Miscellaneous Plays/Rayner Act 3

by Joanna Baillie

ACT III.

A spacious court with a magnificent building in front: a great concourse of people are discovered as if waiting in expectation of some sight.

FIRST CROWD.

The court is marvellously long of breaking up; I'm tir'd of waiting; and yet I don't like to lose the sight, after having stay'd so long for it.

SECOND CROWD.

⁠I fear it will go hard with the young man.

THIRD CROWD.

⁠I fear it will, poor gentleman!

WOMAN CROWD.

⁠Ah! poor young man! it is an awful end.

SECOND CROWD.

⁠Ay, I remember well the last criminal that was condemned here; a strong-built man he was, tho' somewhat up in years. O, how pale he look'd as they led him out from court! I think I stood upon this very spot as he passed by me; and the fixed strong look of his features too—It was a piteous sight!

THIRD CROWD.

⁠Ah, man! but that was nothing to the execution. I paid half a dollar for a place near the scaffold; and it would have made any body's heart drop blood to have seen him when he lifted up the handkerchief from his eyes, and took his last look of the day-light, and all the living creatures about him.

SECOND CROWD.

⁠Ay, man, that a human creature should be thus thrust out of the world by human creatures like himself; it is a piteous thing!

(Enter a man from the court.)

OMNES (eagerly).

⁠What news? what news of the prisoner?

MAN.

⁠He has just finished his defence, in which he has acquitted hinself so nobly, setting off his words too with such a manly grace, that it is thought by every body he will be set free.

SECOND CROWD.

⁠Indeed! I should not have expected this now; spoke so nobly say'st thou?

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Yes, yes, noble blood makes noble speaking.

WOMAN CROWD.

⁠Well, and is it not best so? poor young man! I'm sure I'm glad of it.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠And an't I so too, milk-fac'd doll! tho' I hate to be kept so long staring for nothing. I wonder what brought me here in a murrain to it!

SECOND WOMAN.

⁠La! then we shan't see him pass by with the chains upon his legs.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠No, no! nor nothing at all. Come let me pass, I have been too long here. (Pressing through the crowd to get out.)

WOMAN CROWD.

⁠O, you tread upon my toes!

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Devil take you and your toes both! can't you keep them out of people's way then!

WOMAN CROWD.

⁠Plague take it! what had we all to do to come here like so many fools!

(Enter a second Man from the court.)

SECOND CROWD.

⁠Here comes another man from the court (calling to the man). Ho, friend! is he acquitted yet?

SECOND MAN.

⁠No, nor like to be; the judge is just about to pronounce sentence upon him, but something came so cold over my heart I could not stay to hear it.

(Several of the mob climb eagerly up upon the walls of the building, and look in at the windows.)

CROWD (below).

⁠What do you see there, sirs!

CROWD (above).

⁠The judge is just risen from his seat, and the black signal is lifted up.

OMNES.

⁠Hush! hush! and let us listen! (A deep pause.)

CROWD (above).

⁠Sentence is past now.

CROWD (below).

⁠God have mercy on him!

THIRD CROWD.

⁠I would not wear my head upon his shoulders for all the prince's coffers.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Alas! poor man! he is but a youth.

SECOND CROWD.

⁠Yet he must be cut off in the flower of his days.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠It is an awful thing!

WOMAN CROWD.

⁠Ah! but a youth, and a goodly-looking youth too, I warrant ye.

SECOND WOMAN.

⁠Alack a-day! many a one falls into crimes, but all do not pay the forfeit.

THIRD CROWD.

⁠Ha! who comes this way so fair and so gentle in her mein; thus toss'd and tangled amidst the pressing crowd, like a stalk of wild flower in a bed of nettles? Come, clear the way there, and let the lady pass.

Enter Elizabeth attended by Richard, the crowd making way for her.

ELIZABETH.

⁠I'm much obliged to you.

RICHARD.

⁠We thank you, good Sirs! My mistress and I are both strangers in this town, and the nearest way to your best inn, as we are told, is thro' this court ; but the crowd is so great I think we had better turn back again.

ELIZABETH.

⁠What is the meaning of this eager multitude,

So gather'd round the entry to this palace?

