Miscellaneous Plays/Rayner Act 5

by Joanna Baillie

ACT V.

A spacious outer Room in the Prison.

Enter an Under-Jailor and a Clown.

CLOWN.

I pray thee now, my good friend, here is a piece of money for thee—very good money too; thou may'st look o' both sides of it an' thou wilt: it has been wrapped up in the foot of my old holiday stockings since last Michaelmas twelvemonth, and neither sun nor wind has blown upon it. Take it, man, thou art heartily welcome to it if thou canst put me into a good place near the scaffold, or a place where I may see him upon the scaffold; for I am five and thirty years old next Shrove-Tuesday, when the time comes round, and I have never yet seen in all my born days so much as a thief set i' the stocks.

JAILOR.

⁠Poor man! thou hast lived in most deplorable ignorance indeed. But stand aside a little, here is the famous executioner of Olmutz a-coming, who has been sent for expressly to do the job; for our own is but a titulary hangman; he has all the honours of the office, but little experience in the duties of it.

CLOWN.

⁠O dickens. I'll creep into a corner then, and have a good look of him. A man that has cut off men's heads, save us all! he must have a strange bloody look about him for certain.

Enter two Executioners, speaking as they enter.

FIRST EXECUTIONER.

⁠What! no execution in this town for these ten years past! Lord pity you all for a set of poor devils indeed? Why I have known a smaller town than this keep ye up a first executioner for the capital business, with a second man under him for your petty cart-tail and pillory work; ay, and keep them handsomely employed too. No execution in such a town as this for these ten years past! one might as well live amongst the savages.

SECOND EXECUTIONER.

⁠It is a pitiful thing to be sure, but don't despise us altogether, Mr. Master: we shall improve by and by, please God; and here is a fair beginning for it too, if the Lord prosper us.

FIRST EXECUTIONER.

⁠Ay, thou wilt, perhaps, have the honour of hanging a thief or two before thou art the age of Methuselah; but I warrant ye, the beheading of this young nobleman here by the famous executioner of Olmutz will be remembered amongst you for generations to come. It will be the grand date from which every thing will be reckoned; ay, your very grand children will boast that their fathers were present at the sight.

SECOND EXECUTIONER.

⁠I make no doubt on't, my master, but you are a very capital man in your way: Lord forbid that I should envy the greatness of any one; but I would have you to know that there have been others in the world as good as yourself ere now: my own father cut off Baron Koflam s head upon this very scaffold that we now hear them hammering at.

FIRST EXECUTIONER.

⁠Some wandering hocus-pocus Baron, I suppose, that sold nostrums for the tooth-ach. I always put such fellows into the hands of my underling to operate upon; I never count the dealing with them as your prime work, tho' for certain we must call it your head-work; ha! ha! ha! (holding out his axe in a vain-glorious manner.) Seest thou this axe of mine? The best blood of the country has been upon its edge: to have had one's father or brother under its stroke, let me tell thee, is equal to a patent of nobility.

SECOND EXECUTIONER.

⁠Well, be it so: I envy no man, God be praised! tho' thou art set over my head upon this occasion. I have whipp'd, branded, and pilloried in great meekness and humility for these seven years past; but the humble shall be exalted at last, and I shall have better work to do, by and by, God willing. Let us have no more contention about it.—Who's there? (observing Jailor and Clown.) Ay, Jailor, do thou go and kick up the black prince, he is snoring in some corner near us, and send him for some brandy.

(Jailor coming forward, with the Clown creeping after him, half afraid.)

JAILOR.

⁠The black prince is no where to be found; he has not been seen since the cells were locked.

SECOND EXECUTIONER.

⁠Go fetch us some liquor thyself then.

FIRST EXECUTIONER.

⁠But who is this sneaking behind thee, and afraid to show his face?

JAILOR.

⁠Only a poor countryman, a friend of mine, who wanted to look at you as you past.

FIRST EXECUTIONER.

