 | The Italian Wife |  |
SCENE III.
—The Interior of a Villa on the Arno.Eulalia
—alone.
It is in vain. There is a string of woe,
Which, having once been touch'd, jars sadly on,
At discord with the rest; and to attempt
16
The dissonance apparent—I'll not do't.
False Patience, thou but wil'st us on to bear,
But mak'st no pang the lighter.
Oh! my child,
Where shall we shelter us? We know no kindred,
Save him who casts us off; and if we did,
Would they not shut the door on us in scorn,
As to a loathsome beggar!
Break my heart!
Lost, lost, Eulalia!—Flow on, hopeless tears—
I have no minist'ring hand to wipe ye off;
No friend to counsel; no consoling crowds
To flock to tell me I have lost my husband.
Husband!—I had no husband,—Is he not
Another's?—False Ignatio! what a widow,
What a forsaken self-despairing wretch
Thou hast made of poor Eulalia!—Cruel, cruel!
Worlds had not bribed her to have shrunk from thee.
She would have died resolved, and spoke no word,
E'er she had breath'd an accent of the rite,
Or ta'en a morsel of the marriage feast,
That would have torn her from thee!
17
Who call'st thyself so godlike. Oh! how can'st thou
Shew thee so base? How poor a stay has she
Who leans upon thy bosom for support!
And, yet, where can she lean, if not to thee?
The power that framed the ivy gave the oak;
But woman, who can nothing else than love,
With but false man to love—where shalt thou cling?
To Heaven? what else. And if, Ignatio,
Thou hast lost me e'en that refuge, say what pangs,
What writhings of the mind, what hot remorse,
What cold despair, what nighted destitution,
Were bad enough for thee? I'll think no more,
Perchance I wrong him; and I would not wrong him
Even for Heaven—however I be wrong'd.
—What do I say?—He look'd so pale and faulter'd,
And his knees trembled, and his cheek turn'd ashy,
As if the frighted blood had rush'd in terror
Back to the o'erlabour'd heart. Alas! alas!
How have I wrong'd him?—He is broken-hearted;
And yet must strive to smile, and hide the pain
That gnaws his life away. No kindly bosom
To trust his tale to—none to offer comfort—
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His lot doth fellow mine. Wretch that I am,
To add one pang to such a pile of grief!
Is it not harder still? Oh, misery!
To breathe in pain, and be denied to sigh,
To yearn, to weep; and dare not shed one tear.
Renounce me, O ye Heavens! if ever more
I do not pray you, bless my 'lorn Ignatio,
If you would bless Eulalia. These are footsteps—
There's some one comes. They shall not see me weep.
Let me be firm—firm.
[Exit.
Enter Giovanni.
Not here!—I am almost glad on't; for, poor lady,
Her grief's past help; and we still shun to see
The ill we cannot med'cine. What a gloom,
E'en to my eye, wraps these once pleasant walls;—
Well, poor Ignatio—I must do his bidding:
I will search further. She has been here lately;
Those books, and this unused negligence,
Whisper as much.
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Now rest you well, fair madam;
I would confer with you, so I intrude not.
EULALIA.
Intrude? No, no; pray use no ceremony;
I am not worth it now, and want it not.
Signor, your pleasure?
GIOVANNI.
If it grieve me, madam—
And credit me that it does inly wrench me—
Only to gaze on grief like that of yours,
How sad an office must it be to minister
Between that grief and its regretful cause?
I come with speech from my unhappy friend—
The Prince—Ignatio.
Pardon me, sweet lady,
But all that friendship, all that care can do,—
Why should I say it?—He is not a villain;
And if he have deceived, 'twas not in guile—
I'll answer for his heart. Nay, weep not; he
Would know in what your sorrow can be served.
Vouchsafe some answer, madam.
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I have none
To give—I am ashamed to weep—and tears
Are all the speech I have.
GIOVANNI.
Then let them fall;
Interpret but their meaning; and that wish
Shall be omnipotent with poor Ignatio.
EULALIA.
No; I'll not weep!—You are the Prince's friend;
Perhaps you may be mine; but that I know not:—
No matter; I am past the hurt or help
Of friends. This say to Prince Ignatio;
And this I say to you—,
I am aware
That there are acts must bear the pains of guilt,
And, what is worse, the shame, which yet are guiltless,
At least I would fain hope it, so please Heaven
In mercy to permit; for innocence
Is all the stay that's left me—I will bear them
Patiently. Sir, my heart shall break in silence,
If't please the Prince to send me from this place.
No pride for me—so I will tell the truth—
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But something either whispers what I am,
Or what I have been.
GIOVANNI.
It shall be done, lady.
Nay, at this hour is a retreat prepared,
But that, methought, yourself had been averse,
And wish'd to tarry here some space.
EULALIA.
Oh! sir,
Pardon me—grief is still fantastical,
And drags the coward heart a thousand ways.
I wish to quit this place; at least, I think
I wish it.
GIOVANNI.
Madam, even for that thought
It shall be done. Is there aught else?
EULALIA.
No, Signor,
Nought else; and yet there is—Oh! poor, mean heart,
How must I bribe thee to be resolute?
I cannot speak the word, and yet I must.
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What is't disturbs you, madam? Is there aught
Further that you would speak?
EULALIA.
Oh! no, no, no;
Let me go hence, and leave me till that time.
GIOVANNI.
Nay, madam; but there is. Nor dare I leave you,
Nor can I—pardon me—until I know it!
EULALIA.
But who will pardon me when they shall know?
No matter; more a wretch I cannot be.
Sir, I—I would—I trust it is no harm,
And to indulge me were but charity,
To one that's fall'n so low. Hear my request,
Yet do not answer to it yea or no;
But tell Ignatio—Say that she who loved him,
And loves him still,—but in that kind she ought,—
Would see him fain once more; but only once,
Or ere she goes for ever.
Do not answer,
But tell Ignatio this; and if he frown,
23
Breathe no word further. I can turn my face,
And die in darkness, and most silently;
For I have learn'd the woman's hardest lesson,
To be forsaken, and yet not complain!—
I pray you pardon me.
[Exit Eulalia.
GIOVANNI.
Your bidding shall
Be done, sweet lady.—Thus we vainly pour
A little comfort on a raging grief,
To make it rage the more; even as the water
Doth an o'er-mastering fire. My task is over.
[Exit.
| The Italian Wife | |