 | The Siege of Berwick |  |
20
ACT THE SECOND.
Enter Ethelberta and Juliana.ETHELBERTA.
Say, what can be the cause of their deserting me?
I have not since the truce began beheld
The Governor, nor have I yet embrac'd
My children! they whose dutiful affection
I have until this present hour experienc'd!
Whence comes it they defraud me of their cheering
Presence?
JULIANA.
'Tis business of some great moment
Perchance delays them.
ETHELBERTA.
Feed me not with vain
Pretexts; their presence only can assuage
My starv'd and ravenous longing! wild conception
Peoples the void of absence with many
Ghastly and terrific forms.
21
Shall I withdraw
In order to investigate the cause?
ETHELBERTA.
No, Juliana, you must not desert me,
I am too wretched and unfit for solitude!
Why do you send your view to yonder portal.
(Juliana retires a few steps, and then returns.)
JULIANA.
Now cast away your fears; behold, behold!
The Governor approaches.
Enter Sir Alexander.
ETHELBERTA.
Your presence
Is as the sun unto the darken'd landscape:
Wherefore hast thou linger'd thus? Oh, tell me
Where are my children?
Sir ALEXANDER.
They are well.
ETHELBERTA.
Yet why
Do they delay to bless a mother's sight?
Sir ALEXANDER.
'Tis proper now I should reveal.
22
Reveal!
You've then some fearful secret to unfold.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Dear Ethelberta, be not thus alarm'd!
Already have I said our boys are well.
Last night a sally was propos'd. Archibald
And Valentine entreated much to lead
The onset.
ETHELBERTA.
And you yielded to their entreaty?
Sir ALEXANDER.
The subtle foe by some dark perfidy
Had early notice of the deep-laid scheme,
And were too well prepar'd.
ETHELBERTA.
My blood runs cold.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Ah, rather let it glow at my recital:
Your sons have gain'd the warrior's best reward,
Unsullied fame. Three times did their small force
Drive back their triple-number'd foes; at length,
By their encreasing powers subdued (with nine
Of their brave men remaining) they submitted
To be captives.
23
Say, who first suggested
This rash enterprize?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Melvil applauded
What my sons propos'd; and to the energy
With which he utter'd his approving thought
Did I reluctantly give my assent.
ETHELBERTA.
Curs'd be old Melvil for his rash approval!
Sir ALEXANDER.
Spare your resentment, and revere the dead;
Fall'n is his valiant arm, to rise no more.
ETHELBERTA.
Then peace be to his soul! Let me retain
A grateful sense to Heav'n that my lov'd children
Are not, as Melvil, number'd with the slain;
The loss of those dear boys would be to me
As if the spring were blotted from the year.
Come, Juliana, let us to our customed
Visitation of the sick and wounded.
[Exit Ethelberta and Juliana.
Enter Anselm.
ANSELM.
A herald from the foe is just arriv'd,
And waits your orders for admission.
24
Let him be admitted.
Enter Herald.
The HERALD.
Sir, this letter,
Of high import, I'm order'd to deliver
Into your hands only.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Retire awhile:
In some few moments come for my reply.
(Reads to himself.)
ANSELM.
Methinks you look disturb'd! Say, what can be
The drift of this important note?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Attend!
(reads aloud.)
“Complaints have reach'd me from my court, as if
“I linger'd in subjecting your proud town:
“To these complaints strong menaces are added!
“I therefore summon you to surrender,
“Or else your sons shall rue your stubbornness:
“I will erect two pillars near the tower
“From whence your crowding arrows gall us most;
“To these two pillars shall your sons be chain'd;
“Expos'd to the whole tempest of the war.”
25
The blackest fiend in hell conceiv'd that thought,
And breath'd it on his mind.
Sir ALEXANDER.
I know him well;
It suits the native disposition of the man.
Enter Ethelberta.
ETHELBERTA.
Ah! wonder not I hastily return:
I'm told a Herald from the camp is come—
What tidings of my sons?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Peruse this note.
(She reads.)
ETHELBERTA.
Say, what dost thou intend to do?
Sir ALEXANDER.
My duty.
ETHELBERTA.
Is 't then a duty to destroy your children?
To rend affection from your inmost breast;
Uproot the thoughts of pity as they grow;
Embowel nature of her hallow'd feelings?
And to a mother dare you this avow?
26
I dare avow what honour bids me do.
ETHELBERTA.
The untam'd Arab, who exists on plunder,
Lets fall his booty to assist his child!
But you, whom polish'd manners should adorn,
Whose pure religion wears a softer feature,
Do you reject the impulse of compassion,
For the stern morals of imagin'd honour?
