A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume One/De Monfort Act 5
ACT V.—SCENE I.
Before the gates of the Convent. Enter Jane De Monfort, Freberg and Manuel. As they are proceeding towards the gate, Jane stops short and shrinks back.
Freb. Ha! wherefore? has a sudden illness seiz'd see?
Jane. No, no, my friend.—And yet I am very faint—
I dread to enter here!
Man.Ay! so I thought:
For, when between the trees, that abbey tower
First shew'd its top, I saw your count'nance change.
But breathe a little here; I'll go before,
And make enquiry at the nearest gate.
Freb. Do so, good Manuel.
(Manuel goes and knocks at the gate.)
Courage, dear madam: all may yet be well.
Rezenvelt's servant, frighten'd with the storm,
And seeing that his master join'd him not,
As by appointment, at the forest's edge,
Might be alarm'd, and give too ready ear
To an unfounded rumour.
He saw it not; he came not here himself.
Jane (Looking eagerly to the gate, where Manuel talks with the Porter.) Ha! see, he talks with some one earnestly.
And sees't thou not that motion of his hands?
He stands like one who hears a horrid tale.
Almighty God!
(Manuel goes into the convent.)
He comes not back; he enters.
Freb. Bear up, my noble friend.
Jane. I will, I will! But this suspence is dreadful.
(A long pause. Manuel re-enters from the convent, and comes forward slowly, with a sad countenance.)
O God! his face doth tell the horrid fact;
There is nought doubtful here.
Freb.How is it, Manuel?
Man. I've seen him through a crevice in his door:
It is indeed my master.
(Bursting into tears.)
(Jane faints, and is supported by Freberg.—Enter Abbess and several Nuns from the convent, who gather about her, and apply remedies. She recovers.)
1st Nun. The life returns again.
2d Nun.Yes, she revives.
Abb. to Freb. Let me entreat this noble lady's leave
To lead her in. She seems in great distress:
We would with holy kindness soothe her woe,
And do by her the deeds of christian love.
Freb. Madam, your goodness has my grateful thanks.
[Exeunt, supporting Jane into the convent.
SCENE II.
De Monfort is discovered sitting in a thoughtful posture. He remains so for some time. His face afterwards begins to appear agitated, like one whose mind is harrowed with the severest thoughts; then, starting from his seat, he clasps his hands together, and holds them up to heaven.
De Mon. O that I had ne'er known the light of day!
That filmy darkness on mine eyes had hung,
And clos'd me out from the fair face of nature!
O that my mind, in mental darkness pent,
Had no perception, no distinction known,
Of fair or foul, perfection nor defect;
Nor thought conceiv'd of proud pre-eminence!
O that it had! O that I had been form'd
An idiot from the birth! a senseless changeling,
Who eats his glutton's meal with greedy haste,
Nor knows the hand who feeds him.—
(Pauses; then, in a calmer sorrowful voice.)
What am I now? how ends the day of life?
For end it must; and terrible this gloom,
The storm of horrours that surround its close.
This little term of nature's agony
Will soon be o'er, and what is past is past:
But shall I then, on the dark lap of earth
Lay me to rest, in still unconsciousness,
Like senseless clod that doth no pressure feel
From wearing foot of daily passenger;
Like steeped rock o'er which the breaking waves
Bellow and foam unheard? O would I could!
Enter Manuel, who springs forward to his master, but is checked upon perceiving De Monfort draw back and look sternly at him.
Man. My lord, my master! O my dearest master!
(De Monfort still looks at him without speaking.)
Nay, do not thus regard me; good my lord!
Speak to me: am I not your faithful Manuel?
De Mon. (In a hasty broken voice.) Art thou alone?
Man. No, sir, the lady Jane is on her way;
She is not far behind.
De Mon. (Tossing his arm over his head in an agony.) This is too much! All I can bear but this!
It must not be.—Run and prevent her coming.
Say, he who is detain'd a pris'ner here
Is one to her unknown. I now am nothing.
I am a man, of holy claims bereft;
Out from the pale of social kindred cast;
Nameless and horrible.—
Tell her De Monfort far from hence is gone
Into a desolate, and distant land,
Ne'er to return again. Fly, tell her this;
For we must meet no more.
Enter Jane De Monfort, bursting into the chamber, and followed by Freberg, Abbess, and several Nuns.