THIRD CROWD.

⁠It is no palace, madam, but a public court: there is a gentleman of noble birth who is just now condemned to death for murder, and we are waiting to see him led forth from his trial; you had better stop a little while and see the sight too.

ELIZABETH.

⁠O, no! I'm come here in an evil hour!—A gentleman of noble birth—Alas! but that the crime is murder 'twere most piteous.

OMNES (eagerly).

⁠There he comes! see, see! there he comes!

Enter Rayner, fettered and guarded from the court, followed by Bertram and others, and advances slowly towards the front of the stage, the crowd opening and making a lane for him on every side.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠What a noble gait he has even in his shackles!

SECOND CROWD.

⁠Oh! oh! that such a man should come to this!

ELIZABETH (after gazing eagerly at the distant prisoner).

⁠Merciful heaven! the form has strong resemblance.

RICHARD.

⁠Sweet mistress, be not terrified with forms;

'Tis but a distant form.

ELIZABETH.

⁠Ha! then it strikes thee too!—Merciful God!

RICHARD.

⁠Patience, dear madam! now as he advances,

We shall be certified of the deception.
Rayner is not so tall as this young man,
Nor of a make so slender; no, nor yet——

ELIZABETH.

⁠

Peace, peace! for he advances. (Watching the prisoner as he advances with a countenance of distracted eagerness, till he comes near her; then, uttering a loud shriek, falls down, and is supported by Richard and several of the crowd.)

OFFICER (conducting Rayner).

⁠What fainting maid is this obstructs the way?

Let not the crowd so closely press around her.
Open the way, and let the pris'ner pass.

RAYNER (upon the crowd opening and discovering Elizabeth).

⁠O, sight of misery! my Elizabeth!

The last and fellest stroke of angry heaven
Falls on this cursed head.

OFFICER.

⁠What may this mean? let us pass on: we stop not

Whate'er betide.

RAYNER.

⁠Nay, but you do: for here there is a power

Stronger than law or judgment. Give me way:
It is permitted me by ev'ry sense
Of human sympathy, were I ev'n bound
With chains tenfold enlock'd.⁠(Bending over Elizabeth.)
Thou loveliest, and thou dearest! O thou part
Of my most inmost self! art thou thus stricken?

Falls this stroke on thee? (Kneeling down and endeavouring to support her, but finding himself prevented by his chain.)

Is there not strength in the soul's agony

To burst e'en bands of iron. (Trying furiously to burst his fetters, but cannot; then with a subdued voice)

Am I indeed a base condemned wretch,

Cut off from ev'ry claim and tie of nature?
⁠(Turning to the officer.)
Thou who dost wear the law's authority,
May it not be permitted for the love
Of piteous charity?—Shall strangers' hands
Whilst I am thus—O, do not let it be!

OFFICER.

⁠No, no! move on: it cannot be permitted.

RAYNER (fiercely roused).

What, say'd thou so? (Turning to the crowd.)

————————Ye who surround me too,
Each with the form and countenance of a man,
Say ye 'tis not permitted?
To you I do stretch forth these fetter'd hands,
And call you men: O, let me not miscall you!

VOICES FROM THE CROWD.

Fie, on't! unbind his hands, unbind his hands,

And we will stand his sureties.

BERTRAM (stepping forward in a supplicating posture to the officer).

Do but unbind his hands a little space,

And shoot me thro' the head if he escape.
My arm secured him; be my recompense
This one request.

OFFICER (to Bertram).

⁠Go to; thou art a brave man but a weak one.

(To the guard) Move on; we halt no longer.

CROWD.

⁠⁠By all good saints we stand by the brave Bertram,

And he shall be unshackled. (Menacingly.)

OFFICER.

Soldiers, present your muskets to these madmen,

And let them speak; the prisoner halts no longer;

Move on. (A tumult between the crowd and the guard, and Rayner is forced off the stage by the soldiers.)

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Shame light on such hard-hearted cruelty!

SECOND CROWD.

⁠If there had been but six of us with arms in our hands he durst not have put this affront upon us.

THIRD CROWD.

