 | Osbern and Ursyne |  |
72
ACT III
SCENE I
Scene: The same as Act II. As curtain rises, Eadric comes out of the chapel, goes to the table where he had been sitting before, and sits there plunged in thought. A faint murmuring may be heard of the prayers in the chapel. This may last for two minutes, then the household come out of the chapel and pass up the stairs. Muriel, Jacqueline, and Blanche run across, followed by some men. Cecily and Henry are last.CECILY.
Canst catch me, Henry?
HENRY.
If I wished I could. Women are easily caught.
CECILY.
Yes, they are full of kindness.
73
But they are better loved when they are less kind.
CECILY.
True, for man is such a reptile of ingratitude
that he can only give love with cheerfulness
where it is not wanted.
HENRY.
Dost doubt my love for thee, Cecily?
CECILY.
Nay, for I abhor—detest, loathe and repudiate
thee, therefore thou must love me for
ever. There's no cure either way. We may
make a happy marriage yet!
[She rushes past him up the stairs, and he follows her amid laughter from the other girls. Eadric, as the household comes out, has stood aside. Arlette now comes out and looks round to see if they are overheard before she speaks to him.
ARLETTE.
And must you go? O, is't good-bye between us?
74
I cried to think such sorrow ever was.
EADRIC.
And shall you be Carliol's happy wife?
ARLETTE.
I am his wife, for I am bound to him.
EADRIC.
But you love me?
ARLETTE.
Yes, so I bid thee go.
I'll take my memory from its broken frame
And give it up to God. I shall not think of thee,
For, when I may, it will mean I love thee not.
Now leave my soul, my heart, my mind, my sight
While I can say good-bye and hear thee answer. ...
EADRIC.
Arlette!
ARLETTE.
Eadric!
EADRIC.
Yet he will call thee Arlette
75
There's much for men to do, yet, when all's done,
All's said, all planned, all's thought, there still is much
That men have to forget. And this is hardest
Of all his labour underneath the sun.
Farewell, sweet Arlette, now an end is come
To time and words! All that remains is life.
[He kisses her hand; she unbars the door and lets him out. She leans against the doorpost and seems stunned with grief. Ursyne and Count Geoffrey come out of the chapel.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
I take it ill. There will be talk of this!
And an example of indifference
To Heaven's bounty. I fear lest swift rebuke
Is near upon him. He should have joined us.
[Ursyne, during this speech, has been looking down the stage to where she left Carliol; she now gives a piercing shriek, and throws herself upon her father, covering her eyes.
76
O, I see forms and horrid spectres raised
To drive me mad!
COUNT GEOFFREY.
How now, what ails thee, Ursyne!
There are no spectres. This is some sudden sickness.
Look up, look well, defy these childish fears!
[Ursyne looks again, and this time seems petrified with terror. Geoffrey follows the direction of her gaze, and observes in the darkness the form of Carliol on the floor.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
[With a laugh.]
'Tis Alan drunk again. Ho! there—a torch!
Discipline at these times is hard maintained.
A torch, I say!
URSYNE.
[Slowly.]
Then, dost thou see it too?
[She leaves him and glides down to the body, kneels and lifts the head.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
[Going up and out, calling.]
Ho! there—a torch!
77
ARLETTE.
But there is blood upon him—see—there is blood!
URSYNE.
[Slowly.]
This wound cannot be stanched—he hath been dead
A little while.
[After a long pause.
Who hath done this, Arlette?
ARLETTE.
How should I know, Ursyne?
URSYNE.
This is base murder.
ARLETTE.
Hath he an enemy?
URSYNE.
Thou couldst answer that.
78
Indeed, there's no one who would hate Carliol.
URSYNE.
Oh, crowning falsehood! Cast no thorns in mine eyes!
ARLETTE.
What meanest thou by these harsh blamable words?
His very enemies praised him.
URSYNE.
A bad sign.
An enemy's praise heralds all treachery,
And grows the sweeter as revenge looks surer!
Who praised him last?
ARLETTE.
All truly praised him always!
URSYNE.
My life for yours if this crime hath no punishment!
I could have pardoned much hadst thou not lied.
But to stand there with innocent, startled face
As though some eagle had thee in his claw,
79
Deceit past our conception and all credence—
That fear would rather be for honest eagle,
Who touched a thing so stuffed with perfidy!
Think of the name thou never utterest!
ARLETTE.
[With a cry of horror as though a sudden suspicion struck her.
Eadric!
[Then hastily covers her face with her hands.
URSYNE.
[Laughing.]
Had Eadric cause to work Carliol harm?
Say—had he cause, urged on by thy white evil
To plot and execute this coward's thrust?
[Gazing down on Carliol.
Death never gathered pain from face more tranquil.
No fearfulness is here. This filthy world
Has ta'en its cruellest tax.
[Kisses the brow.
I'll come again.
[She rises, quits the body, and goes towards Arlette.
80
The vengeance that cries out in me still fails
From all its purpose, for as I loved thee once,
And thought thee pure—habit remains to bind
A judgment horribly reversed by proof—
By hideous proof of thy corruption.