Jane. We must! we must! My brother, O my brother!
(De Monfort turns away his head and hides his face with his arm. Jane stops short, and, making a great effort, turns to Freberg, and the others who followed her; and with an air of dignity stretches out her hand, beckoning them to retire. All retire but Freberg, who seems to hesitate.)
[Exit Freberg, Jane and De Monfort only remain.
Jane. My hapless Monfort!
(De Monfort turns round and looks sorrowfully upon her; she opens her arms to him, and he, rushing into them, hides his face upon her breast and weeps.)
Jane. Ay, give thy sorrow vent: here may'st thou weep.
De Mon. (In broken accents) Oh! this, my sister, makes me feel again
The kindness of affection.
My mind has in a dreadful storm been tost;
Horrid and dark.—I thought to weep no more.—
I've done a deed—But I am human still.
Jane. I know thy suff'rings: leave thy sorrow free:
Thou art with one who never did upbraid;
Who mourns, who loves thee still.
De Mon. Ah! say'st thou so? no, no; it should not be.
(Shrinking from her.) I am a foul and bloody murderer,
For such embrace unmeet. O leave me! leave me!
Disgrace and publick shame abide me now;
And all, alas! who do my kindred own
The direful portion share.—Away, away!
Shall a disgrac'd and publick criminal
Degrade thy name, and claim affinity
To noble worth like thine?—I have no name—
I am nothing, now, not e'en to thee; depart.
(She takes his hand, and grasping it firmly, speaks with a determined voice.)
Jane. De Monfort, hand in hand we have enjoy'd
The playful term of infancy together;
And in the rougher path of ripen'd years
We've been each other's stay. Dark lowers our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers over us;
But nothing, till that latest agony
Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose
This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house;
In the terrifick face of armed law;
Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be,
I never will forsake thee.
De Mon. (Looking at her with admiration.)
Heav'n bless thy gen'rous soul, my noble Jane!
I thought to sink beneath this load of ill,
Depress'd with infamy and open shame;
I thought to sink in abject wretchedness:
But for thy sake I'll rouse my manhood up,
And meet it bravely; no unseemly weakness,
I feel my rising strength, shall blot my end,
To clothe thy cheek with shame.
Jane. Yes, thou art noble still.
De Mon. With thee I am; who were not so with thee?
But, ah, my sister! short will be the term:
Death's stroke will come, and in that state beyond,
Where things unutterable wait the soul,
New from its earthly tenement discharg'd,
We shall be sever'd far.
Far as the spotless purity of virtue
Is from the murd'rer's guilt, far shall we be.
This is the gulf of dread uncertainty
From which the soul recoils.
Jane. The God who made thee is a God of mercy;
Think upon this.
De Mon. (Shaking his head.) No, no! this blood! this blood!
Jane. Yea, e'en the sin of blood may be forgiv'n,
When humble penitence hath once aton'd,
De Mon. (Eagerly.) What, after terms of lengthen'd misery,
Imprison'd anguish of tormented spirits,
Shall I again, a renovated soul,
Into the blessed family of the good
Admittance have? Think'st thou that this may be?
Speak if thou canst; O speak me comfort here!
For dreadful fancies, like an armed host,
Have push'd me to despair. It is most horrible—
O speak of hope! if any hope there be.
(Jane is silent and looks sorrowfully upon him; then clasping her hands, and turning her eyes to heaven, seems to mutter a prayer.)
De Mon. Ha! dost thou pray for me? heav'n hear thy prayer!
I fain would kneel—Alas! I dare not do it.
Jane. Not so; all by th' Almighty Father form'd
May in their deepest mis'ry call on him.
Come kneel with me, my brother.
(She kneels and prays to herself; he kneels by her, and clasps his hands fervently, but speaks not. A noise of chains clanking is heard without, and they both rise.)
De Mon. Hear'st thou that noise? They come to interrupt us.
Jane (Moving towards a side door.) Then let us enter here.
De Mon. (Catching hold of her with a look of horrour.) Not there—not there—the corps—the bloody corps.
Jane. What, lies he there?—Unhappy Rezenvelt!
De Mon. A sudden thought has come across my mind;
How came it not before? Unhappy Rezenvelt!
Say'st thou but this?
Jane. What should I say? he was an honest man;
I still have thought him such, as such lament him.
(De Monfort utters a deep groan.)