⁠Yes, yes, every body has a curiosity to look at extraordinary persons. (to Clown.) Come forward man, and don't be afraid. Did'st thou ever before see any thing better than a poor parish priest, or a scrubby lord of the village? did'st thou, eh?

CLOWN (abashed).

⁠I don't know, please you: my brother did once stand within a team's length of the Prince of Carara, when he passed through our village on his way to Franconia.

FIRST EXECUTIONER.

⁠So then thou art not the first of thy family that has seen a great man. But don't be afraid, my good fellow, I a'nt proud nor haughty as many of them be: thou shalt even shake hands with me an' thou wilt. (Holding out his hand to Clown, who shrinks from him, and, puts his hands behind his back.)

CLOWN.

⁠No, I thank you; I ben't much of a hand-shaker: I have got a little sore on my thumb, may it please you; I thank you all the same as tho' I did.

FIRST EXECUTIONER.

⁠Ay, thou art too mannerly to call it the thing that we wot of. Well, thou art a good sort of fellow; don't be abash'd: thou see'st I am very condescending to thee. Come, then, thou shalt drink a cup of liquor with me. Follow us into the next ward, my good friend.

CLOWN (shrinking from him again).

⁠O na, save your presence! I'll go with the jailor here.

FIRST EXECUTIONER (to Second Executioner).

⁠Ay, he is but a poor bashful clown, and don't know how to behave himself in good company.

⁠(Exeunt Executioners.

CLOWN.

⁠Shake hands with him, Mary preserve us! it sets the very ends of my fingers a dingling. Drink out of the same mug with him too! (sputtering with his lips) poh! poh! poh! the taste of raw heads and carrion is on my lips at the thoughts of it. (To Jailor.) Come let us go out of this place; I be long enough here. (stopping short as he goes off.) What noise and hammering is this we hear?

JAILOR.

⁠It is the workmen putting up the scaffold.

CLOWN (starting).

⁠What, are we so near to it? mercy on us! let me get out of this place; for it puts me into a terrible quandary.

JAILOR.

⁠If this be the mettle thou art made of, thou had'st better take thy money again, and I'll give thy place for the sight to somebody that has got a stouter heart than thou hast.

CLOWN.

⁠Na, na, I won't do that neither; I have a huge desire to see how a man looks when he is going to have his head cut off, and I'll stay for the sight tho' I should swoon for it. Poor man! poor man! what frightful things there be in this world when one's mind sets a thinking upon it!—Is he a tall man now, (to Jailor ) or a short man? a pale-faced man, or——ay, pale enough, I warrant. Mercy on us! I shall think of him many a night after this before I go to sleep. Poor man! poor man! what terrible things there be in this world if a body does but think of them.

⁠(Exeunt Clown and Jailor.

SCENE II. A dungeon; Rayner discovered sitting at a table by the light of a lamp, with a book in his hand; the clock from a neighbouring steeple strikes three, and he, roused with the sound, lays down the book.

RAYNER.

⁠This bell speaks with a deep and sullen voice:

The time comes on apace with silent speed.
Is it indeed so late?⁠(Looking at his watch.)
⁠It is even so.
⁠(Pausing, and looking still at the watch.)
How soon time flies away! yet, as I watch it,

Methinks, by the flow progress of this hand,
I should have liv'd an age since yesterday,
And have an age to live. Still on it creeps,
Each little moment at another's heels,
Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up
Of such small parts as these, and men look back,
Worn and bewilder'd, wond'ring how it is.
Thou trav'llest like a ship in the wide ocean,
Which hath no bounding shore to mark its progress;
O Time! ere long I shall have done with thee.
When next thou leadest on thy nightly shades,
Tho' many a weary heart thy steps may count,
Thy midnight 'larum shall not waken me.
Then shall I be a thing, at thought of which
The roused foul swells boundless and sublime,
Or wheels in wildness of unfathom'd fears:
A thought; a consciousness; unbodied spirit.
Who but would shrink from this? It goes hard with thee,
Social connected man; it goes hard with thee
To be turned out into a state unknown,
From all thy kind, an individual being.
But wherefore shrink? came we not thus to earth?
And he who sent, prepar'd reception for us.
Ay, glorious are the things that are prepar'd,
As we believe!—yet, heaven pardon me!
I fain would sculk beneath my wonted cov'ring,
Mean as it is.
Ah, Time! when next thou fill'st thy nightly term,
Where shall I be? Fye! fye upon thee still!
E'en where weak infancy, and tim'rous age,

