University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Antichamber to the Saloon.
Enter Lapont and Teresa.
TERESA.
Alas! I fear she's gone to that apartment!

LAPONT.
I wonder at such rashness!—Are you sure
Your noble Lady is not in her chamber?

TERESA.
Wou'd that she were! She bade me call up Blaise,
And from that moment neither have been seen.

LAPONT.
It must be so!—Each circumstance confirms it:
She sent for him to shew the haunted rooms,
But little knows the dangers she may run,
By braving the inexorable spirit!
I know, by proof, its fierce vindictive nature.

TERESA.
O Heaven! Dear, kind Lapont, do not desert us!
How shall we save the too presumptuous Countess?
She may be lost if you cannot assist her.

LAPONT.
Be calm! To save her life I'll risk my own.
I yet, perhaps, may be in time to warn her.
From a bold enterprise may prove her ruin;
Caution and prudence, will do more than courage,
Where we encounter supernatural things.—
Let the profoundest silence seal your lips!—

TERESA.
O! doubt me not! In all you shall direct.
But, pray! inform me of the Countess' safety:
My fears will almost kill me till you come.

LAPONT.
Go to your chamber, where remain in peace
'Till I shall seek you. Save your Lady's credit,
And doing so, the honor of this house,
By keeping all a secret from her guests.—
This is of more importance than you think.
Trust all to me:—you shall know more hereafter;
For my fond heart beats warmly in your favor.—
I'll see you safe, and then will seek the Countess.
Trust to my friendly counsel, and fear nothing.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Changes to a spacious Chamber, with a stately Bed, in an Alcove. The Hangings of the Walls Tapestry;— a Couch, with a Table before it, on which is a Book and Lights. The Countess appears speaking to Blaise, who is pale, and trembling.
COUNTESS.
'Tis well!—Nay,—why this tremor? Is there aught
To move thy fear?—

BLAISE.
But, Lady! who can tell
How soon the ghost!—'Tis after twelve o'clock!

COUNTESS.
Poor Blaise!—I see how terror and obedience
Wage war within thy heart:—be not dismay'd!
I doubt I may have chos'n a stouter guard:
However, Blaise, thy valor shall not stand
A trial too severe. If I cry help,
Which will not be; assure thyself it will not—
Alarm the house; else watch without, in silence.

BLAISE.
(as he goes out)
Thank Heav'n I am dismiss'd!—Wou'd morn were come!

[Exit Blaise.
COUNTESS.
And now to scrutinize this marvellous chamber.
It is a noble one; and might be turn'd
To better purpose, than to harbour ghosts!—
The tapestry is rich, and little worn:
The bed is sumptuous;—every thing complete,
And all in order:—
I can find nothing, yet, to cause alarm;
And, doubtless, all has sprung from superstition,
The child of ignorance, and slavish fear!
But why this smaller key suspended hence?
The slightest trace of any other door
Cannot be found: except the dressing-room;—
That's open; and this key fits not the lock.—
But what it leads to, is not worth conjecture.—
I'll to my book; and sleeping, for this night,
Upon that couch, perhaps may dream of ghosts,
Which, waking, I have neither heard, or seen.

[Takes up the book, but presently reclines on the couch, and begins to dose.]

SCENE III.

Changes to the Anti-Chamber, where Blaise is seen gently opening the Door a little which leads to the inner Apartment.
BLAISE.
Thank Heav'n! all's quiet, and my lady sleeps!
I trust the horrid spectre is at peace,
And ne'er will come to trouble us again!
O! that a woman should posses such courage!

LAPONT.
[Gently opens the outward door, saying softly]
Hist! hist! Blaise! hist!

BLAISE.
Mercy! what noise was that!

LAPONT.
It is a friend! Lapont! be not afraid!
I come to guard, and not to injure thee!—

BLAISE.
Now, Heav'n be prais'd! I fear'd it was the ghost!
Enter, good Sir! O! welcome, kind Lapont!
I am exceeding glad to see you here!

LAPONT.
I know thou art. But where's thy noble lady?

BLAISE.
Hush! hush!—She's fast asleep in yonder chamber.

LAPONT.
(Pleased and eagerly)
Asleep d'ye say!—Are you quite sure she sleeps?

BLAISE.
Come gently this way, and yourself may see her.
Look thro' the door.

LAPONT.
Thank Heav'n! she is asleep!
Sound be her slumbers!—Then we, still are safe!
How long is't since she enter'd these apartments?

BLAISE.
Scarcely, I think, an hour has past away
Ere I set all in order, and came hither.

LAPONT.
Did she discover no surprise, or terror,
On looking round the gloomy haunted room?

BLAISE.
No! not the least.

