University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—Euphrosyne's Palace.
Euphrosyne and Baldwin.
Euph.
So soon? 'tis but a day, my lord, one day.

Bald.
I go to-morrow—but for one event
Of doubtful issue:—I may say 'tis certain.—
And then to-morrow.

Euph.
But you cannot mean
To-morrow—some hours hence to leave our city?
O! ho! my lord, you put our fears to task?
'Tis but for a short while?

Bald.
I dare not think—
But that three nights ago you understood me.
I have no wish to see this city more.

Euph.
Then stay three days—a week—a little while—
Until a prince be chosen:—stay and guard
Our lives and fortunes; you were cruel else.

Bald.
This night shall do it all. My purpose still.

Euph.
Well, it must be so; but, my Lord of Flanders,
You might have told us sooner.

Bald.
Madam, I could not.

Euph.
Ha! 'tis a different course. But look at me.
Why art thou here? Does it not say, false Earl
I have a right—

Bald.
One word on this for ever—

Euph.
Name it again; perhaps I heard not rightly.
You said to-morrow? then shall I not speak?
Coward, to let a woman fright thee hence.
We swear, bold Flanders, we have no design
Against thy life.

Bald.
Well there is nothing more—
And higher purposes than woman's love—

Euph.
There is—you know there is—who's at thy side?

Bald.
No one, save fabl'd by deceitful sense,
As it had serv'd thee when it whisper'd love.

Euph.
I see a figure moving thee to perjury.

Bald.
Why will you talk?

Euph.
I talk of thee?—'tis false.

Bald.
Then have you heard aright?

Euph.
A jest indeed!
Be not perplex'd, my lord, there's no design
Against thy person. Did'st thou think presumptuous—
Softly, I'll call my servants—make them whip thee
To give them due assurance, that we mean not
To marry thee per force. Hence Earl of Flanders
And of Hainault! False heart, O—

Bald.
Well Montmorency warn'd
Too late I find. But we shall jest no more.

(Exit Bald.)
Euph.
Stay, we are not yet done.—
My soul, thou art a prophet 'bove them all.
Thanks, Montmorency, thou shalt have the maid
That calls me mother? Now for an Empress still,—
And that's Euphrosyne. O for some mouth
Invisible, to whisper in my ear
How I may clutch them both, one in each hand!
Enter Eudocia.
So! who intrudes?

Eud.
It is thy daughter, madam.

Euph.
Did you not say to-morrow?—why then come?

Eud.
To ask thy blessing 'cause the time is short,
And I may see my mother seldom hence.

Euph.
Thou shalt not mock me, for you hold th' event
A riddance good: it is a riddance good.
By Heaven thou shalt not mock me! Don't I say
'Tis a good riddance? Out, fool! steal away,
It were thy best, if ye will love that knight,
For I shall plague thee. Come to take advice
Thy course determin'd?

Eud.
Heaven touch thy heart, and bless thee.

Euph.
Brave my words?
Aha! I see it, wench, you said to-morrow?

Eud.
Ay, with your leave.

Euph.
You mean my leave, good girl?
To-morrow, you said?

Eud.
So Montmorency wills.

Euph.
I did not think that you durst name him here.
To-morrow—rebel?

Eud.
Then, madam, hear me speak—

Euph.
To-morrow—O! first answer me that.

Eud.
Were he not knight—

Euph.
(kneeling.)
Kneel—kneel, he is not hind
On the grey fallows at the break of dawn,
A peasant lad: let us give thanks for this.
(Starting up.)
Maid, here I stand if you dare name it more.

Eud.
Then, lady, I must speak, and let me say
Thy heart is troubled with distemper'd thoughts,
Ambitious and more vain, of power to come;
Because once we had power: and in this dream
Thy days are passed, and bring thee only pain.
And I must be a queen too, else thy nights
Must bear these pains more heavily than the day,
And thy couch be a sheaf of unturn'd thorns.
And, pardon me, how could I give my youth
To idle dreams, or deep intrigues,—forget
My sex to catch an Emperor, haply old,
Bloody, or mad? That man is high, indeed,
Who for escutcheon has the world's loud praise.

Euph.
Trouble thyself no farther
For I'm a dotard.—Last night's dream is vain
As all my thoughts.—Why with me stay so long?
Haste from thy mother.

