beside thee, pain, sorrow, time are all forgot. Ah! what is this?--a
deadly pang hath seized me. All grows dark before mine eyes. I cannot
see thee. Yon cup,--'twas poisoned! I am dying, dying!
Bianca. Ah, nay, thou art faint! Speak not of dying, love. [Adelbert
_falls._] Adelbert, Adelbert, speak!--speak! It is thine own Bianca
calls thee! [_Throws herself beside him._]
Adel. Farewell, dear love, farewell! Huon hath won his vengeance now.
God bless thee, dearest. Oh, farewell! [_Dies._]
Bianca. Awake! awake! All, cold and still! Thou true, brave heart, thou
art hushed forever. Huon! yes! 'twas he; and he hath sought to win me
thus. But 'tis in vain! Where is the poisoned cup that I may join thee,
Adelbert? [_Takes the cup._] Ah, 'tis gone: there is no more. Yet I will
be with thee, my murdered love. For me life hath no joy, and I will find
thee even in death [_falls fainting to the ground_].
CURTAIN.
SCENE FIFTH.
[Bianca's _castle.
The garden._ Bianca _singing._]
Faded flowers, faded flowers,
They are all now left to cherish;
For the hopes and joys of my young life's spring
I have seen so darkly perish.
Cold, ah, cold, in the lone, dark grave,
My murdered love lies low,
And death alone can bring sure rest
To this broken heart's deep woe.
Faded flowers, faded flowers,
They are all now left to cherish;
For ah, his dear hand gathered them,
And my love can never perish.
[_Weeps._
[_Enter_ Huon _and kneels at her feet._
Bianca [_starting up_]. Fiend! demon! touch me not with hands that
murdered him! Hence! out of my sight,--away!
Huon. Nay, lady, nay! I swear by Heaven it was not I. The spell I
mingled in thy cup was but to win thy love. The old witch hath deceived
me, and given that deadly poison. Forgive me, I implore thee, and here
let me offer thee my love once more.
Bianca [_repulsing him_]. _Love!_ darest thou to speak of love to me,
whose bright dream of life thou hast destroyed? _Love!_ I who loathe,
scorn, hate thee with a deep and burning hate that death alone can
still! Oh, Heaven, have mercy on my tortured heart, and let it break.
Huon [_aside_]. His death hath well-nigh driven her mad. Dear lady,
grieve not thus. Let me console thee. Forget thy love, and seek in mine
the joy thou hast lost.
Bianca. Forget! Ah, never, never, till in death I join him! Forgive
thee? Not till I have told thy crime. Yes, think not I will rest till
thou, my murdered Adelbert, art well avenged. And thou!--ah, sinful
man, tremble, for thou art in my power, and my wronged heart can feel no
pity now.
Huon [_fiercely_]. Wouldst thou betray me? Never! Yield thou to my love,
or I will sheathe my dagger in thy heart, and silence thee forever!
Bianca. I will not yield. The world shall know thy guilt, and then sweet
death shall be a blessing.
Huon. Then die, and free me from the love and fear that hang like clouds
above me [_stabs her_].
Bianca. Thy sin will yet be known, and may God pardon thee! O earth,
farewell! My Adelbert, I come, I come! [_Dies._]
Huon. Dead! dead! Oh, wretched Huon! Where now seek rest from bitter
memories and remorse. Ha, a step! I must fly. Angel, fare thee well!
[_Exit_ Huon.
CURTAIN.
SCENE SIXTH.
[Huon's _room._ Huon _asleep upon a couch.
Enter_ Bianca's _spirit. She lays her hand
upon him._]
Huon [_starting in affright_]. Ha! spirit of the dead, what wouldst thou
now? For long, long nights why hast thou haunted me? Cannot my agony,
remorse, and tears win thee to forget? Ah, touch me not! Away! away! See
how the vision follows. It holds me fast. Bianca, save me! save me!
[_Falls and dies._]
[_Tableau._
CURTAIN.
THE UNLOVED WIFE;
OR,
WOMAN'S FAITH.
CHARACTERS.
