University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

A Room.
Robert and Arthur asleep. Enter Ethel in his cloak, bearing a light.
Eth.
They are asleep;—asleep! and by tomorrow
They will have looked into the mystery,
And seen the other side of awful death.
O me! what men or immaterial shapes
Walk by the rivers of that unseen shore?
What fates, what accidents, what circumstance,
Await the wasted and time-wearied ghost,
That, melted from impediments of earth,
Lifts the black curtain up of monstrous night,
And finds itself—why do I tremble at it?
What is't to me, that I should vex my soul
In dim forebodings of what is to be,
For them, or me, or any other man?
It is enough I know, and ache to know,
What on this bridge of time I have to do,
Not overlook the abysm, till my head fail.
What, can they sleep like new-baptized infants,
Who have sinned deeply? Yet be charitable;
That which in me had been a crime unspeakable,
Their heady and fierce natures could not consider.
I'll think in part they erred; yet they must die for it,
And I must execute.—Brothers, awake!
Brothers, I come to touch your dear loved hands
And be at peace with you before you die.
Though in the world I wear a hateful face
And brow of judgment, I may forget them here.
Repent your sin; forgive and pity me,
That the sad fates, which no man may gainsay,
Have put me to this duty.

Arth.
Why, will you murder us?

Eth.
Call it not murder; be more merciful.
Say you have not deserved it; make that clear,
You shall walk free as air.

Arth.
We have deserved it
As the world's judgments go, but not from you.

Eth.
Oh, how can I escape? Do you not know
I must do that which, howsoe'er I tread,
The world shall wonder at, and scarce believe.
Reverence and loyalty shall look pale to see me
Put forth my hand into their sanctuary,
And from beneath the shelter of a crown,
Under whose sacred circle sits a king,
Pluck forth the sheltered wrong, and punish it;
Ay, in the person of anointed majesty.

Robt.
By Heaven, we'll help you in it! Let us go free!

Eth.
Too late, too late.

Robt.
When we are dead, indeed,
Then it will be too late.

Eth.
It was too late,
When first you raised your swords against the right;
Then it became too late.

Robt.
Is this our Ethel?
That he was true and loving, this we knew,
But never pitiless.

Eth.
I am that Ethel,
On whom the rigorous powers lay such stern hands,
That of my dearest duties they make fires
To burn my friends. She that makes heaven terrible,
Yet only trustworthy, immaculate Justice,
Who dares not overlook unpurged offences,
Hath chosen me to be her officer;
And I, who am a man and son of God,
Have dared to undertake the high commission.
Can I, then, tamper with her least decree?
Can I,—
Who tread the mixed and intricate confines
Of punishment and personal revenge,
And in the balance of my private bosom
Have dared to weigh delinquencies of kings,—
Can I play fast and loose, wink with one eye,
And when disorder comes within my scope,
Because it is my kinsmen suffer it,
Let the soft witch Affection sway my acts,
And melt the life of Conscience?

Arth.
It is enough;
Our deaths more than our lives are serviceable.
You'll not forgive that we disdained your counsel,
And dared to fight against you.

Eth.
Nay, but stay;
You are not innocent that speak thus with me,
Nor against me have sinned; I have no choice
To say go free. Taken in arms you were,
Against your country, leagued with foreign foes;
And, set aside the task I have in hand,
My duty is as open as the day;
I cannot pardon traitors.

Arth.
Ay, so call us;
And when you march against your King tomorrow,
You are no traitor!

Eth.
Oh, the difference!
Arthur, play not the casuist with me;
That which we feel down in our heart's deep centre,
Let us not mess with words. The time is awful;
I neither can forego your punishment
Nor quench the love I bear you. Look upon me.

Arth.
Nay, I care not.

Eth.
Be patient with me, brothers!
Is it so much to die? I think it is not.
Oh, pity me the greatness of my woe,
Which, like the central subterranean fire,
Burns in my breast, and not abides the day.
Your sister, oh!

Arth.
Doth she yet live?

Eth.
Ay, I thank God she doth.

Arth.
Dost thou thank God for that? Where is she now?

Eth.
Now here in Engelborg.

Robt.
In Engelborg!
Before I die—

Arth.
Hush, Robert! on your life!

Eth.
What is it, Robert?

Arth.
Robert!

Robt.
Well, no matter.
This is the end of a most noble house.

Eth.
Indeed, I pity you; give me your hands.

Arth.
Sir, if you love us, cease to trouble us;
You are that Earl of Felborg we thought honourable,
That Ethel whom we loved—

Eth.
Oh, love me still!

Arth.
And now you are, I know not what, a priest,
If you be true, or madman; and, if you be not,
The murderer of your brothers. Fare you well,
And let us sleep.

Eth.
Now could I break my heart,
And with the baby-droppings of a boy
Make your proud spirits melt. Oh, I have loved you,
And do, beyond my utterance; for, indeed,
I ever was cold-tongued, and therefore I think
No man in all the world did ever love me.

Robt.
Yea, that did I, and dearly.

Eth.
Didst thou, Robert?
Ah now, then, when I kneel to thee, forgive me,
And think me not a brother, but a sword
In the hand of Justice. Had it been your lot
To have slain me—as, oh, rejoice it is not—
I would have thanked, not cursed you.

Arth.
Oh, have done!
Do you come here to play the hypocrite?

Eth.
I do not, Arthur; by my soul, I do not!
Now I forget myself to kneel to you,
For you are stubborn and impenitent,
And will not see the greatness of your sin.
Farewell, I never more shall see your faces;
But oh, repent, repent before you die!