Enter Herald.
HERALD.
Sir, the time urges, what is your reply?
Sir ALEXANDER.
Go, tell your savage, and blood-thirsty General,
The sacred oath I utter'd to my country
And to my royal master, when I was
Exalted to the station I now hold,
Contains my answer.—Sir, you may return.
ETHELBERTA.
Stay one short moment, hear a mother plead:
Tho' dead to pity, riches may perchance
Allure his mind! I've jewels of high value—
(Sir Alexander makes a signal to the Herald, who retires.)
He goes, he heeds not what I say; my sons
Are then condemn'd without resource. Enjoy,
27
Enjoy this philosophic victory,
This conquest, this cold triumph o'er all feeling—
Domestic pity, conjugal affiance,
Fatherly endearment, are by you profan'd!
Sir ALEXANDER.
What does this mean? dare you assert I do
Not love my children?
ETHELBERTA.
Say, where are the proofs?
Is yielding up your sons without a conflict,
Without resorting to the prompt expedient
Affection wou'd have flown to? Is resigning
Your sons, without the interposing a short
Delay, without a pause, without inventing
Some pious artifice; are these the proofs
Of your paternal kindness? Evidence
Like this would not be admitted in the court
Of Nature.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Cease this idle declamation!
Respect, respect the great, the solemn trial,
To which my pure allegiance now is call'd!
I see the desolating hour approach,
Like the dark storm that thickens as it sails!
It is the woman's privilege to weep
And utter her complaints: to man belongs
The majesty of grief! yet not the less
Does the fond parent warm this bosom:
28
Seem to command the function of my soul,
I've that within that tells me I'm a father.
ETHELBERTA.
Thus the pale cheek of hungry fame is flush'd
And rudded o'er with the false glow of duty.
ANSELM.
Make not the bitter cup he 's doomed to drink
Still more bitter by the infusions of reproach.
ETHELBERTA.
May not the broken-hearted mother speak;
May not her madd'ning sorrow still attempt
To snatch her children from destruction?
Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
I come to pour glad tidings on your ear!
Your sons—
ETHELBERTA.
What of my sons?
OFFICER.
They are return'd:
Relenting, as 'tis thought, of his intention,
The General has restor'd them to your wishes.
29
Ah! tell me where you saw them?
OFFICER.
Ent'ring at
The southern gate, amidst th' applauding multitude!
They bade me hasten to your presence with
The news of their return.
ETHELBERTA.
Wherefore do they
Linger thus?
OFFICER.
Methinks I hear their foot-steps—
Enter Archibald and Valentine.
ETHELBERTA.
What glorious vision meets my raptur'd eyes!
(Runs to embrace them.)
This sudden joy, this unimagin'd heaven,
Transports me beyond all pow'r of utterance.—
Sir ALEXANDER.
Your presence, my lov'd children, smooths
The rugged conflict in my breast.—Whence comes
This change of counsel in the tyrant's mind?
30
Ah! rather tell me where, where is the joy
That ought to harmonise with ours? Archibald,
Your down-cast look portends some dread intelligence:
And you, my Valentine, where is thy wonted
Gaiety?
ARCHIBALD.
I have of high importance
Something to communicate to my Father.
ETHELBERTA.
May not I be present at the interview?
ARCHIBALD.
What I'm going to unfold will distress you.
ETHELBERTA.
No, no! your mutual safety is sufficient
To bear me up against this new calamity!
But wherefore do you weep?
ARCHIBALD.
These tears I shed
Spring from affection, not from fear.—I'll die
Worthy of such parents.
31
So will I!
ETHELBERTA.
Wherefore,
Wherefore do ye talk of death?
ARCHIBALD.
With a mockery
Of pity does the General send us back:
One of us must return to be the victim
Of his cruelty.
ETHELBERTA.
Oh! never.
ARCHIBALD.
We're bound
By honour's tie, the soldier's strongest chain;
One must return: and unappall'd we wait
(turning to Sir Alexander.)
For your decision.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Ah! what Father can
Decide of two affectionate and duteous
Children, which shall be led to slaughter? Say,
Was I to raise in awful thought the balance
Of my affection, and cou'd judgment see
32
Would join and equalize the trembling scales.
VALENTINE
(to Ethelberta.)
Be comforted.
ETHELBERTA.
Oh! my dear Valentine.
(Falls on his neck.)
ANSELM.
