University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Matilda's Castle.
Enter Saint Valori and Gyfford.
Gyfford.
With awful wonder I survey and hear you,
Whilst thro' the veil of that disguiseful habit,
Thro' all the changes time and toil have wrought
In that once-noble visage, I scarce trace
The lineaments of my most honour'd Lord.

Saint Valori.
Awake from this surprize, and hear me, Gyfford.
I am no spectre, but thy living master:
Wounded and breathless on the ground I lay,
Welt'ring in blood: th'assassins fled and left me;
There I had soon expir'd, but that a company
Of merchants journeying from Venice found me,
And charitably staunch'd my bleeding wounds.
To their own homes they bore me: heal'd, restor'd,
In a Venetian galley I embark'd,
And sail'd for Genoa; but ere we reach'd
Our destin'd port, a Saracen assail'd
And master'd our weak crew.—To tell the tale
Of my captivity, escape, return,
Would ask more leisure, and a mind at ease.

Gyfford.
But why does brave Saint Valori appear
A bearded Carmelite?

Saint Valori.
This holy habit
Thro' a long course of dangerous pilgrimage
Has been my saving passport: thus attir'd
I reach'd my native castle, found it lorded
By the usurper Hildebrand; with zeal
I burn'd to call my faithful people round me,
And throw off my disguise; this I had done,
But strait arriv'd a herald from King Henry
To warn him to the lists against the champion
Of my supposed widow: the pale coward
Shrunk, yet obey'd the summons. The thought struck me
To join his train, and in my sovereign's presence
At the last trumpet's signal to come forth
Before the King, the lords, and armed knights,
And strike confusion to the caitiff's soul.—
The rest needs no relation.

Gyfford.
'Tis resolv'd
To morrow for Southampton we depart;
There Henry keeps his court.

Saint Valori.
Why then, to-morrow
Truth and the morning-sun shall rise together,
And this black night of doubt shall be dispell'd:
Till then lock fast my secret in thy heart,
And know me for none other than I seem.
Lo, where they come! Yet, yet I will be patient;
Time will bring all things forth.—Gyfford, withdraw.

[Exeunt.
Enter Matilda and Montgomeri.
Matilda.
I think he said he was my husband's friend;
If so I've been too harsh: reason forsook me,
For he did speak of things that rent my heart:
But let that pass.—Dost thou observe, Montgomeri?

Montgomeri.
With fix'd attention and devoted heart
I hear, and note your pleasure.

Matilda.
I am calm,
Thou seest I am, and not about to speak,
As sometimes, when my thoughts obey no order:
Therefore I pray thee mark.—Thou must have noted
With what a tenderness I've train'd thee up
From helpless infancy to blooming manhood:
Hast thou not noted this?

Montgomeri.
I were most vile
Did I forget it.

Matilda.
I am sure thou dost not;
For from the moment of thy birth till now
I've nurs'd thy opening virtues, mark'd their growth,
And gloried in the fruit of my adoption:
I've register'd each movement of thy soul,
And find it tun'd to honour's loftiest pitch,
To soft affection modell'd, and to love,
The harmony of nature: my best hopes
Are satisfied, and thou art all I pray'd for.

Montgomeri.
What thou hast made me that I truly am,
And will be ever: hands, head, heart are your's.

Matilda.
The day is coming on, the wish'd-for day
(After a night of twice ten tedious years)
At length is coming on: justice is granted;
I go to Henry's court; Lord Hildebrand
Is summon'd to the lists: and where's the man
To avenge the widow's cause?

Montgomeri.
Where is the man!
And can you want a champion?—Have I liv'd
The creature of your care, the orphan child
Of your adopting charity, the thing
Your plastic bounty fashion'd from the dust
Of abject misery; and does my heart
Utter one drop of blood that is not your's,
One artery that does not beat for you?

Matilda.
Know, then, I have a champion, noble, brave,
Heir of the great Saint Valori, my son.

Montgomeri.
What do I hear? thy son!—Where has he liv'd,
That I have never seen him? never known
There was a living hero of the name?
Oh, tell me where he is, that I may fly
To do him faithful service, on my knee
Brace on his glittering armour, bear his shield,
The glorious badge of his nobility,
And shout with triumph when his conqu'ring sword
Cleaves the assassin's crest.—Oh send me hence,
To hail his victory, or share his fall!

Matilda.
Thou art my son.

Montgomeri.
Merciful God! thy son!

Matilda.
Thou art my son; for thee alone I've liv'd,
For thee I have surviv'd a murder'd husband;
For thee—but it would break thy filial heart
To hear what I have suffer'd; madness seiz'd me,
And many a time (sweet Jesus intercede,
For I was not myself!) yes, many a time
In my soul's anguish, with my desperate hand
Rais'd for the stroke of death, a thought, a glance
Of thee, my child, has smote my shatter'd brain,
And stopt th'impending blow.

