Chapter 6

chapel, to which is a flight of steps; adjoining is the cemetery of the Ursuline convent, and several tombs are visible through a large iron gate._

[Vespers are performing in the chapel; the last words are chanted, while the curtain rises-- the organ plays a voluntary, while the prior and his monks, descend from the chapel in procession. Father _Jeronymo_ enters hastily, and accosts the prior, who comes forward; he starts at the information given him, and hastily bestows his benediction on the monks, who go off.]

_Prior._ Father Michael, say you? he wishes to see father Michael?

_Jeronymo._ Wishes? nay, he insists upon seeing him.

_Prior._ What business can he have with father Michael? what connexion can possibly subsist between them? how should it be even known to the viceroy, that such a being as father Michael exists?

_Jer._ On these points I can give you no information-- yet now I recollect, that this very morning I observed a friar, whose air greatly resembled father Michael’s loitering about the viceroy’s palace.

_Prior._ Indeed! Jeronymo, I have long suspected this Michael to be a false brother; there is an affectation of rigid principles about him-- of philosophical abstinence-- of reserve respecting his own conduct and of vigilance respecting that of others, which make me look on him as a dangerous inmate of our house. However, he has not yet encountered the viceroy?

_Jer._ Fortunately, it was to me that count Benvolio expressed his wish to see this friar. I promised to go in search of him, and instantly commanded father Michael, in your name, not to presume till further orders to set his foot beyond the precincts of his cell. I then returned, to inform the viceroy, with pretended regret, that the person whom he desired to see was not at that time to be found in the monastery.

_Prior._ Good!

_Jer._ He appeared much disappointed, and announced his intention of waiting the friar’s return. I was compelled to promise, that as soon as he should re-enter these walls, father Michael should be sent to him.

_Prior._ The viceroy then is still here?

_Jer._ He is: I left him in the garden parlour adjoining the refectory.

_Prior._ No matter: night approaches, and then he will be compelled to withdraw. Yet that he should rather desire to see father Michael than Venoni-- that, I own, appears to me unaccountable. I was prepared for his endeavouring to obtain another sight of his friend, and using every possible means to disgust him with the idea of renouncing the world for ever. Secure of my influence over Venoni, absolute master of his understanding, and feeling my own strength in the knowledge of his weakness, I meant not to object to their interviews; and would have suffered count Benvolio to exert all his efforts freely, convinced that all his efforts would have been exerted in vain.

_Jer._ And in acting thus, you would have done wisely: else, if the viceroy had been denied admittance to his friend, he might have spread abroad, that you feared lest his arguments should dispel Venoni’s illusion.

_Prior._ True; therefore should he demand to see our novice, even let his wish be gratified-- this hated youth is ours beyond reprieve, this Venoni whom Josepha preferred to me, this Venoni to whom alone I impute my disappointment. I had worked upon the superstition and enthusiasm of the weak-minded Hortensia; I had persuaded her, that happiness and virtue existed not, except within the walls of a convent; already she saw in fancy her daughter’s head encircled with a wreath of sainted glory, and she placed her in the Ursuline convent, in hopes that the example of the nuns might induce her to join their sisterhood-- Josepha was in my power defenceless!

_Jer._ And yet she defeated your views!

_Prior._ She did, oh, rage! though snares were laid for her at every step, though where’er she turned, her eye met seductions of such enchanting power, as might have thawed the frozen bosom of chastity herself! but virtuous love already occupied Josepha’s whole heart; and no room was left for impurer passions: or if for a moment she felt her wavering senses too forcibly assailed, she only pronounced the name of Venoni, and turned with disgust from every thought of pleasure, whose enjoyment would have made her less worthy of his love. But the hour of my revenge approaches! Venoni----

_Jer._ His last abode is prepared: his wealth once secured to our monastery, the donor shall be soon disposed of.

_Prior._ I hear a noise-- tis Venoni: ever about this hour he comes to bathe yonder grating with his tears. Let us retire: solitude and the ideas which Josepha’s tomb suggests, can but increase the confusion of his mind, and rivet the chains which bind him in our power. He is here: follow me in silence.

[Exeunt.

[As they go off on one side, _Venoni_ enters on the other: he walks slowly; his arms are folded, and his head reclines on his shoulder.

