FRENCHES STANDARD DRAMA 
 
 THE ACTiNC; EDITION. 
 
 No. CLXXVII. 
 
 -o- 
 
 lA N G E L O ; 
 
 ACTRESS OF PADUA. 
 
 A ri.AY, IN FOUR ACTS. 
 
 t^TERED AND TRANSLATED FUOM THE FRENCH BY 
 
 G. A BECKETT, 
 II 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDEO 
 
 A D«tcripHon of the Costume— Cast of t'jc Characters — Entrances and EiK»-« 
 
 Relttive Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and 
 
 the whvle of the Stage Business. 
 
 AS PERFORMED AT THE PRIXCIPAL 
 
 ENGLISH AND AMERICAN THEATRES. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 
 
 122 Nassau Street, (Up Stairs.)
 
 CAST OF CHARACTER?.— [AcxnKss op Papu^.] 
 
 Bowery, 1852. Barton's, 1857. 
 
 IloMonEi. - - - - Mr. E. Eddy. Mr. Boniface. 
 
 Skj. G.\udaguixi, - " Martin. 
 
 Sio. Bi-.RZoxizi. - " Jordan. , 
 
 LoRKPAXo, - - - ' /(."dains. •' AVarwick. 
 
 Axgi;lo Mai.pieri, " E. L. Tilion " C. Fi.sliC". 
 
 lloDOLFO, - - - - " C.AV.Ciarke " Bri;iigs. 
 
 Anafesto, - - - " Jlaniilton. " Mac Rae. 
 
 First Priest, - - " Waireii. 
 
 .Second Priest, - - " Gouldson. 
 
 (>Fi-icER, - - - - " Favour. • 
 
 Pa(;e, Mis.s Hart, 
 
 First Watchman, - Mr. Smith. " Bishop. 
 
 Thisbe, (the Actress,) Miss Weniy.ss. Miss C.Cashnipu. 
 CATiiEai.NE, - - - Mrs. .Jordan. " S. Der.ni'.. 
 Rkgi.nella, - - - " Walcot. " Miller. 
 Uafxe, - . - - Miss Hiftert. Mrs. Scvmonr. 
 
 COSTUME. 
 
 ANOELO.— Rich .shirt— robe— )i at and foathois. 
 
 RODOLFO. — Handsome shirt— hat — white feathers- 
 hoots, &o.. 
 
 AN.AFESTO.— Ibid. 
 
 GAUDAGUINI. ) „ , T- , * 
 
 BERZ0\1/I \ "'^"*i'^<'"^® shirts, &c. 
 
 HOMODEI. — A plain shirt — dark tights — .shoes, &c. 
 PRIESTS.— Monks' gowns. 
 PAOE.—Haiidsonie shirt, &c. 
 
 THISBE. — Handsomely trimmed crimson velvet train, 
 &c. 
 
 CATHERINE.— White satin train. Second dress: 
 White muslin. 
 
 REGINELLA. 
 UAFNE. 
 
 > Satin, trimmed with silver.
 
 A N G E L 0, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE ACTRESS OF PADUA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Terrace and Garden illuminated for a 
 Fete — Palace l., lighted tuithin, ivith entrance to Terrace, 
 which is separated 6;/ balustrade, ivith opening in centre to 
 Garden in background — Outline of the Town of Padua 
 seen through the Trees in distance — A bench on each side 
 of the Palace Portal, on one of which lies a Man {Homo- 
 dei) asleep — Da;/ breaks towards the close of the Act — 
 distant Dance Music as the Curtain rises, which continues 
 during the first dialogue.* 
 
 Enter, from Palace, Sigxors Gdadaguini, Bergonzi, and 
 
 LOKEDANO. 
 
 Gua. (l,) a brilliant fete this. Onr actress entertains 
 the nobles as if she had been born among them. 
 
 Lor. (r.) Her profusion should indicate great wealth. 
 
 Ber. (c.) The admired of all, in all ranks, all become 
 jibntary to her. 
 
 Gua. Truly so ! — Whenever Thisbe enters a city or 
 province, every prince and noble in it seems to be encum- 
 bered Avith diamonds, jewels, or flowers, so profusely are 
 they poured at her feet. 
 
 Lor. Well ; and if she but give them a smile in return, 
 they have the best of the bargain. 
 
 Ber. Bravo ! but we cannot be too cautious in speaking 
 for slie is now in the favour of one who can strike ofll"our 
 heads for even looking at her. 
 
 Gua. Yes I and woe to him who should be suspected 
 of standing between- him and the object of his admiration ! 
 But see — here lie !j?'".es, and Thisbe with him — gloom and 
 sunshine in imnatiiral conjunction ! '[The;/ retire, r. u. E. 
 
 • Tlie Piece may be openeil nitli a Ballet. i;i wfiirli liie tl'e Dan. 
 *ers Khuuld eniergL' from the Palace a- the Curiain ris<», and 'he 
 ftitorme.i ill tlie tirst Dialogue come torward ut ils Cviiclusiou.
 
 10 ANGELO, AND THE [aCT 1. 
 
 Enter Tiiisbe and Ancelo, l. 8. B. 
 
 Tliig. Yes, here iiulecd you are master, my lord — the 
 dijinificd y;ovcvnor of Padua. Sent hither by Venice, yoii 
 ai)l)car to hear in your own person the whole majesty of 
 that terrible republic. "When you pass through tlie streets, 
 the windows are closed, the passengers retreat in awe, 
 and the inmates of the houses tremble. Here you are 
 every body's master, and — \Lavghhuihj.'\ — you would like 
 to be mine. But, listen, while I tell you a little truth — 
 Don't be afraid, — I'm not going to s])cak on state afl'airs, 
 but on your own. [^IlesitatingJyA Well! yes !Iwills]ieak 
 out — you are a strange man, and! do not understand you; — 
 you profess to be enamoured of me, and yet you are jealous 
 of your wife ! 
 
 A»g. I am jealous of you, too, madame. 
 
 This. Oh gracious ! You have no right to be jealous 
 of me ; — for, although the voice of calumny may pronounce 
 me your mistress, you know that 1 am not. 
 
 Ang. [Looking around in his desire to change the con- 
 versation.^ The fete you have given to-night has been 
 magnificent. 
 
 This. Oh ! I am but a poor actress, after nil, although 
 I am allowed to fete nobles and senators. I did hope to 
 amuse my master, Init I have failed. My lights and lamps 
 seem only to render more sombre the .shade on your brow. 
 If I give you music, you might at least give me a little 
 gaiety in return. [Laughing.^ Come now, let me have 
 one patronising smile ! 
 
 Ang. Well, I do smile But did not you call him your 
 
 brother — that young man whom you brought with you to 
 Padua? 
 
 This. I did ;— and what of that ? 
 
 Ang. You were speaking to him just now. — What is 
 this brother's name ? 
 
 This. Kodolfo, my lord — Eodolfo ! — I have told you so 
 at least twenty times before. — Cannot you find something 
 more agreeable to talk about ? 
 
 Ang. Pardon me, Thisbe — I will not worry you with 
 any more questions. How beautifully you played Rosa- 
 manda ! — All Italy admires you — but the crowds who 
 gaze on you with admiring eyes fire my jealousy ; — I am 
 maddened when I see your l)cauties^ i.adc the object of 
 
 vulgar adoration ! Ah, Thisbe, who was that man ia 
 
 the mask, with whom you spoke so long? 
 
 This. [Mimicking him.'] 'Pardon me, Thisbe — I wil*
 
 SCENE I.] ACTRKSS OF PADtTA. 11 
 
 not worry you -with any more questions.' Still, if you 
 must be told, that man, my lord, was Virgilio Tasca. 
 
 -4)77. i\Iy lieutenant 1 
 
 This. The same. 
 
 Anf7. And what could you want with him ? 
 
 T/ii$. It would be recounting my history to tell you; 
 and that you cannot care to hear. 
 
 jin(/. Thisbc, Tm impatient ! 
 
 This. Well, then, listen. — You know what I am — an 
 actress — a thing caressed to-day, and cast away in scorn 
 to-moiTOw — one whose destiny it is to act, and therefore 
 supposed to be always acting a part. The daughter of 
 poor people, I live for the fame I have made ; — but I have 
 had something better to live for — a mother ! Know you 
 what it is to have had a good mother ? 
 
 Ang. Certainly. 
 
 This. I doubt it I — Xone but the poor know what a 
 mother can be ! You have not known what it is to be a 
 poor feeble child, naked, hungrj-, wandering in helpless- 
 ness ; — but that you have near you — around you — above 
 you — walking when you walk— stopping when you stop — • 
 weeping when you weep — smiling when you smile — a wo- 
 man — more than a woman — the angel destined to watch 
 over you — to teach you to smile, to speak, to love — she 
 whom you call mother, and who calls you child, in accents 
 so sweet, that you can only hope to hear the like again in 
 heaven I — Well, such was the mother I had ; she was a 
 poor Avidow. and a ballad-singer in the streets of Brescia. 
 I used to accompany her, and pick up the money that 
 was thrown to her. It was thus I began my career. One 
 day. it seemed from the laughter of those around, that 
 the song my mother was singing, though she did not 
 understand it, contained some verses derisive of the Vene- 
 tian government. A senator was passing, who heard and 
 understood it. Turning to an ofiiccr who was following 
 him, he ordered him to seize her, and hang her at the nearest 
 place of execution I — My poor mother said nothing — she 
 knew how useless it would be. — She embraced me, let fall 
 one large tear on my forehead, took her crucifix from her 
 bosom, and quiet*ly submitted to be bound. I still see that 
 crucifix — it was of polished brass, with my name, Thisbe, 
 in large letters on the base of it. Motionless as in a trance, 
 I saw my poor mother bound, without power to speak, or 
 cry, or weep. Tlie crowd dared not to speak. But with 
 the senator there was a little girl, whom he held by the 
 hand — his daughter, d'^ubtlessly — who wept aloud her
 
 i2 ANGELO, AND THE [aCT I. 
 
 pity. Oh, she was a beautiful girl, my lord! — Poor child ! 
 she threw herself at the feet of the senator — she prayed— 
 she wept such tears from her beautiful eyes, tliat she ob- 
 tained my mother's pardon. Yes, my lord, that child 
 saved my mother. AVhen she was released, she took her 
 crueili.K, and gave it to that fair child, begging her to 
 preserve it, in the assurance that, sooner or later, it would 
 prove her protector ! — 
 
 Aiiff. But how can this concern ray lieutenant, Vigilio 
 Tasca? 
 
 This. Since then, my mother has died — sainted woman, 
 and I have become rich. I would again see tliat child— 
 that angel, that saved my mother's life. Ciiild, do I say ?— . 
 She must be a woman now, and j)ossibly in misery ! In 
 every town I visit, I inquire of the governor — of the pro- 
 vost — of the police ; — to all I recount my story; — and to 
 him who shall discover the woman I seek, I will freely 
 give ten thousand golden sequins. 
 
 Anp. Ten thousand sequins ! — Then what would you 
 give to the woman herself, if you found her? 
 
 This. My life, if she desired it. 
 
 A)u/. But how can you recognise her? 
 
 This. By my mother's crucifix. 
 
