Chapter 5

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._