_Venoni._ It was no mistake! oh, man, man! frail and inconstant! yes; for an instant I felt pleasure, and yet Josepha is no more; but the dream was of thee, my beloved, and oh! it was so fair, so lovely! however it is gone, and I am myself again; again am fit for the dead, and I hasten to thee my Josepha! (_turning to the grate_) I salute ye, cruel bars, which separate my beloved and me: another day has past, and again I mourn beside you! ye are cold: (_kissing them_) so is Josepha’s heart; so too will mine be shortly. (_rapidly_) Yet while still that heart shall palpitate, while one spark of that fire still lives in it which was kindled by her eyes, still will I mourn beside you, cruel bars; still kneel and mourn beside you! (_kneeling, and resting his head against the grate_)

The _viceroy_ enters.

_Viceroy._ That plaintive voice-- I cannot be mistaken. Tis he! tis Venoni! my friend!

_Venoni._ (_starting_) Benvolio! you within these walls! ah, did I not entreat-- I told you, I repeat it now, I’m dead to the world. I exist for no one-- for nothing-- but grief and the memory of Josepha. Leave me! leave me! (_he resumes his despondent attitude_)

_Vice._ Not till I have obtained one last, last interview. Venoni, I claim it in the name of that paternal friendship which I have borne you for so many years, and which even now I feel for you as strong as ever. I claim it in the name of that sacred union, once so near connecting us by the most tender ties: I claim it in the name of her, who while living was alike the darling of both our hearts, and in whose grave the affection of both our hearts alike lies buried-- Venoni, I claim it in the name of Josepha.

_Venoni._ (_quitting the grate_) Of Josepha? say on you shall be heard.

_Vice._ Tell me then, cruel friend, what is your present object? why bury yourself in this abode of regret and sorrow, of repentance and despair? what reason, nay, what right have you to deprive society of talents, bestowed on you by Nature to employ for the benefit of mankind? and what excuse can you make for resigning into the hands of strangers that wealth which it is your sacred duty to distribute with your own? heaven has endowed you with talents capable of making your own existence useful; and your ungrateful neglect renders the gift of no avail: heaven has bestowed on you wealth, capable of making the existence of others happy; and your selfish indolence declines an office which the saints covet, and for which even the angels contend!

_Venoni._ Friend! Benvolio! in pity!

_Vice._ You are neither weak nor credulous: vulgar prejudices, superstitious terrors, enthusiastic dreams have never subjugated a mind whose innate purity can have left you nothing to fear, and whose genuine piety must have made you feel, that every thing is yours to hope. Why then do I find you in this seclusion? what good is to arise from this servile renunciation of yourself, this forgetfulness of the dignity of human nature, this disgraceful sinking under afflictions which are the common lot of all mankind? tis but too frequently the fate of man to encounter calamity; but to bear it with resignation is always his duty. Now speak, Venoni, and say, what arguments can defend your present conduct.

_Venoni._ (_weakly and despondingly_) Benvolio-- I am wretched! I have lost every thing; my strength of mind is broken; my heart is the prey of despair.

_Vice._ Of despair? oh, blush to own it! true, you have met with sorrows; and who then is exempt from them? true, your hopes have been deceived; accident has dissolved your dream of happiness; death has deprived you of the mistress of your choice: but you are a man and a citizen; you have a country which requires your services, and yet, oh shame! you resign yourself to despair, Venoni, where is your fortitude?

_Venoni._ Fortitude? oh! I have none-- none but to sue for death at the hand of heaven: had I possessed less fortitude, my own hand would have given me what I sue for long since!

_Vice._ And say, that death be the only blessing left yourself to wish for; is it then only for yourself, that you wish for blessing? say, that your heart be dead to pleasure, ought it not still to live for virtue? your prospects of happiness may indeed be closed, but the field of your duties remains still open. Mark me, Venoni; life may become to man but one long scene of misery; yet surely the spirit of benevolence should never perish but with life.

_Venoni._ Nor shall mine perish even then, Benvolio. In the hands of those virtuous men to whom I shall confide my treasures, they will become the patrimony of the widow and the orphan, of the wanderer in a foreign land, and of him on whom the hand of sickness lies heavy. When my bones shall be whitened by time, still shall my riches feed the fainting beggar. When this heart, itself so heavy, shall be mouldered away into dust, my bounty shall still make light the heavy hearts of my fellow-sufferers! yes; even in his grave, Venoni shall still make others happy!

