Chapter VI: Act THE FIFTH: Scene I

_A Hall._

_Enter COUNT, FABIAN, AUSTIN, ATTENDANTS with PRISONERS._

_Count._ Hence to a dungeon with those mutinous slaves;
There let them prate of prophecies and visions;
And when coarse fare and stripes bring back their senses,
Perhaps I may relent, and turn them loose
To new offences, and fresh chastisement.

[_Exeunt OFFICERS, &c._

_Fab._ You bleed, my lord!

_Count._ A scratch--death! to be bay'd
By mungrels! curs! They yelp'd, and show'd their fangs,
Growl'd too, as they would bite. But was't not poor,
Unlike the generous strain of Godfrey's lineage,
To stir the rabble up in nobles' quarrels,
And bribe my hinds and vassals to assault me.

_Aust._ They were not stirr'd by Godfrey.

_Count._ Who then stirr'd them?
Thyself, perhaps. Was't thou? And yet I wrong thee;
Thou didst preach peace; and straight they crouch'd and shrunk,
More tam'd by the persuasion of thy tongue,
Than losing the hot drops my steel drew from them.

_Aust._ I might, perhaps, have look'd for better thanks,
Than taunts to pay my service.--But no matter.--
My son, too, serv'd thee nobly; he bestrode thee,
And drove those peasants back, whose staves and clubs,
But for his aid, had shiver'd that stout frame:
But both, too well accustom'd to thy transports,
Nor ask, nor hope thy courtesy.

_Count._ Your pardon!
I knew my life was sav'd, but not by whom;
I wish'd it not, yet thank him. I was down,
Stunn'd in the inglorious broil; and nought remember,
More than the shame of such a paltry danger.
Where is he?

_Aust._ Here.

[_THEODORE advances from the Back of the Stage._

_Count._ [_Starting._] Ha! angels shelter me!

_Theod._ Why starts he thus?

_Count._ Are miracles renew'd?
Art thou not ris'n from the mould'ring grave?
And in the awful majesty of death,
'Gainst nature, and the course of mortal thought,
Assum'st the likeness of a living form,
To blast my soul with horror?

_Theod._ Does he rave?
Or means he thus to mock me?

_Count._ Answer me!
Speak, some of you, who have the power to speak;
Is it not he?

_Fab._ Who, good my lord?

_Count._ Alphonso.
His form, his arms, his air, his very frown.
Lord of these confines, speak--declare thy pleasure;

_Theod._ Dost thou not know me then?

_Count._ Ha! Theodore?
This sameness, not resemblance, is past faith.
All statues, pictures, or the likeness kept
By memory, of the good Alphonso living,
Are faint and shadowy traces, to this image!

_Fab._ Hear me, my lord, so shall the wonder cease.--
The very arms he wears, were once Alphonso's.
He found them in the stores, and brac'd them on,
To assist you in your danger.

_Count._ 'Tis most strange.
I strive, but cannot conquer this amazement:
I try to take them off; yet still my eyes
Again are drawn, as if by magic on him.

_Aust._ [_Aside to THEODORE._] Hear you, my son?

_Theod._ Yes, and it wakes within me,
Sensations new till now.

_Aust._ To-morrow's light
Will show him wonders greater.--Sir, it pleas'd you,
(Wherefore you best can tell) to make us here
Your prisoners; but the alarm of your danger
Threw wide your gates, and freed us. We return'd
To give you safeguard.--May we now depart?

_Count._ Ay, to the confines of the farthest earth;
For here thy sight unhinges Raymond's soul.
Be hid, where air or light may never find thee;
And bury too that phantom.

[_Exit COUNT, with his ATTENDANTS._

_Theod._ Insolence!
Too proud to thank our kindness! yet, what horror
Shook all his frame, when thus I stood before him!

_Aust._ The statue of thy grandsire
(The very figure as thou stood'st before him,
Arm'd just as thou art), seem'd to move, and live;
That breathing marble, which the people's love
Rear'd near his tomb, within our convent's walls.
Anon I'll lead thee to it.

_Theod._ Let me hence,
To shake these trappings off.

_Aust._ Wear them, and mark me.
Ere night, thy kinsman Godfrey, will be master
Of all thy story:--
He is brave, and just,
And will support thy claim. Should proof and reason
Fail with the usurper, thou must try thy sword
(And Heaven will strike for thee) in combat with him.
The conscious flash of this thy grandsire's mail,
Worse than the horrors of the fabled Gorgon,
That curdled blood to stone, will shrink his sinews,
And cast the wither'd boaster at thy feet.

