Читать книгу Olla Podrida - Фредерик Марриет - Страница 24

Donna Serafina's Chamber.—Donna Serafina discovered.

Ser. They tell me I am fair: yet what avails This gift of nature? Could those who envy me but see my heart— My bleeding, lacerated, breaking heart! How would their bitter nature change to pity! I did require but him in this wide world; My beauty valued, but to gain his love! My wealth rejoiced in, but to share with him! He was my all! and every other 'vantage Was but of value as subservient to him. As is the gold of costly workmanship Round the fair gem imbedded in the centre. Oh! Gaspar, were I sure I could o'ertake Thy spirit, soaring up in its young flight, This little steel should free my anxious soul, To join thine in the high empyrean, And, fondly link'd, in joy ascend to Heaven. Why waits the friar? Some idle mummery, To him more sacred than my Gaspar's relic, From his dull memory hath chased his promise. Why waits my woman, whom I have despatch'd To learn the history of my Gaspar's death? Alas! alas! they know not love. Enter Beppa. Bep. Madam, I've news for you; but news so strange That I can scarce impart it. Dry your tears, Nor more lament Don Gaspar—for he lives! Ser. He lives? say that again! You said he lived— Did you not, Beppa? Then may Heav'n reward you For those blissful words!—He lives!—support me— (Faints in Beppa's arms.) Bep. I should have first inform'd her he was false. Now will the shock be greater.—Dear lady—(Serafina recovering gradually). Ser. (faintly). Now do I feel like some poor criminal, Who, having closed his eyes, to look no more Upon the world he is about to leave, With curdling blood, and faint and flutt'ring pulse, Waits for the last terrific moment When the sharp axe shall free his trembling soul. So wakes he at the distant shouts of men, Rolling the waves of sound until they dash Against his worn-out sense the glad reprieve. Don Gaspar lives! Oh Heav'n, I thank thee! Bep. At the cup's brim the sweets have kiss'd your lips. But, madam, like some weak, distemper'd child, You've yet to taste the nauseous dreaded draught Which is to cure you. Ser. What mean you? Cure me! Bep. 'Tis true Don Gaspar lives—as true he's false. Ser. False! Beppa—false? Bep. Most false and treacherous! He loves another. Ser. (after a pause). Did I hear rightly? Impossible! It was but three days gone, He swore such oaths, if true, as Heav'n would register— Should they prove false, as hell might chuckle at. Bep. And yet it is so, I am most assured. Ser. If it be true, then everything is false. It cannot, cannot be. Have I not lavish'd All I could bestow, myself and mine, Rejected all, to live within his arms, To breathe one breath with him, and dwell in ecstasy Upon his words. Oh no! he is not false You must belie him. Bep. Nay, I would I did: I wonder not your doting heart rejects Such monstrous treachery. Yet it is true, And true as curs'd. The Donna Isidora By her charms has won him; and his feign'd death Was but a stratagem to shake you off. As you last night asserted, Perez fell; Don Felix, swearing vengeance, seeks Don Gaspar. Ser. (after a pause). Who is this Isidora? Bep. A lovely creature in her early bloom, The noble blood of Guzman in her veins, A rival worthy of your beauty, madam, And therefore one most dangerous. Ser. Would that I had her here. My heart is now So full of anger, malice, and fierce hate, With all those direful and envenom'd passions By which the breasts of demons are infected; If I but even look'd upon her face, My scorching breath would wither up her charms Like adder's poison. Would I had her here! Bep. Yet blame her not. She's good and beautiful: Report doth much commend her early worth And ever active charity. Ser. Were she not so, I yet might have retain'd My truant love. Each virtue that she hath With me's a vice—each charm, deformity. They are my foes, array'd against my power, And I must hate them, as they've vanquish'd me. Bep. But my hate should fall on Gaspar, lady. Ser. That's not so easy; the strong tide of love, Though check'd, still flows against the adverse hate. In their opposing strife, my troubled breast Heaves as the elements in wild commotion. Bep. It must not last. I've much to tell you yet Of this base man. When you have heard it all, A rapid flood of rage shall sweep its course, Lash'd by the storm raised in your much-wrong'd soul, O'erwhelming all remorse, to Gaspar's ruin. Ser. Direct me, Heav'n! Come to my chamber, Beppa, I must unrobe me. When my swollen heart Can throb more freely, I will hear your tale. Come on, good Beppa. [Exeunt.