_Vice._ And how can you hope that these friars will perform that duty hereafter, which you now through indolence refuse to perform yourself? you, who decline the task of distributing your wealth to advantage, how can you expect to find in strangers the spirit of benevolence more active?-- would you have your fortune well administered, at least set yourself an example to your heirs: summon your fortitude, return to the world once more, and----

_Venoni._ I cannot! tis impossible! I am here!-- here I must remain. My understanding impaired-- a wretched creature, quite alone in the wide, wide, world-- a feeble reed, crushed and broken by the tempest-- I required support-- I require it still-- the superior of this house-- the good man regrets my beloved, and mingles his tears with mine. I have found no one but him whose heart was open to my affliction-- who would listen to my complaints unwearied-- who would talk to me of Josepha. I am here-- and Josepha-- she is here too! nothing separates us except those bars. I am near her grave-- I am near her-- I live near her-- I will die near her! (_leaning against the grate_)

_Vice._ The superior of this house? and are you sure you know his real character? mark me, unfortunate! yet should we be overheard----

_Venoni._ We are alone-- proceed.

_Vice._ Know you a friar, called in this monastery by the name of Michael?

_Venoni._ I have seen the man; and now it strikes me that unusual care has been always taken to prevent our being left alone.

_Vice._ This Michael has written to me-- but I know not if I ought-- Venoni, should you betray----

_Venoni._ How, Benvolio? you doubt----

_Vice._ I doubt the soundness of your head, not the sentiments of your heart-- yet it must be risked-- Venoni, I came hither in search of father Michael-- I heard your voice, and hastened to embrace you once more. Doubtless, I shall not be permitted to see this friar; be that your care. He writes, that what he has to disclose is of extreme importance; that it concerns-- but you shall hear his letter-- (_reading_) “I have secrets to divulge of consequence too great to be confided to paper. Suffice it, that your friend Venoni is in danger; totally in the power of his most cruel enemy----”

[At this moment the _prior_ enters; the viceroy hastily conceals the letter in his bosom.]

_Prior._ (_in an humble voice_) I heard that your excellence was in the convent, and was unwilling to deprive you of an uninterrupted interview with your friend. But the hour is come, when our rules enjoin us solitude; pardon me then, when my duty compels me to observe----

_Vice._ I understand you, father; it is time that I should retire: yet surely your rules are not so strict as to prohibit my conversing with Venoni for one half hour more?

_Prior._ It grieves me to inform your excellence, that I have already in some degree infringed upon the scrupulous observance of our regulations. It may not be.

_Venoni._ How, father? a single half hour surely----

_Prior._ Ah, what do you request of me, my son? the viceroy’s visit aims at depriving me of my dearest friend; of that friend whom I have selected from all mankind; and shall I not oppose the perseverance of his efforts? I know well the count Benvolio’s influence over your mind, and tremble at the power of his persuasions. I cannot, and I ought not to abandon you to the tender anxious insinuations of generous but misjudging friendship; and I must not permit your eyes to dwell too long upon the deceitful pleasures of that world, which you have quitted with so much reason, and to which with such mistaken kindness your friends would force you back.

_Vice._ Father, this eagerness----

_Prior._ You have promised to be my brother, to be that which is far dearer, my friend: and shall I renounce a treasure so invaluable at the very moment, which ought to make it mine forever? No, no! Venoni, nor will I fear your exacting from me so great a sacrifice. He whose tears I have dried, whose sorrows I have shared-- who has told me a thousand times that I was his only consolation, and that my sympathy shed the only gleam over his days of mourning. No! never will I believe that he will now reward my friendship with caprice, with desertion, with ingratitude so cruel, so cutting, so unlooked for!

_Venoni._ Oh, good father-- I know not how----

_Vice._ You talk, sir, much of your friendship? I too profess to feel for Venoni no moderate share of that sentiment; and I think, that I prove my friendship best, when I advise him not to renounce a world, to which he owes the service of his talents and the example of his virtues. Yes, sir, yes! I advise Venoni to return into the world-- and at least in giving that advice, I am certain that no one will suspect me of having views upon his fortune.

_Pri._ (_to Venoni_) You hear this accusation, my son! you hear it, and are silent! you, who are acquainted with my whole heart; you who know well how little I regard your wealth; that wealth, which perhaps I might desire without a crime, since it would only be placed in my hands, in order that it might pass into those of the unfortunate: that wealth which you would aid me yourself to distribute, and which-- you turn away your eyes? you are afraid to encounter mine? the blow is then struck. I see-- I feel too well that my friend is lost to me!

