University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE—A Room in the Castle.
Erminia and Eemoine.
ERMINIA.
Ah, name not brilliant shew and courts to me!
These peaceful shades, and holy calm retirements,
Whene'er my gallant Raymond's presence glads them,
Have every charm: delights how far superior
To gaudy flutter and incumber'd grandeur!
On yon green bank, laved by the murmuring rill,
How have I sat enraptur'd, while my hero
Renew'd his joyful vows, and prais'd his happiness!
The envious Sun has stolen away unnoticed,
And the melodious warbler of the evening
Has sung unhear'd beside me while he talk'd;
For all my ear was love. O Raymond, Raymond,
When shall these dreadful wars again restore thee!
When shall our wonted bowers hear thee again
Display the raptures of thy faithful heart!
Oh, heaven restore my Raymond to my arms!

EEMOINE.
Heaven hears the prayer. Still on Marseilles' proud wall
Waves the red banner, and still lives my Lord,
The Governor.

ERMINIA.
He lives—perhaps he does not.
If yet he live, to-morrow brings new danger.
Oh, I am full of fearful apprehensions!
I fear, alas!—what thousand fleeting phantoms!
I fear his valourous thoughtless scorn of danger
More than a thousand foes.

EEMOINE.
A brave man only, Lady,
Had charms for you; and would you wish your Lord
To shun the toils that give him all his charms?
And ever sacred be this wood-land castle,
And these lone bowers, to love, to happiest love!
And soon may Raymond cheer his lone retreat!
Yet sprightly youth by nature's powerful motion
Asks other scenes; would mingle in the walks
Where other Peers lead forth their fairest dames.

ERMINIA.
I cannot love the scene my Raymond loves not.
All the endearments of the expecting lover
Still seem more tender; yet should I but hint
Of leaving these retreats, and name the Court,
Serious he looks, then smiling says, the world
Is all false shew, and full of real trouble;
That a calm haven, like ours, is all the wish
Of courts and camps; the pole star of ambition.
Love makes me say so too, when sparkling rapture
His eyes confess his dearest wish accomplish'd;
The while he labours to express his joy,
And tells me I have freely granted him
The only point he could refuse to yield me.

EEMOINE.
Yet the full tide of Raymond's rising honours
Now swell so high, it cannot, will not leave him
To these lone shades—Talk'd not the King this morn
As if he wish'd the Count would change his life,
And shew the Court his Countess?

ERMINIA.
Ah, Eemoine,
Raise not that hope; away! it shall not please me.

EEMOINE.
And most auspiciously occasion offers,
Bourbon is fled, by Raymond's valour baffled;
And France is sav'd. This night the joyful King,
With many a lady from the neighbouring castles,
In Raymond's castle means to celebrate
The nation's joy in honour of your husband.
Should Raymond's Countess sullen then refuse
To grace the public joy, her husband's honour
Were tainted by the deed.

ERMINIA.
Three dreadful nights and days
Has Bourbon pour'd his thunder on Marseilles.
No sleep the while my woeful eyelids clos'd.
My fever'd thoughts at last, in gentle slumber,
Methought were sooth'd, when on the ground before me
A pale and blood-stain'd corpse my husband lay.
'Twas not a dream, I saw him—

EEMOINE.
The sick man's dreams of dismal yawning gulphs
Cleaving beneath his feet, and volleying fire,
Are real all, compar'd to what fond love
Conceives, when fear, as on the whirlwind's wing,
Toffesthe fancy—Ah, bethink you, lady,
How ill your fears become your opening fortunes.
Whom Fortune once forsakes, him almost never
She visits more; but when her various bounty
Flows on her favourites, the Spring's gay blossoms
Crowd not so plenteous on the May-day thorn;
So full she comes, where she delights to come.
She now, your better angel, smiles upon you,
And bids you follow her; see, where she leads
To courtly brilliancy, and royal favour!

ERMINIA.
Ah, didst thou feel like me, and hadst, like me,
The husband of thy love three days in battle?
Perhaps, ev'n now, torn from my widow'd arms,
On the rude earth his cold pale cheek reclines!
Didst thou fear this, alas, thou couldst not talk
Of Fortune's smiles, and Grandeur's gaudy baubles!

