University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE, The Garden.
Editha seated.
EDITHA.
[Rising.

Enter Egbert.
EGBERT.
Pardon me, Lady, if I have disturb'd,
With step unwish'd, your evening meditations!
But sure I may, without offence to Heaven,
Draw down your pious thoughts to earth awhile,
To minister to Virtue.

EDITHA.
Egbert! be brief.

EGBERT.
My tale, alas! is ting'd with shame and sorrow;
Sorrow, that I must yield up him to shame,
Whom to behold on Glory's pinnacle,
All that remains to me of health and life
I'd freely spare. I pray you now conduct me
Strait to Lord Edward and the beauteous Countess.

EDITHA.
Lord Edward, and the Countess! Ha! say wherefore?

EGBERT.
A story to divulge, that in their ears
Alone should be repos'd.

EDITHA.
Methinks your errand
Wears a suspicious face; surely its purport
With me may be entrusted.

EGBERT.
Lady, I know
You have been long the Countess's try'd friend,
And that no secret in her breast she locks
From you. This then to you shall be disclos'd,
Though of much weight, and must be chary kept.

EDITHA.
Prithee be quick.—

EGBERT.
Lord Gondibert, not bearing to behold
The much-lov'd Widow of his Noble Brother,
So soon forget his death, and light again
The nuptial torch—discord resolves to shed
Betwixt Lord Edward and his promis'd Bride;
And to this purpose hath fram'd tales that—

EDITHA.
Ha!

EGBERT.
Start not, nor blame too deeply, gentle Lady,
This first, this only error of his life!
When time hath brush'd away the mists of passion,
He'll then rejoice we've sav'd him from an act
Which all his future days would mark with horror.

EDITHA.
With this design did Gondibert trust you?

EGBERT.
Not with the circumstance he means to urge:
I from disjointed converse drew his purpose.
Ere morning dawns he hopes to disunite
The noble Pair.

EDITHA.
So!—this is then your errand?

EGBERT.
This is my errand; to preserve their hearts
From fierce distraction's pangs, when they hear things
That else might shake their faith.

EDITHA.
'Tis well, Old Man!
I will acquaint the Countess with your message,
And bring you, here, her orders.

[Exit.
EGBERT.
Gracious Heaven!
Pardon, if I do break my faith to him,
Whom I am bound to serve! I serve him now.
I drag him from a deep abyss of guilt,
Which all his future days, in deep remorse,
And acts of virtue spent, would hardly purify.
Repentance calls not back the deed it mourns;
And years of penitence will not rase out
The marks that sin hath graved.

Enter Editha, with Servants.
EDITHA.
Seize that Old Traitor,
And instant in the deepest dungeon plunge him.
The Countess orders this.

EGBERT.
Horror! For me?

EDITHA.
For thee; who falsely hast defam'd thy patron,
And stain'd the honour of Lord Gondibert.
Away! nor listen to his prayers.

EGBERT.
Oh, Lady,
Be not so cruel to my hoary years!
Egbert did never cast a stain—

EDITHA.
'Tis false;
For thou, with rude and most unseemly speech,
Didst paraphrase upon the deeds of him
Whose errors should by thee be cloak'd, and screen'd
From mortal eyes. Why stand ye loit'ring thus?
'Tis from your Mistress these commands I bring—
If you obey them not, 'tis at your peril.

EGBERT.
Oh! hear me! hear for the sake of him!—

[They drag him off.
EDITHA.
When fools, like you, will prate, ye must be cag'd;
Lest ye should babble to the gaping world
Of things ye have not pow'rs to comprehend.
To chuse that dotard for a confidant!
Better have told the story at the mart,
Or to the mummers, who infest our halls;
To be by them personify'd, on eves
And holidays. Of his imprisonment
His Lord must not be told. Should he survive
These days of trouble, he shall be releas'd;
Mean time he'll learn discretion.

[Exit.
SCENE, Another part of the Garden.
Enter Egbert, and Servants.
EGBERT.
Oh, wonder not that I should move thus slow,
Toward so sad an home!—If I might plead—

SERVANT.
Master, fear nought! thou shalt taste sleep to-night
More sweet than hers—not in a loathsome dungeon,
But in repose, upon thy downy couch.

EGBERT.
I thank thee; this is kind and christianly.
I fear'd you too were leagu'd for my destruction.

SERVANT.
Didst thou then think I had forgot the hour,
In which from my poor infant eyes you wip'd
The streaming tears—cherish'd my grief-swoln heart,
And plac'd me in Earl Raimond's family—
Wherein to youth and manhood I have grown?
Thou, then, wert my preserver—now, I'm thine.

EGBERT.
In truth, surprise and terror so dismay'd me,
I knew you not; now that I do, I bless you.

