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The Provost of Bruges

A Tragedy. In Five Acts
  
  
  
  

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SCENE III.
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SCENE III.

Interior of the Church of St. Donatien.—Day-break. Enter Hackel and Albert, meeting Gautier.
HACKEL.
Gautier!

GAUTIER.
The same—you bade me meet you here.

HACKEL.
Saw you who passed to yonder oratory?

GAUTIER.
It was the Earl; there is his favourite shrine,
And this the accustom'd hour at which he prays,—
'Twill need a prayer the more for last night's work.

HACKEL
[sneeringly].
Does Thancmar pray there too?

GAUTIER.
He parted from him when they reach'd the gate,
And turn'd towards home.

ALBERT.
He must walk warily if he would reach it!
Bouchard's abroad.

GAUTIER.
Indeed!

HACKEL.
Ay,—and attended.

Enter St. Prieux.
ST. PRIEUX.
Has any seen the Provost?


80

GAUTIER.
No, but I do not know the brave old man,
If he is long unheard of. They have raised
A devil there 'twill take some pains to lay.
[Albert to St. Prieux.
How seems the city?

ST. PRIEUX.
Quiet, yet awake!—
A pausing thunder-cloud, that only waits
To choose where it will strike. None seek their rest;
But through the curtain'd casements tapers gleam,
That tell the inmates watchers. And anon,
A door half-open'd shows some anxious face
Intently listening to each distant sound;—
And some more bold stand whispering in the streets,
But sudden cease when any step approaches.

GAUTIER.
How stand your friends?

ST. PRIEUX.
Ready upon the instant,
Whenever called.

HACKEL.
Then why delay we longer?
'Tis plain Bertulphe and his are doom'd already;
And that ourselves, his nearest friends,—his kinsmen,—
Bound to him by so many ties!—our ruin
Will follow next:—Charles now will keep no terms—
Or he, or we, must fall!—wherefore delay there?

GAUTIER.
I will not stir without Bertulphe to guide.

HACKEL.
Nay,—this is madness. These events have stunn'd him;—
Our friends are ready;—the occasion smiles;—
The Earl dreams not of danger.


81

ST. PRIEUX.
Yonder Chapel
Adjoins the Palace, and will yield an entrance.

GAUTIER.
Speak lower—he is there.

ST. PRIEUX.
Force then the door, and raise the popular cry
Of freedom for the Serfs, and they will join us.
Hackel to Gautier.
Art still irresolute?
[The tocsin sounds, and distant cries are heard.
Ha!—that alarm!
What can it mean?

ALBERT.
It is Bouchard;—profit by the occasion,
And act at once,— [a distant groan]
—Hush!— [a pause]
'Tis begun already,—

Death is at work.
HACKEL to Albert.
Quick!—raise our friends without.
[Exit Albert and St. Prieux.
Now, Gautier, will you follow me?

GAUTIER.
I will!—
Bertulphe our rallying word,—our cry for vengeance.

Enter Bertulphe.
BERTULPHE.
'Tis gain'd!—
I sought it in the bosom of my friend,
And found it there!

[Slowly drawing a dagger from under his cloak.
HACKEL.
What's this?


82

BERTULPHE.
The Earl is dead!
I slew him—in the sanctuary, at the altar!—
There was no sanctuary from a father's vengeance!—
I loved him once,—now, all I loved are dead:
And Bertulphe, like a sear and fallen leaf,
With not a branch to own him, may be whirl'd,
The unresisting sport of every wind.

Enter Charente.
CHARENTE.
My Lord, I have sought you. All within your palace
Is consternation, sore dismay, and grief!—
The Lady Constance—

BERTULPHE.
Peace!—I know it all.

CHARENTE.
Her shrieking women weep and tremble round her.

BERTULPHE.
Round her? Is then her—body—found?

CHARENTE.
My Lord!—her body?
She lives.

BERTULPHE
[wildly.]
Lives!—Constance lives!

CHARENTE.
She is within.

BERTULPHE.
Constance within?—alive!
Constance returned?—my child alive!— [trembling]
—and well?


CHARENTE.
Unharm'd in person, but her delicate sense—
Alas! alas!—quite overthrown and wreck'd.


83

BERTULPHE.
But yet she lives!—you said she was alive?

CHARENTE.
My Lord, she is.

BERTULPHE.
Then bring me,—bring me to her!
These poor weak, trembling limbs!

[bursts into tears.
Enter St. Prieux and Albert.
ST. PRIEUX.
Why do you loiter here?

BERTULPHE.
My child's alive!

ST. PRIEUX.
The city favours us,—the Serfs have risen.

ALBERT.
Thancmar is fled,—Bertulphe, your presence now
Will stamp our conquest certain,—show yourself.

BERTULPHE.
Ay!—but my child!—where is she?

HACKEL.
Nay, but hear me!

BERTULPHE.
I hear nothing but my child!
She calls me!—I will see her!—bring me to her.

[Exit, supported by Charente.