Count Adrian . . . . . _Nina's Husband._
Don Felix . . . . . . _His Secret Rival._
Nina . . . . . . . _The Unloved Wife._
Hagar . . . . . . . _A Fortune Teller._
THE UNLOVED WIFE;
OR,
WOMAN'S FAITH.
SCENE FIRST.
[_Room in the palace of_ Count Adrian.
_Enter_ Nina.]
Nina. 'Tis a fair and lovely home and well befits a gay young bride; but
ah, not if she bear a sad and weary heart like mine beneath her bridal
robes. All smile on me and call me happy, blessed with such a home and
husband; and yet 'mid all my splendor I could envy the poor cottage
maiden at her spinning-wheel. For ah, 'mid all her poverty one sweet
thought comes ever like a sunny sky to brighten e'en her darkest hours,
for she is loved; while I yet sigh in vain for one kind word, one
tender glance, from him I love so fondly. Ah, he comes, no sad tears
now, sorrow is for my lonely hours and I will smile on _him_ e'en though
my heart is breaking.
[_Enter_ Count Adrian.
Adrian [_coldly_]. Good-even, madam, I trust all things are placed
befitting a fair lady's bower and thou hast found thy home a pleasant
one.
Nina. Adrian, husband, speak not thus to me. I could find more joy in
some poor cell with thee, than all the wealth that kings could give if
thou wert gone. Look kindly on me and I ask no more. One smile from thee
can brighten all the world to these fond eyes. Oh, turn not away, but
tell me how have I angered thee, and grant thy pardon for thy young
wife's first offence.
Adrian. The pardon I could give were worthless for the time is past.
'Tis too late to ask forgiveness now. It matters not, then say no more
[_turns away_].
Nina. My lord, I charge thee tell me of what dark crime thou dost think
me guilty! Fear not to tell me; innocence is strong to bear and happy to
forgive. Ah, leave me not, I cannot rest till I know all, and if the
deep devotion of a woman's heart can still repair the wrong, it shall be
thine--but answer me.
Adrian. Canst thou unsay the solemn words that bound us at the altar
three short days ago? Canst thou give back the freedom thou hast taken,
break the vows thou hast plighted, cast away that ring and tell me I am
free? Do it, and my full forgiveness shall be thine.
Nina. Give thee back thy freedom; am I a chain to bind thee to what thou
dost not love? Take back the vows I made to honor thee; what dost thou
mean? I am thy wife and dost thou hate me?
Adrian. I do.
Nina. God help me now. Tell me, Adrian, I implore thee, tell me what
have I done to tempt such cruel words from thee? I loved thee and left
all to be thy wife, and now when my poor heart is longing for one tender
word to cheer its sorrow, thou, the husband who hath vowed to love and
cherish me, hath said thou dost hate me. Ah, am I sleeping? Wake me or
the dream will drive me mad.
Adrian. 'Tis a dream I cannot banish. We must part.
Nina. Part--go on, the blow hath fallen, I can feel no more. Go on.
Adrian. Thou knowest I wooed thee. Thou wert fair and wondrous rich; I
sought thy gold, not _thee_, for with thy wealth I would carve out a
path through life that all should honor. Well, we were wed, and when I
sought to take thy fortune it was gone, and not to me, but to thy
father's friend, Don Felix. It was all left to him, and thou wert
penniless; and thus I won a wife I loved not, and lost the gold I would
have died to gain. Thinkest thou not I am well angered? But for thee I
might yet win a noble bride whose golden fetters I would gladly wear.
Nina. And this is he to whom I gave my heart so filled with boundless
love and trust. Oh, Adrian, art thou so false? What is gold to a woman's
deathless love? Can it buy thee peace and all the holy feelings human
hearts can give? Can it cheer and comfort thee in sorrow, or weep fond,
happy tears when thou hast won the joy and honor thou dost seek? No,
none of these, the golden chains will bind thee fast till no sweet
thought, no tender hope can come to thee. I plead not now for my poor
self, but for thine own heart thou doth wrong so cruelly by such vain
dreams.
Adrian. Enough. Thou hast a noble name and men will honor thee, thou
wilt suffer neither pain nor want. I will leave thee and wander forth to
seek mine own sad lot. Farewell, and when they ask thee for thy husband,
tell them thou hast none, and so be happy [_turns to go_].
