University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Duke of Courland, Murinski.
Duke.
Murinski, you amaze me: it should seem
As if you thought my life might be attempted,
And the assassin pardon'd—Here! behold,
See where his poniard pass'd—Was not this stab
Aim'd at the heart within?

Mur.
So it appears.

Duke.
Appears! it speaks, it marks the full intent
Of a determin'd vengeful murderer;
And shall he live? Why do you purse your brow,
And shake your head, as if in discontent
At what my justice dooms? Utter your thoughts;
Keep not this sullen silence.

Mur.
I lament
That you should not conceive it for your honour
To judge the miseries of mankind with mercy,
And take the plea of madness in excuse
For what a madman does: there have been princes
As sacred as yourself, who have endur'd
The stab of phrenzy, and exacted nothing
From justice, but security in future
For others and themselves.

Duke.
You have said enough
To raise my admiration of the virtues
Both of the great example you refer to,
And your own eloquence in the defence
Of a convicted traitor. This might seem
As if you lov'd the cause, which you espouse
With so much warmth, but that I recollect
You've been the bosom friend of Torrendal;
Therefore whilst prejudice inspires your plea,
Justice will bar my ears against the voice
Of such an advocate. You have been heard;
Your sentiments are known—you may withdraw.

[Exit Murinski.
Baroness Vanhoven enters, followed by the Baron.
Bar.
Hear me, my gracious lord—

Duke.
Ere I do that,
Say, are you not the lady of that baron,
Who stands abash'd behind you?

Bar.
Sir, I am.

Duke.
You may proceed.

Bar.
If I forbore to pay
My thankful duty when your highness deign'd
To visit this lone mansion, 'twas because
My heart presag'd, with horror, the disgrace
That would in time befal that impious sect,
Of which my husband was, but is no longer,
A much-deluded follower. My lord,
His vanity misled him to affect
Powers, which no mortal, but by heav'n's appointment,
Yet ever did, or ever can possess.

Duke.
That he is innocent of all capacity
To call up spirits and disturb the dead,
I well believe; that he is quite as harmless
In what regards the living, I must doubt,
Till time discloses: all, that yet appears,
Is, that his sovereign, underneath his roof,
Has had his life attempted by a ruffian,
Whom he employ'd and train'd to play the ghost
In his mock magic.

Van.
No, upon my life:
Heaven knows my heart, I harbour'd no offence
Against your royal person, and the laws
Of sacred hospitality—The man,
Who now turns out to be Count Torrendal,
Was only known to me as a craz'd fellow,
Who sojourn'd with one Lodowick, a woodman.

Duke.
That Lodowick is seiz'd. Bring him before us!

Van.
I never knew Count Torrendal by person.
This Lodowick, if he'll speak, can witness for me,
And so can Torrendal, that I am clear
Of all collusion in this black affair.

Lodowick is brought in.
Duke.
Now, fellow; you are seiz'd as an accomplice;
Your intercourse with Torrendal is known;
If you would gain your pardon, make confession
Of all you know touching this trait'rous plot.

Lod.
I've been a soldier, sir, and serv'd your highness
In many an action: it was once my fortune,
When Torrendal, my captain, was unhors'd,
Wounded, and on the ground, to save his life,
And cover him in battle; from that day
He took me to himself, made me his servant,
I had almost said his friend: after the war,
Being disbanded, and the count in Poland,
Hither I came, and having serv'd my country
With my best strength, deem'd it my second duty
To give the remnant to my aged parents:
In this retreat my noble master sought me
In his affliction—If your highness thinks
It was a crime in me to give him shelter,
It is a crime of which I can't repent—
As for the baron here, I do believe,
Nay, I am sure, he did not know the count.

Duke.
Baron and lady, I have done with you,
You may retire.
[Exeunt Vanhoven and Baroness.
I've yet another question—
And on your conscience answer it in truth!
Do you conceive the countess was consenting,
And party in the attempt upon my life!

Lod.
No, on my soul. I would she were as clear
Of every other guilt.

Duke.
Why did you hide
That dagger in your bosom?

Lod.
To defend,
At my life's peril, my distracted master.

Duke.
You are a dangerous man.

Lod.
I have been, sir,
When I have met your enemies in arms,
And in my course of duty am not clear
From shedding human blood; but never yet,
Ev'n in the heat of battle, have I fail'd
To spare the life of him, who ask'd it of me.

Duke.
You spoke but now of your distracted master—
Why did you so? Is Torrendal insane?

Lod.
Oh yes, yes, yes. His mind is overthrown.

Duke.
How? by what means?

Lod.
When you ask that of me,
A plain blunt soldier, you must hear the truth
Boldly averr'd—You and his guilty wife
Have wreck'd his senses, and destroy'd his peace.

Duke.
Hence from my sight! be gone; I'll hear no more!
[Exit Lodowick with guard.
And see, Alicia—Now, be firm my heart!
Countess enters.
Alicia, you have seen my life attempted,
And, in the immediate terror of the moment,
Have stood betwixt the assassin and my vengeance;
It was a woman's fear, and I forgave it.

