University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE, A Gothic Colonade.
Enter Gondibert, followed by Egbert.
EGBERT.
My Lord, your sorrows pierce my aged heart;
But I entreat you lend an ear to reason!

GONDIBERT.
Reason! Distraction!

EGBERT.
When you, my Lord, did study in the schools,
I've heard you much of Reason talk, Philosophy,
And Virtue—now, when all their force you want,
You spurn them, with a blind contempt, away.

GONDIBERT.
They have no force, no pow'r, beyond the schools
Where they are taught. Dost think the fools who preach 'em
E'er felt, like me, the energies of passion,
Or the keen torture of an hopeless Love?

EGBERT.
That it is hopeless, is a cause—

GONDIBERT.
For madness—Cease, Egbert—thy chilly blood,
Creeping with torpid motion through thy veins,
Ill suits thee for a counsellor to me.
Give me one made of fire! one whose high mind,
Superior to the bugbears of his childhood,
Makes Virtue and Philosophy his servants;
Not stoops to be their slave!

EGBERT.
Think on the bars,
Th'eternal bars, that Heav'n hath plac'd between you!—
Think—she's your Sister!

GONDIBERT.
Curses on the word!
It is a viper's sting—an incantation,
That conjures up an hundred fiends to rack me.
Oh! were she not my Sister!—Egbert, Egbert!
I could turn girl, to think on what I've lost—
—But two short days before my Brother's marriage,
I from the war return'd; and the first hour
She met my ravish'd eyes—was at the altar.

EGBERT.
It was, in truth, my Lord, a trying moment.

GONDIBERT.
Oh! should the curtain'd sun, in full refulgence,
Dart through the shadows of the night his beams;
Not more amaze would seize the minds of mortals,
Than seiz'd on me when I beheld Albina.
Oh, my curst fortune! one short week had sav'd me.
For sure the ardors of my burning love—
The pow'rful pleadings of my youth, and form,
Must soon have taught the timid, beauteous Maid,
That Raimond were for Gondibert well chang'd.

EGBERT.
Your sorrow, then, you virtuously o'ercame;
Why should it now break out with strength renew'd?

GONDIBERT.
Will she not wed again?—
I could have borne my life without more bliss
Than the soft rights which custom gives a Brother;
To see her ev'ry day—to fix my eyes,
Whole hours, with doating love, upon her face—
To feast my ears with bewitching music
Of her sweet voice—Oh, 'twas mine of happiness!

EGBERT.
It was a snare that might have plung'd you both
In irremediable woe!

GONDIBERT.
Impossible!
For I do swear, such mast'ry of my passion
Had I obtain'd, to such refinement rais'd it,
Angels with greater purity ne'er lov'd:
No wish unhallow'd liv'd within my breast.
But shall she to another yield her heart—
Yield her whole self!—
Earth open first, and swallow me! Or snatch him—
Oh swift perdition!—snatch him from his joys!

EGBERT.
Oh, yield not thus, my Lord, to your wild passions!
Like calentures, they will mislead your reason,
With images that no where do exist,
But in their own false colours.

GONDIBERT.
He—this Edward,
As my ill star, doth ever cross my fortune.
His headlong valour in the field my name
Obscur'd; and in the tournament at Orleans,
In th'eye of France, he bore from me the crown:
And now he tears away the scanty bliss,
Which whilst I did possess, I envy'd not
His trophies, or his fame.

EGBERT.
Then be reveng'd!
Strive to regain the fame of which he robs you—
Court Glory—woo her in the fields of Death!
She's the fit mistress for your rank and years!
Oh, shame! to waste those days in languid sighs,
In which your mighty Ancestors obtain'd
Their deathless names—by deeds of hardy valour,
In guarding their dear Country's precious rights.

GONDIBERT.
Albina wed! No.—
All arts I'll try; and, if they fail, this arm—
This arm shall drench their marriage-torch in blood!

[Exit.
EGBERT.

[Exit.
SCENE, An Apartment.
Edward and Albina discovered sitting on a Couch.
EDWARD.
[rising.
Blest be the orders which thou deem'st so cruel
But for the King's command, more irksome years
I might have sigh'd, without a gleam of hope,
Nor known—Oh transport! I was dear to thee.
That rapt'rous thought is presage sure of vict'ry—
—'Twill give thy Edward's arm resistless force,
And fire his soul with more than mortal valour.

ALBINA.
Ah! Love, that fill'd your breast, whilst doubts and fears
Did feed its flame, already yields to glory.
Your eye, by strong imagination fir'd,
Impatient glances through the burnish'd field—
—The clang of arms arouses ev'ry sense,
The songs of triumph vibrate on your ear—
—Love and Albina are alike forgot,
And you're again the Hero!