Nina. Oh, Adrian, I implore thee stay. I will bear all thy coldness, ay
even thy contempt. I will toil for thee and seek to win the gold for
which thou dost sigh, I will serve thee well and truly, for with all my
heart I love thee still. Leave me not now or I shall die! [_Kneels and
clasps his hand._]
Adrian. I am a slave till death shall set me free. We shall not meet
again. Nay, kneel not to me. I do forgive thee, but I cannot love thee
[_rushes out_].
Nina. This is more than I can bear. Oh, Father, take thy poor child
home, and still the sorrow of this broken heart.
CURTAIN.
SCENE SECOND.
[_Home of_ Hagar, _the gypsy.
Enter_ Hagar _and_ Nina.]
Hagar. What brings thee hither, gentle lady, and how can the wanderer
serve the high-born and the fair?
Nina [_sadly_]. There is often deeper sorrow in the palace than the cot,
good Hagar, and I seek thee for some counsel that will cure the pain of
a lonely heart. I have tried all others' skill in vain, and come to thee
so learned in mystic lore to give me help. I am rich and can repay thee
well.
Hagar. I can read a sad tale in thy pale and gentle face, dear lady.
Thou art young and loving, but the hope of youth is gone; and thou art
sorrowing with no fond heart whereon to lean, no tender voice to comfort
and to cheer. Ah, have I read aright? Then the only charm to still thy
pain is death.
Nina. 'Tis death I long for. That still, dreamless sleep would bring me
peace. But 'tis a fearful thing to take the life God gave, and I dare
not. Canst thou not give me help?
Hagar. Within this tiny casket there is that which brings a quiet sleep
filled with happy dreams, and they who drink the draught lie down and
slumber, and if not awakened it will end in death. But thou, sweet lady,
wouldst not leave this fair world yet. Tell me more, for this old heart
is warm and tender still, and perchance I can help thee.
Nina. 'Tis strange that I can feel such faith in thee, kind friend, but
I am young and lonely and I seek some heart for counsel. Thou art from
my own fair land and I will tell thee of my sorrow. 'Tis a short, sad
tale. I loved, was wed, and then--oh, darksome day--I learned my husband
felt no love, and sought me only for my gold. I was penniless, and thus
he cast me off; and now for long, long weeks I have not seen him, for he
would not dwell with her who loved him more than life itself. Now give
me some sweet charm to win that lost heart back. Ah, Hagar, help me.
Hagar. I can give thee no truer charm than that fair face and noble
soul, dear lady. Be thou but firm and faithful in thy love and it will
win thy husband back. God bless and grant all happiness to one who doth
so truly need it.
Nina. Give me the casket; and when life hath grown too bitter to be
borne then will I gladly lay the burden down, and blessing him I love so
well sleep that calm slumber that knows no awaking. Farewell, Hagar,
thou hast given me comfort and I thank thee.
[_Exit_ Nina.
CURTAIN.
SCENE THIRD.
[_One year is supposed to have elapsed._ _A
room in the palace of_ Nina. _Enter_ Adrian
_disguised_.]
Adrian. Here last I saw her one long year ago. How the wild, sweet voice
still rings in my ear imploring me to stay. I can find no rest save
here; and thus do I seek my home, worn out by my long wandering, and
trusting to learn tidings of poor Nina. If she be true and love me still
I will cast away my pride, my coldness, and all vain hopes of wealth,
and let the sunlight of that pure, young life brighten my life
henceforth. I hear a step, and will hide here, perchance I may thus see
her [_hides behind curtain_].
[_Enter_ Nina.
Nina. No rest for thee poor heart, ever whispering that dear name, ever
sorrowing for those hard words that gave so deep a wound. All is dark
and lonely, for he is gone. Only these withered flowers, dearer by far
than my most costly gems, for his hand hath touched them, and he smiled
on me when they were given. Oh, Adrian, wilt thou never give one tender
thought to her who still loves and prays for thee? Death will soon free
thee from thy hated wife.
[_Exit_ Nina.