_Venoni._ (_eagerly_) Oh, no, no, no! never shall I forget the share which you have taken in my misfortunes; never shall I forget how much I owe to your consoling attentions, to your sympathy and pity. But yet-- I confess-- Benvolio’s remonstrances-- the duties which he has recalled to my contemplation-- my country’s claims upon my services----

_Vice._ (_embracing him_) Courage, my friend! proceed! dare to become a man once more, and restore to your native land that most precious treasure, a virtuous citizen!

_Pri._ (_with assumed gentleness_) I have no more to say: since such is your choice, return to the world, my son; I oppose it no longer. Undoubtedly you will there meet with pleasures and indulgences, such as the sad and silent cloister could little hope to offer you. Perhaps you act wisely; perhaps in the tumult of society, surrounded by gay and fascinating objects who will spare no pains to charm and please you, at length you may succeed in forgetting the unfortunate, to whose remembrance you once were prepared to sacrifice every thing.

_Venoni._ (_starting in horror at the idea_) I! I forget her! forget Josepha!

_Pri._ And in fact-- why renounce all the delights of life for one who cannot know the sacrifice-- who now is nothing more than an unconscious heap of ashes----

_Venoni._ Josepha!

_Pri._ No more will you kneel at yonder grate; no more will that tomb----

_Venoni._ Josepha!

_Vice._ (_indignant at the prior’s success_) This artifice-- this insidious language----

_Pri._ (_pressing his point_) Yes, yes! I see how it will be! she, whom heaven scarcely balanced in your heart, soon abandoned, soon forgotten, soon replaced----

_Venoni._ (_almost frantic_) Never, never!

_Vice._ Rash youth! pronounce not----

_Pri._ You have sworn a thousand times to live near her, to die near her----

_Venoni._ (_in the most violent agitation_) I have! I have sworn it! I will keep my vow, and-- hark! (_the bell strikes nine; at the first sound Venoni starts, and utters a dreadful shriek; the blood seems to curdle in his veins, and he remains in an attitude of horror like one petrified._)

_Pri._ (_triumphant_) Ah, listen to that bell! twas at this very hour, that Josepha’s eye-lids closed for ever! twas at this very hour, that-- (_the bell ceases to strike; Venoni recovers animation_)

_Venoni._ Josepha! oh, my Josepha! (_he rushes towards the grate, sinks on his knees, and extends his arms through the bars towards the tomb._)

_Venoni._ (_after a short pause starts up, comes forward, and embraces the viceroy in a hurried manner_) Farewell! I am grateful for your zeal; but my fate is irrevocable!

_Vice._ Cruel youth! yet hear----

_Venoni._ No more, no more! I am dead to the world! yet forget not, that while I lived, I lived to love you. Farewell, Benvolio-- farewell for ever!

[Breaks from him, and exit.

(The viceroy remains in an attitude of profound grief; the prior surveys him in silence with a look of malignant joy; at length he advances towards him)

_Pri._ (_in a hypocritical tone_) May I without offence represent to your excellence, that night approaches? it must be near the time, when our rules require, that the monastery gates should be closed.

_Vice._ I read your soul, and your inhuman joy bursts out in spite of your hypocrisy. Exult; but your triumph will be short. I have eyes-- they are fixed upon you!-- tremble!

[Exit.

_Pri._ (_fiercely_) And you who talk so loudly and so high-- tremble for yourself! vain man, you little dream to what heights I can extend my vengeance!

(Father _Jeronymo_ enters with a dark lantern.)

(_During the following scene, night comes on, and the moon rises_)

_Jer._ Even now I encountered Venoni, his eyes wild, his lips pale, his whole frame trembling with agitation. I almost dread to inquire the issue of this interview. Say, what result----

_Pri._ Jeronymo, there was one dreadful moment, when I gave up all for lost-- Venoni was on the point of escaping from my power.

_Jer._ What! the viceroy’s arguments----

_Pri._ Spoke but too forcibly to Venoni’s heart. He talked to him of his duties; he painted the world as a spacious field for the exercise of virtue, and Venoni no longer looked upon the world with disgust.

