University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

The apartment of the Countess; she is discovered pacing to and fro with slow, thoughtful steps, then stops short, and stands in a musing posture some time before she speaks aloud.
Countess.
'Tis often thus; so are we framed by nature.
How oft the fitful wind or sullen bell
Will utter to the ear distinctive words,
According with the fancy's wild conceptions!
So are the brains of sick and frenzied men
Stored with unreal and strange imaginations.
(After a short pause.)
Am I become a maniac?
Oh! have words,
To which the firm conviction of my mind
So strongly stands opposed, the baleful power
To fix this misery on me? This is madness! Enter Sophera behind.

Is't thou, Sophera?

Soph.
Yes, 'tis only I.

Countess.
Is every decent office of respect
Done to the corse?

Soph.
Yes, nought has been omitted.

Countess.
'Tis well; but what detains the good confessor?
I wish'd to see him.

Soph.
He stay'd but till his wretched penitent
Had breathed his last, and quickly left the castle.

Countess.
He is in haste, methinks; 'tis somewhat strange.
Why lookst thou on me with that fearful eye?
Thinkst thou the ravings of a frenzied mind
Have power to move me?

Soph.
I only thought—I fear'd—you wisely judge;
Why should they move you? Well, the dismal story
Of that most dismal murder, here committed
By hands unknown, might to a sickly brain
Such thoughts create of nothing.

Countess.
What sayst thou? here committed!

Soph.
Did not your hapless brother in this castle
Come to his end?

Countess.
Yes, but a natural end.

Soph.
So grant it were! it is not so reported.

Countess.
Ha! what is else reported?

Soph.
The peasants round all idle stories credit;
And say that in his castle, by his servants,
He was discover'd in the eastern tower
Murder'd. But, doubtless, 'tis a tale of falschood,
Since 'tis to thee unknown.

Countess
(sinking back into a chair).
It was to me unknown.
(After a long pause.)
Dear, dear! the friend, the brother of my heart,
The playmate of my early, happy days,
Could such a fate be thine!
It makes me weep to think it possible,
Yet I believe it not.

Soph.
You tremble much.

Countess.
I'm cold and chill: 'tis weariness of body;
Do not regard it; I shall soon be better.
[Trumpet sounds without.
A trumpet! then some martial guest approaches.
O most unwelcome!

Soph.
'Tis Tortona's Marquis.

Countess.
He is not in these parts; it cannot be.

Soph.
He is upon his march with some gay troops
To join the army, and hath made a halt
Here in our nearest town to rest his men.
So said his servant, whom I found this morning
Lurking within the castle; and I guess
His warlike lord is come.

Countess.
I cannot see him.
Go thou; plead my excuse: I am unwell;
Say what thou wilt, but let me be excused. Enter Rovani.

Rovani here!—O, how is this? My lord?

Rov.
He is not far behind. I am, fair lady,
The vanguard of his band; and, as I trust,
Bearing no dismal tidings.

Countess.
O no! they should, indeed, be joyful, if—
And, as in truth I trust—my lord is well!

Rov.
Yes; from the wars, unhurt and strong in health,
Garcio returns! where he has done the service
Of an undaunted powerful combatant,
To that of a right skilful leader join'd.
He is not one of your reserved chiefs,
Who, pointing with their dainty fingers, thus,
Say, “Go, my friends, attack yon frowning ranks.”
No, by my faith! with heavy scimitar
He closes to the bloody work himself,
And to the carnage of each grizly field
Brings his full tale of death.

Countess
(shrinking back).
Is he so ruthless, then?

Rov.
Ay, in the field.
But in your hall or bower, where ladies smile,
Who is more gentle? Thus it often is:
A lady feels not on her soldier's hand,
That softly presses her more gentle palm,
The deaths which it has dealt.

Soph.
I'm sure, were but thy rapier like thy tongue,
The count must have in thee an able second.

Rov.
I may not boast; but doth my circled finger
More rudely press thy snowy arm, fair maid,
Because this graven jewel was the gift
Of a great Moorish princess, whose rude foe
I slew before her eyes?

Soph.
Some angry puppy that with snarling mouth
Snapp'd at her robe or sandal'd heels, belike.

Rov.
Nay, by my faith! a foe in worth mine equal.

Soph.
That I will grant thee readily. But say,
How far behind thee is the noble count?

Countess.
Ay, is he near?

Rov.
Within a few short miles.
The war has ended sooner than we guess'd,
And we have made good speed.

Countess.
So near!

Rov.
How is it? This affects you strangely.

Countess.
Such unexpected news! I should be glad,
But gladness comes with pain. I will retire,
And for a moment strive to calm this tremor.
To Sophera.)
Follow me not.

[Exit.
Rov.
(looking after her as she goes off).
I have, ere now, beheld the sudden news
Of a good lord's return from foreign lands
By wedded dame received; but so received,
Never till now. How's this? What is the matter?
How shall a simple bachelor, as I am,
Have thoughts of this bless'd state, if such as she
Cold and capricious prove?

Soph.
Blame her not hastily; she is depress'd:
Old Baldwin, whom his master left behind,
That faithful servant, died with us this morning.

Rov.
Alas, poor soul! and he is gone at last!
Well, we have brought you thirsty throats enow
To drink his fun'ral wassails. Ay, poor Baldwin!
A hardy knave thou wast in better days.
If I had known of this, heav'n rest his soul!
I had not sounded my approach so cheerly.

Soph.
To tell the truth, that martial sound deceived us.
We took you for Tortona's warlike lord,
Who, to refresh his passing troops, we hear,
Has made a halt:—I thought—

Rov.
Out with thy thought!
Why dost thou hesitate?—I will explain it.
I've brought you disappointment.

Soph.
You mistake me.

Rov.
Nay, pardon me; I linger here too long:
But,—ere I go,—how does the infant heir?
I must tell Garcio I have seen his boy,

Soph.
With pleasure I'll conduct thee. 'Tis an urchin
Provoking smiles of love from every face
That looks upon him, be it e'er so stern.

Rov.
How then will a fond father feel!—How oft—
How oft and fondly hath he talk'd of him!
Though but a little grasp of shapeless life,
With puling whine, just winking to the light,
As I remember well, when Garcio left him.

Soph.
Is Garcio, then, so tender?

Rov.
Dost thou doubt it?
The bear doth love his cub, bear though he be:
But Garcio is a man of strong affections.
Come, pray thee, lead.

[Exeunt.