Yet ... I cannot forsake thee. ...
But, for the mean, false, fierce, and brutish villain,
Who taught thee how to lie, and schooled thy glance
To look on murder with a little gaze,
There is no mercy—
[Enter Count Geoffrey, followed by Alan. Alan bears two torches, one in each hand.
URSYNE.
Come, why do ye wait?
Carliol hath been dead this little while.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
[Going over to the body and kneeling by it.
God in high heaven!
ALAN.
Is there a God or heaven?
81
Aye, drunken ape! there are both, and something more.
Canst thou, through thy drugged wits, detect the hand
That could inflict a stab on heart so rare?
ALAN.
The Saxon hath done this. Did he not speak
Of hard farewells? This is that in good faith!
I did foretell it all. God rest his soul!
Help! help, there! help! God rest his soul! Here's murder!
[Some of the men of the household come down the staircase and go toward Count Geoffrey.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
Lift up his body with great reverence.
He was a king of princes, and a knight
Who fought no foe save infidelity, and loved
His enemy as himself. Most brave Carliol!
URSYNE.
Let the dead bury their dead! Shall we shed tears?
Shall we lament while we should be avengers?
82
Then, when bare justice hath been satisfied,
There will be time enough to greet the sorrow
I dare not yet encounter, and, for this present,
Hold far away lest its kiss come too soon!
COUNT GEOFFREY.
Hath Eadric gone? Did any see him leave?
ALAN.
[Pointing to door of chapel.]
He knelt there by the door, and rose from's knees
Before the Fidelium Animæ was reached,
Or I had thought of waking. His gross step
Disturbed the servants' prayers, but when he murdered
He had a lighter grace! I heard no noise.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
Then let us hunt this hell-rat! I'll not sleep
Nor eat, nor rest, until the time to weep.
[The men lift the body on to a bench. Ursyne stands by, looking down upon the face. Arlette does not
83
END OF SCENE I.
SCENE II
Scene: Osbern's room. Osbern is sitting on his bed.OSBERN.
Nay, no remorse: no wishing that undone
Which, being done, sends triumph, like hot smoke,
Through all my veins, till I seem as a cloud
Floating in the pre-eminent infinite, and gathering
Fresh transports while I move. O, depths and heights!
If I know not thy joy I know thy fury,
And, whirling in thy giddy impetus, I toss
On thy distracted currents. Love is not mine,
Th'obliteration of self in passion's intense
Delight;—the horror of war and its mad issue
'Midst fire and pain and blood and arrogance—
84
The carrion crows for corpses and the banquet
For licensed murderers—these two are not
In my damnation! But, I have killed a spirit
So vile, corrupting and insidious
That it could seem a man and flatter life
By adding to the crowd of things existent
His admirable form. His heart could bleed:
I saw the purple stream. Its lethal fumes
Have crept from thought to thought till all I feel,
Or know, or think, or have remembrance of
Is that first thrill on touching his life's pulse
With this keen blade. Yet if they slay me now,
Would not wild joy so steep my mind in gladness
That torture would be impotent, and death
But the augmentation of my consciousness,
Increasing bliss somewhat restrained and vexed
By this confinement in the body's cell.
[A knocking is heard.
They come for me.
HENRY.
[Outside.]
Sir, sir, open the door!
85
Is there such haste?
HENRY.
O, sir, 'tis past all haste!
[Osbern opens the door and Henry enters.
OSBERN.
[Surprised to see him alone.]
Did you dare come alone?
HENRY.
Aye, sir, to you.
'Tis a fair haven here. I'll tell thee all.
First let me bar the door.
OSBERN.
Wouldst sit with me?
HENRY.
I trust none other after this night's deed!
I've heard of chattering teeth—mine chatter now!
Carliol hath been butchered by Sir Eadric!
OSBERN.
What's this? Speak clearer! Who hath done it? Speak!
86
The Earl went not to Matins. He erred through wine,
And sate unarmed, asleep, helpless, alone,
With half the torches gone, and not a soul
To warn him of Sir Eadric's stealthy step.
He crawled from prayers and crept along the floor,
And smote the great Carliol as you hit
Some swinish beast. The blood came pouring out.
OSBERN.
Didst thou then see Sir Eadric when he struck?
HENRY.
Nay, but that's how he struck. 'Tis the received
Belief, none can gainsay the truth of that.
Our lady Arlette grows into the earth,
So low is she with sorrow. Lady Ursyne ...
OSBERN.
Ursyne!
HENRY.
She watcheth by the body and doth seem
More used to death than life. Count Geoffrey hunts
The murderer, and hath sworn to take no rest,
87
And burnt his eyes in their sockets, and quartered him,
And drawn him limb from limb, and hanged him high
To rot and shake in chains on some bleak tree
On ground accursed for ever! O, that he had
Ten bodies to be slaughtered! One skinful of flesh
Is not enough to appease our appetite
For vengeance!
OSBERN.
Is Ursyne pale?
HENRY.
So pale—
She is as white as rain, and seems to fall
Although she is upright.
OSBERN.
Have they left my horse?
HENRY.