_Theod._ Grant it ye powers! but not to shed his blood:
The father of my Adelaide, that name--

_Aust._ Is dearer far than mine;--my words are air;
My counsels pass unmark'd. But come, my son!
To-night my cell must house thee. Let me show thee
The humble mansion of thy lonely father,
Proud once, and prosperous; where I have wept, and pray'd,
And, lost in cold oblivion of the world,
Twice nine long years; thy mother, and thyself,
And God, were all my thoughts.

_Theod._ Ay, to the convent!
For there my love, my Adelaide, expects me. [_Aside._

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Another Apartment in the Castle._

_Enter COUNT and FABIAN._

_Count._ By hell, this legend of Alphonso's death
Hourly gains ground.

_Fab._ They talk of naught besides;
And their craz'd notions are so full of wonder,
There's scarce a common passage of the times,
But straight their folly makes it ominous.

_Count._ Fame, that, like water, widens from its source,
Thus often swells, and spreads a shallow falsehood.
At first, a twilight tale of village terror,
The hair of boors and beldams bristled at it;
(Such bloodless fancies wake to nought but fear:)
Then, heard with grave derision by the wise,
And, from contempt, unsearch'd and unrefuted,
It pass'd upon the laziness of faith,
Like many a lie, gross, and impossible.

_Fab._ A lie believ'd, may in the end, my lord,
Prove fatal as a written gospel truth.
Therefore----

_Count._ Take heed; and ere the lightning strike,
Fly from the sulphurous clouds.--I am not dull;
For, bright as ruddy meteors through the sky,
The thought flames here, shall light me to my safety.
Fabian, away! Send hither to me straight,
Renchild and Thybalt. [_Exit FABIAN._] They are young and fearless.
Thy flight, ungrateful Isabel, compels me
To this rude course. I would have all with kindness;
Nor stain the snow-white flower of my true love
With spots of violence. But it must be so.
This lordly priest, this Clarinsal, or Austin,
Like a true churchman, by his calling tainted,
Prates conscience; and in craft abets Earl Godfrey,
That Isabel may wed his upstart son.
Let Rome dart all her lightnings at my head,
Till her grey pontiff singe in his own fires:
Spite of their rage, I'll force the sanctuary,
And bear her off this night, beyond their power;
My bride, if she consents; if not, my hostage.

_Enter Two OFFICERS._

Come hither, sirs. Take twenty of your fellows;
Post ten at the great gate of Nicholas;
The rest, by two's, guard every avenue
Leads from the convent to the plain or castle.
Charge them (and as their lives shall answer it,)
That none but of my train pass out, or enter.

_1 Offi._ We will, my lord, about it instantly.

_Count._ Temper your zeal, and know your orders first.
Take care they spill no blood:--no violence,
More than resisting who would force a passage:
The holy drones may buzz, but have no stings.
I mean to take a bawble from the church,
A reverend thief stole from me. Near the altar,
(That place commands the centre of the aisle)
Keep you your watch. If you espy a woman
(There can be only she), speed to me straight;
You'll find my station near Alphonso's porch.
Be swift as winds, and meet me presently.

[_Exeunt severally._

SCENE III.

_The inside of a Convent, with Aisles and Gothic Arches; Part of an
Altar appearing on one side; the Statue of ALPHONSO, in Armour, in
the centre. Other Statues and Monuments also appearing. ADELAIDE
veiled, rising from her knees before the Statue of ALPHONSO._

_Adel._ Alas! 'tis mockery to pray as I do.
Thoughts fit for heaven, should rise on seraphs' wings,
Unclogg'd with aught of earth; but mine hang here;
Beginning, ending, all in Theodore.
Why comes he not? 'Tis torture for the unbless'd,
To suffer such suspense as my heart aches with.
What can it be,--this secret, dreadful cause,
This shaft unseen, that's wing'd against our love?
Perhaps--I know not what.--At yonder shrine
Bending, I'll seal my irrevocable vow:
Hear, and record it, choirs of saints and angels!
If I am doom'd to sigh for him in vain,
No second flame shall ever enter here;
But, faithful to thy fond, thy first impression,
Turn thou, my breast, to every sense of joy,
Cold as the pale-ey'd marbles which surround me.

[_ADELAIDE withdraws._

_Enter AUSTIN and THEODORE._

_Aust._ Look round, my son! This consecrated place
Contains the untimely ashes of thy grandsire.
With all the impious mockery of grief,
Here were they laid by the dire hand which sped him.
There stands his statue; were a glass before thee,
So would it give thee back thy outward self.

