University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A wood in the pleasure grounds. Jacquelina near a hollow tree, overhanging the path: she walks restlessly to and fro.
Jacq.
Where can he loiter?—Time and place
Were both so iterated!—Fools never comprehend
What minutes are in fate's machinery—

(Enter Barbadeca, looking cautiously round.)
Barb.
So, Jacquelina, Jacquelina!

Jacq.
(springing forward.)
Has Cosmo seen thee?

Barb.
No.

Jacq.
Where 's the envelope?

Barb.
Here.

(Producing a paper.)
Jacq.
Her hand!—Now mark.
(Taking a letter from her bosom.)
This scrap I picked from out her private papers;—
One of her scores of tender notes to Cosmo;—
Hundreds she penned, seen only by herself.
Its drift suits well,—love-breathing words,
Without direction, date, or name. This,—mark ye,—
Lodged in the cover of the cruel lines
That sent you crest-fallen home, converts
Into a honeyed billet to yourself;
Past human eyes, her own even, to deny.

Barb.
What then?

Jacq.
Observe.—Cosmo will presently pass by;
Nay, at this moment is not farther from us
Than the green knoll under the old beech yonder.
Now, as you wish success in your heart's cause,
Cross him. At first, seem rapt in meditation,—
Stalk by him thus—as though you saw him not,—
After, descry him suddenly,—start back,
And disappear as though you shunn'd him.

Barb.
But wherefore?

Jacq.
Hereafter you shall know. Go—prithee—go!—
So far you 've trusted me.

Barb.
Well, well,—which way?

Jacq.
Keep toward the river, just within the trees,
Till you perceive him;—then as I direct.
(Exit Barbadeca.)
So far we thrive!—It falls out to a wish!—
Prove he but rash and jealous to my hope,
The mesh is fatal. Other cares, pale beauty,
We'll furnish thee withal, than rating me
Because I chide a beggar from the gate.
How keen Olivia 's on the scent! No need
Of art, and cunning practice, to wind up
Sheer self-idolatry. True as the needle
To one dear influence, all besides is nothing.
If but her dastard nature—Soft! he comes.
(Cosmo seen approaching. She hastily opens the letter, and, leaning against the tree, seems buried in thought: as he passes, she starts violently.)
Good heavens! he 's here!

Cos.
(stopping.)
Why start ye?

Jacq.
Start, my lord?

Cos.
Ay, start; as if you feared to see me?

Jacq.
Feared to see you, Signor?

Cos.
(approaching her.)
What paper 's that you crush together so?—
Nay, draw not back. You tremble too.

Jacq.
My lord,
I know of nought to tremble at.

Cos.
What paper 's that?

Jacq.
This paper?

Cos.
Ay, that paper, girl?
Concerns it me?

Jacq.
You, my lord?

Cos.
Else, why that start?
And seeing me, cry “Heavens! he 's here!” Is 't more
For me to ramble this way than another?

Jacq.
I knew not that I did.

Cos.
You thrust it in your bosom, too,—lo! lo!—
So fearful eager—Come, I'll see it.

Jacq.
Nay—
Indeed—beseech ye, think not—Force me not—
Think on 't no more—for your own peace.

Cos.
(startled.)
Ha!

Jacq.
Alas! what have I said?

Cos.
Give me the paper.

Jacq.
Indeed, my lord—

Cos.
No words—The paper.

Jacq.
My lord, indeed—Be ruled—upon my life—

Cos.
(seizing, and unfolding the letter.)
To Barbadeca!—
Demetria's hand!— (Reads.)


Jacq.
O, shake not thus,—
It cannot be—upon my soul it cannot—

Cos.
Death!—where got you this?

Jacq.
Indeed, my lord—
Sustain it like a man.—It can be only
Some casual strong similitude. Observe;
Here is no name.

Cos.
Whose characters are these?—
Whose pen—whose mind could so express?—
No, no, by Heaven,—this is no counterfeit.—
But hark ye, mistress, how camest thou by this?

Jacq.
Here, Signor, in the hollow of this tree
My eye in passing fell upon it.

Cos.
When?

Jacq.
Now.

Cos.
Haunts she about here?—hast thou lately seen her?