Count.
You're infinitely kind: I came to thank you.

Duke.
You answer calmly, and it much contents me.

Count.
Oh, I am very calm.

Duke.
Then, with like calmness,
I will proceed to reason on th' events
Of this disast'rous night: Vanhoven's magic
Is, as you see, a despicable cheat;
Yet has it serv'd to terminate those doubts
That hung upon you, and obscur'd your hopes.

Count.
Yes, I can now unravel all the plan,
Which, with unwearied pains, you have pursued
To make me what I am. I find him living,
Who you persuaded me to think was dead;
I see that all his faithfulness, his truth,
His untold bounties, shower'd in secret on me,
Have either been distorted into crimes,
Or else assum'd as merits of your own;
And nothing now is wanting, but to take
His forfeit life, and stamp a damning act,
Devils would start from, with the name of justice.

Duke.
Why this is railing, madam, and not reason:
You said you would be calm.

Count.
And I am calm.

Duke.
We have been friends—

Count.
Yes, yes, we have been friends,
Close, conscious friends, that have conspir'd together,
And know each other's hearts. I will not speak
To you of mercy—You shall never name
Peace, or a word of comfort more to me.

Duke.
Why this despair? You still preserve your place
In my affections, and where love inhabits
Why should you doubt if mercy may be found?

Count.
Where love inhabits?—Love! I thought that word
Was sacred only to the hallow'd lips
Of the chaste virgin and unblemish'd wife.
There was a time I felt its influence here;
Oh! that was happy! 'twas my fostering angel,
And underneath its wings all, all was peace;
But it is gone; a cruel falcon came
And drove my dove away—'Tis gone for ever.

[A Soldier enters, speaks apart to the Duke, whilst Alicia had withdrawn to the back part of the Stage.
Duke.
Say'st? 'Tis well—I'll see him once again—
[Exit Guard.
Now, my Alicia, now thy fortune hails thee
Duchess of Courland—Torrendal is dying—

Count.
Dying! Eternal infamy light on thee;
And as thou'st shut out mercy from thy heart,
Heav'n, from all mercy, shuts out thee.
Torrendal is led in between two of the Guard.
Hah! 'tis my husband—Angels spread your wings
To waft his spirit to those realms of glory,
To which all earthly splendour, when compar'd,
Is as a glow-worm to the mid-day sun.

Tor.
Peace, peace! Be silent! you, my Lord of Courland,
You, that delight in blood, should entertain
Assassins more expert; the coward stabber,
You sent to murder me, has only mangled.

Duke.
Whether he struck by my command, or not,
I am not careful how the world may judge;
For, if he did, it is but blow for blow,
And universal justice warrants that.

Tor.
Yes, for they tell me that my dagger's point,
When levell'd at your heart, has rent your robe:
'Twas done in phrenzy, for the injury
From you I had sustain'd; yet I am glad
My hands are clear from spilling blood so foul;
And though I have the melancholy plea
Of a distracted brain for my acquittal,
I leave it to the searcher of all hearts;
I urge it not on you. When every conscience
Shall give its secrets up, there stands a witness,
Who must depose the truth.

Count.
Oh, hear me now,
Whilst yet my senses hold, in pity hear me;
For I have sinn'd in error, and been plung'd
In this foul ruin more by others craft
Than my own nature: when I fell from virtue,
'Twas not ambition, 'twas not vanity;
A thousand thousand times unmov'd I saw
That base seducer kneeling at my feet;
My heart was still my husband's—Nay, when time
Roll'd on in cold neglect, and not one line
Of consolation ever reach'd my hand.

Tor.
Day after day I urg'd my fond complaints—
Sir, what became of these? Oh, shame to honour!

Count.
Blush, blush, if shame can reach you! Even then
Had any friend of honour interpos'd,
I had not been the guilty thing I am:
Then was the time Murinski should have urg'd
The secret bounties, you had left untold,
And he was privy to—Alas for me!
I never knew the wond'rous debt I ow'd you.
Oh, fatal ignorance! I suffer'd him
To steal those praises, that were due to you,
And, cheated into gratitude, was lost.

Tor.
Enough!—Oh, prince, are these the glorious acts,
Which heav'n requires of those whom it appoints
To be the friends and guardians of mankind?
Look at the wreck of that once-beauteous creature,
How sad, how wan, how chang'd from what she was—
Be it your boast to have betray'd the friend,
That trusted to you his heart's dearest treasure;
'Tis mine, that even now, whilst in my flesh
I wear the stab you gave me, rack'd with pain,
My senses wand'ring, and the ebbing stream
Of my life-blood, cold, gathering at my heart,
I yet survive to tell thee to thy face—
Thou art a villain—

Duke.
Villain!—Stop his tongue;
Away with him to death! He, that strikes short
A second time, shall answer with his life.
Be gone; depart; let none presume to speak.

[Torrendal is taken off by the Soldiers.
[The Countess remains.
Duke.
Why do you stay?

Count.
Mercy!—

Duke.
I'll hear no more.