Eud.
Were my life most full,
And crown'd like Autumn on its golden pipes;
More fears were mine, lest thou be in distress.

Euph.
Ha! ha! a patron? but, thou fool, come back,
Nor run so far. Thy pardon, kindest maid,
I did not mean to move thee; but my dream
Saw angry faces of thy ancestors
That peopled all my couch.
This day's too gaudy, though it lours to earth;
The tempest comes,—but yet there's too much light:—
I'll seek thy chamber when the flakes of light
Die on the windows, 'neath o'ershadowing eve,
And desert streams grow dark, and tell my dream.
Perchance we'll see their faces.

Eud.
Madam, why will they? was not Montmorency
Nam'd 'mong the candidates for their own throne?
And though Earl Baldwin gains it—

Euph.
What Earl Baldwin?

Eud.
My lady knows him.

Euph.
Dread power, catch thy news,
And make them plagues for ye all—'tis false—'tis false.—
But Oh! this head of mine! ye will not help—

(She falls on a sofa.)
Eud.
Help here! O help!
Enter Montmorency and then Zillah.
Look there, my mother!

Montm.
Let me raise her up.

Euph.
(rising.)
Hold off, nor blister me! Methinks thy touch
Could raise me dead, to horror—thank thee once.

Montm.
She raves, my love! I'll help her to her chamber.

Eud.
Stay—stay!

Euph.
Thy lesson there—she knows too well,
And she is wise, and she shall tell thee all.
Ha! I have kept my purpose overhead
When I was drowning: but she knows not that:—
Both yet may know.
[Exit. Euph.

Montm.
I fear her reason's touch'd.

Eud.
O no, my lord, she hates our love—'tis awful!
Spare her and ask no more. O God! look down
And bless my mother. Soldier—go—pass on;
'Twere best—for fate—

Montm.
Love, do not say the rest.

Eud.
O pardon me.
How shall I leave her? I must farther grieve
For thee, my country; all thy strength is cut:
Strange wars have breath'd within thy palaces
And dimm'd their lustrous boards. Henceforth thy light
Is but the pale reflection of a strange sword
Although for thee victorious.

Montm.
Theirs the shame,
That for base gain forget a noble purpose.

Eud.
Ah! truant knight, thou hast forgotten too.

Montm.
Nay; love.—I've won a warrior to our cause;
For thou must march with me to Palestine.—
To-morrow dubs thee soldier.

(Euphrosyne enters, pale, and in a night-dress.)
Euph.
Ha! to-morrow.—
Who said the word?—the night is not yet pass'd.

Montm.
How shall I speak to thee, unhappy lady?

Euph.
Speak not to me, but look to yonder star.

Montm.
Thine eye's distemper'd.

Euph.
Is it dark to thee?
So shall thy star be, that presides o'er love.
There's thy pale shadow too, that sees no star.
Sorrow shall lodge within her house of tears.

(Eudocia embraces her mother.)
Eud.
O let me ask thee, is thy bosom sick?
And hear: for I have said, no step of mine
Shall tread on sacred fountains of my life.
I do but say, farewell, to this brave knight.—
Then bid me pour my life into thy wounds.

Euph.
My silence leaves to trial.—
[Exit Euphrosyne.

Montm.
Thou, fair rebel,
Did I not hear thee? Turn, thou holy maid;
And for that name, and more that thou hast dar'd
To trust a stranger youth with the proud secret
Of princely maiden's love; if I have been
Thy knight in war, and borne it on my sword,
Shall I not farther honour the proud pledge,
And own it worthy to be sav'd at once
From each base plot?—Shall every foul usurper
Touch, handle, tamper with its clear bright springs?—
And, for thy mother—thou must pardon me;—
She hates thee as myself;—thou wert her rival,
In dark Murtzoufle's love,—or rather, power.
Thou art in danger. But high be thy heart,
Heaven's blessing is around thee, and thou stand'st
In midst of it, like angel in the sun.
If I might speak once for myself—high lady,
See me still kneel, and humbly ask thy love.
I hold thee dearer that thy mother frowns;
By my soul's honour, more than other oath—
What shall I say? I love thee as my fame:
Thou must be soldier with me for a while;
But I shall bring thee to the pleasant France,
Where orchards rustle in the summer wind:
And I shall love thee all my days of life.

