Aye, I thought so once, To lead me to him? Paint, But now the tidings of his death have reach'd me. Count. Heavens, is it possible! Is she thus free? Paint. Take, then, the bliss thou didst design for him Count. (Aside.) What doth he mean? Hath he discover'd?-(Aloud) Ha! my mind misgives me, Of others' bliss to aid thine own escape. But hear me; I'll forgive thee-thou shalt go- Leonhard enters hastily, summoning the Count, at his grandfather's desire, to his inconsolable mother. The Painter betrays deep but suppressed emotion. The Count thus addresses him— Count. To a dread secret bar I summon thee; I'll lay before ye blighted wreaths, and call (Exit. The Painter and Leonhard are now left in painful tête-à-tête. The latter stands, for the first time in his life, shyly apart. Paint. My son, my Leonhard, we must part! Leon. Wean myself thence? Paint. Strange! ah, how shall I Bid farewell to the tree Amid whose boughs thy nest hung, when, like those Leon. Paint. What! doth Suspicion's demon-form arise For parting. Leon. Be not in a parting hour Thus harsh. Paint. Nor thou! seem as thou lovedst me still. I will not ask what thus estranges thee, I will not know who mine accusers are, If thou absolv'st me not-alas! I cannot!" But give me the sweet boon of childhood's love When life's a desert to my beggar'd heart! Leon. O, master! father! Look me in the face; Paint. That bids me leave thee-and in silence! Leon. Methinks, seeks not concealment. Love, Paint. (Lifting his hands to heaven.) Oh! to Thee Which leads the stars through ether, dips their wings Leon. (Embracing him.) Yes, yes! I do believe! Forgive me, father! Unfortunately the youth's returning confidence forbids him to demand, or even listen, to the explanation the Painter could so easily give of the fatal picture affair-the enigmatical allusions to which, on his pupil's part, he is anxious to clear up; so they part, though in perfect amity, yet without a inutual understanding on that important point. Paint. So! thou art mine once more-before I go! For retribution, like a shadowy ghost, Oft dogs the pilgrim's footsteps; take this sword, Giv'n thee by love to be thy bosom's friend; (The curtain falls. We must hasten to a conclusion, and compress into brief space the whole sad catastrophe of the fifth act, which opens with a soliloquy of the Painter's. Paint. Lull'd is the day's loud tempest! and the depths Of night heave only with the measured swell Of deep-breathed slumber! Dreams the cradle rock 14 He is joined by the Seneschal, in consequence of a private signal he had made him to do so. The old man ironically remarks on the general dejection pervading the noble household, and the inability of all (save the ironsouled Marquis) to partake of the evening meal. The poor artist breaks out into passionate parting sorrow, which the Seneschal hears unmoved; but becomes animated by keen malice, when the Painter solicits his assistance to depart secretly under cloud of night; a design which, of course, he ascribes to the consciousness of guilt. Sen. Wilt thou go forth to-night? Aye, this same night. My silent farewell hath to all been said, Sen. Paint. But one prayer more-Where doth the picture hang? Sen. Which mean ye? Paint. I lately painted. Sen. Trust me, I'll be there. Which! the likeness of the Countess 'Tis in the great hall. Paint. I would take leave of it-Wilt let me see it Sen. The significant comments of the old servant, on the murderer's guilty flight, prepare the mind for some impending catastrophe. The Count and Julia now enter in earnest conference, which the Seneschal unfortunately attempts to interrupt in vain with his supposed unimportant secret. Julia, now urged by necessity, places unlimited confidence in the Count-exculpates Leny from all guilt, or even an involuntary accession to his brother's fate—and, after drawing from this magnanimous lover his determination not even to attempt to rival the memory of the deceased Leny, she informs him of his being not only alive, but actually on the spot, in the person of his pretended friend; whose generous motives for signing his own death-warrant the Count now first comprehends and fully appreciates. He resolves on devoting his whole powers of persuasion and claims on the Marquis to the cause of unfortunate love; but also defers, not unnaturally, these final (Exit. exertions till the Painter's moment of departure next day, when the feelings of Camilla may powerfully second the voice of friendship. To Leonhardwho has at length been made acquainted by his mother with her early history he holds out similar though general promises of labouring for her happiness, and permits Julia, in the meantime, to soothe her regrets by vague but pleasing anticipations-doomed, alas, by this procrastination, never to be realized. In the meantime, the vindictive Seneschal, finding his warning slighted by the engrossed Count, awakes the more congenial Marquis from his first sleep, to take upon himself the office of avenger. They conceal themselves in Camilla's chamber, adjoining the Baronial-hall, availing themselves of her absence with her attendant in the castle gardens, unusual presentiments having deprived her of rest. As twelve strikes the Painter enters, and thus apostrophizes the Countess's picture Paint. Here may I dare to breathe no mute farewell, In memory shalt thou live, as pictured here, Twine round thy brow. The magic wand of art (To the covered picture) And thou-who art thou? there, behind the veil, Doff thy concealment, and salute yon angel! What do I see? hath hell dispatch'd thee hither, Detested image! love and art alike Once more with fiendish mockery to profane, And with thy faded, ghastly features, scare My soul bewilder'd from yon holy shrine? Avaunt! Begone from her whose life 'twas thine To poison! Thou'rt my work, and I may dare Annihilate thee! (He draws his sword to destroy the picture. Sen. And I ! Paint. Is't possible? Hung this upon the scaffold? Cease to be love's avenger! 'Tis enough! Let deep oblivion bury all-and so Farewell. I must be gone. Marq. Stand, traitor, stand! The Marquis then, referring to Julia's former communication to himself, puts it to Spinarosa, whether he or Leny painted the fatal picture-betraying his cruel wish to have the blame laid on the latter, that his very memory may be embittered to Camilla. The generous Painter, by a last effort of magnanimity, refuses to give her this additional pang, and at the risk of his life ans wers Paint. Not Leny-'twas I ! Ye hear him! he confesses! The Seneschal falls on him, accusing him of having purloined the sword designed for his own punishment. The Painter indignantly appeals to Heaven, and disarms the assailant in a moment. Marq. Then, it remains for me-Vengeance is mine. Defend thyself! Blood calls aloud for blood! Paint. No, no! I dare not! No! it is her father! Cam. (CAMILLA and her Attendant now burst in from the adjoining chamber. Ha! who calls? I hear Merciful Heav'n, what's here? How? dost thou see his ghost Julia. (To Painter.) Man thyself, and say What hath befall'n thee. Paint. (Imploringly.) Ask not-and begone. Julia. Revive! but for Camilla Paint. (In agony.) Ah! Camilla! Hence, I say! Cam. Hark! 'twas his voice! he call'd me! Marq. (To Julia.) Julia. 'Tis he, Camilla! and his outstretch'd arms Are longing to enfold thee. Horror and joy run mingling through my frame- Pierce through the gloom of years? Where is he? Hence, I command thee! 'Tis no place for women Hence! Cam. (Gazing bewildered on him.) What form is that I see With bloody sword? Thou, like my old hard father, Art come to stand between our new-freed souls No! on this side the grave thy might is ended! Marq. Take hence yon lunatic-my shuddering soul Cam. Julia. (To Painter.) Paint. Call her by her name O my Camilla! Cam. 'Tis love calls on me! Yes, I know thee now ! Count. (To Painter.) What do I see? My friend, methinks thou'rt wounded. Paint. Ev'n unto death! |