 Anff. Bsha ! she will have lost it, 
 
 I'his. Oh no ! a thing so acquired is not lightly parted 
 with. 
 
 Anff. {Perceiving Homodei, and in alarm.\ Madame, 
 Madame ! there's a man here ! Did you know of his being 
 here ? 
 
 This. \_LaHr/hing.'] Oh yes, I know there is a man there, 
 and that lie sleeps — soundly. You need not worry your- 
 self about him — it is only my poor Homodei. 
 
 Ang. Homodei ! — "Who is tliat ? — Homodei ? 
 
 This. Yes, Homodei. He is a man, my lord, but that 
 he lacks man's intellect. He is a poor idiot guitar-player, 
 whom the Trimate of St. Mark, notwithstanding, sent 
 with a letter to me. — (Don't be jealous, i'U show you the 
 letter) — and at the same time a present. 
 
 Ang. What present "? 
 
 This. Oh, a real Venetian present ; — a ca'sket containing 
 two vials, one filled with a strong sleeping-draught, the 
 other witb a deadly poison. The Primate's letter conveys 
 a liope that 1 may find them useful on some occasion — a 
 characteristic jjiece of gallantry, yoii see. 
 
 Aug. [Thottg/ufaUy.'\ Have you aaswcred me truly about 
 that mau }
 
 BCr.NE I.] ACTRKSS OF PADUA. 13 
 
 This. Now yon must be joking I — A pretty occasion for 
 alarm — a poor guitai--playcr — an idiot who passes most 
 of his time in sleep! — Ah, my lord, yonr whole life is 
 consumed in inquiries relative to one or another ! — Is this 
 jealousy, or is it fear ? 
 
 Ang. Botli- 
 
 This. Jealousy I can understand. You aspire to the 
 love : nd fidelity of tv.'o women, and must abide the 
 consequences ! — But fear — in the governor whom every one 
 fears ! 
 
 Aug. Therefore is it that I fear every one. \^Approaching 
 close y to Thi.<he, and speaking in an under-toae.] Listen, 
 Thisbe. It is true, I am, as you say, the master — the 
 sovereign — the despot over this tow^l. I am tlie magis- 
 trate phiced by Venice over Padua — the paw of the tiger 
 on the lamb. Yes, I am all powerful ; but absolute as 
 lam, there is beyond me something more terrible — Venice, 
 with its Inquisition and its Council of Ten. Let us speak 
 softly, Thisbe, or we in Padua may be overheard in Venice. 
 They have spies every where — men whom none of us know, 
 and yet they know iis all— men v.ho are visible at no cere- 
 mony, yet are known to be omnipresent — men who have 
 the lives of all in their hands, your's, mine, even that of 
 the Doge himself; yet they have neither star nor crowa 
 to mark them to the eye. We walk the earth like kings, 
 but in an hour we are denounced, condemned ! — There is 
 a plash in the canal — they who are gliding by in their 
 gondolas to balls and fetes start, and pass more quickly. — 
 You, my fair actress, know nothing of these horrors; but 
 I know them too well. — There is in every palace, without 
 the knowledge of him who lives tiiere, a secret passage 
 leading to all the rooms — a dark corridor, of which others, 
 and not the occupier, know the doors. Often, in the night, 
 I start up in my bed; I listen, and hear footsteps in the 
 very walls — Thisbe, I am not placed over Fadu:i, but it is 
 placed over me. I am only a master that I may be a tyrant. 
 Never ask me to pardon any one ; for I could not refuse 
 you, and 1 should be ruined. I have power to punish, 
 but none to pardon. I am well Matched. Only lot me 
 set a workman to make a lock, and before the lock is 
 finished, the Council of Ten has possession of tlio key. 
 Madame, madamc, the valet who waits on me is a spy 
 upon me; the friend who takes me by the hand is a spy 
 upon mc ; the priest who confesses me is a spy upon me ; 
 the woman who tells me she loves me is a spy upon mo— . 
 
 This Oh, sir I 
 
 a
 
 14 ANOKLO, AND THE [aCT t 
 
 A»p. You luivo never said you loved me. I do not 
 speak of you, Tlii:jbe. Yes, I repeat, the eye of the Coun- 
 cil of Teii is ever on me ; the car of the Council of Ten 
 is ever open to me ; the hand of the Council of Ten i» 
 ever f^^i'aspins^ mc. Oh, sad and severe is my condition. 
 Pity inc, and do not a^ain ask why I tremble ! 
 
 T/iis. Yours is indeed a fearful position 1 
 
 Atif^. Ah, Thisbe, I am ever unhajjpy ! I have hut 
 one consolrnjj hope, and tlmt is in you. And yet I feel 
 you do not love me ; — but you do not love another — say 
 you do not love another. 
 
 T/iis. Xo, no ! calm yourself. 
 
 Anfj. You did not say 'no' as if you meant h. 
 
 This. I said it as well as I was able. 
 
 Aufj. Ah! j'ou will never be mine — I must bear with 
 that ; but you are not for another, Thisbe, — never let me 
 hear that another \_Adinirini/Ji/ and conx-ingly. 
 
 This. [La\(ffhinffb/.~\ Do you think yourself irresistible 
 •w hen you look at me thus 'i 
 
 Ang. Ah, Thisbe, when may I hope for your love? 
 
 This. When all about you love you. 
 
 Ang. Alas ! — Well, at least remain in Padua — ^I would 
 Dot you should leave it. When you go, my life will be 
 gone ! But what are we about ! We have been long in 
 conversation, and there may be listeners. — \Going.']\ will 
 leave you now. [Stopping and observing HoinodeiJ] You 
 can answer for that man ? 
 
 This. As for a sleeping infant. 
 
 Ang. [Looking off, u. J Here is yonr brother coming. I 
 •will leave you to yourselves. [Exit, into Pcdace, 
 
 Enter RoDOLFO, n.u. e. 
 
 Tliis. Ah ! it is Rodolfo ! it is Rodolfo, my beloved 1 
 [Looking towards the road bij ivfiich Angela has departed. 
 No, poor tyrant, he is no brother of mine. Approach, 
 IlodoKo, my brave soldier, my noble exile, my generous 
 f;iend ! Look me well in the face — you are handsome, 
 •md I do love you ! — I cannot but confess it ! 
 
 Rod. Thisbe ! 
 
 This. Why have you come to Padua? I fear some 
 snare. We cannot getaway at present. The chief magis- 
 trate is smitten with your poor Tiiisbe ; he will not lose 
 sight of us, and I so fear he maj' discover who you really 
 are. He shall learn nothing from me — -you know that, 
 do you not, Rodolfo V — But you arc not anxious about 
 it — you do not appear at all jealous of your rival?
 
 SCF.NE I.] ACTRESS OF PADUA. 15 
 
 Rod. No, Thisbe — you are a noble charming woman. 
 
 This. Oh ! but I r.ni jenlous of you. — I can't bear to 
 hear you even speak to other women ; — what right have 
 they to a word irom my Rodolfo ? — Oh, never let me have 
 a rival ; I should kill her. Yoix arc the only man I have 
 ever loved. Your love is the light of my life — tlie sun 
 that wanns and cheers me. Oh ! that I had known you 
 ten years sooner. I feel now all the chords of my heart 
 that were chilled with the world's coolness begin to revive 
 within me. What joy to be alone but for a moment ! — ■ 
 My Rodolfo! my lover! — My brother, indeed! — I am 
 mad with joy in being allowed to speak to you at my 
 ease ! — You sec how foolish I am ! — Do you love me ! 
 
 Rod. Who does not love you, Thisbe ? 
 
 This. If that is all you have to say, I must be satisfied. 
 I must go and show myself among my guests. [^Goinrt, but 
 she returns, places her hand on his shoulder, and looks into 
 his/ace.^ Tell me — for some time past I have observed 
 vou to look sad : — are you so ? 
 
 Rod. No, Thisbe. 
 
 This. And you are not ill? 
 
 Rod. No. 
 
 This. You a' e sure yon are not jealouB ? 
 
 Rod. No. 
 
 This. \Pln)/fidli/.\ I wish you were — just a little jealous, 
 that I might be sure you love me ! — But come, no more 
 downcast looks. — No one here knows that you are not 
 my brother. 
 
 Rod. Except Anafesto. 
 
 This. Your friend. — Oh, he can be depended on. 
 
 Enter Anafesto, r. 
 
 Here he is. I will leave you witli him for a while. [To 
 Ano/esto, laughitighj.'\ Monsieur Anafesto, take care that 
 he does not speak with any other woman. 
 
 Ana. \Smiling.^ Make yourself easy, madame. 
 
 [Exit Thisbe, into Palace. 
 
 Ana. [Coming forward. "l Charming woman ! Rodolfo, 
 you are a happy man — she loves you ! 
 
 Rod. Anafesto, I am not happy — I do not love her. 
 
 Ana. How ! what do you say ? 
 
 Rod. [Tu ning, and perceiv.ng Huinodei.'\ Who is that 
 man, sleeping there ? 
 
 Ana. No one of .any conrcquence , — only the poor mil* 
 fcician. Do you not know him ? 
 
 Rod. Oh yes — the idio*. 
 
 b2
 
 16 &.NGELO, AND THE [aCT I 
 
 Ana. Yo.i ilo not love This! c ! — Is it possible ? 
 
 Bod. Ah ! (lid I say so ? For<j:ct that I liuvc said it 
 
 Ani. 'i'liisbc, that aflorahlc woman ! 
 
 Jiod. Adoralilc to all othcvs, but I cannot love her. 
 
 Ana. Poor Thisbe ! But why deceive hci- ? — If you 
 cannot love her, why not tell her so ? 
 
 Hod. Dare you tell her ? — You know her ! — There is a 
 secret connected with my life known only to myself. 
 
 Ana. Some day you will coniidc it to your friend, — will 
 vou not? — You are too depressed in mind, just now, 
 iiodolfo ? 
 
 Mod. Yes ; — pray leave mc to myself awhile. 
 
 \Music. — Exit Anafeslo, ii. u. k. — liodol/o sea's him' 
 self on the bench, near the doorway, andbvrieshis 
 head in his hands — Homodei opens his etjef, ri/es, 
 and pas-es behind BodoJ/o, ivho, absorbed in 
 reverie, does not see him — Homodei places Ai'.-- hand 
 on the shoidder of Rodolfo, ivho starts, and looks 
 round with astonishment. 
 