And maiden fearfulness have gone before thee;
And where, as well as him of firmest soul,
The meanly-minded and the coward are.
Then trust thy nature, at th'approaching push,
The mind doth shape itself to its own wants,

And can bear all things. (Rising from his seat, and walking several times backward and forward.)

I know not how it is, I'm wond'rous heavy;

Fain would I rest a while. This weary frame
Has but a little more to do for me,
And yet it asks for rest. I'll lay me down:
It may be possible that I shall sleep,
After these weary tossings of the mind;

I feel as tho' I should. (Goes to sleep, covering himself with a cloak.)

Enter Ohio, creeping out from a hiding-place at the bottom of the stage and going softly up to Rayner, looks for some time upon him with a malicious grin.

OHIO.

⁠Thou hast lov'd negroes' blood, I warrant thee.

Dost sleep? ay, they will waken thee ere long,
And cut thy head off. They'll put thee to rest;
They'll close thine eyes for thee without thy leave;
They'll bloat thy white skin for thee, lily-face.
Come, less harm will I do thee than thy fellows:
My sides are cold: a dead man needs no cloak.

(Beginning gently to pull Rayner's cloak, who starts from his sleep, and looks at him in amazement.)

RAYNER.

⁠Ha! what hole of the earth hath cast thee up?

What thing art thou? and what would'st thou with me?

OHIO.

⁠My sides are cold; a dead man needs no cloak.

RAYNER.

⁠'Tis true indeed, but do not strip the living.

Where dost thou run to now? where wert thou hid?

OHIO (after running to his hiding-place, and fetching out a stick, which he presents to Rayner).

⁠Beat me thyself, but do not tell of me.

RAYNER.

⁠I would not harm thee for a greater fault.

I'm sorry thou art cold; here is my cloak:
Thou hast said well; a dead man needs it not.
I know thee now; thou art the wretched negro
Who serves the prisoners; I have observ'd thee:
I'm sorry for thee; thou art bare enough,
And winter is at hand.

OHIO.

⁠Ha! art thou sorry that the negro's cold?

Where wert thou born who art so pitiful?
I will not take thy cloak, but I will love thee.
They shail not cut thy head off.

RAYNER.

⁠Go thy ways;

Go sculk within thy hiding place again,
And, when the cell is open'd, save thyself.

OHIO.

⁠They shan't cut off thy head.

RAYNER.

⁠Now, pray thee go.

OHIO.

⁠I'll kiss thy feet; I'll spend my blood for thee.

RAYNER.

⁠I do beseech thee go! there's some one coming:

I hear them at the door. (Pushes him hastily off.)

Enter Hardibrand, advancing slowly to Rayner, his eyes cast upon the ground.

RAYNER.

⁠Good morrow, general: where's thy friendly hand?

Why dost thou turn thine eyes aside, and fear
To look me in the face? Is there upon it
Aught that betrays the workings of the mind
Too strongly mark'd? I will confess to thee
I've struggl'd hard, I've felt the fears of nature;
But yet I have the spirit of a man
That will uphold me: therefore, my brave friend,
Do me the grace to look upon me boldly;
I'll not disgrace thee.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠No, my valiant boy!

I know thou'lt not disgrace me, nor will I

Put shame on thee by wearing on this morn
A weeping face: I will be valiant too.
We will not, Rayner, tho' thou'rt thus—Oh! oh!
⁠(Bursting into tears.)

RAYNER.

⁠My gen'rous friend, my second father, why

Wilt thou oppress me thus?

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Bear with me, bear with me; I meant to brave it,

And I will brave it. But to thee, my son,
In thy distress, encompass'd as thou art,
My heart so strongly has enlink'd itself,
That to part from thee, boy, is——
⁠(Falling on his neck, and bursting again into tears.)