Nay, Alan rides him.
OSBERN.
Then get me what thou canst.
Wait not for bit or saddle; I must ride
88
Their thirst in innocent blood. Go—I will follow.
[Henry goes and Osbern looks round the room.
Walls, ye have seen much suffering: the worst
Must be endured in ravenous publicity.
Yet, when I die, I'll think of this bare room,
And wonder if the grave will be so gentle
As these still granite wings! ... For the last time.
[He looks round the room and dashes out.
END OF SCENE II.
SCENE III
Scene: The same as Scene I. Ursyne is standing by the bier, at each corner of which a torch burns. Arlette crouches on the ground at the foot of the body of Carliol. A lad is waiting by the door. The monks are heard chanting in the chapel:Dies, iræ, dies illa,
Solvet sæclum in favilla,
Teste David cum Sibylla.
89
Quando Judex est venturus,
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
[As they finish this verse, Osbern appears at the top of the staircase and loud shouting of men is heard at the door. It is opened by the lad. Count Geoffrey, Alan, and other men drag in Eadric, who is bound, pinioned, and gagged.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
Bring in the slayer. Confront him with the slain.
Look on thy handiwork: drink in the sight,
For 'tis the last that thy malignant eyes
Shall see till they awake to scorch in hell.
ARLETTE.
Wilt thou not let him speak?
OSBERN.
Unloose those cords
And bind them where they fit more righteously!
If there were guilt in sending this bright toad
Down to th'infernal slime wherein he grew,
Then lay this to my charge, for I am guilty!
90
All I have ever loved! O, my soul dies.
[She looks down at the knife in Carliol's belt and her hand moves toward it.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
[To Osbern.]
This grief, poor Osbern, hath estranged thy reason!
Wert thou arraigned for this mad, heinous crime,
It would go hard with thee. I could not spare
Where God most merciful hath cursed. The penalty
Is so severe that, thinking on't, my bones
Melt, and all my blood is changed to brine.
OSBERN.
Ah! take thy justice. Here's my knife—'tis stained!
ALAN.
What! shall fiends walk among us boasting thus
Of their iniquity?
[The men rush upon Osbern and seize him.
URSYNE.
[Rousing herself.]
First loose the innocent.
[The men leave Osbern and go to
91
URSYNE.
Osbern!
[A look passes between them. She turns to Count Geoffrey.
Let me speak with him.
[They step apart from the others.
OSBERN.
No words.
URSYNE.
This was fierce jealousy.
OSBERN.
Not jealousy.
Yet I was jealous. And it was not doubt:
Although I doubted. God!—
URSYNE.
It was not fear,
Fear is not in thy nature. What then was't?
OSBERN.
A jest one thought too deep: it sank to hell:
I kept it there—lest it should crawl to thee.
92
They'll burn thine eyes, and draw thee limb from limb—
OSBERN.
Don't weep for that—
URSYNE.
And torture thee and hang thee ...
OSBERN.
All too quick. I'd have more time for loving—
I'd have more time to think on thy farewell,
And dream again I danced with thee one night,
And know again, in memory, the scent
Of that white flower, thy face. I need no sight.
URSYNE.
My kinsmen, once resolved, do never pause
From their intent. And I foresee such things—
OSBERN.
Man must deal justice; mercy is with God.
I pray to God—not men. Here I'll not falter.
The end is nearly come. ... God forgives much.
He suffered much.
93
The flood of pain that waits thee
Fills up the cup of vengeance to the brim,
And flows till hate itself is drowned in anguish.
[Hoots and cries are heard outside.
COUNT GEOFFREY.
All hell will soon be loosed! Horror on horror
Presses.
URSYNE.
[To Osbern.]
What I shall do, I do for grief, not hate.
[Aloud.]
So—ere a worse befall thee—I give thee this,
In token of my wrath and some compassion.
[She stabs him; she covers her face and reels backward with a cry; Count Geoffrey rushes forward, but Osbern stands between them and takes Ursyne in his arms.
OSBERN.
Leave us together now: have I not won?
She's mine. O Ursyne, thou art mine at last!
Had I another heart to be thus riven
I'd take its agonies surpassing all I've felt,
94
O, my beloved, to do this mortal sin!
URSYNE.
The night is gone and morning is come unto me ...
Yet ... am I still alone?
OSBERN.
[Points in the distance.]
See ... see ... one waits!
My love shall save us both: 'twas given for this.
Our path is scarleted though not with flowers!
Our hearts must hover o'er that smoking chasm
Which reaches to the nethermost. But look—
Not downwards; love, we are not wingless yet,
Still may we rise though centuries shall pass
Ere we can reach the sky!
[He kisses her as she dies, then rolls over on his face, dead.
ARLETTE.
O, are they dead?
COUNT GEOFFREY.
Now let the world come in!
95
Rest to their spirits! Satan hath tried them sore.
God shall adjudge them now: man, never more!
[The Monks are heard chanting in the chapel.
Recordare, Jesu pie,
Quod sum causa tuæ viæ:
Ne me perdas illa die.
THE END.
| Osbern and Ursyne | |