Chapter 13

profound meditation upon a miniature picture._

_De Val._ Eugenia! Now of the angel race, and hous'd in Heaven! Forgive, dear saint! these blameful eyes that flow With human love, and mourn thy blessedness. O! ye strange powers! with what excelling truth Has Art's small hand here mimic'd mightiest Nature! What cheeks are these! could Death e'er crop such roses? Eyes! star-bright twins! fair glasses to fair thoughts, Where, as by truest oracles confest, The godlike soul reveals itself in glory. Your glances thrill me! amber-twinkling threads! Half bound by grace, half loos'd by winds, how strays This shining ringlet o'er this clear white breast! Like the pale sunshine streaking wintry snows! These lips have life--yea! very breath; a sweet Warm spirit stirs thru' the cleft ruby now! They move--they smile--they speak. Soft! soft! sweet heavens! I'll gaze no more; there's witchcraft in this skill, And my abus'd weak brain may madden soon!

(conceals the picture in his bosom)

The spell is hidden, still th' illusion works: O! in my heart Eugenia art thou trac'd-- There--there--thou livest--speakest--yet art mortal. Strong memory triumphs over death and time, In all my circling blood--each vein--each pulse Wherever life is, ever there art thou.

(Gaspard speaks without.)

_Gasp._ Go, go; his lordship may not be disturb'd.

_Mon._ (_without_) Away! I have a cause that must be heard.

_De Val._ How now! voices in the anti-room! Ho!

Enter _Gaspard_.

_Gasp._ Alack! that folk will be so troublesome: my good lord! here's a strange woman; truly a most obstinate spirit, who craves vehemently to be heard, on matters (so she reports) of much importance to your lordship.

_De Val._ Nay, in the morning be it; not at this hour.

_Gasp._ I told her so; my very words; but truly, her grief seems to have craz'd her reason.

_De Val._ How! is she unhappy then? her sorrows be her passport here; admit her instantly: where should the afflicted heart prefer a prayer, if kindred wretchedness deny its sympathy?

(_Gaspard_ introduces _Monica_.)

_Mon._ So! you are seen at last, my lord! men say your heart is good; grant Heaven! I find it so; but ah! perhaps it is too late. Yes, yes; I fear it: the dove is in the vulture's grip already.

_De Val._ Woman! what strange distraction's this? Give me a knowledge of your griefs with method.

_Mon._ I will, I will, but anguish stifles me; O! my lord, my lord, this is your castle, and here she fled for shelter, yet cruel hearts refused her prayer. I have been told by your people that the baron's pavilion on the river-bank is made her prison; she will be murdered there: oh! my lord, gracious lord, save her, save her!

(She throws herself passionately at his feet.)

_De Val._ Rise; attempt composure, your words are riddles to me.

_Gasp._ My lord! 'tis of the poor lunatic she speaks; she whom the baron has confined: this woman claims her as her charge.

_De Val._I saw the person not, but heard in brief her story from the baron; rest, good woman, rest; my kinsman is her friend.

_Mon._ No, no, he is a monster thirsting for her blood: here, here, I have read his character.

(Producing Eugenia's MSS.)

_De Val._ Beware! you offend me; grief yields no privilege to slander.

_Mon._ I am not a slanderer, indeed, _indeed_, I am not; here are proofs: your lordship, I find, is called the Count De Valmont; had you not once a relation of the same title, who fell in battle with the Huguenots eighteen years ago!

_De Val._ Never.

_Mon._ Yet 'twas the same title: ay, here 'tis written: "in forcing the passage of the Durance."

_De Val._ How! 'tis of myself assuredly you read; I was reported falsely in that very action to have fallen; and for a time my death was credited through France.

_Mon._ Ah! my lord! my lord! O! it rushes on my heart--nay, give but a moment; speak; were you once wedded to a lady named Eugenia?

_De Val._ Woman! ah, name beloved!--wherefore that torturing question?

_Mon._ Yes, yes; it is--it must be so--I cannot, here--read--this!-- (_giving the scroll_).

_De Val._ Eternal Powers! Eugenia's well-known character! when and whence did you procure this writing?

_Mon._ This very morning, from her own hand, my lord, Eugenia lives to bless and to be blessed again.

(_De Valmont_ starts as if stricken to the center, for a moment his features express amazement, then incredulity, and lastly indignation.)

_De Val._ Begone! thou wretched woman, lest I forget thy sex, and kill thee for thy cruelty.

_Mon._ Nay, let me die, but not be doubted: read, read, and let your eyes assure your soul of joy!

(The _Count_ faintly staggers back into a seat, and then fastens his eyes upon the scroll with a frenzied earnestness.)

_Gasp._ Woman! if you have spoken falsely, my noble master's heart will break at once.

_Mon._ By the great issue, let my words be judged!

_De Val._ (_reading_) "The chamber burst in flames, I snatched my infant from its slumber, I heard the voice of Longueville direct our murder, ruffians rushed towards us to perform his bidding." (_starting forward with uncontrolable fury_) Oh! God of wrath and vengeance! hear thou a husband's and a father's prayer! strike the pale villain! oh! with thy hottest lightning blast him dead! a curse, a tenfold curse o'erwhelm his death-bed! Traitor! thou shalt not 'scape, this hand shall rend thy heart-strings, I'll smite thee home.

(In the delirium of his passion he draws his sword, and strikes with it as at an ideal combatant, his bodily powers forsake him in the effort, he reels, and falls convulsed into Gaspard's arms.)

_Gasp._ Help! help! death is on him, help there swiftly!

(_Geraldine_ rushes in, followed by domestics.)

_Ger._ Whence these cries? ah Heavens! what killing sight is this? uncle, uncle, speak to me, 'tis Geraldine that calls.

Enter _Florian_ from the opposite side.

_Flor._ My patron! ha! convulsed! dying. Eternal Mercy spare his sacred life!

_Ger._ Nay, bend him forward, his eyes unclose again--he sees--he knows us.

(The _Count_ in silence draws a hand from _Geraldine_ and _Florian_ within his own, and presses them together to his heart.)

_Flor._ How fares it, sir? bless us with your voice.

_De Val._ Ah! Ah! (_he grasps the scroll and points to it emphatically, but cannot articulate._)

_Flor._ O! for a knowledge of your gracious pleasure, speak sir, pronounce one word.

_De Val._ (_very faintly and with effort._) Longueville: ah fly, preserve-- (_again his accents fail him, he seems to collect all his remaining strength for one short effort, and a second time just articulates_) --Longueville! (_he relapses into insensibility._)

_Flor._ Enough! I comprehend your will; nay, bear him gently in, I'll to the river-bank and seek the Baron!

(_Geraldine, &c. bear the count off on one side, Florian rushes away by the opposite._)