What means this heavy groan?
De Mon.It hath a meaning.
Enter Abbess and Monks, with two Officers of justice carrying fetters in their hands to put upon De Monfort.
Jane (Starting.) What men are these?
1st Off. Lady, we are the servants of the law,
And bear with us a power, which doth constrain
To bind with fetters this our prisoner.
(Pointing to De Monfort.)
Jane. A stranger uncondemn'd? this cannot be.
1st Off. As yet, indeed, he is by law unjudg'd,
But is so far condemn'd by circumstance,
That law, or custom sacred held as law,
Doth fully warrant us, and it must be.
Jane. Nay, say not so; he has no power to escape;
Distress hath bound him with a heavy chain;
There is no need of yours.
1st Off. We must perform our office.
Jane. O! do not after this indignity!
1st Off. Is it indignity in sacred law
To bind a murderer? (To 2d Officer.) Come, do thy work.
Jane. Harsh are thy words, and stern thy harden'd brow;
Dark is thine eye; but all some pity have
Unto the last extreme of misery.
I do beseech thee! if thou art a man—
(Kneeling to him.)
(De Monfort roused at this, runs up to Jane, and raises her hastily from the ground; then stretches himself up proudly.)
De Mon. to Jane. Stand thou erect in native dignity;
And bend to none on earth the suppliant knee,
Though cloath'd in power imperial. To my heart
It gives a feller gripe than many irons.
(Holding out his hands.) Here, officers of law, bind on those shackles,
And if they are too light bring heavier chains.
Add iron to iron, load, crush me to the ground;
Nay, heap ten thousand weight upon my breast,
For that were best of all.
(A long pause, whilst they put irons upon him. After they are on, Jane looks at him sorrowfully, and lets her head sink on her breast. De Monfort stretches out his hands, looks at them, and then at Jane; crosses them over his breast, and endeavours to suppress his feelings.)
1st Off. I have it, too, in charge to move you hence,
(To De Monfort.)
Into another chamber, more secure.
De Mon. Well, I am ready, sir.
(Approaching Jane, whom the Abbess is endeavouring to comfort, but to no purpose.)
Shrink not at the accoutrement of ill,
Daring the thing itself.
(Endeavouring to look cheerful.)
Wilt thou permit me with a gyved hand?
(She gives him her hand, which he raises to his lips.)
[Exeunt, De Monfort leading out Jane.
SCENE III.
A long narrow gallery in the convent, with the doors of the cells on each side. The stage darkened. A Nun is discovered at a distance listening. Enter another Nun at the front of the stage, and starts back.
1st Nun. Ha! who is this not yet retir'd to rest?
My sister, is it you?
(To the other who advances.)
2d Nun. Returning from the sister Nina's cell,
Passing yon door where the poor pris'ner lies,
The sound of one who struggl'd with despair
Struck on me as I went: I stopp'd and listen'd;
O God! such piteous groans!
1st Nun. Yes, since the ev'ning sun it hath been so.
The voice of mis'ry oft hath reach'd mine ear,
E'en in the cell above.
2d Nun.How is it thus?
Methought he brav'd it with a manly spirit,
And led, with shackl'd hands, his sister forth,
Like one resolv'd to bear misfortune boldly.
1st Nun. Yes, with heroick courage, for a while
He seem'd inspir'd; but, soon depress'd again,
Remorse and dark despair o'erwhelm'd his soul,
And so he hath remain'd.
Enter Father Bernard, advancing from the further end of the gallery, bearing a crucifix.
1st Nun. How goes it, father, with your penitent?
We've heard his heavy groans.
Bern. Retire, my daughters; many a bed of death,
With all its pangs and horrour I have seen,
But never ought like this.
2d Nun. He's dying, then?
Bern.Yes, death is dealing with him.
From violent agitation of the mind,
Some stream of life within his breast has burst;
For many times, within a little space,
The ruddy-tide has rush'd into his mouth.
God, grant his pains be short!
1st Nun.Amen, amen!
2d Nun. How does the lady?
Bern. She sits and bears his head upon her lap;
And like a heaven-inspir'd angel, speaks
The word of comfort to his troubled soul:
Then does she wipe the cold drops from his brow,
With such a look of tender wretchedness,
It wrings the heart to see her.
1st Nun. Ha! hear ye nothing?
2d Nun. (Alarmed.)Yes, I heard a noise.
