 | The Knight of Rhodes |  |
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ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The Grand-Master's Palace.Villiers, Raymond, Davila, and other Knights discovered.
RAYMOND.
So ended my discourse with Damaral.
In my relation I have much suppress'd
Of what rude passion utter'd.
VILLIERS.
It is pity,
That such a gallant gentleman as he is
Should thus give way to moody discontent.
DAVILA.
He hath a spirit which disdains controul:
The shadow of authority disturbs him.
I never saw so proud a man, or one
So little form'd to struggle with reverses.
His recent disappointment taints his mind,
And brooding envy works so strongly in him,
That, did occasion suit—
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Think better of him,
Nor breathe suspicion 'gainst his high desert.
Though rough, he's honest, and, though hasty, loyal.
DAVILA.
You judge him by yourself. A noble nature
From the clear mirror of its own pure soul
The characters of other men reflects,
Sheds a resplendent ray of glory round them,
Transforming all their frailties to perfection.
VILLIERS.
If to think well of others be a weakness,
I am indeed most weak. We all have frailties,
And that, of which we're conscious in ourselves,
We should with charity excuse in others.
The gallant Damaral has approv'd himself
Our Order's best support: let us then weigh
His merits 'gainst his faults, and we shall find
How they prepond'rate.—But no more—He comes.
Enter Damaral.
DAMARAL.
Here on thy summons I attend.
VILLIERS.
'Tis well.
Thou know'st the cause wherefore we thus assemble,
But we are yet to learn why thou disdain'st
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DAMARAL.
Noble sirs! Ye have known me long,
My merits and defects. I need not tell you
I am a man of plain, unvarnish'd manners,
Unpractis'd in the modes of courtly life,
Who never studied grace, or learn'd to mould
My phrases to the fashion of the time.
What passes in my heart my tongue will speak,
And, when I'm mov'd by choler, I am apt
To give free utt'rance to my sudden thought.
This ye all know; and, if too strongly now
Or hastily of what ye plann'd I spoke,
Let your good favour pardon my defect.
VILLIERS.
'Tis spoken like thyself.—Thou know'st the Turk
Asks with strong instance the release of her
Whom brave Du Mesnil took. Could our compliance
Obtain from them a truce, the Christian pow'rs
Might then have time to send their wish'd-for aid.
DAMARAL.
And thereto do your councils tend?
VILLIERS.
They do.
DAMARAL.
To treat with Mustapha?—We never yet
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'Tis 'gainst our rule. Yet, as you sagely judge,
Th'occasion seems to warrant it. Then why
Reject what our necessities require?
Whom send you forth?
VILLIERS.
That is a point, whereon
Thy judgment may assist us.
DAMARAL.
'Tis indeed
A service which discretion will require,
And yet 'tis such as will degrade the doer.
When heard ye, since our Order had existence,
That any knight so far forgot his station,
As the forbearance of the foe to court?
VILLIERS.
So stand the rule and practice of our Order.
Yet this, methinks, is an exception to it:
For, after all, what is it but t'arrange
Terms of exchange for those we captive hold?
DAMARAL.
True—'tis no more.—Yet that is all too much,
And may have consequences—no!—'tis certain
Ye cannot send a knight.—But then whom else?—
Let me reflect.—A thought has just occurr'd,—
How far 't may be expedient you must judge,—
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For so it is—should you not try the captive,
Who hither with the damsel came?
DAVILA.
The captive?
What know'st thou of the captive?—Trust to him!
DAMARAL.
In what respect, I pray, can he deceive us?
What is the object of his purpos'd mission?
The freedom of the damsel. What the terms
On which that boon depends? A truce. Who then
So fitly may be trusted with the charge,
As he who feels most int'rest in her welfare?
He seems well suited to the task, and trusty.
VILLIERS.
We know him not. If thou hast cause to trust him—
DAMARAL.
Cause, say'st thou?—No—I talk'd with him indeed—
The lady much commends him.—For myself,
I have no cause—but she must know him best.—
(Aside)
How ill I play the hypocrite! (To Villiers)
'Tis certain
He has an int'rest, which none other has,
To prompt him to exertion.
VILLIERS.
He hath so.
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DAMARAL.
'Twere sagely done.— (Aside)
If I stay longer here,
My feelings will betray me. (To Villiers)
There's a matter,
Which presses strongly, and requires my presence.
I'll send him to thee. Judge of him thyself;
And give him thine instructions.—I will send him.
[Exit Damaral.
DAVILA.
What? So abruptly gone?—I marvel much
He thus should change without apparent cause.
To Raymond now all fury, venting threats
'Gainst any who should dare remove the maid;
Now, first to send her back.—And then the captive—
'Till now a total stranger; yet he vouches
He is deserving trust. He may be so;
But I would have other security,
Than that he gives us.
VILLIERS.
Be content, I pray.
If he be such as Damaral has describ'd,
It may be well to use him.
DAVILA.