 Horn. [^S!oK'l>/ and emphaticalli/.'] Your name is not 
 Rodolfo, but Ezzelon da Komano. You are of an ancient 
 family, that rei:;ned over Padua, and was banished two 
 hundred years ago. You Mander, under a false name, 
 from town to town, sometimes venturing into the state of 
 Venice. Seven years ago, in that city — you were then 
 twenty years old — you saw a beautiful girl in the chapel 
 of St. George. You did not follow her, for in Venice to 
 follow a woman is to rush upon a dagger's point ; but you 
 often Mcnt again to the chapel, and so did the maiden. 
 You had fallen in love with her, and she with you. With- 
 out knowing her name — and you know it not even yet, 
 excejit that she allowed you to address her as Catlierine, 
 you ibund means to correspond with her, and she granted 
 j'ou meetings at the house of a woman named Cecilia. 
 She was noble — that was all you could learn of her, and 
 a Venetian noble can only wed a noble, or a sovereign; 
 and you are neither the one nor the other. At length, the 
 woman Cecilia apprised you that your Catherine was 
 married. You were no more successful in leai-ning the 
 name of her husband than of her father. In distraction 
 you quitted Venice, and travelled over all Italy, hoping 
 thereby to dispel your suttering, but in vain ; you have 
 nislicd into the pleasures and dissipations of great cities, 
 equally in vain ; you have tried to love other women — 
 you have thought yourself in love with this actress, more 
 in vain still, Th' ec months ago you came to Padua with
 
 SCENE r.] ACTRESS OF PADUA. 17 
 
 Thisbe. One night, while sauntering in soitude, on tho 
 bridge of ]\Iolino, a Avoman in a veil parsed, and beckoned 
 you. Following her, she led you to the street of St. Peter, in 
 which arc the ruins of an old palace. There you found 
 the lady whom you had loved at Venice, true in heart to 
 you as you to her. From that time, and in that place, 
 you had frequent meetings ; but, sternly faithful to her 
 enforced marriage vows, you were only allowed to know 
 her as Catherine. About a month ago sheYailed to come, 
 and it it is now nearly live weeks since you have seen her. 
 The reason is, that her husband distrusts her, and keeps 
 her closely guarded. You seek her everywhere — by day 
 and by night — but you cannot find her ; and you never 
 will, except through my assistance. Would you like to 
 see her this evening ! 
 
 Rod. [Gazing steadfastly at Homodei.'\ Man, who are you? 
 
 Horn. Ah ! question me not — I shall not reply. — Once 
 again, do you wish to sec the lady this evening ? 
 
 Rod. Yes! yes! I would see licr. In the name of heaven, 
 let me see her once again, and die. 
 
 Horn. You shall see her. 
 
 Rod. Where? 
 
 Horn. In her own house. 
 
 Rod. But tell me about her. — Who is she ? what is her 
 name ? 
 
 Iloiii. You shall learn more from her own lips. 
 
 Rod. All ! surely you arc sent from heaven. 
 
 novn. To-night, at the rising of the moon — or say mid- 
 night, tliat is more specitic— be at the angle of the palace 
 that abuts on the street St. Urbano. I shall be there, and 
 will conduct you farther. Mind — at midnight. 
 
 Rod. Thanks, thanks ! But v/ill jou not tell me who 
 you arc? 
 
 Hoin. [iSart?' n;V«%.] Whoam I? — An idiot! [Exit,u. 
 
 Rod. \Solus.~\ Who can this man be ? — No matter ! At 
 midnight — how long it seems to have to wait till mid- 
 night ! — Oh, Catherine, for the hour he promises me with 
 you, I would give up my lifetime. 
 
 Enter TnisBE,/ro;H her Palace. 
 
 This. Here I am again, Eodolfo — I cannot be long 
 se)ianucd from you — I am the shadow of your body, and 
 j-ou are the soul of mine. 
 
 Rud. Beware, Tliisbe. Jly race is fated ! There is • 
 malediction hanging over us, that must inevitably descend 
 from fathci to sou. It is death to love us ! 
 e3
 
 18. ANGEI.O, AND TUB [aCT I. 
 
 This. Very well ! — Then you will kill rnc — Avliat an 
 idea — because I love you. 
 
 Rod. Thisl)o! 
 
 This. You'll mako me weep presently — I will have no 
 more of tills. 
 
 Jiod. Thisbc, you deserve the love of an angel ! 
 
 [A'/i-voa her hand, <in t exit, n. s. e. 
 
 This. Bless me, how he leaves nic ! — Rodolfo ! — he's 
 gone ! What can be the matter with him ? [^Looking 
 towards the bench on ivhich Homodei had lain.l Oh ! Homo- 
 dci has awakened. 
 
 Re-enter IIomodei, b. r. e. 
 
 Hotn. I With (ijfected incoherence/. \ Rodolfo is Ezzelino; 
 the scemiuf^ adventurer is a prince ; the idiot is a wit ; 
 the sleeper is a cat on the watch ; — while the eye is shut, 
 the car is wide ojien. 
 
 This. What is he trying to say ? 
 
 Horn. [Showi)iff hisffiiitiir.'] Tliis guitar has strings that 
 Tihratc to the touch ; — so has the heart of man and of 
 V'oman chords that one may play upon. 
 
 This. Wiiat can he mean ? 
 
 Honi. Madame, what I wish to say is this ; — that if, by 
 chance, you should this day lose a cavalier who wears a 
 vhitc feather in his hat, I could show yon where to find 
 him in the evening, Mith a woman. 
 
 This. With a woman ! 
 
 Hotn. Ay, a handsome woman ! 
 
 This. What ! what do you say ? — who are yon?. 
 
 Horn. I know nothing. 
 
 This. Ah, you arc not what I have taken you for. The 
 Podesta was right, — you arc a cunning man ! Who are 
 you ? — Oh, who are you ? — Kodolfo with a woman ! and 
 this very night ! Is that what you would say, eh ? — Is 
 that what you would say? 
 
 Ho)ii. I know nothing. 
 
 2'/i!s. Oh, you i^peak falsely! 'Tis impossible ! Rodolpho 
 loves me ! 
 
 Horn. I know nothing. 
 
 litis. Wretch, thou licst ! Seme one must have paid 
 you to say this — I have enemies, but Kodolfo loves me ! 
 [^Endeavonriuf/ to appear comjyos€.d.'\ Go, you have not 
 succeeded in alarming me ! I do not believe you ! — It 
 must be very n;ortifying to you to sec that what you say 
 has no ctl'cct ui)on me. 
 
 llom. You have doubtlessly remarked tha* the Sigaof
 
 SCENE I.J ACTRESS OF PACTJA. 19 
 
 Angelo carries on a chain around his neck a little jewel 
 worked in gold. It is a key. Pretend to admire it, and 
 ask him to give it yon. I can show you how to use it. 
 
 This. A key, do you say ? — I will not ask for it ! I will 
 not ask for anything. [^Anide.! This wretch would make 
 
 me suspect Kodolfo. — [^^owd.J I do not want the key 
 
 Go, I will not listen to you. 
 
 Horn. l^Crosshir/, r.J Angelo comes. When you liavo 
 got the key, I'll exjjlain to you how it will serve you to- 
 night ; I sliall return shortly. 
 
 This. Wretch ! do you not hear me ? I told you I did 
 not want the kcj' — I have full tnist in Rodolfo — as to 
 the key, I shall not trouble myself about it — I will not say 
 a word to Angelo — -therefore do not retum, it is useless. 
 
 Horn. I shall retm-n shortly. [^Edit, l. 
 
 Enter Angelo, b. 
 
 This. Ah, sir! whom did you expect to find here ?— 
 Arc you still jealous ? 
 
 Ang. Always, niadame. 
 
 This. You are very silly — wiiat's the good of being jea- 
 lous? — If I loved a man, I should certainly not be jealous. 
 
 Ang. Do you love no one ? 
 
 Tills. Oh, yes ; I love somebody. 
 
 Ana. Whom ? 
 
 This. You. 
 
 Ang. You love me ? — Is it possible ? — don't trifle with 
 me — oh ! repeat what you have jnst said to me. 
 
 Tlds. I love you. \^Sh ■ approaches him rapluroushj, and 
 takes hold of the chain that hangs to his neck.j Oh ! what's 
 
 this ? I never remarked it before. — It's very pretty — . 
 
 well worked — charming— it's so pretty it ought to belong 
 to a woman. 
 
 Ang. Ah, Thisbe ! you have filled my heart with joy 
 by a word of kindness. 
 
 This. Well— well— but tell me what is this ? 
 
 Ang. This — it's only a key. 
 
 This. Ah, a key, is it ? Well, I never should hara 
 thought of that. — Ah ! I sec now — yes, it is a key. 
 
 Ang. Yes, my Thisbe. 
 
 This. Oh, as it's only a key, I don't want it. 
 
 Ang. Why did you then want it, Thisbe? 
 
 This. Why — yes— merely as a prettily worked trifle. 
 
 Ang. Oh, then — pray take it. 
 
 [//« detaches the keyfr<»n his collar^ 
 
 This. It is of use to you, perhaps.
 
 20 ANOELO, AND THE [aCT 1- 
 
 Atifj. Oh, very seldom ; besides, I have another — you 
 San take it. 
 
 This. No, I've no wish for it — can doors be opened with 
 that key V — ii's a very small one. 
 
 Avg. Oh, tliat's nothing — these keys arc meant for 
 secret locks — this opens many doors — among others, that 
 of my sleei)ing apartment ; — pray take it. 
 
 This. Inileed ! well, since you are so pressing, I will 
 take it. 
 
 Ang. Oh! thank you — what happiness ! you have made 
 me happy by accepting this trifl ■. 
 
 This. Ah ! I remember, the French Ambassador had 
 sometliing very like it — By the bye, I think a stranger 
 was inquiring lor you just now in the gallciy. 
 
 Atirf. Do you think so? — A stranger, say you? 
 
 Tlds. Yes ; and a suspicious-looking person he is. 
 
 Anp. Curses on the fellow, to snatch me so soon from you. 
 
 This. \Pointing, r.] That way. 
 
 An[i. \ Kissing her hand.^ Oh, Tliisbc! then you do 
 love mc ? 
 
 This. That way — that way — he'a waiting for j'ou. ' 
 
 l^E.tjit Angela, it. 
 Re-enter IIomodie l. u. e. 
 
 This. {Running to meet him.'] I've got the key. 
 
 Horn. Let mc look. {Utauiines the keij.] Yes, that's 
 well. — There is in the palace of Angelo a gallery that looks 
 upon the bridge Molino. Conceal yourself there to-night — 
 behind the fumiturc — behind the tapestry — any where you 
 please. 
 
 This. I will reward you better hereafter. — For the pre- 
 sent, take this ])urse. \ Gives purse. 
 
 Horn. Just as you please — but let me finish. — At two 
 hours after midnight I will come and fetch you ; I will 
 show you the first door you will have to open with that 
 key. — After that I shall leave you ; you can do the rest 
 without mc — you have but to go straight onwards. 
 
 This. What shall I find after passing tlie first door. 
 
 Honi. A second, which that key will also opcu. 
 
 This. And after the second '? 
 
 Horn. A third. — That key opens them all. 
 
 This. And after the third? 
 
 Horn. Yon will see. 
 [Ejcit Homodei, n. u. e. — Thisbe looks after him ivith 
 astonishment, as Curtain /alia. 
 
 END OF .VCT I.
 
 SCENE I.] ACTRESS OF PADUA. 21 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 FCENE I. — A Chamber ricMy hung with scarlet, frivged 
 with gold — A magnificent Btd, l., under a Caxo/nj suj}- 
 ported by twisted Columns — At the corners oftlie Canopi/ 
 crimson Curtains, which can shut and conceal the Bed— 
 An open Windoiu, k. — and a Door concealed- by Drapery — 
 A chair for devotioninfront of Dressing -Table — Dressing- 
 glass, on ivhich is suspended a Crucifix of polished brass — ■ 
 Folding-door.-i at back — A door, l., and a small door i,. 
 of bed, very much ornamented — Table, c. — Arm-chairs — . 
 Large Candlesticks, with candles burning — A large Ward- 
 robe — Gardens, and Steeples seen through the Windows, b. 
 in the Moonlight — Rosary on Table. 
 