1st Nun. And see'st thou nothing?
(Creeping close to her sister.)
Bern.'Tis a nun in white.
Enter Lay Sister in her night cloaths, advancing from the dark end of the gallery.
(To Sister.) Wherefore, my daughter, hast thou left thy cell?
It is not meet at this untimely hour.
Sist. I cannot rest. I hear such dismal sounds,
Such wailings in the air, such shrilly shrieks.
As though the cry of murder rose again
From the deep gloom of night. I cannot rest:
I pray you let me stay with you, good sisters!
(Bell tolls.)
Nuns. (Starting.) What bell is that?
Bern.It is the bell of death.
A holy sister was upon the watch
To give this notice. (Bell tolls again.) Hark! another knell!
The wretched struggler hath his warfare clos'd;
May heaven have mercy on him.
(Bell tolls again.)
Retire, my daughters; let us all retire,
For scenes like this to meditation call.
[Exeunt, bell tolling again.
SCENE IV.
A hall or large room in the convent. The bodies of De Monfort and Rezenvelt are discovered laid out upon a low table or platform, covered with black. Freberg, Bernard, Abbess, Monks, and Nuns attending.
Abb. to Freb. Here must they lie, my lord, until we know
Respecting this the order of the law.
Freb. And you have wisely done, my rev'rend mother.
(Goes to the table, and looks at the bodies, but without uncovering them.)
With talents and with virtues were endu'd.
Ye should have lov'd, yet deadly rancour came,
And in the prime and manhood of your days
Ye sleep in horrid death. O direful hate!
What shame and wretchedness his portion is
Who, for a secret inmate, harbours thee!
And who shall call him blameless who excites,
Ungen'rously excites, with careless scorn,
Such baleful passion in a brother's breast,
Whom heav'n commands to love. Low are ye laid:
Still all contention now.—Low are ye laid.
I lov'd you both, and mourn your hapless fall.
Abb. They were your friends, my lord?
Freb. I lov'd them both. How does the Lady Jane?
Abb. She bears misfortune with intrepid soul.
I never saw in woman bow'd with grief
Such moving dignity.
Freb.Ay, still the same.
I've known her long; of worth most excellent;
But, in the day of woe, she ever rose
Upon the mind with added majesty,
As the dark mountain more sublimely tow'rs
Mantled in clouds and storm.
Enter Manuel and Jerome.
Man. (Pointing.) Here, my good Jerome, there's a piteous sight.
Jer. A piteous sight! yet I will look upon him:
I'll see his face in death. Alas, alas!
I've seen him move a noble gentleman;
And when with vexing passion undisturb'd,
He look'd most graciously.
(Lifts up in mistake the cloth from the body of Rezenvelt, and starts back with horrour.)
That human hands could do it!
(Drops the cloth again.)
Man. That is the murder'd corps; here lies De Monfort.
(Going to uncover the other body.)
Jer. (Turning away his head.) No, no! I cannot look upon him now.
Man. Didst thou not come to see him?
Jer. Fy! cover him—inter him in the dark—
Let no one look upon him.
Bern to Jer. Well dost thou show the abhorrence nature feels
For deeds of blood, and I commend thee well.
In the most ruthless heart compassion wakes
For one who, from the hand of fellow man,
Hath felt such cruelty.
(Uncovering the body of Rezenvelt.)
This is the murder'd corse,
(Uncovering the body of De Monfort.)
But see, I pray!
Here lies the murderer. What think'st thou here?
Look on those features, thou hast seen them oft,
With the last dreadful conflict of despair,
So fix'd in horrid strength.
See those knit brows, those hollow sunken eyes;
The sharpen'd nose, with nostrils all distent;
That writhed mouth, where yet the teeth appear,
In agony, to gnash the nether lip.
Think'st thou, less painful than the murd'rer's knife
Was such a death as this?
Ay, and how changed too those matted locks!
Jer. Merciful heaven! his hair is grisly grown,
Chang'd to white age, what was, but two days since,
Black as the raven's plume. How may this be?
Bern. Such change, from violent conflict of the mind,
Will sometimes come.
Jer.Alas, alas! most wretched!
Thou wert too good to do a cruel deed,
And so it kill'd thee. Thou hast suffer'd for it.
God rest thy soul! I needs must touch thy hand,
And bid thee long farewell.
