 | Eva : Or, The Error |  |
Scene II.
—An Apartment at the Palazzo Ceria, (Count Montalba's.)FLORA AND PRINCE GUIDO.
Flora.
What ails thee, Guido?—thou'rt abstracted—quite—
Extremely silent—and a little—dull!—
Why! yesterday 'twas different all indeed—
Such flights of wild, tempestuous eloquence!—
Such deep enthusiastic bursts of zeal!—
Hast thou not seen thine inspiration's source
And theme, the bright Giacinta, this fair morn?
Guido.
I have—and am but now returned from her.
Flora.
Indeed! you pass great portion of your time
Lackeying the haughty heels of that proud countess.
Guido.
Doth it displease thee that I go there oft?
Flora.
Oh! not at all!—why should it?—not the least!—
(Aside.)
Why doth he ask?—to make me say the—untruth?
Better he'd tacitly imagined it!
Guido.
I much admire the countess—she is all
That poets paint when they pourtray a heroine.
Flora.
Yes! but we want not that in actual life.
Methinks 'twere better she were soft and meek,
Domestic,—quiet,—she is far from that.
What is her history?—tell it me, I pray;
I know thou lik'st on that fair theme to dwell!
Guido.
I do admire her—thus much I confess—
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And most imperially inspired of mien!
And wouldst thou learn her hapless history?
She married early—an untimely death
Befel her youthful husband and a sad!
I will relate it.—'Twas but some few months
After their marriage, at the carnival
At Naples—riding 'mid the crowding masks,
Through the Toledo-street, his horse took fright,
Became ungovernable—reared and plunged,
And threw its rider—pitching on his head,
He was insensible when taken up,
And after some few hours he breathed his last!
His widow then acquired enormous wealth
In Lombardy and here at Rome—herself
Had large possessions of her own, besides,
In Tuscany:—her unprotected state
Hath given her character, perchance, a shade
Of too much haughty independence, while
Her means thus vast bring—
Flora,
(interrupting him.)
Dainty widow! faith!—
But, Guido! art thou evermore to be
The follower of Giacinta?—dost thou mean
Thus frequently thy devoirs there to pay—
And—and—to keep me ever on the thorns
And tenter-hooks of—friendly fears for thee?—
Thou wilt repent this sudden freak, be sure!
But answer—wilt thou do thus ever?
Guido.
No!
Flora.
Wilt thou not haunt her flaunting footsteps?
Guido.
No!
Flora.
And—say—dost thou not love Giacinta?—
Guido.
No!
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Nor with especial favour still regard?—
Guido.
Why—no! no! no!—thou hast the reply direct!
My sweet cross-questioner!—thy keen queries seem
Put in a lawyer-like and business style:
Wilt thou not go—nor pass—nor visit there?—
Nor love—regard—nor favour that fair dame?—
The inquisitorial glance and tongue can I
With most clear conscience thus unblenching meet!
Now hear me, loveliest Flora!—I will own
The dazzling witcheries of her queen-like charms
Did for brief while enchain me at her feet,
A worshipper at her triumphant wheels.
Nay!—start not! love was never in the case!—
'Twas admiration—wonder—almost awe—
Not love, although it might have mellowed grown
Into that bright emotion—but for thee!—
Thy sweet, sweet image rose between my soul
And the rare beauty of Giacinta—till
It blinded me with hope and happiness!
Flora.
And thou art true and leal and loyal still?—
Guido.
Still, and for ever!—oh! my best beloved!—
Yet other causes aided me to break
The glittering chains that bound me at those wheels.
Flora.
And what?—
Guido.
It matters not—since I am free!—
Flora.
Knows't thou 'tis bruited strongly, throughout Rome,
That fair Giacinta, with her heroine charms,
Is here the soul and centre of intrigue—
Regarded with suspicion and distrust
By the surrounding governments, and chief
By the Austrian.—I heard this averred—assured—
But yestereve—with hints that she is now
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This renders her society scarce safe—
She holds a court of all the wildest here
And elsewhere!—discord's living firebrands—youths,
Who, lacking occupations and professions—
Are suffering with a surfeit of repose—
And prompt to work some great and mighty change,
Sith any change were luxury unto them!
Sick with satiety of idlesse thus,
'Tis said too she would dare all things to reign,
So high her fancy soars—Italia's queen!
I waste my breath!—nor you nor Eva bear
To hear aught whispered 'gainst Giacinta's name,
Yet from authentic sources fell these hints.
Guido.
These things may be—and yet such hints receive
With cautious circumspection evermore.
Report's a strange, wild babbler—trust her not.