Jacq.
Now, as I stood debating with myself,
Skreened by these drooping branches, I descried her
Hitherward moving with a stealthy step.
Perceiving me, she started, blushed, and vanished.

Cos.
(walks to and fro: striking his breast.)
O, burst!—And yet what eye-beams fell upon me
When first I clasped her—only yesterday!—
The flush, the smile, the tear of welcoming,
The wild confusion—had not that a tongue?—
Yet here 's the living witness.

Jacq.
Say not so—
Rend—rend it.—Wherefore should she trust
Such vouchers here? in this sequestered walk?
The winds might waft them to the moon, as soon
As any likely chance to Florence.

Cos.
He 's here—I 've seen him.

Jacq.
Heavenly grace forbid!

Cos.
But now, I came upon him unawares:—
He started, scowled upon me like a Demon,
And hastily withdrew.

Jacq.
I'm sorry, Signor,—
My heart weeps blood for you.

Cos.
To waste her sweetness—Yet how can it be?—
What doth the viper here, though?—Cursed, cursed folly!
When but a pass had rid the world of him.

Jacq.
How long—pardon, my gracious lord, but may
I ask, how long since you left Belvederé?

Cos.
Six fatal years.

Jacq.
(starting.)
Six years?—I knew not that.

Cos.
I see your thoughts. Alas! alas! would God
I ne'er had left her! round her guileless steps
I should have watched. But honorable deeds
Seemed needful even to my hopes in her.
And ah! I thought no time, no chance, would change her.

Jacq.
Few hearts are of a temper proof to time.

Cos.
Tyrant!—
Better thou 'dst laid her in an unsoiled grave,
And strewed sweet maiden emblems over it!

Jacq.
Hast thou e'er wrong'd him?

Cos.
Never; but have galled,
Galled to the quick, his unforgiving pride.
And now he stabs me to the life of life.
Baffled of open vengeance, like a burglar
He has broke into my heart's treasure-house.
And yet—only last night, her smile was peace!—
She put me from my suit though,—twice she did it,—
On some slight pretext:—that she did evade;—
But it was done, methought, in such sweet accents
As seemed most gracious to me.

Jacq.
Woman 's a riddle, or a kind of Sphinx,
Of nature most occult,—sure to be variable,—
Set, though unstable,—blind to old desert,
Agape for new,—afraid of her own shadow,
Yet dashing with spread sails for some gay headland,
Through straits and whirlpools that make seamen pale.
Capricious, insect-like, she oft alights,
But never settles. Passion is the flower
On which she poises her empurpled wings
To sip and revel; but who thinks to seize her,
Finds her light pennons watchful. Honest men
Study her contradictions like a text;
Believe her freezing when she shows most ice,
And think her melting when her eyelids mould
Bullets to store the arsenal of mischief.
My lord, I 've seen your converse but a day,
And could have sworn by every outward sign
She loved ye dear as life. I half believed
Her follies were forgotten.

Cos.
What means that?

Jacq.
Her love—her fondness—nay, her foolish fancy—
My lord, I know not how to speak it out;
Your wildness frights me.

Cos.
(seizing her.)
Speak! I charge thee!—Speak!
Spare not a tittle, as thou 'dst shun my wrath!

Jacq.
I prithee loose me, Signor; you shall know.

Cos.
But all—let me have all.

Jacq.
You shall, my lord.

Cos.
Go on,—fear not,—so you keep nothing back.

Jacq.
A year ago, about the Easter tide,
The Count and his two daughters spent a month
In Florence. There, the Marquis Barbadeca saw
And loved the younger. What the reasons were,
I know not; but the Count declined his suit,
Abruptly, absolutely; and cut short
His stay in Florence to be rid of him.
But he, enamoured, came to Belvederé,
And here besieged us, till, as I supposed,
Despairing of the heart he sighed for—

Cos.
Why? Did she use him coldly?