Adrian [_stealing forth_]. And this is she, whose pure young love I have
cast away, the fond, trusting bride I left alone and friendless. She
still loves on, and offers up her prayers for one who sought to break
that tender heart so cruelly. I will watch well and guard thee, Nina;
and if thou art truly mine thou shalt find a happy home with him thy
patient love hath won.
[_Exit_ Adrian _and re-enter_ Nina.
Nina [_with_ Adrian's _picture_]. Ah, these cold eyes smile kindly on me
here, and the lips seem speaking tender words. Other faces are
perchance more fair, but none so dear to me. Oh, husband, thou hast cast
me off; and yet, though lonely and forsaken, I still can cherish loving
thoughts of thee, and round thy image gather all the tender feelings
that a woman's heart can know. Thy cruel words I can forgive, and the
trusting love I gave thee glows as warmly now as when thou didst cast it
by and left me broken-hearted [_weeps_; _enter_ Don Felix]. My lord,
what seekest thou with me? Thou dost smile. Ah, hast thou tidings of my
husband? Tell me quickly, I beseech thee.
Don Felix. Nay, dear lady--But sit thee down and let me tell thee why I
came. [_He leads her to a sofa._] Thou knowest I have been with thee
from a child. I stood beside thee at the altar, and was the first to
cheer and comfort thee when thou wast left deserted and alone. Let me
now ask thee, Wouldst thou not gladly change thy sad lot here for a gay
and joyous life with one who loves thee fondly?
Nina. It were indeed a happy lot to be so loved and cherished; but
where, alas, is he who could thus feel for one so lonely and forsaken?
Don Felix [_kneeling_]. Here at thy feet, dear Nina. Nay, do not turn
away, but let me tell thee of the love that hath grown within my heart.
[_Nina starts up._] Thy wedded lord hath cast thee off. The law can free
thee. Ah, then be mine, and let me win and wear the lovely flower which
he hath cast away.
Nina. Lord Felix, as the wife of him thou dost so wrong, I answer thee.
Dost thou not know the more a woman's heart is crushed and wounded the
more tenderly it clings where first it loved; and though deserted, ay,
though hated, I had rather be the slighted wife of him, than the honored
bride of the false Costella. Now leave me--I would be alone.
Don Felix. A time will come, proud woman, when thou shalt bend the knee
to him whom now thou dost so scorn. Beware, for I will have a fierce
revenge for the proud words thou hast spoken.
Nina. I am strong in mine own heart and fear thee not. Work thy will and
thou shalt find the wife of Adrian de Mortemar needs no protector save
her own fearless hand.
[_Exit_ Nina.
Don Felix. Now, by my faith, thou shalt bow that haughty head, and sue
to me for mercy, and I will deny it. I'll win her yet, she shall not
idly brave my anger. Now to my work,--revenge.
[_Exit_ Don Felix.
CURTAIN.
SCENE FOURTH.
[_Apartment in palace of_ Nina.
Nina _alone_.]
Nina. Ever thus alone, mourning for him who loves me not; was ever heart
so sad as mine. Oh, Adrian, couldst thou but return even for one short
hour to thy poor Nina. [_Enter_ Adrian, _disguised_.] Ha, who art thou
that dares to enter here in such mysterious guise? Thine errand,
quickly,--speak.
Adrian. Forgive me, lady, if I cause thee fear; I would have thee know
me as a friend, one who will watch above thee, and seek to spare thee
every sorrow. Dear lady, think me not too bold, for I have known thee
long and have a right to all thy confidence. Thy husband was my nearest
friend; and, when he left thee friendless and alone, I vowed to guard
and save thee in all peril. Wilt thou trust me? See, I bear his
ring,--thou knowest it?
Nina. 'Tis indeed his ring. Whence came it? Ah, hast thou seen him? Tell
me, and I will give thee all my confidence and thanks [_takes the ring
and gazes beseechingly upon_ Adrian, _who turns aside_].
Adrian. He is well, lady, and happy as one can be who bears a cold,
proud heart within his breast. He has cast away an angel who could have
cheered and blessed his life, and sought to find in gold the happiness
thy love alone could bring. He has suffered, as he well deserves to do.
Spend not thy pity upon him.