_Theod._ And may the Power, which fashion'd thus my outside,
With all his nobler ornaments of virtue
Sustain my soul! till generous emulation
Raise me, by deeds, to equal his renown,
And--

_Aust._ To avenge him. Not by treachery,
But, casting off all thoughts of idle love,
Of love ill-match'd, unhappy, ominous,--
To keep the memory of his wrongs; do justice
To his great name, and prove the blood you spring from.

_Theod._ Oh, were the bold possessor of my rights
A legion arm'd, the terrors of his sword
Resistless as the flash that strikes from heaven,
Undaunted would I meet him. His proud crest
Should feel the dint of no unpractis'd edge.
But, while my arm assails her father's life,
The unnatural wound returns to my own breast,
And conquest loses Adelaide for ever.

_Aust._ The barbarous deed of Raymond's father lost her.

_Theod._ Pierce not my soul thus. Can you love your son,--
And coldly tell me,
Without one tear unmov'd thus, I must lose her?
But where, where is she? [_Looking out._] Heavenly innocence!
See, the dear saint kneels at the altar's foot;
See, her white hands with fervent clasps are rais'd;
Perhaps for me. Have you a heart, my father,
And bid me bear to lose her?--Hold me not--
I come, I fly, my life, my all! to join thee.

[_Exit._

_Aust._ Return, return, rash boy!----Pernicious chance!
One glance from her will quite destroy my work,
And leave me but my sorrow for my labour.

[_Follows him._

_Enter COUNT._

_Count._ Am I turn'd coward, that my tottering knees
Knock as I tread the pavement?--'Tis the place;
The sombrous horror of these long-drawn aisles.
My footsteps are beat back by naught but echo,
Struck from the caverns of the vaulted dead;
Yet now it seem'd as if a host pursued me.
The breath, that makes my words, sounds thunder-like.
Sure 'twas a deep-fetch'd groan.--No;--hark, again!
Then 'tis the language of the tombs; and see!--

[_Pointing to the Statue of ALPHONSO._

Like their great monarch, he stands rais'd above them.
Who's there?

_Enter Two OFFICERS._

_1 Offi._ My lord, where are you?

_Count._ Here--speak man!
Why do you shake thus? Death! your bloodless cheeks
Send fear into me. You, sir, what's the matter?

_2 Offi._ We have found the lady.

_Count._ My good fellows, where?

_1 Offi._ Here, from this spot, you may yourself behold her;
Her face is towards the altar.

_Count._ [_Looking out._] Blasts upon me!
Wither my eyes for ever!--Ay, 'tis she;
Austin with Theodore; he joins their hands:--
Destruction seize them! O dull, tardy fool!
My love, and my ambition, both defeated!
A marriage in my sight! Come forth! come forth!

[_Draws a Dagger._

Arise, grim Vengeance, and wash out my shame!
Ill-fated girl! A bloody Hymen waits thee!

[_Rushes out._

_1 Offi._ His face is black with rage--his eyes flash fire;
I do not like this service.

_2 Offi._ No, nor I.

_1 Offi._ Heard you that shriek?--It thunders. By my soul,
I feel as if my blood were froze within me.
Speak to me. See he comes.

[_OFFICERS retire._

_Enter COUNT, with a bloody Dagger._

_Count._ The deed is done.
Hark, the deep thunder rolls. I hail the sign;
It tells me, in loud greetings, I'm reveng'd.

_Enter THEODORE, with his Sword drawn._

_Theod._ Where, where's the assassin?

_Count._ Boy, the avenger's here.
Behold, this dagger smokes with her heart's blood!
That thou stand'st there to brave me, thank that mail,
Or, traitor, thou hadst felt me.--But 'tis done.

_Theod._ Oh, monstrous! monstrous!

_Count._ Triumph now o'er Narbonne;
Boast, how a stripling and a monk deceiv'd
The easy Count; but, if thou lov'st thy bride,
Take that, and use it nobly.

[_Throws down the Dagger._

_Theod._ 'Gainst thy heart,
Barbarian, would I use it: but look there;
There are ten thousand daggers.

_Aust._ [_Without._] Ring out the alarm;
Fly all; bring aid, if possible, to save her.

_Enter ADELAIDE, wounded, and supported by AUSTIN. THEODORE advances to her, and assists in supporting and bringing her forward. Some of the COUNT's ATTENDANTS enter from the Castle, with lighted Torches._

_Count._ Ha! lightning shiver me!

_Adel._ My lord! my father!
Oh, bear me to his feet.

_Aust._ Thou man of blood,
Past utterance lost; see what thy rage has done!

_Count._ Ruin! despair! my child, my Adelaide!
Art thou the innocent victim of my fury?

_Adel._ I am, indeed. I know not my offence;
Yet sure 'twas great, when my life answers it.
Will you forgive me now?

