 | Eva : Or, The Error |  |
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ACT IV.
SCENE I.
—Palace of the Countess di Castellanaria.Enter the Countess alone.
Gia.
So!—I am mocked!—betrayed!—undone!—undone!
But rise! proud spirit!—yet be I the undoer!—
Whate'er may chance—whate'er may check—obstruct—
I will still follow fate-like—to the goal!
I will make vengeance more sublimely dread
Than ever 'twas before! and punish both,
And punish all!—with such infernal pangs
As our own Dante never dreamed of.—Yes!
Come shame!—come crime!—come death—doom—ruin's worst!—
I will be staunch, and fixed as rocks and spheres—
Those to chastise who have defeated me!—
Crime crowds on crime, now on my darkening path!—
Ah!—the first sin is all our own!—our own!—
Our deed and doing!—plotting and performing!—
But those that follow!—those that follow!—those
Are forced upon us by the unpitying fiends.
One crime is father to a catalogue!—
I must reflect!—My spy informs me now
That Guido is devoted to that girl—
That hated Flora!—that but yestereve
He asked her to agree, at once, to espouse him!
Saying, his father never would consent
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His country and religion—clime and blood;
But that once solemnized, their nuptials should
Be hailed by him, whose dearest wish on earth
Was to see Guido with a self-chosen bride
United happily before his death!—
That then all the obstacles should slighter seem,
The advantages more prominent—he thus
Choosing himself his bride—and finding one
All youth and beauty, and with heart all his!—
Thus much—no more could he acquaint me with.
Shall I, indeed, be thus befooled, betrayed
A second time? Montalba!—thou accursed!—
Didst thou not let me think myself beloved,
When coldly thou didst court thy poor Bianca?
And when my fiery spirit had found way,
And taught thee how to cast her from thee!—then,
Then—O! thou double-dyed—thou deadliest traitor—
Didst thou insult my love, destroy my hopes,
Outrage mine every feeling—keep aloof,
And then—and then—didst wed another! Wretch!—
But the black reckoning-day is near at hand!
And she too knows of this vile love of Guido's.
She—that most loathed, abhorred, and fatal wife!—
'Tis she hath fostered and hath fanned this flame,
As she—detested scorpion!—would contrive—
In every way—my ruin!—Out on her!—
Guido! aye! thou hast played me false, thou hast!
Thou hast deserted too our deep-sworn band!—
Sent vague excuses, shifting—paltry—cold,—
Though colourable messages.—By Heaven!
I will not bear thy dark desertion thus—
Of me and of my heart-dear cause at once!
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What—ho!—within there.
Enter Servant.
Hath Prince Guido been?
Serv.
No! gracious countess! I have seen him not.
Gia.
Then go!—no, stay—I will not thus—begone.
[Exit Servant.
He cannot fail me, and he dare not—no!
I yet shall have him in my power—I must!—
Slow hour!—will thy dull sands ne'er run?—Aha!—
I hear his step—he comes—is't joy or—torture?
Enter Prince Guido.
Guido.
Fair countess! I obey thee—and am here
But for short season!—since affairs most urgent
Elsewhere require my presence.
Gia.
I would fain
We understood each other thoroughly—now!—
Art thou yet with us in this mighty plot?
Guido.
Countess! far worthier at thy hand await
Their destinies chivalrous—I am not.
Gia.
What! Guido!—when so near our triumph's hour?
Wilt thou desert us—fail us at our need,
And at our noblest turn too?—Why! 'twere shame
And harsh wrong to thyself—thine own brave self—
As to thy bleeding country!—Prince! what cause?
Guido.
Lady! in rash, hot-blooded suddenness
Did I, unponderingly and unprepared,
Enrol myself among you!—calmer thoughts
Have visited my soul—it not imports
That I should waste thy time by their detail.
Gia.
Give me one reason, (aside,)
for thou hast but one—
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Flora Clanronald! with her soulless charms!
Guido.
Give thee one reason?—Hear me!—there is one
Which were alone enough to establish me
In this my purpose—would my father bear—
He—chief of our unstained and lordliest house—
The representative of our proud race—
For ever loyal, brave and true and honoured—
His son should be a rebel?
Gia.
This is but
The household-jargon of despotic courts,
The oiled, gilded, and vain terms of tyranny!—
The old jugglery of Janus-faced oppression!
Thy free, high mind should scorn it!—Come, oh! come
Where Honour—Freedom—Patriotism—call!
