 | Gemma of The Isles |  |
Scene VII.
—A gallery of the Palace. Lorenzo standing at the window.Enter Zilia.
Zil.
You must take patience—this will pass away.
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A dear friend's death, pirate although he were,
Should rudely shock so delicate a frame.
When this is over, she will cling to you
With the old tenderness. Oh, trust me, once
The wedding over—and that soon will be—
She will be brought to see this tragedy
In its true light, and all will be forgiven.
Oh, yes, I think all will be well to-morrow!
'T is not so long to wait—although I long
To hear the blessing said above you twain.
Lor.
I do not hope, my mother, nor desire it—
Her heart is with the Dane, and mine is free.
I cannot, never could, love a false mistress.
Zil.
Why, what is this? What mean you? False you call her?
She false to you—to you whom we all see
She worships as girls worship their first love?
Put by that fancy.
Lor.
Her own words you heard—
But have not understood them as I did.
I need no repetition.
Zil.
Nay, but think!
It was excusable that she should hear
With grief the fate of one she had known so long—
Loved even. In your place I think I should not
Be jealous of those tears.
Lor.
Not jealous, mother—
When I have ceased to love I am not jealous.
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I know you better than you know yourself,
Nor will believe that you have ceased to love.
All will be right when once you two have met,
Restored to reason by a night's repentance.
Lor.
'T is strange what slight details our minds run over,
When we demand a reason of the passion
That once enslaved us, and how small a blemish
Decides our freedom......
Zil.
Nay, what idle talk!
Was ever such an obstinate pair of lovers!
'T will be a harder task than I had fancied
To reunite those ties a moment broke.
And all at first so smooth!
Lor.
Shall I confess it?
Bewitching, beautiful as Gemma is,
The poet in me sees for its ideal,
A something it has never seen in her.
Zil.
Fastidious lover! what would you have more?
Was there perchance a ringlet out of curl
When last you saw her? What is her defect?
Lor.
The type is perfect—leave her as she is,
A finished picture from the artist's hands,
To draw admiring crowds. Yet have I seen,
Another in the gallery of my dreams,
Unconsciously perhaps, and yet 't was there—
I scarce know if the original exists,
Or if I hope to find it. There I see
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The radiant paleness of a steadfast soul,
A face whose still and delicate nobleness
Marks out a queen by nature, sweet, but slow
To give herself away. Gemma's impassioned—
So should be this enchantress, but not wildly,
And rarely sparkling into flame, nor must she
Too heedlessly despise the world's proud purple;
Let her have queenly worn its utmost glory,
Subdued the proud, the proudest, even me,
Then let her, if need be, step off her throne
In graceful abdication, for my sake—
If I should ever meet her, at her feet
I should not dare to smile. The time has been,
And may be yet again, with graver worship,
Worship of faltering voice, and humbled eyes,
My soul has owned a true divinity.
Zil.
So you go on refining! I could think,
To hear you thus, you were incapable
Of heartily desiring anything,
Only I can perceive through all this talk
About your soul's ideal—and what man
Has loved that, ever?—that the heart within you
Aches as it never ached before.
Lor.
Too much,
In a past life of passion, have I suffered,
Not to know how to deal with such heart achings.
Man in his search for happiness so often
Stumbles on these wrong paths! I shall go back
And try another.
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Ah, how proud you are!
And yet it sounds to me like child's play. Pride,
I think, was never yet so much misplaced,
As towards one who has herself so little.
Is it such trouble to give utterance
Just to the few kind words that make all straight?
These children are so easily consoled
By those they love, and you besides do love her—
It was an actual love match.
Lor.
Mother, enough!
Either my heart will turn to stone like others,
Or I shall find another heart to love me.
Therefore, farewell! this very night I mean
To embark for Syria.
Zil.
Nay, you are not serious?
Lor.
Never have I been more so.
Zil.
No, no, no!
I will not hear this. You are not resolved
To fling away the best chance of your life?
Lor.
I have flung other such away ere now.
Zil.
And the strange scandal, and the world's great wonder,
The triumph of the envious—you have strength
To brave all that?
Lor.
I shall be far away—
And I can win fresh prizes if I need them.
Zil.
You will not win another such as this—
Heiress, princess, and beauty, all in one.
And then perhaps to know, when 't is too late,
She broke her heart for you!
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She will not break it,
Or not for me. She will forget me, mother,
If she has not forgotten me already.
Zil.
You know not how she loved you! I have smiled
So many times o'er her devoted passion!
Never read man so coldly o'er his own sentence,
As you read yours! Think once again, my son,
For your own sake! Ah, well, I see 'tis vain.
I think you never will find happiness,
You've not the generous courage to lay hold of it,
Though you will miss it always while you live.
And when you hear, as hear perhaps you will,
Your bride is wedded to another bridegroom?
You smile—but there was something ere you smiled,
Answered more truly from those two dark brows.
You will be wretched—you are wretched now!
Lor.
Farewell, my mother!
Zil.
My mistaken son!
I shall have little to detain me here,
Now all my hopes in Gemma are o'erthrown!—
The King of Cyprus has a lovely daughter—
Beauty and royalty you yet may win,
If not a rich dominion. Well, adieu!
[Exit Lorenzo.
| Gemma of The Isles | |