 | The Bandit |  |
SCENE I.
The Forest.Enter Arnold.
ARNOLD.
I cannot rest within my 'custom'd haunt.
A thousand agitating thoughts assail me,
And draw me forth to learn the fate of Herman
Now hast'ning to its crisis. Hapless youth!
Victim of guilt abhorrent from my soul—
A parent's guilt!—Oh Walstein, cruel father!
Why thus entail on me thy deadly hate,
Make me the wretched heir of thy revenge,
A vile accomplice in the degradation
Of this dear youth, whose brave and mounting spirit
Soars to that eminence from which thou drag'st him?
I can no longer act the shameful part
Thou didst enjoin me. Duty, honour, nature,
Assert their claim. I will obey their call,
Break through my trammels, and with Herman fly
These guilty shades for ever!—Who comes there?
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HERMAN.
A wretch, whom even hope, the wretch's friend,
Abandons to despair. Bear with me, brother,
I need thy pitying succour to support me.
She's lost to me for ever!
ARNOLD.
Heav'n forefend!
HERMAN.
Yes, lost for ever. Think what agony
Seiz'd on my struggling heart, when, as she own'd
With blushing diffidence her pure affection,
She told me that to-morrow, aye, to-morrow
Will see her wedded to another.
ARNOLD.
How?
HERMAN.
One whom her soul detests. Amid her tears
A smile of tenderness beam'd forth, as thus
With gen'rous confidence she spoke. Alas!
I could not smile; my heart was torn with anguish;
Dumb, trembling, lost to sense I stood before her:
Though happiness appear'd within my grasp,
I dar'd not seize it.
ARNOLD.
What prevented thee?
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The conscious sense of my unworthiness.
Think'st thou I'm so abandon'd of all good,
So lost to ev'ry sentiment and feeling,
As thus to take advantage of her favour,
And make her unsuspecting purity
The partner of an outlaw'd bandit's fortunes?
Such foul deceit thy gen'rous soul would scorn.
Thank heav'n! mine scorn'd it too. My heart may break,
But never shall so base a treason stain it.
ARNOLD
(aside).
Ill-fated youth! Nature will speak in thee,
And vindicate her work.— (To him)
Be of good courage.
Though fortune now be adverse, she may grow
Hereafter more propitious. There are changes,
More than men look for, in the motley scene
Of our existence. Who can tell how soon
The cloud which now o'ershadows thee may vanish,
Leaving thy worth, like the meridian sun,
To dazzle with its brightness? Tell me, Herman,
Were such thy fate, wert thou her equal, would'st thou
Reject her proffer?
HERMAN.
Mock me not, I pray—
A wretch like me, who hardly may aspire
To gaze on her perfections—a poor outcast,
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ARNOLD.
There may be
More in fate's mystic volume, than thine eye
As yet can penetrate. In the deep mine
Lurks many a gem, which, polish'd, may adorn
A monarch's diadem.
HERMAN.
What dost thou mean?
ARNOLD.
That which I dare not more distinctly speak.
But let this cheering thought compose thine anguish—
There is a pow'r, which watches over virtue,
And leads it in due time to happiness.
HERMAN.
Mine is, alas! impossible!
ARNOLD.
Why so?
If on thy worth alone her love be founded,
Thou may'st indeed be happy. I would try it,
And by a test which would not leave a doubt.
She knows thee now but as thou seem'st, a peasant,
Nor entertains suspicion to affect
Thy reputation. Tell me, have I thought
Too highly of thee, when I deem'd thy soul
Endued with resolution to encounter
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To virtue's dictates? Dar'st thou undertake
A task revolting to thy gallant nature?
HERMAN.
Try me. Whatever duty prompts I dare.
ARNOLD.
Thou hast, observant of thy faith, abstain'd
From owning thy condition. Can'st thou now
Boldly avow to her the fatal truth?
HERMAN.
Confess mine infamy! Avow myself
Associate with banditti! Before heav'n!
It were an easier task at once to end
My life and misery, than thus proclaim
Mine own dishonour!
ARNOLD.
Pause awhile, and hear me.
Thine Ida plac'd her confidence in thee;
Wilt thou be less sincere tow'rds her?
HERMAN.
Thou ask'st
More than man's nature can achieve.
ARNOLD.
For shame!
Canst thou deceive her? No! thine heart will tell thee
She has a claim to be appriz'd of all.
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Invite her in some other clime to share
Our future fortunes. If her pride of station
Should make her scorn thee when thou'rt known, whate'er
The pang that rends thy heart, conscious desert,
The sense of inward rectitude and honour,
Will prove a consolation which—
HERMAN.
Enough!
Ensue what may, I will adventure it.
Farewell—detain me not—a word, a thought
May warp me from my purpose. Life or death
Are in suspense before me. When we meet,
I'm lost for ever, or for ever blest!
[Exeunt severally.
| The Bandit | |