 | Romiero |  |
SCENE II.
The apartment of Zorada.— She enters with nurse, who carries a basket in her hand.Zor.
(speaking as she enters).
And see, good nurse, that where the cold wind enter'd
Thou stop the crevice well. Oh! that his head,
His dear and honour'd head, should so be laid,
While I am couch'd on down! Thou sayst his face
Look'd not so sadly as before.
Nurse.
Indeed I thought so, madam: he spoke cheerily,
And listen'd to my stories of past days,
As if he liked to hear them.
Zor.
Alas! the very sound of human words,
Address'd to him in peace, is now a solace
Enjoy'd but rarely.—I must talk and smile,
And keep my station at the social board,
While my sad heart is thinking of his silent
And lonely state.—There is my picture then,
Since he desires to have it.
[Giving her a picture, which she puts into the basket.
Nurse.
Yes, madam, he did earnestly desire it.
He bade me say to you, no lover ever
Gazed on the features of a plighted mistress
With such intense and yearning love, as he
Will gaze upon this image.
Zor.
Yes; he will look, and think that in return
It looks with love on him; but woe is me!
He cannot know how dearly in my heart
His image is impress'd. I call to mind
His kind caresses in my infant years;
His noble form in warlike harness braced,
When he returning caught me to his heart,
And heard my simple welcome with delight,
Filling his eyes with tears. I well remember—
Dost thou not also, nurse? the voice of fondness
With which, e'en when I cross'd his graver mood,
He call'd me little Zada. O 'twas sweet!
I thought so then; but now it haunts mine ear
Like portion of some broken melody,
Which mocking bird is so enamour'd of,
He will not learn the whole.—And say, good nurse,
That I will surely see him ere he go,
If it be possible.
[Exit nurse.
(After a thoughtful pause.)
“My little Zada! tush, my little fool!
I will not have thee for my playfellow,
If thou be so perverse.”
No more than this; this was my worst rebuke.
He set no heartless stepdame o'er my head,
Though many ladies strove to win his love.
He was both sire and mother to his child,
Gentle as her I lost.
Then for his sake I'll willingly endure
The present misery. O, my Romiero!
Wilt thou not trust my conduct for a day?—
Absent all night! To what a state of passion
His brooding fancy must have work'd his mind!
Alas, alas; 'tis his infirmity.
Enter Romiero.
Rom.
My dear Zorada! dear, dear wife! thy pardon:
I crave it on my knees. O pardon one
Who has offended from excess of love.
I might have thought all eyes that look'd upon thee,
With more than admiration look'd; but, Oh!
To think that thy pure mind could e'er be moved
To aught which blessed saints might not approve,
Was monstrous, vile—yea a most vile suggestion—
Though all the while 'twas an offence of love.
Thou art amazed, I see, and well thou mayst.
I have but now discover'd what my fears—
Zor.
Fears! What hast thou discover'd?
Rom.
Be not alarm'd; nought that can injure thee.
For if thou hast been privy to their love,
Though I might chide thee as a cunning wife,
Who from her husband hath a secret kept,
The bane of confidence; yet being myself
So deep in trespass, I must needs be meek,
And say thou art not very, very naughty.
Zor.
Thy words are wild; I do not comprehend them.
Rom.
Dost thou not know thy fair but thoughtless friend
Has to young Maurice's suit such favour given,
That she this morning, short while since, was caught
Escaping in his company?
I watch'd and stopp'd them in the grove of pines.
How glad a sight it was to me, when, wild,
With terror wild, she rush'd between our weapons
To find it was but Beatrice!
Zor.
But Beatrice? whom didst thou fear to find?
Rom.
Oh! spare me! Crimson shame upon my cheek,
Betrays too plainly that for which already
I've craved forgiveness.
Zor.
(drawing herself up proudly).
Yes, I comprehend thee.
Rom.
Oh! but that look, that air, that flush of anger
Which ne'er before so stain'd thy lovely face,
Speak not of pardon.
[She turns away, and he follows her.
I have much offended.
But he who like offence hath ne'er committed:
Who ne'er hath look'd on man's admiring eye
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Suspicion, hatred hath bereft his soul
Of every generous feeling; he who never
Hath, in that state of torture, watch'd her face
Till e'en the traits of saintly innocence
Have worn the shade of conscious guilt; who never
Hath, in his agony, for her dear sake
Cursed all the sex;—may, as the world conceives,
Be a most wise, affectionate, good husband;
But, by all ecstacy of soul, by all
That lifts it to an angel's pitch, or sinks it
E'en to perdition, he has loved but slightly—
Loved with a love, that is, compared to mine,
As cottage hearth where smould'ring embers lie
To the surcharged unquenchable volcano.
