 | The Fatal Falsehood |  |
65
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE, the Garden.Bertrand.
'Twas here we were to meet; where does he stay?
This compound of strange contradicting parts,
Too flexible for virtue, yet too virtuous
To make a glorious, bold, successful villain.
Conscience, be still; preach not remorse to me;
Remorse is for the luckless, failing villain:
He who succeeds repents not; penitence
Is but another name for ill success.
Was Nero penitent when Rome was burnt?
No: but had Nero been a petty villain,
Subject to laws and liable to fear,
Nero perchance had been a penitent.
He comes:—This paper makes him all my own.
Enter Orlando.
Orlando.
At length this wretched, tempest beaten bark
Seems to have found its haven: I'm resolv'd;
My wav'ring principles are fix'd to honour;
My virtue gathers force, my mind grows strong,
I feel an honest confidence within,
A precious earnest of returning peace.
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Who feels secure stands on the verge of ruin.
[Aside.
Trust me it joys my heart to see you thus:
What have I not attempted for your sake!
My love for you has warp'd my honest nature,
And friendship has infring'd on higher duties.
Orlando.
It was a generous fault.
Bertrand.
Yet 'twas a fault.
Oh for a flinty heart that knows no weakness,
But moves right onward, unseduc'd by friendship,
And all the soft affections of the soul!
Orlando.
This is my last farewel; absence alone
Can prop my stagg'ring virtue.
Bertrand.
You're resolv'd:
Then Julia's favours come too late.
Orlando.
What mean'st thou?
Bertrand.
Nay, nothing: I renounce those weak affections
Which have misled us both; I too repent,
And will return the letter back to Julia.
Orlando.
Letter? what letter? Julia write to me?
I will not see it.—What wou'd Rivers say?
Bertrand! he sav'd my life:—I will not see it.
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I do not mean you shou'd; nay I refus'd
To bring it you.
Orlando.
Refus'd to bring the letter?
Bertrand.
Yes, I refus'd at first.
Orlando.
Then thou hast brought it?
My faithful Bertrand!—come.
Bertrand.
'Twere best not to see it.
Orlando.
Not see it? how, not read my Julia's letter?
An empire shou'd not bribe me to forbear.
Come, come.
Bertrand.
Alas how frail is human virtue:
My resolution melts, and tho' I mean not
To trust you with the letter, I must tell you
With what a thousand, thousand charms she gave it.
Take this, said she, and as Orlando reads it,
Attend to every accent of his voice,
Watch every little motion of his eye,
Mark if it sparkles when he talks of Julia,
If when he speaks, poor Julia be the theme,
If when he sighs his bosom heave for Julia;
Note every trifling act, each little look,
For, oh! of what importance is the least
To hapless Julia.
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The delicious poison
Has tainted all my soul! give me the letter.
[Bertrand offers it, Orlando refuses.
Ha! where's the virtue which but now I boasted?
'Tis lost, 'tis gone—conflicting passions tear me.
I am again a villain.—Give it—no;
A spark of honour strikes upon my soul.
Take back the letter; take it back, good Bertrand!
Spite of myself compel me to be just:
I will not read it.
Bertrand.
How your friend will thank you!
Another day makes Julia his for ever.
Even now the great pavilion is prepared,
There will the nuptial rites be solemniz'd,
Julia already dress'd in bridal robes,
Like some fair victim.—
Orlando.
O no more, no more.
What can she write to me?
Bertrand.
Some prudent counsel.
Orlando.
Then wherefore fear to read it? come, I'll venture:
What wondrous harm can one poor letter do?
The letter—quick—the letter.
Bertrand.
Since you force me.
[Gives it.
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Be firm, ye shivering nerves. It is her hand.
[Reads.
“To spare my blushes Bertand brings you this.
How have you wrong'd me! you believed me false;
'Twas my compassion for your friend deceiv'd you.
Meet me at midnight in the great Pavilion;
Till then avoid my presence; from that hour
My future life is your's; your once-lov'd friend
I pity and esteem, but you alone
Possess the heart of Julia.”
This to me!
I dream, I rave, 'tis all Elysium round me,
And thou, my better angel! this to me?
Bertrand.
I'm dumb: oh Julia, what a fall is thine?
Orlando.
What is it such a crime to love? away—
Thy moral comes too late; thou shoud'st have urg'd
Thy caution sooner, or not urg'd at all;
Thou shoud'st—alas! I know not what I say—
But this I know, the charming Julia loves me,
Appoints a meeting at the dead of night!
She loves! The rest is all beneath my care.
Bertrand.
Be circumspect; the hour is just at hand;
Since all is ready for your purpos'd parting,
See your attendants be dispos'd aright,
Near the Pavilion Gate.
