The Count of Narbonne Part 3

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

_A Chamber._

_Enter FABIAN and JAQUELINE._

_Fab._ No, no, it cannot be. My lord's commands Were absolute, that none should visit him.

_Jaq._ What need he know it?

_Fab._ But perchance he should?

The study of my life has been his pleasure; Nor will I risk his favour, to indulge Such unavailing curiosity.

_Jaq._ Call it not so; I have kind counsel for him; Which, if he follow it, may serve to speed The hour of his deliverance, and appease The unjustly-anger'd count.

_Fab._ Pray be content; I dare not do it. Have this castle's walls Hous'd thee nine years, and, art thou yet to learn The temper of the count? Serv'd and obey'd, There lives not one more gracious, liberal; Offend him, and his rage is terrible; I'd rather play with serpents. But, fair Jaqueline, Setting aside the comeliness and grace Of this young rustic, which, I own, are rare, And baits to catch all women, pr'ythee tell, Why are you thus solicitous to see him?

_Jaq._ In me, 'twere base to be indifferent: He was my life's preserver, nay, preserv'd A life more precious: yes, my dear young mistress!

But for his aid, the eternal sleep of death Had clos'd the sweetest eyes that ever beam'd.

Aloof, and frighted, stood her coward train, And saw a furious band of desperate slaves, Inur'd to blood and rapine, bear her off.

_Fab._ What! when the gang of outlaw'd Thiery Rush'd on her chariot, near the wood of Zart, Was he the unknown youth, who succour'd her All good betide him for it.

_Jaq._ Yes, 'twas he.

From one tame wretch he s.n.a.t.c.h'd a half-drawn sword, And dealt swift vengeance on the ruffian crew.

Two, at his feet stretch'd dead, the rest, amaz'd, Fled, muttering curses, while he bore her back, Unhurt, but by her fears.

_Fab._ He should be wors.h.i.+pp'd, Have statues rais'd to him; for, by my life, I think, there does not breathe another like her.

It makes me young, to see her lovely eyes: Such charity! such sweet benevolence!

So fair, and yet so humble! prais'd for ever, Nay, wonder'd at, for nature's rarest gifts, Yet lowlier than the lowest.

_Jaq._ Is it strange, Fair Adelaide and I, thus bound to him, Are anxious for his safety? What offence (And sure, 'twas unintended) could provoke The rigorous count thus to imprison him?

_Fab._ My lord was ever proud and choleric; The youth, perhaps unus'd to menaces, Brook'd them but ill, and darted frown for frown: This stirr'd the count to fury. But fear nothing; All will be well; I'll wait the meetest season, And be his advocate.

_Jaq._ Mean time, repair to him; Bid him be patient; let him want no comfort, Kind care can minister. My lady comes.

May I a.s.sure her of your favour to him?

_Fab._ a.s.sure her, that the man, who sav'd her life, Is dear to Fabian as his vital blood.

[_Exit._

_Enter ADELAIDE._

_Adel._ I sent thee to his prison. Quickly tell me, What says he, does he know my sorrow for him?

Does he confound me with the unfeeling crew, Who act my father's bidding? Can his love Pity my grief, and bear this wrong with patience?

_Jaq._ I strove in vain to enter. Fabian holds him, By the count's charge, in strictest custody; And, fearful to awake his master's wrath, Though much unwilling, bars me from his presence.

_Adel._ Unkind old man! I would myself entreat him, But fear my earnest look, these starting tears, Might to the experience of his prying age Reveal a secret, which, in vain, I strive To hide from my own breast.

_Jaq._ Alas, dear lady, Did not your tongue reveal it, your chang'd mien, Once lighter than the airy wood-nymph's shade, Now turn'd to pensive thought and melancholy,-- Involuntary sighs,--your cheek, unlike Its wonted bloom, as is the red-vein'd rose, To the dim sweetness of the violet-- These had too soon betray'd you. But take heed; The colour of our fate too oft is ting'd, Mournful, or bright, but from our first affections.

_Adel._ Foul disproportion draws down shame on love, But where's the crime in fair equality?

Mean birth presumes a mind uncultivate, Left to the coa.r.s.eness of its native soil, To grow like weeds, and die, like them, neglected; But he was born my equal; lineag'd high, And t.i.tled as our great ones.

_Jaq._ How easy is our faith to what we wis.h.!.+

His story may be feign'd.

_Adel._ I'll not mistrust him.

Since the bless'd hour, that brought him first to save me, How often have I listen'd to the tale!

Gallant, generous youth!

Thy sport, misfortune, from his infant years!-- Wilt thou pursue him still?

_Jaq._ Indeed, 'tis hard.

_Adel._ But, oh, the pang, that these ungrateful walls Should be his prison! Here, if I were aught, His presence should have made it festival; These gates, untouch'd, had leap'd to give him entrance, And songs of joy made glad the way before him.

Instead of this, think what has been his welcome!

Dragg'd by rude hands before a furious judge, Insulted, menac'd, like the vilest slave, And doom'd, unheard, to ignominious bondage.

_Jaq._ Your father knew not of his service to you?

_Adel._ No, his indignant soul disdain'd to tell it.

Great spirits, conscious of their inborn worth, Scorn by demand, to force the praise they merit; They feel a flame beyond their brightest deeds, And leave the weak to note them, and to wonder.

_Jaq._ Suppress these strong emotions. The count's eye Is quick to find offence. Should he suspect This unpermitted pa.s.sion, 'twould draw down More speedy vengeance on the helpless youth, Turning your fatal fondness to his ruin.

_Adel._ Indeed, I want thy counsel. Yet, oh, leave me!

Find, if my gold, my gems, can ransom him.

Had I the world, it should be his as freely.

_Jaq._ Trust to my care. The countess comes to seek you; Her eye is this way bent. Conceal this grief; All may be lost, if you betray such weakness.

[_Exit._

_Adel._ O love! thy sway makes me unnatural.

The tears, which should bedew the grave, yet green, Of a dear brother, turning from their source, Forget his death, and fall for Theodore.

_Enter the COUNTESS._

_Countess._ Come near, my love! When thou art from my side, Methinks I wander like some gloomy ghost, Who, doom'd to tread alone a dreary round, Remembers the lost things, that made life precious, Yet sees no end of cheerless solitude.

_Adel._ We have known too much of sorrow; yet, 'twere wise To turn our thoughts from what mischance has ravish'd, And rest on what it leaves. My father's love----

_Countess._ Was mine, but is no more. 'Tis past, 'tis gone.

That ray, at last, I hoped would never set, My guide, my light, through, fortune's blackest shades: It was my dear reserve, my secret treasure; I stor'd it up, as misers h.o.a.rd their gold, Sure counterpoise for life's severest ills: Vain was my hope; for love's soft sympathy, He pays me back harsh words, unkind, reproof, And looks that stab with coldness.