University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Chapel, with an Altar decorated with the funeral Trophies of Saint Valori. Matilda is discovered kneeling at the Altar. Montgomeri enters, and, after a Pause, speaks.
Montgomeri.
Still at the altar! Ever on her knees—
Nothing but peace! peace to her husband's soul!
Perpetual requiems.—If, as we believe,
Th'uncircumscribed spirit of a man
Walks after death, till it can find a grave,
Or holy church, with soul-compelling hymns,
Shall chaunt it to repose, I am amaz'd
My father's ghost, whilst unappeas'd by prayer,
Ne'er took it's shadowy journey to this spot.
Why, when De Courci and the Monk outfac'd me,
Did he not then arise with all his wounds,
And scare them to confession? I am lost,
Bewilder'd, and perplex'd! But see! she moves—

[Matilda arises, and comes down from the Altar to Montgomeri.
Matilda.
My son! my joy! my blessing!

Montgomeri.
Whence is this?
What sudden transformation? By my hopes,
There is a joyful emanation round thee,
That strikes a gleam of rapture to my heart.—
What angel of good tidings hath been with thee?
Who hath exorcis'd thy despair, and breath'd
This beam of placid pleasure in thine eyes?

Matilda.
Thy father hath been with me.

Montgomeri.
Heav'ns! my father!

Matilda.
I've seen him in my vision; commun'd with him
Before the altar: soft his accents fell,
Like voices of departed friends heard in our dreams,
Or music in the air, when the night-spirits
Warble their magic minstrelsy.

Montgomeri.
Indeed!
Wou'd I had seen him too!

Matilda.
Wou'd Heav'n thou hadst!

Montgomeri.
What was his form?

Matilda.
Majestically sweet,
He smil'd upon me; strait thro' all my veins
Methought I felt a thrilling virtue run,
Healing, where'er it cours'd, both heart and brain.

Montgomeri.
Saw you no wounds about him?

Matilda.
None, no wounds;
Nor was he in his youth, as when he died,
But grey with years, and much transform'd by time:
At first I knew him not, and as he spoke
So chang'd methought he was, with pain I trac'd
The faded record.

Montgomeri.
Spoke he of his murder?

Matilda.
Oh! not a word; but as it ne'er had been,
And he were living now, so look'd and spoke.

Montgomeri.
'Tis strange—one question more.—Say, did this form
Ne'er visit you before?

Matilda.
Never, till now.

Montgomeri.
Nor this, nor any other shape?

Matilda.
Oh! never, never.

Montgomeri.
Then, then I own my confidence is shaken;
And fit it is no longer to conceal
What I have newly heard so boldly vouch'd,
That my faith reels.

Matilda.
Speak, I conjure thee, speak!

Montgomeri.
I came this instant from the Carmelite
And Lord De Courci: on the floor was stretch'd
The breathless corpse of Hildebrand; the Monk
In his last moments had been private with him:
I urg'd the murder, to his own confession
Appealing in my accusation's proof;
When, strange to tell! his confessor the Monk
Boldly denied that he had kill'd Saint Valori.
Rous'd at this daring insult and indignant
I turn'd upon De Courci, and demanded
If he wou'd vouch the falsehood; he, more hot
And no less confident than t'other, hurl'd
Defiance in my teeth, and to the ground
Threw down his gauntlet, pledging to the truth
Of what the Monk affirm'd.

Matilda.
I am amaz'd;
There is a trembling expectation in me,
That by some secret impulse draws me on
To the great revelation of my fate:
Therefore proceed!

Montgomeri.
Before I could reply,
The Carmelite had seiz'd De Courci's pledge,
And with a tone and gesture more beseeming
A haughty warrior than a son of peace,
Sternly forbade the challenge to proceed:
Then with a mournful action turning tow'rds me,
And sighing, drew from forth his bosom this,
This pearly chain.

[Produces the bracelet.
Matilda.
Ah!—Do my eyes betray me?—
Help, help! uphold me, whilst I look upon it.—
The same; the same! I gave it to my husband;
My last, fond, parting pledge: guide, guide my hands,
My trembling hands to touch it.—Sacred relick!
Enthusiastic as the pilgrim's kiss,
Thus to my lips I press thee.—Hail, thrice hail!
To thee, O altar, with these banners deck'd,
Hallow'd with daily incense, and besieg'd
With never-ceasing requiems for his soul,
I dedicate this trophy of my love!
Lead me, my son!

Montgomeri.
Oh! do'st thou love thy son?

Matilda.
Love thee! O Heaven!

[Falls on his neck weeping.
Montgomeri.
By that then I conjure thee
Come to thy couch! Now, as thy cheek turns pale,
Convulsion shakes thy lip, and the full stream
Bursts from thine eyes, return not to the altar:
Let me conduct thee forth.

Matilda.
Where, where's the Monk?
Shall I not see him?

Montgomeri.
Yes, thou suffering saint!
Be patient for a while, and thou shalt see him.