I have done.—
Raymond! a word.—Let's watch this trusty captive.
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RAYMOND.
Agreed.
VILLIERS.
Come with me, friends! Let us th'instruction frame
For our new messenger. Should our attempt
Meet with success, our pains are well bestow'd;
If not, upon our arms and oft-tried valour
Let us depend, and look to heav'n for safety.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
An Apartment in Damaral's Palace.Enter Hali.
HALI.
I would he were return'd! He went prepar'd
To second all my views; but who can tell
What mischief cool reflection may produce?
They know not, who have never tried deceit,
How perilous it is. When my blood's hot,
And all my faculties are rous'd to action,
I mock at danger: but suspense unmans me.—
'Tis strange he comes not!—If I can but lead him
Into the snare devis'd for him, his ruin
Follows immediate. Either Rhodes must fall,
And all his flatt'ring hopes be buried with it,
Or to the world his treasons shall be blazon'd.
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My vengeance will be full.
Enter Ismena.
ISMENA.
I'm glad I've found thee.
Know'st thou of Damaral aught?
HALI.
He is gone forth
On what imports us mainly. Our design
Is prosp'rous far beyond our warmest hope.
All his wild passions, leagued against himself,
Champion our purposes. I hold him fast—
ISMENA.
I'm sorry for it!
HALI.
How's that?—Sorry, say'st thou?
ISMENA.
I am a woman, and perhaps I feel
A woman's weakness; but there's something tells me
We are engag'd in an unworthy cause.
Had he been otherwise than I have found him—
HALI.
I tell thee, had he been less prone to yield
To the dominion of ungovern'd passion,
Our project had been marr'd. If we succeed
To warp him from his duty, all the glory
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ISMENA.
Think of the princely qualities of him,
Whom thus we doom to ruin. If he err,
His very faults are the excess of virtue.
HALI.
Give o'er this idle talk!—Thou should'st have pleaded
Thy nature's weakness ere we left Byzantium.
ISMENA.
Oh would that heav'n had sav'd me from a share
In guilt, from which my feelings now recoil!
How can I hear him pour forth vows of love,
Read in his ev'ry glance ingenuous passion,
And, like an adder foster'd in his bosom,
Distil insidious poison?—Think me not
So lost to ev'ry feeling, so devoid—
HALI.
I heed not what thou art, so thou be firm.
Our triumph's sure; then comes our rich reward—
ISMENA.
Perish the thought! What? For a deed like this?
The very beasts, that range the fields for prey,
May be subdued by kindness. They can feel,
But I—too horrible!—than they more cruel,
Combine to ruin him who loves me best.
And what a man! First among Europe's heroes,
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HALI.
Cease—I'll hear no more—retire—
And mark—when Damaral shall revisit thee,
See thou receiv'st him as thou ought'st. Call forth
All thy seducing charms, greet him with smiles,
But, as thou lov'st thy life, give not a hint
Which may instil suspicion in his soul.
Begone! I have no time to lose with thee!
ISMENA.
Nay, force me not away!—I pray thee hear me!
HALI.
Away!
[He forces her out.]
So! this is well.—The shaft I aim'd
'Gainst Damaral will recoil upon myself,
If I prevent it not. She must have feelings!—
'Tis mine own fault: I should have known her sex.
But hold—he comes at last. Now must I dress
My face in smiles.
Enter Damaral.
Welcome, my gracious lord!
I waited with impatience thy return.
How goes our enterprize? Thy looks are cheering—
DAMARAL.
Are they? I guess'd not that. In sooth, my mind
Feels more than wonted trouble. I'm not us'd
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The lying herald of my heart.
HALI.
'Twere well,
If we could always reach our purpos'd aim
By the straight path. Yet wise men have affirm'd
(What sage experience warrants) 'tis the end
Which justifies the means. Would'st thou in war
Disclose thy real purpose, that the foe
Might praise thy candour, and defeat thy plan?
That were stark folly. He, who best can veil
The stroke he aims, is surest of success.
DAMARAL.
Yet could I wish, so hateful is it to me,
We might dispense with that which so degrades
A soldier's honour. There's a madd'ning whirl
Of thought within me—
HALI.
Think of it no more.
What tidings bring'st thou?
DAMARAL.
All—but my sharp reflections—
All seem auspicious. They—
HALI.
Nay, my good lord—
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I had forgotten.—Villiers hath consented
To send thee forth to treat of the conditions,
And wills thee to repair to him forthwith.
HALI.
Then let me not delay. Time now is precious.
Look for my prompt return.—Farewell, my lord!
[As he is going, he turns back.
Yet hold—my zeal had nearly overrun
My better judgment. How could I forget
That which omitted might have foil'd our hopes?
DAMARAL.
Have foiled them?
HALI.
Aye, my lord. Though Mustapha,
Who knows me, might not have refused me credence
On things of less concern, yet, on a matter
Like this, he might demur. He would demand,
What proof hast thou of Damaral's confidence?
