Dramas (Baillie)/Romiero/Act 5

by Joanna Baillie

ACT V.

Scene I. The Scene dark; the Forest.

Enter Jerome and another Domestic, by opposite sides of the Stage.

 

JEROME.

Hast thou seen any thing?

DOMESTIC.

No; but I spy a distant moving light

Far to the left.

JEROME.

Then run and see who bears it.

[Exit Domestic.
Here come my Lord and Guzman, slow and silent.
Surely they have not seen it; and, perhaps,
My comrade is deceived.

Enter Romiero and Guzman.

ROMIERO.

Ha! Jerome! is it thee?

JEROME.

It is, my Lord.

ROMIERO.

Hast thou seen aught? hast thou heard any sound?

JEROME.

Nothing, my Lord.

ROMIERO.

Yet still be on the watch:

Revisit every path; let naught escape thee.

JEROME.

No, nothing shall. I'll use both eyes and ears

Intently; nothing shall unnoted be.
An owlet shall not turn him in his nest
But I shall be aware of it, nor hare
Scud 'cross the path without my observation.

ROMIERO.

Well, say no more: I trust thee. To thy duty!

[Exit Jerome.

GUZMAN.

I am persuaded we shall range this wood

The livelong night, nor meet with any thing
But such small denizens as Jerome mention'd,
Or these benighted trees that skirt our path,
So black and motionless.

ROMIERO.

Oh! if the light of day return again,

Naught being found to justify my fears,
I'll hail it as the wretch whose op'ning dungeon
Receives the light, as through its portal passes
Some glad friend, bearing his reprieve. Oh, Guzman!
The felon, chain'd to meet his shameful doom,
Hath not more agony of thought, nor starteth

With greater horror from the brink of death,
Than I do from that moment of despair
Which shall make manifest the thing I dread.

GUZMAN.

I trust that moment never will arrive.

ROMIERO.

Dost thou, my friend? dost thou, in very truth?

I bless thee for that noble confidence:
Would I could feel it too! Repeat thy words.

GUZMAN.

I do believe that moment will not come.

ROMIERO.

No, no! it was not thus: thy words are changed;

Thy tone of voice is changed; thoughts of recoil
Pass o'er thy mind, and turn their force to weakness.
Thou dost not trust,—no, nor believe it neither.

GUZMAN.

Indeed, I think—I hope thou art deceived.

ROMIERO.

Shame on such timid tamp'ring with my passion,

Provoking it the more! If she is guilty,
I am prepared with dreadful preparation.
If she is innocent,——tears choke my voice:
To say, "if she is innocent!"——
Her look, her smile, her easy lightsome gait,—

She was th' embodied form of innocence;
The simple sweetness of a cottage child,
Join'd to a lady's grace.

GUZMAN.

Her's seem'd, indeed, the loveliness of virtue.

ROMIERO.

Even so; but that is changed. She cannot now

So look, so smile, so step; for if she could,
I should defy all proof of circumstance
To move me to suspicion.

GUZMAN.

Nay, good Romiero, know thy nature better.

A circumstance as trivial as the glance
Or meaning smile of some young varlet page
Would tempt thee to suspect a saint of heaven.
But cease debate; your scout returns in haste.

Enter Domestic.

DOMESTIC

My Lord, they're in the wood: I've seen them.

ROMIERO.

Whom?

DOMESTIC

The Nurse, my Lord, went first, and close behind her

Donna Zorada stole like one afraid.

ROMIERO (seizing him by the throat).

Hell choke thy blasted breath, thou croaking fiend!

Thou darest not say 't was she.

DOMESTIC.

I did not say so, certainly.

ROMIERO.

Thou didst.

DOMESTIC

I spoke unwittingly; I will unsay it.

ROMIERO (casting him away from him with violence).

And be a damned liar for thy pains.

All that my darkest fancy had conceived!
Uncover'd shame, degrading infamy!—
Come quick, unstinted, terrible revenge!
If the base wantons live another hour,
I am as base as they.

GUZMAN.

Be not a maniac: think before thou act,—

Before thou do what cannot be undone.

ROMIERO.

