University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Frankfort: in the vicinity of which, Conrad meets Alfred, his friend.
Alfred.
Good morning, my noble friend—any news?

Con.
Nothing worth the question.

Alf.
Ah! nothing?
You have been absent for a long time past?
No news? and just from Mexico? 'tis strange!

Con.
Ah! as to that, I have some sort of news.

Alf.
What did you see, worth naming to a friend?
I saw still born liberty swathed in gold!
Saw human laws made highways into crime!
Saw avarice debasing human nature!
And cut the throat of a cut-throat, because
He insulted a lady in my sight!

Alf.
By heavens! worse and worse! thou art the man!
Thou art the man, for me!—when we were boys,
I recollect, you used to take the field.

Con.
Ay—as to that, those days are past and gone!

Alf.
By truth! I thought there was no crime on earth,
Could match that villain's!

Con.
What do you mean?

Alf.
Have you not heard the wide report abroad?
If 'tis not so, then scandal's fast asleep,
And rumor, with her snaky tongue, has found
Some confine in the earth, and buried envy!
When man sets fire the lips of hell, and makes
Black passion stare young virtue in the face,—
Then fix a pivot in thy heart for doubt
To turn on! Didst thou know Alonzo?

Con.
Know him?
Why, Alfred! I know him better than thyself.

Alf.
Did you not know he loved Eudora?

Con.
No.
I think not—never did there live a sweeter.

Alf.
Why? how?—who was she? what is she?

Con.
A maid—
The damsel of the valley—pure as snow—

Alf.
Melted by a summer's sun.

Con.
Do not jest—
'Twould be a dangerous thing.

Alf.
Did you know her?

Con.
I know her? we went to school together.

Alf.
Then, I suppose, you thought her chaste.

Con.
I did:
But not more chaste than she is now, I guess!

Alf.
By heavens! the villain should be burnt alive!
The whitest snow, in falling, may be changed!

Con.
What means this kind o' talk—she is not married?

Alf.
Ah! if t'were so, t'would be as well as 'tis,
But not much better!

Con.
What is it?—tell me?

Alf.
Why, he is blown so high, the birds may build
Their nests in him, before he falls!—she's low!

Con.
What?—taunt me no more with slanderous words!
Come, play the fool no more! I know them both.

Alf.
Then, what I tell thee, I would have thee keep,
As silent as the grave confines the dead!
The gentleman who represents our state—

Con.
Has he committed murder—treason—rape?

Alf.
Yes! all that! as sure as you're a living man!
His passion, not content with earthly things,
Has conjured up his brain—beguiled his heart!
Whereby he ruined the sweetest thing on earth!

Con.
Very well—I'll see you soon again.

Alf.
Stay?
[Disturbed.
Thou art in love!—be not disturbed—'tis vain!

Con.
I do not care! tis' nought to me!—what else?

Alf.
I think thou art my friend! be such to her!
And better still, I know that I am thine;
And 'tis from this strong friendship that I speak.

Con.
Why! tell me what thou knowest about the man?

Alf.
If thou hast courage, learn him honesty.
He made a promise to Eudora, as I heard,
And acted like a traitor in the bargain.

Con.
Ah! if she loved him well, and he deceived her,
Then, the crime falls heavier on his heart—
Than on them both, did both love equally.

Alf.
I understand this thing from good men's mouths.

Con.
What?—it is not so?—it can't be possible?

Alf.
Trees are known by fruits they bear!—spring is come!

Con.
By heaven! I understand ye—you are his friend?

Alf.
I'm no such thing!—I'd rather cut his throat!

Con.
That you had better keep within your mouth.

Alf.
I must be gone—good day!
[Exeunt Alfred.

Con.
Good day, Alfred.
I would not nurture in my soul, one thought,
[Alone.
Which would be hurtful to my fellow man;
And hope, for virtue's sake—for heaven—and love,
Which I have borne so long—that 'tis not so.
I love Eudora! and, a sweeter child,
I never saw deserve a mother's love.
That villain must have used some violent means;
And, if he did, which I shall seek to know,
I'll arm me as a Hydra, full of heads,
And, Argus ey'd, with swift Achilles' speed,
Pursue him, like a bloodhound, day and night,
And finding him, make daylight through his heart!
'Till, draining ev'ry life drop from his veins,
Winter of death shall blow upon his soul,
And freeze up his existence into dust!
Shall I premeditate a brother's death?—
No kinsman of this heart!—think'st thou, this hand,
When wash'd in life's red spring, will not, with joy,
Pluck out the thorn which wounds Eudora's heart?
I would not hurt the heart of mortal man;
I would not wound the feelings of a slave;
I would not trespass on the moral laws,
For that poor, paltry recompense, call'd pride.—
By heaven! I have for man, far nobler views!
And would not wound the sympathies of self.—
[Strikes his heart.
My end and aim, for this, and future life,
Takes root in richer soil than common earth;
But if the chalice of my hopes,—so full
Of pure and perfect love,—be drain'd to dregs;
And I am forced to drink the wormwood left—
By truth! my run-mad heart shall quench its fire.
Look at these hands!—these stainless hands of mine!—
Were they kept clean thus long, to murder man!
To turn a Vulcan—make a human forge,
And point a steel, that has no feeling in it?
And loose the fountain of his mortal life,
'Till ev'ry drop of human gore runs out?
Would'st thou believe, a man, who never saw
A death in all his life!—one, who would weep,
In woman's tears, to see a suffering thing!—
Would'st thou believe that man could sport with human life?—
This is the man—these are the hands shall do 't!
I have authority from higher climes.
And mark! if I have not—I tell thee, there
Are crimes, which, once committed, call for aid,
Which, when bestow'd, would be a crime itself,
We'rt not for such as this—the shedding blood,
As sacrifico, for orphan honour stolen!
Clouding the crystal sea of limpid life—
That unpolluted region of the soul,
In which obscene defilement never sat;—
Now, may heaven give me wings to speed this work.

[Exeunt.