 | The Fatal Falsehood |  |
46
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE, an Apartment.Emmelina.
How many ways there are of being wretched!
The avenues to happiness how few!
When will this busy, fluttering heart be still?
When will it cease to feel, and beat no more?
Ev'n now it shudders with a dire presage
Of something terrible it fears to know.
Ent'ring, I saw my venerable father,
In earnest conference with the Count Orlando;
Shame and confusion fill'd Orlando's eye,
While stern resentment fir'd my father's cheek.
And look, he comes, with terror on his brow!
He sees me, he beholds his child, and now
The terror of his look is lost in love,
In fond, paternal love.
Enter Guildford.
Guildford.
Come to my arms,
And there conceal, that sweet, that asking eye,
Lest it shou'd read what I wou'd hide for ever,
Wou'd hide from all, but most wou'd hide from thee,
Thy father's grief, his shame, his rage, his tears.
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Tears! heaven and earth! behold my father weeps!
Guildford.
He who has drawn this sorrow from my eyes,
Shall pay me back again in tears of blood.
'Tis for thy sake, my child.
Emmelina.
For me, for me?
Hear, heaven, and judge; hear, heaven, and punish me!
If any crime of mine—
Guildford.
Thou art all innocence,
Just what a parent's fondest wish wou'd frame;
No fault of thine e'er stain'd thy father's cheek,
For if I blush'd it was to hear thy virtues,
And think that thou wast mine; and if I wept
It was from joy and gratitude to heaven,
That made me father of a child like thee.
Orlando!—
Emmelina.
What of him?
Guildford.
I cannot tell thee;
An honest shame, a virtuous pride forbids.
Emmelina.
Speak.
Guildford.
Canst thou not guess and spare thy father?
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Perhaps—perhaps I can—and yet I will not:
Tell me the worst while I have sense to hear.
Thou wilt not speak—nay never turn away;
Dost thou not know that fear is worse than grief?
There may be bounds to grief, fear knows no bounds;
“In grief we know the worst of what we feel,
“But who can tell the end of what we fear?”
Grief mourns some sorrow past, and therefore known,
But fear runs wild with horrible conjecture.
Guildford.
Then hear the worst, and arm thy soul to bear it.
He has—he has—Orlando has refused thee.
Emmelina.
(After a long pause.)
'Tis well—'tis very well—'tis as it shou'd be.
Guildford.
Oh, there's an eloquence in that mute woe,
Which mocks all language. Speak, relieve thy heart,
Thy bursting heart; thy father cannot bear it.
Am I a man? no more of this, fond eyes!
I am grown weaker than a chidden infant,
While not a sigh escapes to tell thy pain.
Emmelina.
See, I am calm; I do not shed a tear;
The warrior weeps, the woman is a hero!
Guildford.
(Embraces her.)
My glorious child! now thou art mine indeed!
Forgive me, if I thought thee fond and weak.
I have a Roman matron for my daughter,
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For oh! I know thy tenderness of soul,
I fear this silent anguish but portends
Some dread convulsion fatal to thy peace.
Emmelina.
I will not shame thy blood; and yet, my father
Methinks thy daughter shou'd not be refus'd?
Refus'd? It has a harsh, ungrateful sound;
Thou shoud'st have found a softer term; refus'd?
And have I then been held so cheap? Refus'd?
Been treated like the light ones of my sex,
Held up to sale? been offer'd, and refus'd?
Guildford.
Long have I known thy love, I thought it mutual;
To spare thy blushes met the Count—
Emmelina.
No more:
I am content to know I am rejected;
But save my pride the mortifying tale,
Spare me particulars of how, and when,
And do not parcel out thy daughter's shame.
No flowers of rhetoric, no arts of speech
Can change the fact—Orlando has refus'd me.
Guildford.
He shall repent this outrage.
Emmelina.
Think no more on't:
I'll teach thee how to bear it; I'll grow proud,
As gentle spirits still are apt to do
When cruel slight, or killing scorn falls on them.
Come virgin dignity, come female pride,
Come wounded modesty, come slighted love,
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Support me, arm me, fill me with my wrongs!
Sustain this feeble spirit!—But for thee,
But for thy sake, my dear, fond, injur'd father,
I think I cou'd have borne it.
Guildford.
Thou hast a brother;
He shall assert thy cause.
Emmelina.
First strike me dead!
No, in the wild distraction of my spirit,
This mad, conflicting tumult of my soul,
Hear my fond pleading—save me from that curse;
Thus I adjure thee by the dearest ties,
[Kneels.
Which link society; by the sweet names
Of Parent and of Child; by all the joys
These tender claims have yielded, I adjure thee
Breathe not this fatal secret to my brother;
Oh tell him not his sister was refus'd,
That were consummate woe, full, perfect ruin!