⁠But who looks to the lady? She is amongst strangers it seems, and has only this poor old man to take care of her.

OMNES.

⁠We will take care of her then; we will take care of her: ay, and she shall be waited upon like an empress.

SECOND CROWD.

⁠Ay, so she shall, let the cost be what it will. I am only a poor cobler, God knows, yet I will pawn the last awl in my stall but she shall be waited upon like an empress. See! see! she begins to revive again.

ELIZABETH (opening her eyes with a heavy sigh).

⁠Is it all vanish'd? 'twas a dreadful vision!
⁠(Looking on the crowd around her.)
⁠O, no! the crowd is here still—it is real;
And he is led away—horrible! horrible!

(Faints again, and is carried off the stage by Richard and the crowd.)

SCENE II. A square court, surrounded on all sides by the gloomy walls of a prison, the windows of which are narrow and grated, and the heads of one or two of the prisoners seen looking ruefully through the grates.

Enter Hardibrand, and looks round him for some time without speaking.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Gloomy enough, gloomy enough in faith!
Ah! what a wond'rous mass of dreary walls,
Whose frowning sides are reft in narrow slips
As I have seen full oft some sea-worn cliff,
Pierc'd with the murky holes of savage birds.
Ah! here the birds within are clipt o' wing,
And cannot fly away.

(Enter Ohio with a tankard in his hand, crossing the stage.)

Holla, my friend! I pray thee not so fast;

Inform me, if thou canst, where I may find
The keeper of the prison.

OHIO.

⁠Know you what prince you speak to? fancy knave!

I'll have thee scorch'd, and flead, and piece-meal torn,
If thou dost call me friend.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Good words at least; I meant thee no offence.

I see thou hast a tankard in thy hand,

And will not question thy high dignity,
Softly; here's money for thee. (Giving him money.)

OHIO.

⁠Silver pieces!

He! he! he! he! hast thou got more of them?

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Nay, thou art greedy; answer first my question;

Tell me at which of all these gloomy doors
I needs must knock to find out the chief jailor.
Thou look'st like some fetch-carry to the prisoners;
Dost understand me?

OHIO.

⁠Ay, there's the place, go knock at yonder door.

HARDIBRAND (after knocking).

This door is close nail'd up, and cannot open.

OHIO (grinning maliciously, and pointing to another door).

⁠No, thou art wrong; it is the door hard by,

With those black portals. (Hardibrand knocks at the other door.)

Knock a little louder.

HARDIBRAND (after knocking some time).

A plague upon't! there is no one within.

OHIO (still grinning maliciously).

⁠No, thou art wrong again, it is not there;

It is that door upon the other side.
⁠(Pointing to the opposite wall.)

HARDIBRAND.

⁠What, dost thou jest with me, malicious varlet?

I'll beat thee if thou tell'st me false again.

OHIO.

⁠Negroes be very stupid, master friend.

Enter the Keeper of the Prison.

KEEPER (to Ohio).

⁠Thou canker-worm! thou black-envenom'd toad!

Art thou a playing thy malicious tricks?
Get from my sight, thou pitchy viper, go!
⁠(Exit Ohio.)

HARDIBRAND.

⁠What black thing is it? it appears, methinks,

Not worth thine anger.

KEEPER.

That man, may't please you, Sir, was born a prince.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠I do not catch thy jest.

KEEPER.

⁠I do not jest, I speak in sober earnest;

He is an Afric prince of royal line.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠What say'st thou! that poor wretch who sneaketh yonder

Upon those two black shanks?⁠(Pointing off the stage.)

KEEPER.

⁠Yes, even he:

When but a youth, stol'n from his noble parents,
He for a slave was sold, and many hardships
By sea and land hath pass'd.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠And now to be the base thing that he is!

Well, well, proceed.

KEEPER.

⁠At last a surly master brought him here,

Who, thinking him unfit for further service,
As then a fest'ring wound wore hard upon him,
With but a scanty sum to bury him,
Left him with me. He, ne'ertheless, recover'd;
And tho' full proud and sullen at the first,
Tam'd by the love of wine which strongly tempts him,
He by degrees forgot his princely pride,

And has been long established in these walls
To carry liquor for the prisoners.
But such a cursed, spite-envenom'd toad!——

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Out on't thou'st told a tale that wrings my heart.

