 | Romiero |  |
324
SCENE III.
Don Guzman's chamber, who is discovered sleeping in his chair. Enter Romiero.Rom.
Not yet abed! Ay, but he is asleep.
Happy unwedded! Thou canst soundly sleep;
Nor woman's fickleness, nor woman's guilt,
Can bring disgrace or agony to thee.
I'll not disturb him.
[After remaining for awhile on the front of the stage musing and muttering to himself, he speaks, but in a low voice.
The heart, the heart! What prize we but the heart!
[Mutters again, then breaks out in loud and vehement utterance.
No; though his lips had never touch'd her hand,
If that be lost, I'm wretched!
Guz.
(waking).
What sound is that? Who's there? Ha! thou, my friend!
Rom.
What has so startled thee?
Guz.
The voice that woke me.
Thou must have heard it; 'twas a human voice.
Rom.
It was mine own, Don Guzman.
Guz.
What has befallen? Why wert thou so alarm'd?
Or was it some sharp pang of bodily pain?
Rom.
No, no! it was not that; and I am here
Only to share thy chamber for the night.
Guz.
And why? I am amazed.
Rom.
I've paced o'er ramparts, halls, and galleries,
Till I have need of rest.
Guz.
And thou wouldst find it here? What strange caprice
Debars thee from the fair Zorada's chamber;
That place which gives the rest of paradise?
Rom.
Ah! so it did to me. It was a spot
Where every lovely—every sweetest thing
In seeming shelter, bloom'd i' th' early sun,
Till the first sultry breath of southern winds
Blasted its freshness, leaving nought behind
But tainted fragrance—sere and faded flowers.
It was the magic palace of a dream,
Changed in an instant to some dismal den:
It was a bower of healthful innocence,
Changed to a lazar's vile and loathly ward:
It was—Oh, oh! I know not what I say,
Thinking of what I was and what I am.
Guz.
Nay; give thy ruffled thoughts a little pause;
Be well assured things are not as thou fearst.
She did appear so good.
Rom.
Alas! she did.
If I but droop'd or look'd a little pale,
The stroke of her soft hand, her kindly words,
Her sweet breath on my cheek,—O! it did turn
The hour of pain to bliss!—And all this happiness
Was but delusion—but a hov'ring vapour
That covers for awhile the fenny pool.
Guz.
No, say not so! Is it not far more likely
That the delusion rests with thee, my friend?
Rom.
(after musing, and without heeding what Guzman has said).
Ay, if I did but droop, her look of sympathy
Went to my soul. Or if I parted from her,
Though only for a week—a day—
Guz.
Cease, cease!
Be well assured it is not as thou fearst.
Try to compose thyself: what are thy proofs
That she has been unfaithful?
Rom.
No; what a worldly judge would deem unfaithful
I trust she has not been; but what avails it?
He whom her fancy follows, he who pleases
Her secret thoughts and wishes, is her lord,
Let who will, by the power of legal right,
Her body hold in thraldom.—Not unfaithful!
If I have lost her heart, I've suffer'd all.
No further outrage can enhance my wretchedness.
[Turning quickly and taking hold of him.
But thou believest that, e'en in this, my fears
Are mere extravagance.
[Pausing and looking earnestly in his face.
Dost thou not think so? Dost thou not, Don Guzman?
Guz.
I hope they are.
Rom.
That hope implies a doubt;
Ay, and a doubt which, when I saw thee last,
Did not exist. Speak, speak! If thou mistrust her,
It is on no slight grounds.
Guz.
Be more composed, and I will tell thee all.
Rom.
There's something then to tell; some damned thing.
Guz.
Nay, think not so; for, when I've told thee all,
'Twill make no certain proof against Zorada.
And since thou thinkst her love for thee is changed,
Caring but for her love, thou mayst the better
Endure to learn the worst, if such should follow.
Rom.
(in a faint voice).
I understand thee.
Guz.
