SCENE II.
Rayner'
s lodgings.
Enter
Rayner
alone.
Ray.
Be still, ye idle thoughts that toss me thus,
Changing like restless waves, but ever dark;
Or one of you above his fellows rise,
And bear a steady rule. Adversity!
Thou'st come upon me like an ambush'd foe
In armed strength. If I had mark'd thy course,
I might have girt myself for thine approach,
While distant still, and met thee like a man.
But when new-fetter'd in a lover's bonds,
And dazzled too with hope's deceitful brightness,
Cam'st thou like a thick cloud of desert sand,
And in dark night o'erwhelm'd me: deepest night,
Through which no waking vision ever gleams,
Save thy grim visage only, loathly want,
In all thy varied forms of misery.
My night, my day dreams, ah! how are ye changed,
Since in the new-betroth'd, the lover's fancy,
Ye wove your sheeny maze of mingled thoughts,
Like sparkling dew-webs in the early sun!
[
After a pause.
Elizabeth! methinks e'en now I see her.
As in the horrors of my last night's dream,
When, after following her through flood and fire,
She turn'd to me, and her weak arms stretch'd forth.
But ah! how changed, how pale, and spent, and keen!
As if already blighting poverty,
That portion which her love must share with me,
Had marr'd—cease, cease, base thought, it shall not be!
Enter Herman with a knapsack on his back, as if prepared for a journey.
What, my good Herman, art thou so soon ready?
Her.
Yes, my dear master, but if you think it too
soon, I will not go to-day. Nay if it were not that
you force me to go, I should as soon have thought
of deserting my friend (pardon my boldness, sir) in
a wild wood amongst savages, as leaving you here
in this strange place in the state you are in at present.
Pardon my boldness, sir.
Ray.
Thou hast no boldness to pardon, Herman:
thou art well entitled to call thyself my friend;
there is not one amongst those who have borne that
name, who would have done more for me than thou
hast done.
Her.
Ah, sir!
Ray.
(assuming a look of cheerfulness).
Fy, do
not look so sadly upon me, man; thanks to thy
good nursing and the good broth thou hast made me,
I am getting strong again: and as for the state of my
coffers, for which thou so much concernest thyself,
do not let that disturb thee. My tide of means is,
to be sure, pretty well ebbed just now; but some
wind or other will spring up to set it a flowing
again. In the mean time thou knowest I would
travel alone: perhaps I may ramble about a little
while mysteriously, like the wandering Jew-or some
of those lonely philosophers which thy old stories
tell thee about, and there is no knowing what I
may find out to do me good. The philosopher's
stone, thou knowest, may as well fall into my hands
as those of any other wanderer: so pray thee, man,
don't look so ruefully upon me.
Her.
Ah, my dear master! there is something
here that hangs heavy on my heart, and says, if I
leave you now, some evil will befall you: I beseech
you let me stay with you, I shall find something to
do in this town, and I can—
Ray.
No, no, no! Speak of this no more—we
have argued this point already. And what is this
which thou puttest down so slily upon the table?
[Taking up a little packet which
Herman
has put secretly upon the table.
Ha! the jewels I have given thee in room of thy
wages! out upon it! thou wilt make me angry
with thee now, and it grieves me to be angry with
thee. Put it up, put it up: I command thee to do
it; and thou knowest I have not often used this
stern word.
Her.
O no, sir! You have not indeed used it;
and I shall never meet with another master like
you.
Ray.
Thou wilt meet, I hope, my dear Herman,
with a far better master than I have been to thee,
though not with one for whom thou wilt do so much
kindly service as thou hast done for me; and for
this cause, perhaps, thou wilt not love him so much.
God prosper thee for it, wherever thou goest!—
Take this embrace and blessing for all thou hast
done for me. Farewell! farewell! thou must be
gone now, indeed thou must. God bless thee, my
good Herman.
[
Pushing
Herman
gently off the stage, who wipes his eyes and seems unwilling to go.
[
Exit
Herman.
Ray.
(
alone).