_Jer._ But surely his love-- his despair-- the shock which his understanding has received--

_Pri._ Right: tis to them that we are indebted for retaining our captive in his chains. His resolution was shaken; the viceroy already triumphed; but I pronounced Josepha’s name, and instantly he forgot all but her. He is ours once more; tomorrow will see him resign his wealth and liberty in my hands; and much time shall not elapse, ere that first sacrifice is followed by a second.

_Jer._ And does then this count Benvolio inspire you with no apprehensions? As viceroy of Messina his power is great; and how to escape the vigilance of his suspicious eye--

_Pri._ And by what means then have I veiled from every eye the fate of the wretched Lodovico, who for twenty years has expiated in the gloom of our subterraneous cells the crime of having revealed our convent secrets; and yet who on earth suspects, that he has not long since sought the grave, the victim of an accidental malady? Jeronymo, fear nothing; give me but time, and the success of my design is certain.

_Jer._ I would fain believe it so-- yet forget not, that father Michael--

_Pri._ His fate is decided. It’s true, I as yet accuse him only on suspicions, but these suspicions are enough. I will not live in fear, and tomorrow-- some one approaches.

_Jer._ As well as the moonlight enables me to discern, tis Venoni-- perhaps he returns hither, hoping that the viceroy may not be yet departed.

_Pri._ Let us retire. I have still much to say to you-- summon our friends to my cell, that our proceedings may be finally arranged. Afterwards we will rejoin Venoni, and spare no pains to confirm him in that resolution, which secures at once his destruction and my revenge. Silence! he is here!

[Exeunt.

_Venoni_ enters hastily.

_Venoni._ Benvolio! friend! he is gone! how abruptly did I quit him! how ungratefully have I repaid his kindness! ah, whither is my reason fled! he said-- I was in danger! in danger? and what then have I left to fear? what have I still left to lose? my life? oh, I were happy-- too, too happy-- if the moment of parting with it were even now arrived!

Enter father _Michael_, with a dark lantern; which he afterwards just opens to observe Venoni, and having ascertained his person, closes it again looking round cautiously.

_Mi._ (_in a low, hurried voice_) That voice could be none but his. Venoni! answer! is it thou, Venoni?

_Venoni._ Who speaks? ha! father Michael?

_Mi._ (_closing the lantern_) I sought you-- I must speak with you-- I must save you!

_Venoni._ Save me?

_Mi._ The viceroy has been here: was he admitted?

_Venoni._ He was-- I saw him.

_Mi._ Mentioned he a letter?

_Venoni._ He did.

_Mi._ I was not suffered to see him: they suspect me, and confined me in my cell a prisoner, till he had left the monastery. I am compelled then to address myself to you; but I must be speedy: one moment only is allowed me, while the prior and his confederates are engaged in their secret councils. Venoni, collect your powers of mind; summon up all your strength; this is a moment which demands courage and resolution-- your Josepha is lost to you--

_Venoni._ For ever!

_Mi._ And know you the man who tore her from your arms? know you the man who-- _murdered_ her?

_Venoni._ Murdered her? almighty powers! what mean you? whom mean you?

_Mi._ Your rival! your friend! the man who today possesses most influence over your mind, and who tomorrow will become despotic master of your destiny: the tiger whose tongue submissively licks your hand today, and whose talons will tear out your heart tomorrow.

_Venoni._ Whom, whom?

_Mi._ The father Cœlestino.

_Venoni._ (_in the greatest horror_) He? the prior? powers of mercy!-- (_then with decision_) away! it cannot be.

_Mi._ You doubt me? be convinced then. Some months are past since a tremendous fire broke out in this convent at midnight. The prior was absent; his apartment was in flames; I burst the door, and rescued such articles as appeared to be of most importance; a crucifix of value; his casket; his papers--

_Venoni._ Go on, go on!

_Mi._ Among these papers one letter was half open: unintentionally the first words caught my eye, and their import compelled me to read the rest. It was from the abbess of the Ursulines, whose chapel is only separated from ours by a party-wall. It informed me, that a communication exists between the two convents, unknown to all but the prior and his confidants; that the most scandalous abuses--

_Venoni._ (_frantic with impatience_) Josepha, Josepha-- oh! speak to me of Josepha!

