The Marquis interposes, and urges the necessity of his grandson's accompanying him to Italy. The good Count implores him also to remain and seek happiness in their mutual reunion; but the Marquis only answers by inviting his host in turn to Naples. He refers him to Leonhard for the charms of that bewitching country, and asks his grandson if he does not long to visit it. The youth, awaking as from a reverie, breaks out into the following beautiful passage: This morning early did we climb yon rock- His lofty head amid night's dusky sea, Like some vast beacon's dome! "O what is yon"- A northern brother ?"-"Fear not," said my friend, Even while he spoke, began th' attendant tribe Marq. He who but hears may know-thou art a painter. Leon. Dear grandsire, frown not-to a Switzer's soul His country is a loadstone-I am one, Since such my father was-shall not his cradle Be dearer to me than fair Naples, where His last was sadly breathed? Marq. No more of this! Leon. And think'st thou, when in princely state array'd, The column frowns whence hung my father's image? Count. Oh! be moved→→ Art thou not happier here, where love is thine, Is drugg'd with Memory's poison? Marq. Perchance I may. Leon. Well, in time Oh, aye! thou'lt be entreated. But, dearest uncle, if you thus adopt A son-beneath your roof I must bespeak A second father's place--my darling master's: Count. Oh! he is welcome! Fate, when she gave me father, sister, son, The youth flies to acquaint his master with the joyful tidings-but the proud Marquis strictly enjoins secrecy as to their names and rank, until the arrival of the expected messenger from Naples. The disappointed Leonhard promises to contine himself to taking the votes of his mother and the painter, whether they do not prefer remaining in Switzerland. He is desired to sum mon the latter to an interview with his grandfather. During his absence, the old Marquis complains of the influence acquired by the painter over his grandson's mind, and speaks disparagingly of genius, as wholly dependent on wealthy patronage. He acknowledges, however, his pride in attaching to him so celebrated an artist as Spinarosa, and announces his intention to set him a task which will put his vaunted skill to the test. The Count readily anticipates it to be the picture of his sightless daughter. Count. A masterpiece indeed! but could he borrow Heaven's radiance in yon eyes' extinguish'd shrine. The father despairs of even partial success, as Camilla has positively refused ever again to sit for her picture. The Count says, Count. Oh were I but a painter! and mine easel How could I draw each angel lineament From my soul's deep-graved record! Marq. Ha! Sir Count, Is this my daughter's image dear? Still glows Warm fancy in a dedicated breast? Count. The heart will live, even 'neath the sable pall Long have I silent suffer'd-now the time Is come for confidence! The Count proceeds to unfold, in a narrative whose beauties we reluctantly compress, that soon after the death of his mother, (by whom he was left an infant,) his father again married, and had a second son, with whom, notwithstanding the partiality of a stepmother, he grew in fraternal concord and affection. We cannot resist these sweet lines: Count. I was a child of grief-a sorrowing cypress No mother! yet in mutual love we grew ! The old Count, feeling his end approaching, had summoned both his sons, and informed them of his intentions regarding their future prospects. Two offers had been made him on their account. That of the hand of Marquis Sorrento's heiress for the one-and for the other, the Grand Cross of the Teutouic Order. His love of justice, and knowledge of their characters, had determined him to choose as the bridegroom, and supporter of the family honours, his eldest son, (the present Count,) while the rash and headlong Conrad, to whose fiery temper he would fear to commit the happiness of his friend's daughter, is to assume the cross. The Marquis naturally exclaims, Marq. What dost thou tell me? Wherefore did he change Count. By him 'twas never changed. The narrator proceeds to say, that his father being soon after seized with mortal illness, it fell to the lot of the Countess to write the letters of mutual acceptance; and that urged by pardonable maternal partiality, she substituted her own son's name in the marriage contract. The good Count himself thus excuses her. Count. Is there a mother can forego the hope Count. I saw my brother's love-illumined glance, A grave for my dead hopes-and took the Cross! This noble victim of fraternal generosity, (for whom we hope the reader begins to feel an adequate interest,) goes on to relate his presence at his brother's wedding, and the deep emotion he experienced on