And what am I to answer?—I have none.
DAMARAL.
What proof would he require?
HALI.
Suppose thou giv'st me—
Under thy hand I mean—two lines of credence?
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DAMARAL.
How?—a trifle, say'st thou?
HALI.
'Tis of no farther use, than to convince
Our Gen'ral of my truth. But that's essential.
It matters not what evidence I have,
If it do that. Perhaps we may devise
Some other means.—Aye—that will do as well.—
Thou bear'st a signet, whereon is engrav'd
Thine Order's blazoning, the Christian Cross.
Suppose thou giv'st me that?
DAMARAL.
I'll give thee nought!
HALI.
And why refuse it me?—Dost thou then doubt me?
DAMARAL.
Give me thy hand.—In very truth, good Hali!
I do believe thee honest.
HALI.
Give me proof on't.—
What do I ask?—The means of thy success.
DAMARAL.
I would do much; but this, which thou requir'st,
Is of such moment—
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Thou dost doubt me then?
If so, farewell! I find I knew thee not.
Let thy successful rival keep his pow'r,
Forego the crown which thy acceptance courts;
Let fair Ismena from thine arms be torn,
Let her be giv'n to Selim—
DAMARAL.
Say no more—
I scorn to treat with him I would not trust—
Here—take it (gives the signet).
See thou guard'st it carefully.
HALI.
As mine own life. Thou may'st rely upon me.
DAMARAL.
Nay, I distrust not thee so much as fortune.
HALI.
Doubt nothing. Fare-thee-well!
[Exit Hali.
DAMARAL.
Stay yet a moment!—
He's gone!—That signet—'tis a trust—
Enter Ismena.
ISMENA.
My lord!
DAMARAL.
My lov'd Ismena! They have kept me from thee—
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If thou com'st now in time for me to save thee,
I shall be blest indeed.
DAMARAL.
What means my love?
ISMENA.
Hast thou seen Hali?
DAMARAL.
Even now he left me,
As thou cam'st hither.
ISMENA.
Had ye much discourse?
DAMARAL.
We had.—Why look'st thou thus?—Thy colour changes!
ISMENA.
Pass'd any thing which may affect thee nearly?
Forgive me, Damaral! for I have a cause,
Grave as thy life, essential as thine honour.
DAMARAL.
What say'st thou?—Is then Hali a deceiver?
What then—oh heav'nly pow'rs!—What then art thou?
ISMENA.
Oh! I'm a wretch, who have no other plea
For thy forgiveness than too late repentance.
I'm plung'd in guilt so black, thy noble nature
Must fail to fathom it. Had I foreseen
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As I have found thee, not the Sultan's pow'r
Nor Hali's arts had made me an accomplice—
DAMARAL.
In what?
ISMENA.
Oh look not thus!—How can I tell thee
The sum of my offence?—Thou'lt hate me—fly me—
Here, in my guilty heart, thy weapon plant,
Forget that I'm a woman, look upon me
As one with demons leagued for thy destruction!
DAMARAL.
Almeida! Ho!
Enter Almeida.
Pursue—bring Hali back!
ALMEIDA.
Which was his course?
DAMARAL.
He's gone to the Grand-Master—
Fly, and o'ertake him ere he reach the palace.
If thou dost love me let him not escape.
Away, away!
[Exit Almeida.
(To Ismena)
Thou leagued for my destruction?
ISMENA.
Hear me, and, if it yet be not too late,
Let me preserve thee.—I'm combin'd with those,
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Form'd their infernal project to undo thee.
Hali devis'd the plan; his was the task
To work upon thy passions, and incite thee
To join against thy country: me they chose,
Detested pref'rence! to seduce thy heart—
DAMARAL.
No more!—I cannot speak to thee!—Could'st thou—
ISMENA.
I knew thee not, had never felt thy kindness;
But now my heart acknowledges thy worth,
And I would save thee if I can from ruin.
DAMARAL.
Thou know'st not half the dreadful guilt, in which
Thy practice hath involv'd me.
ISMENA.
Hear me yet!
Thus, on my knees, let me implore thy pity!
If penitence can find forgiveness from thee,
If tears can move thee!—I may save thee yet.
DAMARAL.
Leave me—nay, leave me—I can't speak to thee—
Oh beauteous falsehood!—Hence, I would not harm thee,
For I have lov'd thee—lov'd thee, while thou spread'st
Snares for my life and fame.—I may be tempted,
If thou stay'st longer—hence!
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Oh! for thine honour—
DAMARAL.
Honour!—mine honour!—To a treach'rous slave
Have I surrendered that!—Oh fool, fool, fool!—
But I shall reach him!—Bar not thus my way!
ISMENA.
Oh grant me hearing!
DAMARAL.
Vain are all your arts!
They've work'd—they cannot ruin me again!
[Exeunt.
END OF ACT IV.
| The Knight of Rhodes | |