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Recall thy lie—thou little know'st what hope
Paint. Though I knew, yet could I not
Count. Didst thou not thyself consent
Aye, I thought so once,
Count. Heavens, is it possible! Is she thus free?
Paint. Take, then, the bliss thou didst design for him
What doth he mean?
Paint. My noble friend, suspicion is to thee
grave. Leonhard enters hastily, summoning the Count, at his grandfather's desire, to his inconsolable mother. The Painter betrays deep but suppressed emotion. The Count thus addresses him
Count. To a dread secret bar I summon thee;
(Erit. The Painter and Leonhard are now left in painful tête-à-tête. The latter stands, for the first time in his life, shyly apart.
Paint. My son, my Leonhard, we must part !
Strange! ah, how shall I
Bid farewell to the tree
And hast thou kept thy promise,
Paint. What! doth Suspicion's demon-form arise
Leon. Be not in a parting hour
Paint. Nor thou ! seem as thou lovedst me still.
If thou absolv’st me not-alas! I cannot !
Leon, 0, master! father!
Look me in the face ;
Paint. (Lifting his hands to heaven.) Oh! to Thee
Leon. (Embracing him.) Yes, yes! I do believe! Forgive me, father! Unfortunately the youth's returning confidence forbids him to demand, or even listen, to the explanation the Painter could so easily give of the fatal picture affair—the enigmatical allusions to which, on his pupil's part, he is anxious to clear up; so they part, though in perfect amity, yet without a inue tual understanding on that important point.
Paint. So! thou art mine once more--before I go!
We must hasten to a conclusion, and compress into brief space the whole sad catastrophe of the fifth act, which opens with a soliloquy of the Painter's.
Paint. Lull'd is the day's loud tempest! and the depths
He is joined by the Seneschal, in consequence of a private signal he had made him tn do so. The old man ironically remarks on the general dejece tion pervading the noble household, and the inability of all (save the ironsouled Marquis) to partake of the evening meal. The poor artist breaks out into passionate parting sorrow, which the Seneschal hears unmoved; but becomes animated by keen malice, when the Painter solicits his assistance to depart secretly under cloud of pight; a design which, of course, he ascribes to the consciousness of guilt.
Sen. Wilt thou go forth to-night?
Aye, this same night.
Trust me, I'll be there.
Which! the likeness of the Countess
'Tis in the great hall.
Ser. Thou'lt find more pictures there,
Paint. Then ye consent; but not a word of this.
The significant comments of the exertions till the Painter's moment of old servant, on the murderer's guilty departure next day, when the feelings fight, prepare the mind for some im- of Camilla may powerfully second the pending catastrophe.
voice of friendship. To LeonhardThe Count and Julia now enter in who has at length been made acquaintearnest conference, which the Senes- ed by his mother with her early history chal unfortunately attempts to intere -he holds out similar though general rupt in vain with his supposed un- promises of labouring for her happiness, important secret. Julia, now urged and permits Julia, in the meantime, to by vecessity, places unlimited confi- soothe her regrets by vague but pleadence in the Countmexculpates Leny sing anticipations-loomed, alas, by from all guilt, or even an involuntary this procrastination, never to be realiaccession to his brother's fate-and, zed. In the meantime, the vindictive after drawing from this magnanimous Seneschal, finding his warning slightlover his determination not even to ed by the engrossed Count, awakes attempt to rival the memory of the the more congenial Marquis from his deceased Leny, she informs him of first sleep, to take upon himself the his being not only alive, but actually office of avenger. They conceal theme on the spot, in the person of his pre- selves in Camilla's chamber, adjoining tended friend ; whose generous mo- the Baronial-hall, availing themselves tives for signing his own death-war- of her absence with her attendant in rant the Count now first comprehends. the castle gardens, unusual presentiand fully appreciates. He resolves on ments having deprived her of rest. devoting his whole powers of persua- As twelve strikes the Painter ension and claims on the Marquis to ters, and thus apostrophizes the Counthe cause of unfortunate love; but tess's picture also defers, not unnaturally, these final
Paint. Here may. I dare to breathe no mute farewell,
In memory shalt thou live, as pictured here,
'Tis midnight! Spirits of yon silent heroes,
Enter MARQUIS and SeneSCHAL.
Hold ! detested traitor!
Why? What have I done
Dost thou ask so boldly?
Stand, traitor, stand ! The Marquis then, referring to Julia's former communication to himself, puts it to Spinarosa, whether he or Leny painted the fatal picture-betraying his cruel wish to have the blame laid on the latter, that his very memory may be embittered to Camilla. The generous Painter, by a last effort of magnani. mity, refuses to give her this additional pang, and at the risk of his life anse
Paint. Not Leny-'twas I !
Ye hear him! he confesses! The Seneschal falls on him, accusing him of having purloined the sword designed for his own punishment. The Painter indignantly appeals to Heaven, and disarms the assailant in a moment.
Marq. Then, it remains for ine-Vengeance is mine.
Paint. No, no ! I dare not ! No! it is her father!
Marq. To hell, then! dastard villain !
(Stabs him. Paint.
Stay thine hand!
"Tis enough. The Count must know.
(Goes out. Paint.
Short is the painful path. Farewell, Camilla !
(Camilla and her Attendant now burst in from the adjoining
Ha! who calls? I hear
Paint. Peace is at hand!
Merciful Heav'n, what's here?
How? dost thou see his ghost
Julia. (To Painter.) Man thyself, and say
Paint. (Imploringly.) Ask not-and begone.
Ah! Camilla !
Hence, I say!
Where is he?
Cam. (Gazing bewildered on him.) What form is that I see
Marq. Take hence yon lunatic-my shuddering soul
Why are ye so pale?
Julia. (To Painter.) Call her by her name
O my Camilla !
(She sinks into his arms in a dying state. Paint.
Come, beloved one, come !
She's frantic-tear her from him !
Enter Count and SENESCHAL. Count. (To Painter.) What do I see? My friend, methinks thou’rt
wounded Paint. Ev'n unto death!