Think ere I act! Cool, sober, gentle friend!

Had'st thou not better say, "Good Sir, be patient.
Thy wife is faithless, and her minion bless'd;
But pray, good Sir, be patient."—Oh, my heart!
The seat of life will burst ere it be done:

Hold, hold till then! (To Domestic.) Where were they? near the castle?

DOMESTIC.

No; in the beechen grove beyond the chapel,

To which we did suspect their steps were bent,
Taking, no doubt, that further winding path
The better to avoid detection.—See,
There's light now faintly peering from its window.

They must be there already. (To Guzman.) Look, Don Guzman!

GUZMAN.

I do; it vanishes and re-appears,

And vanishes again, and all is dark.

ROMIERO.

Yes; all shall soon be dark:

That flame of guilt, those glow-worms of the night,
That bright deceitful sheen of foul corruption,
Shall be extinct, trod out, earth bray'd with earth.
Which of these paths leads to th' accursed spot?

(Rushing into a path, and then turning back and taking another.) I am bewilder'd! this will lead me right.[Exit.

GUZMAN.

We must pursue his steps, and try, if possible,

To keep his unrein'd ire from desp'rate acts.
[Exeunt.

Enter, by the opposite side, Beatrice and her Woman.

BEATRICE.

He should be here, or somewhere near this spot.

I am afraid in these dark forest paths.
Each crooked leafless stump or dwarfish bush
Seem beast or man prepared to pounce upon us;
And then to make a vain and short amends,
Each slender, graceful sapling is my Maurice.
I dare not venture further.

WOMAN.

Perhaps we're wrong, and have mistaken the place;

Let us turn back, and try some other alley.

BEATRICE.

Turn not; I hear his foot. (Listening).

WOMAN.

My ear then must be dull, for I hear nothing.

BEATRICE.

Yes, they are dull; thou hast not in thy heart

That which doth quicken mine.—It is his footstep;
I know it well!

WOMAN.

Indeed, I should have guess'd——

BEATRICE.

Nay, hush, Theresa;

I love to bend mine ear and listen to it. (Listens again as before, and presently enter Maurice.)

Is't thou, my friend?

MAURICE.

Yes, dearest; further on

I waited for thee, and became impatient.

BEATRICE.

How glad I am to hear thy voice again!

MAURICE.

What hast thou done? How hast thou sped with Guzman?

Since thou would'st take that office on thyself,
I trust thy parley with him was successful.

BEATRICE.

As heart could wish, although it was but short.

He'll be our friend, and keep Romiero so;
And will, besides, to my stern uncle speak,
Who, as thou know'st——But here comes one in haste.

Enter Jerome.

JEROME.

Remain no longer here; for Don Romiero,

And Guzman with him, wanders through the wood:
You may encounter him in any path.

MAURICE.

What shall we do?

JEROME.

Be still, and follow me,

And I will lead you to a safer spot,
Free from intrusion, near the ruin'd chapel.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Inner Porch of a ruined Chapel.

Enter Nurse and a Sea Captain, meeting.

NURSE.

Are all things ready then?

CAPTAIN.

The breeze is faint,

But it is fair; my seamen are on board;
We shall weigh anchor by the early dawn,
And bear us out to sea. Go, tell my passenger
To join us presently upon the beach.

NURSE.

I will, good Captain: 'tis no thoughtless youth,

Who trows the very winds should wait his bidding;
He will be punctual. He hath seen good days,
Although I may not tell thee who he is.

CAPTAIN.

Nor do I ask thee.

NURSE.

He hath seen good days,

And evil too, and hath been buffeted
By wayward fate.

CAPTAIN.

Good mother, so have I.

But what of that? The foul, the fair will blow,
And we must weather it even as we may.
Speak not in such a lamentable tone;
I will be kind to him.

NURSE.

I hope thou wilt.

Heaven will reward thee, and Saint Jago too.

CAPTAIN.

Tut, woman! wherefore make so much ado

About some kindness to a fellow sinner?
I shall expect him ere the morning break;
And give him notice, for the time is near.[Exit.

NURSE (alone).

