University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A Cottage in the Country, where Eudora and Elvira live. Conrad enters—goes to the door and knocks; and Elvira comes out.
Con.
Good evening, Elvira!—pleasant evening.

Elv.
Pleasant evening—walk in, and take your rest.

Con.
I have a message for Eudora's self;
And I must see her.—

Elv.
You cannot see her,
I hope you did not come here to insult me?

Con.
I did not—my name is Conrad, tell her so—
That I am of her people, and her land—
I have a present for her.

Elv.
I cannot.
I have retir'd forever from the world,
And would not see the dearest friends on earth!

Con.
I knew that, e'er I came—here, give her this;
[Hands her a letter.
Tell her, that I would speak ten words, at most.

[Goes in to Eudora.
Elv.
Eudora begs me to inform you that
She must refuse; and bade me give you this—

[Hands him a book.
Con.
By heaven! I came to see Eudora's face,
And I must do 't—excuse me, ladye!
I am Eudora's friend—a trusty friend.

Elv.
Are you a madman?—get you gone—I say
She will not see thee!

Con.
Tell her o'er again—
Ask her if I can see her on to-morrow?
Give her these jewels,—and bid her keep them,
For the love the giver bears her—take them.
[Takes them and goes in.
(Alone)
The sun is fulgent, and his sheeny light,
By God's strong alchemy, transmutes the day—
What harmonious wo is that which stirs
The fountain of my soul, and jars the strings,
Which vibrate in my heart?—'tis sweet as sad!—
Oh! how it settles in the tenderness of pride,
Waving upon life's atmosphere of love!
Ah! 'tis the dove—an emblem of her virtue.
That is another witness nature gives,
Which proves how much her innocence was wrong'd!
The spirits of the world, are all at war,
And nature mourns—the morn and evening weeps!—
By truth! I will not go—I cannot go!
The fountains of my heart are wont to gush,
And I must burst, or give existence vent.
I will—I will behold Eudora's face!
I'll see if she be chang'd since first we met.
I'll watch the mirror of her soul, and trace
The outlines of primeval joy—sweet hours!
When tears were lost in smiles, as morning haze
In sunshine. Has she forgot my name?—no.
I'll tell her, like a man, and make her smile.

[Goes to the door and knocks, and Eudora comes out.
Con.
Art thou Eudora? Oh! Eudora! come—

[Refuses to go to him, and he weeps.
Eud.
What mean you, Conrad?—speak, that I may know?
Thou look'st like playtime, in my early youth;
When I was that, I ne'er shall be again!

[Weeps.
Con.
Dost thou remember those clear streams of ours,
Where we have heard the sweet melodious birds?
That plenitude of bliss is gone, Eudora!
One month ago, and I was far from thee—
But I could not remain—my soul was full!

[Weeps.
Eud.
Conrad! thou art distressed?

Con.
I am, Eudora!
But love and tenderness forbid me tell it.

Eud.
Speak, Conrad! mother knew thee not—thou hadst
Been welcome, had she known thy manly face.

Con.
That lonely hut—and was that built for thee?

[Points at it.
Con.
Yes, for me!—a villain drove—

[Weeps.
Eud.
Name it not—I will not hear it?

[With anger.
Eud.
Soft, soft!

Con.
Oh! Eudora! didst thou not know I lov'd thee?

Eud.
No, Conrad! that I cannot know—I'll think!

Con.
Think not—Eudora! dost thou see yon sun,
Shedding its beauty on the world? yon hills?—
Yon canopy of deathless blue?—enthroned
Above the universe, without a frown?
Now, if thou dost, thou seest I love thee well!
For I am but a spark of that great light—
A satellite discerption of the heavens!
I know the reason that thou lingerest here.

Eud.
How plainly do I see those eyes of youth,
Beaming with love, as when an active child!
I lov'd them then—why was I led away?—
[Weeps.
And now, in this sad day, I feel that love—
A something, which I would, but can't define.

Con.
Why live, Eudora! from the world?—from man?

Eud.
Why wound me with recurrences so keen?
When heaven dislikes to hear them?—say no more!
My soul is full of sorrow, and my heart
Is crush'd beneath the mountain of my woes!
Oh! my father! were he living!—were he here!—
But he is gone!—yea, dead and in his grave!
I feel the tide of indignation rushing
Back upon me—till a monument stands
Up, and points to heaven—Ah! tis sorrow's pangs! [Weeps.


Con.
Oh! Eudora! give me thy hand—be mine?
A better heart ne'er warm'd a human breast.

Eud.
Never—never—though I lov'd thee as my life!
Would I forswear myself? I've done it once!
I'll never do 't again—I never did!

[Weeps and falls in his arms.
Con.
What hast thou sworn, Eudora? tell me, love!

Eud.
Not to bequeath this heart to mortal man,
Until my woes are baptiz'd in his blood!
And wash'd from hell's most spurious counterfeit.

Con.
Then we are sworn alike—give me thy hand?
[She refuses.
You see this face of mine—you see this dagger;
[Shows it.
This is my young companion—I am thine!
Now, we can all be friends—give me thy hand?

Eud.
Not till I hear thee swear, and look to heaven!

Con.
By heavens! I will not—'twas that villain's prayer!

Eud.
Yes, that it was; may heaven defend thy love!—
[Falls on his breast.
Then “swear not by the heavens—it is God's throne!
Nor by the earth,” my love, “for 'tis his footstool!”
But swear by comfort here, and life to come.