(Laying his hand on De Monfort.)
Bern. Draw back, draw back! see where the lady comes.
Enter Jane De Monfort. Freberg, who has been for sometime retired by himself to the bottom of the stage, now steps forward to lead her in, but checks himself on seeing the fixed sorrow of her countenance, and draws back respectfully. Jane advances to the table, and looks attentively at the covered bodies. Manuel points out the body of De Monfort, and she gives a gentle inclination of the head, to signify that she understands him. She then bends tenderly over it, without speaking.
Man. (To Jane, as she raises her head.) Oh, madam! my good lord.
Jane. Well says thy love, my good and faithful Manuel;
But we must mourn in silence.
Man. Alas! the times that I have follow'd him!
Jane. Forbear, my faithful Manuel. For this love
Thou hast my grateful thanks; and here's my hand:
Thou hast lov'd him, and I'll remember thee:
Where'er I am; in whate'er spot of earth
I linger out the remnant of my days,
I'll remember thee.
Man. Nay, by the living God! where'er you are,
There will I be. I'll prove a trusty servant:
I'll follow you, e'en to the world's end.
My master's gone, and I, indeed, am mean,
Yet will I show the strength of nobler men,
Should any dare upon your honour'd worth
To put the slightest wrong. Leave you, dear lady!
Kill me, but say not this!
(Throwing himself at her feet.)
Jane. (Raising him.) Well, then! be thou my servant, and my friend.
Art thou, good Jerome, too, in kindness come?
I see thou art. How goes it with thine age?
Jer. Ah, madam! woe and weakness dwell with age:
Would I could serve you with a young man's strength!
I'd spend my life for you.
Jane.Thanks, worthy Jerome.
O! who hath said, the wretched have no friends!
Freb. In every sensible and gen'rous breast
Affliction finds a friend; but unto thee,
Thou most exalted and most honourable,
The heart in warmest adoration bows,
And even a worship pays.
Jane. Nay, Freberg, Freberg! grieve me not, my friend.
He to whose ear my praise most welcome was,
Hears it no more; and, oh our piteous lot!
What tongue will talk of him? Alas, alas!
This more than all will bow me to the earth;
I feel my misery here.
The voice of praise was wont to name us both:
I had no greater pride.
(Covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears. Here they all hang about her: Freberg supporting her tenderly; Manuel embracing her knees, and old Jerome catching hold of her robe affectionately. Bernard, Abbess, Monks, and Nuns, likewise, gather round her, with looks of sympathy.)
Enter Two Officers of law.
1st Off.Where is the prisoner?
Into our hands he straight must be consign'd.
Bern. He is not subject now to human laws;
The prison that awaits him is the grave.
1st Off. Ha! sayst thou so? there is foul play in this.
Man. to Off. Hold thy unrighteous tongue, or hie thee hence,
Nor, in the presence of this honour'd dame,
Utter the slightest meaning of reproach.
1st Off. I am an officer on duty call'd,
And have authority to say, how died?
(Here Jane shakes off the weakness of grief, and repressing Manuel, who is about to reply to the Officer, steps forward with dignity.)
Jane. Tell them by whose authority you come,
He died that death which best becomes a man
Who is with keenest sense of conscious ill
And deep remorse assail'd, a wounded spirit.
A death that kills the noble and the brave,
And only them. He had no other wound.
1st Off. And shall I trust to this.
Jane.Do as thou wilt:
To one who can suspect my simple word
I have no more reply. Fulfill thine office.
1st Off. No, lady, I believe your honour'd word,
And will no farther search.
Jane. I thank your courtesy: thanks, thanks to all!
My rev'rend mother, and ye honour'd maids;
Ye holy men; and you, my faithful friends,
The blessing of the afflicted rest with you:
And he, who to the wretched is most piteous,
Will recompense you.—Freberg, thou art good,
Remove the body of the friend you lov'd,
'Tis Rezenvelt I mean. Take thou this charge:
'Tis meet that, with his noble ancestors,
He lie entomb'd in honourable state.
And now, I have a sad request to make,
Nor will these holy sisters scorn my boon;
That I, within these sacred cloister walls
May raise a humble, nameless tomb to him,
Who, but for one dark passion, one dire deed,
Had claim'd a record of as noble worth,
As e'er enrich'd the sculptur'd pedestal.
[Exeunt.
FINIS.