Eud.
When I am tried,
I'll call to mind what Montmorency said
He'd do for his Eudocia,—and this moment,
Do not I feel the thought bitter and sweet?
If I am bold, 'tis that thou'rt Montmorency.
That I have nam'd the name 'tis argument
For sternest duty; else thou'rt changed indeed,
And I the cause,—and thy high thoughts estrang'd.
Show me thy sword—cloudy, my lord, or dull?
O never, never—and you dare not bid me
Hence, and not watch a parent's holy life.
In grief, and who shall pluck her thorns away?—
In anger, who should yield?—Heaven put us right!
Were it not base to think my mother cruel,
Still it were mine to say, I dare not fear.

Montm.
Were it not base to cloud thy holy purpose
With thoughts of my own fortune, I would say
Thy purpose cannot stand.—I must be proud.
Shall each that knows my purpose of to-morrow,
Hear it has fail'd, and plague me with conjectures?—
The Patriarch at the altar waits in vain,—
My fellows wait in vain,—and I must be
Pitied forsooth, unless I bow to explain:
No; for my own sake,—no, indeed, for thine.
What, were the cause explain'd? Surely, my love,
Not that thy lady mother fears for thee—
Thy peace,—but that no more thou art her tool
Of base intrigue. Happy were I, my princess,
Thy own true knight in war,—proudly would go
Behind the banner'd cross farthest in fight,
Might my return presume to claim thy love.
Thine were the dignity to draw my sword,
And bind me where to put its farthest blow.
But in the present place, where is the pledge
Of thy due dignity to be my judge,
Courted, assailed, by every rude usurper,
'Cause of a woman sick of the worst ambition?
And where my meed, O Heaven and earth! thyself?
I will be bold to boast, and that thou art
My bride 'fore God; shall I not doubly swear,
Thou shalt not be a word of course for each
That dares to call thee means—a ladder-step,—
A make-weight 'twixt his yea and nay. No more—
Adieu, my soul's last joy! and let the world
Judge if for thee I shall not be a soldier.
Farewell, to-night.

Eud.
Is it, my lord, to say,
My purpos'd sacrifice is cold parade?
Perhaps I've been too willing in thy words
To find its overthrow: but still it stands
Against to-morrow.

Montm.
By my soul, I fear
This very much, though it seem but of peace:
And this small cloud may be the whirlwind's cradle.
One day—and we are on the Asian lands,
And thou art here, left in the veriest surf
Of danger,—and what danger? More than death.
O God, constrain this lady,—that again
I may not speak my pride—else must I swear,
Bound as I am by more than oath, to-morrow
Shall not be mock'd. Were I to stay an age,
And that day come not, such must be my oath.

Eud.
Leave me, my lord, to pause.—I'll not be proud.
I know thy words, and for their earnestness
This night shall boldly search a mother's heart;
And know how I dwell there. I owe thee this,
And keenly shall I look,—if but one risk
Of a dishonour, that shall make me fear
To meet thy face,—I'll say, without a blush,
When the sun shines to-morrow, take me hence.—
Yet thy soul judge me, shall I not be just?—
And, if her sickness be a parent's sorrow,
And I the cause, will you not leave me just?

Montm.
O much, yet not enough.—But that I know
The issue of thy judgment, I would stand
Till dawn, and be perplex'd,—else make thee yield
By dreadful violence.

Eud.
My soul disdains
To fear that all thy hope may come from thought
Of maiden's weakness. Farewell, till to-morrow.

Montm.
Thou know'st my answer, and 'tis short adieu!
Exit Montmorency.

Eud.
My soul, there's no alternative of good.
Is it the best that I must learn she hates
Her daughter's life,—and that our love, at first
Not much against her wish, hath grown at last
To be thus hated, as in evil minds
Slight opposition grows? Zillah, to-day
Saw you our mother?—Did she seem unwell?

Zill.
Not when I saw her in her chamber walking,—
Somewhat too pale, perhaps. I saw no more.

Eud.
Heaven dictate to my soul.

Exeunt Eudocia and Zillah.