 | The Confession |  |
ACT III.
Sir Walter and Lady Scroop.Lady S.
Certain it is he has pledg'd himself
to Reginald to give him Adela to wife, when he
returns from Palestine, and the war shall be
over.
Sir W.
Who tells you this?
Lady S.
Adela herself.
Sir W.
Well, let that pass. So long as the
Earl of Leicester confines himself to promises, I
shall be silent. Nothing short of the last necessity,
nothing less than the irresistible call upon
my conscience to prevent the horror of an incestuous
marriage, shall force the secret from
me. I have had dispatches from the Queen
within this hour.
Lady S.
I understand a courier has been with
you.
Sir W.
Yes, and with fresh injunctions to
observe the strictest secrecy from all the parties,
she adds fresh bounties to ensure my silence.
She graciously informs me, it is in contemplation
to create me Lord Scroop of Feversham, in
consideration of my loyalty, and the care I have
bestow'd upon the education of Reginald; and
to this she subjoins, that “whatever may be my
conjectures as to the authors of his birth, let
them on no account transpire, as I regard her
favour.”
Lady S.
There is a mystery in all her Majesty's
proceedings with respect to Reginald, that I
cannot fathom. The eagerness with which she
a motive for.
Sir W.
I only know what motives govern me;
of her's I cannot judge. Promises, such as
Leicester has referr'd to the termination of the
war, will not force me upon discovery; but, if
melted by the entreaties of his daughter, dazzled
by the graces of Reginald, or deluded by
the sophistry of Father Ambrose, he should desperately
attempt to join their hands in holy
wedlock; I will rescue the altar from prophanation,
and my own conscience from responsibility,
at whatever peril.
Lady S.
To execute that duty faithfully, you
must closely watch the motions of the monk; I
know how much he has at heart the consummation
of this dreadful match. Adela has access
to him on the plea of confession at all hours;
Reginald has been lodg'd in the convent, ever
since we were reduc'd to take refuge in this
small habitation. Recollect that Adela is to give
the scarf to her knight this very evening—a dangerous
ceremony. What could possess the Queen
to impose that upon a sister, which is only the
office of a mistress to her lover?
Sir W.
That is with the queen to answer—
Andrew enters, followed by Peter.
Sir W.
How now, Andrew! why this interruption?
And.
So please you, Sir Walter, this poor
fellow, Peter by name, son of your old servant
Deborah, who acts as dry nurse to your hens
and chickens, has conceiv'd a most pious inclination
for the holy wars, and hopes you will be
pleas'd to dispense with his vassalage, and favour
make your bow.
Sir W.
I recollect him now about the castle.
Peter.
Yes, I have been about the castle, man
and boy, ever since I was born.
Lady S.
And what has put it into your head,
Peter, to turn soldier?
And.
Ever since he notic'd a Saracen's head
upon a sign-post he has been seiz'd with a most
inveterate resolution to drive them out of
Palestine.
Peter.
Yes, I should like to drive them out,
and list myself under Sir Reginald. I'll fight
for him whilst I have breath in my body.
Sir W.
Make out his discharge, and give him
a noble in his pocket to drink the health of his
brave commander.
And.
Oh lord, sir, give him nothing to drink.
Peter is an honest fellow, and knows by experience
that honesty is its own reward. He is
quite satisfied of that, having had the honour of
working for you, without pay, these many years
past.
Sir W.
Do as you are order'd, and let me not
be troubled with your foolish comments.—Come,
Lady Scroop; we have business of another sort.
[Exeunt Sir Walter and Lady Scroop.
Manent Andrew and Peter.
Peter.
Master Andrew, a word with you, under
favour.
And.
Say on, my lad of valour; speak thy
mind, thou terrible antagonist of the Sultan
Saladin.
Peter.
Aye, there you've hit upon it; that's
the pinch. I would fain know the right of it,
mother, who is cruelly set against that Holy
Land.
And.
Out upon her, foolish woman, she little
knows what comforts wait you in that charming
country.
Peter.
I pray you let me know of what sort
they are, for I dearly love to have my comforts
about me. You have been amongst those same
Saracens, master Andrew, and have the gift of
describing; I beseech you, make me a little
acquainted with them.
And.
Oh, as for that, you'll soon get acquainted
with them, friend Peter; they are not at all
ceremonious; they have a familiar way of saluting
you with their battle-axes, and few Christian
sculls are obdurate enough to stand out
against them.
Peter.
If that be all, let 'em come on. I can
handle the battle-axe perhaps as well as they
can.
And.
They have also a way of handling the
sabre, which chops off the head at a stroke.
