And once as he was working in the cellar,
He heard a voice distinctly; ‘twas the youth’s,
Who sung a doleful song about green fields,
How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah 215
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
And wander up and down at liberty.
He always doted on the youth, and now
His love grew desperate; and defying death,
He made that cunning entrance I described: 220
And the young man escaped.
Maria. ‘Tis a sweet tale:
Such as would lull a list’ning child to sleep,
His rosy face besoil’d with unwiped tears.
And what became of him?
Foster-Mother. He went on shipboard
With those bold voyagers, who made discovery 225
Of golden lands; Leoni’s younger brother
Went likewise, and when he return’d to Spain,
He told Leoni that the poor mad youth,
Soon after they arrived in that new world,
In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat, 230
And all alone set sail by silent moonlight,
Up a great river, great as any sea,
And ne’er was heard of more; but ‘tis supposed
He liv’d and died among the savage men.
Enter VELEZ.
Velez. Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you. 235
Maria. O Christ! the tortures that hang o’er his head,
If ye betray him to these holy brethren!
Velez (with a kind of sneer). A portly man, and eloquent, and
tender!
In truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn
That their rude grasp should seize on such a victim. 240
Maria. The horror of their ghastly punishments
Doth so o’ertop the height of sympathy,
That I should feel too little for mine enemy —
Ah! far too little — if ‘twere possible,
I could feel more, even tho’ my child or husband 245
Were doom’d to suffer them! That such things are ——
Velez. Hush! thoughtless woman!
Maria. Nay — it wakes within me
More than a woman’s spirit.
Velez (angrily). No more of this —
I can endure no more.
Foster-Mother. My honour’d master!
Lord Albert used to talk so.
Maria. Yes! my mother! 250
These are my Albert’s lessons, and I con them
With more delight than, in my fondest hour,
I bend me o’er his portrait.
Velez (to the Foster-Mother). My good woman,
You may retire. [Exit the FOSTER-MOTHER.
Velez. We have mourn’d for Albert.
Have I no living son?
Maria. Speak not of him! 255
That low imposture — my heart sickens at it,
If it be madness, must I wed a madman?
And if not madness, there is mystery,
And guilt doth lurk behind it!
Valdez. Is this well?
Maria. Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance? 260
How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear,
Displac’d each other with swift interchanges?
If this were all assumed, as you believe,
He must needs be a most consummate actor;
And hath so vast a power to deceive me, 265
I never could be safe. And why assume
The semblance of such execrable feelings?
Velez. Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle
An old man’s passion! Was it not enough
That thou hast made my son a restless man, 270
Banish’d his health and half-unhinged his reason,
But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion,
And toil to blast his honour? I am old —
A comfortless old man! Thou shalt not stay
Beneath my roof!
[FRANCESCO enters and stands listening.
Velez. Repent and marry him — 275
Or to the convent.
Francesco (muttering). Good! good! very good!
Maria. Nay, grant me some small pittance of my fortune,
And I will live a solitary woman,
Or my poor foster-mother and her grandsons
May be my household.
Francesco (advancing). I abhor a listener; 280
But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you.
I pray, my lord! will you embolden me
To ask you why this lady doth prefer
To live in lonely sort, without a friend
Or fit companion?
Velez. Bid her answer you. 285
Maria. Nature will be my friend and fit companion.
[Turns off from them.
O Albert! Albert! that they could return,
Those blessed days, that imitated heaven!
When we two wont to walk at evening-tide;
When we saw nought but beauty; when we heard 290
The voice of that Almighty One, who lov’d us,
In every gale that breath’d, and wave that murmur’d!
O we have listen’d, even till high-wrought pleasure
Hath half-assumed the countenance of grief,
And the deep sigh seem’d to heave up a weight 295
Of bliss, that press’d too heavy on the heart.
Francesco. But in the convent, lady, you would have
Such aids as might preserve you from perdition.
There you might dwell.
Maria. With tame and credulous faith,
Mad melancholy, antic merriment, 300
Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs!
O God! it is a horrid thing to know
That each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beads
Had once a mind, which might have given her wings
Such as the angels wear!
Francesco (stifling his rage). Where is your son, my lord? 305
Velez. I have not seen him, father, since he left you.
Francesco.