_Enter_ Appiani, _in deep meditation. His eyes are cast down, and he
approaches without observing_ Claudia _and_ Emilia, _till the latter
runs towards him_.
APPIANI.
Ha! My dearest! I did not expect to find you in the ante-room.
EMILIA.
I wish you to be cheerful, even where you do not expect to see me. Why
so grave and solemn? Should not this day inspire joyful emotions?
APPIANI.
It is of greater value to me than my whole life; but it teems with so
much bliss for me--perhaps it is this very bliss which makes me so
grave--so solemn, as you express it (_espies_ Claudia). Ha! You too
here, dear madam. This day I hope to address you by a more familiar
name.
CLAUDIA.
Which will be my greatest pride.--How happy you are, Emilia! Why would
not your father share our delight?
APPIANI.
But a few minutes have elapsed since I tore myself from his arms--or
rather he from mine.--What a man your father is, my Emilia! A pattern
of every manly virtue! With what sentiments does his presence inspire
my soul! Never is my resolution to continue just and good, so firm as
when I see or think of him. And by what, but by fulfilling this
resolution, can I make myself worthy of the honour to be called his
son--to become your husband, dear Emilia?
EMILIA.
And he would not wait for me!
APPIANI.
Because, in my opinion, this brief interview with his Emilia would have
distressed him too much, too deeply affected his soul.
CLAUDIA.
He expected to find you busy with your bridal ornaments, and heard----
APPIANI.
What I have learnt from him with the tenderest admiration. Right, my
Emilia. I shall be blessed with a pious wife--and one who is not proud
of her piety.
CLAUDIA.
But let us not, whilst we attend to one subject, forget another. It is
high time, Emilia. Go!
APPIANI.
Go! Why?
CLAUDIA.
Surely, my lord, you would not lead her to the altar in her present
attire.
APPIANI.
In truth, I was not, till you spoke, aware of that. Who can behold
Emilia, and take heed of her dress? Yet why should I not lead her to
the altar thus?
EMILIA.
No, dear Count, not exactly thus; yet in a dress not much more gay. In
a moment I shall be ready. I do not mean to wear those costly jewels,
which were the last present of your prodigal generosity, no, nor
anything suited to such jewels. Oh, I could quarrel with those jewels
were they not your present--for thrice I've dreamt----
CLAUDIA.
Indeed! I know nothing of that.
EMILIA.
That while I wore them, every diamond changed suddenly to a pearl--and
pearls, you know, dear mother, signify tears.
CLAUDIA.
Child, the interpretation is more visionary than the dream. Were you
not always more fond of pearls than diamonds?
EMILIA.
I assuredly, dear mother--assuredly----
APPIANI (_thoughtful and melancholy_).
Signify tears!
EMILIA.
How! Does that affect you? You?
APPIANI.
It does, though I ought to be ashamed that such is the case; yet when
the fancy is once disposed to sad impressions----
EMILIA.
But why should yours be so? Guess the subject of my thoughts. What did
I wear, and how did I look when I first attracted your attention? Do
you remember?
APPIANI.
Remember! I never see you in idea but in that dress, and I see you so,
even when you are not thus attired.
EMILIA.
I mean to wear one of the same colour and form--flowing and loose.
APPIANI.
Excellent!
EMILIA.
And my hair----
APPIANI.
In its own dark beauty, in curls formed by the hand of nature.
EMILIA.
Not forgetting the rose. Right! Have a little patience, and you shall
see me thus. (_Exit_.)