Two hours since, perhaps—
I've been asleep, and cannot say how long—
But pause we now. Thy quiv'ring lips are white,
Thine eyes are fix'd: lean upon me, my friend.
Rom.
A sickly faintness passes o'er my heart.
Guz.
(supporting him to the chair).
Lean here awhile; thou canst not hear me yet.
Rom.
I'm better now.
Guz.
But we will pause awhile.
Rom.
Proceed, proceed! I'll listen, though thy words
Were each the spik'd tooth of a martyr's wheel.
Proceed:—Some two hours since—
Guz.
Some two hours since, as, not disposed to sleep,
I was perusing that old book of stories,
I heard, and, as I judged, close to the door,
Two persons speaking in the gallery.
The voice of Maurice I could recognise,
The other was a woman's.
325
(starting from the chair).
And Zorada's.
Guz.
Use not such frantic gestures of despair;
I say not it was her's: perhaps it was not;
Perhaps 'twas Donna Beatrice.
Rom.
No, no!
It was Zorada. Absent from her chamber
I found her at that time. When she return'd,
At a late hour, we had some wrangling words,
Gloz'd o'er, but poorly gloz'd, with female fraud,
Which soon betray'd itself, and then I left her.
Guz.
'Tis very strange; and what I heard them say—
Rom.
Ay, ay! proceed with that; and make no pause
Till thou hast told the whole, though it should make me
A very fiend of agony and shame.
Guz.
Thou grasp'st my throat so hard, I cannot speak.
Rom.
Well, well, then! Out with all their damned words,
Till they have proved the blackest tint of guilt,
And then will come the fatal end of all;
The sabre clutch'd in strength; the stroke of vengeance;
The horrible joy, that lasteth for a moment!
Let all this be; let horror be unstinted!
Let every misery light upon the head
Of that most wanton—No, the word would choke me;
I will not utter it.
Guz.
Thou art beside thy wits; thou canst not hear me.
The words they spoke, prove against her, and no one,
An act of guilt, but only the intent.
Rom.
Intent! O monstrous! foul deliberation!
If life-blood warm his heart another day,
I am bereft, debased, and brutified,
Unmeet to wear the outward form of manhood.
Guz.
Wilt thou not hear my story?
Rom.
I have heard it,
Knowing the cursed purport; ne'ertheless,
Relate it all, minutely as thou wilt,
I'll listen to the end.
Guz.
I drew close to the door, and heard these words
Distinctly spoken in Don Maurice's voice:—
“Thou knowst I fear Romiero's apt suspicion;
“Delay were dangerous; therefore, by the dawn,
“Meet me beneath the grove of pines, prepared
“To quit the castle. We will fly together:”—
Or words to this effect, which indistinctly
Fell into softer whispers, till, alarm'd,
As I suppose, they left the gallery.
'Twas my intent to give thee early notice;
Therefore I shunn'd that tempting couch, and sought
Here, in my chair, to snatch a little sleep,
And be in readiness ere break of day.
Rom.
Thou hast done well.
[After a pause.
Come to this pitch of secret profligacy,
Who was so modest and so timid once!
Was I a tyrant, that she is so ready,
To doff the virtuous and respected wife—
For the base mistress of that minion too?
Some spell, some devilish witchery, hath subdued her,
Ere it could come to this.
Guz.
Ay, so I think, if that in verity
It be Zorada.
Rom.
O 'tis she! 'tis she!
Thinkst thou I am a fool to be deceived
By such affected doubts, in pity utter'd?
Speak truly, plainly, treat me as a man.
Call them—yea call that woman, an' thou wilt,—
Guz.
Fy, fy! Zorada is not yet a—
Rom.
(putting his hand on the lips of Guzman).
Hold!
Speak not the word; I'm weaker than I thought:
Is it not near the dawn?
Guz.
I think 'tis distant still.
Rom.
Surely it is not.
We'll to the eastern turret, and look forth:
Should they escape!—My brain burns at the thought.
Exeunt.
| Romiero | |