University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.

—A Chamber in the Nunnery at Prince Bohemond's Tower.
Eudocia and Zillah seated on a couch dressed in Mournings.
Zill.
'Tis night, I think.

Eud.
And when did day pass by?
The day to me is hid in its own light.
'Tis as the ghost of night.

Enter Abbess.
Abb.
I bless you in God's name!
And grieve not for the days of earthly passion!
Happy are ye above the world-worn sinners!
Only the will bears stain:—hence be ye pure,
Dove-hearted maidens, then even in this life
Ye win some glow of angel purity,
As youth may win that shuns the thoughts of sin.
Then grieve not, O, for earth! the life of man
Is here dim light seen through the ribs of death,—
A candle in the wind:—his greatest glory,
But as the changes of an April day—
Pieces of broken rainbows and dark clouds.—
Maid, is thy heart sick? but she hears me not.
Adieu to-night.—

(She is going out when Eudocia rises suddenly.)
Eud.
Pardon, good Lady,
What would'st thou with me? Then, good-night, good-mother!
If you will go so soon. Give me your blessing,
Before you go, for I am sick indeed!

Abb.
May all saints pray to heal thee in the night.
(Exit Abbess.

(Eudocia sits silently down beside Zillah.)
(Montmorency bursts in—The Abbess returns and stands at the door.)
Montm.
Here sits she—I have found thee now, Eudocia!

Eud.
(Shrieking.)
Rash man! we want thee not—not yet—not yet.
She is not found:—her heart is in the grave,—
'Twill rise to curse thee, if thou fly not hence.

Montm.
Art thou—O, art thou—

Eud.
Heaven's swift messenger,
Bear thee through air far hence, and tell thee all!
I am not thine.

Montm.
Well,—why not likewise add
That we are struck with the last curse on earth?
You are too niggard of your words. If—if—
May the stars start from out their sockets! run
Their eyes on the sharp lances of the north.—
Confusion come!—this now is to be curs'd!
What need men speak?

Eud.
But hear, my Lord—

Montm.
Thou dar'st not—wilt thou? can thy tongue find words,
Whilst I am trembling—wishing that this pile
May fall on me for ever—bear me down
That I may never have a moment's space
To think on such dishonour? See me kneel—
(kneeling.)
Come down thou pile, and bury us for ever,—
Loosen the garters of thy strong knit pillars!
Heaven smear my senses with thick sleepy poisons!—
(Starting up.)
—Thou girl, thou hast undone me! ah! why? why?
Thyself too:—thou art worthy of reproach?

Eud.
Stab me with thy words—
Then take thy sword. But pause—and show thy claim—
I am Murtzoufle's.

Montm.
Horror beyond itself!
How shall I name thee, or but think thy name,
When the past comes? What art thou now to me?
Must I claim but the fierce distemper'd dream
Where thou shalt ever live? Where is this husband?
Perhaps he claims me too—we will go meet him.

Eud.
Why look'st thou on me, I shall blast thine eyes.
Stay'st thou to hear me groan? Ay, bide one moment,
Till—Montmorency art thou mov'd in soul?—
Then is imagination on her springs,
And horrors flit around me whilst I'm here:—
Cast up,—conceive what evil minds can think
To aid them—death? What dread of death had I,
That sought, but found it not? O shame and guilt,
And dread of innocence unknown, and more
Than I can name!—Away! what right have I
To live before thine eyes?—Stab, and pass on.

Montm.
Men have been rash, I'll stand awhile and look
Till I have seen 'tis true.—Sweet cherub come,
And whisper me, this is my virgin bride!
Let me approach, maiden, and I'll forgive thee.

Eud.
(Shrieking.)
Ha! touch me not.
(As she approaches, she snatches a dagger from his side and stabs herself. Zillah sits motionless.)
I wish not thy forgiveness.—

(she falls back on the couch.)
Abb.
(Coming forward.)
Is not this murder, sir?
Has not thy coming pluck'd a life away,
From sweet paths of religion?

Montm.
Murder? ay,
It may be murder,—for her brow is pale.

Eud.
You may come near.—My spirit ebbs and looks
Back to our love.—Ah! Montmorency! never—

Montm.
Perhaps no—girl.

Eud.
Has not our love been sweet,
A pleasant picture, though it has been set
In dark accompaniments?

Montm.
What more, Eudocia?

Eud.
Forget my death—

Montm.
Forget! Is it that I
May live and laugh in jolly camps,—forget
Her that I lov'd so deeply, and at once?
I'll fly this moment, for I fear thee—thou
Wilt lay some dread forbearance on my sword.
Here swear I to revenge thy death:—and now
Wish me not perjur'd—bid me not forbear.
There, there she dies! Out sword, she sees thee not.—
O! I'll not stumble though an earthquake throw
A thousand thresholds to her chasms before me!
(He runs to the door, but returns.)
What would'st thou, love?

Eud.
O, ay, that word once more!
If my dim eyes can see—thou went'st a moment—
Out of my sight? help!—this is death—

(Dies.)
Montm.
The flutter of her eyelid's still.—I'll touch
Her blood.—O God!—once more.—I shape the cross
Upon my brow with it: that man who mocks
The cross, fighting its battles, yet a murd'rer,
Shall know his mockery.—Whose blood is this?
Baldwin, whose blood is this? Look to this cross.

(Montmorency runs out with his sword drawn. Zillah remains motionless. The Abbess approaches the body.)