Enter Mardonio.

MARDONIO (after looking at them for some time, and in a solemn imposing tone of voice).

⁠The strength of man sinks in the hour of trial;

But there doth live a power that to the battle
Girdeth the weak: Heaven's vivifying grace,
And strength, and holy confidence be thine,

Who art in mercy stricken! (Holding up his right hand to heaven, whilst Rayner, approaching with reverence, bows himself beneath it very low.)

RAYNER.

⁠Thanks to thee, father! these are words of power,

And I do feel their strength. Beneath that hand

Which hath in mercy stricken me, I bow;
Y'ea bow, the nobler and the bolder grown
For such humility.—(Familiarly) How goes the time?
Does day begin to dawn?

MARDONIO.

⁠Grey light peeps faintly o'er the eastern towers.

RAYNER.

⁠The time is then advanc'd; we'll husband it.

Come close to me, my friends. (Taking Hardibrand and Mardonio each by the hand, and pressing them close to his breast.)

Of worldly cares, upon my mind there rests

But only those which I have mention'd to you.
Yet, in this solemn hour, let me remind you:—
My poor Elizabeth———

HARDIBRAND (eagerly).

⁠Thou'st said enough:

She is my child and heiress of my lands
To the last rood.—Ah! what avails it now!

RAYNER.

⁠How shall a dying man find thanks for this,

Whose day is closed? I will attempt no thanks.
The other wish that closely presses on me:—
Mardonio, upon thee must hang this boon:—
That miserable man of whom I've told you;
Now living in the hell of his remorse,
Cut off from human intercourse; whose horrors

And midnight visions sav'd this hand from blood:
I fain———

HARDIBRAND (again eagerly interrupting him).

⁠Fear not! fear not! he shall be sav'd;

And shall with human beings yet consort
In blessed charity, if ghostly care
From holiest men procur'd, or off'rings made
To ev'ry sacred shrine on christian ground
Can give him peace.

RAYNER (smiling and pressing Hardibrand to his bosom).

With all the prompt and gen'rous profusion

Of eager youth dost thou, mine aged friend,
Take every thing upon thee. Be it so.
And good Mardonio with his sober counsel
Will aid thy bounty. Here I join your hands;
My worldly cares are clos'd.
Enter Elizabeth, followed by Richard and Bertram, who remains on the back ground whilst she comes slowly forward; Rayner turning round on hearing them enter.
Ah! who is this?
Alas! alas! it is Elizabeth.
⁠(Holding out his hand to her.)
Advance, my love; thou'rt ever welcome here.
How does it fare with thee?

ELIZABETH.

⁠It is all mist and darkness with me now;

I know not how it fares with me.

RAYNER.

⁠Alas!

Thou gentle soul! a dark cloud o'er thee hangs,
But the sun will again break thro' the gloom,
And, in the soberness of calm remembrance,
Thou wilt look back upon misfortunes past
Like tempests that are laid. Thou dost not heed me:
Thou dost not speak to me. Alas! Alas!
What shall I say to thee?
I've lov'd thee well, and would have lov'd thee long,
Had it so been—But thou shalt be belov'd!
Heaven will take charge of thee when I'm at rest:
The kindly and the good shall be thy kindred,
⁠(Putting her hand in Hardibrand's.)
And ev'ry sorrowful and gentle heart
Shall knit itself to thee, and call thee sister.

(Elizabeth makes a motion with her hand as if she would speak, and he pauses, but she is silent.)

What meant, my love, that motion of thy hand?

MARDONIO.

⁠She fain would speak to thee, but has no voice.

RAYNER.

⁠I know it well, Elizabeth; no voice

Need'st thou to tell me how thou'st dearly lov'd me,
And dearly do I prize it; 'tis my pride,

E'en humbl'd as I am, it is my pride.
Heaven's dearest blessings rest upon thy head!—
And now, since we must part, do in thy love,
Do for me this last grace; bid me farewel,
And let my earthly sorrows now be clos'd.
Heaven's blessing rest upon thee!