I will not yet break on their sad farewell,

But in the outer porch remain on watch.
Ah, woe the day! that they must thus, by stealth,
Take their last leave. I fear 't will be their last.
[Exit.

SCENE III.

An old Gothic Chapel: Sebastian and Zorada are discovered in earnest conversation.

SEBASTIAN.

And wilt thou bear these lessons in thy mind?

ZORADA.

I shall forget to say my daily prayers

When I forget to think of thee, dear father!
And, when I think of thee, thy words of kindness,
And words of counsel too, shall be remember'd.

SEBASTIAN.

Sweet child! stand back and let me look upon thee.

Ay; so she look'd. O! it is sweet in thee
To look so like thy mother, when mine eyes
Must take their last impression, as a treasure

Here (his hand on his heart) to be cell'd for ever. Many looks

Thy varying face was wont to wear, yet never,

But in some sad or pensive mood, assumed
The likeness of that countenance;—to me
Thy loveliest look; though, to all other eyes,
Thy mother's beauty never equall'd thine.

ZORADA.

I still remember her: the sweetest face

That e'er I look'd upon. I oft recall it,
And strive to trace the features more distinctly.

SEBASTIAN.

Be good as she was; and when I am gone,

Never again let myst'ry and concealment,
Tempting the weakness of thy husband's nature,
Which but for this were noble, break the peace
And harmony of marriage.—For this oath—

This fatal oath—he was constrain'd to take it.
Then so consider it, nor let it rankle
Within thy gentle breast: that were perverse.
When I am gone, all will again be well,
And I will write to thee and comfort thee.
Our minds shall still hold intercourse, dear Zada,
And that should satisfy.

ZORADA.

Alas! alas!

When I shall read thy letters, my poor heart
Will but the more yearn after thee, dear father!
And pine to see thee. Suffer me to hope
That we shall meet again.—Call it not vain,
But suffer me to think——

Enter Nurse in alarm.

What is the matter?

NURSE.

You are discover'd: Don Romiero comes;

I heard his voice approaching through the trees.
I heard the hollow tread of many feet.

ZORADA (to Sebastian).

O fly! farewell!

SEBASTIAN.

Farewell, my dearest child!

Heaven bless and guard thee ever! O farewell!
[Embraces her, and exit.

ZORADA.

If he should be discover'd!

NURSE.

Fear it not.

He knows the nearest path, and on the beach
The Captain will receive him. Ere 'tis light,
He will be safely in the vessel lodged.
O all good saints of heav'n! he's here already.

Enter Romiero.

ROMIERO.

Most wretched and degraded woman! Now

Thy shameful secret is discovered. Now,
Vice unveil'd and detestable must have
Its dreadful recompence. Where is thy minion?

ZORADA.

O cease! you frighten me with such fierce looks.

I have done thee no wrong.

ROMIERO.

Provoke me not with oft-repeated words,

Which I do know are false as his who fell
Apostate and accursed. Where is thy minion?
(In a still louder voice, and stamping on the ground.)
Tell me without delay: speak briefly, truly,
If thou hast hope to live another hour.

ZORADA.

O pity, pity! be not so enraged!

Thou shalt be told the truth a few hours hence;
Then, to that time, detest me as thou wilt.
But spare my life.

Re-enter Sebastian, while Romiero has, in his rage, strode to the front of the stage. Zorada, uttering a shriek, runs to her father, and throws her veil over his face, endeavouring to push him back.

SEBASTIAN.

What! fly and leave thee in a madman's power?

I heard his stormy voice, and could not leave thee.

(Romiero turns round, and, running furiously at them, stabs Zorada in aiming at Sebastian, Guzman, who enters in alarm, followed by Maurice and Beatrice, endeavouring, in vain, to prevent him.)

GUZMAN.

Hold! hold! thou wilt not strike a cover'd foe!

ZORADA (still clinging round her father).

Strike me again; I will not quit my hold.

I'll cling to him; within my dying grasp
I'll hold him safe: thou wilt not kill him there.

(Sinking to the ground, while the veil drops from the face of Sebastian.)

ROMIERO.

Her father!

ZORADA.

