University of Virginia Library

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

Scene—a Chamber. Time—Midnight.
Chlorine
—Solus.
With what a silent tread the feet of Time,
Steal on their restless journey—yet, how slow!
I've watch'd the parting cloud, that lay dissolved
By yonder silver crescent, as it rose
Like a pale ghost, by day unused to walk,
And gliding through the night o'er scenes long loved.
How sweet her ray is edging yonder cloud,
Like the rich sables of a mourning Prince:
Darkness is lost, and her intenser light,
So circumscribed in its first ascent,
Now penetrates, the whole wide firmament;
Reflected thence to earth. I cannot sleep,
And why I love to gaze on thee, I know not,
But 'tis not love; and when I look on thee,
My heart, grows sadder, lonelier than before!
Perchance, I gaze with thee, since like my own,
Thy fortunes seem assimilar:—to watch
When all are sleeping; to be alone—
O! thought of agony! and have no claim
To kindred fondness; when the meanest boor,
That earns his coarse brown bread, by coarser toil,
Can solace him with thoughts of fellowship;
Of genial fellowship, that would requite
Kindness with kindness, love with deeper love.
No claim did I say, no claim! forgive me heaven,
That in its kindness, gave so dear a claim,
My infant Claudio; let me look upon him:—
But no, I will not; when I gaze, I weep,
And then my mad heart mingles with its tears,
Such thoughts of him, my husband, Claudio's father,
That stays me now! Ha! what noise is that?
My heart, Oh! flutterer still, 'tis he, thy lord,
Would I could sleep, and never see him thus!

(Enter Ghiraldi, intoxicated.)
Ghiraldi.
I have been drinking, Chlorine.

Chlorine.
My Lord!

Ghi.
Why that's a comment woman, get thee hence,
Thy rest must need be broken, and thou'st none,
Of the rich blessings that I have enjoyed,
To compensate thee for thy want of slumber.

Chl.
I have not, true, Ghiraldi, but I have
A greater bliss, a rich, more dear enjoyment,
To pull aside this little screen, and hear
The parting lips of Claudio, like the bud,
Bursting its leafy mansion, as the south-wind
Glides over it, whispering Ghiraldi's name:—
Then I can press them closer with my own,
And still the discontent that he would feel,
To know, Ghiraldi came not to his call.

Ghi.
A pretty office truly—fit for women—
I have been mingling, with the high, and great,
In such communion as makes equals all,
Exalting men to Gods, which nought can raise
So, equalizing Heaven and Earth.

Chl.
What mean you, now Ghiraldi—Oh! forbear—
'Tis blasphemy!

Ghi.
I tell thee, woman, 'tis wine, Falernian wine,
Rich, as the fabled nectar, and will steep,
The brain, like Lethe, in such fond oblivion,
That I forgot even thee, Chlorine, even thee,
Whose looks, far more than words, afford me such
Good cause for 'membrance

Chl.
Ghiraldi.

Ghi.
—Ay, Ay—
There was my Lord of—what's his name,
He of the quick conceit, and gaudy fancy—
I marvel, he did make me laugh so much
As made the tears come, not that I could weep,
I had no cause then.

Chl.
And have you now, Ghiraldi.

Ghi.
Yes, but I do not weep you see, Oh! no!
That Lethe, 'tis most potent! if 'tis true,
That Gods claim credit for the rich invention,
I will become a convert to the creed,
That is most popular, it is but gratitude!

Chl.
Ghiraldi, will you look upon our boy?
He call'd and bless'd your name, before he slept,
Look here Ghiraldi, stay you must not kiss him,
Not now.

Ghi.
Fear not I did not purpose it;
Get thee to rest, Chlorine, why talk of children,
When I converse of Gods, and nectar, and—
Get thee to rest.
(Throws himself in a chair.)
Why, what a senseless dog, was he of yore,
Who gave and sacrificed the world for woman,
When wine was to be bought! I've bought my evil,
Which grows more evil, as it grows less current,
The features of the coin, being much effaced!
She says, by tears, I would not deem it true,
For I would never wrong her; but, no more.
That wine, what an absorbent! what a loss
Of feeling—and not feeling, is the feeling
Which most accords with happiness.
How now Chlorine?

Chl.
Ghiraldi, will it please you to retire,
You speak so loud, that you will wake our boy.

Ghi.
Now curse the brat, since I must study how
To nurse his fancies, not endure my own!
Why woman, you would make a servitor,
To bribe me with a force into compliance;
Talk of my will, yet force me to your own,
Contest each point, and make a howling cause
Of every nothing, not within the scope
Of your inquiring reason; thou wert not wont
To school me thus 'till now, and by my faith,
'Tis a most premature season; get thee hence,
And if the imp should cry—

(Child cries.)
Chl.
—Now, now, Ghiraldi!
The Gods do well inspire thee, so superior,
Thou seemest now to all of earthly suffering!
Why even the brutes that thou hast drunken with,
And the curst liquor, with which thou art drunk,
Had fail'd in thus inspiring thee. Go, emulate
The higher Beings, thou would'st now consort with,
And they will laud that greatness, which exhausts
Its thunders on the defenceless: Ghiraldi, my lord,
When we were wedded, I was the heart's pride,
Of an old doating father. Sixteen years
Brought evenness and pleasure, which is Time's will
Seldom to bring to one, and I was bless'd
With all that kindness, in its purest form,
Could fancy or anticipate. There came
(For I was early thought to own some beauty,
Tho' less my father thought of that than me,
And what he lov'd me for I sought to be
Uncaring for aught else,) a lover fond,
And owning all of grace of person, heart,
And rich endowed mind, well stored,
Original by nature, and by man.
Progressive subsequent. He wooed, he won,
And would have wedded; but another came,
And when the former bad on business gone,
To visit foreign countries, so he filled
My father's ears with poisonous discourse
Of him, I was betrothed to, with such art,
And link of truth with falsehood, that he grew
The substitute o' the former. I became
The reward, of perfidy, whose best reward,
Had been his labour; speak I not the truth?

Ghi.
You do, Chlorine, a mournful truth indeed!

Chl.
Was it for torture, that you claim'd my form?
Our hearts ne'er mingled then, they were two links,
Which this succeeding one (pointing to the child)
hath now united.
I loved him, loving him, could I do else
Than give his father, love's remaining store?

Ghi.
You now regret our union.

Chl.
I do, I do, most deeply I regret it?
My father gave the fatal affirmation,
It was my father, said the cold response,
My heart ne'er utter'd it, and all the care,
That now I have for being, is this boy;
Love's pledge for love that never did exist,
Creating love himself; our fates are join'd,
And when you spurn'd, that boy, Ghiraldi, that imp,
'Twas thus you call'd my son, your son, Ghiraldi,
I spoke, but for myself spoke nothing!
Days, nights and hours have glided on in tears,
Reproaches, scorn, then hatred, was my lot,
I bore it uncomplaining; but that boy,
His spirit, 'tis his father's, fill'd my own,
And bade me curse thee for his infant tongue,
He bade me curse thee for his infant life,
Thou, giver of that, that hatest thine own gift,
For which he too may hate thee. In his name
I curse thee, Heaven! forgive me,
I do not curse my husband, but his father!
Now go, Ghiraldi, spend your nights in revels,
Your days in sleep, your time in fell reproach
Of her whose sole misfortune is to be
Your wife, but cast no scorn upon this boy,
Thy son and mine; for Heaven, or whatsoever lent,
That spirit which did make mine own lips utter
His malison upon thee, will repeat it;
And I, thy wife, will all perforce be doom'd
T' instruct thine own child to detest the blood,
That curdles in its veins, thy blood and mine.