_Mi._ Other letters leave no doubt, that the prior’s motive for secluding her in the Ursuline convent was a licentious passion for your bride. In that convent every art was employed to corrupt her heart, but every art was employed in vain. She endeavoured to escape; she was watched and closely confined. Your return was expected daily-- Josepha threatened her tyrants with disclosure of this atrocious secret-- the prior and his accomplice stood on the brink of an abyss, and, to prevent it, she was precipitated into an untimely grave.

_Venoni._ (_leaning against a tree_) My brain turns around.

_Mi._ Nay, sink not beneath the blow; think upon Josepha’s murder, and hasten to avenge it-- think upon the dreadful fate which awaits yourself. I come hither to rescue you, and--

_Venoni._ Stay, stay! my brain-- my ideas-- oh, God! oh, God! can there be men so cruel-- can there be hearts so hard! he, he who supported my aching head on his bosom-- who wept with me-- who pitied me-- rage! distraction!-- but no! (_shuddering_) this crime is too horrible, nature revolts at it, this crime is impossible!

_Mi._ Impossible? then read this. (_taking out a letter_) I have seen the prior show you notes from the abbess, in which she affected to pity your situation, and lament the loss of Josepha-- you recollect her writing?

_Venoni._ Recollect it? oh heaven, too well!-- let me look on the letter! (_father Michael opens the lantern and throws a light upon the paper, at the same time shading it with his habit to prevent its being observed at the convent_) Yes, this is her hand; I should know it among a thousand others.

_Mi._ Read! read, and be convinced.

_Venoni._ (_reading, while emotion frequently chokes his voice_) “We are undone, Cœlestino; her parents have written to me; and in a few days we must expect Venoni’s return. The incensed Josepha threatens to reveal all that has past; prayers and menaces have been tried in vain; she has determined on our destruction, and nothing can preserve us but her removal from the world. You must decide immediately; answer me but one word, and before three days are elapsed, Josepha and this dangerous secret shall be buried together, and for ever!” (_he sinks upon a bank of turf, as if stupified, and sits there in an attitude of motionless despair_)

_Mi._ Josepha’s death, which happened within three days after this letter’s date, declares but too plainly, what was the villain’s answer. You are now master of the whole plot. Tis evident, that your life also is aimed at: you are a rival, whom the prior abhors; and whom it was first necessary to deceive, before he could gratify his vengeance. Your vows once pronounced-- your wealth secured-- separated from your friends-- deprived of all assistance; then it is that the storm of revenge and malice will burst in all its horrors on your devoted head. You will be dead to all the rest of nature, but you will still exist for Cœlestino; will exist to feel the whole extent of his barbarity, to experience every refinement of torture and every species of agony; without being really permitted to expire, daily to suffer a thousand and a thousand deaths. You answer not? you move not?-- rouse, rouse, Venoni; let us hasten from this dangerous abode: my fate is no less certain than your own, and flight alone can save me. It’s true, the gates are locked, but I possess the key to a private door of the garden. We are yet unobserved; rise then and let us hence.

_Venoni._ (_recovering from his stupor, and suddenly starting up_) Where is he? where does the monster hide himself? I will revenge her! I will punish her murderers!

_Mi._ (_violently alarmed_) What would you do? whither would you go?

_Venoni._ Whither? whither? to revenge Josepha!

_Mi._ For mercy’s sake, recollect yourself! this way; let us fly.

_Venoni._ (_raving_) What? fly? and leave her unavenged? never! I will die, I will die! but I will punish her assassins!

_Mi._ Silence, silence! these shrieks-- we shall be betrayed: you destroy yourself, Venoni! yourself and me!

_Venoni._ (_with frantic screams_) Josepha! Josepha!

_Mi._ (_endeavouring to force him away_) I must be gone! follow me, or you are lost! hark! holy saints they are at hand! wretched youth, they bring the death warrant of us both! come, come! for heaven’s sake come!

_Venoni._ (_without heeding him_) The miscreant! the monster! oh, Josepha!

_Mi._ (_in despair releasing him_) Remain, then, madman, since thou wilt have it so! remain, and perish!

[Exit hastily.

_Venoni._ (_alone, and wandering about the garden with a distracted air_) Where shall I direct-- where seek-- a cloud obscures my eyes-- despair, rage, powers of vengeance! powers of fury! guide me, desert me not; give me strength to-- my limbs refuse to bear me: I faint, I die! (_he falls upon the ground_)

The _prior_, the fathers _Jeronymo_, _Anastasio_, and _Nicolo_, and other monks enter with torches.

