Scene VII.
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.)