now, lads, are you ready?

_2d fish._ Ay, ay! pull away!

_1st fish._ Off we go then.

_All._ Huzza!

GLEE.

Ply the oar, brother, and speed the boat;
Swift o’er the glittering waves we’ll float;
Then home as swiftly we’ll haste again,
Loaded with wealth of the plundered main.
Pull away, pull away! row, boys, row
A long pull, a strong pull, and off we go.

Hark how the neighbouring convent bell!
Throws o’er the waves its vesper swell;
Sullen it bomes from shore to shore,
Blending its chime with the dash of the oar.
Pull away, pull away! row, boys, row!
A long pull, a strong pull, and off we go.

SCENE II-- _An apartment in the Caprara palace._

The _viceroy_ enters, followed by _Hortensia_ and the _Marquis_;
a servant attending.

_Hor._ Nay, but in truth, my dear brother, this is carrying your prejudice too far. What! refuse to endure, for a single half hour, father Cœlestino in your presence, merely because his countenance and manner happen not to be exactly to your taste?

_Vic._ His conversation is as little to my taste as his manner and countenance: he uses too much honey to please my palate!-- surely, if there is one thing more odious than another, tis your eternal maker of compliments; one who lies in wait for opportunities of thrusting down your throat his undesired applause; and who compels you to bow in return for his nauseous civilities, till he makes your neck feel almost as supple as his own.

_Hor._ You know no ill of him.----

_Vic._ I know him to be a flatterer: what would you more?

_Hor._ Well, I protest, it never struck me that he flattered.

_Vic._ Very likely; and yet my good sister, it’s possible that he might be flattering, while to you he appeared so be speaking the pure simple truth.

_Hor._ However, if not for his own sake, at least endure him for mine. He is my friend; you are now the chief person in the island; and should you compel me to reject his offered visit, such a mark of contempt from the viceroy of Sicily might injure the good prior in the world’s opinion.

_Vic._ If the good prior be in fact as good as you assert, the contempt of the viceroy of Sicily or of any other viceroy, must be to him a matter of the most absolute indifference. However, be it as you please.

_Hor._ I thank you; (_to the servant_) the prior’s visit will be welcome.

[Servant bows, and Exit.

_Hor._ Ah! did you but know the good man’s heart as well as I do, this unreasonable dislike----

_Vic._ Unreasonable? ah! Hortensia; have we not all then reasons but too strong for abhorring the sight of this Cœlestino? was it not his advice, which induced you to place Josepha in that fatal convent?

_Mar._ Right, right, Benvolio; twas his advice, twas his alone.

_Hor._ I do not deny it; but I appeal to yourself, marquis, whether he gave not good reasons for that advice? the dangers of the voyage-- the inclement season-- ah! had Josepha lived, perhaps the example of that holy sisterhood might have weaned her heart from worldly follies, and inspired----

_Mar._ (_surprised_) How, Hortensia! I hope that in placing your daughter in that convent, no views concealed from me-- (Hortensia _looks confused_)

The servant ushers in the _prior_, and retires.

_Pri._ Humbly I bend in salutation to this illustrious company! will the lady marchioness deign to confirm my hopes, that at length she begins to bear her afflictions with some serenity?

_Hor._ Thanks to your pious exhortations, father, I am at least resigned; more shall I never answer-- for my heart is broken.

_Pri._ Little as I dare flatter myself, that a poor monk’s congratulations can be acceptable to your excellency, I cannot refrain from expressing my joy at your newly acquired dignity. But it is not the count Benvolio, whom I congratulate on being appointed governor of Sicily; tis Sicily, on being governed by the count Benvolio.

_Vic._ I am perfectly aware, reverend sir, that the high-flown elegance of that compliment can only be equalled by its sincerity; believe me no less sincere, when I assure you on my honour, that my gratitude for your approbation bears an exact proportion to the pleasure experienced by yourself at my appointment.

_Pri._ (_bowing_) More can I not desire. Yet must I excuse myself for intruding into your presence at a moment when fraternal attachment must needs make you wish to be undisturbed: but the claims of compassion admit of no delay, and my heart is ever too weak to resist the entreaties of a sufferer. My noble lord and lady, I bring to you the request of an unfortunate youth-- of Venoni.

_All._ (_eagerly_) Venoni?

_Pri._ His noviciate is nearly expired; tomorrow he will pronounce his vows.

_Mar._ Unhappy youth!

_Vic._ Tomorrow?

