University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—An Apartment, adorned with Statues, &c. in the Count Montalba's Palace.
EVA AND FLORA.
Eva.
Hath our young prince been lately here, I pray?
Yes! thou'rt so beautifully blushful!—yes!
I am entirely answered by those tints!
Methinks his presence is indeed thy sun—
It leaves so rosy-red a track behind—
Nay! never shake those glist'ning ringlets thus—
To veil thy bright confusion—brightlier through
Their golden shadowings burns that blush of fire!—
Come, come, be less deceitful!—and confess!—

Flora.
Nay, my sweet cousin, mock me not to-night—
I have a brooding sorrow at my heart.
And thou!—how is't that thou canst jest and smile?

Eva.
Because I am too wretched for aught else!
Did I give way 'twere more than I could bear—
Besides, I'm learning smiles to soothe and cheer him—
My poor Montalba!—No! I dare not dwell
On this dark theme:—in mercy talk to me!
Tell me of all that hath befallen! thou saidst
But now, a sorrow had o'erta'en thee—what?
Nought but the shadow of mine own—I trust!

Flora.
And that, my Eva, were enough to cross
My happiest fortune with a cloud of gloom.
But—in addition—I—no! he I mean—
That is—'twas she—

Eva.
Now let me spare thee all
The avowal of thy love! thou know'st I know it!

Flora.
Ev'n so! thou dost!—thence spring my sorrows then.
The worm is at my heart—the envenomed worm
That gnaws its way through all things!—jealousy!—

Eva.
Of whom?—

Flora.
Of her—that proud Giacinta!—

Eva.
Her?—

Flora.
None other! Yes! he hath been here, and the hour
He staid with me spake nothing but her praise—
Pride—torture—anger locked my lips—close—close—
But if they uttered not, my aspect did!—
He marked it not!—and still spoke but of her,
Coupling her name with sounding epithets—
Proud!—glorious!—generous!—Oh! I know not what;
But know I echoed each with smothered sighs
That broke my heart to heave—much more to check!—
Alas! sweet Eva!—thou didst bid me talk,
And of myself—but heartless doth it seem,
And coldly selfish, while thy heavier woe
Works in thy soul, and wakes distraction there.
How sunken is thine eye—thy cheek how changed—
A sleepless night of watchings was thy last?
How fared it with the count?

Eva.
He could not rest:
Starting from sleep whene'er sleep half o'ercame—
And uttering wild and dreadful things—as threats
'Gainst haunting fiends; implorings, sad and deep,
To unseen beings—strange, delirious things,
That seemed to me but raving—raving—all—
Oh! pitying Heaven support me!

Flora.
Hark!—'tis him.

Gia.
Him!—then the wretched hypocrite must feign,
Freeze back the tear, and coin the writhing smile.—
Once more, oh! pitying Heaven! support me!—

Enter Montalba.
Mont.
Gone!
Say! is he gone?—he haunts me day by day,
And multiplies that image in my dreams.
What!—are ye voiceless both?—Say is he gone?—

Flora.
Whom mean'st thou?—

Mont.
That avenging shape of wrath—
Clothed in the horrid beauty of that likeness.
(Checks himself.)
Nay!—I am wandering—many sleepless nights
Have fevered me to hot delirium's height—
I mean, is Guido gone?—

Flora.
An hour ago!—

Mont.
I breathe! It is too much—too much to bear
Within—without—so haunted with that form—
Oh! I were happiest of all men, if he
Were but removed for ever from these eyes!

Flora,
(aside to Eva.)
Can he be jealous of the youthful prince?
Can that be cause of all his wildness—say?—

[Exit Mont.
Eva.
Oh! no!—no!—no!—Would 'twere so! but thou know'st—
This had beginning ere Prince Guido came.

