University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A ROOM IN COUNT DEL' ALBANO'S HOUSE.
Enter Leonora.
LEONORA.
Why! here be changes! all, too, in an hour!
The marriage is deferr'd to time unknown—
My good old lord sent off in breathless haste
On some great state commission unto Venice—
And now, my youthful mistress hath departed,
Nor spoken word to me, nor human being:
I guess she is not gone a hundred miles
From her Colonna's garden, which, in truth,
Is pleasant with its orange-trees and myrtles
At this sweet season of the year!—Who cometh?

[Enter Imelda.
IMELDA.
Say, Leonora, can I speak awhile
With thy sweet lady?—is she much engaged?
I know these times of fluttering preparation—

LEONORA.
Faith! madam, I can ill resolve thy query:
She hath been out this hour at least.

IMELDA.
This hour?
She hath been out!—Thou'rt dreaming, sure, Leonora!

LEONORA.
No, madam!—no, 'tis true. Though as for dreams,
I had last night a most surprising one
About an owl upon four legs—an oyster—

IMELDA.
Also upon four legs?—Ne'er mind thy dream,
But tell me, is it sure that she is out—
The Lady Angiolina?

LEONORA.
Sure as fate,
Or any thing, yet surer—if aught is!
As true, as that the old Count is gone to Venice!
She is not in her study, nor her chamber,
Nor in her oratory,—nor at her toilet,
Nor on her balcony,—nor in the hall,
Nor in the great saloon,—nor in the small one,
Not in the music-room,—nor picture-gallery,
Nor in the corridore,—nor in the cellar,
Nor in the kitchen,—buttery,—offices—

IMELDA.
I pray thee hold thy peace! She must be out—
She must be gone to see her aged aunt!

LEONORA
(aside).
(She must be gone to see her youthful lover:
The odds are large, but I have the best of it.)

IMELDA.
Know'st thou, Leonora, why the Count was sped
Thus suddenly and rapidly to Venice?

LEONORA
(looking important).
Why! I but heard scant hints—a solemn mission
Unto the Forty, as I do believe,
Relating to—

IMELDA.
To what?

LEONORA.
To certain things,—
A lion's mouth that bit a man's hand off
Belonging to our Mantua.

IMELDA.
Pshaw! thou'st heard
Of that famed lion's mouth wherein they place
Their accusations in the dark.

LEONORA.
Well, lady!
Whate'er they place there in the dark or light,
Be sure the lion would at once snap at them:
Besides this, I believe our gracious Duke
Has sent to beg that the Venetians would
Lend, in all kindness, for his Highness' pleasure,
To drive about in through fair Mantua's streets,
On some great day of jubilee ere long,
Their gilded, splendid, shining Bucentaur!

IMELDA.
Their Bucentaur! Why, Leonora! Well
I might say thou wert dreaming! 'Tis a ship!

LEONORA.
A ship! Oh, well! his Highness was in fault:
You see he must have thought it was a coach.
'Tis strange the great should be so ignorant!

IMELDA.
I give thee credit for thy subterfuge!

[Enter Emmanuel Lorio.
EMMANUEL.
Art thou here, sweet Imelda? Little thought I,
When I did cross the threshold, what a light
Should dazzle all my soul within these walls.
Forgive me! I should speak not thus, I know!—
(To Leonora.)
Dost thou belong to Count Albano's household?

LEONORA.
Signor, I am first tirewoman and hand-maiden
To Angiolina Countess del' Albano.

IMMANUEL.
Hath the Count yet set out for Venice?

LEONORA.
Yea;
With th' arrow's speed he started hours ago.

EMMANUEL.
I am unfortunate: I had despatches
To send to Venice to my dear step-brother,
One of the youngest of the Conscript Fathers.

IMELDA.
Not of the tyrannous Forty, I should hope?

EMMANUEL.
Himself no tyrant, I can vouch for that.—
Oh, lady! grant me yet your ear awhile;
I have learn'd things that I would fain impart
To thee in private.

IMELDA.
Unto whom relating?

EMMANUEL.
Unto the Lady Angiolina, (dear
To thee I know, Imelda, as thyself—
Thine own sweet self!) and to our Prince the Duke!

IMELDA.
Thou may'st retire, Leonora.

LEONORA
(aside, going).
May I so?—
Another love-case, else mine eyes are pumpkins,
Or any thing but lovely grey-green diamonds!

[Exit Leonora.
IMELDA.
I pray thee, instantly, report thy tidings!

EMMANUEL.
I fear—and pause upon the threshold still
Of my disclosure, lest it give thee pain:
I know thy generous friendship's sympathy
In all that may concern Albano's daughter.

IMELDA.
Most true, for her I feel as for my sister;
A childhood-friendship—deepen'd, day by day,
By constant intercourse, congenial feeling,
Pursuits the same, and sympathetic hearts!

EMMANUEL.
I fear a baleful eye is fixed on her!

IMELDA.
A baleful eye! (Aside.
Be still, my dubious heart!)
What eye can harm her with its blighting looks?
Dwells fascination in its fixedness?

EMMANUEL.
Aye! fatal, fascinating flame is in it,—
Start not, nor look thus wilder'd and aghast!
I mean not to impugn her constancy,
Her virtue, her sincerity, or firmness;
But merely to express that what shines there
May prove the fascination of a fate,
Through other helps and agents than her frailties,
Through other ministers than her weaknesses.
I fear me, that the Duke doth love her!

IMELDA
(wildly).
Who?

EMMANUEL.
The Duke!

IMELDA.
I fear so too! I long have fear'd it!