And strike for millions—crouch not back for one,
Though that one be thy father.—But 'tis false!—
'Tis not for him thou so dost cower and crouch.
Guido.
Crouch!—Say what mean'st thou?
Gia.
(passionately.)
That 'tis cowardice!—
Rank cowardice—treachery—baseness—falsehood—shame—
Away!—I will not parley with thee, save
This moment thou wilt change thy recreant tone,
And sign this paper!—'tis the scroll that bears
Our secret protestation—sign!—I say!—
Guido.
Thou preachest 'gainst all wrong and tyranny,
But fain would practise—is't not so fair dame?—
Unheard-of despotism—and crush the soul!
Chained at thy chariot-wheels for ever—NO!
Gia.
Then tremble—tremble—traitor!—for thou art lost.
Thou mock'st me—supercilious smiler! how?—
Guido.
Methinks 'tis thou shouldst tremble!—when a word,
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And give thee to the Austrian dungeon's gloom.
Gia.
Do! 'twere well worthy of thee—those were deeds
To gild thy family's proud heraldry
With honours in august accession.—Lo!
The craven!—the betrayer!—and the informer!—
(Bursts into tears.)
Alas!—'tis madness!—Guido! pardon me!—
'Tis mine impetuous spirit, that can ne'er
Or stoop to bear, or pause to think—forget—
Forgive my vehemence!—it springs from that
Without which men are worse than savages—
Scarce fit to herd with wolves!—the love of country!—
And I do charge thee—in the holiest name!—
Though thou wilt aid not—ne'er betray our cause!—
Guido.
I do forgive thee—honouring more and more
Thy noble nature and high-hearted zeal!—
But bid thee to beware!—I fear thou stand'st
O'er a dread precipice. Consider well!
Danger frowns near—I pray thee—pause—reflect!—
But this I swear—high Heaven record my oath!
I will not slight thy charge—thy cause betray!—
But yet once more beseech thee to beware!
Gia.
The rubicon indeed is past—too late.
Farewell, thou noblest Guido!—with all trust,
Whate'er my sorrow be, I say farewell!
Still know Giacinta evermore thy friend!
Thy faithful and devoted friend—farewell! (She weeps.)
Guido.
I am much troubled!—Oh! weep not!—weep not!—
Am I the unhappy cause of those wild tears?—
Gia.
If thou art happy—sweeter then than smiles
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(Prince Guido kisses her hand.)
Guido.
This be my pledge of pardon.—Ah!—farewell!
[Exit Guido.
Gia.
The Rubicon is past!—aye! more—the Styx!
All wears the blackest hues of Hades round!
Now!—now! ye fiends! but sway me as ye list!—
I feel your promptings at mine inward soul,
And hail them joyfully, and meet half way!—
And said'st thou danger's near?—true, true it is,
And haply danger too for more than one!—
On every side it yawns and glooms and threats;
But yet this working brain, this thrice-steeled heart
Shall foil e'en fate and conquer!—'twill be so!
(Rings a small bell on table. Enter Raphael.)
Without the least delay send Ludovic here!
Where dwells he now concealed?—
Raphael.
Full near at hand!—
A bow-shot off!—Shall I command him here?
Gia.
Even on the instant!
[Exit Raphael.
O'er my dreadless head
The thick-charged thunder-clouds frown threatening now,
And lightnings of fierce wrath ere long shall play,
To light me to destruction's stormy joy!
Oh! that Montalba had confessed!—Great heaven!
Suppose she should believe him!—All conceal,
And wrest my horrid triumph from my grasp,
Since I cannot denounce him, save, indeed,
I make myself the sacrifice.—Well! well!
I will not think it—she will not do thus;
And when he is betrayed—accused—he will not—
No—no—he will not—that I firmly feel,
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He is too generous.
Enter Ludovic.
Ludovic!—approach!—
Are others of thy troop now with thee here,
Whom thou canst deeply trust?
Ludo.
Three!—lady, three!—
Rocks to endure—and wild-fire to attack!—
Sand to absorb—and solder to conceal!—
Gia.