(He kisses her, and she turns to go away, Rayner looking after her as she goes, but presently returns again.)

RAYNER.

⁠Thou art return'd, my soul, what would'st thou have?

ELIZABETH (in a broken voice).

⁠A thought—a wish did press upon my heart,

But it is gone.

RAYNER.

⁠I thank thee for thy wish;

It is a good one, tho' thou canst not speak it,
And it will do me good. But leave me! leave me!
Thou wilt unfit me for a task of strength.

(Elizabeth again attempts to go away, but still returns.)

Ah, wherefore still! wilt thou be cruel to me?

ELIZABETH.

⁠O, no! O, no! I know not what I do:

It is all mist and darkness with me now:
I look upon thee, but I see thee not.

Let me once more but feel thy hand in mine
And send me where ye will: my being then

Is at an end. (They embrace again, and she still continues to hang upon him.)

RAYNER (to Bertram and Richard).

⁠O, lead her hence, and have some mercy on me!

My father died i' the field a valiant death,
And shall his son upon the scaffold die
O'ercome and weak, reft of that decent firmness
Which ev'n the base and vulgar there assume?
O lead her hence! in mercy lead her hence!

(Bertram and Richard tear her from him, and lead her away, whilst he turns his back, and hides his face with his hands.)

ELIZABETH (stopping short, and tossing up her arms distractedly as they are leading her out).

⁠Reprieve! reprieve! I hear a voice i' the air!

I hear it yet again!

RAYNER (uncovering his face, and looking about eagerly, whilst Hardibrand rushes forward impetuously from the bottom of the stage, where he has been pacing backward and forward with hasty strides).

⁠Is't any thing?

MARDONIO.

⁠Alas no! all is silent: 'tis the fancy

Of fond distraction list'ning to itself.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Nay, it was something: Bertram, thou did'st hear it?

BERTRAM.

⁠No, I heard nothing.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠What, nor thou, good Richard.

RICHARD.

⁠No, nothing.

ELIZABETH (holding up her arm distractedly as Richard and Bertram lead her off).

⁠And is it nothing! no redemption near!

(Exeunt Elizabeth, Richard, and Bertram, whilst Rayner, uttering a deep groan, hides his face, and Hardibrand returns with hasty strides to the bottom of the stage.

RAYNER (uncovering his face).

⁠Is she gone now?

MARDONIO.

⁠She is.

RAYNER.

⁠Thank God for it! Now to our task:

⁠(Stepping forward with assumed firmness.)
What of it now remains we shall o'er-master.
Pray thee how goes the time? But pardon me!
I have too oft enquir'd how goes the time:
It is my weakness.

MARDONIO.

⁠The morning now advances.

RAYNER.

⁠So I reckon'd.

We too shall put ourselves in forwardness:
And so, good father, to your ghostly guidance
I do commend rnyself.

Enter Jailor.

JAILOR.

⁠The officers of justice are arrived,

And wait the presence of the prisoner,

RAYNER.

⁠They come upon us sooner than we wist;

But 'tis so much the better.
⁠(To Mardonio aside.)
Shall we have time allow'd us for retirement,
Before they lead me forth?

MARDONIO.

⁠'Tis ever so allow'd.

RAYNER.

⁠Come then, I feel me stronger than I was:

'Twill soon be past; the work goes on apace.

(Taking hold of Hardibrand and Mardonio as he goes out.)

Your arm, I pray:—I know not how it is;

My head feels dizzy, but my limbs are firm.
Good Hardibrand, think'st thou I shall disgrace thee?

HARDIBRAND.

⁠No, by the mass! I'll give them this old carcase

To hack for crow's meat if thou shrink'st one hair's breadth
From the comportment of a gallant soldier,
And of a brave man's son.

RAYNER (smiling with a gratified look).

⁠I thank thee.

Methinks I now tread, as I onward move,
With more elastic and dilating step,
As if a spirit of pride within me stirr'd,
Buoying me up on the swoln billows ridge.
⁠(Exeunt.

