University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

The Camp. Ethel's Tent.
Ethel and Cornelius.
Eth.
And now, Cornelius,
Let's drop our mask of business, and be friends.
Welcome again. I missed your talk o' nights,
For through these tents the cold wind whistles lonely.
How stands my loved Violenzia in the court?
Uneasily, I fear. She's well, you say?

Cor.
Strange we should say, “he's well,” and mean thereby
The least part of him! Ay, as men speak, she's well.

Eth.
And ill, as who speak?

Cor.
Alas! why, as the angels.

Eth.
She is not dead!

Cor.
Not dead.

Eth.
Not dying? Oh,
You waste me! Speak!

Cor.
Untouched she lives in body and in spirits.

Eth.
In spirits? Then not troubled by the King?

Cor.
Oh, no! not troubled.

Eth.
Healthful and in peace;
Why, then, I think there's nothing in the world
Can shake me far. Nay, clear your brow, Cornelius;
Give it a voice, and you shall find me bold,
With such endurance as becomes a man,
To bear the strokes of fortune.

Cor.
Well I know you
For one whom no light touch of outward things
Can stir from wonted temperance. Yet I fear you;
For I do know you too for one whose heart
Beats deeply in his bosom, and who leads
In those he loves a more essential life
Than in himself takes root.

Eth.
Those I love best,
Herself, yourself, her brothers,
Sit in the house of safety. Speak, Cornelius.

Cor.
O forward spirits of men! whose airy hopes
See fortune rising ere a crimson cloud
Break in the east; but when the thick clouds gather,
Forego their prescience;—only the lightning wakes them.
Violenzia's false! Do you smile?

Eth.
And is this all?
Of how great weight have you unbosomed me!
Bring me no ill news lined with greater truth,
I'll never style you raven.

Cor.
Why, what's this?
You'll not believe it, then?

Eth.
Why, no, Cornelius.
And though I laughed, I'll ask you yet in earnest,
How you came to believe it. Trust me, an answer
Not showing some excuse for't will go far
To scar our friendship.

Cor.
False with the King, I say!

Eth.
Say it no more, I charge you, by my love.

Cor.
What! must I stretch you on particulars,
And rack you with the items? When I gave her
Your letter, she, being private then with the King,
“Secretly, good Cornelius,” she cried,
Her finger on her lips; and when she saw
The King marked all, she played her part aside;
In her false bosom feigning to conceal it,
She let it drop to the ground. Oh, not an act—
No word—no gesture—but did o'er-confirm,
Beyond the power of doubting, that was true
Which the court buzzed with;—the warm King had won her
To all his wishes aimed at.

Eth.
Look, Cornelius:
If I should say you lied in what you tell me,
What would you put against it?

Cor.
Your close friendship,
And knowledge of my truth.

Eth.
Why, so I do.
Therefore I say not, in your facts you lie,
But in the consequents you idly draw,
And base suspicions. Yet, if thus far I trust you,
How much upon the faith of my beloved
Shall I not more be bold, and to more knowledge
Accord an answering confidence! Go, Cornelius!
I never thought to find a cause to say
You were so much unworthy. You that knew her,—
Cornelius, whom she called her friend! Nay, go!
And till your slanderous thoughts be burnt away,
Look not upon my face to call me friend.

Cor.
You do me wrong. I'll go, not to return.
I seek no love of one who dares discredit me
Even a hair's breadth. [Exit.
[A storm; heavy rain.


Eth.
How the wind rushes, and the gusty rain
Comes pattering in the pauses of the blast!
Cornelius will soon repent of this.
Meanwhile Violenzia lives at ease in the court;
And when these tardy-footed wars are past
I'll knit her mine for ever. What a spirit
Of undisturbed peace makes visit here;
And in my soul a calm delight keeps house,
Ranging its chambers like a white-stoled babe:
As if no jarring of the ill-fitting world,
Or tyranny of petty circumstance,
Could ever more invade me; and those thoughts
Brooding imagination doth invent,
Of perfect harmony and bliss unstained,
Were real, and the dusty time-worn world
Hidden in second spring-time! Can it be
That these soft spirits may make apes of us,
And, while we nourish sweet content at home,
Calamity strike abroad? As I have heard—
What's that? Is't true that spirits ride the wind?
Most melancholy ones, then. Hark, again!
The sound of weeping, making awful pauses
Of the short hushes of the storm. Who sighs
Against my threshold? My warm blood runs cold,
And gathers at my heart. What, am I mad?
Let's see what may be seen.
[Goes out, and returns.
The empty dark,
Wherein no star doth pierce the thick eclipse,
But all is shrouded in a watery veil.
Again! again! That's human! who goes there?