EDWARD.
Then may cowardice
Enerve this arm, when with our valiant hosts
I shall oppose the Mockers of our Faith!
May I forsake, in sight of armed nations,
The Holy Cross, and trembling, plead for mercy,
If for one moment I forget Albina!
'Tis o'er thy charms mine eye impatient roves—
—The ardors of my love, that you accuse.

ALBINA.
Will you i'th'battle's conflict think on me?
And will you, when seducing glory prompts
To some advent'rous charge—remember then,
That 'tis Albina's life which you expose?

EDWARD.
O Glory! Conquest! what are ye to this?
Yes, I do swear, thou Mistress of my Fate!
Thy bright enchanting image shall with-hold me,
When a rash enterprise may court my daring.
Mine is no common life—to thee united;
Mark'd out for bliss extreme, and boundless joy,
As thine I will preserve.

ALBINA.
Here is my picture.
When the shrill trumpet gives the aweful signal—
Ere, in the dreadful ardour of the fight,
Reflection's lost—Oh bind it on your arm!
When you do look on't, think you see its smiles
To horror turn'd; the chearful eye bedimm'd
With ceaseless tears; its lips reproaching you
With deeming lightly of the life to her
Engag'd, whose form it bears.

EDWARD.
How shall I thank thee
For this rich gift? It is a talisman
Which will protect me when hemm'd in by dangers,
And turn aside Death's blunted arrows.

Enter a Female Attendant.
ATTENDANT.
Lord Gondibert, if it so please you, Madam,
Hath weighty matters for your private ear.

[Exit.
EDWARD.
Lord Gondibert!

ALBINA.
He hath a Brother's right;
And doth regard me for his Brother's sake.
Indulge us now, my Lord, with privacy!
'Tis the sole day—oh, may the sound delight thee!
In which thou wilt not claim all embassies to me.

EDWARD.
Farewell then, sweet! farewell, my sweet Albina!
How dear, how precious, doth the time become,
Enrich'd with happiness like mine! To leave thee
A moment now, seems a lost age in love.

[Exit.
Enter Gondibert.
GONDIBERT.
Pardon th'obtruder, Madam, who unbidden
Breaks on your happy hours—

ALBINA.
This stern excuse,
And that impassion'd air, seem meant for chiding;
Such looks sit strangely on a Brother's brow—
They're most unkind!

GONDIBERT.
Smiles, and unruffled looks,
Become those favour'd youths, who at the feet
Of rigid Beauty may—oh! Raimond, bear with me!
Fain would I speak to thee with angel's softness,
But tides of passion bear my wishes down!

ALBINA.
Of what would'st speak?

GONDIBERT.
Of Him.

ALBINA.
Of whom? Lord Edward?

GONDIBERT.
Yes, he—Edward—your Paramour!

ALBINA.
How's this!
Is this—this rude reproof, from Gondibert!

GONDIBERT.
From whom then should it, Madam, but his Brother,
Whose memory you wear so light? These sables
Ill suit the wanton spirit of your eyes;
Your air, as ill, the sober guise of widowhood.

ALBINA.
Surely, my Lord, you stretch a Brother's privilege
Beyond its bounds. Doth Gondibert presume—
Doth he Albina dare accuse, in words
That would befit the loosest of her sex?

[Weeps.
GONDIBERT.
Would all your passions might thus melt in tears,
And weep themselves away! The probe of truth
Doth touch you, Lady—you must bear it still.
The public voice condemns your eager marriage;
And maidens blush, that she, who lately shone
The bright, the envied sample of their sex,
Now sudden, like a panting fawn, o'ersprings
The fence—that painfully she hath endur'd.

ALBINA.
Tears would disgrace me now. Bethink you, Sir,
'Tis Raimond's Widow whom you thus insult—
'Tis his—your Brother's honour, which you wound
With these base taunts. I do believe you're false.
The public voice dares not arraign my conduct—
—Or, if it did—the Brother of Lord Raimond
Should surely punish, not avow their slanders.

GONDIBERT.
Oh, he would trample on the slanderer
Of Raimond's faithful Widow—with his blood—
With life itself, defend her name, and honour;
But the coarse slanders thrown on Edward's Wife,
He can behold unmov'd, and unreveng'd.

ALBINA.
The Wife of Edward needs no other arm;
He will protect me; he's my guard, and champion.

GONDIBERT.
Then arm him! and in me behold the guard,
The champion, of dead Raimond's memory—
Dishonour'd by your passion.

ALBINA.
Hah! dishonour'd!
Where's the proud Dame, whose glory would not be
Lord Edward's love? Is there a fame so bright
In Henry's court? His noble birth is vulgar,
Placed by his nobler qualities. His mind
Knowledge illumines, and bright Virtue loves.

GONDIBERT.
Perish his fame—his virtues!—I abhor him.