Attend!—I need thy services—ere long!—
There are a youth and maiden here, at Rome,
Whom thou with certain of thy band must seize,
And with all haste and secresy, transport
To thy mysterious haunts i' the Apennines.—
Prince Guido Bellafiore is the youth!—
The cousin of the Count Montalba's bride
The maiden!—When once these are in thy power,
Thou must compel the English maid to wed
One of thy troop—thyself!—brave Ludovic!—
If so it pleaseth thee.—The maid is fair—
Bright as the Ausonian May—and there detain,
In strictest durance, in thy dens, the prince—
Till I shall come and claim him at thy hands.
When I have fixed not—if before the day
Of our great rising—he must well believe
I have by chance discovered thus the place
Of his detention—and have flown to yield
His ransom, and to offer him release,
If he will wed his kind deliverer—straight!—
If after our grand struggle?—then 'twere vain—
'Twere needless to dissemble! With a crown
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Brave Ludovic!—do thy part, and be the lord
Of bags of burning gold—thy guerdon good.
Ludo.
It is not possible!—How? seize the prince
And the young maid here in the streets of Rome!
It may not be!—'twere rash and mad indeed!—
Remember, that the proud and palmy days
Of our most brave profession are o'erpast!—
That grovelling governments have dared to trench
On our broad rights—long recognized and sacred—
That our high privileges are annulled—
Cancelled and razed our fair prerogatives.
It is a burning shame—but thus it is!—
To seize upon the person now of men
Of any rank thus in the public ways,
Would bring destruction on our heads at once!
We should be tracked—pursued—discovered—stormed
In our true warrior-citadels i'the mountains,
And then given over to that jade—called justice!—
Who opes her jagged jaws to crush our souls out.
'Tis but by sleepless vigilance and care,
And keenest circumspection we contrive
To clude the myrmidons of government—
It is not possible, I say, once more.
Gia.
'Tis difficult, but hear!—Methinks I yet
Can smooth the ruggedness of this emprize,
And fence our undertaking fairly round
With statagem of likelihood.—I know
The prince hath purposed entering instantly
On a clandestine marriage with this girl.
There shall be trusty witnesses to swear
To this, and make their friends believe they thus
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Then we will so arrange and so dispose,
That they shall track them to Livorno's port,
Whence it shall be supposed they have embarked,
To shun all hazards counter to their hopes:—
When I repair, the ransom to propose,
To your strong holds, I can ensure his silence,
And fabricate some tale.—'Tis time we want!—
And some quick coinage of the cunning brain.
Leave that to me! thou Ludovic! the brave!—
But well perform thy plain straightforward part,
And seize, gag, bear them like the winds away,
And plunge them in thy mountain privacies!
Ludo.
It bears a better colouring!—good!—I'll do't!
Gia.
'Twere best that thou wert quartered in this house,
Ready to seize on ripe occasion!—straight
Prepare thyself!—
Ludo.
Aye! lady! doubt not me!
Speak but the whisper, when the time is come.
Gia.
'Tis well!—consult with Raphael now, and Luigi—
They will bestow thee in some secret place!
Fail not about thy person carefully
To guard our papers—till they be conveyed
To where I have given direction and command!
Ludo.
Stay, lady! Should this fiery youth oppose
A desperate hot resistance, shall I then
Apply my little steely spell, here?—charm (Feels in his bosom,)
His heart to sleep with its sure lullaby?
Gia.
(starts.)
The fiends!—the fiends!—'tis theirs, not mine!—I see,—
I see them grinning, gaping round me now—
Gibbering and ghastly?—If it is not done
'Ere the moon wanes, the bridal torch of Guido
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Ludo.
And bear the corse, 'twere better, to our hold!
Gia.
(groaning.)
Thou raven deathsman!—stint thy hideous prate—
Thy laidley loathsome croak—the mandrake's shriek
Were music to mine ears, compared with that!
Depart!—
Ludo.
(grumblingly aside.)
Nay; 'tis a delicate sense, i'faith,
By'r lady!—that can brook not thus to hear
What she hath urged an agent on to do!
To murder one, and give another's soul,
For that same deed, to purgatorial pains,
Or the everlasting excommunication,
Is nothing!—No!—but to hear of it—much!
[Exit Ludovic.
Gia.
Now must I shape, according to the events
Of the next few fleet hours, my course resolved.
This wild confederate, who hath lately joined us,
I fear he hath brewed mischief by his mirth!—
This hair-brained young De Tours!—he must not stay
Here at head-quarters. How may I devise?—
Soft!—soft!—I have it!—he shall soon be made
My secret messenger to Venice—there
He scarce can do the harm he might do here,
Mid these young, fiery, tameless spirits, all
Assembled from their various states and homes
In our mysterious congress!—He must go!