_Pri._ But ere he renounces the world for ever, he intreats permission to take leave of those dear and illustrious persons, who once did not disdain to look upon him as their son.

_Hor._ (_greatly agitated_) No, no! I cannot-- I dare not----

_Vic._ (_seriously_) Sister-- Venoni must not be refused.

_Pri._ Reflect, dear lady; the ear of true piety is never closed against the sighs of the wretched. The poor youth is already in the palace, and--

_Vic._ (_eagerly_) Already here?-- where, where is he?

_Mar._ Who waits? (_servant enters_) signor Venoni-- conduct him hither instantly, away!

[Exit servant.

_Pri._ (_observing the viceroy’s emotion_) Ah! my good lord, what a heart have you for friendship! happy, thrice happy he whose worth or whose misfortunes can inspire you with such interest and such zeal! (_The viceroy answers by a gesture of contemptuous impatience_)

_Venoni_, in the habit of a novice, pale, wild, and haggard,
enters, conducted by the servant, who retires.

_Vice._ } _together._ { My friend!
_Mar._ } { My son!
(_hastening to receive him_)

_Venoni._ (_embracing them with a melancholy smile_) I am permitted then to see you once more-- you, whom I have ever loved so truly-- you, the only ones who are still dear to me in the world! (_he sees Hortensia; his countenance becomes disturbed, and he shudders: then recovering himself, he bows humbly, but with a look of gloom, and addresses her in a lowered voice, with much respect_) noble lady, can you pardon this intrusion? I fear the sight of one so lost, so wretched--

_Hor._ (_embarrassed_) Venoni can never be unwelcome. I have not forgotten-- I never shall forget-- that there was a time when-- that had I not hoped to make my child adopt--

_Pri._ (_interrupting her hastily_) Dear lady, compose yourself: your extreme sensibility overpowers you.

_Vice._ But answer me, Venoni; why is it that I see you in this habit?

_Mar._ Wherefore renounce the world? wherefore adopt a resolution so desperate, so extreme? your country has a right to your services, and--

_Pri._ My noble lords, when the voice of religion calls an unfortunate to her bosom--

_Venoni._ The voice of religion! no, father, no! the voice which has called me, is the voice of despair, my friends. I have lost every thing, every thing! and what then have I to do with the world? they who would serve their country, must possess strength of mind and health of body: mine have both yielded to the pressure of calamity! they who would serve their country, must possess their reason in full force and clearness: my reason-- it is gone, quite gone! despairing passion has deranged all my ideas, has ruined all my faculties-- I now have left but one sentiment, one feeling, one instinct-- and that one is love!

_Pri._ What say you my son?

_Venoni._ (_passionately_) I say, that one is love! and I say the truth! father, I have engaged to renounce the world, to descend alive into the tomb; but I have not engaged to forget that I had, that I still have, a heart; that that heart is broken; that it burns, and will burn till it ceases to beat, with a passion which heaven cannot blame, since it was an angel who inspired it! I have told you, that her image would accompany me even to the altar’s foot; I have told you that I would give up the world, but would never give up her; her who exists no longer except in this sad heart, this heart, where she shall never cease to exist-- till I do!

_Vice._ Dear unfortunate youth!

_Venoni._ Unfortunate, say you? oh, no! the day of misfortune, the day of despair was that when I heard the death-bell sound, and they told me-- twas for her! when I asked for whom was that funeral bier, and they told me-- twas for her! but from that hour I ceased to suffer. It’s true, my heart-- all there is a devouring fire-- my brain-- all there is confusion and clouds: but that fire, it was she who first kindled it! but among these gloomy clouds, she is the only object which I still perceive distinctly-- she is there, near me, always there; I see her, I speak to her, she replies to me-- oh! judge then, my friend, whether with justice I can be called unfortunate! (_sinking into the viceroy’s arms_)

_Mar._ Two victims! Hortensia, two victims! one has already perished, and the other--

_Hor._ (_greatly affected_) Oh! spare me, my husband! could I have forseen-- never, never shall I cease to reproach myself--

_Pri._ My daughter, this trial is too severe for sensibility like yours. Let me entreat you, retire, and compose your mind!

_Hor._ You are right, father; you shall be obeyed. Venoni-- farewell, Venoni! (_going_)

_Venoni._ (_starting forward with a frantic look, and grasping her by the arm_) Hold! you must not leave me yet! first tell me, why was the marriage so long delayed? why were your orders given, that Josepha should not see me at the convent? answer me-- I will be answered!

_Pri._ My son, my son! you will make me repent that I allowed this interview-- let us retire!