Of royal line; born to command, and dignified
By sufferings and dangers past, which makes
The meanest man ennobled: yet behold him;
⁠(Pointing off the stage.)
How by the wall he sidelong straddles on
With his base tankard!—0, the sneaking varlet!
It makes me weep to hear his piteous tale,
Yet my blood boils to run and cudgel him.
But let us on our way.

KEEPER.

⁠You are a noble stranger, as I guess,

And wish to be conducted thro' the prison.
It is an ancient building of great strength,
And many strangers visit it.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠It is indeed a place of ancient note.

Have you at present many criminals
Within these walls?

KEEPER.

⁠Our number is, thank God! respectable,

Though not what it has been in better days.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠In better days!—Well, do thou lead the way.

(As they are about to go off the stage, they are stopped by a voice singing from one of the highest windows.)

SONG.

Sweetly dawns the early day,
Rise, my love, and come away:
Leave thy grim and grated tower,
Bounding walls, and step-dame's lower;
'Don thy weeds and come with me,
Light and happy are the free.

No fair mansion hails me lord,
Dainties smoke not on my board;
Yet full careless by my side,
Shalt thou range the forest wide;
Tho' finer far the rich may be,
Light and happy are the free.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Alas, poor soul! I would that thou wert free!

What weary thrall is this that sings so sweetly?

KEEPER.

⁠A restless, daring outlaw;

A fellow who hath aw'd the country round,
And levied contributions like a king,

To feast his jolly mates in wood and wild;
Yea, been the very arbiter of fortune,
And as his freakish humors bit, hath lifted
At one broad sweep the churl's fav'd gear to leave it
In the poor lab'rer's cot, whose hard-worn palm
Had never chuck'd a ducat 'gainst its fellow.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠'Tis a brave heart! has he been long confined?

But list! he sings again.

SONG.

Light on the hanging bough we'll swing,
Or range the thicket cool,
Or sit upon the bank and sing,
Or bathe us in the pool.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Poor pent up wretch! thy soul roves far from home.

SONG.

Well, good-man time, or blunt or keen,
Move thee slow or take thy leisure,
Longest day will bring its e'en,
Weary lives but run a measure.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠'Tis even so, brave heart, or blunt or keen,

Thy measure has its stint.

Enter Bertram from one of the doors of the prison.

I think thou had the air of an old soldier:
⁠(To Bertram as he is hurrying past him.)
Such, without greeting, never pass me by.
Ha, Bertram! is it thee?

BERTRAM.

⁠What, mine old General?

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Yes, and mine old soldier.

How dost thou, man? how has it far'd with thee
Since thou hast left the service?

BERTRAM.

⁠I thank your honour; much as others find it;

I have no cause to grumble at my lot.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠'Tis well, but what's the matter with thee now?

Thine eyes are red with weeping, and thy face
Looks ruefully.

BERTRAM.

⁠I've been to visit, here, a noble youth.

Who is condemn'd to die.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠A noble youth!

BERTRAM.

⁠Yea, and a soldier too,

HARDIBRAND.

⁠A soldier!

BERTRAM.

⁠Ay, your honour, and the Son

Of a most gallant soldier.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠But he is innocent?

BERTRAM.

⁠He is condemn'd.

HARDIBRAND.

Shame on it! were he twenty times condemn'd,

He's innocent as are these silver'd locks.
⁠(Laying his hand vehemently on his head.)
What is his name?

BERTRAM.

⁠Rayner.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Ha! son to my old comrade, Rayner!

Out on the fools! I would as soon believe
That this right hand of mine had pilfer'd gold

As Rayner's son have done a deed of shame.
Come, lead me back with thee, for I must see him.

BERTRAM.

Heav'n bless your honour! O, if by your means

He might have grace!

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Come, let us go to him.

BERTRAM.

Not now, an' please you: he is now engaged

With one most dear to him. But an hour hence
I will conduct you to his cell.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠So be it.

