Venoni. (furious) Mercy? had you mercy upon me?
Pri. Venoni! follow me this instant! I command you!
Venoni. (violently but firmly) Tomorrow I will obey you; today I am still free! (to Hortensia) Answer, or— (turning suddenly to the marquis, while he releases Hortensia, who throws herself on a couch, and weeps) You know it well, my father, she was inexorable! you, you pitied me; but your wife saw my anguish, and her eye was still dry, and her heart was still marble! she opposed your granting me permission to see Josepha; she even insisted on your resuming that permission; but I rushed from her presence—I hastened to Messina—to the Ursuline convent—as I approached it, the death-bell tolled! the sound echoed to the very bottom of my soul, every stroke seemed to fall upon my heart! I trembled, my blood ran cold— (in a faltering voice) “who is dead?” (with a loud burst of agony) She, she! your daughter; my betrothed! my brain whirled round and round—I rushed into the chapel—a bier—a coffin—it inclosed your daughter! my betrothed, my happiness, my life! I sprang towards it—I extended my arms to clasp it, what followed I know not; I was at peace, I was happy, I had ceased to feel: but oh! the barbarians, they restored me to sense, and twas only to the sense of misery! (he falls weeping upon the viceroy’s neck)
Hor. Every word he utters—seems a dagger to my heart!
Pri. (aside) Ah! how I repent!
Venoni. (recovering, and looking round) Twas here—in this very room—that I have passed so many happy, happy hours? twas here that I received your sanction to our union; twas in yon alcove, that I endeavoured to transmit to canvas Josepha’s features—features impressed upon my heart indelibly! love guided my pencil—that portrait—tis there! tis she! tis Josepha! (he suddenly draws away the curtain, and discovers a picture of Josepha at full length—the prior stands forward on the scene, his hands tremble with passion, and his countenance expresses extreme vexation and stifled rage—on the picture’s being discovered, Hortensia springs forward, sinks on her knees, and extends her arms towards, it—the marquis turns away from the picture, towards which his left hand points, while he hides his face on the viceroy’s bosom; the viceroy stands in an attitude of grief with his arms extended towards the picture; he and the marquis are rather behind the other persons—Venoni stands before the picture, which is to the left of the audience, and gazes upon it with rapture)
Hor. My child! my child!
Mar. My Josepha!
Pri. (aside) Oh rage!
Hor. I expire! (Venoni on hearing Hortensia’s last exclamation, turns round, hastens to raise her from her kneeling attitude, places her on the couch, and throws himself at her feet)