University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

Before Montmorency's tent.
(Montmorency and a French knight. Soldiers in the back ground.)
Fr. Knt.
To-morrow?

Montm.
Ay, farewell to night—
Good friends, to-morrow at the earliest dawn—
(The soldiers shout, and retire.)
Enough, pass on, and give the troops your care,
See them accoutred gallantly once more—
[Ex. Knight.
Once more—Eudocia, ay once more; for thou
Hast left me strangely, wench.—She must be dead.—
I've bow'd along this day to glean the scraps
Of doubt:—my harvest told at night is nought
But empty doubt;—a mighty host has stood,
Staid in its movement pointing at Montmorency.
Longer this shall not be;—and for thee, maiden,
Nothing is left if thou be yet alive,—
Save to look wearily from some high rock
After our hurrying host, that like a storm
Goes down on other lands:—I am resolved—
But I will pray that some strong circumstance
This night may wrench me from my onward purpose,
All for my Grecian girl:—and yet—and yet—
We march to-morrow. Ye dark ancestors
In your mail'd sockets mould'ring, I'll not blush
When I lie down amongst you;—but no word
No welcome give me,—I'm an angry ghost
For my Eudocia.—There too hide the stars
Rushing into their caves! Have ye too look'd
And seen aught 'gainst me, if your light shine for man,
On Fate's dark dial? On with the moon, your mistress,
Faster, more fast, through storm of wind and cloud!
Shall I not onward too?—Here comes Montferrat.—
Enter Montferrat.
Shall we go, see prepar'd
To-morrow's march? no—no—there heed him not,—
His wish is otherwise—and I were damn'd,
Did I not ask of her—and my last question
Prevent the word that bade us hence for ever.—
Montferrat, nothing yet?—

Montf.
Give me thy hand,—
To-morrow if you please; and let us off,—
Fall in the battle,—'tis a glorious end:
More proud the farther as it backward comes
Up the red sky of years, from downward age.—
Hurra! for Palestine and brief career!—

Montm.
Ay, ay, I know thy meaning, it shall be—
The soldier loves the battle for itself;
The patriot as the means of peace:—But I
Must woo it for forgetfulness and death.
I know thy meaning—that we may forget—
Stand by a little—here from lane-ends of death,—
If I guess rightly.—

(Enter Soldier with a letter, Montm. snatches it.)
Montf.
There's gold, good fellow, it shall save me pain.

Montm.
(reading,)

“It were worse than death to find
me; fly far from me, for I am fallen. I shall soon be ashes.
Again this prays thee to forbear and seek me no more. Forget
her that was once—Eudocia.”

Aha! we'll look to that—Hear'st thou, Montferrat?
The where? the where, good fellow? where's the Lady?

Sol.
My lord, I know not.

Montm.
O but pause a little—
She that wrote this? the lady with dark hair?—
Fellow, at once—you know.

Sol.
No, on my soul.
'Twas found in the camp, and came no one knows whence.

Montm.
So, so, and this is all? where are we now?
[Ex. Soldier.
Montferrat, read, my eye is dazzled somewhat.

Montf.
Stay till she leave yon cloud.

Montm.
Give me, I'll read myself—Is there no star,
Meanwhile,—no star of love? I'll tear thee then,
Thou crabbed paper, thou hast nothing more,—
Not even a scratch showing the tortured wish,
Inkless but deep:—vouchsafe then maid at least
To send thy ghost to explain if thou must die.
But look, Montferrat, we've th' appendix now!
There comes the mortal face, let's stand and mark,—
How fearfully he comes! O glorious thing,
This coming in from all the winds of heaven!
For by my soul I'm glad to be resolved,
Though hands meanwhile spread down the beds of death.
I knew it must to-night—it could not be
That thing lac'd up so quickly should go by
So lately, and not be o'erta'en and known.—
Whence comes our Marsas?
(Marsas, seeing himself discovered, bursts forward and throws himself on the ground before Montmorency.)
Rise, tell me of thy lady, and thy trust.

Mar.
Not till you pardon me.

Montm.
I have not heard thy story.

Mar.
I'll grovel here for ever.

Montm.
On my life—
I'm not thy lord—lead me to her, and she
Shall say you knew not.

Mar.
No—no—on my oath.
And there's thy ring—O pardon me, my Lord!
'Twas Philip—and a thousand times he bade me
Take care of it; and have I not? O pardon!
Indeed, I went with her,—but let me swear
You sent for me, if Philip has not lied.

Montm.
He lied, indeed!

Mar.
False Philip—and false Baldwin!

Montm.
Baldwin, at last?—

Mar.
Ay, on our homeward journey,
When I press'd Philip—
And kept his villany before his eyes;—
Tell Montmorency, said he, Baldwin did it.
Fearing your royal bride might give you claim,
To interfere with his own present power,
Baldwin thus tried to thwart you.

Montm.
Here's truth!—did he?
Then have I work to-night, and vengeance too!
Marsas, say nothing more, for I must see her.
Only where is she?

Mar.
At Prince Bohemond's Tower.

Montf.
My Lord,—my friend, you must not go.

Montm.
O God!
Wherefore?

Montf.
Ask nothing: let me lock thee up
Until to-morrow.

Montm.
Tower or palace? speak,
Which shall I visit first?
Could I divide myself, a half for each.
Ho, page!
Enter Montmorency's Page.
Here is my ring.—Get thee with twenty soldiers—
Be near the hall where criminals are tried,
And know my call.—I shall be there, anon—
What hour, my Lord? you said to-night, methinks?

Montf.
The second watch. But let me ask—

Montm.
Away boy, get thee ready.

[Exit Page.
Montf.
Pause one moment—
What art thou doing? let me command—intreat—

Montm.
When did Montferrat grow so wise and wary?
Recal my orders, I myself shall go.

Montf.
Well, I shall meet thee there too.

Montm.
I know 'tis rash,
Since you have yielded. Pardon, noble Marquis,
You must not say me nay,—this last request—
(is going off.)
(Coming back.)
—Farewell, my friend! If I have shown respect
To him that taught me war and victory;—
It has been as you wish'd, frankly to come—
Freely to speak: forgive the rest, Montferrat.
(Exit Montm.

Mar.
He goes, when shall he come? O dreadful night!
O night of woe to lovers! but more foul
That other night! the stars kept in their cressets.
What art thou, thus alone, that stand'st o'er Marsas?
Bury him here.—

Montf.
Rise—rise—thou gentle spirit!
And follow me if thou hast lost thy master.

Enter Montmorency's Page.
Page.
Went my Lord hence just now?

Montf.
Did you not meet him?

Page.
Is he in wrath or sorrow? Past the camp
A figure westward went: he pass'd me by
At a short distance; when beyond me, turned;
Retrac'd his steps; stood still and eastward look'd
Unto Constantinople—and its towers
Against the moon: his glittering eye stood still,
Some minutes' space: his stature rose dilated:
Then waving with short motion, as in scorn,
Or pride, his hand, or sorrow, he was gone
Away to the westward.

Montf.
It was Montmorency,
Mind his command. I'll follow him afar.

[Exeunt.