Flora.
Aye; but far worse and worse hath he become,
From the first moment that they met till now;
And thou wert ever gracious to the youth,
Thinking to please Montalba, and to prove
Thy sympathy with him, and kind respect,
For the most mournful memory of his love—
By such sweet courtesy and favour shown—
I trust—I trust 'twill prove but jealousy,
Which burns so fiercely in this fervid air—
Some slight distemperature, perchance, at first,
Which strange uneasy fancies—wearying cares—
Some trouble, some vexation's strife have caused—
(In private or in public matters—which,
Lest it should irk thee, he concealed from thee!)
Might have disturbed the mind's nice equipoise—
On this would jealousy engrafted grow
Quickly to horrid strength—thus sown by chance,
Even from light-scattered seed should spring apace!—
For where the soil hath loosened been—upturned
By aught of harassing suspense or doubt,
Rank weeds too well do thrive and swiftly sprout—

Eva.
I cannot hope it! No!—it is not that!

Enter Montalba again.
Mont.
Ha! he hath not returned; for that thank Heaven!—
Eva, did I inform thee I had heard
From my loved friend of boyhood's years?—that friend
I ever told thee 'twas my dearest wish
That thou shouldst meet—and value—as do I—
Brave Della Moria!—who hath entered late
A foreign service—and a bright career
Hath run already: he will be in Rome
This time to-morrow.

Flora.
(aside to Eva.)
He is calmed and changed.

Eva.
(aside to Flora.)
Yes! But 'twill never last!—
(To Count Mont.)
You told me not,
Beloved Enrico! But I do rejoice
To learn these tidings—and impatient feel
To show thy friend I love him—for thy sake.
Thou oft hast told me of the warmth—the depth
Of this true friendship—that he knows thy soul,
Which hoards no secrets from him—

Mont.
Would—oh! would—
How said I? he had fought!—Yes! he hath been
'Mid Battle's noble terrors and array!—
The wars—the wars—ah! there my pathway lies!
Give me that glorious occupation's joy!—
I would plunge deep into the shades of strife,
Pierce through the nodding, plumy forest's ranks,
Like to the crashing thunderbolt of heaven,
And riot in the luxury of a choice,
'Twixt many a rapid death!—Aye! war's hot field!—
Why! 'tis the very capital of Death!—
The spears, blood-gilt, his palace's proud pillars!—
The rustling banners his resplendent roofs—
The heaps of slain his monumental piles.
The Wars are in my Soul!—Oh! let me burst
These cold, enslaving bonds of peace, and rush,
Free as the cataract rushes, on and on;
And dash as that does—to destruction's depths!—
Here there yawns no abyss for those would fling
The vain world off—and leave life too behind them!
Ah! my own Eva! look thou not so sad!—
'Tis in my nature this most wild unrest,
And ever and anon disgust at life!—
Thou smil'st!—My sun of life smiles round thy lips
Though with the rosiest reddening of a setting!—
It cannot wholly set—while beams that smile!

[Exit.
Flora.
That smile! it fades with his departing steps,
Like some crushed flower, that withers leaf by leaf.

Eva.
(despondingly.)
I told you 'twould return on him ere long—
The unquiet fit—the fever—and the fire.

Flora.
And yet methought, though true, his words were wild,
There seemed no show, no startling signs nor marks
Of real derangement!—'tis not hopeless, sure—
Some brief hallucination this may prove,
That yet may pass and leave the horizon clear.
Hope on!—hope ever!—Nay! thou'rt weary quite:
Thy tottering limbs can scarce thy frame sustain—
Seek some refreshment of repose, I pray.

Eva.
Repose!—thou mock'st me!—

Flora.
For his sake—his sake—
If thou wert ill where then his nurse?—his friend?—
His comforter—

Eva.
His keeper!—there's the word!—
Curdle! my blood—my pulse! check, check thy play;
For this tops the uttermost of horror's worst!

Flora.
For his sake come—for his sake follow me—
Let these poor aching temples for awhile
Press the still pillow—for his sake—his sake!—

[She gently leads out Eva.