[Exit hastily.
Count.
Nor shall you—Aid me now, vindictive justice!
And let this dagger plead, since mercy cannot.
[She rushes out after him.
[She returns holding the dagger.
'Tis done! he reel'd, he fell without a groan;
There, where he fell, he lies—Go, get thee hence,
Thou bleeding witness of a fearful deed!
[Throws the dagger away.
Oh, that I only could have kill'd his crimes,
And spar'd him life to make his peace with heaven!
Hark, what is that? What noise? And here comes one,
A holy man—Make haste, make haste, good father!
There's one within, if his soul is not fled,
Has need enough of prayers—Go in, go in!

[The Monk, who had entered during this speech, goes into the Duke's Apartment.
The Scene changes.
A gloomy Chamber or Prison, belonging to the Castle, Torrendal is discovered in the hands of the Soldiers.
Tor.
Why do you pause? Behold, I bare my bosom
Already gash'd and bleeding: here beneath
A heart yet beats, that panted once for glory,
A soldier's heart—If thou hast been a soldier,
Do thy work fitly, do it manfully;
Strike at my heart, but strike me not in malice:
I never did thee wrong—

Murinski enters, followed by Lodowick.
Mur.
Break up your guard!
Soldiers, your duke and sovereign is no more.
I am your captain, and on me devolves
To answer for your prisoner—
[Soldiers withdraw.
Oh, my friend,
Heard you the welcome tidings that I bring?
Courland is dead—I come to set you free.

Tor.
Your rescue comes too late; death sets me free,
Lo, where his shaft has enter'd!

Mur.
No, my hero,
You have stood many a ruder shock than this;
We'll heal this gash—this is a shallow wound,

Tor.
'Tis deeper than you think for. Ah! my friend,
My honest Lody, hast thou found me out?
Thy master's sorrows will be soon at rest.

Lod.
Oh, how this rends my heart! Come, let us bear you
Into a fresher air—We may find help:
Lean on my arm—

Tor.
It has already sav'd me;
It can do so no more; yet, as it was
My first support, so shall it be my last.

[They lead him out.
Scene changes to a Chamber, in which is a State-Bed, or Couch, and over it a Canopy with a Curtain drawn before it, concealing the Body of the Duke of Courland.
The Countess discovered.
Count.
Either it is the error of my senses,
And those, which I have look'd on, are but shadows,
Or else some strange contagious horror strikes
All that have life, and palsies every tongue.
They come, they pass, and, in their passing, snatch
A fearful glance at the blood-sprinkled corpse
Of their dead prince; but no one stops to ask
Who did the murderous deed. I saw the monk
Stand by the body, muttering to himself
His solemn offices for the soul's peace:
He turn'd a look on me, and wav'd his head
In silent reprobation, yet he spoke not:
Murinski follow'd—him no horrors aw'd;
Eager he gaz'd upon the prostrate corpse;
Then stooping laid his hand upon the heart,
To be resolv'd if life's last pulse had stopt;
Whereof assur'd, he beckon'd to the guard
To take the body up—then with the air
And speedy step of one, who seem'd intent
To spread some happy tidings, he departed.

Baroness Vanhoven and Monk enter.
Bar.
Where is the desperate maniac, that has murder'd
The Duke of Courland underneath my roof?

Count.
Oh, then I find it was not all a vision,
For here is one at last has found a voice.
But hush! be silent—Look, he comes, he comes!
Torrendal led in by Murinski and Lodowick.
Oh, pity me, my husband, turn your eyes
In pity on a poor distracted creature!
How now! what ails him? Why d'ye bear him up?
Ah!—he is dying. Look! there's blood upon him!
But I have slain the wolf that tore his flesh—
There, there he lies!—
[She runs, draws the curtain rapidly aside, and discovers the body of the Duke laid out on the bed or couch.
Dead, dead—You see him dead;
Touch him, he's cold—call him, he cannot hear—
Accuse him, he can't answer—If you ask
Who kill'd him, it was I—'twas I who did it—
He had no mercy for my injur'd husband,
I, I had none for him—

Tor.
Peace! Hear me speak!
'Tis with my dying voice I now appeal
To Heaven's blest mercy, not for thee alone,
(Thy phrenzy ev'n an earthly judge would spare)
But also for the soul of that sad wretch,
With whose dead corpse I bury all resentment,
And so may Heaven to me like pardon deal,
As I to him!

Count.
Oh, hast thou not a pardon
Left to bestow on thy repentant wife?
That I may lay it to my sinking heart,
And at my death's hour meditate upon it.

Tor.
Oh, that these drops, which fond remembrance wrings
From my now-closing eyes, had power to blanch
Thy faded virtue, and restore it pure
As from the Maker's hand! Now, bear me up!
I yet would speak—Oh, ye frail, faithless wives,
Let this sad story sink into your hearts,
And leave an awful lesson to the world,
What fools in nature, and what slaves to sin
Those wretches are, who sacrifice their peace
To a seducer, and then trust his honour
To bear them up against the stings of conscience,
The scorn of virtue, and the wrath of heaven.

[Curtain falls.