witnessing the touching beauty, and tearful reluctance of the bride. Count. A voice rose whispering in my soul-" Perchance On thy fond breast more gently yon fair head Had sunk!" The pang shot icy through my heart, Its wound hath never closed. Marq. With love to lighten-Is there then no power These bonds to sever? Know'st thou none save Death? The dispensation, though not actually arrived, is-from the great interest exerted to procure it-hourly expected; and the ambitious parent already views the desirable alliance as concluded. But the lover, rendered timid by years of suffering, hints that the costliest, as well as most important treasure, yet remains unattained-the love and consent of Camilla. For these the Marquis hastily and confidently answers, and the Count would fain be persuaded. Count. Dost think she loves me? Once I hoped it too, Open'd before me-Ah! but Love is more! The father's reiterated assurances that she has no will but his, encourage these bright anticipations. Count. O hasten, blessed moment, when mine own I may enfold her! when at length my heart Upon a fellow mortal's answering breast May shed its tears of joy. O might it please Thy spark within those eyes that they might rest, First upon me-and drink my speechless bliss! Marq. Thy prayer may be fulfill'd-by skilful men It hath been said, if e'er some mighty shock The pall of darkness may be rent aside! They are interrupted by Leonhard, who enters, followed by the Painter, and joyfully exclaims, Leon. Grandfather! we remain ! alike my mother And my dear master love to have it so. You are out-voted. Count. (Embracing him.) Mine own Leonhard! Marq. Thou com'st too late! The Count before had conquer'd! Leon. Had he indeed ? Paint. If I disturb ye! Forgive the youth's impatience Marq. Nay, ye are most welcome. He then again tenders cold and stately gratitude to the tutor of his granda son, and hints at pecuniary reimbursement. The Painter spurns the latter, while he accepts the proffered hand of the Marquis, as an earnest that his cares have been appreciated. The kind Count invites him, as a beloved and valued member of the family circle, to remain with him, if not summoned elsewhere by ties of country. Paint. My country is with thee-for there alone Where I can be a father-is my home! Count. Thou speak'st our language as it were thine own. Is rich and noble, as the German heart! Besides, I look'd to Germany for home, Thinking it Leonhard's. Leon. No! dearest master! Here is my home. Within these ancient walls A secret rests-Forgive me, if to thee I dare not yet reveal it! The Marquis now alludes to the works which, in the leisure and solitude of the castle, may be achieved by the Painter. Paint. Yes! if God will-much shall be finish'd here. And for mankind bright visions body forth What the veil shrouds will be, as now-a dream. On the proposal to paint Leonhard's blind, yet beautiful mother, the artist demurs, exclaiming, Paint. Had I but once the living spirit hail'd, Count. Oh! ye may traće Its angel footsteps, ev'n though half effaced! The artist, admonished that he must catch the likeness unknown to his fair subject, steadily refuses to attempt it on such terms; but suggests that her son may possibly procure his mother's consent to sit to himself. This Leonhard gladly undertakes, bespeaking his master's cheerfully accorded counsels and assistance. We have next a tête-à-tête scene between the artist and his noble host, in which the former modestly questions his own right to form one of so privile ged a family circle; while the other eagerly acknowledges the joint claims of kindness, worth, and genius. The Painter, urged by a spirit of independence, insists on depositing in the Count's hands those ample fruits of his past la bours, which he had laid up with the view of assisting his pupil's indigent relatives; and the Count, with true delicacy of mind, grants, though reluctantly, a request whose motive he appreciates. The artist further bespeaks indulgence and sympathy Paint. Think not, if oft my upward eye explore Count. Fear not! I'll understand thee. We are quits Count. Thus thine own victor! Paint. O! happy thou, Let this solemn hour Us, too, together-Are we not both fathers? We have been thus diffuse in these earlier scenes, (comprising, notwithstanding their length, only the first act of this immeasurable drama,) that the requisite interest might be awakened for the subsequent incidents by a full developement of the generous and noble characters of the Count, the artist, and his pupil, all so finely conceived, and so brightly contrasted with the commonplace votary of wealth and ambition in that of the Marquis. The next act is about to claim the sympathy of the reader for another per |