Montgomeri.
Oh, spare thyself,
Spare me the dread description!

Matilda.
Thou hast been
Thy mother's guardian angel: furious once,
In the mind's fever, to Glendarlock's roof
Mad'ning I rush'd; there, from the giddy edge
Of the projecting battlements, below,
Measuring the fearful leap, I cast my eye:
Thy cherub form arrested it; my child
Upon the pavement underneath my feet
Sported with infant playfulness; my blood
Drove back upon my heart; suspended, pois'd,
High hung in air, with outstretch'd arms I stood,
Pondering the dreadful deed; thy fate prevail'd,
Nature flew up, and push'd me from the brink—
I shrunk, recoil'd, and started into reason.

Montgomeri.
Oh terrible to thought! Oh pictur'd horror!
It pierces to my brain; there's madness in it.

Matilda.
Yes, sorrow had o'erturn'd thy mother's brain:
I have been mad, my son; and oftentimes
I find, alas! all is not yet compos'd,
Sound, and at peace: it takes a world of time
To heal the wounds of reason; even now,
When I would fain relate my life's sad story,
I cannot range my scatter'd thoughts in order
To tell it as I shou'd.—I pray thee pardon me;
I'll do my best to recollect myself,
If thou'lt be patient.

Montgomeri.
Patient! Oh, thou sufferer!
Oh, thou maternal softness! hear thy son,
Thus kneeling, bathing with his tears thy feet,
Swear to cast off each fond alluring thought,
The world, its honours, pleasures, and ambition;
Here in this solitude to live with thee,
To thee alone devoted!

Matilda.
No, my son:
Tho' in this solitude I have conceal'd thee,
Ev'n from thyself conceal'd thee, to evade
A fell usurper's search, and stemm'd the tide
Of nature, gushing to a mother's heart;
Still I have done it in the sacred hope
Of some auspicious hour, when I might shew thee
Bright as thy father's fame.

Montgomeri.
I own the cause,
And know how watchfully this hungry vulture
Has hover'd o'er thee on his felon wings.
Now I can solve this solitude around us,
Why thou hast built thine airey in this cragg,
And with a mother's care conceal'd thy young.

Matilda.
Another day, and then—meanwhile be secret;
Discovery now wou'd but disturb the house
From its sobriety, and mar the time
Of awful preparation.—Pass to-morrow!—
(Oh, all ye saints and angels, make it happy!)
Then, if thou com'st a living conqueror home,
This roof, that still has echoed to my groans,
Shall ring with triumphs to Saint Valori's name:
But if—

Montgomeri.
Avert the sad, ill-omen'd word!
Thou shalt not name it: my great father's spirit
Swells in my bosom.—When my falchion gleams,
When the red Cross darts terror from my shield,
The coward's heart shall quail, and Heaven's own arm,
Ere mine can strike, shall lay the murderer low.

Matilda.
Thy father stirs within thee: hark! methinks
I hear the shrieks of his unburied ghost,
Screaming for vengeance.—Oh, support, defend me!
See where he gleams, he bursts upon my sight!
'Tis he! 'tis he! I clasp him to my heart;
My hero! my Saint Valori! my husband!

[Embraces him.
Enter Gyfford unseen; starts.
Gyfford.
Husband! oh fatal word! undone for ever!

Matilda.
I will array thee in a sacred suit,
The very armour my Saint Valori wore,
When in the single combat he unhors'd
And slew the Lord Fitz-Osborn. On that helm
High-plum'd victory again shall stand,
And clap her wings exulting; from that shield
Vengeance with gorgon terrors shall look forth,
Awfully frowning.—Hah! what man art thou?
[Discovering Gyfford.
Gyfford, what would'st thou? wherefore this intrusion?

Gyfford.
A noble messenger from Henry's court
Is landed on the isle.

Matilda.
From the King, say'st thou?

Gyfford.
A runner of his train, whose utmost speed
Scarce distanc'd him an hour, is now arriv'd,
And gives this warning.

Matilda.
Did you not enquire
His master's name and title?

Gyfford.
Lord De Courci.

Matilda.
A generous and right noble lord he is:
Our Normandy boasts not a worthier baron,
Nor one affianc'd to our house more kindly:
Prepare to give him welcome.—Follow me.

[Exit with Montgomeri.
Gyfford.
Yes, to destruction, for that way thou lead'st.
Husband!—her husband! her Saint Valori!
It cannot be.—Without the church's rites
Wed him she could not; to conceal those rites,
And wed by stealth, is here impossible.
What must I think?—That he is yet her husband
In meditation only, not in form.
Embracing too!—Oh mortal stab to honour!
O shame, shame, shame! that I shou'd live to see it.