SERVANT.
Such orders from the Countess ne'er were given;
But proud Editha's power made it unsafe
To thwart her. In that grotto thou may'st bide
'Till the ev'ning grows more dark—then use this key;
It leads you to the grove. Farewell, good Egbert!

[Exit.
EGBERT.
Farewell, my Friend!—to-morrow, better thanks
I will present thee—Heav'n! 'twas not thy will,
That I should basely perish in my duty.
Forgive me, that my confidence did fail,
And, for a moment, gave me to despair!

[Enter the Grotto.
Enter Gondibert and Editha.
GONDIBERT.

EDITHA.
To your great Brother I indebted stand,
That I have now existence.—'Tis but just,
That I should risk for you, the welfare he bestow'd.

GONDIBERT.
But where is he—this Edward—who hath thrust
'Twixt me, and my felicity, his claim?
Though now thou'rt perch'd upon the giddy wheel,
And thank'st thy fate for such a glorious stand,
Edward, beware! for I will have thee down,
Though thou dost crush me in thy fall! Where is he?

EDITHA.
With Raimond; rioting, perchance, his fancy
On the bright prospect of to-morrow's blessings.

GONDIBERT.
Ne'er shall that morrow come—or, if it doth,
The coursing sun, that lights them to the altar,
Shall finish his diurnal round in blood.

EDITHA.
Try bloodless means—give circumstance and proof.

GONDIBERT.
Aye, stunning proof; such as would shake a faith
Grav'd on the heart, ere its first pulses beat.
No tale, though varnish'd with the deepest skill,
No circumstance, though guided by the hand
Of art, can shade, or for a moment throw
The slightest cloud on Countess Raimond's fame.
But demonstration—demonstration, speaking
To his gross sense! that, Edward! that, shall force thee
To curse the paragon of Nature's works,
And yield thee to thy raptur'd Rival's arms.

EDITHA.
Yet tale and circumstance will have their weight:
They'll mould his mind for the broad proof; which else,
Like arrows striking 'gainst a marble rock,
Will shiver, or rebound. I go to watch
When he retires, and to direct him hither.
Besure you mark each motion of his heart;
Catch ev'ry passion on a barbed hook,
And torture him, 'till he, with agony,
Shall hate her!—

GONDIBERT.
The fierce transports of his rage
May prompt him on the instant to accuse her.

EDITHA.
To counteract his transports be my care.
This lab'ring head, my Lord! hath not so fram'd
The close design, for blund'ring chance to mar.
May we depend upon your servants faith?

GONDIBERT.
They are devoted to my will.

EDITHA.
Enough!
The dress prepar'd you'll find within my closet;
The antichamber enter, at the signal,
And instantly the private stairs descend—
—The rest, kind Fortune to our wishes guide!

[Exit.
GONDIBERT.
Painful the race! but Raimond is the prize!
Ye Beings! who, superior to humanity,
Behold, with supercilious eye, our slidings;
Oh, blame not me, thus tempted, if I yield.
Not Man, but thriftless Nature, be accus'd,
Who to seductions left our minds a prey—
—Nay more, who doth herself ensnare us;
Hath hung us round with senses exquisite,
Hath planted in our hearts resistless passions,
The first to weaken, and the last to war
On poor, defenceless, naked Virtue!
How dark the night! The moon hath hid her head,
As scorning with her lucid beams to gild
This murky business. Thro' umbrageous trees
The whistling Eurus speaks, in hollow murmurs;
And dismal fancy, in yon shadowy ailes,
Might conjure up an hundred phantoms.
How strong th'impression of our dawning years!
The tales of sprites and goblins, that did awe
My infancy, all rush upon my mind,
And, spite of haughty reason, make it shrink.
Who is't approaches?

[Enter Edward.
EDWARD.
Edward.

GONDIBERT.
Gondibert.

EDWARD.
What means this summons, at so late an hour?
I sought you here—sent by the fair Editha,
For the relation of important secrets,
Which to my private ear you mean t'intrust.

GONDIBERT.
Could I intrust them, Edward, to your ear,
Without the poison of the words I utter
Distilling to your heart, I would with boldness
Speak them—

EDWARD.
Surely a tale thus guarded, and hemm'd in
With words so circumspect, must have much weight;
But heavy matters suit not hours like these;
My soul, now banqueting on its felicity,
And all her faculties absorb'd in bliss,
Looks down from an exalted height, and scorns
So low a thought as care—Farewel, my Lord!
You'll be our guest to-morrow—welcome guest,
Upon the happiest morn old Time e'er brought
To supplicating man.

[Going.
GONDIBERT.
I charge thee, stay—thou arrogant of bliss,
My tale perhaps may end in guest forbidding,
In the postponing th'hymeneal feast.