Matilda.
Come then, dispose of me as to thy love
And piety seems best: I will obey.
Let me have this—Thou wilt not take this from me.

[Holding the bracelet.
Montgomeri.
Not for the worth of all this world.

Matilda.
I thank thee.

[Exeunt.
Enter Saint Valori, De Courci, and Gyfford.
Saint Valori.
Suffer this last one weakness.—Hah! she's gone;
The chapel is deserted: I had hop'd
Once more to have look'd upon her ere we parted.

De Courci.
'Tis better as it is.

Saint Valori.
It may be so;
And yet 'twere stern philosophy, methinks,
That could refuse the sight one short indulgence,
Ere the heart breaks with sorrow.

De Courci.
I am pain'd
To see this tender sorrow swell so fast.

Saint Valori.
Oh! call to mind how I have lov'd this woman!
Gyfford, thou know'st it; say, thou faithful servant,
What was my passion; how did absence feed it?
But how can'st thou compute my sum of sorrows?
Years upon years have roll'd since thou wast with me:
Time hath been wearied with my groans, my tears
Have damp'd his wings, till he scarce crept along;
The unpitying sun ne'er wink'd upon my toils;
All day I dragg'd my slavery's chain, all night
Howl'd to its clanking on my bed of straw;
And yet these pains were recreation now,
To those I feel, whilst I resign Matilda.

Gyfford.
Stay then, my noble master, here abide,
And to this awful place convoke your Lady.

Saint Valori.
This awful place! she'll visit it no more;
Or, if she does, 'twill be to strip these trappings;
These mockeries shall come down, they've had their day,
They've serv'd the uses of hypocrisy,
And festive garlands now shall fill their place
Around this nuptial altar.

De Courci.
No, my friend,
I am a witness to her unfeign'd sorrows;
And were I left to judge of them unbiass'd
By what I saw besides, I should believe
She were the very mirror of her sex
For matchless constancy.

Saint Valori.
You rend my heart.

Gyfford.
Thrice on her knees this morning hath she wash'd
This altar's feet with tears, and with her prayers
Sent up a mingled cry of sighs and groans.

Saint Valori.
Why then, old man, did'st thou distract my soul
With gossip tales to slander her fair fame,
And murder my repose? If thou art conscious
Of having wrong'd her, get thee hence, begone!
Fall at her feet for pardon, howl for pity,
And hide thyself where light may never find thee.

Gyfford.
With grief, but not with shame, I will retire
From thee and light.—I have not wrong'd the truth.

Saint Valori.
Stay, Gyfford, stay, thou loyal, good old man!
Pity thy master, and forgive my phrenzy.
Lo! I am calm again: the pledge I've given
To young Montgomeri shall be the test:
Yes, with that chain I'll draw her to the proof;
Link'd and entwin'd about her heart I'll hold it,
And tent her nature to its inmost feelings.—
See, the young favorite comes!

Enter Montgomeri.
Montgomeri.
Oh! timely found,
Well are you thus encounter'd, holy Sir!
The lady of Saint Valori demands you;
And lo! where she advances.

Enter Matilda.
Matilda.
Hah! 'tis well.
In presence of this altar we are met:
And may the sacred genius of the place
Prosper our interview!

Saint Valori.
Amen! amen!

Matilda.
Good friends, withdraw! let none approach the chapel
Whilst we are private.—Now be firm, my heart!
[They go out—she pauses some time, and then addresses herself to Saint Valori.]
Father, I thank you!—I've receiv'd your pledge,
The small, but prizeless relick you have brought me.
The bracelet, given by Lord De Courci's hands
In times long past (fie, fie upon these tears,
They will have way!) to a departed friend.
Perhaps he priz'd this trifle—but alas!
'Tis fated, like the arm from which 'twas taken,
Never to clasp him more.

Saint Valori.
Alas! I fear it.

Matilda.
I hope De Courci gave it to my lord.

Saint Valori.
He did: I saw him give it.

Matilda.
Hah! you saw him!

Saint Valori.
When he embark'd for Palestine; I've told you
We never march'd apart. I wore the Cross
In those fame-seeking days.

Matilda.
I do remember.
And this poor favour, did my hero wear it?

Saint Valori.
Devoutly, at his heart.

Matilda.
Then, then indeed
Thou hast bestow'd a treasure.—Welcome, welcome!

[As she is pressing it to her heart, St. Valori, observing her agitation, runs to her assistance.
Saint Valori.
He wore it like an amulet; with this
Before his heart, first thro' the yawning breach
Thy sacred walls, Jerusalem, he storm'd;
Tore down the moony standard, where it hung
In impious triumph; thrice their Pagan swords
Shiver'd his mailed crest, as many times
That sacred amulet was dy'd in blood
Nearest his heart.

Matilda.
Stop there! I charge thee, stop!
Tell me no more: Oh, follow him no further,
For see, th'accursed Pyrenæans rise,
Streaming with blood; there hellish murder howls;
There madness rages, and with haggard eyes
Glares in the craggy pass!—She'll spring upon me
If I advance. Oh, shield me from the sight!