SCENE III. An outer garden room or portico in the house where Zaterloo is concealed; enter Countess and a Confessor, with two Attendants bearing Zaterloo on a small couch, which they set down on the middle of the stage; the Attendants retire.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO.

⁠The air revives him: look, I pray thee, father,

How the fresh air revives him: say not then
All hope is banish'd quite.—Thou skak'st thy head:
But whilst I see upon his moving breast
One heave of breath, betok'ning life within,

I'll grasp at hope, and will not let it go.
⁠(Bending over the couch.)
My son! my son! hear'st thou my voice, my son?

COUNT ZATERLOO.

⁠Yes, mother: I have had a fearful struggle.

'Tis a strong enemy that grapples with me,
And I must yield to him.—O pious father!
Pray thou for mercy on me.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO.

⁠Yes, my son,

This holy man shall pray for thee; the shrines
Of holiest saints be gifted for thee; masses
And sacred hymns be chanted for thy peace:—
And thou thyself, even 'midst thine agony,
Had spoken precious words of heav'nly grace;
Therefore be comforted.

COUNT ZATERLOO (shaking his head).

⁠There is no comfort here: dark, veil'd, and terrible,

That which abides me; and how short a space——

COUNTESS ZATERLOO.

⁠O thou may'st yet recover!

CONFESSOR.

⁠Lady, forbear! this is no time to soothe

With flatt'ring hopes: his term is near its close;
Therefore, I do again entreat it of you,
Send off the messengcr with his confession,

Lest it should be too late to save the innocent,
And he be sent unto his long account
With a most heavy charge upon his head.

COUNTESS ZATERLOO.

⁠Thou mak'st me tremble.—Ho! there, you without!

Send here the messenger.⁠(Calling off the stage.)
⁠——His steed is ready:
He shall forthwith depart.

Enter Messenger.

CONFESSOR (to Messenger).

Take thou this packet, and with full-bent speed

Go to the city to the governor,
And see thou give it into his own hand,
With charges that he read it instantly.
It is of precious moment to his life
Who on the scaffold should this morning suffer.
Quick mount thy horse: few minutes goaded speed
Will take thee to the gates.

MESSENGER.

⁠Few minutes goaded speed, five leagues to master!

CONFESSOR.

⁠Five leagues! thou'rt mad.

MESSENGER.

⁠No, marry! know ye not

The flooded river hath last night broke down
The nearer bridge?

CONFESSOR.

⁠What, art thou sure of this?

MESSENGER.

⁠I am now come from gazing on the sight.

From bank to bank the red swoln river roars;
And on the deep and slowly-rolling mass
Of its strong centre-tide, grumly and dark,
The wrecks of cottages, whole ricks of grain,
Trunks of huge trees torn by the roots,—ay, save us!
And floating carcases of perish'd things,
Bloated and black, are borne along; whilst currents
Cross-set and furious, meeting adverse streams
On rude uneven surface, far beyond
The water's natural bed, do loudly war
And terrible contest hold; and swoltring eddies
With dizzy whirling fury, toss aloft
Their surgy waves i' the air, and scatter round
Their ceaseless bick'ring gleams of jagged foam,
All fiercely whitening in the morning light.
Crowds now are standing upon either shore
In awful silence; not a sound is heard
But the flood's awful voice, and from the city
A dismal bell heard thro' the air by starts,
Already tolling for the execution.

CONFESSOR.

⁠What's to be done? fate seems to war against us.

No, no! we'll not despair! Mount thy fleet horse,

Life and death's in thy speed:—
Let naught one moment stop thee on thy way:
All things are possible to vig'rous zeal:
Life and death's in thy speed: depart! depart!
And heaven be with thine efforts.
⁠(Exit Messenger, after receiving the packet.

COUNT ZATERLOO.

⁠Is he gone? is it done?

CONFESSOR.

⁠Yes he is gone: God grant he be in time,

For unto human reck'ning 'tis impossible!
⁠(To Countess with an upbraiding look.)
Half an hour sooner——

COUNTESS ZATERLOO.