When that happens, the man who has lost his
head, seldom makes any use of his body afterwards.
Peter.
No, he dies, we'll suppose. Well, be it
so: a man can die but once, that's my comfort.
And.
If a Saracen takes you prisoner, he will
allow you the honour of making your public
entry, sitting upon the back of a scurvy ass,
with your face towards the crupper, and your
ignoble parts towards Mecca; in this posture
he will entertain you with a flogging, during
which you cut capers, to the infinite recreation
of all true believers in their false prophet.
Peter.
Let 'em flog; let 'em flay me; they
When I run, they are welcome to catch me;
whilst I stand still, they shall not have me for a
little—so no more of that. Whilst we fare well,
our hearts won't fail, and soldiers make their
quarters good: please God and the king, we
shall live upon the fat of the land.
And.
Yes, upon fat crows, and fat kites; you
will live sumptuously upon rats and mice; dine
deliciously upon frogs and newts, and rotten
biscuit, that the weevils have mumbled into
dust, with water soup out of the ditches, to
wash it down, and pig-nuts for a desert, if you
have the luck to find 'em.
Peter.
Never fear me; I am one of those
that love to live well, but, if provisions run
short, there is nothing like content.
And.
Then for lodging; you have the earth
for your bed, a stone for your pillow, and the
sand for your coverlid.
Peter.
And that is altogether as good as a
blanket; so I shall lie warm at least, which is a
luxury I delight in; so now, master Andrew, I
thank you heartily for your good news, and if
you have any commands where I am going, let
me know 'em, for I shall be off to-morrow. Now
let us look out for the Saracen's head, take a
parting flaggon to our next merry meeting, and
keep it up till we have turn'd our noble into
nine-pence.
And.
Well said, my honest fellow; thou hast
the spirit of a true man of Kent, and let Saladin
and his Saracens look to it. Come on!
[Exeunt arm in arm.
Sir Hugh de Lacy and Ambrose the Monk.
Sir H.
Father, we know what care you have bestow'd
On our young hero, Reginal de Tours,
From infancy to manhood, training on
His ductile mind to Virtue's full expanse.
Nor I, alone, who love him as a son,
But Eleanor, our gracious Queen, has kept
A faithful register of your deservings,
Which will not pass without their due reward.
Amb.
They are rewarded, sir, when nam'd by you;
They also are repaid by the delight,
With which I see my pupil rise to fame,
Right nobly won and royally bestow'd:
But when you tell me that my gracious Queen
Deigns to remember me, a poor recluse,
That has renounc'd the world, and by the world
Conceives himself forgotten, I must wonder,
That midst so many great and public cares,
Object so mean can occupy a thought.
Sir H.
You must not say you have renounc'd the world,
Whilst it has claims upon you. You have made
Your pupil virtuous, you must make him happy.
Amb.
Oh that I could! behold me grey with years:
What is my life, unless I live for him?
Why beats this heart, why toils this aching brain,
But for his sake? I am a man of peace,
And boasting ill becomes an humble monk;
But, in the cause of that beloved youth,
Place me in danger's front, I'll not go back.
Do you not see how ardently he loves
The peerless daughter of the Earl of Leicester?
Did he not snatch her from the blazing ruins
Of yonder castle? does he not deserve her?
Amb.
He does deserve her, and she meets his love.
Sir H.
Who then forbids their union? does the pride
Of Leicester rouse at his mysterious birth?
Amb.
The Earl of Leicester, with a noble candour,
Has promis'd him his daughter, when the war,
In Palestine now kindled, shall be quench'd.
Sir H.
But who can promise when that time shall be?
None but the great Disposer of events.
Torrents of Christian blood shall first be spilt,
Ere that fierce conflagration shall be quench'd.
I know the power of Saladin how vast;
Though all the kings of Europe shall combine
To shake his mighty empire, their own thrones
Shall be the first to tremble with the shock.
Where is the period then of war like this,
And what is happiness delay'd but pain?
Why does not Leicester join their hands this night?
Amb.
That is at once my council and my wish.
Sir H.
Then might the wedded Adela embark
With other noble matrons for Messina,
Where Richard's fleet and army will repose
Till the confederates shall collect their force.
Amb.
Propose the marriage then; who like yourself,
With influence only second to the Queen's,
Can so persuade; or, if occasion need,
Who with such high authority control?
If then the Queen through me should speak the word,
Would you obey it?
Amb.
I could not refuse,
Knowing the honour of Sir Hugh de Lacy.
Sir H.
But if herself should speak—
Amb.