LAPONT.
Nor have you heard her since,
Exclaiming loud? nor have the sound of locks,
Or hollow groans, or creaking hinges scar'd you?

BLAISE.
Nothing! O! Heaven! I tremble at the thought!

LAPONT.
Why art thou here? Was it by her command
Thou thus art plac'd her patient centinel?

BLAISE.
It was: and strictly that command enjoin'd
That I shou'd watch, in silence, till I heard
Her voice demanding help.

LAPONT.
I'm satisfied.

BLAISE.
But who, Lapont, inform'd you I was here?

LAPONT.
Teresa stealing to her lady's chamber
And finding she was absent, in a fright
Ran straight to me: I quickly guess'd the plot,
And came to warn, or help, as things requir'd.
But since she is asleep, I trust the ghost
Will not appear to harm, or trouble her.—
'Tis past the time when it is wont to walk.

BLAISE.
But if it shou'd!!

LAPONT.
Be you upon the watch,
And see, from time, to time, the Countess sleeps!
Her safety may depend upon this caution.—
If any noise is heard; as groans, or talking,
Or creaking doors, or sound of opening locks,
Run, quick, to me,—I'll watch in my own room—
And give alarm!—Be wakeful on thy life!—

[Exit.
BLAISE.
(As he goes out.)
O! trust me, good Lapont! I will not fail.
[Shuts the door cautiously, of the inner Chamber, then takes a cordial bottle from his pocket and drinks.]
My mind is more at ease: This shall support me.
'Tis half past one, and my old eyes are heavy:
There is no danger from the ghost to night!
So I may safely venture, like my lady,
To court the comfort of refreshing sleep.—

[Pushes an arm chair behind the side scene to repose in, and Exit.]

Scene IV.

Changes to the Inner Chamber, where, while the Countess still doses; a long and deep Groan is heard, she starts, and half rising, exclaims.
COUNTESS.
Did I not hear some noise?—Or was't the wind?
[Another deep groan; on which she starts up, greatly agitated.]
What dismal sound was that?—Whence cou'd it come!
[Repeated groans.]
Again!—again!—It came from that alcove!
Be not appall'd, my soul!—Thou'st done no wrong!
[As she advances, with great emotion towards the alcove, another groan is more distinctly heard.]
Almighty God! if 'tis some troubled spirit
Permitted, by thy will, to walk by night;
Give me the grace to send it to the grave,
Whate'er his cause of misery, in peace!
[More groans; she starts aghast.]
O!—speak!—appear!—reveal the secret trouble
That forceth thee to leave the silent tomb,
And roam 'midst darkness, and the midnight airs!
[Groans repeated.]
Now Heav'n sustain me, and enlighten me,
To fathom this dread secret!—Hence! e'en hence
The moaning issued, as if under ground!
[She looks with wild horror round the alcove.]
Yet, more distinct, as from some hollow cavern!
Hah!—From the tapestry!—My soul's wound up
To utmost agony of dread suspense,
And I shall madden if—
[Lifts up a loose part of the tapestry, and discovers a door.]
What's here!—A door!
A secret door! And this the fateful key
[Hastily snatching the keys; unlocking the door.]
That leads to what, at once, I wish, and fear!—
[Groans very distinct.]
Nay, then, there is no pause!—Narrow, and dark,
And steep, as is the way, and chill the air,
Something impels me on, and I must go!
Be God my great protector, and my guide!—
[She disappears, but soon rushes back with looks of amazement and horror.]
Eternal pow'rs!—I saw it thro' the gloom!
Tho' indistinct!—I heard its hollow groans!—
They pierc'd my heart, and curdled up my blood!—
Base fears! Why have ye thus subdued my soul!
If it shou'd follow, I will speak to it.—
Hark!—It approaches!—O! ye pow'rs above!
Equal my courage to the dread occasion!—

[The tapestry is lifted up slowly, and discovers the pale, and haggard, yet reverend figure of an Old Man, with a long hite beard, and disordered hair, and dressed in a long flowing black robe, who speaks, as he enters.]
OLD MAN.
This way it beckon'd me, and I will follow.
[Seeing the Countess, he is awe-struck, and exclaims.]
What heavenly vision's this!—Angel of light!
Say! Art thou come,—so long, so often call'd!—
To end my misery, and bear my spirit,
Where it, at last, may rest?—

COUNTESS.
(Approaching)
Art thou the ghost?

OLD MAN.
I am, indeed, the shadow of myself,
My former self!—But what art thou, bright vision?