[Exit. Returns, carrying Violenzia. She throws herself on her face before him.
Eth.
Violenzia!

Vio.
Oh, hide me! Oh, my misery!

Eth.
What art thou, that thus bred of sudden night
Shakest my knees with sobbing? Stand! stand up!

Vio.
Lay not thy hand upon me.

Eth.
In my breast
Strange thoughts take substance, and begin to shake
My soul's foundation. Thou—thou—art not?—speak!

Vio.
I am! I am!—The King!—

Eth.
Away! away!
Hell hath no words for it.

Vio.
Alas! alas! alas!

Eth.
By heaven, 'tis midnight, and the lunatic moon
Peeps through my tent-holes.
Art thou the thing that thou pretend'st to be,
Or some accursed midnight wandering ghost
Come to afflict me? With my bright sword's point
I'll try thy substance.

Vio.
Mercy! oh, have mercy!

Eth.
Where's mercy, since she hath forsook the heavens?
Who guides—who guides the terrible machine?
O Violenzia, take back thy words,
And make me subject to a false alarm,
Or with my sword I'll break these gates of life
That shut in living death.

[Pointing his sword against himself.
Vio.
Alas! alas!

Eth.
I dream! I dream! It is not yet near day.

[A long pause.
Vio.
Speak, speak to me!

Eth.
Say'st thou? Stand up, I say!
Why beat'st thou with thy forehead on the ground?
This is no shame; this is our misery.
Lift up again that streaming face of thine,
Wet with unutterable woe. Look up!

Vio.
Touch me not, Ethel! Oh, your touch is fire,
And burns my abhorred miserable flesh!
How shall I break these walls, or how get free?
I am cased in such pollution as makes sick
My soul within me. Oh, that these my tears
Could quite dissolve my substance, and the ground
Soak up my detested being. Would I were dead!
Would I were dead! were dead!

Eth.
Peace, shaken child!
Control the greatness of your agony.
Alas, I cannot! My perturbed soul,
Like an imprisoned mist, doth shake and wave,
And I perceive no light.

Vio.
To doubt my truth!
Oh, it was base in you! Nay, to make surety
So strong that you dare call me vile! Ay, now,
Now call me vile,—it suits,—now call me stained!
Heap epithets upon me, none so foul
As can express my misery: but then—
I was as clear as daylight.

Eth.
Alas! what mean you?

Vio.
Your letter! oh, your letter! Did you not write it?—
O most egregious fool! he did not write it.

Eth.
Nothing but love; what did you get from me?

Vio.
O me, I nothing know; only I think
The heaven above's unroofed, and there's no bar
Against the powers of evil.

Eth.
Oh, be patient!
Go in with me. I hear friends.

Vio.
Where? oh, where?
Hide me, sweet Ethel; let me not be seen.

[Exit Ethel and Violenzia into an inner room.
Enter Olave and Cornelius.
Ol.
Do you believe it? why, man, let me tell you,
I, that did never more than once enjoy
The touch of her frank hand,—that in such courtesy
As one, till then a stranger, might exact;
And never more than once looked on her face,
A garden where the flowers of beauty sprang,
Troubling the sense with richness; never but once
Took through the dazzled windows of my soul
Her proud and innocent gaze; I, that not knew her,
And of her musical speech heard no more tones
Than go to make a greeting,—I'll believe
Rather the diamond should fade and rot
Than she be turned to folly.

Cor.
Be it so.
And were it otherwise, I was a fool
To seek to make him think so. But this message
Puts it beyond dispute—whether by force,
Or slipped by inclination, she is ruined.
This he must know that all the world now knows.

Ol.
Ay, or he'll hear it coarsely.

Enter Ethel.
Ol.
Look! he knows it!