Enter Saint Valori hastily.
Saint Valori.
What hast thou seen? My mind is on the rack;
Thou'st been in conference with thy lady; speak!—
If thou hast ought discover'd that affects
My honour, tell it.

Gyfford.
Hard task you enjoin;
Wou'd rather I were in my grave, than living
To utter what I've seen.

Saint Valori.
Nay, no evasion.

Gyfford.
For the world's worth I would not with my knowledge
Add or diminish of the truth one tittle.

Saint Valori.
Gyfford, as thou shalt render up the truth
To the great Judge of hearts, say what thou know'st
Of my unhappy wife; nor more nor less,
Give me the proof unvarnish'd.

Gyfford.
I surpriz'd
Her and Montgomeri heart to heart embracing—

Saint Valori.
Death! Heart to heart embracing!—Woman, woman!

Gyfford.
Fond and entranc'd within his arms she lay;
Then with uplifted rapturous eyes exclaim'd,
“My hero! my Saint Valori! my husband!”

Saint Valori.
Husband! reflect.—Art sure she call'd him husband!

Gyfford.
If there be faith in man, I've spoke the truth.

Saint Valori.
Why then the truth is out, and all is past:
I have no more to ask.

Gyfford.
Hear me with favour;
I'll not abuse the licence of old age
And faithful service with too many words.

Saint Valori.
What canst thou tell me?—I have one within
That is my monitor: not unprepar'd
I meet this fatal stroke, nor with revilings
Or impious curses (be my witness, Gyfford!)
Do I profane Heav'n's ear, tho' hard and painful
This bitter visitation of its wrath.

Gyfford.
Tho' to the sure conviction of my senses
I saw and heard what I have now reported,
Yet, circumstances weigh'd, I must believe
As yet she is not wedded.

Saint Valori.
Hah! not wedded?
Perish the man who dares to breathe a doubt
Of her unspotted chastity: not wedded!
Yet heart to heart embracing! dreadful thought!—
Death in his direst shape approach me rather
Than that dishonest doubt!

Gyfford.
Wou'd I had died
Ere I had seen this day!

Saint Valori.
Wretch that I am,
Why was I snatch'd from slaughter? why deliver'd
From barbarous infidels? why, when o'erwhelm'd
And sinking in th'oblivious deep, preserv'd,
Wash'd like a floating fragment to the shore,
Sav'd, nourish'd, ransom'd by the very hand
That cuts my heart asunder; set in view
Of all my soul held dear; and now, ev'n now,
As I reach forth my hand to seize the goal,
The resting-place and haven of my hope,
Dash'd in a moment back, and lost for ever?

Gyfford.
Such is the will of Heaven! For me, thus old,
And blighted with misfortune, I've no strength,
No root to bear against this second storm;
There, where I fall, I'll make myself a grave.

Saint Valori.
No more of this: you've heard my last complaint;
For I must soon put off these monkish weeds,
And what a consecrated knight should do,
Fitting the Cross he wears, that must be done.—
How stands your preparation for to-morrow?
Will she depart?

Gyfford.
I think she will; for now
The Lord De Courci, from King Henry sent,
Bears courtly salutation to your Lady,
With formal summons to her challenger.

Saint Valori.
If it be that De Courci who was once
My youth's companion, and my bosom friend,
A more accomplished knight ne'er carried arms:
His coming is most timely.—Tell me, Gyfford,
Rememberest thou the armour which I wore
When in the lists I combated Fitz-Osborn?—
I gave it to my wife.

Gyfford.
I well remember.

Saint Valori.
And hath she kept it, think'st thou?

Gyfford.
She hath kept it.

Saint Valori.
'Tis well; for that's the suit, the very suit,
Which I must wear to-morrow.

Gyfford.
Ah, my Lord!
She hath bestow'd that armour on her champion;
And young Montgomeri with to-morrow's dawn
Starts, like another Phaeton, array'd
In substituted splendor: on his arm
He bears the shield of great Saint Valori,
A golden branch of palm, with this device,
“Another, and the same!”—'Twill be a pageant
Glittering as vanity and love can make it.

Saint Valori.
Mournful as death.—My armour will she take?
My shield, my banners, to array her champion?
Let them beware how they divide the spoil
Before the lion's kill'd.—Oh, fall of virtue!
Oh, all ye matron powers of modesty!
How time's revolving wheel wears down the edge
Of sharp affliction! Widows sable weeds
Soon turn to grey; drop a few tears upon them,
And dusky grey is blanch'd to bridal white;
Then comes the sun, shines thro' the drizzling show'r,
And the gay rainbow glows in all its colours.