I think all this is a mere stratagem
To lengthen out the truce.—Allow me, Sir,
To hasten to the General's tent; there will
I urge with glowing words my suit,
There paint the infamy that must involve him,
If, thus profaning the hallow'd feelings
Of Parents—
VALENTINE.
Holy father! 'twou'd become
Thee better to assuage, support with comfort's
Lenient voice, this drooping mother, than to
Interfere with what regards my brother's
Honour and my own.
ETHELBERTA.
I'll write to the General
In words of soothing power, in terms of energy,
Such as the mother's throbbing heart conceives.
33
No letter must be written, for 'twou'd seem
Our dictating, and would shew like cowardice.
Sir ALEXANDER.
There spoke my valiant son.
ARCHIBALD.
Our mutual dignity
Forbids, abhors all interposition.
ETHELBERTA.
Then I have lost my children.
VALENTINE.
That follows not;
He who is first in years, in skill, experience,
He must be spar'd, the general cause demands him.
ARCHIBALD.
What says the hasty Valentine?
VALENTINE.
Command
Your rising indignation, I'll explain.—
Allow us, Father, for some few moments,
To confer alone, that free from all restraint
I may to Archibald disclose my mind,
And utter arguments that may subdue
34
Prevent th' extinction of our family.
ARCHIBALD.
Perish to the root the name of Seaton,
And let oblivion's night o'ershade the proud
Exploits of our long ancestry, ere I
Consent to that which must degrade and shrink
Me in my own esteem!
VALENTINE.
I mean not that.
Sir ALEXANDER.
Come, Ethelberta, let us for a while
Retire, and leave them to confer alone.
ETHELBERTA.
Well the high theme of your discourse I know,
It is a contest for the palm of death:
But in this glorious conflict still remember
What is due to your afflicted Mother.
If any plan, expedient, or device,
Allied to honour, should suggest itself;
If any beam should pierce this awful gloom,
Admit its sacred influence on your mind,
And save me from despair.
(Exit with Anselm, Juliana, and Sir Alexander.)
35
Fear is no inmate of thy glowing breast;
Yet then reflect that other thoughts than those
That courage breathes must sometimes regulate
A soldier's conduct. Say, hast thou not heard
That mercy, resignation, are the nobler
Duties of a soldier?
ARCHIBALD.
Where is now that
Mercy claim'd? where call'd for? mercy on whom?
VALENTINE.
Mercy on your Parents, and on your country.
ARCHIBALD.
This puerile declamation moves me not.
VALENTINE.
I speak the language of a mind sincere,
To one who is my friend as well as brother,
For whom my partial fondness ne'er was doubted.
ARCHIBALD.
He loves me not who does not love my fame!
Was I to yield to your ill-tim'd suggestion,
Wou'd not each finger mark me as I pass,
As one who skulks behind the privilege
Of eldership to save himself from death?
36
The fatal spot to which we both aspire,
Is glory's prize, is honour's awful station,
And I now claim it as my sacred birth-right.
VALENTINE.
I contend no longer.
ARCHIBALD.
Let me hasten,
Fly to my Father to proclaim the news,
That Valentine at length consents to live.
VALENTINE.
Allow me one short moment, and be calm:
Say, wilt thou, with an avarice of fame,
Demand exclusively the meed of glory?
Wilt thou pursue the path that leads to death,
And leave thy faithful Valentine behind?
ARCHIBALD.
Cease, generous brother, or thou 'lt break my heart—
VALENTINE.
When first I quitted childhood's lowly vale,
Eager with you I climb'd youth's arduous height,
Whence greater scenes expanded on my view;
Still our pursuits, consenting to one plan,
Our lives like wedded streams united roll'd;
And will you now disturb the sacred tide,
And bid the kindred waves disparting run?
37
'Tis as you say, in us was ever found
The sympathetic union of the mind,
The harmony of affection and design.
VALENTINE.
And wou'd it not be sacrilege to tear
Our souls asunder?—Mark my firm resolve,
I will attend thee to the fatal spot,
And share an equal destiny with thee.
ARCHIBALD.
I yield, I bow to thy sublimer mind.
VALENTINE.
Let 's haste away, lest Ethelberta shou'd
Return, and with her tears unman our purpose.
ARCHIBALD.
Agreed—We'll hasten to our mutual doom,
Co-equals at the hallow'd shrine of danger.
VALENTINE.
Will not the spirits of our valiant ancestry
Lean from their golden thrones on high, well pleas'd
While thus
(Encircling his brother.)
we march undaunted to our fate.
One heart—
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One cause—
VALENTINE.
One ruin, and one fame!
[Exeunt.
End of the SECOND ACT.
| The Siege of Berwick | |