I think the countess one whose lofty mind
Is fired by strong ambition—'tis no crime!—
She would exalt her land, and sow the seeds
Of fair improvement in her country still.
Thus much I think—and add to this—dear love!—
She is a warm, most fervent friend, I feel—
Devoted—zealous—cordial—and her heart
Is open as the day.
Flora.
These things may be!
Guido.
What! my sweet silvery echo! dost thou doubt me?
Nay!—thou art prejudiced—thou art indeed!
Enter Eva.
Eva.
Guido, art thou acquainted with a youth,
By name De Tours—who comes, ere long, to bring
Letters of introduction from Giacinta.
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I met him at her palace but to-day—
(to Flora,)
I have much to say to thee, my Flora!—much!—
This evening wilt vouchsafe me, at my prayer,
Long audience—dear one!—dearest!—say but yes!
Flora.
Well!—yes—terday thou wert engaged, methinks,
In playing courtier near another throne!—
Guido.
Ah! unforgiving, cold, resentful, stern—
Flora.
Enough!—the catalogue grows lengthy—thus—
Of course most wearisome!—Yes! yes!—thy queen
Will deign vouchsafe thee audience! but once more
Most seriously—my Guido!—I beseech
Thou wilt not be by this dark Circe led
From honour's, wisdom's, love's fair paths astray.
Guido.
Never from love's!—is that not saying all—
Wisdom and honour—both inclusive—eh?—
And virtue too and glory, and yet more,
Untold—intolerable—happiness!
This evening then—this ev'ning thou shalt hear
What my heart yearns, and yet much dreads to speak.
Oh tell me, tell me—that thou lov'st me still!
Flora.
These lightning-shafts of jealousy have struck
My heart, to reach and bare its bedded wealth,
Dear love, of bright affections and emotions!
So earth is torn,—ere gleam her buried treasures!
Guido.
I hang on these sweet words, with more than joy!
Enter De Tours.
Eva.
You are most welcome, Sir!—I understand,
From the fair Countess di Castellenaria,
Your stay in Rome must of necessity
Be short.—It grows our pleasing duty still
To strive to make it pleasant;—but I fear,
So occupied will be your precious time,
With strict research of all the treasures here,
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A leisure hour at Rome!
De Tours.
Nay!—Madam—nay!
I have explored the city—made my tour—
And may assume the travelled air of those
Who, having run through ruins, toiled up towers—
(To swallow down the country at a gulp,
With the fresh air that they imbibe on high,)
Glanced round famed galleries!—dived down dungeons drear!—
And posted through whole provinces—asleep!
Assume the encyclopedian stare and strut!—
And wrap in mysticism their—ignorance!
Flora.
You must have hurried strangely—it should seem
Two years are scarce enough to see all Rome!
De Tours.
Two hours suffice, believe me, if you have
A perfect guide-book—and a cicerone,
In good condition for a swinging walk.
Flora.
Dear Eva! I entreat you not to stay;
You have been suffering lately—had no sleep.—
M. De Tours will condescend to hold
Me your unworthy representative.
De Tours.
I urge! entreat!—implore!—am shocked—o'erwhelmed!—
For worlds would not detain you;—I beseech—
Eva.
I feel small scruple—past my poor deserts
Thus represented—therefore, Sir, farewell!—
[Exit Eva.
Guido.
[aside to Flora.]
He is conceit itself, and my aversion!
Farewell, sweet, till this evening!—fear me not!—
[Exit Guido.
Flo.
I need not ask, if to St. Peter's yet
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De Tours.
Of course!—
That is, I peeped behind that ponderous curtain—
Which hangs ungracefully at the entrance;—glimpsed
The interior for an instant—I must own (hesitating.)
—
Flora.
(quickly,)
You surely were not disappointed there?
De Tours.
Why! not exactly! though a little,—yes!
It is too huge—and too colossal much!—
Too mountainous in its magnificence!—
Quite the Mont Blanc of architectural works!—
This is my feeling;—'tis a grand mistake
To make an edifice of any kind,
So vast and lofty as to throw i' the shade
That noblest of all nature's objects—man!
'Tis mortifying sure to feel oneself
Dwarfed—stunted—superseded—put aside!
A pigmy!—all our graces lost, or made
Ridiculously Liliputian!—bah!—
I would not for the world have past the curtain!—
I marked two youths—before they entered there
I had observed them—tall—well formed they seemed;
Perfectly dressed, and with l'air noble too!—
Will you believe me?—they seemed wholly changed!
Two little insignificant insects, lost
On that great floor—like the ocean's paven beach!