Behold me ready!
Sir H.
Be ready then—for in this scroll she speaks.
Take it, peruse it; 'tis address'd to you;
By her own hand 'tis written; on the wax
Her royal seal is stampt—And know withal,
When the contents are satisfied, I hail you
Abbot of Tewkesbury, and mitred lord.
[Exit.
Ambrose
alone.
Abbot of Tewkesbury!—a princely boon,
And doubly grateful as my native spot.
But on what terms? A Queen not over chaste,
A lady once divorc'd and twice arraign'd,
May dictate terms to make my conscience start,
My holy function blush—Why then at once,
Guilty ambition, hence!—Now to the test—
[Opens the packet and reads.
“To the Right Holy Father Ambrose of
Tewkesbury, greeting—
“When this shall be delivered to you by
my faithful servant, Sir Hugh de Lacy, let it be
your warrant forthwith to join the hands of Reginald
de Tours, my knight at arms, and Adela
de Bellamont, my well-belov'd, in holy wedlock,
without let or gainsay, such being my pleasure,
and their lawful inclinations. If Leicester, who
owes me for no less than life and fortune, becomes
mysterious birth, so as to be no otherwise appeas'd,
deliver to him in secrecy the letter herein
enclos'd; if not, forbear, as you respect my favour,
to violate the seal—
Your's, in all honourable service, ELEANOR, Regent.”
It shall be so! I spy no flaw in this,No just impediment, that should arrest
The consecration of their mutual love.
Reginald enters.
How now, my son! why that disorder'd brow?
Sir R.
As I was passing hither, in the cloister
I met Sir Walter Scroop. He seiz'd my hand,
And bade me stop: silent awhile he stood,
And gaz'd upon me; then, as one surpriz'd
By sudden transport, threw his arms around me,
And press'd me to his heart. At length he cried—
Let me not seem unkind, when I confess,
Such are the terrors that alarm my soul
For one so justly dear, so truly good,
That I shall bless the hour that takes you hence.
Amb.
His reason wanders; many a time he has talk'd
In the same strain to me. Did you reply?
Sir R.
I simply ask'd him to disclose the cause,
That so disturb'd his peace.
Amb.
'Tis all in vain.
I've made the same enquiry o'er and o'er,
It only feeds his phrenzy.
Sir R.
So it seem'd;
For on my question, with disorder'd look,
He wildly answer'd—Would I know the cause
I must betake me to the silent vault
Where sleeps the wife of Leicester, and invoke
Her spirit to awake and find a voice.
This said, an instant horror seem'd to strike
His trembling frame; he started, and was gone.
Amb.
Let this suffice. You need no other proof.
I saw him when his castle was on fire:
Congeal'd with horror and amaze he stood,
And in those moments, whilst you rush'd through flames
To save the dying Adela, despair,
That fixt him motionless, had seiz'd his brain;
And now, when fearful recollection strikes
His shatter'd senses, he conceals himself
Amongst the tombs, and communes with the dead
Therefore it is he raves of Leicester's wife;
For there he mostly haunts.
Sir R.
I think, indeed,
It is the horror of that dismal night
That has derang'd his mind; for sure till then
A kinder gentleman there did not live,
To me at least the best and warmest friend;
But now how chang'd, how sullen and morose
To all around him! Most of all to me;
For now, when even Leicester smiles upon me,
He, still professing friendship, still opposes
All that my most inveterate foe could urge
To thwart my hopes of Adela.
Amb.
Your hopes
Shall become certainties this very night.
Sir R.
Father, what mean you?
Amb.
To obey the voice
Of Nature, and to circumvent the plots,
That now are hatching to defeat those hopes,
Which, built on promises, are built on air.
But Heav'n, whilst I keep guard upon its altar,
Man's weak devices—Adela, come forth!—
Sir R.
Hah, Adela!
Amb.
Be calm! and see, she comes.
Adela enters.
Lady A.
Father, what cause so urgent?—Gracious Heaven,
Is it for him, for him that I am summon'd?
What has befallen him? Oh, quickly speak!
Amb.
Be not alarm'd—Sir Reginald de Tours,
By that heroic title, greater far
Than any from inheritance deriv'd,
By the resplendent trophies that you wear
On your emblazon'd shield, and, more than all,
By that your sacred Cross I do adjure you,
Look on this noble maiden; and declare
If in true faith and purity of soul,
By chaste and holy love alone inspir'd,
You have assail'd and won her virgin heart.
Sir R.
Need I reply? To Heav'n and you are known
Each secret thought within my heart conceiv'd;
And, as I've lodg'd her heav'nly image there,
What foulness can inhabit where she dwells?