Jacq.
She was coy,
Her father peremptory. So he left us.
Some three weeks passed along. One afternoon,
All taking their siesta, I, by chance
Needing some rosemary for a present purpose,
Went through the shrubbery past that old arched gate
Sunk in the trellised wall. That gate is kept,
Now-a-days, locked. Perceiving, as I passed,
The key just peeping from within, I stopped;
And, finding it made fast inside, climbed up
A little ladder left against the vine
That, mantling o'er the wall, quite sheltered me,
To see who, at that hour, was there: for this
Is the Count's private place of meditation;
And he, I knew, was sleeping in his chamber.

Cos.
Well?

Jacq.
Well, as I live, my lord, to my amazement,
I saw her with the Marquis, arm in arm,
In a close shaded alley.

Cos.
Demetria?

Jacq.
As true, my lord, as yonder shines the sun,
Arm locked in arm, with this same Barbadeca.

Cos.
O, wretched!—lost!—degraded!—

Jacq.
They seemed in earnest conference. As they passed me,
I could distinguish words, and tones, and looks,
(Endearing all,) but, when they walked away,
Their voices sank to murmurs. Once, I caught
This much from him: “'T is painful to deceive
A father, but we 've no alternative.”

Cos.
Villain!

Jacq.
I did not hear, and cannot now recount,
Connectedly their talk. Like plighted lovers,
In low and earnest tones they spake; their theme
Made more intelligible by their looks
At last, I heard your name, my lord.

Cos.
What followed?

Jacq.
I almost fear—

Cos.
Away! be honest,—speak.

Jacq.
My lord, I could not catch the sequent words;
But they grew mirthful. He in merry mood
Vented some wit, which she responded to.
He challenged her with having loved some one,
Whose name I only could make out by guess.
She vowed 't was false; protesting volubly.
But at their next turn I distinguished this:—
“When he dwelt here, I scarce out of my childhood,
He wrote me posies, plucked me flowers, and so forth.
What then? Three days beyond the parting hour
His image never crossed my fancy more.”

Cos.
Did she say that?

Jacq.
She did, indeed, my lord.

Cos.
(for a moment overpowered.)
Heaven knows,—Heaven, only, e'er can know,
How long, how fondly, I have clung to thee!—
And thou hast been to me an angel,—ever
Infusing nectar in my bitter cup.
When hope withdrew, and left no gleam along
The sad horizon, thou hadst power to light
Life's melancholy vista! Morning oped,
And evening fell, sweeter because a day,
A night, had flown to re-unite us! Thanks—
Thanks—many a mountain watch-fire in the Bannat,
Thy image gladdened past Armida's gardens!—
I would have died for thee!—All, all is cancelled!—
Now, though I knew her gulled by foulest practice,
Though I could prove it, and, by proving it,
Make her mine own again, I would not turn
Thus—to reclaim her.

Jacq.
Nobly spoken!—
Before he pressed her lips at leave taking—

Cos.
(starting.)
God!

Jacq.
He earnestly besought her, if, as rumored,
You should return, and urge old vows upon her,—
(For vows he would persist had passed between ye,)
He prayed her still to wear a gracious eye,
Till he could clear the way, with prudent speed,
Of obstacles he named. Then his proud walls
Should bid them, kinsmen, lovers, all, defiance.

Cos.
Ha! now the web 's unravelled!—'t is to this
I owe her glances.

Jacq.
Looks more speaking, Signor,
I'm sure I never saw,—yet modest too.
They staggered me, though privy to their secret.
This, Sir, is all;—fearing surprise, I stayed
No longer.

Cos.
Can she stoop to cheat me?—
Poor maid!—Detested cozenage must have done it!
Not thought upon me!—Heaven forgive the sin,
If I have thought less of my God than thee!

Jacq.
Farewell, my lord.—My lady may remark
My lengthened absence.—Since it thus o'ercomes you,
I cannot but repent,—though duty seemed
To prompt, what accident surprised from me.
Adieu! adieu!—Fate deals on noblest hearts
Her bitterest spite.

(Exit.)
Cos.
So—my bubble 's broken!—
And have I dreamed so long? only imagined
The rapture of this meeting? Is it all
Ideal? unsubstantial?—Am I such a wretch?—
(Putting his hand to his heart.)
A horrid pressure!—Never thought upon me!
Although my breast has been her throne, her shrine—

(Voices heard in the wood approaching: Cosmo retires.)