Saint Valori.
Be calm, collect thyself: it was not there,
It was not there Saint Valori met his death.
'Twas not the sword of Hildebrand that slew him;
Tho' pierc'd with wounds, that ambush he surviv'd.

Matilda.
What do I hear? Oh, look upon this altar!
Think where you stand, and do not wrong the truth.

Saint Valori.
He who is truth itself be witness for me!—
Deep was the stroke that dire assassin gave,
Yet short of life it stopt; unhors'd and fall'n,
Welt'ring in blood, your wounded husband lay,
Till haply found by charitable strangers
Journeying to Venice, he was heal'd, restor'd;
And, thence embarking, by a barbarous rover
Was captur'd.—Start not; but repress your terrors.

Matilda.
Admire not that I tremble; marvel rather
That I hear this and live.—Saint Valori captur'd!
The bravest captain of the Cross enslav'd
By barbarous Pagans!

Saint Valori.
Tedious years he suffer'd
Of hard captivity—

Matilda.
Oh, where, ye Heavens!
Where was your justice then?—And died he there?

Saint Valori.
'Twas not his lot to find a distant grave.

Matilda.
Where, where?—oh, speak! release me from the rack!—
Where did my hero fall?

Saint Valori.
Where did he fall!—
Nor Pagan swords, nor slavery's galling chain,
Nor murderers daggers, Afric's burning clime,
Toils, storms, nor shipwreck, kill'd him—here he fell!
Grief burst his heart—here in this spot he fell!

[He falls to the ground.
Matilda.
Ah, horror, horror!—Help, for mercy, help!—
My son, my son! your father lies before you.

Montgomeri runs in, followed by De Courci and Gyfford.
Montgomeri.
My father! Heav'n and earth! Oh, save him; save him!
Where shall I turn? See,see! she faints, she falls!

[Supports her in his arms.
De Courci.
He is her son.—Awake, look up, my friend!
Live, live! De Courci bids Saint Valori live.
Your rival is your son.

Saint Valori
raising himself on his knee, unsheaths his dagger.
Off! give me way:
I'll kill him in her arms.

De Courci.
He is your son—
Hear me, thou frantic father! I, De Courci,
I speak to you.—Would you destroy your son?

Saint Valori.
Bind up his wounds. Oh, if I've slain my son,
Perdition will not own me!

Montgomeri.
He revives.
Nature awakens reason.—Hush! be still.
She stirs.—Withold him from her arms a while;
Let all be silence, whilst disposing Heaven,
That showers this joy, shall fit them to receive it.

Matilda.
How could you say my husband is alive?
Which of you keeps him from me?—Oh! 'tis cruel!

Saint Valori.
Uncase me of my weeds: tear off my cowl!
Now, now she'll know me; now I am Saint Valori.

[Throws off his habit, and appears in armour.
Matilda.
Stand off! Oh, blessed light of Heaven, shine forth!
Visit my aching eyes, ye solar beams,
And let me see my hero!—Hah! the Cross—
He gleams—he glimmers;—like a mist he rises.—
He lives! he lives! I clasp him in my arms.
My lost Saint Valori? my long-lost husband:

[Runs into his Arms.
Saint Valori.
Oh my heart's joy! do I again embrace thee?
Soul of all honour, constancy, and truth!

Matilda.
This transport is too quick, it melts my brain;—
The sky runs round; the earth is all in motion;—
Nay, now it whirls too fast.

Saint Valori.
Ye saints in bliss!
Heroic matrons! Ye angelic virtues,
Protect your fair resemblance!—Hah! she weeps!—
Kind tears, I thank you! Nature's soft relief,
Waters, that from the soul's full fount run o'er,
To joy or grief welcome alike ye flow,
Assist our patience, and assuage our pain.

Matilda.
Alas! alas! that I shou'd know thee not.—
What ravages have time and sorrow made
In Heav'n's most perfect work, the fairest temple
Nature e'er rear'd in majesty and grace!

Saint Valori.
What dire calamity have we escap'd!
Now 'tis dispers'd, the mists of doubt are fled,
Truth, like the sun, breaks forth, and all is joy.—
My son! my son! oh, throw my arms about him,
And let me cling for ever to his neck.

Montgomeri.
Oh sympathetic energy of nature!—
This morn a nameless orphan, now the son
Of living parents: he for virtue fam'd,
For dignity of soul, and matchless courage;
She for affection, constancy renown'd,
Inspir'd with truth, with every grace adorn'd,
A woman's fondness and an angel's faith.

Matilda.
Heaven hear my praises! echo them, O earth!
Cherubs, that come with healing on your wings,
Waft my thanksgiving back!—Bright beam of mercy!
Visit the inmost chambers of my heart;
And where grief rear'd a husband's monument
Fix now his living image: there, as time
Shook not the faithful witness from my soul,
When grief assail'd it, so in joy support me,
And guard my constancy in both extremes.