Eth.
Good morrow, friends. Give me your hands
Let's see—
This should be Olave, this Cornelius.
Hath any deadly mischief come to you?
You shake your heads. No plague-star stands i' the sky,
And rains disease? I know it is not so;
No earthquake gapes. I know—I know it, I.
Open the door. The jolly sun mounts up;
Why should he stain his glittering cheeks with tears?
O dewy grass! O voice of birds! O friends!
Look, I can smile too; but within me here,
Ay, in my heart, there's fire—there's fire—there's fire!

Cor.
O piteous voice!

Ol.
Will you not cut his heart out?

Eth.
Revenge—revenge—they say that word's not lawful,
And sweet Religion weeps at it. Dark, dark,
O God! I know whom Thou afflict'st with griefs
Thou look'st for great things from him. If my acts
Must grow up to the measure of my woe,
I shall amaze the world.

Ol.
Ay, with revenge!
Whose fiery wing shall overtake your shame,
And blind the eyes of them that look on it.

Eth.
Who plagues me with revenge? Am I not mad enough?
Have I no devil here? Cornelius!
Is it not said we must forgive our foes?

Cor.
So it is said.

Ol.
For priests! for priests! not men.

Eth.
For mine own wrongs, I could as soon forgive them
As dip my hand in water; but that she—
O most accursed monster! why, the sun
Would not too boldly look on her. Foul thoughts
Did from her presence and fair virgin eyes,
Like ghosts from daylight, fly ashamed. Alas!
Was there no way to strike me singly—none?
But for my sins must needs another soul,
And in myself a dearer nobler self,
My life's life—my heart's blood—my air—my centre—
Must that for me be shattered? Oh, yes! yes!
I had no crown to lose but my heart's crown;
No wealth but my heart's wealth—unpriceable;
Rich reputation none; no mother's eyes,
But my love's eyes did ever look upon me;
Here was I graffed, here grew, and since the stock
Is blasted, here must wither!

Ol.
Will you bear it?
I would you were dead sooner! Have you heard?
He sends to seek the lady,—ay, sends here
To you and to her brothers, threatening death
To any that detains her. Is't enough?

Eth.
Did my brothers hear this? Robert and Arthur both?

Ol.
Ay, and so heard as if the shameful words
Were javelins in two angry lions' sides,
And gnashed their teeth, and could not speak for rage.
But you'll forgive,—you'll bear it?

Eth.
What I shall do,
As yet I know not. This I will not do,—
Now, when my soul is mad, and I perceive not
The right from wrong, let my blind rage take wing,
And the great tasks and terrible purposes,
With which Heaven sets my soul and martyrs me,
Mix in confusion irretrievable.
Yet not the less, for this my slow delay,
Will I be swift in execution,
Steadfast, and frightful to the guilty soul
Of him that did this thing. Leave me, good friends.
[Exeunt Olave and Cornelius.
Why so.
Oh, horrible! detestable! I'll not think of it.
Oh, pitiful! oh, wondrous pitiful!
I shall go mad if I do think of it.
What's to be done? Back, back, you wandering thoughts,
That like whipt hounds hang with reverted eyes,
Back to the carcass of my grief! O villain!
Away! It is some devil whispers me.
What! no revenge? Young, young too, and a soldier.
No noble rage? Must we endure like clods,
Under the heavy tread of tyranny?
Whereto, then, had we this quick fiery spirit,
That starts at injury? the bruised worm turns;
And man, framed delicate and sensitive,
On whose fine soul injustice drops like fire,—
Must he bear all? Stay there, Ethel of Felborg.
Art thou so personal? affects it thee?
Such deeds strike deeper. This is not a thing
The impulsive moods of angry men may mix in,—
No, nor admits a passionate remedy;
But an occasion when, men standing amazed,
The visible hand of awful judgment should
Crush up iniquity, and retribution
Divine walk on the earth. No; no revenge.
Teach me, O terrible God!
I do believe—witness these swift hot tears—
I do believe Thou lov'st me even in this;
And therefore now thy sovran hand put forth,
And my dejected desultory soul
Bind up to thy great meaning. I believe.
I'll go and seek my brothers.

[Exit.