 Dafne and Reginklla discovered. 
 
 Reg. Yes, Dafnc, — it's quite true; the thing really 
 happened ; — the last time my lady went to Venice, one of 
 the satellites of the Co..ncil of Ten, an infiinious minion, 
 presumed to make love to her — 'o write to her, Dafne; 
 and. he even tried to sec her. — Could you imagine such 
 a thing? Madame had him discharged. 
 
 Daf [Opening the door of the Oratory.'] "Well, well, 
 Ecginella;— but our mist ess wails for her prayer-book, 
 you know ; — and you should be cautious how you talk. 
 
 Reg. [Arranging books on table.] Ah ! 3'ou'rc right ; 
 one must take care what one says in the palace; — iherc's 
 always some one listening, you may depend upon it,— 
 even in the very walls. 
 
 Daf. Do make haste — we will talk another time — my 
 mistress waits. 
 
 Reg. [Looking at things on <a6?e.] If you're in such a 
 hurry, go yourself, and I'll follow. [Dafne goes out at door, 
 B., and shuts the door tvithout Reginella perceiving her.'] 
 But you see, Dafne, I always recommend silence in this 
 horrid palace ; this is the only room where one's in safety — 
 this is t:ic only place where one can speak freely, and bo 
 6ure of not being heard. 
 
 [^While she is speaking, a wardrobe behind her, fixed 
 to the wall on the right, turns round of itself, and 
 HoMOOEi enters through the aperture, tvithout her 
 perceiving him ; — tlui wardrobe again turns, and 
 closes the opening. 
 
 Horn, (k.) [31imicking her.] 'This is the only place 
 where one can speak freely, and be sure of not being heard,' 
 
 Meg. [^Turning round.] Good heavens!
 
 22 ANGELO, AND THB [acT U. 
 
 Horn. Silence! 
 
 [i/e open.t his cloak, and discovers, oti his vest of black 
 
 velvet, the three letters C.D.X., embroidered in 
 
 silver — Rcginella looks at the letters, and regards 
 
 the ?)!«n iL'ith terror. 
 
 '^''hcn nri}' person has seen one of us, and gives the smallest 
 
 rca>on for anoth.cr to gncss that one of us has been seen, 
 
 the party seeing us dies before the day is over. You know 
 
 the truth of tliis, for you must have heard us spoken of. 
 
 li^ff. Heavens ! Avhat door did he come in at ? 
 
 Horn, l^y none. 
 
 Her/. Oh ! mercy ! 
 
 Horn. Answer my questions, and do not deceive me ;— 
 your life depends on it. — Where docs that door lead to? 
 
 [^Pointing to door, L. 
 
 Beg. To the sleeping apartment of my master. 
 
 Horn. {Pointing to smacl door at back.'] And that ? 
 
 Reg. U'o a .>ecret staircase that eommunicates with tho 
 galleries of the palace ; — my master alone has the key. 
 
 Horn. [Pointing to door near dressing-table.J And that? 
 
 Beg. To the oratory of my l;:dv. 
 
 Horn. Is there an outlet Irom that oratoiy ? 
 
 Beg. No : — the ora ory is iu a tower — and in that there 
 is only one grated window. 
 
 Horn. [Going to window, and looking ottt.] Which is on 
 a level with this. — That's well — twenty-four feet to the 
 end of the wall — and then the Brenta. — The grating is 
 unnecessary. — But there is a small staircase iu the oratory 
 . — where does it lead to ? 
 
 Beg. To the chamber of Dafnc, sir. 
 
 Horn. Is there any outlet from that chamber? 
 
 Beg. No, sir ; only a grated window, and no door but 
 that which leads down to the oratoiy. 
 
 Horn. When your mistress comes in, you will go up 
 into your room, and remain there, without listening, and 
 without speaking. 
 
 Beg. I will obey, sir. 
 
 Horn. Where is your mistress? 
 
 Beg. In the oratory, at prayer. 
 
 Horn. She will return here presently? 
 
 Beg. Yes, sir. 
 
 Horn. Not sooner than a quarter of an hotir? 
 
 Beg. No, sir. 
 
 Horn. Thai's well ; now go. — [Reginella is going, r., but 
 Bomodie stamps ivith his foot, and she comes back.\ You 
 have not seou me — you do not even know that I exist — - 
 you understand ? If you hazard a word, I shall h<;ar it;
 
 eCF.XE 1.] ACTRESS OP PADUA. Sj 
 
 a glance of the ey«, I shall see it ; a j^cstnre — a sign^ — a 
 liioti(jn of the hand — I shall perceive it. — Now go. 
 Brg. Oh, heaven ! is any one to be killed here? 
 Mom. Yes — you, if you speak. 
 
 [Music. — At the si pud from Homode'., Refjinella poes 
 out at the small door near the dressivg-tahle — when 
 she is pone, Homodei approaches the wardrobe, 
 which turns rovnd as before, and discovers to tfte 
 audience a dark passage. 
 SignorRodolfo, you cr u come in now — nine steps to ascend. 
 
 Enter RoDoi.ro, enveloped in a cloak. 
 
 Bod. "Where am I ? 
 
 Horn. Where are yon ? — perhaps on the steps of the 
 Bcaffold. 
 
 Bod. What say you ? 
 
 Horn. Have you never heard tliat there is in Padua a 
 chamber, which, though redolent of flowers, of perfumes, 
 and even perhaps of love, no man can penetrate whoever 
 he be, noble or subject, young or o'.d, but his so entering, 
 or even opening the door, is a crime punihab'e by death. 
 
 Bod. Yes ; the chamber of the wife of the Podesta. 
 
 Horn. Just so. 
 
 Bod. Well? 
 
 Horn. You arc in it. 
 
 Bod. In the room of Angelo's wife ? 
 
 Horn. Yes. 
 
 Bod. Is it she whom I love ? 
 
 Horn. Her name is Catherii e Bragadine, wife of Angclo 
 ilalipieri, chief magistrate of Padua. 
 
 Bod. Is it possible ? — Catherine Bragadine the wife of 
 the Podesta ! 
 
 Horn. If you are afraid, there is yet time to retreat.— 
 Look, the door is o])en. 
 
 Bod. 1 fear not for myself — no I — But for her — [Placing 
 his handon hissuvrd, as if about to draw /?.] — this is endan- 
 gering;: her ! Who are you ? — how can 1 answer for you? 
 
 Hor,i. How can you answer for mc ?. — IM tell you, since 
 you will have it. Eights nights ago, at one hour past mid- 
 night, you were pas ing the piazza of Saint Prodocini, 
 alone — you heard the noise of .-.words and cries of distress, 
 behind the church ; you ran to yield assistance 
 
 Bod. Yes ; and I put to flight three assassins who were 
 attacking one man, who was masked 
 
 Horn. And he le t you without either thanking you or 
 leMingvou his name — He had business that nght that could 
 not betlelayed. — I am that man. — Will you trust me now?
 
 24 AXGKLO, AND THB [acT II. 
 
 Rod. Yes — ves — I'll tru.^t you. [R'p'aciny his sivoi-d.] 
 I was afraid there mi;^ht be treachery towar s hor ; — hut 
 you have made nic easy. You have done more for mo 
 than I for you. I could not have lived much longer with- 
 out seeing Catherine. — ■! saved only your lifj — you have 
 saved my heart — you have >aved my sou'. 
 
 Ho:ii. Will yoa tlien remain ? 
 
 Rod. Will i remain ! — will I remain ; — I trust in you, 
 I tcU you. — Oh ! to see her again — but an hour — a mi- 
 nute. — Where is she ? 
 
 Ho'ii. There — in the oratory. 
 
 Rod. Where shall I see her? 
 
 Horn. Here. 
 
 Rod. AYhen? 
 
 Hoin. Very shortly. 
 
 Rod. Oh, "heaven ! 
 
 Horn. Attend to me. — [Pointing to Angela's chamber.^ 
 That door leads to the bedroom of Aug lo. — He is now 
 asleep, and no one is awake in the pa'ace but the Lady- 
 Catherine and ourselves. As to the way we came in, I 
 cannot contidc to you a sec et that must remain known to 
 mo alone. [Pointing to the window, and langhing.^ That 
 is the only outlet which concerns you, as you are the lover; 
 but I do not advise you to use it — twenty-four feet to the 
 
 bottom, and a river after that. Now I will leave you. 
 
 [Going 
 
 Rod. In a short time you say Catherine will be here ? 
 
 Horn. Yes. 
 
 Rod. Will she come alone ? 
 
 Horn. Perhaps not ; stand out of sight a few minutes. 
 
 Rod. Where? 
 
 Hoyn. Behind the bed ; — or, stop — in the balcony. — You 
 can then discover yourself when you think proper. I think 
 1 heard a chair move in the oratory. — My Lady Catherine 
 comes. — It is time for us to separate. — Adieu! 
 
 Rod. [Xear th-i balconij.'] Whoever you may be, after 
 such a service as this, everything I have is at your com- 
 mand — my fortune, and even my life. 
 
 [He goes into thi balcony, and. disapijears. 
 
 Horn. [Coming to the front.'\ It's no longer your own 
 to dispose of, my friend. 
 
 [_Music. — Homodei looks narrowhj that Rodolfo does 
 not see him, and, taking a letter from his bosom^ 
 places it on the table — he tlien goes out b>j the way 
 through which he entered — tJie ivardrobe turns upon 
 him as /te departg.
 
 iCENK I.] ACrnESS OP PADUA. 25 
 
 Enter CAxriERixE and D.vfnk, by the door o/tfie Oratory. 
 
 Cafh Oh, Dnfiie ! it is all over. — Still, if I could only 
 sic p, I niicrht yet see him in a dream — it is nearly fiva 
 long weeks since I have s?en him — ! shall never see him 
 again ; I'm shut up — guarded — imprison'd. — It's all over— 
 for to penetrate this chamber is death. — -Oh, I would not 
 Eee him here — here ! — I tremble at the thought. — Oh, Ro- 
 dolfo ! — Dafne, tell me the truth — do you think I shall 
 ever sec him again ? 
 
 Daf. (r.) Nay, lady 
 
 Caih. I am not iike other women — pleasures, fetes, 
 diversions, have no charms for me. — For seven years, 
 Dafne, I have had in my heart but one thought, love — but 
 one sentiment, love — and but one name, Kodolfo. Yet 
 mercilessly have I been forced to marry a man to whom I 
 dare not even speak. — Oh, what a Avretchcd fate is mine ! 
 
 Daf. Dismiss these sad thoughts, my lady. 
 
 Cat/i. Oh! the happy hours we have passed together! 
 Is it guilty to speak thus ?— Xo, it cannot be. — Ah ! I see 
 my grief distresses you ; I do not wish to give you paia ; — 
 go — leave me. 
 
 Do/. Shall T, madame ? — do you not need me ? 
 
