SCENE I.
A chamber, with a great screen at the bottom of the
stage, behind which part of a bed is seen, and voices
heard as the curtain draws up, while
Pietro
and
Gomez
are discovered on the front, looking from
a half-opened door, as if listening.
Gomez.
What said he last? the word died on his tongue.
Pie.
So much the better.
Gomez.
Makes he confession? Hast thou listen'd long?
He ever wore, e'en in his days of health,
The scowling eye of an unquiet mind,
And some black deed disturbs his end. E'en so;
Thy face confirms it.
Pie.
We shall be discover'd.
[
Exeunt, shutting the door softly, while
Ludovico
and
Gauvino
come forward from behind
the screen.
Gau.
(
looking earnestly at
Ludovico,
before he
speaks).
What thinkst thou of it?
Lud.
It is very strange.
Gau.
'Tis but the fever'd ravings of disease:
Hast thou more serious thoughts?
Lud.
I would our good confessor were arrived,
Whate'er my thoughts may be.
Gau.
Ay; then I can divine them. To my judgment,
He speaks like one more forced to utterance
By agony of mind than the brain's sickness.
The circumstances of the horrid deed;
The wondrous fleetness of his gallant steed
Which bore Count Garcio through the forest paths—
Lud.
Cease, cease! I would the father were arrived.
Gau.
It was his fav'rite steed, and yet he ne'er
Made mention of its name or of its end,
But, when we praised its fleetness, frown'd in silence.
I've wonder'd oft at this, but thought no ill.
Lud.
Nor think it now. It is not credible,—
Making, as then he did, a lover's suit
To the fair Margaret, Ulrico's sister,—
That he should murder him.
Gau.
He was the heir of all Ulrico's lands.
Lud.
True; so he was.
Gau.
Ulrico loved him not, and oft opposed
His suit as most presumptuous. But for this,
Her brother's sudden end, the lovely maid
Had ne'er been Garcio's wife.
Lud.
All this is true; and yet, perhaps, those facts
Have on the mind of this poor dying wretch
Impress'd dark fancies, which the fever'd brain
Shapes into actual deed. Oh, it is horrible!
Canst thou believe one of his noble race
Could do a deed befitting ruffian hands,
And only such? Had he thus wickedly
Devised Ulrico's death, some hired assassin
Had done the bloody work, not his own hands.
Gau.
Well, but what thinkst thou of his strange aversion
To this, the goodliest seat our country boasts?
Although his countess oft hath urged him to it,
He hath not since his marriage here resided,—
Nay, hath not pass'd a night within these walls:
And, but that he is absent at the wars,
E'en though the recent earthquake has in ruins
His other castle laid, and forced us thence,
This mansion had remain'd untenanted.
Lud.
I would the ghostly father were arrived!
(
Voice heard behind the screen.)
Blood will accuse:
—am I not cursed for this?
Lud.
He speaks again: I thought that for the while
He had been sunk into a state of stupor.
Go thou and watch by him, Gauvino; haste!
For steps approach, and none must be admitted.
[
Gauvino
retires behind the screen; and
Ludovico,
running to the door, meets
Sophera,
and endeavours to prevent her entering.
Thou mayst not come: he's still; he is asleep:
Thou canst not see him.
[
Voice heard again.
Soph.
Asleep, sayst thou? do I not hear his voice?
Nay, let me pass; I will not be withheld.
My lady follows me with some good drug
To chafe his brow, poor wretch! and give him comfort.
Lud.
Return, and tell the countess to forbear:
She must not see him; foul unwholesome air
Has made the chambers noxious. Hie thee back,
And say she must not come.
Soph.
And dost thou think this will prevent her? Never,
E'en from the sick-bed of her meanest servant,
Hath she stood fearfully aloof, when comfort
Could be administer'd.
I've seen the pain-rack'd wretch smile in his pain
To see his lady's sweetly pitying face
Peep past his ragged curtain, like a gleam
Of kindly sunshine, bidding him good morrow.
And thinkst thou now, from this poor dying man,
The oldest faithful follower of her lord,
To keep her back with such a plea as this?
Lud.
Cease! urge no more. Return; she must not come:
The sick man is distorted-grown, and changed,
Fearful to look upon: a lady's gentleness
May not such sight abide.
Soph.
A poor excuse!
Hast thou forgotten when those wounded soldiers
Lay near our walls, after a bloody skirmish
Left on the field from which their comrades fled,
How she did stand with steady master'd pity,
'Midst horrid sights from which her women fled
With looks averted, till each bleeding wretch
Was bound and comforted? Distorted, sayst thou!
Who goes to chambers of discase and death
To look on pleasant sights?
(
Voice again.)
I did not murder him.
Soph.
He spoke of murder!
[
Ludovico
pressing her back as she advances
eagerly towards the screen, whilst
Gauvino
comes forward to assist him.
Lud.
Thou shalt as soon pass through my body, fool!
Such cursed obstinacy! art thou mad?
If thou regardst thy lady's peace of mind,
Fly, I conjure thee, and prevent her coming.
Enter Countess behind them.
Countess.
And why, good Ludovico?
Lud.
(
who starts on seeing her).
Gracious heaven!
Countess.
Why lookst thou so aghast! Is Baldwin dead?
Lud.
He is; and therefore go not.
[
She still endeavours to pass.
No, no! he is not; be entreated, madam!
Countess.
What cause so strangely moves thee?
Lud.
A powerful cause, that must not be reveal'd.
O, be entreated then!
(
Voice again.)
Ulrico's blood was shed by Garcio's hand,
Yet I must share the curse.
Lud.
Run to him quickly! wherefore didst thou leave him?
[
Gauvino
again retires as before.
Countess.
What words were those he utter'd?
Lud.
Words of despair and frenzy; heed them not,
But quit the chamber. O, for heaven's sake, go!
[
Exeunt;
Ludovico
hurrying off the Countess and
Sophera.