Amb.
Enough! now hear me.—Holy Church, whose rites
My part is to administer, in me
Speaks; and by me consents to join your hands
In the pure bond of wedlock. Let not doubt
Perplex your minds: upon myself I take
The peril of the act. This night you wed,
This hour, this instant—
[A short but solemn strain is heard as at a distance.
But I'm summon'd. Hark!
They have begun to celebrate their mass
Come to the private chapel, and be secret.
[Exit.
Reginald and Adela.
Sir R.
My Adela, my soul's supreme delight,
How I respect thee, honour and adore thee,
Words are too weak to tell. Thou'st heard the monk;
A man too wise to sport with idle words,
Too just to deal in fallacies and plots,
Yet I conjure thee weigh what he proposes
With what thy father promis'd, and decide
As fits the dignity of Leicester's daughter.
Lady A.
What is my father's promise? Can I weigh
A vapour, a deceitful, distant spark,
Glimmering, but not with hope; a treacherous light,
That only serves to lure me to my grave?
If in my father's promise I confide,
To-morrow we must part; you to the east,
Where every morning's sun will rise in blood;
I to a convent's solitary gloom,
Nightly to wander by the moon's pale beam
Midst hollow vaults, that echo to my groans,
Till melancholy and despair shall end me.
Sir R.
Then let the holy father join our hands
And honour's plea stand by till love be heard.
Then shall my wedded Adela ascend
The vessel, that transports her husband hence;
And noble Leicester, when upon our knees
Suppliant we fall, and with our mingling tears
Bathe his paternal feet, shall feel his heart
Melt to forgiveness, and confess thy life
Was worth preserving, though with honour's loss
Lady A.
He is a hero; he has been a husband
By his own sufferings taught, he knows to feel
When others suffer. I have pray'd for mercy;
Before the shrine of my protecting saint
I sent up my petition, when the voice
Of the good Ambrose rais'd me from my knees.
That mercy I had ask'd of Heav'n, through him,
My earthly saint, descending, was transfus'd,
And reach'd me in the hour of my affliction.
Sir R.
Prepare to meet him then—for, hark! he comes—
Sir Walter Scroop enters.
Sir Walter Scroop!—
Sir W.
Unwelcome though I am,
Once more I seek you—
Sir R.
You have found me, sir.
Sir W.
I have; and still shall haunt you, still shall walk
My ghostly rounds within these hallow'd walls,
At once to guard the living and the dead
From the unseen destruction, that will burst
Like thunder, if, though warn'd, you still persist
To feed and cherish a forbidden flame.
Sir R.
Sir Walter, with some trouble I forbear
To notice your intrusion as I might,
Were not my anger temper'd by compassion
For the sad state to which your mind, of late
So luminously furnish'd, is reduc'd.
But tempt me not. I am no more than man,
And these are dangerous trials.
Sir W.
Threaten not;
For that is insult, which I never answer
Here is my bosom—strike!
Lady A.
Forbid it, Heaven!
My generous, kind protector, fear him not:
He would not harm you for the worth of worlds.
Cover that honour'd bosom. Let me breathe
My peace into it; oh! let me allay
The storm that ruffles it, and thus protect
Him, whose unwearied care protected me.
Sir W.
Angelic innocence, sweet pitying saint,
For your compassion, thanks. But let him strike;
Let his sword pierce my heart! It will be mercy,
For then thou wilt not, can'st not take a hand
Dipt in my blood, but must abhor the monster,
Who stabb'd his benefactor in revenge
For his too anxious effort to preserve him.
Sir R.
You give too hard a name to my offence.
I never struck an enemy unarm'd,
How should I stab a friend? within this hour
Twice you have come upon me by surprise.
Your talk has been mysterious, wild, abrupt;
No argument, nor method of discourse.
And now you break into those sacred moments,
Too few to waste, too precious to be lost.
If aught is doing that you wish undone,
Or aught neglected you would have me do,
Speak your full mind; discharge your troubled thoughts,
And be yourself again.
Sir W.
Lo, I am calm;
And now, the whilst our noble Leicester makes
His votive offerings at Saint George's shrine,
If my sweet Adela will recollect
There is a poor deserted thing at home,
Who nurs'd her as a mother, and now longs
She will not think the minutes much mispent,
Which she devotes to one, who dearly loves her.
Lady A.
Your gentle lady merits all my love,
And all my gratitude: with every wish,
That she conceives, my duty shall comply.
Proceed! I follow—Reginald, remember!
[Exeunt.
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