Nina [_proudly_]. And who art thou to speak thus of him? Thou canst not
judge till thou also hast been tried and like him deceived. He sought
for wealth to bring him fame and honor; and when he found it not, what
wonder that he cast aside the love that could not bring him happiness.
Thou art no true friend to speak thus of one so worthy to be loved. And
think not I reproach him for my lonely lot. Ah, no, I still love on; and
if he wins the wealth he covets I can give my heart's best blessing, and
so pass away that he shall never know whose hand hath crushed the flower
that would have clung about his life and shed its perfume there [_turns
away weeping_].
Adrian [_aside_]. She loves me still. I'll try her further [_aloud_].
Lady, idle tongues have whispered that when thy lord deserted thee thou
didst find a solace for thy grief in a new lover's smiles. Perchance yon
picture may be some gay lord who hath cheered thy solitude and won thy
heart. I fain would ask thee.
Nina. Sir stranger, little dost thou know a woman's heart. I have found
a comfort for my lonely hours in weeping o'er the face whose smiles
could brighten life for me, or dim it by disdain and coldness. The face
is there; my first, last, only love is given to him who thinks it
worthless and hath cast it by.
Adrian [_taking the picture_]. 'Tis the Count, thy husband. Lady, he is
unworthy such true love; leave him to his fate, and let not thy life be
darkened by his cruelty and hate.
Nina. Thou canst not tempt me to forget. No other love can win me from
the only one who hath a place within my heart. Let me cherish all the
memories of him, and till life shall cease be true unto my husband. Now
leave me, unknown friend; I trust thee for his sake, and will accept thy
friendship and protection. I offer thee my gratitude and thanks for thy
kind service, and will gladly seek how best I may repay it.
Adrian. Thanks, lady. Thou shalt find me true and faithful, and my best
reward will be the joy I labor to restore to thee [_kneels and kisses
her hand_].
Nina. Farewell, again I thank thee.
[_Exit_ Nina.
Adrian. So young, so lovely, so forsaken, who would not pity and
protect. I will guard her well, and ere long claim the treasure I so
madly cast away ere I had learned its priceless value. Nina, thou shalt
yet be happy on the bosom of thy erring and repentant husband.
[_Exit_ Adrian.
CURTAIN.
SCENE FIFTH.
[_Hall in the palace of_ Nina.
_Enter_ Nina _and_ Don Felix.]
Nina. I tell thee, my lord, I will not listen, naught thou canst say
will change my firm resolve. I cannot wed thee.
Don Felix. Nay, then listen. Thy cruel husband left thee and for one
long year thou hast sorrowed in thy lonely home, and would not be
comforted. He hath returned.
Nina. Ah--[_Rushes forward._]
Don Felix. Thou may'st well start, but think not he will come to thee,
chains hold him fast and--mark ye--'twas _I_ who bound those chains.
Nina. Do I dream, my husband here and in captivity; nay, I believe thee
not. 'Tis a false tale to anger me. I heed thee not [_turns away
haughtily_].
Don Felix. Thou wilt heed me ere I am done. What thinkest thou of this
thy husband's dagger? See, here his name. 'Twas taken from his hands ere
the cold chains bound them. Ah, thou dost believe me now!
Nina. Oh, tell on. I _will_ listen now. Why hast thou done this cruel
deed? Why make this his welcome home? Thou hast fettered and imprisoned
him and now art here to tell me of it? Ah, dost thou hate him? Then give
all thy hate to me; but oh, I pray thee, comfort him.
Don Felix. When thou didst reject my suit, I told thee I would be
revenged; I said a day would come when thou, so cold and haughty then,
would kneel to me imploring mercy and I would deny thee. That time hath
come, and I am deaf to all thy prayers.
Nina. For his sake will I kneel to thee beseeching liberty for _him_. I
had no love to give thee. Ah, pardon if I spake with scorn, and pity me.
What can I do to win thee back to mercy? Ah, listen and be generous.
Don Felix. 'Tis now too late. He is in my power; and a dagger can soon
rid thee of a cruel husband, me of a hated rival.
Nina. God have pity on me now. Don Felix, let me plead once more. Set
Adrian free, and I will take his place in yon dark cell and welcome
there the dagger that shall set me free.