I cannot speak the rest, but thou can'st guess it
And tremble to become a childless father.
[Exit Emmelina.
Guildford.
What art thou, Life! thou lying vanity!
Thou promiser, who never mean'st to pay!
Yet let me not complain; I have a son,
Just such a son as heaven in mercy gives,
When it wou'd bless supremely; he is happy;
His ardent wishes will this day be crown'd,
He weds the maid he loves; in him, at least,
My soul will taste felicity.—He's here;
He seems disorder'd.
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[Not seeing Guildford.
Rivers.
Yes, I fondly thought
Not all the tales which malice might devise,
Not all the leagues combined hell might form
Cou'd shake her steady soul.
Guildford.
What means my son?
Where is thy bride?
Rivers.
O name her not.
Guildford.
Not name her?
Rivers.
No: if possible, not think of her,
Wou'd I cou'd help it:—Julia! oh my Julia!
Curse my fond tongue! I said I wou'd not name her;
I did not think to do it, but my heart
Is full of her idea; her lov'd image
Fills all my soul, and shuts out other thoughts;
My lips enamour'd of the darling sound,
Dwell on her name, and all my talk is Julia.
Guildford.
'Tis as it should be; e'er the midnight bell
Sound in thy raptur'd ear, this charming Julia
Will be thy wife.
Rivers.
No.
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How?
Rivers.
She has refus'd.
Guildford.
Say'st thou?
Rivers.
She has.
Guildford.
Why who wou'd be a father!
Who that cou'd guess the wretchedness it brings,
But wou'd entreat of heaven to write him childless?
Rivers.
'Twas but a little hour ago we parted,
As happy lovers shou'd; but when again
I sought her presence, with impatient haste,
Told her the priest, the altar, all was ready,
She blush'd, she wept, and vow'd it cou'd not be;
That reasons of importance to our peace
Forbad the nuptial rites to be perform'd
Before to-morrow.
Guildford.
She consents to-morrow?
She but defers the marriage, not declines it.
Rivers.
Mere subterfuge! mere female artifice!
What reason shou'd forbid our instant union?
Wherefore to-morrow? wherefore not to-night?
What difference cou'd a few short hours have made?
Or if they cou'd, why not avow the cause?
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I have grown old in camps, have liv'd in courts;
The toils of bright ambition have I known,
Woo'd greatness and enjoy'd it, till disgust
Follow'd possession; still I fondly look'd
Beyond the present pain for distant joy,
Look'd for the hour of honourable ease
When, safe from all the storms and wrecks of fate,
My shatter'd bark at rest, I might enjoy
An old man's blessings, liberty and leisure,
Domestic happiness, and smiling peace.
The hour of age is come! I feel it here,
Its sorrows, pains, infirmities and cares,
But where, oh where's th'untasted peace it promis'd?
[Exit Guildford.
Rivers.
I wou'd not deeper wound my father's peace
By telling him the cause of my resentment.
I must seek further; yet I know too much.
It must be so—his grief, his sudden parting:
Fool that I was, not to perceive at once—
But friendship blinded me, and love betray'd.
Bertrand was right, he told me she was chang'd,
And wou'd, on some pretence, delay the marriage.
I hop'd 'twas malice all.—Yonder she comes,
Dissolv'd in tears; I cannot see them fall,
And be a man; I will not, dare not meet her,
Her blandishments wou'd sooth me to false peace,
And if she ask'd it, I shou'd pardon all.
[Exit.
54
Julia.
Stay, Rivers, stay, barbarian! hear me speak;
Return, inhuman!—best belov'd! return,
Oh! I will tell thee all, restore thy peace,
Kneel at thy feet, and sue for thy forgiveness.
He hears me not—alas! he will not hear.
Break, thou poor heart, since Rivers is unkind.
Enter Orlando.
Orlando.
Julia in tears?
Julia.
Alas! you have undone me?
Behold the wretched victim of her promise?
I urg'd, at your request, the fatal suit
Which has destroy'd my peace; Rivers suspects me,
And I am wretched.
Orlando.
Better 'tis to weep
A temporary ill, than weep forever;
That anguish must be mine.
Julia.
Ha! weep for ever?
Can they know wretchedness who know not love?
Orlando.
Not love! oh, cruel friendship! tyrant honour!
Julia.
Friendship! alas, how cold is that to love!
55
Too well I know it; both alike destroy me,
I am the slave of both, and more than either
The slave of honour.
Julia.
If you then have felt
The bitter agonies—
Orlando.
Talk you of agonies?
You who are lov'd again? oh, they are mine,
The pangs, the agonies of hopeless passion,
Yes, I do love—I doat, I die for love.
