Читать книгу Olla Podrida - Фредерик Марриет - Страница 12

Moonlight.—A garden belonging to the house of Donna Inez.—A balcony looking into the garden.—Donna Isidora and Nina discovered on balcony.

Isid. He comes not yet. Nina. Señora, 'tis not time. Isid. 'Tis more than time; I heard the convent bell Strike long ago. Nina. 'Twas not the hour of night, but the sad toll Announcing some high obsequy. Isid. Yet, still, 'tis time he came. Nina. And here he would have been, but you forget You chided him for venturing so early. Your aunt had not retired when last he came.

Isid. He does not wish to come—I will not see him. Tell him my resolution. [Exit, petulantly, Nina following.

Enter Gaspar, in the dress of a cavalier.

I overheard her vented thoughts, poor girl!

She counts the minutes by her throbbing heart,

And that beats time too fast.

Now will she hang her head, and weep awhile.

Like flow'rets waiting for the morning sun,

That raise their mournful heads at his approach,

And every dew-drop, like a diamond, glistens,

While they exhale sweet perfume in their joy—

So at our meeting, smiling through her tears,

Will she appear more fresh and beautiful!

[Re-enter Isidora and Nina. As they appear, Gaspar retires.

Isid. The moon's so bright, that faintly you discover The little stars which stud th' unclouded heav'n; The wind but scarcely moves the trembling aspen, And not a sound breaks through the still of night. All Nature's hush'd; and every passion lull'd, Save love, or fierce revenge. Is this a night To stay away, false, yet loved Don Gaspar? Nina. Be patient, lady, he will soon be here. Isid. He cannot sure be false. Perchance some danger hangs upon his steps; Men are so envious of the fair and good. Nina (looking). Señora, look; I see him in the distance. Isid. He comes! Where, Nina? O yes! that is he. Well, now, I'll tease him. Nina, quickly in; I vow I will not show myself this night. [Exit Isidora. Nina. I wish I had ten ducats on the hazard. [Exit Nina.

[Gaspar sings to his guitar without.

Song (mournful strain).

"The mocking moon doth coldly fling

Her rays upon my breast of flame,

And echo mocks me as I sing.

O my guitar! to thee what shame!

She answers not, though thy best string

Is loudly hymning forth her name.

Isidora! Isidora!"

[Isidora appears at the balcony.

(A livelier strain.)

"No more the moon doth mock me now;

Her bright rays glad my breast of flame,

And echo, beautiful art thou!

O my guitar! to thee no shame!

She comes! love throned upon her brow!

My strings hymn forth once more her name!

Isidora! Isidora!"

Enter Gaspar, who approaches balcony.

Isid. Why hast thou staid so late? Did but the moon Turn on my anxious features her soft rays, Thou wouldst perceive how fretfulness and tears Have doubled every minute of thine absence. Gasp. And would 'twere day, that thou, sweet love, mightst see The fervid passion stamp'd upon my brow. I dared not disobey thy late command; Yet, did I fret, and champ the bit of duty, Like some proud battle steed arching his neck, Spurning the earth, impatient for the fray. So my young heart throbs with its new delight, That it e'en now would burst its cords asunder, And make one joyous bound into thy bosom. Isid. Say, Gaspar, dost thou fondly, truly, love me? Gasp. Do I love thee, Isidora? If it were not for thee, sweet love, The world would be a blank, and this existence A dreary void, I would not stumble through; But having thee, a paradise it is, So full of perfumed airs and flow'rets sweet, I would resist the angel's flaming sword, If it were raised between our plighted loves, Ere I would be from thy loved presence thrust. Thou art the heav'n of my idolatry! For thee I live and move—for thee I breathe; For thee and for thy love, if thou knew'st all—— Isid. I would know all—there's mystery about thee! Gaspar, thine image here's so deeply graven, That nought can e'er efface it. Trust me, then, love, As I would thee. There's not a thought I own, No, not a fond emotion of my soul— Not e'en the slightest ripple o'er the mind, When calm and pensive as it used to be, But I would tell it thee. O couldst thou view my heart, and see thyself So firmly master of its deep recesses, Thou wouldst be confident. If thou shouldst be ignoble, fear not me, Love shall draw out thy patent of descent, And trace thy ancestry to more than mortal. If thou hast hated, and hast found revenge, Yet fear not me, dear Gaspar. Whate'er priests say, it is a noble passion, And holds an empire in the heart of man, Equal in strength and dignity with love. Be it a tale of sorrow or of crime, (O say 'tis not the last!) still let me share it, That I may comfort thee whene'er we meet, And mourn it only when I grieve thine absence. Gasp. My Isidora, oft thou'st press'd me thus; Since thou wilt hear it, then, it shall be told; But one sad chance, most fatal to us both, Is fetter'd to it. Isid. And what is that, my Gaspar? Gasp. That once reveal'd, we ne'er may meet again. Isid. Then I'll not hear't. Away with prying thoughts So fraught with mischief! Not to see thee more! Then might the angel pour the vial out, That vial of fierce wrath which is to quench The sun, the moon, the host of stars, in blood! Not see thee more! then may they work my shroud, And cull the flowers to strew my maiden corpse. Without thee, Gaspar, I should surely die! Wert thou the ruler of the universe, Commanding all, I could not love thee more! Wert thou a branded slave from bondage 'scap'd— 'Tis now too late—I could not love thee less! Gasp. (aside). One soul so pure redeems a world of sin! Thou Heav'n that I have mock'd, O hear me now, And spare! let her not feel the bitter pangs Of disappointed love! Draw the barb gently, That she may sigh her soul away, and sleep Throughout her passage to a better world!

Isid. What say'st thou, Gaspar! Gasp. I call'd down blessings, loveliest, on thy head. Heav'n grant my prayers! Isid. I, too, have pray'd for thee, and will again! But speak to me. Why didst thou come so late? How short, methinks, are nights. There's hardly time For those who've toil'd, to gain their needful rest— For those who wake, to whisper half their love. Gasp. Night is our day, and day becomes our night; Love changes all, o'er nature rules supreme; Alters her seasons, mocks her wisest laws, And, like the prophet, checks the planet's course. But from this world of hate, the night has fled, And I must hie me hence. O Isidora! Though my seeming's doubtful, yet remember, 'Tis true as Heaven, I love thee! Isid. I'm sure thou dost, and feeling thus assured, I am content.

Enter Nina, hastily, from balcony.

Nina. Madam, the lady Inez pass'd your door, And, passing, tried the bolt, e'en now I hear Her footsteps in the corridor. Isid. We must away, dear Gaspar. Fare thee well! Nina shall tell thee when we next can meet.

[Exit Isidora and Nina at balcony.

Gasp. So parts the miser from his hoarded wealth, And eyes the casket when the keys are turn'd. I must away. The world e'en now awakes, and the wan moon (Like some tired sentinel, his vigil o'er) Sinks down beneath yon trees. The morning mist Already seeks the skies, ascending straight, Like infant's prayers, or souls of holy martyrs. I must away. The world will not revolve another hour, Ere hives of men will pour their millions forth,

To seek their food by labour, or supply

Their wants by plunder, flattery, or deceit.

Avarice again will count the dream'd-of hoards,

Envy and Rancour stab, whilst sobbing Charity

Will bind the fest'ring wounds that they have giv'n.

The world of sin and selfishness awakes

Once more, to swell its catalogue of crime,

So monstrous that it wearies patient Heav'n.

I must away. [Exit.