COUNTESS.
A weak, and erring creature, like thyself.—

OLD MAN.
If not an angel, as I fondly hop'd!
Come to release me from my secret dungeon;
Where lingering years of agonizing grief,
And racking pain, without one ray of comfort,
Have bow'd me down in hopeless misery!—
Why art thou here? And wherefore didst thou come
To shoot one cheering glance athwart my gloom,
Then quick withdraw the beam?—

COUNTESS.
Years, didst thou say!
Years hast thou languish'd in that dreary place,
The very glimpse of which appall'd my soul?

OLD MAN.
Alas! 'tis very long, or so it seems,
To one who only knows to count the hours
By the chill damps that drop upon his head,
Or by his sighs, and tears!—'Tis very long!
Since I was torn from the dear light of day,
Rest of all comfort, and cut off from man!

COUNTESS.
I'm almost breathless with astonishment, and pity,
And scarce can ask if Montval!—if my husband!—
If by his rigour, thou so long hast suffer'd?

OLD MAN.
(aside)
“O! 'tis his wife! Resign'd,—so near my end,
“I won't accuse him!—They may live in peace!”

COUNTESS.
Why dost thou turn, and mutter to thyself?
Speak out thy griefs, and tell me for what crime—

OLD MAN
(interrupting her)
Be Heav'n my judge that none have brought me here!

COUNTESS.
Then who?—what tyrant, rough and pityless!
Immur'd thee thus, to die a living death?

OLD MAN.
Know you Lapont?—That villain was the cause!

COUNTESS
(exultingly).
I said he was a villain!—O! a load,
A heavy load is taken from my heart!—
Whate'er thy guilt, I wou'd not that Montval,
My dear Montval! had been so base of soul,
To take such vengeance on thy helpless age,
For worlds, on worlds!—But, he must know thy fate!—

OLD MAN.
Plac'd on the brink of dread eternity,
I dare not lie!—He does;—but is misled
By the vile miscreant whom you justly hate.

COUNTESS.
Misled!—O bitter!—Can he see thy dungeon,
And look upon thy anguish, and thy age,
And not relent!—It cuts me to the soul!—
But tell me what, and whence, and who thou art?

OLD MAN.
Ask not what never shall escape my lips,
For potent reasons:—nought can wrest it from me!

COUNTESS.
“Amazing!—But thou shalt no longer suffer!
“I will release thee, of my own free will;
“And thou shalt live, and be restor'd to comfort!
“Thy miseries well may expiate thy guilt!—
“And for Lapont! if he has injur'd thee,
“That hateful villain! he shall have his meed!
“Be sure he shall!”—

OLD MAN.
Dim is my spark of life!
Yet, to the last, we cherish liberty!
But all revenge is dead within my heart,
And ill I shou'd repay your generous pity,
By sowing discord 'twixt your lord and you.

COUNTESS.
O! soul of nobleness and charity!
Rever'd old man! Tax me to th'very utmost!
And I can much!—Tax all my pow'r and fortune!
For guilt ne'er harbour'd in a heart like thine.

OLD MAN.
Thou noble creature!—I am too weak to bear
This rush of gratitude, so long weigh'd down
By wrong, and cruelty, and pain, and sorrow!

COUNTESS.
Be not dejected!—Hide not, thus, your face!

OLD MAN.
A thousand tender, painful recollections
Press down, and almost suffocate my heart!

COUNTESS.
What can this mean!—What dreadful mystery!

OLD MAN.
O! may it still a mystery be to you!—

COUNTESS.
'Tis wonderful! But go with me from hence!
“I hate to be so near that horrid dungeon!”

OLD MAN.
I will, on this condition.—That your lord
Shall never see me more. That you ne'er ask
Of him, or others, who, or what I am;
And that I part unseen by all but you!

COUNTESS.
Astonishing!—But only go with me,
And have thy wish—My lord is gone to Paris.
Why then delay?

OLD MAN.
Allow me yet some pause!
What is the hour? For, buried from the light,
Darkness and day have been alike to me!

COUNTESS.
'Tis scarce above two hours from now to morn.

OLD MAN.
How learn'd you I was here? Or how depart,
At such an undue hour, without alarm?

COUNTESS.
How I discover'd you, at full, hereafter,
You shall be told:—to leave this night the Castle,
Without suspicion, were not possible.
But if resolv'd to go without delay,
To-morrow's dawn shall find the ready means
To send you hence, unknown to all but me.

OLD MAN.
“Have you the keys?

COUNTESS.
“I have.

OLD MAN.
“But how procur'd?

COUNTESS.
“By a mere chance, it were too long to tell.
[Recollects Blaise, and looks into the anti-room.]
“Hah I had forgot!—'Tis well, he's fast asleep.

OLD MAN.
(alarmed)
“Who's in that chamber?

COUNTESS.
“Only Blaise, the steward;
“Set there by me, to watch, and give alarm,
“If aught requir'd.—

OLD MAN.
“But has he overheard us?