_Pri._ (_speaking without_) What clamours make the garden resound? who thus disturbs the hallowed silence which---- how? Venoni! alone! stretched on the earth! he is insensible; yet sure there was some one with him! speak, Jeronymo; heard you not?--

_Jer._ Two voices certainly seemed to mingle, and the dispute was earnest.

_Ana._ Whoever was here, cannot have gone far. Let us seek.

_Pri._ Lose not a moment: be Nicolo your companion.

[Exeunt Anastasio and Nicolo.

_Pri._ Meanwhile, be it our care to restore Venoni to himself: his fortune is not yet in our possession. (_he kneels and supports Venoni in his arms_) My son! Venoni! look up, Venoni.

_Venoni._ (_reviving_) Who names me? who speaks to me?

_Pri._ One whom your situation cuts to the very heart. What has produced this new distress? tell me, my son?

_Venoni._ (_whom the prior has assisted to rise, casts round him a wild unconscious look, and unable to support himself reclines his head on the prior’s bosom_) What has happened? where am I?

_Pri._ In the arms of that tender friend whose sympathy--

_Venoni._ (_struck by the voice, and recollecting himself, raises his head, fixes his eyes on the prior, and repulses him with a look of extreme horror_) Thou? thou? oh, eternal justice!

_Pri._ (_astonished_) How is this? you drive me from you; and does then the sight of me inspire you with disgust?

_Venoni._ (_shuddering_) Disgust?

_Pri._ In what have I offended? what is my crime?

_Venoni._ (_exasperated beyond bounds_) And still dare you ask? inhuman! still dare you ask-- what is your crime? oh, monstrous hypocrisy! oh, guilt beyond belief! she is dead! and still dare you ask-- in what have you offended?

Enter father _Anastasio_ and father _Nicolo_.

_Ana._ Tis in vain that--

_Pri._ Silence! (_with calm dignity_) hear me, Venoni! tis plain that your senses are disordered, and I therefore listen to these insults without resentment: these insults which I have so little deserved from you. But I know well that your injustice proceeds not from your heart; and when this paroxysm of delirium is past--

_Venoni._ Delirium? no, no! do not hope it! excess of misery-- desire of vengeance have restored my reason: I feel but too well, both for myself and you, that my senses are right again, and tremble thou to hear they are so! I see you now in your true colours, in all the horrors of your atrocious guilt! your hour is arrived; your cup is full; and the abyss already yawns beneath your feet, which within an hour shall bury you in its womb for ever! farewell! (_going_)

_Pri._ Yet stay, Venoni! you must not-- you shall not leave me thus. What means this talk of guilt, of vengeance? declare at once what troubles you! I boldly challenge an immediate explanation.

_Venoni._ (_furious_) What? you brave me? ha! read! read, then, monster! (_gives him the letter, which he received from father Michael: but immediately afterwards, becoming aware of his imprudence, he endeavours to regain it_) merciful heavens, what have I done!

_Pri._ (_after examining the letter turns to the monks, and says in a calm decided tone_) Every thing is discovered-- we are betrayed.

_Jer._ How? how?

_Ana._ What must be done? we are lost!

_Jer._ But one moment is still ours.

_Ni._ There is but one chance of escape--

_Pri._ Silence! (_during these speeches he seems to have been collecting his thoughts; he advances to Venoni, and says in a firm decided tone_) those words, in which you threatened my destruction, assured your own-- (_in a voice of thunder_) die! die, and be our dangerous secret buried for ever in your grave! (_to Jeronymo_) unclose the chapel door and raise the secret stone.

_Jeronymo_ enters the chapel.

_Pri._ Seize him!

_Venoni._ (_who during the above speeches has remained in silent consternation, on being seized by father Anastasio, &c. bursts out into the most passionate exclamations_) What, barbarians! do you dare?--

_Pri._ Bear him to the chapel!

_Venoni._ (_struggling_) Inhuman monsters! the vengeance of heaven-- my friends-- my cries-- help-- save me!

_Pri._ Stifle his shrieks! away with him! (_the monks surround him-- a handkerchief is thrown over his face, and he sinks into their arms exhausted-- the scene drops, as they are conveying him towards the chapel, the prior being the last who follows, pointing to him with a look of triumphant vengeance_)

_End of Act. II._