University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A lower apartment in Jerome's house, with a wide folding glass door, looking into a garden, where the trees and shrubs are brown and leafless. Enter De Monfort with a thoughtful frowning aspect, and paces slowly across the stage, Jerome following behind him, with a timid step. De Monfort hearing him, turns suddenly about.
De Mon.
(angrily).
Who follows me to this sequester'd room?

Jer.
I have presum'd, my lord. 'Tis somewhat late:
I am inform'd you eat at home to-night;
Here is a list of all the dainty fare
My busy search has found; please to peruse it.

De Mon.
Leave me: begone! Put hemlock in thy soup,
Or deadly night-shade, or rank hellebore,
And I will mess upon it.

Jer.
Heaven forbid!
Your honour's life is all too precious, sure.

De Mon.
(sternly).
Did I not say begone?

Jer.
Pardon, my lord, I'm old, and oft forget.

[Exit.
De Mon.
(looking after him, as if his heart smote him).
Why will they thus mistime their foolish zeal,
That I must be so stern?
O, that I were upon some desert coast!
Where howling tempests and the lashing tide
Would stun me into deep and senseless quiet;
As the storm-beaten trav'ller droops his head,
In heavy, dull, lethargic weariness,
And, 'mid the roar of jarring elements,
Sleeps to awake no more.
What am I grown? all things are hateful to me. Enter Manuel.
(Stamping with his foot.)

Who bids thee break upon my privacy?

Man.
Nay, good my lord! I heard you speak aloud,
And dreamt not surely that you were alone.

De Mon.
What, dost thou watch, and pin thine ears to holes,
To catch those exclamations of the soul,
Which heaven alone should hear? Who hir'd thee, pray?
Who basely hir'd thee for a task like this?

Man.
My lord, I cannot hold. For fifteen years,
Long-troubled years, I have your servant been,
Nor hath the proudest lord in all the realm,
With firmer, with more honourable faith
His sov'reign serv'd, than I have served you;
But if my honesty be doubted now,
Let him who is more faithful take my place,
And serve you better.

De Mon.
Well, be it as thou wilt. Away with thee!
Thy loud-mouth'd boasting is no rule for me
To judge thy merit by.

Enter Jerome hastily, and pulls Manuel away.
Jer.
Come, Manuel, come away; thou art not wise.
The stranger must depart and come again,
For now his honour will not be disturb'd.

[Exit Manuel sulkily.
De Mon.
A stranger, saidst thou?

[Drops his handkerchief.
Jer.
I did, good sir, but he shall go away;
You shall not be disturb'd.
[Stooping to lift the handkerchief.
You have dropp'd somewhat.

De Mon.
(preventing him).
Nay, do not stoop, my friend, I pray thee not!
Thou art too old to stoop.
I'm much indebted to thee.—Take this ring—
I love thee better than I seem to do.
I pray thee do it—thank me not.—What stranger?

Jer.
A man who does most earnestly intreat
To see your honour; but I know him not.

De Mon.
Then let him enter.

[Exit Jerome.
A pause. Enter Conrad.
De Mon.
You are the stranger who would speak with me?

Con.
I am so far unfortunate, my lord.
That, though my fortune on your favour hangs,
I am to you a stranger.

De Mon.
How may this be? what can I do for you?,

Con.
Since thus your lordship does so frankly ask
The tiresome preface of apology
I will forbear, and tell my tale at once,
In plodding drudgery I've spent my youth,
A careful penman in another's office;
And now, my master and employer dead,
They seek to set a stripling o'er my head,
And leave me on to drudge, e'en to old age,
Because I have no friend to take my part.
It is an office in your native town,
For I am come from thence, and I am told
You can procure it for me. Thus, my lord,
From the repute of goodness which you bear,
I have presum'd to beg.

De Mon.
They have befool'd thee with a false report.

Con.
Alas! I see it is in vain to plead,
Your mind is prepossess'd against a wretch,
Who has, unfortunately for his weal,
Offended the revengeful Rezenvelt.

De Mon.
What dost thou say?

Con.
What I, perhaps, had better leave unsaid.
Who will believe my wrongs if I complain?
I am a stranger, Rezenvelt my foe,
Who will believe my wrongs?