_Venoni._ (_violently_) No, no, no! I will stay here-- here (_with affection, and embracing the marquis_) with my father. (_returning to Hortensia_) Answer me!

_Hor._ (_terrified_) Venoni! for heaven’s sake! have mercy!

_Venoni._ (_furious_) Mercy? had you mercy upon me?

_Pri._ Venoni! follow me this instant! I command you!

_Venoni._ (_violently but firmly_) Tomorrow I will obey you; today I am still free! (_to Hortensia_) Answer, or-- (_turning suddenly to the marquis, while he releases Hortensia, who throws herself on a couch, and weeps_) You know it well, my father, she was inexorable! you, you pitied me; but your wife saw my anguish, and her eye was still dry, and her heart was still marble! she opposed your granting me permission to see Josepha; she even insisted on your resuming that permission; but I rushed from her presence-- I hastened to Messina-- to the Ursuline convent-- as I approached it, the death-bell tolled! the sound echoed to the very bottom of my soul, every stroke seemed to fall upon my heart! I trembled, my blood ran cold-- (_in a faltering voice_) “who is dead?” (_with a loud burst of agony_) She, she! your daughter; my betrothed! my brain whirled round and round-- I rushed into the chapel-- a bier-- a coffin-- it inclosed your daughter! my betrothed, my happiness, my life! I sprang towards it-- I extended my arms to clasp it, what followed I know not; I was at peace, I was happy, I had ceased to feel: but oh! the barbarians, they restored me to sense, and twas only to the sense of misery! (_he falls weeping upon the viceroy’s neck_)

_Hor._ Every word he utters-- seems a dagger to my heart!

_Pri._ (_aside_) Ah! how I repent!

_Venoni._ (_recovering, and looking round_) Twas here-- in this very room-- that I have passed so many happy, happy hours? twas here that I received your sanction to our union; twas in yon alcove, that I endeavoured to transmit to canvas Josepha’s features-- features impressed upon my heart indelibly! love guided my pencil-- that portrait-- tis there! tis she! tis Josepha! (_he suddenly draws away the curtain, and discovers a picture of Josepha at full length-- the prior stands forward on the scene, his hands tremble with passion, and his countenance expresses extreme vexation and stifled rage-- on the picture’s being discovered, Hortensia springs forward, sinks on her knees, and extends her arms towards, it-- the marquis turns away from the picture, towards which his left hand points, while he hides his face on the viceroy’s bosom; the viceroy stands in an attitude of grief with his arms extended towards the picture; he and the marquis are rather behind the other persons-- Venoni stands before the picture, which is to the left of the audience, and gazes upon it with rapture_)

_Hor._ My child! my child!

_Mar._ My Josepha!

_Pri._ (_aside_) Oh rage!

_Hor._ I expire! (_Venoni on hearing Hortensia’s last exclamation, turns round, hastens to raise her from her kneeling attitude, places her on the couch, and throws himself at her feet_)

_Venoni._ You weep? you repent?-- ah! then my resentment is over, and I find my mother once more! (_kissing her hand affectionately, and in the gentlest voice_) Look on me, my mother! cast on me one kind look; twill be the last; you will never see the wretched frantic youth again-- tomorrow-- oh! Hortensia, before we part for ever, tell me that you forgive me-- tell me, that you do not hate me for having thus wounded your feelings-- for having inflicted on you this unnecessary pain!

_Hor._ (_embracing him passionately as he kneels_) Forgive you? yes, yes my son! my beloved son! I pardon you---- heaven knows, I pardon you-- and oh! in return may heaven and you pardon me!

_Pri._ (_aside_) Ah! how I suffer!

_Venoni._ I thank you! tis enough! now then I have no more to do with the world! (_to the prior_) good father, your pardon: I offended you even now; I remember it well.

_Prior._ (_embracing him with dissembled affection_) And I, my son, had already forgotten it-- but tis time for us to retire-- come!

_Venoni._ Yes, yes! let us away-- farewell, my friends! my mother, farewell! I shall never see you more; but you will never cease to be dear to me; never, never!-- and you too, my Josepha-- farewell! for a little while farewell! whom death hath divided, death shall soon re-unite-- come, father, come!-- farewell! bless you, bless you: oh! come, come, come! (_during this speech, his voice grows fainter; he leans on the prior, who conducts him slowly towards the door; at the end of the speech he sinks totally exhausted on the bosom of the prior, who conveys him away; while the viceroy and marquis lead off Hortensia on the other side_).

_End of Act I._