 Cath. No ; I shall not require your assistance. Good 
 night, Dafne. 
 
 Daf. ilay heaven watch over you, my lady. 
 
 l^Exit Dafne by the Oratory door, r, 
 
 Cath. There was a song he used to sing — he would sing 
 it at ray feet, wi'h a voice so sweet. — \_Rodolfo re-appears 
 at doorway in flat. '[ Oh! there are moments when I so 
 long to sec him ! 
 
 [Rjdo'fo advances^ throivs his cloak on chair at back, 
 and kneels before her — she starts, and evclaiins — 
 You here ! — how came you here? Oh, heavens! — Ro- 
 dolfo, do you know where you arc ? — Do you know that, 
 by coming here, you have placed your life in the utmost 
 jco])ardy. 
 
 Rod. (l.) What care I? I should die if I did not see 
 you ! tiad I not better die for having seen you ? 
 
 Cath. (r.) My life is also in danger ; — but I see you 
 again, and what care I for the rest ! — One horn- with you — 
 and then let the roof fall in, and crush me if it will. 
 
 Rod. But heaven will protect us — every one is asleep 
 m the palace — there is no reason why I should not go out aa 
 I came in. 
 
 Cuth. How did you get in ?
 
 so ANGCLO, AND THB [aCT II. 
 
 Ro'l. By tlie help of a man whose life I saA'cd — T will 
 exiil;;in that, to you another time. — Oh! Ictus think now 
 only of each other. 
 
 [Leads Catlierine to a chaiv, hHngs forward another^ 
 and takes his seat beside her. 
 
 Cifh. You find me much changed, do you not ? For 
 the la^t five weeks I have done nothing but weep. — And 
 you — liow have you passed the time ? — Have you been 
 sad, too'? — wh:it etTect has separation had upon you?— 
 Tell me — speak to me. 
 
 Rod. Oh, Catherine ! to be separated from you is to 
 have a veil over my heart — it is to be without a lamp in 
 a dungeon — without a stnr at night — what I have felt I 
 cannot, deseribc — of what I have done, I am ignorant. 
 
 Cath. And I the same! — Oli ! I sec that though I have 
 been a pri.>oner, and you an exile, our hearts have not 
 been separated ! — 1 have much to tell you — I have been 
 shut up here — not allowed to go out — I have suttcred so 
 much. — But I have no fear now — oh, I'm so happy to see 
 you — tell me, will you be able to come again ? 
 
 Rod. Yes; how could I live without it ? Fear nothing, 
 
 Cath. Wo do not die of joy, Rodolpho ; or I should 
 die now I 
 
 Mod. Dearest Catherine ! 
 
 [He kisses her hand — she turns her head, andperceive$ 
 a letter on table. 
 
 Cath. What is this ? — a letter! did you send me this letter! 
 
 Rod. No ; but it probably belongs to the mau who camo 
 with me. 
 
 Cath. Did a man come with you — who? — let me read? 
 [She opens the letter hurriedly, and reads. \ ' Madame, the 
 minion who revels in your love, has small enjoyment to 
 compare with his who consummates his great revenge.' 
 
 Rod. IMerciful heavens ! what do you say ? 
 
 Cath. I know the hand — it is that of a wretch who pre- 
 sumed to love me, — and dared to tell me so. — He is a mau 
 called Ilomodei, a spy of the Council of Ten. — We are 
 lost — it is all a snare, and we are taken in it. [Goes to 
 the balcony, and looks owf.] Oh, heavens I 
 
 Rod. What is the matter? 
 
 Cath. Quick — extinguish the lights ! 
 
 Rod. What is it ? [Blowing out the lights. 
 
 Cath. I saw a light in the gallery appear and disappear. 
 
 Rod. Unfortunate that I am !— Oh, Catherine, 1 shall 
 lie the cause of your destruction! 
 
 Cath. [Placing her ear agaUut the door at back,^
 
 SCENE I.] ACTRESS OP PADUA. 27 
 
 Silence ! — listen — I think I hear a noise in the corridor.— 
 Yes, some one opens the door — I hear advancing loot- 
 steps I — Which way did you enter? 
 
 Rod. By a concealed door, which that devil has closed 
 upon nie. 
 
 Cath. What's to he done ? 
 
 Rod. This door? [Tnjing door, l. 
 
 Cath. No — no ! — it leads to my hushand's chainbcr. 
 
 Rod. ThcAvindow? [Pointinff to window, B. 
 
 Cath. There is a terr.hle abyss beneath. 
 
 Rod. This door, then ? 
 
 [^Advancing to door of Orafory. 
 Cath. My oratory, whence there is no outlet — no 
 escape. — Still it is the best— enter, or we ai-e lost ! 
 
 [_Opens the door — Rodolfo rushes in, and Catherine 
 shuts the door, takes out the key, and puts it in 
 her bosom, then goes to door at back, and listens. 
 I hear nothing further, — yes — some one comes — they 
 stop— to listen, doubtlessly. — Ah ! I'll pretend to sleep. 
 iTItroivs off her upper garment, and gets on the bed.\ Oh, 
 heavens ! how I tremble ! 
 
 [She closes the bed curtains, and lies down — after a 
 moment's pause, the door at back is seen to open. 
 
 Enter Thisbe, noiselessly, pale and cautious, xvith a lamp 
 in her hand — advancing to table, she examines the lights 
 that have been extinguished, and puts down her lam}). 
 
 Thi£» The lamps still smoke ! [Turns, and sees the bed — . 
 runs to it, and draws the curtains.] She is alone, and pre- 
 tends to be asleep. [Goes round the room, and exa.minea 
 all the doors.^ This is her husband's door. [Puts tlie back 
 of her hand against the Oratory door.'\ There is a door here. 
 
 Cath. [Sits up in bed, and looks at her with astonishment.'\ 
 Who is there ? Who are you ? 
 
 This. [Turning, andlookivg intently at Catheine.~\ WTio 
 is there I — Listen, and I will tell you. — It is the actress 
 of Padua — she whom Angelo would give heaven and earth 
 to make his mistress, who now confronts the wife ot 
 Angelo. 
 
 Cath. Heavens ! [Leaves the bed. 
 
 This. Who am I, indeed, madame ? I am she who 
 holds under her grasp, I tell you, a great lady — a married 
 lady — a lady with bright and reverenced reputation — and 
 I will not easil> leave my hold of her, that she may be 
 assured ! It had been hotter for her that the thunderbolt 
 had fallen on her bead, than that my look had fallen upon 
 c2
 
 28 ANGELO, AND THE [aCT II. 
 
 her countenance ! — Now, madame, tell me — are you not 
 liavdcncd th;it you dai c to raiseyour eyes on me — knowing 
 you liavc a man concealed here. 
 
 C'lith. Madame! \ Both come forward. 
 
 Thin. [^Advancinfi to the chairs, and touching the Imnps.'] 
 j\li, dare not to deny it, — he was here — your places aie 
 still marked by the chairs — the lamps on the table are 
 yet warm ! — Now, by heaven ! false woman, you arc not 
 better than the painted courtezan — you arc not so good — 
 she deceives no one; you deceive all the world ; you de- 
 ceive your family !— you deceive youi' husband ! — ^you 
 would deceive heaven ! 
 
 Cnth. ( ), mercy ! madame ! 
 
 This. [Tmpetiiousli/.J Where is he? 
 
 Cath. Who? 
 
 This. He! 
 
 Cath. I am alone here — I do not know yon — but your 
 words freeze me. — I know nothing I have done against you. 
 
 This. Where's that man ? — I will see him ! 
 
 Cath. What will become of me ? — you are deceived as 
 regards me. — I live retired — isolated — concealed from all 
 eyes. 
 
 This. Are you mad to .<!pcak to me thus, while your 
 manner is palpably that of the trembling culprit ? Come, 
 draw yourself up in simulated indignation — put yourself 
 in a jmssion, if you dare — that is the way to act the inno- 
 cent woman. \ Crosses towards n. v. ^. — Site j)erceives the 
 cloak, and snatches it T<p.] Oh ! it's too late now — here is 
 his cloak I 
 
 Cath. Heavens ! 
 
 This. [Tauntinffli/.'] No — it's not a cloak — is it? not a 
 
 man's cloak? — there is no saving exactly who's it is 
 
 [Pointing to door of Oratori/.^ That is ^ our oi'atorj", you 
 eav. — Well, open it for me. 
 
 'Guh. Why? 
 
 This. [^Laconical/i/.l I wish to pray — as you pray ;— 
 ©pen it. 
 
 Cath. I have not the key. 
 
 Thi.". [FierceJi/.'] Open it. 
 
 Cath. I don't know where the key is. 
 
 This. Perhaps your husband has It — [Ca?fo.J Angelo— 
 Angelo — Angelo ! — 
 
 l^Runs to the door at front, t. — Catherine throws her^ 
 self before it, and keeps her hack. 
 
 Cath. Not this door — no — you must not — I have dono 
 nothing to you; have pity on mc — stop but a moment—
 
 SCENE 1.] "ACTRESS OF PADUA. 29 
 
 I will explain — I have been so confused — so frightened— 
 and then your words — but you'll have pity — you look too 
 - kind to be wicked. — I tell you he is a wretch who has 
 done this — a spy ; do not wake my husband ; ho would 
 kill nic — I am not guilty — I have perhaps been impi udcnt, 
 but I have no friends — no mother to counsel and protect 
 me. — Pity mc ; go not to that door — I implore you — I 
 entreat von. 
 
 Tins. I'll hear no more — Angelo! — Angclo! [Crosses, l. 
 Cath. Stay, ibr heaven's sake ! — grant me an instant — . 
 only an instant to say my prayers— I will not quit this 
 spot — I will kneel down here — [Pointing to the dressing- 
 glass, on which the crucifix is suspended.} — before this 
 crucifix. [Thisbe turns, and is instantly transfixed ivith 
 astonishment, on recognising the crucifi,x.\ Stop, for mercy's 
 sake — pray at my side, will you? and then, if you can, 
 take my life ! — 
 
 This. \Rushing to the table, and snatching up the cruci- 
 fix.'] What crucifix is this? — Tell me, where did it come 
 from ? — where did you get it ? — who gave it you ? 
 
 Cath. Do not disturb me with idle questions at such a 
 time as this. 
 
 Tliis. How came it in to your possession? — speak quickly 
 \^Takes it to the lamp at table, and examines if. 
 Cath. [Folloxmng her.~\ I had it from a woman. I did 
 not know her ; but her name is on it — Thisbe, I think — 
 she was a poor creature they were going to kill — I begged 
 her life — it was my father who had condemedhar, and he 
 granted it. I was but a child then, but the woman insisted 
 on giving me that crucifix— she said that at some period 
 it would do me service. — But why these questions ? — Oh, 
 I am faint ! 
 
 •• This. [Aside, with great emotion.'] Heavens! my mother. 
 \She buries her face in her hands, and recedes to back 
 ' of stage — The door leading to Angela's apartment 
 
 opens, and he appears in his dressing-gown. 
 Cath. J Coming to the front.'] My husband! — I am lost! 
 Ang. [Without seeing Thisbe, who remains near the bal~ 
 cony.] What is the meaning of this, madame ? I thought 
 I heard a noiso in \ our apartment. 
 Cath. Sir ! _ " 
 Ang. How is it you are not asleep at this hour? 
 