Now, am I left alone: there's no one near me
That e'er hath loved or cared for me. Methinks
I now can better look i' th' surly face
Mine alter'd state, and bear to be in want.
I am alone, and I am glad of it.
Alas! changed heart of mine! what is that state
Which gives to thee such thoughts?—Elizabeth—
Again, again! This strong idea still!
I am distracted when I think of this:
Therefore I must not, if I would be honest.
Those men—or are they men or are they devils?
With whom I met last night; they've fasten'd on me
Fell thoughts, which, though I spurn them, haunt me still.
Would I had never met them!
Here comes my landlord with his surly face
Of debts and claims, and ev'ry irksome thing.
Enter Landlord with a letter.
Good morrow, landlord.
Land.
I thank you, sir; I am glad to hear you
call me landlord; for I began to be afraid you had
mistaken me for your host.
Ray.
I understand you well enough, and indeed
I have proved your patience, or rather your impatience,
much longer than I wished. You have a
letter in your hand.
Land.
(giving it).
There, sir; if it bring you the
news of any good luck, I shall be glad of it.
Ray.
(agitated).
From Elizabeth, Good morning
—good morning to you.
Land.
Read it, sir, and see if it bring you any
good news; it is time now to look for some change
in your favour.
Ray.
I cannot open it whilst thou art here.
Have the goodness at least not to stand so near
me.
Land.
So I must not occupy a place in my own
house, forsooth, for fear of offending the good folks
who do me the honour to live in it.
[
Retires to the bottom of the stage, muttering to himself.
Ray.
(
after opening the letter with great emotion and reading it).
O What is this?—
Abandon'd by the friend with whom she liv'd,
And coming here to join me with all speed!
O God! O God!
[
Sinks down upon a chair in violent agitation.
Land.
(
running up to him).
What is the matter now?
Ray.
Begone, begone! I cannot answer thee.
Enter Count Zaterloo.
Zat.
Ha, Rayner! how is't with thee? thou lookst wildly.
(
To landlord.)
Speak to me, friend: he heeds not what I say:
Has any new misfortune happen'd to him?
Land.
I fear there has, sir.
Zat.
Rouse thee up, brave Rayner,
A friend is come to thee.
Ray.
(
starting up).
Ha, is it thou?
Com'st thou upon me now, my tempter? now,
E'en in my very moment of distraction?
Thou knowst thy time: some fiend has whisper'd to thee.
Ay, ay! say what thou wilt.
Zat.
Thou'rt surely mad; I came not, on my word,
To say aught to thee which an honest ear
Might not receive; nor will I even speak,
Since it so moves thee—
Ray.
(
interrupting him eagerly).
Ah, but thou must!
Thou must speak that, which, in its darkest hour,
Push'd to extremity, 'midst ringing dizziness
The ear of desperation doth receive,
And I must listen to it.
Zat.
What, sayst thou so? 'Tis well (aside)
, but be more prudent,
We are o'erheard.
[
Looking suspiciously to landlord, who has retired a few paces behind.
Come with me to my lodgings;
There wait my friends; all things shall be concerted:
Come with me, instantly; the time is precious.
Ray.
(
in a tone of despair, clasping his hands vehemently).
Ay, ay! I'll go with thee.
[
Exeunt
Count Zaterloo
and
Rayner:
Manet landlord.
Landlord
(coming forward).
What's this I've
overheard? Is this devil now going to tempt the
poor distressed young man to do some foul deed in
his necessity?—I have tempted him too, with my
hard-hearted murmuring about the few wretched
pounds that he owes me. I'll run after him and
say, I don't care whether he pay me or not. (Running
to the door and then stopping short.)
No, no!
softly, softly! I dare say it is only some sharping
business they have got on hand, such as needy gentlemen
are sometimes forced to follow: I have got
my conscience newly cleared off at confession last
week, and I am to make an offering next holy-day
to the shrine of our patron St. Bernard; this is no
time, good sooth, to lose such a sum upon scruples.
[
Exit.