ALBINA.
He who abhors my Edward, must shun me.
Farewell, my Lord! Henceforward he alone
Can meet a welcome here, who pays just tribute
To Edward's worth.

[Exit.
GONDIBERT.
Oh, stay—Albina, stay!
Hah, gone! Curse on my fierce impetuous passions!
What have I done? I've work'd her up to hatred—
In the sole moment that my fate allow'd
To win her from the purpose which undoes me.
Fool! fool! were such the arts I had devis'd?
Fury, and threats, are ye the wiles of love?
Oh, I have fix'd my fate!—Albina will be Edward's.
Hold, hold, thou cracking brain!—one hope's still left—
One road's still open, to prevent their marriage,
Or to escape the woe.—I'll challenge Edward:
He falls, or I; and which, to me is equal.

[Going.
Enter Editha.
EDITHA.
Thou child of fury! Victim of blind passions!
Why challenge Edward?

GONDIBERT.
Why! because I hate him.
My vengeance and my love demand the trial—
Both he must satisfy, or both destroy.

EDITHA.
Obey their impulse—Be reveng'd and happy!
But risk not on a rival's sword thy life.

GONDIBERT.
Ha! how?—what, meanly steal a coward's triumph;
Snatch a vile conquest that my sword might purchase—
—Creep, an Assassin, on his guardless hours—

EDITHA.
Still wilfully, my Lord, you wrest my words.
No plot upon his life I've form'd—Then hear me!
On what pretences canst thou challenge Edward?
Wilt thou proclaim thy love for Raimond? No.
Love so unsanction'd starts from human customs,
And from all human laws. Yet still methinks
He should not win the Countess.

GONDIBERT.
Should not! shall not.

EDITHA.
With what an insolent content he left her,
He pass'd me! but too full of bliss was he,
To see an object less than his Albina.
Sudden it struck me—now, with how much ease
This haughty joy might be transform'd to woe!
Thy heart now swelling with triumphant passion,
A little word, that touch'd it with suspicion,
Would, with a serpent's tooth, its raptures cure,
—Suspicion, once awaken'd, never sleeps.

GONDIBERT.
Suspicion! of Albina!

EDITHA.
Yes—suspicion.
Infuse its poison!—'twill be balm to thee.

GONDIBERT.
Impossible!—
Resplendent lilies, that in deserts bloom,
Where man's licentious eye hath never roam'd,
Boast less unsullied pureness than her mind.

EDITHA.
Though to the world she spotless may appear
As mountain snow, yet can no doubtful tint
By a suspicious Brother be discern'd?
Lord Raimond may have trusted Gondibert
With fears that he kept chary from the world;
Or, may not you in some unguarded moment—
—Admitted by a Brother's rights, have caught
Her frigid virtue melting at the suit
Of some young Paramour?

GONDIBERT.
Hah!

EDITHA.
Your tried honour
Must stamp the story with the face of truth,
And force conviction on his heart, in spite
Of all the doubts which passion may retain
To plead in Beauty's cause.

GONDIBERT.
Oh, ye just powers!
What must the passion, what, be the despair
That prompts my haughty soul to such mean arts?
Deceit! till now, a stranger to my heart,
Welcome! with all thy wiles—
Upon my tongue distil thy subtile poison
To blister Edward's peace! Yet 'tis not possible;
One look, one tone of her's, would controvert
The blackest tales that malice could suggest.

EDITHA.
Let him but feel the sting of jealousy,
And every tone, and look, will fix it deeper.

GONDIBERT.
Should he be wrought to such accurst belief,
Not he alone, but all mankind would scorn her—
The antiquated Maid, the Wife, the Hypocrite,
Whilst the loose Wanton hails, with impious joy,
A Sister in Albina. Horrid thought!
That form, beheld by the admiring world
With chaste respect—shall it with loose contempt
Be gaz'd on?—shall the angelic mind of her
My soul adores, e'er feel the stings, the bitterness
Of scorn!

EDITHA.
Be it thy prayer, thy hope, thy comfort!
Think on the riches of that bounteous hour
When Raimond, drooping, sunk beneath the shame
The world will pour upon her guiltless head—
—By Edward left—abandon'd by her Father;
The eye of Nature, Virtue, Friendship, shut;
In thee alone, she finds respect and love!
Beholds thee weep her woes, and share her anguish—
—Accomplish this, and thank thy lib'ral stars!

GONDIBERT.
Oh, 'twere a boundless luxury of bliss!
I'd steal her sorrows, rob her of her griefs,
And give her, in exchange, soft peace and love.
Yet, oh! it cannot be—me she'd regard
With a cold Sister's brow.

EDITHA.
Lovers, 'tis said,
Have eagles' sight, that can interpret glances,
And the soft language of a blush explain;
But eyes and blushes speak in vain to you—
Or you have read them backwards.

