The Count of Narbonne Part 8

_ADELAIDE discovered._

_Adel._ Woe treads on woe.--Thy life, my Theodore, Thy threaten'd life, s.n.a.t.c.h'd from the impending stroke, Just gave a moment's respite to my heart; And now a mother's grief, with pangs more keen, Wakes every throbbing sense, and quite o'erwhelms me.

Her soul wrapp'd up in his, to talk thus to her!

Divorce her, leave her, wed with Isabel, And call on Heaven, to sanctify the outrage!

How could my father's bosom meditate What savage tongues would falter even to speak?

But see, he comes----

_Enter AUSTIN and JAQUELINE._

O let me bend to thank you; In this extreme distress, from you alone (For my poor heart is vain) can she hope comfort.

_Aust._ How heard she the ill tidings? I had hopes His cooler reason would subdue the thought; And Heaven, in pity to her gentle virtues, Might spare her knowing, how he meant to wrong them.

_Jaq._ The rumour of the castle reach'd her first; But his own lips confirm'd the barbarous secret.

Sternly, but now, he enter'd her apartment, And, stamping, frown'd her women from her presence!

After a little while they had pa.s.s'd together, His visage flush'd with rage and mingled shame, He burst into the chamber where we waited, Bade us return, and give our lady aid; Then, covering his face with both his hands, Went forth like one half-craz'd.

_Adel._ Oh good, kind father!

There is a charm in holy eloquence (If words can medicine a pang like this) Perhaps may sooth her. Sighs, and trickling tears, Are all my love can give. As I kneel by her, She gazes on me, clasps me to her bosom; Cries out, My child! my child! then, rising quick, Severely lifts her streaming eyes to heaven; Laughs wildly, and half sounds my father's name; Till, quite o'erpower'd, she sinks from my embrace, While, like the grasp of death, convulsions shake her.

_Aust._ Remorseless man! this wound would reach her heart, And when she falls, his last, best prop, falls with her, And see, the beauteous mourner moves this way: Time has but little injur'd that fair fabric; But cruelty's hard stroke, more fell than time, Works at the base, and shakes it to the centre.

_Enter the COUNTESS._

_Countess._ Will then, these dreadful sounds ne'er leave my ears?

Our marriage was accurs'd; too long we have liv'd "In bonds forbid; think me no more thy husband; The avenging bolt, for that incestuous name, Falls on my house, and spreads the ruin wide."

These were his words.

_Adel._ Oh, ponder them no more!

Lo! where the blessed minister of peace, He, whose mild counsels wont to charm your care, Is kindly come to cheer your drooping soul; And see, the good man weeps.

_Countess._ What! weep for me?

_Aust._ Ay, tears of blood from my heart's inmost core, And count them drops of water from my eyes, Could they but wash out from your memory The deep affliction, you now labour with.

_Countess._ Then still there is some pity left in man: I judg'd you all by him, and so I wrong'd you.

I would have told my story to the sea, When it roar'd wildest; bid the lioness, Robb'd of her young, look with compa.s.sion on me; Rather than hoped in any form of man, To find one drop of human gentleness.

_Aust._ Most honour'd lady!--

_Countess._ Pray you, come not near me.

I am contagion all! some wicked sin, Prodigious, unrepented sin, has stain'd me.

Father, 'twould blast thee but to hear the crimes, This woman, who was once the wife of Raymond, This curs'd forsaken woman here, has acted.

_Aust._ What slanderous tongue dare thus profane your virtue?

Madam, I know you well; and, by my order, Each day, each hour, of your unspotted life, Might give as fair a lesson to the world, As churchmen's tongues can preach, or saints could practise.

_Countess._ He charges me with all--Thou, poor Hortensia!

What guilt, prepost'rous guilt, is thine to answer!

_Adel._ In mercy, wound not thus your daughter's soul.

_Aust._ A villain or a madman might say this.

_Countess._ What shall I call him? He, who was my husband; My child, thy father;--He'll disclaim thee too.

But let him cast off all the ties of nature, Abandon us to grief and misery-- Still will I wander with thee o'er the world: I will not wish my reason may forsake me, Nor sweet oblivious dulness steep my sense, While thy soft age may want a mother's care, A mother's tenderness, to wake and guard thee.

_Adel._ And, if the love of your dear Adelaide, Her reverence, duty, endless grat.i.tude For all your angel goodness, now can move you, Oh, for my sake (lest quite you break my heart) Wear but a little outside show of comfort; A while pretend it, though you feel it not, And I will bless you for deceiving me.

_Countess._ I know 'tis weakness--folly, to be mov'd thus; And these, I hope, are my last tears for him.

Alas, I little knew, deluded wretch!

His riotous fancy glow'd with Isabel; That not a thought of me possess'd his mind, But coldness and aversion; how to shun me, And turn me forth a friendless wanderer.

_Aust._ Lady, for your peace, Think, conscience is the deepest source of anguish: A bosom, free like yours, has life's best suns.h.i.+ne; 'Tis the warm blaze in the poor herdsman's hut; That, when the storm howls o'er his humble thatch, Brightens his clay-built walls, and cheers his soul.

_Countess._ O father, reason is for moderate sorrows; For wounds which time has balm'd; but mine are fresh, All bleeding fresh, and pain beyond my patience.

Ungrateful! cruel! how have I deserv'd it?

Thou tough, tough heart, break for my ease at once!

_Aust._ I scarce, methinks, can weigh him with himself; Vexations strange, have fallen on him of late!

And his distemper'd fancy drives him on To rash designs, where disappointment mads him.

_Countess._ Ah no! his wit is settled, and most subtle; Pride and wild blood are his distemper, father.

But here I bid farewell to grief and fondness: Let him go kneel, and sigh to Isabel: And may he as obdurate find her heart, As his has been to me.

_Aust._ Why, that's well said;-- 'Tis better thus, than with consuming sorrow To feed on your own life. Give anger scope: Time, then, at length, will blunt this killing sense; And peace, he ne'er must know again, be yours.

_Countess._ I was a woman, full of tenderness; I am a woman, stung by injuries.

Narbonne was once my husband--my protector; He was--what was he not?--He is my tyrant; The unnatural tyrant of a heart, that lov'd him.

With cool, deliberate baseness, he forsakes me; With scorn as steadfast shall my soul repay it.

_Aust._ You know the imminent danger threatens him, From G.o.dfrey's fearful claim?

_Countess._ Too well I know it; A fearful claim indeed!

_Aust._ To-morrow's sun Will see him at these gates; but trust my faith, No violence shall reach you. The rash count (Lost to himself) by force detains me here.

Vain is his force:--our holy sanctuary, Whate'er betides, shall give your virtue shelter; And peace, and piety, alone, approach you.

_Countess._ Oh, that the friendly bosom of the earth Would close on me for ever!

_Aust._ These ill thoughts Must not be cherish'd. That all righteous Power, Whose hand inflicts, knows to reward our patience: Farewell! command me ever as your servant, And take the poor man's all, my prayers and blessing.

[_Exit AUSTIN._

_Adel._ Will you not strive to rest? Alas! 'tis long, Since you have slept. I'll lead you to your couch; And gently touch my lute, to wake some strain, May aid your slumbers.

_Countess._ My sweet comforter!

I feel not quite forlorn, when thou art near me.