Yes; my father, dear Romiero!

Thou wilt not slay us both. Let one suffice.
Thou lovedst me once; I know thou lovest me now:
Shall blood so dear to thee be shed in vain?
Let it redeem my father!—I am faint,
Else I would kneel to thee.

(Endeavouring to kneel, but prevented and supported by Nurse and Beatrice.)

NURSE.

Do not, dear murder'd child!

BEATRICE.

My dear, dear friend, forbear. He heeds thee not.

GUZMAN.

Romiero, dost thou hear her sad request?

ROMIERO.

I hear your voices murm'ring in mine ear

Confused and dismal. Words I comprehend not.
What have I done? Some dreadful thing, I fear.
It is delusion this! she is not slain:
Some horrible delusion.

ZORADA (aside to Sebastian).

Fly, fly, dear father, while he is so wild.

He will not know and will not follow thee.

SEBASTIAN.

No, dearest child! let death come when it will,

I'll now receive it thankfully. Romiero,
Thou wretched murd'rer of thy spotless wife—
Romiero de Cardona !

ROMIERO.

Who is it calls me with that bitter voice? (Gazing on him; and then with a violent gesture of despair)

I know thee;—yes, I know what I have done.

GUZMAN.

Forbear such wild and frantic sorrow now,

And speak to her while she is sensible,
And can receive thy words. She looks on thee,
And looks imploringly.

ROMIERO.

Zorada, my Zorada! spotless saint!

I loved thee far beyond all earthly things,
But demons have been dealing with my soul,
And I have been thy tyrant and thy butcher,
A wretch bereft of reason.

BEATRICE.

She makes a sign as if she fain would speak,

But her parch'd tongue refuses. (To Maurice.) Fetch some water

To moisten those dear lips and cool that brow.

[Exit Maurice.
She strives again to speak.

ROMIERO (stooping over her).

What wouldst thou say? What means that gentle motion?

ZORADA.

Come close to me; thou'rt pardon'd, Love, thou'rt pardoned.

ROMIERO.

No, say that I am blasted, ruin'd, cursed,

Hateful to God and man.

Re-enter Maurice with water, which she tastes.

ZORADA.

Thou art not cursed; O no! then be more calm.

(Endeavouring to raise herself up.) Look here; he is my father: think of that.

Thou'rt pardon'd, Love; thou'rt pardoned.

[Dies.

ROMIERO.

She call'd me Love. Did she not call me so?

GUZMAN.

Yes, most endearingly.

ROMIERO.

And she is gone, and I have murder'd her!

(Throws himself on the body, and moaning piteously; then starts up in despair, and looks furiously at Sebastian.)

Thou restless, selfish, proud, rebellious spirit!

Thy pride has work'd our ruin, been our bane;

The bane of love so bless'd! Draw, wretched man,
I've sworn an oath, which I will sacred hold,
That when Sebastian and myself should meet,
He should to royal justice be deliver'd,
Or, failing that, one of the twain should die.
(Drawing his sword fiercely upon him).

GUZMAN (holding him back).

Hold, madman, hold! thy rage is cruel, monstrous,

Outraging holy nature.

ROMIERO (breaking from him).

Off! think'st thou to restrain or bind despair

With petty strength like thine?—Proud rebel, draw.
I am thy daughter's murderer, and thou
Destroyer of us both.

SEBASTIAN.

Yes, Don Romiero, we are match'd in ruin,

And we will fight for that which cures despair.

He who shall gain it is the conqueror. (They fight, each exposing himself rather than attacking his adversary.)

ROMIERO.

No; to't in earnest, if thou would'st not have me

Deliver thee a felon to the law.

Defend thine honour, though thou scorn thy life. (They fight again, and Romiero falls.)

I thank thee, brave Sebastian: O forgive

Harsh words that were but meant to urge contention.
Thou'rt brave and noble; so my heart still deemed thee,
Though, by hard fate, compell'd to be thy foe.—
Come hither, Guzman: thou hast sworn no oath.
Give me thy hand; preserve Sebastian's life,
And lay me in the grave with my Zorada.

(The Curtain drops.)