EDWARD.
Sayst thou! postponing th'hymeneal feast?
By heav'n, in the wide circle of events
That possibility may teem with, one
Shall not be found, to make me for a day
Suspend the bliss of calling Raimond mine!

GONDIBERT.
Blind and presumptuous!—
The passing air hath borne away thy vow,
And in its track thy recantation follows.
Edward! Albina never can be thine.
Amazement sits upon thy brow; I swear
That, had the Countess kept her single state,
My ever-cautious tongue had ne'er divulg'd
What it must now reveal—But on the edge
Of sudden ruin, Edward! I behold thee,
And now extend my arm to snatch thee from it.

EDWARD.
Thy words have form'd a chaos in my soul;
Something there lurks beneath their doubtful phrase,
I dread to hear—yet ask thee to unfold.

GONDIBERT.
Then steel your mind, to bear the story's horror.
Call up your fortitude—

EDWARD.
Thou tortur'st me—speak it!

GONDIBERT.
The Widow of my Brother—is a Woman—
Mere Woman—weak Woman; of mould so tender,
It can't resist a Lover's melting plea—
Nor bear so harsh a charge as cruelty.

EDWARD.
Do I not know that she is tender? soft
As dreams of cradled infancy, or note
Of Philome!—whose music in the ear
Of the benighted traveller, makes beams
Of roseate morn unwelcome to his eye.
Why then to me mysteriously descant
Upon her gentleness?

GONDIBERT.
'Cause more than thee,
Her gentleness with healing pity views;
And to benighted Lovers, makes the beams
Of roseate morn unwelcome.

EDWARD.
Villain, thou liest!

[Drawing.
GONDIBERT.
Come, come, this female rage ill suits a soldier.

EDWARD.
Ill suits thy blasphemy, base Coward!

GONDIBERT.
Coward!—
Edward, thou darest not, shalt not, think me Coward.

EDWARD.
Then guard thee, or I'll write it in thy heart!

GONDIBERT.
Hah! come on then, plunge in thy weapon deep;
Besure take heed thou dost not miss the spot,
Where ill-judg'd friendship, in that heart, for Edward,
Tranform'd him into Gondibert's assassin.

EDWARD.
Oh!—

GONDIBERT.
Shrink not; appease your anger with my blood;
Then to Albina, boast of having slain
The man who had unveil'd her to your eyes.
She'll fawn upon thee—cozen thee—and gull thee,
With the fond vows that have in other ears
Shed their sweet poison.

EDWARD.
Should my Father's spirit
From heav'n descend, t'abet thee in this tale,
I'd swear it ly'd.

GONDIBERT.
Nay then, I crave your pardon!
Think it rank falsehood—phantom of my brain;
Raimond was guil'd when he believ'd her naught.
Good-night, my Lord.

[Going.
EDWARD.
Hold! O stay, Gondibert!
Why, what a frame is mine to shake thus! Raimond
Didst say?

GONDIBERT.
Yes—Raimond. But I see too well
You can't support it. Prithee ask no more.

EDWARD.
Nay, but I will ask, though each word you utter
Steals like a chilly poison through my veins,
And binds my blood in frost. Say, did your Brother—
Oh, answer—answer me!—I cannot speak it.

GONDIBERT.
He did; my Brother oft hath call'd her—wanton,
And, in the anguish of his soul, hath curs'd her.
The Roman Julia, he would say, to her
Was chaste, whose loose desires—

EDWARD.
Now thou dost lye.
By Heaven, such purity was never dress'd
In frail mortality. Her govern'd passions
Are the soft zephyrs of a vernal morn,
That breathe their perfume on the blushing rose.

GONDIBERT.
The zephyrs of a vernal morn may swell
To hurricanes—Such undiscerning tumults
Her passions know—This piece of pure mortality!

EDWARD.
Draw, villain!—
Or I will plunge my dagger in thy throat,
And bear thy lying tongue upon its point.

Enter Editha.
EDITHA.
What horrid noise breaks through the sober night?
Shield me!—A naked sword!

GONDIBERT.
You'll not fight
Before a Lady, Sir!—I'th'morning meet me—
Meet me, before the hour the Priest expects thee;
That, at the altar, when thou'lt eager join
Thy chiding Bride, thou may'st atonement make;
And, with the marriage-ring, present the heart—
His bleeding heart, who, with ungentle truths,
To rob her of her Husband—vainly strove.

[Exit.
EDWARD.
Perdition catch thy breath!—
Knew you, Editha, when you sent me hither,
The purport of that villain's tale?

EDITHA.
Your looks
Affright me so, my Lord! Pray sheathe your dagger!
Fain, fain would I escape this dreadful task!
My duty to the Countess binds my tongue—
Excuse me then, my Lord.