Zor.
What creed is this which thy perturbed mind
Repeats so boldly? Good my lord, discard it,
As a false faith. I have believed true love
Of such a noble, high, confiding nature,
That neither scandal's breath, nor seeming show
Of fitful change, could shake its gen'rous trust.
'Twere agony for me to think thee false;
But till thou front me with a rival—yea,
Till thine own words have own'd that thou art faithless—
I will believe thee true.
Rom.
Believe, believe it! and on these dear hands,
A thousand times caress'd, let me be vow'd
Ne'er to offend again thy noble nature
With e'en the slightest movement of suspicion!
Dost thou relent, Zorada? Dost thou love me?
Zor.
Indeed I do; have I not often said it?
And yet, it seems, thou didst mistrust my words.
Rom.
Fye on that gibe! let me have perfect pardon.
Zor.
(embracing him).
Thou art forgiven. Now; art thou satisfied?
Rom.
I were a Tartar else, or sullen Turk.
Sweet partner, lovely mate, my gentle wife!
O the soft touch of this dear hand thrills through me,
So dear! as dear as when thou first wert mine.
[Stroking her hand, and then pressing it to his forehead and cheek.
If word, or look, or circumstance, again
E'er tempt me to conceive unworthy thoughts,
I am a vulgar wretch, debased and mean,
Unworthy even to look thee in the face,
Or hold myself akin to virtue. No;
I will no more offend.
Re-enter Nurse, who is busy arranging her basket, and then looking up, starts on seeing Romiero.
Nay, start not, worthy nurse; pray thee advance.
Nurse.
I came—I thought my lady was alone.
Rom.
And so she is; for we are so united
In every thought and wish, that thou shouldst reckon
When with each other, we are still alone.
Is it not so?—Thou comest for some good purpose,
I'll swear. To whom bearst thou that tempting fruit?
Nurse.
To no one, sir; I come to show its beauty; It is my lady's basket.
Rom.
Thou'st cull'd the best: my lips are parch'd and dry.
May I—
[Putting his hand to the basket.
Nurse.
Nay, good my lord, I'll choose you one.
Rom.
(rejecting what she offers).
Not that: the further peach my fancy pleases.
[Putting his hand into the basket.
But there be dainty viands and cakes besides!
Zor.
A charitable dole for age and want.
[Looking to the nurse significantly.
That is the reason why I bade her show it,
Ere she should take it to the poor distress'd.
Rom.
Ha! let me then restore my robbery;
And here, to make amends.
[Putting money into the basket.
What have we here?
[Taking out a picture.
Is this a present for your villager?
Nurse.
Yes, please you.—No, she but desired to see it.
Rom.
(with bitter irony).
A most refined and sentimental gossip!
Or does she mean to use it as a charm
To cure old aching bones?
Nurse.
You've guess'd it well, my lord. Quoth she to me,
Could I but see your lady's blessed face!
Quoth I to her, thou canst not, by good reason:
My lord is now return'd. Quoth she again,
Could I but see her picture, lack a day!
Rom.
Have done: I see thy drift. Be not so eager
To tell me how it is. I'm satisfied.
Zor.
Come to my closet, nurse; there is besides
What I must charge thee with.
[Exeunt Zorada and nurse, the last speaking loudly as she retires.
Ay, ay, quoth she, poor soul! I have a longing
To see that picture. Foolish man, quoth I,
'Tis but a painted—
[Her voice still heard as she retires.
Rom.
Foolish man, quoth I!—The cunning jade
Hath made a slip: it was a woman first.
[A pause, and he stands musing and muttering to himself before he speaks aloud, then in a low smothered voice.
Ay, and such thoughts
Which in the breast had perish'd unreveal'd.
Are by these cunning beldames brought to utterance.
Words follow thoughts, acts follow words, and all
The steps of infamy, from which the mind
By nature shrinks, are thus familiar made:
A blighting bane, corroding to their core
Beauty and innocence.
[Mimicking the voice of a nurse
“My dearest child!
Thou needst not fear to tell thy thoughts to me;
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Would the whole race were blasted from the earth!
[In his own voice, and stamping on the ground.
Enter Jerome.
What brings thee here?
Jer.
Old Pietro is below,
And craves to speak with you.
Rom.
The irksome fool!
He trows that I am always in the humour
To hear his prosing proverbs.
Jer.
He does, my lord; and oft presuming on it,
Has grown familiar.
Rom.
Art thou his judge?
Tell him I cannot see him now. To-morrow
I'll find him in his cottage.
Jer.
But what he has to tell you, please you, sir,
He bade me further add is of importance,
And may not be delay'd.
Rom.
I'll see him, then, since it must needs be so.
[Exeunt.
| Romiero | |