Don Felix. And wilt _thou_ wear the chains? Wilt enter that lone cell
and perish there? Canst thou do this?
Nina. Ay, gladly will I suffer pain, captivity, and death, for thee,
Adrian, for thee.
Don Felix. Then woman's love is stronger than man's hate, and I envy him
you would die for, Nina.
Nina. Ah, love alone can make home blest, and here it dwells not. I can
free him from his fetters and his hated wife. Tell him I loved him to
the last, and blessed him ere I died. Lead on, my lord, I am ready.
Don Felix [_aside_]. I thought I had steeled my heart with hatred and
revenge; but oh, they pass away before such holy love as this. Would I
could win her to myself, for she would lead me on to virtue and to
happiness. Yet one more trial and she may be mine at last.
[_Tableaux._
CURTAIN.
SCENE SIXTH.
[_Street near_ Adrian's _palace_.
_Enter_ Adrian.]
Adrian. 'Tis all discovered, my mysterious captivity and my release. Don
Felix, whom I trusted, wove the dark plot and sought by false words to
win Nina from me. He has dared to love her; and he shall dearly pay for
his presumption. He knows not that I watched above her in disguise; and
now while I was in captivity he hath taken her from her home. Let him
beware. If aught of harm hath come to her, woe betide him who hath
caused one tear to fall, or one sad fear to trouble her. I must seek and
save her. No peril will be too great to win her back to this heart that
longs so fondly for her now.
[_Exit_ Adrian.
CURTAIN.
SCENE SEVENTH.
[_A cell in the palace of_ Don Felix.
Nina _chained_.]
Nina. 'T is strange; here in this dark cell, tho' fettered and alone, I
feel a deeper joy than when a proud and envied bride I dwelt in my
deserted home. For here his foot hath trod; these walls have echoed to
the voice I love; these chains so cold and heavy I more gladly wear than
e'en the costly gems once clasped upon these arms, for they were his.
Here his sad tears fell perchance for his captivity; but I can smile and
bless the hour when I could win thy freedom, Adrian, with my poor
liberty. Hark--they come. Is it to claim the vow I made to yield my
bosom to the dagger meant for his? I am ready. [_Enter_ Don Felix.]
Alone, my lord; methought it were too sad a task for thee to take my
life. Well, be it so; you claim my vow. I can die still blessing thee,
my Adrian [_kneels before_ Don Felix].
Don Felix. Rise, Nina; ah, kneel not to me, nor think this hand could
take the life it prizes more than happiness or honor. I came not here to
harm thee; Heaven forbid! I came once more to offer thee my heart, my
home, and all the boundless love you have so scorned. Thy husband hath
deserted thee; no ties too fast to sever bind thee to him. Thou art
alone, a captive, and I alone can free thee. Think of the love I bear
thee, Nina, and be mine [_takes her hand_].
Nina. Where is thy boasted honor now? Where the solemn vow thou didst
make me that my lonely cell should be as sacred to thee as my palace
halls? Where is thy pity for the helpless wife of him whom thou didst
call thy friend? I never loved thee, now I scorn thee. A true and pure
affection never binds such chains as these, nor causes bitter tears like
mine to flow. Rather suffer death than cherish in my heart one tender
thought of thee. Thou hast my answer, now leave me.
Don Felix. Not yet, proud captive. I have sought to win thee gently; but
now, beware. Think not to escape me, thou shalt feel how deep a
vengeance I can bring on thee and him thou lovest. Thou shalt suffer all
the sorrow I can inflict,--shalt know thy proud lord forsaken and in
danger when a word from me can save, and _that_ word I will not speak.
All the grief and pain and hatred that my jealous heart can give will I
heap upon his head, and thus through him I will revenge myself on thee.
Nina. Thou canst not harm him, he is safe and free. Do thy worst, I care
not what fate thou hast for me, a fearless hand soon finds a way to free
a soul from sorrow and captivity. This heart thou canst not reach. It
fears thee not.
Don Felix. Can I not make thee tremble, haughty woman? I love thee
still, and I will win thee. I go to work thee sorrow; and when next we
meet I will bring thee token of thy husband's death or, what may touch
thee nearer, his hate of thee.
[_Exit_ Don Felix.