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Why so?
Bertrand.
Why so?
Make Julia the companion of your flight;
'Tis what she means, you must not mind her struggles;
A little gentle violence perhaps,
To make her yield to what she had resolv'd,
And save her pride, she'll thank you for it after.
Orlando.
Take her by force? I like not that; O Bertrand,
There is a mutinous spirit in my blood,
That wars against my conscience.—Tell my Julia,
I will not fail to meet her.
Bertrand.
I obey.
Be near the garden; I shall soon return.
[Exit Bertrand.
Orlando.
This giant sin whose bulk so lately scar'd me,
Shrinks to a common size; I now embrace
What I but lately fear'd to look upon.
Why what a progress have I made in guilt!
Where is the hideous form it lately wore?
It grows familiar to me; I can think,
Contrive, and calmly meditate on mischief,
Talk temp'rately of sin, and cherish crimes
I lately so abhorr'd, that had they once
But glanc'd upon the surface of my fancy
I had been terrified. Oh conscience! conscience!
[Exit Orlando.
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Enter Rivers in a melancholy attitude.
Rivers.
Ye dear, ye well known scenes of former bliss!
Scenes which I hop'd were fated to bestow
Still dearer blessings in a beauteous bride!
Thou gay pavilion which art dress'd so fair
To witness my espousals, why, ah! why
Art thou adorn'd in vain? Yet still I court thee,
For Julia lov'd thee once:—dear faithless Julia!
Yet is she false? Orlando swore she was not:
It may be so; yet she avoids my presence,
Keeps close from every eye, but most from mine.
Enter Orlando.
Orlando.
Ha! Rivers here? wou'd I had shunn'd his walks?
How shall I meet the man I mean to wrong?
Rivers.
Why does Orlando thus expose his health
To this cold air?
Orlando.
I ask the same of Rivers?
Rivers.
Because this solitude, this silent hour
Feeds melancholy thoughts, and sooths my soul.
My Julia will not see me.
Orlando.
How?
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She denies me
Admittance to her presence.
Orlando.
[Aside.
Then I'm lost,
Confirm'd a villain, now 'tis plain she loves me.
Rivers.
She will not pardon me this single fault
Of jealous love, tho' thou hadst clear'd up all.
Orlando.
Wait 'till to-morrow, all will then be known.
Rivers.
Wait 'till to-morrow! Look at that pavilion;
All was prepar'd; yes, I dare tell thee all,
For thou art honest now.
Orlando.
[Aside.
That wounds too deeply.
Rivers.
Soon as the midnight bell gave the glad summons,
This dear pavilion had beheld her mine.
Orlando.
All will be well to-morrow.— (Aside.)
—If I stay
I shall betray the whole.—Good night, my Rivers.
Rivers.
Good night; go you to rest; I still shall walk.
[Exit Orlando.
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Yes, I will trace her haunts; my too fond heart
Like a poor bird that's hunted from its nest,
Dares not return, and knows not how to go;
Still it delights to hover round the spot
Which lately held its treasure; eyes it still,
And with heart-breaking tenderness surveys
The scene of joys which never may return.
[Exit.
Scene changes to another Part of the Garden.
Re-enter Orlando.
Orlando.
Did he say rest? talk'd he of rest to me?
Can rest and guilt associate? but no matter,
I cannot now go back; then such a prize
Wou'd make archangels forfeit their allegiance.
I dare not think; reflection leads to madness.
Enter Bertrand.
Bertrand! I was not made for this dark work;
My heart recoils—poor Rivers!
Bertrand.
What of Rivers?
Orlando.
I've seen him.
Bertrand.
Where?
Orlando.
Before the great pavilion.
Bertrand.
(Aside.)
That's lucky, saves me trouble, were he absent,
Half of my scheme had fail'd.
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He's most unhappy;
He wish'd me rest, spoke kindly to me, Bertrand;
How, how can I betray him?
Bertrand.
He deceives you;
He's on the watch, else wherefore now abroad,
At this late hour? beware of treachery.
Orlando.
I am myself a traytor.
Bertrand.
Come, no more,
The time draws near, you know the cypress walk,
'Tis dark.
Orlando.
The fitter for dark deeds like mine.
Bertrand.
I have prepared your men, when the bell strikes
Go into the pavilion; there you'll find
The blushing maid, who with faint screams perhaps
Will feign resentment. But you want a sword.
Orlando.
A sword!—I'll murder no one—why a sword?
Bertrand.
'Tis prudent to be arm'd; no words, take mine;
There may be danger, Julia may be lost,
This night secures or loses her for ever.
The cypress walk—spare none who look like spies.
Orlando.
(Looking at the sword.)