To-morrow's westering sun must light him hence!
He is of turn too light—of tone too loose—
Too gay of temperament—too glib of tongue—
For these dark passionate sons of Italy,
With their concentered sultriness of soul!
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Imperatively my fixed attention now!
Oh! miserable wretch am I become—
Steeped in the blood of murder to the lips!
Each moment wait I for a summons now
From my detested victim!—she that dares
Call herself wife to him whom I once loved.
'Twas well I could controul mine anger's heat,
In parleying with false Guido at the last—
Else had he taught them haply to suspect me,
And been too on his guard;—but all is well!—
Now must I go and carve out all my plans!
Prepare 'gainst every exigency's turn—
Bury myself in business and in thought
Most studious—for it thickens now!—it thrives!
[Exit.
Scene II.
—The Palazzo Ceria.FLORA and EVA.
Flora.
Sweet Eva!—though thou thus didst save my life,
Methinks I wish I ne'er had left my land—
Mine own blue Caledonia's heathery heights!—
Those mountains—queen-like mothers of my soul!
I cannot bear to watch thy sufferings!
Eva.
Hush!
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Flora.
It were best!—
Perchance 'twere best!—this hushed, dark, hidden troth—
This marriage, sealed in mystery—grieves my soul!
Eva.
Nay, cheer thee!—thou wilt yet be blest—most blest!
When he shall bear thee midst the old Alpine hills!
Those Mountains shall be Mothers of thy soul!—
Nay, cheer thee!—comfort thee!—ah! Flora! speeds
The hour too of my heavier destiny!
I told thee that Montalba had at length
His solemn promise given to open all
His long-veiled soul to me!—Thou canst not dream
With what appalling awfulness of tone
He gave that promise!—Whence his mania springs
I cannot guess, but fear 'tis rooted deep!—
At times some suffocating terror chokes
My struggling heart's pulse! and I feel—I feel
I scarce know what!—some supernatural sense
Of most unspoken pangs, like guilt—black guilt!
But wherefore!—am I not all innocent?
Flora.
Poor child!—thou'rt crush'd by conflicts long—and fears,
And vigils, and sharp sufferings, and distrusts!
Heaven send thee rest!
Eva.
Heaven send him rest!—and then
Were I most happy!—He, thou know'st, hath named
The Coliseum, at the vesper's hour,
For our sad trysting place!—I go alone.
Flora.
Art thou afraid, sweet cousin?
Eva.
Oh! no!—no!—
Not of Montalba! never!—but I fear
To see the unshrouded phantasies that whirl
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Good angels all befriend me!—there are times
When I do sink as to the dust of death!—
In utter black despondence!—
Flora.
Yet bear up!
Go through thy fearful task with firm resolve,
And be thou careful not to breathe one word
That he may construe into contradiction:
Affect still to believe whate'er he says,
Soothe him and cheer—first probe, then bind his wound!
Eva.
I will!—I will, with pitying Heaven's sweet grace!
It nears the time.—Oh, Flora! what's the hour?
Flora.
The chime told six five minutes back!—
Eva.
Oh! come!—
Come with me, dear one! to my chamber now;
Strengthen me!—pray with me!—deal gently too
With all the infirmities of my torn mind.—
Bear with me, Flora!—and forgive me all!—
Bear with me!—dearest!—
Flora.
How bear with thee?—thou
Art firm, yet gentle as some suffering saint,
Girt round with heaven-breathed magnanimities!
Eva.
I know not!—am I gentle?—am I firm?
I know but that I am most wretched—most
Insufferably miserable!—
Flora.
Alas!—
Lean thou on me!—thou tremblest—tremblest now
Like the frail aspen!—So!—one effort more!—
Thou bear'st it bravely! I will come with thee!
[Exeunt.
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Scene III.
—The Coliseum by Moonlight.Montalba (discovered).
Mont.
Would she were come! a fierce impatience drives
My shrieking Soul along.—I scarce can breathe
Beneath this load of deadly secrecy—
That weightier seems and weightier still to grow.
How have I borne it for so long? Now,—now,—
Each moment seems to add a mountain more
To this o'erpowering burthen!—Hush!—she comes!
Enter Eva.
My gentle, loving One! thou hast well redeemed
Thy solemn pledge.—Stand there,—no, nearer,—THERE!—
Dost love me, Eva!—speak!—
Eva.