De Mon.
(eagerly catching him by the coat).
I will believe them!
Though they were base as basest, vilest deeds,
In ancient record told, I would believe them!
Let not the smallest atom of unworthiness
That he has put upon thee be conceal'd.
Speak boldly, tell it all; for, by the light!
I'll be thy friend, I'll be thy warmest friend,
If he has done thee wrong.

Con.
Nay, pardon me, it were not well advis'd,
If I should speak so freely of the man
Who will so soon your nearest kinsman be.

De Mon.
What canst thou mean by this?

Con.
That Marquis Rezenvelt
Has pledg'd his faith unto your noble sister,
And soon will be the husband of her choice.
So I am told, and so the world believes.

De Mon.
'Tis false! 'tis basely false!
What wretch could drop from his envenom'd tongue
A tale so damn'd?—It chokes my breath—
(Stamping with his foot.)
What wretch did tell it thee?

Con.
Nay, every one with whom I have convers'd
Has held the same discourse. I judge it not.
But you, my lord, who with the lady dwell.
You best can tell what her deportment speaks;
Whether her conduct and unguarded words
Belie such rumour.

[De Monfort pauses, staggers backwards, and sinks into a chair; then starting up hastily.
De Mon.
Where am I now? 'midst all the cursed thoughts,
That on my soul like stinging scorpions prey'd,
This never came before—Oh, if it be!
The thought will drive me mad.—Was it for this
She urg'd her warm request on bended knee?
Alas! I wept, and thought of sister's love,
No damned love like this.
Fell devil! 'tis hell itself has lent thee aid
To work such sorcery! (Pauses.)
I'll not believe it.
I must have proof clear as the noon-day sun
For such foul charge as this! Who waits without?

[Paces up and down, furiously agitated.
Con.
(aside).
What have I done? I've carried this too far.
I've rous'd a fierce ungovernable madman.

Enter Jerome.
De Mon.
(in a loud angry voice).
Where did she go, at such an early hour,
And with such slight attendance?

Jer.
Of whom inquires your honour?

De Mon.
Why, of your lady. Said I not my sister?

Jer.
The Lady Jane, your sister?

De Mon.
(in a faltering voice).
Yes, I did call her so.

Jer.
In truth, I cannot tell you where she went.
E'en now, from the short beechen walk hard-by,
I saw her through the garden-gate return.
The Marquis Rezenvelt, and Freberg's countess,
Are in her company. This way they come,
As being nearer to the back apartments;
But I shall stop them, if it be your will,
And bid them enter here.

De Mon.
No, stop them not. I will remain unseen,
And mark them as they pass. Draw back a little.

[Conrad seems alarmed, and steals off unnoticed. De Monfort grasps Jerome tightly by the hand, and drawing back with him two or three steps, not to be seen from the garden, waits in silence, with his eyes fixed on the glass door.
De Mon.
I hear their footsteps on the grating sand:
How like the croaking of a carrion bird,
That hateful voice sounds to the distant ear!
And now she speaks—her voice sounds cheerly too—
Curs'd be their mirth!—
Now, now, they come; keep closer still! keep steady!

[Taking hold of Jerome with both hands.
Jer.
My lord, you tremble much.

De Mon.
What, do I shake?

Jer.
You do, in truth, and your teeth chatter too.

De Mon.
See! see they come! he strutting by her side.
[Jane, Rezenvelt, and Countess Freberg appear through the glass door, pursuing their way up a short walk leading to the other wing of the house.
See, his audacious face he turns to hers;
Utt'ring with confidence some nauseous jest.
And she endures it too—Oh! this looks vilely!
Ha! mark that courteous motion of his arm!—
What does he mean?—he dares not take her hand!
(Pauses and looks eagerly.)
By heaven and hell he does!

[Letting go his hold of Jerome, he throws out his hands vehemently, and thereby pushes him against the scene.
Jer.
Oh! I am stunn'd! my head is crack'd in twain:
Your honour does forget how old I am.

De Mon.
Well, well, the wall is harder than I wist.
Begone, and whine within. [Exit Jerome, with a sad rueful countenance.
[De Monfort comes forward to the front of the stage, and makes a long pause expressive of great agony of mind.