Julia.
I understand you—Emmelina!
Orlando.
(Falls at her feet.)
Julia!
Julia.
How?
Orlando.
Nay never start—I know I am a villain;
I know thy hand is destin'd to another,
That other is my friend, that friend the man
To whom I owe my life. Yes, I adore thee;
Spite of the black ingratitude adore thee;
I doat upon my friend, and yet betray him,
I'm bound to Emmelina, yet forsake her,
I honour virtue while I follow guilt,
I love the noble Rivers more than life,
But Julia more than honour.
Julia.
Hold? astonishment
Has seal'd my lips; whence sprung monstrous daring?
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(Rises.)
From despair.
Julia.
What can you hope from me?
Orlando.
Death! I nor hope, nor look for aught but death.
Think'st thou I need reproof? think'st thou I need
To be reminded that my love's a crime?
That every moral tie forbids my passion,
And angry heaven will show'r it's vengeance on me?
But mark—I do not, will not, can't repent;
I do not even wish to love thee less;
I glory in my crime. Come, crown my misery,
Triumph, exult in thy pernicious beauty,
Then stab me with the praises of my rival,
The man on earth—whom most I ought to love.
Julia.
I leave thee to remorse, and to that penitence
Thy crime demands. (Going.)
Orlando.
A moment stay.
Julia.
I dare not.
Orlando.
Hear all my rival's worth, and all my guilt.
The unsuspecting Rivers sent me to thee,
To plead his cause; I basely broke my trust,
And, like a villain, pleaded for myself.
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Did he? Did Rivers? Then he loves me still—
Quick let me seek him out.
Orlando.
(Takes out the dagger.)
First take this dagger,
Had you not forc'd it from my hand to-day,
I had not liv'd to know this guilty moment:
Take it, present it to the happy Rivers,
Tell him to plunge it in a traytor's heart,
Tell him his friend, Orlando, is that traytor,
“Tell him Orlando forg'd the guilty tale,
“Tell him Orlando is the only foe,”
Who at the altar wou'd have murder'd Rivers,
And then have died himself.
Julia.
Farewel—repent—think better.
[Exit Julia.
[As she goes out, he still looks after her.
Enter Rivers.
Rivers.
Turn, villain, turn.
Orlando.
Ha! Rivers here?
Rivers.
Yes, Rivers.
Orlando.
Gape wide, thou friendly earth, for ever hide me,
Rise Alps, ye crushing mountains bury me.
58
Nay, turn, look on me.
Orlando.
Rivers! oh, I cannot,
I dare not, I have wrong'd thee.
Rivers.
Doubly wrong'd me;
Thy complicated crimes cry out for vengeance.
Orlando.
Take it.
Rivers.
But I wou'd take it as a man.
Draw.
[Rivers Draws.
Orlando.
Not for a thousand worlds.
Rivers.
Not fight?
Why thou'rt a coward too as well as villain:
I shall despise as well as hate thee.
Orlando.
Do;
Yet wrong me not, for if I am a coward
'Tis but to thee; there does not breathe the man,
Thyself excepted, who durst call me so
And live; but, oh! 'tis sure to heaven and thee,
I am the veriest coward guilt e'er made.
Now as thou art a man revenge thyself;
Strike!
Rivers.
No, not stab thee like a base assassin,
But meet thee as a foe.
59
Think of thy wrongs.
Rivers.
I feel them here.
Orlando.
Think of my treachery.
Rivers.
Oh, wherefore wast thou false? how have I lov'd thee!
Orlando.
Of that no more: think of thy father's grief,
Of Emmelina's wrongs—
Rivers.
Provoke me not.
Orlando.
Of Julia—
Rivers.
Ha! I shall forget my honour,
And do a brutal violence upon thee,
Wou'd tarnish my fair fame. Villain, and coward!
Traytor! will nothing rouse thee.
Orlando.
(Drawing.)
Swelling heart!
Yet this I have deserv'd, all this, and more.
As they prepare to fight, enter Emmelina hastily.
Emmelina.
Lend me your swiftness lightnings—'tis too late.
See they're engag'd—oh no—they live, both live.
Hold, cruel men!
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Unlucky! 'tis my sister.
Emmelina.
Ye men of blood! if yet you have not lost,
All sense of human kindness, all compassion,
If ever you were dear to one another,
If ever you desire or look for mercy,
When in the wild extremity of anguish,
You supplicate that judge who has declared
That vengeance is his own—Oh, hear me now,
Hear a fond wretch whom misery has made bold,
Spare, spare each other's life—spare your own souls.
Orlando.
(To Rivers.)
Why has thy lagging vengeance been so slow?