Montalba!—
Mont.
Hush!
Say not thou lov'st me!—but I LOVE THEE—yes!—
And I have loved thee with most fatal love.
Now listen—and prepare thyself!—prepare!
Oh! Eva, love me never more!—discard
Each thought of tenderness—destroy at once
Each gentler feeling—fill thy heart with hate—
Look on me with all loathing, teach thy soul
To spurn me and to curse—
Eva.
Montalba!
Mont.
Aye!
Ev'n so is called the loathliest monster—Earth
Ere yet engendered—Eva!—hist!
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(tremblingly.)
My Lord!
Mont.
my Lord! soh!—well!—this is as it should be!
No kinder word, I pray, to cut my heart
Even to the core!—Now listen and be sure
With all extremity of withering hate!—
Disnatured, let thy lovely soul be armed
To loathe and to condemn, despise, abhor,—
'Tis at thy hands I ask my punishment—
Let every look—so blessed once and bland—
Smite like the sword of justice—to my soul.
Let every word most poignantly express
Thine utter, wild abhorrence.—Yes! I ask
My punishment at thy dear hands—and pray
That thou wilt pour on this devoted head
Those coals of fire—which—
Eva.
Oh! my husband!—haste!—
Come back with me!—come home!—'tis all a dream!
The ruinous beauty of this awful place—
Gleaming in ghostly moonlight startlingly—
Troubles thy mind and wakes strange fancies there.
Here Time seems changed into th'Eternity!—
All things around us—still as Night and Death
Do yet appear immortal as the Soul!—
Stupendous Presences come gathering round!
Communing with each other—not in words!—
And to our shrinking souls oppressed and stilled—
The Majesties of Heaven and Earth appear!—
Entwined with mysteries of tremendous might!
My soul faints, faints away beneath its dread—
Come hence with me, my Husband!—come away!—
The annihilating awe o'erpowereth me—
O'erpowereth thee!—thus doubly am I shaken!
I cannot bear to see thee thus o'erwrought—
Thus—thus—
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Nay! hear me out—at least, at least
I may claim thus much, Eva!—Wife!—from thee—
From thee—for whom I gave—so madly gave
That everlasting Soul I owed to God!—
And grew a murderer—for the hopeless wretch
That stands before thee—is indeed condemned
In sight of Heaven!—of that most heinous crime!
Through my means, Bianca Bellafiore died,
And I her death but compassed for thy sake—
By poison compassed it—and slew her so!
Eva.
Beloved Montalba! (aside)
aye! distraught! distraught!
The maniac glares in every withering look!—
My heart is dead!
Mont.
And what!—thou darest—thou darest!—
Woman! I charge thee, never more on me
Bestow such epithet of mockery—no!
I will not bear it—I have borne enough!—
Too much have borne!—and I am crushed at last.
I ask thee to abhor me—beg thy hate,
As starving men beg charity's last boon.
Entreat thy sternness,—thy severity—
This cruel kindness mads my guilty soul!—
With such a crime upon my spirit, still
Have I dared feast on Love's deliciousness—
(While every breath of bliss I dared to draw
Still seemed a crime and fathered fresh remorse!—)
Have bared my heart to blessedness of joy—
Drunk of the cup o'ermantling with delight,
And culled affection's life-enchanting flowers!
And yet how often from thy presence even
Have I rushed forth to agonize alone,
And glut the worm that revelled on my vitals—
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(Thou never shalt!—for thou would'st pity me)—
The tortures that have ground me to the dust,
The miseries that have mastered me, and martyred—
Oh!—Eva! Eva!—
[She goes up to him and takes his hand in both hers, and kisses it, saying,
Eva.
Let me but entreat—
[Mont. wildly flings her away from him.
Mont.
Away! away! Couldst kiss this murtherer's hand?
Couldst outrage nature, justice, feeling thus?
Mock Heaven, and wrong pure womanhood so much!
All shame be on thee! Is't thy vanity
Is pleased to think on this foul sacrifice—
This hellish deed committed for thy sake—
This hideous proof of a most hateful love?
All shame be on thee!—Couldst thou—couldst thou kiss
This reeking hand, all dripping with her blood!
Her heart's-blood?—Since it ceased to flow, through me!
I had looked forward to this dreadful hour—
Feeling thy horror and thy agony,
Sharp as the headsman's axe had pierced me through!