COUNTESS.
“O'erspent with watching, he profoundly sleeps.

OLD MAN.
Then, by my sufferings, and my innocence!
By that benevolence, which born of heaven,
Lives in your gen'rous heart, and from your eye
Beams melting pity on a stranger's woe,
Back to my dungeon let me go, once more,
And pass the interval from now, till morn!—
O! grant me this request!—

COUNTESS.
Not for the world!
My pow'r, if needful, shall protect you here
From every wrong.

OLD MAN.
Dear lady! be advis'd!
Lapont must miss the keys, and will be waking;
For guilt, like his, is ever on the watch:
Too well I know my cruel, crafty goaler!
“And now, when all your bidding might command,
“Are, thro' the castle, sunk in deep repose,
“It were not safe to trust a villain's vengeance.
“So great his malice, and so black his crimes,
“That even your rank, and pow'r might fail to save you:
“I wou'd not, for the world, he saw us here!
“'Twou'd, surely urge him to some desperate deed!
“Nor shall my name, or person be reveal'd
“To your domestics: This my firm resolve,
“The hope of liberty shall never alter!”

COUNTESS
(Aside.)
“Blaise must know nothing. It were better thus:”
I'm loth to leave you in that dismal place.

OLD MAN.
The brightness of your angel countenance,
Still present to my soul, shall give me light,
And spread effulgence thro' surrounding gloom!
At morn I will attend you.

COUNTESS.
“Be it so,
“Since so you will. But I shall count the hours,
“Till sweet deliverance greets you by my hand.
[Aside.]
“Myself will watch and guard him till the dawn.”

OLD MAN.
“Think you a few short hours which surely lead
“To light, and liberty, and long-lost friends,
“Think you they can seem long, to me seem long,
“Who years on years have languished in a dungeon?

COUNTESS.
“At least these conserves, and this added light,”
May help to cheer you, till we meet again!
I will myself, conduct you to your prison.
Nay, no reply. I will not be refus'd.

[Exeunt, she supporting him.]

SCENE V.

Changes to Lapont's Room where he appears walking about, much agitated.
LAPONT.
I cannot rest! guilt, terror, and revenge,
With mingled violence, wake a hell within me!
If I shou'd fall, I will not fall alone.
The Countess, and her virtues I abhor!
Her very beauty, to my eye, is hateful!
It fascinates, and overawes the Count,
And blasts my fortune, when the fruit grew ripe.
I was a fool not to make all things sure
Before this haughty meddling woman came!
Oh! she shall learn how dangerous 'tis to goad
A resolute heart, that glories in it's guilt,
When independence, pow'r, or pleasure tempt!
That prating Blaise!—I must be rid of him.
Teresa I can fool to all I wish.
But while my bosom broods its embryo purpose,
Silent and dark. The Count will hurry back!
That must be thought of. I am safe to-night,
And for to-morrow's safety, and to-morrow's,
Long as the term of my strong life shall last,
My courage, and my cunning shall provide.

Enter Blaise hastily, pale, and trembling.
BLAISE.
Lapont Lapont! the Countess!

LAPONT
(Agitated)
What of her?

BLAISE.
Is murder'd by the ghost, or borne away!

LAPONT.
You rave, or dream! How borne away! how murder'd!

BLAISE.
Alas! I know not! But she is not there!

LAPONT
(Eagerly)
Not where?

BLAISE.
Not in the chamber where you left her.

LAPONT.
How cou'd she go without your hearing her?

BLAISE.
Heavy with watching, sleep, at last surpris'd me.

LAPONT
(Furiously)
Thou hoary wretch. [Aside.]
“But I must curb my rage.”
“She has found the secret door, and I am lost!
“Hah! That's the only way!

BLAISE.
What can be done?

LAPONT
(Aside)
“There is no time for hesitation now,
“Forc'd to a point, peril on either side,
“One way, and only one can lead to safety.”
Come this way Blaise, into my closet here!
I have something there to say of great importance.
[Blaise enters with him, but is presently heard crying out.]
O! do not murder me! for mercy's sake!

LAPONT
(Behind the Scene)
Dotard! take that! Go, sleep, for ever now!
[He then enters with bloody hands, and a dagger.]
So! one is safe. That fool can blab no more!
This key will make me master of his hoard:—
A comfortable sum, in time of need!
Happen what may, I shall not fear Montval,
And may enjoy my bloody spoils in peace,
Without the dread of his pursuing vengeance.
Nay, such is my ascendance o'er his mind,—
That all I execute, he shall approve,
And largely pay me for my secrecy.
'Tis almost dawn. I will but cleanse my hands,
And ease that miser's coffer of its gold,
And then my dagger flies at nobler prey.

[Exit.