⁠Oh, torment me not!

Who could foresee this hindrance?—O, good father!
Look to thy penitent. Upon his count'nance
There's something new and terrible. Speak to him:
Go close to him, good father.—O my son!

COUNT ZATERLOO.

⁠I feel within me now—this is the feeling:

I am upon the brink, the dreadful brink:
It is a fearful gulf I have to shoot.
O yet support me! in this racking pain
I still may hold a space the grasp of life,

And keep back from the dark and horrid—Oh!
(uttering a deep groan) It is upon me!

(Struggles and expires with a faint groan. Countess, wringing her hands in agony of grief is hurried off the stage by the Confessor and Attendants, who rush in and take hold of her.)

SCENE IV. An open square before the great gate of the prison: a Crowd of spectators, with guards, &c. are discovered, waiting for the coming forth of Rayner to his execution, and a solemn bell is heard at intervals. The gate opens, and enter Rayner walking between Mardonio and Hardibrand, and followed by Richard and Bertram, preceded and followed by guards, officers, &c. The procession moves slowly over the stage, and exeunt, followed by the greater part of the Crowd, though a good many of them still remain upon the stage. Then re-enter Hardibrand and Richard, followed by one or two of the Crowd: Hardibrand walking up and down in a perturbed manner, and Richard leaning his back against the side-scene, where he continues motionless with his eyes fixed on the ground. The murmur of the multitude is heard for some time without, and then ceases, followed by a dead silence.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠The sound of the multitude is still now.

SECOND CROWD (looking out).

⁠I fancy, by the crowd who stand all gather'd round yonder in dead silence, he is now preparing for the block.

THIRD CROWD.

⁠It must be so: mercy on us, what a mantle of human faces there be spread round on every side, and not one found of voice amongst them all!

⁠(A long pause.)

HARDIBRAND (starting and stopping suddenly, to First Crowd).

⁠Didst thou hear aught?

FIRST CROWD.

⁠No, they are still silent.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Look out, I pray thee, and tell me what thou see'st.

⁠(First Crowd looks out.)
What dost thou gaze at with so broad an eye?

FIRST CROWD.

⁠The executioner is now mounted upon the platform, and the prisoner——O! I cannot look any more! (A loud confused noise is heard without.)

HARDIBRAND.

⁠What's that?

SECOND CROWD.

⁠It is like the cry of a great multitude when they look upon something that is terrible.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Then the stroke is given, and it is all over now.

(Hardibrand turns hastily away, and rushes to the other end of the stage, whilst Richard gives a heavy groan, and still remains motionless. A shout is heard without.)

HARDIBRAND (returning furiously from the bottom of the stage).

⁠More of that horrible din!—

May they bring down the welkin on their heads!

SECOND CROWD (to First Crowd).

⁠What art thou looking at now?

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Nay, there is nothing to look at now: the platform is down, and the crowd is returning home again.

Enter Ohio, running across the stage.

OHIO.

⁠I've done it! I've done it! I've done it!⁠(Exit.

Enter a Messenger in great haste, followed by a Civil Officer.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Where are you running to so fast?

MESSENGER.

⁠Is the execution over?

FIRST CROWD.

⁠Yes, it is over.

MESSENGER.

⁠Ah! then I am too late.

FIRST CROWD.

⁠What mean ye by that?

MESSENGER.

⁠I brought a pardon for him.

HARDIBRAND (rushing upon the messenger and collaring him).

⁠A pardon! O confound your tardy speed!

Had you upon some paltry wager strove,
You had run faster.—O, thou cursed fool!
O had'd thou sped, I'd made a rich man of thee!

MESSENGER (disentangling himself).

⁠My steed and I across the high-swoln flood,

Those on the shore shrieking to see our boldness,
Have fearless swam some miles short of the pass
Which we must else have gain'd, or, by my faith,
I had been later.

HARDBRAND.