EDWARD.
I charge thee speak!
By all the friendship which I bear to thee,
By thy own high regard to truth and honour,
I charge thee, spare me not—tell all, tell all!

EDITHA.
Then I confess me privy to the counsel,
Which Gondibert, to you, design'd to offer;
And for your honour 'twere, that you should heed it.

EDWARD.
Again thou bring'st me back to all my horror.
Dost thou say this, Editha! thou, who know'st
Each secret winding of her heart!

EDITHA.
I do!—
And what I've said, I'll back with proof.

EDWARD.
What proof!

EDITHA.
That if you wed her, you will be undone;
That you will only share Albina's love.
Unfair she deems it, having sov'reign beauty,
To scant its blessings to a single object;
Like the universal sun, she sheds her glories—
—Beaming impartially on all mankind.

EDWARD.
Vile slanderer! yet hold. There have been women,
Whose bosoms with licentious hell have burn'd;
But these were monstrous, and of actions horrible!
These did not wear the hallow'd looks of virtue—
The soul of chasteness breath'd not in their words:
Were Raimond, then, like those—

EDITHA.
Hah, my good Lord!
You know not our deceitful, dang'rous sex!
Those minds imbued by vice, with deepest stains,
Are often mask'd in forms almost divine—
Deck'd forth in words, and looks, that Virtue's self
Might challenge for her own. Such is Albina;
Such did Albina to her Lord appear:
What cause, save that, sent him to Palestine?
Why went he there, for honourable death,
But that her faults did surfeit him of life?

EDWARD.
If this is truth, oh, Truth, be thou accurst!—
—Falsehood's from Heaven—Deceit! wrap me again
In thick impervious folds! Thou busy wretch!
Why rouse me from a lethargy of bliss?
Yet I'll have truth—if thou hast proof, present it;
If not, fly swifter than the lightning's fork,
Lest, like the lightning, I transfix thee! Oh no.
Swear thou art false, I'll twist thee round my heart-strings.

EDITHA.
I will abide the proof. Know that a youth,
Of birth obscure—in mien, a bright Adonis,
Hath long possess'd Albina's secret hours—
—That these last hours, she will devote to him,
And in her chamber you shall see him lodg'd,
When she retires to rest.—

EDWARD.
Nay, now thou weigh'st me down. Oh! oh!

EDITHA.
If it o'ercomes you thus, my Lord, go home.

EDWARD.
Home! I'll go howl in deserts with the wolves,
Forsake society, curse human kind,
But chiefly woman.

EDITHA.
Nay, come with me, my Lord,
I'll lead you to the hall, where you'll observe
The doings of our house.

EDWARD.
Thou art a fiend,
And tempting me to hell.

EDITHA.
Nay then.

EDWARD.
Oh, pardon me!
Conduct me to my woe.

[Exeunt.
Enter Egbert.
EGBERT.
Go, senseless lamb,
And meet the sanguine knife. Oh, merciful!
And is't a Woman I have seen? Woman!
On whom thou hast bestow'd Nature's best feelings,
With nerves of finest tone, to catch each woe,
And strike it on the heart! Oh, I'm asham'd
That I stand kindred, in creation's scale,
With such a being! Haply am I witness
To the base league. Now in the toils, Editha,
Which thou didst spread for me, thyself art fallen.
Thus Heaven doth punish with our own acts,
And makes our crimes our woe.

SCENE, A Hall, with a Stair-case, and Gallery.
Enter Edward and Editha from the Garden.
EDITHA.
Stand here, my Lord. The hour is now arriv'd
In which the Countess usually retires.
Yet, oh, be patient! and I pray behold
With fortitude this sample of her faith,
Which I, alas! unwillingly disclose.

[Exit.
EDWARD.
Now Heaven!—I cannot pray—My sinking heart
Scarce yields me life to breathe; and dizzy images
Before my eyes swim in imperfect shape;
She comes!—
Behold her, Slander!—and withdraw thy shaft.
Her chastity is evident as truth;
It glows, it animates each speaking line
Of her enchanting face.—

Enter Albina, Editha, and Attendants.
EDITHA.
Shall I attend you, Madam, to your chamber?

ALBINA.
Not now, Editha, for you need repose.
Your pensive mind hath suffer'd much since morn,
From the sad image of long past afflictions:
Forget them now, and may sweet sleep attend you!

[Albina ascends the Stairs, and enters her Apartment.
EDWARD.
[Attendants leave the Apartment.]

Editha enters, and flings herself before the Stairs.
EDITHA.
Ah, cease! cease, my Lord—you will undo me!

EDWARD.
I am undone—but I will drag the villain—
I'll tear him from her arms.

[Enter Servants of Gondibert.]
EDITHA.
[They force him off, Editha following.]