All their elaborate toilette quite in vain—
Dwindled and dwarfed they shrunk at once to ev'n
Minuteness microscopic—'twere enough
To crush the most egregious vanity.
Not for the world would I have made, I swear,
So poor an exhibition of myself!
I am rejoiced I did not pass the curtain:—
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Of strange sepulchral hollowness. I doubt
A jest would roll out to a requiem there!
I'm thankful that I did not pass the curtain!—
Flora.
(smiling.)
But i'st not good to wound one's vanity?
'Tis sinful to be vain!—
De Tours.
How!—sinful!—no!
There you mistake! 'tis virtue to be vain!—
All good emotions spring from vanity!
Humility itself, for we do strive
And canvass for opinions in our favour,
Constitute all as judges of our looks,
Our words, our works, our talents—ev'n our dress!—
We love those who admire us—thence doth spring
Philanthropy and charity besides!
And few are pious too who are not vain!—
For the upturned eyes—the graceful attitude—
The soft expression of the countenance
All spring from gently prompting vanity!
Dictatress true!—Seems conscience dumb to her!—
Miscreants, and misanthropes, and misers all,
Become so from a lack of vanity;—
They study not what is becoming—pleasing!
They hang not on opinion for their bliss!
They spend not all to gain sweet admiration—
Oh! men grow heaps of vice that are not vain!
Flora.
A most convincing, excellent discourse!
(Enter Montalba.)
Allow me to present the Count Montalba.
De Tours.
(Bows.)
Delighted!—Count! I am most proud!
Mont.
(Bows.)
And I!—
And hope and trust you ofttimes will consent
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De Tours.
Charmed! noble count, to cheat the laggard here!
The tortoise-paced old loiterer, Time!—believe me!—
Mont.
—Is't true you're now upon your way to join
The Egyptians 'gainst their foes, the Turks?—
De Tours.
I am!
Mont.
By heav'n! I envy you!—A noble strife,
And a sharp contest!—Are you not on fire
To take the field, and flesh your virgin sword!
De Tours.
Why! as to that, I know the smell of powder!
Also, another warlike whiff—of lint!
The unodoriferous scent of which is sickening!
As to the field!—your glorious field of war,
'Tis strangely like a rabbit-warren—heigh?
Chuck full of dangerous awkward holes—called—graves!
A sort of burrowing that is half—a bore!
Howe'er that be—I love it to my soul!
And by good old St. Dennis—ask no better
Than there in strife to live—in glory—fall!
We Frenchmen—sons and scions of the sword!
You know of old—accustomed are—to die!
Enter Servant.
Servant.
Count, the Marchese Della Moria waits.
Mont.
Usher him hither, and without delay!
I met him in the Piazza—but a moment—
And then he promised me this visit.—So!
Enter Della Moria.
My best dear friend!—ten thousand welcomes here!
Flora!—become acquainted with the man
Who beggars all my praise and more—esteem.
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I am most happy!
De Tours.
Let me say farewell.
I have important business. (aside.)
'Tis too much!—
This scene of sentimental friendship—bah!
[Exit De Tours.
Flora.
And I must seek my gentle Eva now!
After your long estrangement from each other,
You must have much to say!—I feel assured.
[Exit Flora.
Della Moria.
I grieve to see, dear friend! how thou art changed!
I scarcely knew thee, when we met, erewhile.
Hast thou been ill?
Mont.
Oh, no! it is this life!
Moria.
What life?
Mont.
This life of dull stagnation here!
Torpid inaction and repose,—'tis worse
For aging one than any toil or strife!
Moria.
But thou art wedded unto one, of whom
Report saith wonders!—Nay!—I know she is
Perfection!—for I saw her but just now!
Mont.
Where saw her?
Moria.
Walking thoughtfully along
I' the statue-gallery, with Prince Bellafiore!
Mont.
(aside.)
Ha!—torture!—torture!—'tis a phrenzied thought!
But I do wrong her!—no!—no!—'tis not so!—
And so thou find'st me changed!—I marvel not.
Oh! this do-nothing, frigid, fatal life!
With nought to rouse or change the o'erwearied mood!
I gaze on Rome's gray ruins till I wish
For like decay!—or by the old river ride,
Chiding thee, Tiber,—for thy tardiness!—
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Moria.
(aside.)
He is most strange!—I understand it not!
(To Mont.)
Now for brief season we must part again!—
I have much business on my hands, entailed
By lengthened absence—so farewell!—farewell!—
But for the present—since I purpose now
Long to remain at Rome—and be you sure
Shall much on you inflict my company!
Mont.
I will accompany your steps towards home!
[Exeunt both.
| Eva : Or, The Error | |