 Cath. [Hesitatingly.] It is — that 
 
 Ang. Madame, you are trembling — there is some one 
 with you. 
 
 This. [Advancing, c] Yes, ^'\r — it is I ■ . 
 e3
 
 00 ANGKLO, AND THK [jlCT U. 
 
 Anff. You, ThJsbe ! 
 
 T/iis Yes— Thisbc. 
 
 A»(/. What brings you out at so late an hour of tho 
 Hi,.)!! ? — liow is it you are here? — and Madame 
 
 I'hia. Why is she trembling, you would ask ? — I -will 
 tcU you. — Listen — it most deeply concei'ns you. 
 
 Cath. (r.) l^Aside, in agony.J Now all is over ! 
 
 This. You were to have been assassinated to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 Aii^q. I ? 
 
 Cciih. In passing from your palace to mine, you gene- 
 rally go alone ; you were to be waylaid and stabbed ; I 
 received an intimation of it this very niglit, and I came 
 in haste to warn your lady against letting you go out to- 
 morrow — that is why I am here so late — that is why your 
 lady is trembling. 
 
 Cath. l^Aside.^ Great heaven ! who can this woman be ? 
 
 Anff. is it possible ? — Well — I'm not surprised — you see 
 
 1 spoiic the truth when I told you of the dangers that 
 encircle me — but how did you get tliis warning ? 
 
 This. From an unl^nown man, who made me, before he 
 woukl divulge liis secret, promise I would allow liim to 
 escape — I have kept my promise. 
 
 Auff. You have done wrong — you were right to promise, 
 but you should have afterwards arrested him. — How did 
 you get into the palace ? 
 
 This. Tlic man I have spoken of found means to open 
 a small door near the bridge Molino. 
 
 A)i(j. How did you penetrate thus far ? 
 
 2'Ais. With that key which you gave me yourself. 
 
 Anff. I don't think I told you it opened the door of thia 
 room. 
 
 2V(/5. Yes, indeed you did ; — you must have forgotten it. 
 
 A)iff. [^Perceiving the cloak.'] What cloak is that? 
 
 I'his. [Fumed, but quickly recovering herself.] It is a 
 cloak the man lent me, to facilitate my passing the outer 
 gates of the palace. — I had also a hat, but 1 don't know 
 wliat I've done witli it. 
 
 Am/. What a life is mine ! — ever surrounded by dan- 
 ger. — But tell me, Thisbe 
 
 This. Oil, put off all questions till to-movrow, I entreat — 
 your life is saved for to-night — you ought to be satisfied— 
 you liavc only now to thank your lady and me. 
 
 Anff. Pardon, Thisbc. 
 
 IViis. My conveyance is waiting for mc below — ^you will 
 escort mc — Ivt us leave ^ladamc to her repose
 
 6CENE 5.] AcrrnESS OV PADtTA. 31 
 
 A ng. I am at your service ^ but fii-st I must go to my 
 room for my sword — it is necessary I sliouid arm myselt 
 
 \^E,vlt at door, b, 
 T/iis. l^Takes Catherine ■a^vfl<i:'\ Let him escape — quick — • 
 by the way 1 came — there's tlic cioak — \^Poi»tiii^ to it, and 
 placing i/i-e small ketj in Catluiroie's hand. \ — and there's 
 the key, \C<tthenne</oestoi>MrdsOratori^.^ Oil! that door— 
 oh ! what I suffer — but i don't know yet to a certainty 
 that it is he. 
 
 Ang. [Retxirmng through doorxvay, l., crossing over to r., 
 €Vid addressing ThisieJ] Madame, I'm waiting for you. 
 [Music. — Angdo takes Thisbe by the hand, and leads 
 h<:r off through balcony — -Cat /serine /alls on, lier 
 kne«s, as the Curtain falls. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1.— Catherine's Chamber (as before)~The Cur- 
 
 taijis of the Canopy that encircle tlie Bed closely drawn. 
 
 Enter Angelo, and two Priests, at d. f. 
 
 Ang. (c.) \^To\st Priest. 1 You, sir, chief of the convent 
 of Saint Antony, cause tlic nave, the choir, and the altar 
 of your chapel to be hung with black — In two hours — 
 mark me, in two liours — you will perform the funeral 
 service for the soul of an illustrious personage, who will 
 require tlie ritual at that time ; you will light three hundred 
 torches of l)lack wax, as you do at tlie obsequies of queens ; 
 you will place on the black draperies no other ornaments 
 but the arms of Malipieri and tliose of Bragadine. 
 
 \st Prie.-!t. Your orders shall be attended to. [^Going. 
 
 Ang. Stay — you will descend immediately, with all your 
 clergy, the cross and banner at your head, into the vault 
 of the Ducal Palace, where the tombs are situated. One 
 of them has been opencil — a grave has been dug — you 
 will consecrate that grave. Lose no time. — You will 
 also pray for me. 
 
 lit Priest. Is it any of your family, sire, that is dead ? 
 
 Aug. Go. \_The Priest bows low, and e.vit at u. f. — Tlie 
 other Priest is following — Angelo stops hiin.^ You, sir, 
 remain ; — tlicre is in that oratory a person who wishes to 
 confess to you. 
 
 2ud Priest. A condemned man, signor ?
 
 S2 ANGELO, AND THE [acT IIU 
 
 Ang. A woman. 
 
 2nd Priest. Must I picpnrc her for death? 
 
 Aiiff. Yes ; I will my.'-elf lead j'ou to licr. 
 
 Enter Officer, from door at back. 
 Offi. Your Excellency ordered the attendance of the 
 lady Thi.sbe ; — she is here. ( Exit, l. u. f. — Angela opens 
 the Oratory, n., and motions ilie Priest to enter — stopj/mg 
 him at the doorway.^ llcmcmher, sir — on your life, when 
 you depart hence, take care never to divulge the name of 
 the woman yon are about to see. 
 
 \^Angelo and Priest enter Oratory — door in fiat opens. 
 
 Re-enter Officer, conducting Thisbe, d. f. 
 
 This. \_To Officer. \ Do you know who wants me? 
 
 Offi. Mo, nradame. [A'r?Y, l. d. f. 
 
 Ikis. Oh ! this room — and that door ; it affects mo 
 strangely to sec that door again — he was behind that 
 door. — Am I sure tliat it was he ? Oh ! if I were sure 
 Kodolfo was the lover, i would destroy him. \^Pau!iing.\ 
 JS'o — I would kill myself — yes; when I am once ceriuin 
 that Kodolfo loves another, I shall have nothing left to 
 live for — yes, I will die! — but, without revenge! — and 
 ■why not ? — Kodoli'o — Catherine — if it be he, what shall 1 
 do ! — Oh ! wliat shall 1 do V — which of us shall die — they, 
 or I r 
 
 Re-enter Ancklo, from Oratory. 
 
 You have sent tor me, I believe ? 
 
 Ang. Yes, Tliisbe ; 1 have something of the greatest 
 importance to say to you ; — I told you that every day of 
 my lite I was in tlanger, and that treason chilly renders 
 it necessary for me to sti'iko at others, in order to a\ ert 
 the jjoiut of the dagger from my own bosom. — My most 
 private chambers are no sanctuary from treason ! — lu one 
 word, my wife is false — she has a lover. 
 
 This. \_Eagerly.\ What is his name V 
 
 Aug lie is the same that was with her, the night we 
 Wert HI her chamber. 
 
 This. His name? 
 
 Ang. I'll tell you. — I found it out through a man — a 
 spy ut the Council of Ten, who was found stabl)ed, this morn- 
 ing, by the river's side— two of the night-watch picked him 
 up, — but whether it was a duel or a i)lann(id thing, no one 
 knows ; he pronounced Init a tew words, and died. — At 
 the moment of his being struck, he had, however, the pre- 
 sence of mind, to keep in his possession a letter, which he
 
 BCKNE I.] ACTRESS OF PADUA. 8S 
 
 l'"fl doubtless intercepted, and which Avas hrought to me 
 , In- the man who found him ; it was a letter written to my 
 wife, liy her lover. 
 
 T/tis. What is his name ? 
 
 Anr/. The letter had no signature. — You ask me tho 
 lovei''s name — that is what I cannot discover. — The man 
 who was assassinated mentioned it to the nij>ht-wateh, 
 but the fools have forgotten it — at any rate, they cannot 
 agree as to what it is ; — one says Koderigo — the other 
 Eandolfo. 
 
 TMi;. And the letter — have j'ou got it ? 
 
 Aiiff. [Feeling in, his breast.^ I have ! — ^jou may know 
 ilic writing. 
 
 This. Give it me. 
 
 Auff. [Holding/ the letter in his hand.'] I thought no man 
 could dare to raise his eyes towards tlie wife of a Mali- 
 pieri. — Yet some one has dared to stain tlic golden book 
 of Venice in its fairest page, the page whereon nw name 
 •was written — the name of Malipicri. — There is a man 
 has been into this cliamber — perhaps has walked where I 
 now stand — the wretch lias written this letter, and I can- 
 not seize him — I cannot have his blood ! Oh ! if I could 
 but learn who v/rote this letter, I would give the sword 
 of my father, ten years of my life, and this good name, 
 to be revenged. [Crosses, b. 
 
 Thie. But show me the letter. 
 
 Anff. [Letting her take it.\ There it is. 
 
 Tliis. [Looking at it.'] It is Rodolfo ! [^Aside. 
 
 Ang. Do you know the writing? 
 
 This. Let me read it. [Reads.] "My beloved Catherine 
 you see that lieaven protects us — nothing but a miracle 
 saved us last night, from your husband and that woman." 
 That Avoman 1 — [Conl.inues.] " Catlierinc, I love you ; you 
 are tlie only woman I ever loved. — Fear not for me — I am 
 in safety." 
 
 Ang. Well— do you know the writing? 
 
 This. [Returning letter.] I cannot say who who wrote 
 it, sir. [Witli assumed calmness. 
 
 This. You do not know? Avhat think yon of it? — It is 
 probably (vcv: <ine who has recently arrived in Padiin. — 
 It is tlie hir.guagc of a former lover. — AVhat do you advise 
 nie, Tliisbe ? 
 
 2'his. I know not what to advise. 
 
 Ang. I liave givci-. orders that no one shall enter the palace 
 to-day, liiu yoii'..-.cirand your brother. — All others arc to 
 be arrested, ^m^ 'jrought before mc. — I shall interrogate
 
 34 A>GELO, AND nrB lAC.T in. 
 
 thcrii s'mi^ly, face to face. — Part of my vengeance I liav© 
 alroiiily secured. 
 
 This. What is it? 
 
 A»i/. The dciUli of my wife. 
 
 T/i'it: Yom- wife? 
 
 Aiifj. All is ready — witliin at? hour Catherine Bragadine 
 trill lie Dcheadcd, as she deserves. 
 
 T/ii.^. Ik'iK'iulcd y 
 
 jiii;/. In this ehainhcr, 
 
 T/iin. Ill this chamber? 
 