Emmelina.
Does death want engines? is his power grown weak?
“Has fell disease forgotten to destroy?”
Are there not pestilence, and spotted plagues?
Devouring deluges, consuming fires,
Earthquakes, and hurricanes, and haggard famine,
That man must perish by the hand of man,
Nay, to complete the horror, friend by friend?
Rivers.
What! shall I then endure this outrage tamely?
Is honour nothing?
Emmelina.
Honour! 'tis a phantom,
Who having nothing solid in himself,
Decks his thin form in the bright robe of virtue:
Honour! I know him well, 'tis the fell demon
Who feeds on orphans tears, and widows groans,
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“Tis the arch-fiend's prime instrument of mischief,
“His grand device to people his dark realms
“With noble spirits, who but for this curst honour
“Had been at peace on earth, or bless'd in heaven.”
With this false honour Christians have no commerce,
Religion disavows, and truth disowns it.
Orlando.
(Throws away his sword.)
An angel speaks, and angels claim obedience.
Rivers.
(To Orlando.)
This is the heart thou hast wrong'd.
Emmelina.
(Comes up to Orlando.)
I pity thee;
Calamity has taught me how to pity;
Before I knew distress my heart was hard,
But now it melts at every touch of woe.
“Baneful prosperity corrupts the heart,
“But wholesome sufferings bring it back to virtue;
Rivers, he once was good and just like thee;
Who shall be proud and think he stands secure,
If thy Orlando's false?
Rivers.
Think of his crime.
Emmelina.
Oh, think of his temptation! think 'twas Julia;
Thy heart cou'd not resist her, how shou'd his?
It is the very error of his friendship;
Your souls were fram'd so very much alike,
He cou'd not chuse but love whom Rivers lov'd.
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Think'st thou there is in death a pang like this?
Strike, my brave friend, be sudden and be silent.
Death, which is terrible to happy men,
To me will be a blessing; I have lost
All that cou'd make life dear; I've lost my friend,
I've stab'd the peace of mind of that fair creature,
I have surviv'd my honour; this is dying!
The mournful fondness of officious love
Will plant no thorns upon my dying pillow,
No precious tears embalm my memory,
But curses follow it.
Emmelina.
See Rivers melts;
He pities thee.
Orlando.
I'll spare thy noble heart
The pain of punishing; Orlando's self
Revenges both.
[Goes to stab himself with the dagger.
Emmelina.
Barbarian! kill me first.
Rivers.
(Snatching the dagger.
Thou shalt not die, I swear I love thee still;
That secret sympathy which long has bound us,
Pleads for thy life with sweet but strong intreaty.
Thou shalt repair the wrongs of that dear saint,
And be again my friend.
Orlando.
Oh, hear me.
Emmelina.
No.
I cannot stoop to live on charity,
63
I've been a weak, a fond, believing woman,
Easy, 'tis true, beyond my sexes softness,
But with a woman's weakness, I've her pride;
I lov'd with virtue, yet I fondly lov'd;
That passion fix'd my fate, determin'd all,
And stain'd the colour of my life with woe.
Hearts that love well, love long, they love but once.
My peace thou hast destroy'd, my honour's mine:
She who aspir'd to gain Orlando's heart,
Shall never owe Orlando's hand to pity.
[Exit Emmelina.
Orlando.
(After a pause.)
And I still live!
Rivers.
Farewel! shou'd I stay longer
I might forget my vow.
Orlando.
Yet hear me, Rivers.
[Exit Rivers, Orlando following.
Enter Bertrand on the other side.
Bertrand.
How's this? my fortune fails me, both alive!
I thought by stirring Rivers to this quarrel,
There was at least an equal chance against him.
I work invisible, and like the tempter,
My agency is seen in its effects.
Well, honest Bertrand! now for Julia's letter.
[Takes out a letter.
This fond epistle of a love-sick maid,
I've sworn to give, but did not swear to whom.
Give it my love, said she, my dearest lord:
Rivers she meant; there's no address—that's lucky.
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As well as Rivers, loves her too as well.
[Breaks open the letter.
I must admire your stile—your pardon, fair one.
[Runs over it.
Do I not tread in air, and walk on stars?
There's not a word but fits Orlando's case
As well as Rivers';—tender to excess—
No name—'twill do; his faith in me is boundless;
Then, as the brave are still, he's unsuspecting,
And credulous beyond a woman's weakness.
[Going out he spies the dagger.
Orlando's dagger—ha! 'tis greatly thought.
This may do noble service; such a scheme!
My genius catches fire! the bright idea
Is form'd at once, and fit for glorious action.
[Exit.
End of the Fourth Act.
| The Fatal Falsehood | |