Con.
I swear by comfort here, and heaven to come,
[Kneels,
That, with thy hand, as gift of estimation—
As truly shall this earth receive his blood.

Eud.
Then it is thine, and I am thine,—mine all;
[Gives her hand.
But never will I marry mortal man,
'Till he turn priest, and wed him unto death!

Con.
'Tis said—'tis done, as sure as said—I will
Not sleep—'I'll not lie down upon my bed,
Until I place this birthright in his heart,
And send him, with the legacy, to hell!

Eud.
Be not too rash—the thing should be well done!
And mind, you leave no spark behind—but tramp
The embers, ere you quit him, into ashes!—
For fear, one breath may blow him back his soul,
And kindle life again—he has a wife!
And I am sorry for her!

Con.
And so am I—she never did me harm;
And I am sorry for his children—child!— [Looks at Eudora.


Eud.
Oh! heavens! forgive me, Conrad!—name it not!—

[Weeps.
Con.
Thou hast a child, Eudora! I know it all—
I will restore thee to thyself again.
That child shall be no orphan, like thyself!—
She shall be rear'd and taught beneath my roof.

Eud.
Oh! Conrad! thou wer't sent to heal this wound.

Con.
What?—thou did'st love the villain?—let him die!

[Draws his dagger.
Eud.
Oh! Conrad! forgive me!

Con.
Forgive you, what?
Because you lov'd him?—that needs no forgiveness!—
The thing forgives itself, and heaps up hell
Against his guilt—the wrath of man and heaven!
I love the better—hate his crime the more—
To know thou wer't so kind, and he betray thee.

Eud.
Then, drag him from the world!—he is that curtain,
Shading life, which shuts out sunshine from my soul!
But tear the wolf-skin from his back, and throw
It to the dogs—Eudora lives once more!—
This hand and heart shall then be thine—thine own.

Con.
These hands shall wash thy name as white as snow.

Eud.
I would not chronicle my name on earth,
But have my virtue written in the skies.

Con.
You would not have me kill him in the night?—
Let me fight him like a man,—face to face.
Cowards seek their prey by night, like wolves—
I am no fox—I'll weigh his chance with mine.

Eud.
Fight with a traitor'—give him chance to kill thee?
He may possess the muscle, nerve and strength—
All that—and still not have a human soul!
The ox hath power—a stubborn, ignorant thing.
Would'st thou be balanc'd with an ignorant ox?
Man's reason, once debas'd, falls short of instinct;
Therefore, secure him in the night—a dungeon night!
And raise the flood-gates of his treacherous heart,
And let the rivers of his life run back
To dust—the elements from which they came.

[Goes into the cottage.
Con.
Then, I must be as yon eternal sun—
Fix'd and immovable—hard as adamant;
And steadfast as the pillars of this world.
What care I for this golden trophy, here,
Call'd honour?—silver opinions?—night! night!
Shall hide me from the sophistry of men;
And make this unsophisticated heart,
A chaplet for Eudora and mankind.
She has become like Israel's increase,
Needs the strength of such an honest arm,
To roll this mountain from her tender heart—!
To morrow, I shall see him for the last.

[Eudora returns.
Eud.
Be careful, Conrad! he may kill thee first!
And when thou dost return, oh! I will love thee!
And all my life shall be to nurse and praise thee!
And wash thy bloody hands with tears of joy.

Con.
Sweet ladye! sweetener of all love,—my joy—
Oh! what would I not do to please thee?—die!
I'd die without a pang to see thee smile.

Eud.
Take care! lest he betray thee unto death!
Oh! then, this life would be a tenfold curse!
Steal on him, Conrad! when he's in his office—
Tell him you're his friend, and wish to see him!

Con.
I am his friend—I am to do that man
A most immortal good! I am to rid
Him of a burthen, which I would not wear,
For all Golconda's mines—I am to prune
His sucker'd conscience,—which is wasting down
His substance, into pigmy degradation;—
Methinks he should be thankful in the grave!

Eud.
He would not face thee, for his weight in gold.

Con.
Why not, Eudora?

Eud.
Oh! he's such a coward!
The most notorious coward in this world.
Who ever saw a foe to virtue brave,
And not indict a blush to hide his shame?
Find him out, but call Eudora's name!
And thou can'st do, with him, just what you please.
Tell him, Eudora lov'd him—then, you smile;
Then mark the cloud which overhangs his brow!
Fire his expectation—then say, 'tis peace.
Then, ask him if he do not think me pure?
Then read self-condemnation on his cheeks!
Make him acknowledge how he serv'd my mother—
Then note the quiver of his lying lips!
Ask him if he does not deserve to die?
And mark how prostrate he will fall before thee!—
Howling for mercy, like a beaten dog.
Ask him all this—and tell me what he says.
I would not have you see his wife—she's kind!
And would not do her wrong—she calls him dear!
But, if she knew his heart as well as I,
She'd not refuse to be our accessary.

Con.
Now, out of two fond hearts, we make but one.
Like two sweet notes from one melodious string,
We make our music on a human harp.

Eud.
Take care, Conrad! be not rash!—mind, my love!
But weigh ambition in the scales of patience.
Go, like Ulysses, in a cloak—well arm'd—

Con.
One kiss, Eudora! and the work is done—
[Kisses her.
Farewell! I hate that word! it makes me wish
[Shakes hands
Myself with thee again—then, fare thee well!

Eud.
Farewell, and I will wait—mind what I told thee.

[Exeunt omnes.