The Hunchback Part 16

Hang Ovid's Art of Love! I'll woo my cousin!

[Goes out.]

SCENE II.--The Banqueting-room in the Earl of Rochdale's Mansion.

[Enter MASTER WALTER and JULIA.]

_Wal_. This is the banqueting-room. Thou seest as far It leaves the last behind, as that excels The former ones. All is proportion here And harmony! Observe! The ma.s.sy pillars May well look proud to bear the gilded dome.

You mark those full-length portraits? They're the heads, The stately heads, of his ancestral line.

Here o'er the feast they haply still preside!

Mark those medallions! Stand they forth or not In bold and fair relief? Is not this brave?

_Julia_. [Abstractedly.] It is.

_Wal_. It should be so. To cheer the blood That flows in n.o.ble veins is made the feast That gladdens here! You see this drapery?

'Tis richest velvet! Fringe and ta.s.sels, gold!

Is not this costly?

_Julia_. Yes.

_Wal_. And chaste, the while?

Both chaste and costly?

_Julia_. Yes.

_Wal_. Come hither! There's a mirror for you. See!

One sheet from floor to ceiling! Look into it, Salute its mistress! Dost not know her?

_Julia_. [Sighing deeply.] Yes.

_Wal_. And sighest thou to know her? Wait until To-morrow, when the banquet shall be spread In the fair hall; the guests--already bid, Around it; here, her lord; and there, herself; Presiding o'er the cheer that hails him bridegroom, And her the happy bride! Dost hear me?

_Julia_. [Sighing still more deeply.] Yes.

_Wal_. These are the day-rooms only, we have seen.

For public and domestic uses kept.

I'll show you now the lodging-rooms.

[Goes, then turns and observes JULIA standing perfectly abstracted.]

You're tired.

Let it be till after dinner, then. Yet one I'd like thee much to see--the bridal chamber.

[JULIA starts, crosses her hands upon her breast, and looks upwards.]

I see you're tired: yet it is worth the viewing, If only for the tapestry which shows The needle like the pencil glows with life;

[Brings down chairs--they sit.]

The story's of a page who loved the dame He served--a princess!--Love's a heedless thing!

That never takes account of obstacles; Makes plains of mountains, rivulets of seas, That part it from its wish. So proved the page, Who from a state so lowly, looked so high,-- But love's a greater lackwit still than this.

Say it aspires--that's gain! Love stoops--that's loss!

You know what comes. The princess loved the page.

Shall I go on, or here leave off?

_Julia_. Go on.

_Wal_. Each side of the chamber shows a different stage Of this fond page, and fonder lady's love. {2} First--no, it is not that.

_Julia_. Oh, recollect!

_Wal_. And yet it is.

_Julia_. No doubt it is. What is 't?

_Wal_. He holds to her a salver, with a cup; His cheeks more mantling with his pa.s.sion than The cup with the ruby wine. She heeds him not, For too great heed of him:--but seems to hold Debate betwixt her pa.s.sion and her pride-- That's like to lose the day. You read it in Her vacant eye, knit brow, and parted lips, Which speak a heart too busy all within To note what's done without. Like you the tale?

_Julia_. I list to every word.

_Wal_. The next side paints The page upon his knee. He has told his tale; And found that when he lost his heart, he played No losing game: but won a richer one!

There may you read in him, how love would seem Most humble when most bold,--you question which Appears to kiss her hand--his breath, or lips!

In her you read how wholly lost is she Who trusts her heart to love. Shall I give o'er?

_Julia_. Nay, tell it to the end. Is't melancholy?

_Wal_. To answer that, would mar the story.

_Julia_. Right.

_Wal_. The third side now we come to.

_Julia_. What shows that?

_Wal_. The page and princess still. But stands her sire Between them. Stern he grasps his daughter's arm, Whose eyes like fountains play; while through her tears Her pa.s.sion s.h.i.+nes, as through the fountain drops The sun! His minions crowd around the page!

They drag him to a dungeon.

_Julia_. Hapless youth!

_Wal_. Hapless indeed, that's twice a captive! heart And body both in bonds. But that's the chain, Which balance cannot weigh, rule measure, touch Define the texture of, or eye detect, That's forged by the subtle craft of love!

No need to tell you that he wears it. Such The cunning of the hand that plied the loom, You've but to mark the straining of his eye, To feel the coil yourself!

_Julia_. I feel't without!

You've finished with the third side; now the fourth!

_Wal_. It brings us to a dungeon, then.

_Julia_. The page, The thrall of love, more than the dungeon's thrall, Is there?