_Count._ Oh, misery!
Had I unnumber'd lives, I'd give them all,
To lengthen thine an hour. What phrensy seiz'd me!
That veil, the glimmering light, my rage, deceiv'd me.
Unnatural wound! detested parricide!--
Good youth, in pity strike this monster dead!

_Adel._ Listen not to his ravings. [_To THEODORE._
Alas, my Theodore!
I struggle for a little gasp of breath;
Draw it with pain; and sure, in this last moment,
You will observe me.--
Live, I charge you:
Forget me not, but love my memory.
If I was ever dear to thee, my father,
(Those tears declare I was,) will you not hear me,
And grant one wish to your expiring child?

_Count._ Speak, tell me quickly, thou dear, suffering angel!

_Adel._ Be gentle to my mother; her kind nature
Has suffer'd much; she will need all your care:
Forsake her not; and may the All-merciful
Look down with pity on this fatal error;
Bless you--and--oh--

[_Dies._

_Count._ She dies in prayer for me;
Prays for me, while her life streams from my stroke.
What prayers can rise for such a wretch as I am?
Seize me, ye fiends! rouse all your stings and torments!
See, hell grows darker as I stalk before them.

_Theod._ [_After looking some time at ADELAIDE's Body._]
'Tis my black destiny has murder'd thee.
Stand off--[_They hold him._] I will not live.
This load of being is intolerable;
And, in a happier world, my soul shall join her.

[_Rushes out._

_Aust._ Observe, and keep him from all means of death.

_Enter COUNTESS, FABIAN, and other ATTENDANTS._

_Countess._ Whence were those cries? what meant that fearful bell?
Who shall withhold me? I will not return.
Is there a horror I am stranger to?

_Aust._ There is; and so beyond all mortal patience,
I can but wish you stripp'd of sense and thought,
That it may pass without destroying you.

_Countess._ What is it? speak--

_Aust._ [_Looking towards the Body._] Turn not your eyes that way,
For there, alas----

_Countess._ O Lord of earth and heaven!
Is it not she? my daughter, pale and bleeding!
She's cold, stark cold:--can you not speak to me?
Which of you have done this?

_Count._ 'Twas ease till now;
Fall, fall, thick darkness, hide me from that face!

_Aust._ Rise, madam, 'tis in vain.--Heaven comfort her!

_Countess._ Shall I not strive to warm her in my breast?
She is my all; I have nothing left but her.
You cannot force me from her. Adelaide!
My child, my lovely child! thy mother calls thee.
She hears me not;--she's dead.--Oh, God! I know thee--
Tell me, while I have sense, for my brain burns;
Tell me--yet what avails it? I'll not curse--
There is a Power to punish.

_Count._ Look on me!
Thou hadst much cause to think my nature cruel;
I wrong'd thee sore, and this was my last deed.

_Countess._ Was thine? thy deed? Oh, execrable monster!
Oh, greatly worthy of thy blood-stain'd sire!
A murderer he, and thou a parricide!
Why did thy barbarous hand refrain from me?
I was the hated bar to thy ambition;
A stab like this, had set thee free for ever;
Sav'd thee from shame, upbraiding, perjuries;--
But she--this innocent--what had she done?

_Count._ I thank thee. I was fool enough, or coward,
To think of life one moment, to atone
By deep repentance for the wrongs I did thee.
But hateful to myself, hated by thee;
By Heaven abandon'd, and the plague of earth,
This, this remains, and all are satisfied.

[_Stabs himself._

Forgive me, if 'tis possible--but--oh--

[_Dies._

_Countess._ [_After looking some time distractedly._]--
Where am I? Ruin, and pale death surround me.
I was a wife; there gasping lies my husband!
A mother too; there breathless lies my child!
Look down, oh Heaven! look down with pity on me!--
I know this place;
I'll kneel once more. Hear me, great God of Nature!
For this one boon let me not beg in vain;
Oh, do not mock me with the hopes of death;
These pangs, these struggles, let them be my last;
Release thy poor, afflicted, suffering creature;
Take me from misery, too sharp to bear,
And join me to my child!

[_Falls on the Body of ADELAIDE._

_Aust._ Heaven comfort thee!--
Hard was your lot, thou lovely innocent;
But palms, eternal palms, above shall crown you.
For this rash man,--yet mercy's infinite,

[_The COUNT._

You stand amaz'd. Know, this disastrous scene,
Ending the fatal race, concludes your sorrows.
To-morrow meet me round this sacred shrine;
Then shall you hear at full a tale of wonder;
The rightful Lord of Narbonne shall be own'd;
And Heaven in all its ways be justified.

[_Curtain falls._

THE END.

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