 Aruf. Listen. — Her l>cd shall be changed irito her tomb; 
 I have decided — I liavc decided too eooUy for any one to 
 interfere with my resnlvo — no prayer could e.Ktinguish 
 my rage. — My better feelings, if weak heartedness can 
 be. called a Iwtter feeling, have interceded i\>v her, but I 
 have cast th(>ia aside. — Thisbe ! 1 liate this woman, and 
 married her but for her -vvealth. — Yet I would not harm 
 )ier, but that she la guilty. — .Slic must die : it is a necessity, 
 a resolution taken, anil she must die. 
 
 T/iis. Docs the goveniment of Venice permit yon to do 
 this V 
 
 Aih/. I am all powerful to punish, though not to pardon. 
 
 This. But your wife's family ? 
 
 Anr/. AVill thank me. 
 
 This. Your resolution is taken, yon say ? She must 
 die ! l^A/ter a pattse, jyassed in meditatiov.'] Well, I 
 approve ; but, since all is yet secret — since no name has 
 been pronounced, yon would no't stain the palace with 
 blood, or make tlic affair public. — The executioner is a 
 ■witness — a witness is dangerous. Would it not be better 
 to give her prison ? 
 
 Aug. You are right, poison would be better — but it must 
 be- sure and quick — and I have no poisoiu 
 
 T/,/.--. 15nt 1 have. 
 
 Ati<). \\'iiercV what poison ? 
 
 Tltia. In the bc\x sent nie by the Primate of St. Mart. 
 
 An[i. Oh, ye.'r; you told me so. — It is a sure and quick 
 poison — well, you're right — I'm glad you tiionght of it f 
 it is much better. — Listen, Tiiisbe ; — I have every confi- 
 dence in you — you un<lerstand that what I an> now eom- 
 ])ellcd to do is j\isiilible \ I do but avenge my honour.— 
 Will vou .aid me 'i 
 
 Thl<. Yes. 
 
 Avri. Her grave is dug — a service is about to be )icr- 
 formed — but no one knows for whom — I will have the 
 body conveyed away in secret^ by my emissaries — Q,ack, 
 tJu: peisou.
 
 eCENE l] ACCRESS OF PADUA. 35 
 
 Thig. No one but myself knows where it is ; — I will 
 myself fetch it. 
 
 Auff. Go — I will wait for you. 
 
 [Eicit Tliisbe, d. f. — The Oratory door opens — TJi« 
 Priest comes out tuith downcast eyes, his arms 
 crossed on his breast — he traverses the room sloivly 
 —as he is going out at the door at the end, An- 
 gela stops him. 
 Is slie ready ? 
 
 2nd Priest. [Sighing, and bowing in apparent awe and 
 horror.'\ Yes, signer. 
 
 \Exit Priest, l.u.e. — Catherine appears at Oratory door. 
 
 Enter Cathebinb. 
 
 Cath. Ready for what ? 
 
 Ang. To die. 
 
 Cath. Die! Is it, then, true? — can it be possible? — 
 Oil, I cannot bring myself to believe it. — To die ! — No ! 
 I am not ready. 
 
 Ang. Does your courage fail you, madamc ? 
 
 Cath. To die thus suddenly ! but I have done nothing 
 to merit death. — Grant me but a day — no, not a day — for 
 I feel I should not have more courage to-morrow. — Spare 
 my life — immui-e me in a convent — but, oh ! spare my life ! 
 
 Ang. I can spare it, as I have already told you,on one 
 condition. 
 
 Cath. What ? — I do not remember. 
 
 Ang. Who wrote that letter ? Tell me — name the 
 man — yield him to my vengeance. [Showitig letter 
 
 Cath. [Wringing her hands.Jj Oh, heavens ! 
 
 Ang. If you deliver him up, you shall live — the scaffold 
 for him, and the convent for you. — I wish to be merciful 
 to you, madame. 
 
 Enter Thisbe, k. d. f. 
 
 Cath. [Aside.\ What woman is that ? 'Tis the one of 
 last night. 
 Ang. Have you reflected, madamc ? 
 Cath. Yes, signor. 
 
 Ang. Have you decided to deliver him up? 
 C'tth. I liavc not for a moment thought of it. 
 This. [Aside.] You are a good and courageous woman ! 
 [Angela makes a sign to Thisbe, ivho gives him a vi<U 
 ^- of silver — he places it on the table, 
 
 Ang. Then you will drink this ? 
 .CfUA. 'Tis poisoo I
 
 S6 ANGELO, AND THE- [iCT III. 
 
 Auff. Yes, niadamc. 
 
 C</c/(. Great Heaven ! you will one day jndgc this 
 man V — I ask pardon lor him.— [To Thisbe.'] You arc a 
 wrctfh ! — yon conic coldly with poison in your IihikIs.^ 
 [^To Anrjelo.^ I, guilty? — no, I am not ; — but I will not 
 condescend to justify myself. — Yon married me for my 
 money — bceausc 1 was rich — and how have I passed my 
 life with you these five years V — Yon never loved me, but 
 yet were jealous — you have iniprison'd mc — you havty 
 had your mistresses — that is allowed you — every thing 
 is allowed to man ! — You liavc been always harsh to me, 
 uever even greeting mc with a kind word. — Yes, sir — I 
 confess I loved, before I knew you, a man whom I stiil 
 love — you will kill me for that — you arc fortunate in 
 liaving a letter — a scrap of paper for a pretext. — You 
 judge me, you condemn me, and you execute me, in the 
 dark — in secret — by poison. — You have the power ; — but 
 it is the act of a coward. 
 
 Aty/. Have a care 
 
 Oxth. [To Thixbe.] And you — who are yon ? — you aio 
 interested in destroying me ; you have been a spy upon 
 mc ; you think you have taken me in the fault, and yoir 
 place your foot upon my head. — You assist my husband 
 in this abominable act. — Why arc you here? — To exult 
 over my destruction ? 
 
 A»fj. \^Sei::i)ig her arm, and offering the poison^ Come, 
 madame, no more delay. 
 
 Cath. Well, I will do wliat you command \Puts her 
 hand towards the botile.l^ since it must be so. [^Recoila.^ 
 Ko, it is too horrible- — 1 will not — I cannot. — Think of it 
 once more, while there is yet time — ^you that are all 
 powerful — reflect — a woman — alone, aliandoned, weak^ 
 defenceless — no parent — no family — no friend — no help;— 
 to assassinate her — to poison her, miserably, in a corner 
 of her house !— My mother ! my motlier ! my mother ! 
 
 This, (l.) Poor woman ! 
 
 Cath. (c.) 'Poorwoman'— you then do pity me, madame? 
 Oh, yes ; allow yourself to relent — let me explain to you — 
 tell you all. — You will speak to my husband afterwards — . 
 you will tell him how horrible is the thing he would do.— 
 As for me, it is natural for me to say so ; but if you say 
 so too, it will have some effect. — Sometimes, a word from an 
 indifl'ercnt person brings a anan back to reason. — If I 
 offended you just now, pardon me, madame — I have dono 
 you no harm — no real harm. — I have ahvays been loyal — 
 you undoi stand mc, I sec — but I cannot say this to my
 
 BCEX2I.] ACTRESS OF PADTTA. 37 
 
 husband — men will never believe us, you know, — Oh, 
 madame ! don't tell me to have conmgc, I entreat you^ 
 ou.sht I to have courage ? — I am not ashamed to be a 
 weak A'oman, in need of your pity. 
 
 Ang. Catherine Bra!i:adinc, your crime calls for punish- 
 ment — you must die. [Arjabi offering poison.^ Will you, 
 or will you not take this, madame ? 
 
 Cath. l^Crossiiig, r.] No ! 
 
 Ang. No ! — Then I return to my first intent. — The 
 executioner ! the executioner ! 
 
 V IRitshes out violenthj by the door, i.. d. f., and shuts it. 
 -This. [Advancing hurnedbj, taking Catherine by the 
 arm, and addressing her in an tinder-tone. ] Listen — 
 quick ; — we have but a moment. — Since it is you that he 
 loves, I must yield me to my destiny. — Do as you are 
 required, or you are lost — I can't explain more fully. — 
 But of this be assured : the vial, although so labelled, is 
 not poison, but merely a sleeping-draugl.t. Take it, and 
 rely on my after care of you. Just now, the words ' poor 
 woman !' escaped me, and you repeated them aloud— such 
 folly, if repeated, will make the Podcsta suspicious ofmc — 
 I dare not say more. — There is in this room one unhappy 
 woman that must die — but it is not you. — Is that sufficient ? 
 
 Cath. I will do as you desire, madame. 
 
 This. That's well — I hear him returning. [Thisbe throws 
 herself be/ore the door at the moment it is opened.^ Alone — 
 alone — come in alone ! — She is resigned to the poison. 
 
 Aug. Then give it to her. 
 
 ^He places the vial in the hand of TJiisbe, who passes 
 it to Cathei-ine. 
 
 Cath. (c.) [Taking the vial — To Tliisbe.'] I know of 
 your intimacy with my husband. — If your secret thought is 
 to take my place, you are wrong to envy it. — This is aa 
 abominable act, and though it is hard to die at my age- 
 yet I would rather do so than change conditions with you. 
 [Shedrinks. — Thisbe gets round to ^.^ Oh! the liquid freezes 
 vay blood. [Looks fixedly on Angelo.^ Now, murderer ! 
 are you satistied ? — I feel that I am dying — yes — you are 
 my destroying devil, as I will presently tell the Creator 
 of ds all — I have loved, but I have never violated my 
 nuptial vows ! — I feel my senses fail me. — [Thisbe makes 
 an effort to place a chair for Aer.] No — not that chair- 
 do not touch rae.] She falters towards her Oratory."] I wish 
 to die upon my knees — before the altar there ; — to die 
 alone — in tranquility. [Having, by this time, reached the 
 door, she leans against the door-post.^ I have lived ia 
 P
 
 Ha ANGBLO, AND TUB [aCT IT. 
 
 polity, and I wish to dio in prayer ! 
 
 IMtii, staggervig into Oratory, at Curtain faUt, 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A handsomely furnished and carpeted Apart' 
 ntent, with Bed in Recess at back, screened from view by 
 Curtai)is — Door on b. of Recess — Dressing-table, n. — 
 Hand-mirror on do. — Chairs, Tables, ^c, on which are 
 tcaitered TIceatrical Dresses, Masks, Manuscripts, ^'C. 
 
 This. [Solus, seated at table, c.J Oh, wliat are stage 
 exhibitions compared with the rcahtics of life ! Scarcely 
 could Angclo have supposed the life-blood of his victim — 
 his wedded wife— to have cooled in her veins — or her heart 
 to have perfonned its last vibration, ere he had ordered 
 her instant, unattended, unblessed burial, in agrave already 
 made in the dark vaults of his unhallowed habitation ! — 
 Tiiere she would indeed have perished, but for the actress's 
 gold ; — for two hundred sequins, the meixenaries have 
 contrived to bear her hither. \^Takes hand-mirror from 
 table — draws the curtains, and discovers bed, on which 
 Catherine is laid, with the brass crucifix on her breast — 
 holds the mirror over her mouth, and, after examining it, 
 says — ^1 Thank heaven, she breathes ! [Takes up crucifix.^ 
 Oh ! if this crucifix has brought happiness to any one, that 
 «ne is not your child, my mother ! 
 
