University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Chamber in the Castle.
Enter Le Clerc and Francois.
Fran.
Is this a bridal feast, where all seem glad
Except the bride and bridegroom? Do you note
Their looks?

Le Clerc.
I do; and might I read thereby
Their hearts, I should infer them ill at ease.

Fran.
When were their nuptials solemnized?

Le Clerc.
Last night,
And very privately. You did not know—
You are but new arrived from Syracuse?

Fran.
Only in time to see the festival,
If I may call it so, in honour of them.

Le Clerc.
You know not then their nuptials were appointed
For yesterday—were on the very eve
Of taking place; nor what prevented them?

Fran.
No.

Le Clerc.
This way, then, and I shall tell you. Here
Are company might interrupt us. Come!

[They go out.
Enter Martel and Ambrose.
Mar.
Abstraction half so deep ne'er saw I yet
In one so high in favour with good fortune!
Excess of happiness, like that of grief,
Will palsy feeling, till the owner seems not
To know how hugely blest he is; but still
Some token shows the nature of the lapse;
Here, none. Within the table's breadth of him
I sat, and mark'd him. 'Twas not feasting, sir;
He seem'd as he were jealous of the viands,
Like one upon his guard 'gainst poison'd meats.
He did not eat, but taste; while, at his side,
His bride—whose eyes, purveyors never weary
Of catering for their lord, kept ranging still
The table over, to select for him
Whate'er was daintiest—with busy lips,
Like pages who their errands blushing tell,
Commended to him ever and anon
The well-selected cheer, but all in vain.

Amb.
I craved his leave to pledge him in a cup.
He took the cup; but straight its use forgetting,
Began to pore upon the rich contents:
Then, as a thing one does mechanically,
Raising it to his lip, without the due
And custom'd courtesy, he tasted it
And set it down again.

Mar.
Remark'd you not
How strainingly he fix'd upon the door
His eyes, whene'er it chanced to open, as
He look'd for one to enter, he had rather
Should keep away?

Amb.
That struck me very much,
And brought to mind the unwelcome visitor,
Whose errand stopp'd his nuptials yesterday.

Mar.
So was't with me. For him, or some one like him,
Be sure he look'd, with more of certainty
Than doubt.—The bride and bridegroom, and alone!
Let us withdraw, nor mar their privacy.

[They go out.
Enter Fernando and Isoline.
Fern.
You are right, my love; the grape is generous,
And, used in the wise proportion, cheers the heart.

Iso.
You are better!—are you not?

Fern.
Much!—very much!

Iso.
O, blessed union that of two makes one!
Could I, dear love, have bought the world just now
By paying down for it one hearty smile,
I must have lost the bargain, seeing thee
Without one! It was otherwise before!
How often have I smiled at that same want!
But, now, come o'er your looks the slightest cloud,
All light of mine is gone.—Fernando!—Love!
Is it not sweetest partnery?

Fern.
It is.

Iso.
It is, indeed, my love! Say as I do!
It is, indeed, most sweet!

Fern.
Indeed, it is.
Was't not the castle portal open'd now?
I know its ponderous sound! 'Tis shut again!
It was the portal!

Iso.
Whom look you for, dear love?
All your good spirits gone!

Fern.
No, Isoline;
Not all of them!—not half!—not any of them!
We'll spend the evening joyously, dear love!
Out-do the god of merriment himself;
And when he's out of laughter, lend him some,
And still, ourselves, hold on! Who's there?

Enter Eugene and Others.
Eug.
My lord,
We are passing to the ball-room.

Fern.
Pray pass on.
And keep the measure up!

Eug.
We shall, my lord.

[Going out with others.
Fern.
That's right; and so shall I!

Iso.
So do! dear love!
For me!—your Isoline!—your bride!—your wife!

Fern.
You are my wife!—The treasure of my heart
Is treasure of my arms! Who rich as I,
And says he is not happy? Then is he
Beyond the ministering of content,
And be despair his portion! I am not
A man like that.

Iso.
My love, this cheer makes sad.

Fern.
Makes sad?

Iso.
It is not of the kind, gives cheer.
It wants a quiet.

Fern.
Wants a quiet? Here
Lay on my brow this white and velvet hand
Thou gavest me yesterday.

Iso.
It burns, dear love;
And yet how pale it is!

Fern.
I have seen a man
In fever—and he burn'd, and yet was pale—
Pale as a corpse!

Iso.
Thou hast no fever?

Fern.
No.
The cup has pass'd too often to my lips—
Not much—only a time or two!—What proves
A spark to one, another finds a fire.
Don't heed it, dearest life!—O, what a hand!
What could be spared of it, or added to it?
Shape?—No! Hue?—No! Touch?—No! Does it breathe? It does!
The airs of heaven! I will inhale them nearer!

[Kissing her hand.
Iso.
You flatter, dearest lord!

Fern.
No, by my love!

Iso.
Yea, by your love, indeed, dear lord, you do!
You are a culprit, who for witness calls
The arch accomplice that would swear him off.

Fern.
By all— [Louis enters.]
Ha!—'Sdeath, you tread on tiptoe, sir,
You are at my elbow ere I think you there!

Louis.
Your pardon! I was musing, sir, and thus
Moved slow. 'Tis strange! but in the ball-room, now,
One cross'd me in a mask, and made me start,
By something in his carriage and his form
Resembling one I must have met before,
But where I cannot guess. Whoe'er it be,
A feeling of mistrust that cross'd my heart,
Assures me 'twas no friend.

Fern.
What? Seem'd he old
Or young?

Louis.
Men's figures do not tell their years
Well as their faces do; yet would I say,
Guessing, thereby, his progress on life's road,
He stands more near the end, than setting out.

Fern.
Commanding in his air?

Louis.
Very.

Fern.
His gait
Of most assured tread?

Louis.
Yea, as he spurn'd
The ground he walk'd on. He and I have met,
But when, or where, or upon what occasion,
I can't recall, nor till I do, can rest.
Farewell, and pardon me. 'Tis very strange!

[Goes out.
Iso.
[To Fernando, who is lost in thought.]
Dear husband, you conjecture something! What?

Fern.
Nothing!

Iso.
O, love, be honest!—It is best
Always.—If evil comes of it, at worst
We have been honest—That will comfort us.
Come!—I will show you, what I teach, I do.
I don't believe our union will be bless'd!
You start!—and you yourself assured me so,
And now I tell it you!—I don't believe it.
What then?—Do I repent our union? No!
My heart has had its wish—I am thy wife.
Knew I that I should die the very moment
The priest should bless us, and declare us one,
I had married thee and yielded up my spirit,
Thanking the gracious Heavens, most bountiful,
Which for that little moment made thee mine.
Then cheer thee, love; and be assured of this—
Were we to live the threescore years and ten,
And then to die, being what now we are,
We could not die more happy! Lose not now
With care for by-and-by, whate'er may come;
But leave't, with trust, to Heaven!

Fern.
I'll do thy will!
I'll be myself!—The ball-room!—Come, love, come!