And proved some punishment for my dark crime!
And I have yearned—longed—thirsted—maddened—pined—
For some deep retribution of my sin,
And felt thy shrinking from me would have been
Almost an over-payment of despair!
I have a very hungering after hell!
Oh! for the dog's death—let me die at once!
But still—but still!—nay!—I am not yet prepared!
And, oh! my old gray father!—that forbids.
Thou dost not shrink from me. I do believe
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Take heaven to witness that thou hat'st me now!
Or, shame be on thee!—
Eva.
(Aside.)
Hope! farewell!—farewell!
The truth that slays me stares out to my soul,
And blinds and blasts it—there's no loophole left
At which the least doubt might creep in—'tis done;
His mind is all a ruin, madness holds
Her empire o'er his once proud intellect.—
Oh! can I see that ruin and not share it?
Mont.
(who has been walking about hurriedly and restlessly, suddenly stops and says,)
Thinkst thou 'tis mercy that thou art showing me?
I tell thee 'tis not mercy. No! no! no!
Heaven! it is the direst cruelty!—Stand back!
Shrink from me!—fear me!—shun my basilisk look!—
Mutter thine execrations in mine ear.
I do desire thy loathing!—I demand
Thy wild upbraiding!—claim it as a right—
Command—conjure it!—spurned—would revel in
Such agony of chastisement—would drink
Thy desperate curses to my shuddering soul,
With keener thirst than ever yet I drank
Thy trembling vows of love! Do thus—do thus—
Or cursed be that false love!— (Eva faints.)
Ha! what is this?
Have I slain thee too? Oh! my Bride! my Bliss!
My Beautiful! my gentle!—and thy fault
Was but thine ever-during gentleness,—
Thy nature's melting tenderness of truth!—
Oh! I have shocked thee from all sense—from thought—
From life—though not from love!—return, return—
That I may die through joy and grief conflicting—
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Eva
(recovering).
Oh! my Montalba!—leave me not—art near?
Yes! yes! and thou'rt not angered now!—dear Lord,
Hast thou forgiven me?—Say!—
Mont.
Forgiven thee? thee—
For what, poor dove?
Eva.
Alas!—I know not well.
Mont.
Come, lean on me, and I will lead thee forth—
Thy hand is ice, thy brow is ghastly!—Come,
Forget awhile what thou hast heard.—Oh! come,
Court dear repose upon thy quiet couch—
Since—Ah! thou art changed as by an age of grief!—
What world of woe hath crushed thy fragile form?
Thy life seems half in the empire of cold Death!
[He leads her out.
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Scene III.
—The Palazzo Ceria.Enter Flora.
Flora.
I momently expect her! hark! I heard
Some creaking hinge—the rustling of a robe.
My heart beats painfully and thick—'tis her!—
Enter Eva.
Almighty Heavens! how ghastly pale! Speak,—speak!
How fares it with thee?
Eva.
Me!—think not of me!
It is of little moment how I fare!
Oh, Flora!—Flora!—such a hideous dream!
Such a most deadly phantasy!—too much!
It is too much!—methinks I too go mad!—
[Puts her hands before her eyes.
Such gibbering spectres seem to gird me round,
Mocking and mouthing at me!
Flo.
Tell me all!
What did he thus reveal to thee?
Eva.
Think!—think!—
What horrors must he daily suffer!—think
What pangs must gnaw his heart's core! He conceives
He murdered her,—his lost, betrothed Bianca!
Administering some deadly poison's bane
To her, even on the eve of their fixed nuptials!
Flora.
Poor, poor Montalba!—
Eva.
I was shocked and grieved,
But did affect to think the phantasy
No fiction, but a fact.—Wilt thou believe
95
That I seemed not more horror-struck at this,
His dread disclosure!—True! I started not—
Nor turned me from him—as I should have done
With almost loathing—had I this believed!
But—wrung with pity—clasped and kissed his hand.
This roused him to that ire. He raved and stormed,
Wild-muttering with a maniac freezing stare,
Challenging me to curse him and abhor—
Upbraiding me with kindness, worse than death—
Down calling fate and vengeance on his head—
Himself accusing, as he loved to dwell
On that fierce torture of his own dark thoughts—
Self-execrations breathing—wild and deep—
And groaning forth the anguish of his soul,
Covering himself with dire and ghastly shames—
As recklessness of suffering brought relief—
'Twas horrible to see his haggard looks—
Now—now a thousand passions fired his brow!