It must be so: each passing circumstance;
Her hasty journey here; her keen distress
Whene'er my soul's abhorrence I express'd;
Ay, and that damned reconciliation,
With tears extorted from me: Oh, too well!
All, all too well bespeak the shameful tale.
I should have thought of heaven and hell conjoin'd,
The morning star mix'd with infernal fire,
Ere I had thought of this—
Hell's blackest magic, in the midnight hour,
With horrid spells and incantation dire,
Such combination opposite unseemly,
Of fair and loathsome, excellent and base,
Did ne'er produce—But every thing is possible,
So as it may my misery enhance!
Oh! I did love her with such pride of soul!
When other men, in gay pursuit of love,
Each beauty follow'd, by her side I stay'd;
Far prouder of a brother's station there,
Than all the favours favour'd lovers boast.
We quarrell'd once, and when I could no more
The alter'd coldness of her eye endure,
I slipp'd o'tip-toe to her chamber-door;
And when she ask'd who gently knock'd—Oh! oh!
Who could have thought of this?
[Throws himself into a chair, covers his face with his hand, and bursts into tears. After some time, he starts up from his seat furiously.
Hell's direst torment seize the infernal villain!
Detested of my soul! I will have vengeance!
I'll crush thy swelling pride—I'll still thy vaunting—
I'll do a deed of blood!—Why shrink I thus?
If by some spell or magic sympathy,
Piercing the lifeless figure on that wall
Could pierce his bosom too, would I not cast it?
[Throwing a dagger against the wall.
Shall groans and blood affright me? No, I'll do it.
Though gasping life beneath my pressure heav'd,
And my soul shudder'd at the horrid brink,
I would not flinch.—Fie, this recoiling nature!
O that his sever'd limbs were strew'd in air,
So as I saw it not! Enter Rezenvelt behind from the glass door. De Monfort turns round, and on seeing him, starts back, then drawing his sword, rushes furiously upon him.

Detested robber! now all forms are over;
Now open villainy, now open hate!
Defend thy life!

Rez.
De Monfort, thou art mad.

De Mon.
Speak not, but draw. Now for thy hated life!
[They fight: Rezenvelt parries his thrusts with great skill, and at last disarms him.
Then take my life, black fiend, for hell assists thee.

Rez.
No, Monfort, but I'll take away your sword,
Not as a mark of disrespect to you,
But for your safety. By to-morrow's eve
I'll call on you myself and give it back;
And then, if I am charg'd with any wrong,
I'll justify myself. Farewell, strange man!

[Exit.
[De Monfort stands for some time quite motionless, like one stupified. Enters to him a servant: he starts.
De Mon.
Ha! who art thou?

Ser.
'Tis I, an' please your honour.

De Mon.
(staring wildly at him).
who art thou?

Ser.
Your servant Jacques.

De Mon.
Indeed I knew thee not.
Now leave me, and when Rezenvelt is gone,
Return and let me know.

Ser.
He's gone already.

De Mon.
How! is he gone so soon?

Ser.
His servant told me,
He was in haste to go; as night comes on,
And at the evening hour he purposes
To visit some old friend, whose lonely mansion
Stands a short mile beyond the farther wood,
In which a convent is of holy nuns,
Who chaunt this night a requiem to the soul
Of a departed sister. For so well
He loves such solemn music, he has order'd
His horses onward by the usual road,
Meaning on foot to cross the wood alone.
So says his knave. Good may it do him, sooth!
I would not walk through those wild dells alone
For all his wealth. For there, as I have heard,
Foul murders have been done, and ravens scream;
And things unearthly, stalking through the night,
Have scar'd the lonely trav'ller from his wits.
[De Monfort stands fixed in thought.
I've ta'en your steed, an' please you, from the field,
And wait your farther orders.
[De Monfort heeds him not.
His hoofs are sound, and where the saddle gall'd,
Begins to mend. What further must be done?
[De Monfort still heeds him not.
His honour heeds me not. Why should I stay?

De Mon.
(eagerly, as he is going).
He goes alone, saidst thou?

Ser.
His servant told me so.

De Mon.
And at what hour?

Ser.
He 'parts from Amberg by the fall of eve.
Save you, my lord! how chang'd your count'nance is!
Are you not well?

De Mon.
Yes, I am well: begone,
And wait my orders by the city wall:
I'll wend that way, and speak to thee again.

[Exit servant.
[De Monfort walks rapidly two or three times across the stage; then seizes his dagger from the wall, looks steadfastly at its point, and exit hastily.