How deeply is that soul involv'd in guilt,
Who does not hold communion with it's thoughts,
Nor ask itself what it designs to do!
[Exit Orlando.
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Thus far propitious fortune fills my sails;
Yet still I doubt his milkiness of soul;
My next exploit must be to find out Rivers,
And, as from Julia, give him a feign'd message,
To come in haste to the pavilion gate;
There shall Orlando's well-arm'd servants meet him,
And take his righteous soul from this bad world;
If they shou'd fail, his honest cousin Bertrand
Will help him onward in his way to heav'n.
Then, this good dagger which I'll leave beside him,
Will, while it proves the deed, conceal the doer;
'Tis not an English instrument of mischief,
And who'll suspect good Bertrand wore a dagger?
To clear me further, I've no sword—unarm'd—
Poor helpless Bertrand! Then no longer poor,
But Guildford's heir, and lord of these fair lands.
[Exit Bertrand.
Enter Orlando on the other side.
Orlando.
Draw thy dun curtain round, oh, night! black night!
Inspirer and concealer of foul crimes!
Thou wizard night! who conjur'st up foul thoughts,
And mak'st him bold who else wou'd start at guilt;
Beneath thy horrid veil he dares to act,
What in broad day he wou'd not dare to think.
Oh, night! thou hid'st the dagger's point from men,
But can'st thou screen th'assassin from himself?
Shut out the eye of heaven? extinguish conscience?
Or heal the wounds of honour? Oh, no, no, no!
Yonder she goes—the guilty, charming Julia!
My genius drives me on—Julia, I come.
[Runs off.
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An arch'd Door, through which Julia and her Maid come forward on the Stage.
Julia.
Not here? not come? look out, my faithful Anna.
There was a time—oh, time for ever dear!
When Rivers wou'd not make his Julia wait.
Perhaps he blames me, thinks the appointment bold,
Too daring, too unlike his bashful Julia;
But 'twas the only means my faithful love
Devis'd to save him from Orlando's rashness.
I have kept close, refus'd to see my Rivers;
Now all is still, and I have ventur'd forth,
With this kind maid, and virtue for my guard.
Come, we'll go in, he cannot sure be long.
[They go into the Pavilion.
Enter Orlando, his sword drawn and bloody, his hair dishevell'd.
Orlando.
What have I done? a deed that earns damnation.
Where shall I fly? Ha! the pavilion door!
'Tis open—it invites me to fresh guilt;
I'll not go in—let that fall'n angel wait,
And curse her stars as I do.
[The midnight Bell strikes.
Hark! the bell!
Demons of darkness, what a peal is that!
Again! 'twill wake the dead—I cannot bear it.
'Tis terrible as the last trumpet's sound!
That was the marriage signal! powers of hell,
What blessings have I blasted! Rivers!—Julia!
[Julia comes out.
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My Rivers calls; I come, I come.—Orlando!
Orlando.
Yes,
Thou beautiful deceiver! 'tis that wretch.
Julia.
That perjur'd friend.
Orlando.
That devil!
Julia.
I'm betray'd.
Why art thou here?
Orlando.
Thou canst make ruin lovely,
Or I wou'd ask, why did'st thou bring me here?
Julia.
I bring thee here?
Orlando.
Yes, thou, bright falsehood! thou.
Julia.
No, by my hopes of heaven! where is my Rivers?
Some crime is meant.
Orlando.
(Catches her hand.)
Julia! the crime is done.
Dost thou not shudder? art thou not amaz'd?
Art thou not cold, and blasted with my touch?
Is not thy blood congeal'd? does no black horror
Fill thy presaging soul? look at these hands;
Julia! they're stain'd with blood; blood, Julia, blood!
Nay, look upon them.
Julia.
Ah! I dare not.—Blood!
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Yes, thou dear false one, with the noblest blood,
That ever stain'd a dark assassin's hand.
Hand not thy letter with the guilty message
To meet thee here this hour, blinded my honour,
And wrought my passion into burning phrenzy,
Whole worlds shou'd not have bribed me.
Julia.
Letter and message?
I sent thee none.
Orlando.
Then Bertrand has betray'd me,
And I have done a deed beyond all reach,
All hope of mercy—I have murder'd Rivers.
Julia.
Oh! (She falls into her maid's arms.)
Orlando.
Here's the reward which love prepar'd for murder!
Thus hell rewards its instruments!
Enter Guildford, with Servants.
Guildford.
Where is he?
Where is this midnight murderer? this assassin?
This is the place Orlando's servant nam'd.
Orlando.
The storm comes on. 'Tis Guildford, good old man!
Behold the wretch accurst of heaven and thee.
Guildford.
Accurst of both indeed. How, Julia fainting?
Orlando.
She's pure as holy truth; she was deceiv'd,
And so was I.
