University of Virginia Library

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!
Then thou hadst ne'er met Guido!

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
In his wild brain, and make his malady.
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.