 | Eva : Or, The Error |  |
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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
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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
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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.
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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!—
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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
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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!—
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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!
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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!
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[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.
| Eva : Or, The Error | |