EMMANUEL.
Great Heaven! thou'rt pale—thou'rt alter'd!—What! oh, what!
Imelda! what can I have said to cause it?
Dost thou then love the Duke? Is he my rival,—
My long-detested, dangerous, unknown rival?
Oh! I ne'er guess'd 'twas thus! At least reply—
Make certain mine uncertain wretchedness:
Dost thou, then, love the Duke?

IMELDA.
As Life!

EMMANUEL.
Thou dost!—
Oh, happy Duke! an emperor might be proud
To smile his state away from him for thee,
Ev'n for permission but to look and love thee!
And thou dost love him? Happy—happiest prince!

IMELDA.
Happy! he loves me not! thou say'st thyself
He loves sweet Angiolina!

EMMANUEL.
I knew not
When thus I said, of his most blessed fortune;
I was in ignorance of his great bliss!—
I knew not, lady, he was loved by thee!—
Certain,—I oft have seen him gazing deeply
Upon the shrinking charms of Angiolina:
'Twas for her friend's sweet sake, I now doubt not!—
True, Giulio—who adores Albano's daughter—
Hath told me things late hinted unto him
By certain courtiers,—haunters of the palace.—
No! nothing I believe, but that the Duke
Must love Imelda, if Imelda loves him!

IMELDA.
Alas! I dream it not! the illusion fades!
He once did love me, or he deem'd he did—
Then finding—well he might—himself perfection!
That I in nought could be his equal—nought!—
Unworthy of his princely thoughts and loves,
He changed, and sought another worthier—lovelier!

EMMANUEL.
That I deny! with all my soul deny it!
Such lives not in the universe!—'tis false!
The falsest word those gentlest lips ere spoke,
For Truth, anticipating thy sweet Thoughts
Lives on those lips that speak thy soul unspeaking!—
Lives on those lips to weave them into words,—
Till the air melt musical with truth around thee!—

IMELDA.
Weak flattery this! Oh, do not flatter me!
Praise were a bane and burthen to me now—
A bitterness, scarce—scarce—to be sustain'd,
In this my state of heart-humiliation,
Think, what must flattery be?—then flatter not!
Go to the bed of death and flatter there,
But never—never to the breaking heart!
It sees too clearly—Oh! it feels too deeply!
Illusion withereth from the world away,
And nought is left save stern reality!

EMMANUEL.
Let me proceed then, let me tell thee all:
It is supposed—mysteriously 'tis whisper'd—
The brigands who attack'd Hippolito
(Returning from his country-house near Mantua,
Whither he had but sped the day before
To make some preparations and arrangements—
Some due preliminaries of his marriage,—
There meeting with his legal men of business;
It is suspected and supposed by some,
These brigands were the creatures of the Duke,
And acting by his secret orders thus.

IMELDA.
Oh, Heaven! What horrors! No! I cannot think it!
Changeful he may be, light and most capricious,
But never—never criminal! Oh, no!
I will not, and I cannot think it.—No!

EMMANUEL.
I would not think it; for to know the Duke
Beloved by thee Imelda!—makes him seem
As something sacred in mine eyes—but yet—

IMELDA.
Wherefore—oh! wherefore should he do such deed?
At least he knows—he must know Angiolina
Adores Hippolito, loves not himself,—
Would wed her lover's memory—sadly constant—
Should aught divide Colonna from her fortunes,
Nay, she hath ever frown'd upon the Duke,
Misliking what she term'd his loose, light manners!—

EMMANUEL.
Ah! but he may have plann'd some deep-laid scheme;—
Man cannot dream what Tyranny may purpose!—
What shriek is that? Hark! hurrying steps approach!

[Enter Leonora.
LEONORA.
Oh, madam! horror! Oh! the Count—my master!

IMELDA.
Good gracious Heaven! Why, what has happened?—say!

LEONORA.
He is brought home dead—cold—a stiff, pale corpse!—
Think—think how terrible! so late I had seen him
Go forth in hale and green old age—and now
A livid corpse!

IMELDA.
And is it so in truth?
Indeed, most terrible!—The cause—the cause—
The means—the manner of his death?—

LEONORA.
'Twas thus:—
He left the city mounted on a steed
Sent by the gracious Duke, and meant to ride
Some few leagues forward on this noble beast,
The Duke's own favourite charger, full of fire—
Alas! too fiery far, and too impetuous;
In brief, the Count lost all command of him;
He gallop'd off at a most headlong rate,
And (as reports one, who was of the event
A shock'd spectator), darting suddenly
Round some sharp angle in the road, he threw
His venerable rider to the ground
With force terrific, fracturing thus his skull—
Alack the day! behold the sad procession—

(The body is brought in by servants, &c.)
GUISCARDO.
Alas! my master! generous, noble-hearted,
Kind patron! friend and father! art thou gone?
Woe, woe to all thy house, thy friends, and kin!
For never worthier heart did throb and beat
In warmer bosom! cold that breast is now!

IMELDA.
The unhappy Angiolina! So beloved!
The darling of his age—his cherish'd child!
How my heart bleeds for her!

LEONORA.
And well it may!
How will she bear, when she returns, to hear
The tidings of her sudden, dread bereavement?

EMMANUEL.
Lady Imelda, let me lead thee hence,
Thy nerves, already shatter'd, ill can bear
Th' accumulation thus of grief on grief;
Let Leonora and the other menials
Keep silence on this terrible event
Till the Count's kin may be by me apprised.

IMELDA.
I go, but do not fail, my good Leonora,
T' acquaint me with my hapless friend's return;
Soon as she reaches her late happy home,
I must be with her to console and soothe her.

LEONORA.
I will not fail, believe me, oh, signora!
'Twill be a bitter trial for her heart!
Her kind old father! doating on her so,
Wrapp'd up in her, devoted to her wishes,
For ever watching all her looks and words!
A mournful day! a heavy, weary hour!

[Exeunt.