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Who tempted thee to this?
Orlando.
Love, hell, and Bertrand.
Julia.
(Recovering.)
Give me back my Rivers,
I will not live without him.—Oh, my father!
Guildford.
Father! I'm none; I am no more a father;
I have no child; my son is basely murder'd,
And my sweet daughter at the fatal news
Is quite berest of reason.
Orlando.
Seize me, bind me:
If death's too great a mercy let me live:
Drag me to some damp dungeon's horrid gloom,
Deep as the centre, dark as my offences;
Come, do your office, take my sword: oh, Bertrand,
Yet, e'er I perish, cou'd it reach thy heart!
[They seize Orlando.
Julia.
I will not long survive thee, oh, my Rivers.
Enter Rivers with the Dagger.
Rivers.
Who calls on Rivers with a voice so sad,
So full of sweetness?
Guildford.
Ah, my son!
Julia.
'Tis he, 'tis he!
[Julia and Rivers run into each other's arms. Orlando breaks from the guards and falls on his knees.]
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He lives, he lives, the god-like Rivers lives!
Hear it, ye host of heaven! witness ye saints,
Recording angels tell it in your songs,
Breathe it celestial spirits to your lutes,
That Rivers lives!
Julia.
Explain this wonderous happiness.
Rivers.
'Twas Bertrand whom Orlando killed; the traytor
Has with his dying breath confess'd the whole.
Orlando.
Good sword, I thank thee!
Rivers.
In his confusion
Orlando miss'd the path he was to take,
And pass'd thro' that where Bertrand lay conceal'd,
To watch th'event; Orlando thought 'twas me,
And that I play'd him false; the walk was dark.
In Bertrand's bloody hand I found this dagger,
With which he meant to take my life; but how
Were you alarm'd?
Guildford.
One of Orlando's men,
Whom wealth cou'd never bribe to join in murder—
Orlando.
Murder! I bribe to murder?
Rivers.
No, 'twas Bertrand
Brib'd them to that curst deed; he lov'd my sister.
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Exquisite villain!
Guildford.
Fly to Emmelina,
If any spark of reason yet remain,
Tell her the joyful news.—Alas she's here!
Wildly she flies—Ah, my distracted child!
Enter Emmelina distracted.
Emmelina.
Off, off! I will have way! ye shall not hold me:
I come to seek my love; is he not here?
Tell me, ye virgins, have ye seen my love,
Or know you where his flocks repose at noon?
My love is comely—sure you must have seen him,
'Tis the great promiser! he who vows and swears,
In truth he might deceive a wiser maid.
I lov'd him once, he then was innocent,
He was no murderer then, indeed he was not,
He had not killed my brother.
Rivers.
Nor has now;
Thy brother lives.
Emmelina.
I know it—yes, he lives
Among the cherubim. Murd'rers too will live:
But where? I'll tell you where—down, down, down down.
How deep it is! 'tis fathomless—'tis dark!
No—there's a pale blue flame—ah, poor Orlando!
Guildford.
My heart will burst.
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Pierce mine and that will ease it.
Emmelina.
(Comes up to her father.)
I knew a maid who lov'd—but she was mad—
Fond foolish girl! Thank heav'n I am not mad;
Yet the afflicting angel has been with me;
But do not tell my father, he wou'd grieve,
Sweet, good, old man—perhaps he'd weep to hear it:
I never saw my father weep but once,
I'll tell you when it was—I did not weep;
'Twas when—but soft, my brother must not know it,
'Twas when his poor fond daughter was refus'd.
Guildford.
Who can bear this?
Orlando.
I will not live to bear it.
Emmelina.
(Comes up to Orlando.)
Take comfort, thou poor wretch! I'll not appear
Against thee, nor shall Rivers; but blood must,
Blood will appear; there's no concealing blood.
What's that? my brother's ghost—it vanishes;
[Catches hold of Rivers.
Stay, take me with thee, take me to the skies;
I have thee fast; thou shalt not go without me.
But hold—may we not take the murd'rer with us?
That look says no. Why then I'll not go with thee.
Yet hold me fast—'tis dark—I'm lost—I'm gone.
[Dies.
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One crime makes many needful: this day's sin
Blots out a life of virtue. Good old man!
My bosom bleeds for thee; thy child is dead,
And I the cause. 'Tis but a poor atonement,
But I can make no other.
[Stabs himself.
Rivers.
What hast thou done?
Orlando.
Fill'd up the measure of my sins. Oh, mercy!
Eternal goodness pardon this last guilt!
Rivers, thy hand—ah me! farewel! forgive.
[Dies.
[The curtain falls to soft music.
End of the Fifth Act.
| The Fatal Falsehood | |