GONDIBERT.
Ha! what say'st thou?
Lead not, I charge thee, to such dang'rous heights!
Yet tell me—

EDITHA.
Tell thee! Strange, that Gondibert,
He who can penetrate the veil of policy,
Detect the sophist's arts, and trace the chain
Whose hidden links controul the will of man,
That he should need be told, what not to know
Argues gross blindness, or determin'd error.

GONDIBERT.
Blindness to what? Editha, speak.—Explain!

EDITHA.
Recall then to your mind the marriage months
Of the deceased Lord.—Did no complaint,
No word ambiguous, e'er escape his lips,
Reflecting on the coldness of Albina?

GONDIBERT.
Her coldness!—Ha!—What then?

EDITHA.
Nay, answer me.
Can you remember?

GONDIBERT.
Yes, I've ne'er forgot,
That, as he feasted once my greedy ear
With praises of his Bride, he sudden stopp'd,
And with a sigh—a sigh which seem'd t'escape
From hidden stores—exclaim'd—Yet Gondibert,
All good and beauteous as she is, not yet
Have I inspir'd her icy heart with love.

EDITHA.
Then hear! She is not ice. Albina's bosom
Glows with all Nature's sympathetic fire.
Know too, that when a Wife untouch'd appears
By a fond Husband's tender, anxious love,
'Tis not because she's form'd of flint or snow,
Albina's heart was to her Husband cold,
Because some happier youth engross'd its fire.
Some happy Youth, unconscious of his fate,
The Countess lov'd, and thou—yes, thou wert he.

GONDIBERT.
Then I am most accurst! It cannot be!
Albina lov'd not me—or, if she did,
Tell me, perfidious Woman!—cruel! tell me,
Why did'st 'till now conceal the glorious secret?
Why now reveal it?

EDITHA.
To confirm your purpose,
Compassion to your sorrows hath impell'd me
Now to reveal a confidence repos'd—
—No, not repos'd; to chance I owe the tale.

GONDIBERT.
Editha! thou hast caught my list'ning soul—
Her faculties, her every sense, she crowds
To one; I am all ear.

EDITHA.
Oppress'd with cares,
As once upon a couch I had reclin'd,
To woo a short repose, Albina enter'd.
Tender her look, deep thought was in her eye,
Which pensively upon the vacant air
She fix'd—then turn'd it eager on the portrait,
Where you, a Mars, the living canvas shews;
And for a while, with ardent gaze, survey'd it—
Saying, “Had I the pencil held, that helmet
Had been Love's chaplet; and the uncouth armour
Upon those graceful limbs, bright Hymen's flow'ry robe”.
I started—she espied me; and overcome
With shame, and sinking e'en to earth with fear,
Conjured me, by the love I bore her fame,
By all the sacred honour of our sex,
Ne'er to divulge—ne'er whisper to my heart,
The fatal secret, which through chance was mine.

GONDIBERT.
It is enough—she loves—Albina loves!
The truth divine swift rushes on my heart,
And all its pow'rs confess the rapt'rous guest.
Thousand sweet tokens now afresh start up,
Darting like hidden sun-beams on my mind,
And make it drunk with bliss. But Edward—Edward!
Blind fool! to feast on shadows—dream of happiness,
Whilst one more daring boldly asks the substance,
And bears it from my arms—my hopes, forever!

EDITHA.
Trust me, my Lord, if you can thwart their marriage,
She will again return with height'ned ardor
To her first love; and with sweet chidings meet
The tardy vows, that gave another leave
To ask the heart she'd fain have giv'n to thee.

GONDIBERT.
Oh, 'tis a bribe would tempt my soul to earth,
If at the gates of Paradise. Thou phantom,
Honour! hide thy stern head; Conscience! go sleep;
'Till sated Love shall give thee leave to prate;
Then will I hear thee—wail in a friar's cowl
The precious sin, and think monastic rigours
Too slight—too poor a penance for my joys.

EDITHA.
To 'scape Suspicion's prying eyes, we'll part.
When night's kind shades shall wrap all mortal things
In doubtful semblance, meet me in the garden;
There Edward you shall see, and frame his mind
To such conviction as I mean to give it.

GONDIBERT.
Commands like mystic oracles you give,
Hiding in doubtful words a glorious fate.
To thee, sweet Priestess! I resign my faith,
Nor dare, beyond what you reveal, enquire.
Ye hours! wear wings, 'till we shall meet again.

[Exit.
EDITHA.
So!—
To mould the frenzy of despairing love,
Is no less easy than to wind the jealous.
Oh, that man—
A being form'd, as if in Nature's vanity,
To shew how great, how exquisite her skill,
Should be the slave of such an abject passion!
To a mere humour those vast pow'rs should yield,
By which he grasps Creation's mighty scheme,
And emulates Omniscience.—