A thousand deaths now, there despaired and darkened—
His eye in blood-shot fury rolled around,
And sent the terrors of his soul through mine!—
His tones were like dread voices from the grave!
The misery of his self-imposed remorse
Was so o'erpowering—and so deadly-deep,
Myself felt even such sinner in its shadow!—
At last, methinks, he cursed me for my love!—
I heard no more, o'erworn with anguish—torn
With fierce conflicting feelings, at his feet
I fell unconscious as a corse:—at length,
When I recovered, on his breast I found
My head was leaning; he with trembling hands
Was chafing mine, and pouring fondly forth
Endearing epithets.—My tale is told!
He did sustain my feeble steps, until
96
Oh!—Flora!—is't not dark and dreadful proof
Of madness this?—and proof on proof again
His rage insane at my not loathing him—
Not shrinking from him. (Wrings her hands.)
What! what must I do?
What can I do?—what ought I now to do?—
Enter Guido.
Flo.
Let us inform Prince Guido of the whole!
He will advise us!—
Eva.
Do so thou!—do thou,
I cannot!—and be quick!—time presses much!—
For something must be done, and speedily!—
[Guido and Flora walk apart conversing.
Must I endure this life of racking woe?
Keep calm, and act the hypocrite's cold part,
Montalba!—in thy presence?—Oh, beloved—
While every vein seems bursting with despair!
To see thee daily dying—that worst death!
The ruin of thy glorious intellect!—
The withering of thy free and noble mind!—
The grave's crust curdling o'er thy warm affections—
All thy bright eagle faculties—rare feelings—
Monstered by one most horrid mania's strife!—
Better to watch thee daily draw the breath,
The suffocating, shivering, scarce-heaved breath
That wants but little to the last—to watch
Those fierce convulsions of the expiring frame—
What be they to the soul's long agonies?—
The mind's unutterably deadlier throes!—
What kills that frame to suffer—to the soul
Gives but redoubled life!—it grows on anguish!
[Guido and Flora come forward.
97
Dear countess!—hear me! I should counsel thee,
And without further loss of time to send
For aid professional—it must be so!—
Poor, lost Montalba!—What a monstrous dream!—
How doth it stamp his dire insanity!—
Giacinta would—
Eva.
I have just sent for her!
I wrote, imploring her to come at once—
And made the bearer safe of the ill-starred scroll
My own most faithful Anthony, who best
On such a heavy errand I could trust.
Guido.
I am right glad that thou hast sent to her:—
She is most prompt to counsel and devise;—
And whatsoe'er her faults, I feel she is
A true and zealous friend.—Didst thou detail
The frightful circumstances of the case
Is this thy missive?—
Eva.
Yes! in brief I did!—
I felt to write it easier than to speak.
Guido.
She will be here anon, then?—
Eva.
Every sound
I think 'tis her!—Oh! woe! woe! woe! my heart
Can feel no hope, can dream no change—'tis done!—
Montalba is a maniac!—What am I?—
A widow, though a wife for evermore!
My hopes, my heart, my energies, my thoughts,
My feelings withering in my husband's—cell!—
Worse, oh! ten thousand times than e'en his grave!
For that I feel we should together share!—
Enter Giacinta, who goes up to Eva, and affectionately embraces her.
Gia.
My gentle sufferer!—most unhappy friend!—
98
Eva.
Oh! counsel me Giacinta! give me aid.
Is there a shadow of one hope yet left?
Gia.
Yes!—cheer thee up!—I long revolved and weighed
Thy letter's dire contents—at length a light
Gleamed through my troubled senses.—I do see
But one expedient—that were safe and wise!—
Guido! thou know'st thy father's friend—thine own,
And also poor Montalba's from his childhood—
The celebrated Medico of Florence!—
Guido.
Thy good Dottore Reggio?
Gia.
Right! the same!—
Guido.
He was called in when my poor sister first
Showed symptoms of her mortal malady.
Gia.
Therefore the best for us to call in now!
For every reason—he would know at once,
Should poor Montalba wildly rave to him,
As he attended sweet Bianca's death-bed,
The tale a fabrication of the brain,
Diseased—distempered:—then, as the loved friend
Of Count Montalba, we are safely sure
He never will betray his mournful case,
(Since I do hope it may be still concealed!)