 [Closes the curtains, comes forward, and lays tlie cri*« 
 cijix on the table. 
 
 Enter Page, b. 
 
 Page. Tavo men, night watchers, ask for admittance. 
 This. Desire them to come in. [Exit Page, l. s. e. 
 
 Enter two Watchers of the Night, l. s. e. 
 
 This. You are sure that no one saw you pass from tho 
 palace hither? 
 
 1st Watcher. Quite, Madame. The night is densely 
 dark — the town is deserted — we have not met a soul ou 
 our way. We have put the coffin into the grave, and havo 
 covered it with the stone, as ordered by the Podesta. Fear 
 Dotbiug. We know not whether the voiuaa be dead at
 
 SCKNR I.] ACTHKSS OF PADUA. 3^ 
 
 not, but it is certain that Ave have made believe to bury 
 her, and you can now do as vou like -with her. 
 
 Thh. Tliat is well !—[ To" Pa^e.] Where is the mala 
 -attire I bade you to have ready. 
 
 Page. [Pointing to parcl on tabh.'\ Tliere, Madame. 
 
 Tliis. And the two horses — arc tlicy in readiness ? 
 
 Page. They are in the foreconrt, saddled and bridled. 
 
 This, f To Night Watcher.] How long does it take, with 
 a good horse, to get out of the Venetian states ? 
 
 1st Watcher. According to circumstances. Not above 
 three liours, in fine weather. 
 
 This. That is sufficient. — Now go. — Be silent about all 
 this, and come to-morrow morning to receive your pro- 
 mised reward. [Exeunt Night Watchers, l. u. e.] Now, 
 [To Page.] go and close the outer doors, and find some 
 excuse for letting no one in. 
 
 Page. The Signer Rodolfo, Madame — is he also to be 
 excluded ? 
 
 This. No, let him pass — no one else. — Take care that 
 not another living being pass in here ; and, above all, 
 ■when Rodolfo has arrived, be you in readiness to enter 
 ■when I call. — For the present, leave me. [Exit Page, n.'] 
 I think it will not be long ere she awakes. — She was loath 
 to die — no ■wonder — 1 can now understand why : she loves, 
 and has her love returned. — My head bums — it is three 
 nights since I have slept ; but to-night I ■\vill sleep. [Con- 
 templates the stage dresses scattered around.] Oh yes, ■we 
 actresses are a happy race — ■we arc so admired, so flat- 
 tered. Nightly, we have flowers cast at our feet — how 
 then can we have hearts bleeding within us ! — Oh, Ro- 
 dolfo, Rodolfo, to believe that you loved me was the one 
 idea on which I existed. I have often thought I should 
 like to die near him — to die in such a way that he could 
 never tear my remembrance from his soul, but that my 
 shadow should for ever be at his side, standing between 
 him and all womankind. — To die is nothing — but awful 
 it is to be forgotten by the one loved before all the world! — 
 Oh, Rodolfo, sec to what I am fivUen — sec what love has 
 done for nie ! 
 
 [Greatli/ agitated — after a pause, sJiestartsas if hearing 
 footsteps, and turns round. 
 
 Enter Rodolfo, /ro/?i door in panel of flat. 
 
 Is it you, Rodolfo ? — So much the better. — I have some- 
 thing to say to you — Listen! 
 
 d2
 
 4(1' ANGELO, AND THE [ACT IV. 
 
 Rod. And I have something to say to you i — eo listen 
 you, Madame 
 
 Thh. Itodolfo! 
 
 Rod. Are you alone, Madame ? 
 
 This. I am alone. 
 
 Rod. Give orders that no one enter. 
 
 This. I have already done so. 
 
 Rod. Let me be sure that all the doors are fast. 
 
 \^Passes round and examines them. 
 
 This. \ Anxiously.'] I wait for M'liat you have to say tome. 
 
 Rod. [Advancing close to Thisbe, and scrutinizing her 
 face ivith ill-svppressed venffeance.] Whence have youi 
 come? — why are you pale? — what have you been doino;? — 
 Tell me — what have those hands done ? Tell me — how 
 have you passed eaeh of the hours of the last execrable 
 day ? — Tell mc — no, you need not tell me — I will tell 
 you. — Don't answer — don't denj' — don't invent — don't 
 lie ! — I know all — I know all, I tell you, — you shall see 
 that I know all ! — Dafne, who was within a few paces of 
 you, has told me all. She was separated from you by one 
 door onl)'. — In tiie oratory — she was there — at your very 
 side — she heard j'ou — she saw you — I'll tell you tlie very 
 words that passed. Angclo said, 'I liave no poison ;' you 
 replied,' — ' But I have — I have — I have !' Did you not 
 say so ? — Yes or no ? — Oh ! you had poison, had you !— 
 Well, Madame, and I have a dagger ! 
 
 [^Drawing a dagger from his vest* 
 
 This. Rodolfo ! 
 
 Rod. You hare bttt a few moments for preparation, 
 Madame ! 
 
 This. Ah ! you would kill me ! — You would kill me 
 without even listening to me ! — For the love of another, 
 you would kill me ! — Oh, Rodolfo, it is then true — tell mo 
 from your own mouth — you have never loved me ? 
 
 Rod. Never! 
 
 This. That word has killed me ! — your d igger can but 
 shorten the pangs of dying ! — But tell me, did you love 
 her?— 
 
 Rod. Did I love her ? — Oh, she was a being pure, chaste, 
 and holy — that woman was my altar, my life, my blood, 
 my fondest thouglit, my consolation, the light of my 
 eyes. — Let that tell you whether I loved her ! 
 
 This. Then I have done well ! ICrossinff, h. 
 
 Rod. Done well ! 
 
 This. [Returning.'] Yes, I have done well; — but yon, 
 know not what I have donel
 
 SCENE I. ] ACTHESS OF PADTTA. 41 
 
 Rod. Too well I kjiow ! — Wh t Dafne has tcild me still 
 rings in my ears. There were but three in the chamber- 
 she, her husban.l, and yourself. For two long hours you 
 kept her there, weeping, praying, asking pardon, begging 
 for her life on lier knees ; — but all in vain ! — It Avas you — ■ 
 Thi.she — who made her drink the poison ! — Angelo went 
 out to fetch the executioner, and you then said to lier, in 
 a whisper, some terrible things, Avhicli made her swallow 
 the deadly ])otion ! — Madame, \^Drawhig a handkerchief 
 f)-om his breast.'\ this handkerchief, found in Catherine's 
 chamber, is yours! — and [Pointing to the crucijix.'\ that 
 cinicifix was hers ! — I know them both ! — Come — pray, 
 weep, cry, ask pardon — do quickly what you have to do. 
 This. Kodollo ! 
 
 Rod. Say what you have to say, quick — speak at once ! 
 [^Raising the dagger as if to strike. 
 Tliis. It is all tme ; and what I have done 1 would do 
 again ! — Strike ! 
 
 l_RodoIfo is about to strike her, but falters — his arm 
 drops — Thisbe catches the hand in luhich he has 
 the dagger and stabs herself — Rouolfo stands 
 aghast — Thisbe staggers to a chair, and then sup- 
 ports herself by the back of it 
 [After a 2x^86.1 Your arrival was opportune, for I had 
 determined to die ! — I shall now die near you — at your 
 feet — perhaps in your arms. At least, you will hear my 
 last woi'ds —you will receive my last breath — my parting 
 benediction! Listen for a moment ; — what I have now 
 to say are not mere word--, but the overflowing of a bursting 
 heart. As a child, I was a beggar — at sixteen years of 
 age, I liad achieved the v/orld's idolatry, and, as a conse- 
 quence, worldly wealth was heaped upon me, — yet stdl 
 was I poor — I yearned after a heart that could understand 
 me, an. I wouldlove me. — I thought I had found it in you ! — ■ 
 Oh, Eodolfo, h»w much the poor creature who now speaks 
 to you has loved you, you will find, when I am dead. I 
 have made your look my life, your smile my joy, your 
 breath my soul. I have lived on the one idea that you 
 loved me ! All is now explained, and 1 have nothing 
 left to live for. [^Slnks tofl(.>or, and appears to be expiring. 
 Rod. [^Calling.] Help, help ! 
 
 Enter Page, hurriedly, l. 
 
 Page. {Rushing up to Thisbe.^ Ah me, who has done 
 ibis deed ? 
 
 This. I myself — no one else has done it.[^l bell is toUfid
 
 
 if 
 
 45! ANGELO, AND THE [aCT fV. 
 
 and continues to he tolled at intervals, till the conclusion oj 
 the di'ama.li What means that knell ? 
 
 Far/e. My lady, the Podesta is dead! — That bell an- 
 nounces tlic event to the citizens of Padua. 
 
 I'/iis. The Podesta dead, said you ? 
 
 Pafle. Yes, Madame; he has but just be«n discovered 
 dead in his bed. From a vial found by his bedside, labelled 
 ns a sleeping-draught, it is concluded he has drank the 
 contents, and that to him they have brought eternal sleep; — 
 for the i)hysicians declare that he has been dead for some 
 hours, and that the bottle has contained a most deadly 
 poison ? 
 
 This. [^Partially raising herself.'] Oli, horror ! I see it 
 all. I left the casket and bottles in his room, and, in the 
 hope of soothinghis unquiet mind with a sleeping-draught, 
 he has taken the poison he intended for his wife ! 
 
 {Catherine's voice heard behind the curtain of recess, c. 
 
 Ca'h. Where am I?— Rodolfo! 
 
 Rod. [Startin(/.~] What do I hear? — what voice is that? 
 l^Turns round and sees the ivhite figure of Catherine, 
 who enters through the curtains. 
 
 Calh. Rodolfo! 
 
 Hod. \Running to Jier, and bringing herfbrtvard in hit 
 arms.} Catherine! Great Heaven, you here, and alive' 
 How is this ? — By whom have you been saved ? 
 
 [^Catherine points to Thisbe. 
 
 This. By me — for you ! 
 
 Rod. Oh ! what have I done ! — Help, help — wretch that 
 I am ! 
 
 This. [Faintli/.l No, all help is useless — I feel it. Give 
 yourselves up to joy as if I were not here — I do not wish 
 you to lament. I deceived Angclo by giving Catherine 
 a sleeping-draugltt instead of the poison. Every one 
 thought her dead, while she did but sleep, and he who 
 thought but to sleep will wake no more ! —You are now 
 both free — be happy. 
 
 IShe makes an effort to join their hands, but is too 
 feeble — Catherine and Rodolfo fall on their kneeg, 
 fixing their eyes on the expiring Thisbe. 
 I am dying ! — you will sometimes think of mc, will you 
 not? — You will sometimes bless my memory. Farewell, 
 Madame — let me once more call him my llodolfo — fare- 
 well, my llodolfo ! — I die ! — Live and be happy. 
 
 \_She expires as the Curtain slowly descends and thi 
 bell again tolls.
 
 THE ^ »BRARY 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRAPv ri':".''"' 
 
 ill nil 
 
 A A 001 426 829 6