[Exit.
Arth.
Now, Robert—

Robt.
I was sleeping.

Arth.
So was not I,
For I have sent for young Cornelius,
And feared he might arrive ere Felborg went.

Robt.
Why should he waken me? Is it not cold?
I wonder shall we feel it in our graves.
What time of night is that? What, ten? no more.
I would tonight, and half tomorrow too,
Had been brushed off the dial; the clocks then
May strike what hours they will, and never trouble us.

Arth.
Listen to me.

Robt.
I will not listen to you.
For God's sake, let's have done with talk at last.
You are a talker, and a great adviser,
And you it was that brought us to this pass.
Why did you join those ever-damned Swedes?
You spoiled the game my boldness might have won.
Oh, I could eat my heart out of my breast!
The King that hears of it shall sweetly smile,
His arm about my sister. Oh, this Ethel!

Arth.
That which we did, we did it for the best,
And were't to do again, I would not change:
These idle lamentations are mere air;
The past is done, there leave it. Have you a spirit
To meddle with the future, and wash out
The golden grains of hope there?

Robt.
Bah, what hope?

Arth.
I trust Cornelius has not met with Ethel;
He stays too long.

Robt.
What will you do with him?

Arth.
This will I make him do. Give us our swords,
Open these doors, and let us walk as free
As morning out of night.

Robt.
Can you do this?

Arth.
I think I can, for he is weak and changing,
Borrowing his mood, like a contagious fever,
From him who touched him last. Trust me, we'll find
A way to move him to it.

Robt.
What! do you think
Tomorrow we shall breathe the air of heaven,
And not lie under ground? I laugh at it,
And am a man again. Then to the court;
We'll trust our own arms, Arthur.

Arth.
Ay, but stay!

Robt.
By Heaven, a little while ago it seemed
A dreadful thing to die; by how much more
Doth it now seem a glorious thing to live!
Ha, ha! Ha, ha!
We'll bathe in morning, and the mounting sun,
That feared to have beheld us pale and cold,
Shall laugh to see us under open sky,
Feeding on light and blown by early winds.
Ha, ha! Ha, ha!

Arth.
Be patient yet awhile;
There's more to do.

Robt.
What is't?

Arth.
Violenzia.

Robt.
What dreadful thought possesses you?

Arth.
Must she live?

Robt.
I am a clod again. What! murder her?
And yet I do not see how she can live.

Arth.
To be a standing index of our shame;
A breathing monument, drawing men's eyes
To gaze on our disgrace. No, she must die;
Blood washes clean, at least. Nay, in mere pity
'Twere best to kill her.

Robt.
Oh, the sadness of it!
Would you had never spoke to me of freedom!
Would I were dead, and this were not to do!

Arth.
A harlot of our house!

Robt.
Shut, shut your lips.
She dies, and there's an end on 't.

Enter Cornelius.
Arth.
Ha, Cornelius!
Why did you stay so long? have you met Ethel?

Cor.
I have not seen him. He was here with you?

Arth.
Ay, not a moment since. Quick, good Cornelius!

Cor.
What would you have with me?

Arth.
We would be free!
And we would have you open these our doors;
See us safe through your guards; give us our swords;
And put our horses under us.

Cor.
Is this all?
Give you good night, then.

Arth.
Be not mad, Cornelius!
Your folly will mar all, and kill us indeed.
You do not think Ethel intends our death?

Cor.
He acts it well, then.

Arth.
Palpably he does.
Because the thing was open, and we taken
In the very act, he needs must sentence us;
But to suppose he left no loophole for us,
Would be to think he'd murder us. Are you so dull?
Why did he visit us now, but to say this?
Why did he give us into your charge, man,
On whom he might rely to guess his meaning,
And do it without questioning?

Cor.
By my faith,
He gave no hint of this.

Arth.
A hint, Cornelius!
What would you have? Will you go speak to him,
And drive him by plain questioning to deny it?
Do it, and murder us. By holy cross,
It makes me mad that we must lose our lives
Because this man is witless!

Robt.
Nay, good Arthur,
Be not so hot; he knew not Ethel's meaning;
He cannot miss it now. By mass, Cornelius,
'Twas well we sent for you; you had not come else.

Cor.
Nay, I remember when you first were taken
He groaned at it, and cursed at them which took you.

Arth.
Ay, and controlled himself before we came,
And so condemned us; did he not? Why, think!
Would he so coldly have passed sentence on us,
And thought it carried death?

Cor.
Hardly, I think.

Arth.
Nay, if you lack the heart to venture out,
Back to your bed. He'll frown on you tomorrow,
And you would take't for earnest. Fie, Cornelius!

Cor.
I'll move the guard away, and send you swords.

Arth.
And have us horses ready. And, Cornelius,
Show us our sister's lodging; we would speak to her
Before we go.

Cor.
Without there! open the door!—
I'll send to you straightway. Avoid these drinkers.
I am glad to serve you in it.

[Exit.
Robt.
By Heaven, it's done!
Let's flee at once!

Arth.
No, no; he sends us swords,
Without which we are nothing. Listen to them.

[Soldiers heard singing.
Enter Soldier with swords.
Sol.
Look you, some of us will be hung for this.

Arth.
Do you think so, fellow? Oh, no.

Sol.

Ay, you may laugh at it; but I must obey Cornelius, though I see I shall hang for it. That's my duty, and the gallows will be my payment.

Arth.
Well, lead on, fellow.

Robt.
Will he not hang Cornelius?

Arth.
Like enough

[Exeunt.