But keep that secret close as would the grave.—
Reggio is most renowned for zeal and skill.
He will do all—that can be done—rest sure!—
And knowing from his earliest childhood thus
Our suffering friend, must know—a weighty point—
His constitution thoroughly and well.
I still believe 'tis but some passing heat
Of wild delirium—from unsettled health
And a too vivid, warm imagination!—
If so—and our good Florentine achieves
99
I would not have it noised about for worlds:
On his recovery 'twould much chafe and grieve
Our noble patient.—This my counsel is,
Most secretly and speedily to send
This night to Florence some trustworthy man
To urge the immediate presence of the leech.
Guido.
To thy sage counsel I do much incline;—
It is the wisest course that we could take!
'Twill prove, I hope, with thee—no stubborn case—
Some temporary, slight derangement!—
Gia.
Well!
If thou, dear Eva, dost agree in this,
'Twere best the messenger were straight despatched,
Ere the night wears.—I would enjoin ye all
To keep the strictest secresy on this!
And all that bears upon this subject now!
Tell not Montalba's much-loved Della Moria.
He might not view the affair in the same light
That we all view it,—and there is no end
To wonderings—hints—conjecturings—and reports.
Guido.
Thou'rt right!—Shall I at once indite and send
The letter to the Doctor Riggio?—with
Our joint entreaties, he will lose no time
In being on the road to Rome!—wilt give,
Dear countess, thy consent to this—at once.
Eva.
Methinks it seems the sole best method—yes!—
[Guido sits down and writes.
Guido.
(to Eva.)
Wilt thou permit me to give orders now?—
Eva.
Oh, yes! my brain whirls round, (she sits down.)
What is't?—Yes!—yes!—
100
Guido.
What, ho! within there!
Enter Giachimo.
Haste—at once and find
Some trusty messenger to send to-night
To Florence,—bearer of this precious scroll;
First let him wait on us for orders straight!
Giach.
I will obey your highness's commands!—
[Exit Giachimo.
Gia.
'Twere best, methinks, that I should now retire,
Since, should Montalba chance to pass this way—
He might suspect our conference did regard
In some sort his late parleying with his wife.
Eva.
It might be thus!—Ah! better thou shouldst go!—
He is suspicious—sudden—at all times—
But trebly so of late!—All thanks to thee,
Angel of consolations and best kindness!—
Counsellor and comforter!—good night!—good night!
Gia.
Acquaint me in the morning, I entreat—
Sweet Flora! how this dreadful night hath past
With the poor outworn countess!
Flora.
Certainly.
Gia.
(aside.)
Oh!—my heart leaps with hatred at thy sight—
My very soul turns white with jealousy;—
But thou shalt suffer!—thou shalt yet succumb,
And mine shall be the banquet of revenge—
The luxury of victorious hatred then!—
[Exit Giacinta.
Guido.
The messenger is tardy!—It should scarce
Be far advanced in night ere he sets out.
Flora.
Would he were come: he tarries tediously!
101
Giach.
The courier waits for orders on the outside.
Guido.
Admit him instantly.
[Exit Giach.
The scroll!—the scroll!—
Flora,
(takes it from the table, and gives it to Guido.)
Here!—folded—sealed—addressed—
Guido.
Best thanks! beloved!
Enter Messenger.
Guido.
Art thou well horsed?—
Mess.
So please your highness—yes!—
Guido.
Canst ride like lightning?
Mess.
For a thundering bribe!
Guido.
That thou shalt have, if thou fulfil thy part!—
(Thou must absolve thy duty first—observe!)
To our full satisfaction!—these convey,
And with thine own hands speedily deposit
I' the hands of him to whom the document
Is superscribed;—with thine own hands, I say,—
And charge thee, on thy peril, to commit
Or botch or negligence, nor dare return
With plausible excuse for foul default.
Mess.
I will do all I am directed.—Know
A fleeter, steadier messenger ne'er made
The road ring out beneath his flying steed!—
Give me the scroll, my lord!
Guido.
Here!—put it up,
And swift to horse!—to horse!—and draw not rein,
Save to change coursers, till thou gain'st thy goal.
Swift—in the saddle!—start!—make furious haste!
102
[Exit Messenger.
Guido.
Now I entreat ye both to seek repose.
The best we could devise hath now been done.
Fair countess! I beseech thee lean on me.
[Exeunt all.
END OF ACT IV.
| Eva : Or, The Error | |