Mean time, stay thou with me, and tell me more
Of this unhappy youth: I have a mind.
With the good keeper's leave, to view the prison.
⁠(Exeunt.

Enter Mira and Alice by opposite sides, both muffed up in cloaks and their faces conceal'd.)

MIRA (stopping Alice).

⁠Nay, glide not past me thus with muffled face:

'Tis I, a visitor to these grim walls,
On the same errand with thyself. How goes it
With our enthralled colleague? doth he promise
Silence to keep in that which touches us
Of this transaction, for the which he's bound?

ALICE.

⁠He is but half persuaded; go thyself

And use thy arts—hush, here's a stranger near us.

Enter a Man who gives a letter mysteriously to Mira, and upon her making a sign to him, retires to the bottom of the stage whilst she reads it.

What read'st thou there, I pray thee, that thy brows

Knit thus ungraciously at ev'ry line?

MIRA.

⁠Know'st thou that I must doff my silken robes,

Despoil my hair of its fair ornaments,
And clothe me in a gown of palmer's grey,
With clouted shoon and pilgrim's staff in hand
To bear me o'er rude glens and dreary wastes
To share a stony couch and empty board,
All for the proving of my right true love
For one in great distress. Ha! ha! ha! ha!
So doth this letter modestly request:
I pray thee read it.

ALICE (reading the letter).

⁠"A deadly wound rankles in my side, and I have no skilful hand to dress it, and no kind friend to comfort me. I am laid upon the cold earth, and feel many wants I never knew before. If thou hast any love for me, and as thou hast often wish'd to prove that love, come to me quickly: but conceal thyself in the coarse weeds of a Pilgrim; my life is a forfeit to the law if any one should discover where I am. A friend in disguise will give into thy hands this letter, and conduct thee to thy miserable Zaterloo." (returning the letter.) And what say'st thou to this?

MIRA.

⁠I have in truth, upon my hands already

Troubles enough; this is, thou know'st, no time
To take upon me ruin'd men's distresses.

ALICE.

⁠But 'tis thyself hast brought this ruin on him:

'Twas thy extravagance.

MIRA.

⁠Thou art a fool!

His life's a forfeit to the law: 'tis time,
Good time, in faith! I should have done with him.
Why dost thou bend these frowning looks on me?
How many in my place would for the recompence
Betray him to the officers of justice?
Bur I, thou know'st right well, detest all baseness,
Therefore I will not.

ALICE.

⁠Hush, hush! thou speak'st too loud:

Some one approaches.

Enter Countess Zaterloo.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO (to Mira).

⁠I pray you, Madam, pardon this intrusion;

Tracing your steps, I have made bold to follow you.

I am the mother of an only son,
Who for these many days I have not seen:
I know right well naught is conceal'd from you
Of what concerns him; let me know, I pray you,
Where I may find my child.

MIRA.

⁠Madam, you speak to one who in his secrets

Has small concern.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO.

⁠Nay, now, I pray you, do not keep it from me:

I come not with a parent's stern rebuke:
Do tell me where he is, for love of grace:
Or, if you will not, say if he is sick,
Or if he is distress'd with any want.
Do, for love's sake! I have no child but him.

MIRA (giving her the letter).

⁠There, Madam; this is all I know of him.

'Twas yonder stranger gave it to my hand;
⁠(Pointing to the man.)
We need not interrupt you with our presence;
And so good day.⁠(Exeunt Mira and Alice.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO (after reading the letter).

⁠Alas, my son! and art thou low and wounded?

Stretch'd on the cold ground of thy hiding place
In want and fear? Oh art thou come to this!
Thou who didst smile in thy fair op'ning morn,
As cherubs smile who point the way to heaven.

And would'st thou have a stranger come to thee?
Alas! alas! where can thy aching head
So softly rest as on a parent's lap?
Yes, I will wrap me in the Pilgrim's weeds,
Nor storm nor rugged wild shall bar my way.
And tho' declining years impare my strength,
These arms shall yet support thy feeble frame,
When fairer friends desert thee.
(To the Messenger, beckoning him to come forward.)
Good friend, this is no place to question thee!
Come with me to my home.
⁠(Exuent.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.