⁠Thou liest, thou cursed fool! thou should'st have sped

Swift as a bullet from the cannon's mouth.
⁠(Collaring him again)

Enter Rayner, Mardonio, Bertram, and Crowd.

MARDONIO (to Hardibrand, pulling him back from the Messenger).

Hold, general! what hath the poor man done?

HARDIBRAND.

⁠What has he done! he's brought a pardon, fiend!

(The Crowd give a great shout crying out "pardon, pardon," and Hardibrand, turning round at the noise, and seeing Rayner, springs forward, and catches him in his arms.)

God bless us all, and let us keep our wits!

Is this true seeing that my eyes are blest with?
O welcome, welcome! this is wonderful!
My boy! my noble boy! my gallant boy!
Thou art a man again, and I—I'm mad:
My head wheels round, but 'tis a blessed madness.
What say'st thou? art thou silent?
Hast no voice?

RAYNER.

⁠To be upon the verge of death is awful;

And awful from that verge to be recall'd.
God bless ye! O God bless ye! I am spent;
But let me draw my breath a little while,

And I will thank you—I will—Bear with me:

I cannot speak. (Recovering himself, and seeing the Crowd gather round him with joyful and sympathizing looks.)

Surely 'tis a kind world I have return'd to;

There's sympathy and love in ev'ry heart.

MARDONIO (to Messenger).

⁠Where is the pardon? let me have it friend,

That I may read it. (Messenger gives him a paper, which he reads.)

We charge thee upon our authority to set the

⁠(Reading the rest low to himself.)
What! call ye this a pardon which acquits
The prisoner as guiltless of the crime?
May God be praised! how has all this been?

MESSENGER.

⁠Count Zaterloo, who on his death-bed lies,

In deep remorse, a paper of confession,
Attested by a priest and his own mother,
Caus'd to be drawn, which to the governor
I've brought, I wot, as quickly as I might,
Tho' (pointing to Hardibrand) this good gentleman—

HARDIBRAND (embracing the Messenger).

⁠O no! O no! thou'rt a brave fellow now,

And as I've said I'll make a rich man of thee.
But I'm bewilder'd still: how hath it been
That he is sav'd, seeing no pardon reach'd him?

MARDONIO.

⁠Yes, thou may'st wonder! for some unknown friend

Had sawn across the main prop of the scaffold,
So that the headsman mounting first, the platform
Fell with a crash; and he, all maim'd and bruis'd,
Unfit to do his office, was perforce——

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Ay, ay, 'tis plain, thou need'st not tell me more.—

But he the unknown friend———

Enter Ohio, running exultingly.

OHIO.

⁠'Twas I that did it!

Beat me and scourge me as ye list: I did it!
He offer'd me his cloak: he pitied me;
And I have paid him back.

HARDIBRAND.

⁠Ha! well done and well said, my brave black thing!

Art thou a prince? in faith I think thou art.
I'll take thee home, and make a man of thee.

No, no! (pointing to Rayner) here is my son, my heir, my child:

All that I have is his: he will reward thee.

Thou hast a gen'rous mind, altho' debas'd
With vile oppression and unmanly scorn.

RAYNER (taking Ohio and Hardibrand both by the hand).

What shall I say to you? my heart would speak

What my voice cannot. O! and here comes one
Who mocks all power of words.

(Enter Elizabeth running, and rushes into Rayner's arms; the Crowd then eagerly gathers round them, and closes upon them.)

MARDONIO (stepping out from the crowd, and looking upon them.)

Yes, gather round him, kindly souls tho' rude,

In the true artless sympathy of nature;
For he is one o'er whom the storm has roll'd
In awful power, but spar'd the thunderbolt.—
When urg'd by strong temptation to the brink
Of guilt and ruin, stands the virtuous mind
With scarce a step between; all pitying heaven,
Severe in mercy, chast'ning in its love,
Oftimes, in dark and awful visitation,
Doth interpose, and leads the wand'rer back
To the straight path, to be forever after
A firm, undaunted, onward-bearing traveller,
Strong in humility, who swerves no more.
⁠(Exuent.