Enter the King, Guise, and Officers.
KING.
Ah! still in tears?—Let Winter's dismal gloom
O'ercloud the smiles of May, but let not sorrow
Dim these bright eyes.

ERMINIA.
Forgive, my Liege—Hither, for pity's sake!
Support me, lady.

[retiring.
KING.
What, and fly me too!
And can so fair a bosom veil such rigour!

ERMINIA.
Oh pity my distress, my woman's fears!

KING.
The brave Count Raymond lives, and crown'd with glory!

ERMINIA.
Oh heaven repeat it—Does the rage of war
Threaten no more?—Here, from the camp, I see,
Are other Peers; but what detains my Raymond?
Alas, deceive me not, nor mock my fears!

EEMOINE.
Thy fears are but the terror of a dream,
That soon will vanish.

ERMINIA.
Ah, the dreadful battle
Is past; and these return'd from victory;
But death detains my Raymond! Never, till now,
Was he the last to hasten to my arms.
Thy Guise is here; Eemoine, but my Raymond
Lies bleeding on the field. I know his ardour:
The dearest joy he felt in war's proud triumph
Was to behold my transport, when my arms
Receiv'd him from the fields of death, restor'd
To life, to love—But now, Oh heaven! he comes not,
Though others come.

KING.
By the King's sacred honour!
Thy Raymond lives; and every tongue delights
To name his gallant deeds. To-night is sacred
To his renown, which you will more adorn.
The Court of Charlemagne, in all its pomp
Of beauteous ladies, when they sat to judge
Their Knights at martial Tournay, yields to mine
The palm of beauty. War's confus'd alarms
Are now expell'd our realm—Festivity
Now claims the heart—Then might I thus to-night,
For one short night, thus beg your hand, and call you
Queen of the mask.

ERMINIA.
Alas, my Liege, my terrors
O'erpower my soul!—Hither, Eemoine, aid me.

KING.
Ah, Madam!—Yes, indeed, had you refus'd me,—
All dull impertinence, the face of joy.
Had seem'd to me—
[Eemoine retires, the Countess as lost in hesitation.]
The cares of war, now like my humble vassals,
Stand off at servile distance, while I give
My heart to riot in the sweetest joys
That victory affords; the sovereign joys
That beauty's captivating power inspires,
When beauty smiles with all the dear distinctions
That valour gains from woman—

[Guise taking the Countess by the hand.]
GUISE.
Here, my Liege,
The fairest gem that ever France acquir'd
From all her wars, to grace her splendid Court.

ERMINIA.
Ha, what! forbear—I know not what you said.
My spirits hurry me, I know not whither!
[withdrawing.
I break my plighted honour while I talk
And linger here—Whate'er my Raymond means,
I would not wound him in his earnest wish,
So oft repeated, were the world to give
[Eemoine returns
All it admires to bribe me. Why, Eemoine,
Why leave me thus—Hither my childhood's friend.

[offering to retire.
KING.
Yet hear how vain is your oppressing sorrow.

EEMOINE.
The gallant Raymond, crown'd with fresh blown honours,
Safe from the war this instant glads his castle.
His country's cause commands his present care,
And soon the honours of to-night's festivity
Shall give him to your arms with doubled joy.
Highly elated with the royal favour,
He means to meet you at the happy mask;
Such duteous honour to his King he owes,
And longs to pay—

ERMINIA.
Oh, not an angel's voice
Could thus have darted through my lifted heart
So bright a glow of transport. Oh my Raymond!
What have I suffer'd from the dreams of fear!
Yes; thy love-smiles shall fondly brighten o'er me
While I in sweet remembrance tell my fears.

KING.
Now, by my crown! these looks of happy beauty
Repay the hardships of a whole campaign.
The Ladies and the Peers already crowd
The joyful mask room, and attend their King;
But happiness delays her inspiration,
Lady, till you appear.

[Exeunt together.
SCENE—An Apartment in the Castle.
Enter Bramville and Ronsard meeting.
BRAMVILLE.
Say, have you found him?—Deaf to all my prayers,
He spurns when I urge his instant safety,
Here, here, he lingers in the act of treason.

RONSARD.
And vain is all I urge of hope and patience;
Vain as his earnest wish to see the Countess.
He well perceives she's guarded. But this instant
He sprung away, and vow'd that not the King
Should guard the door that placed its bar between them.

Enter Guise and Lord Admiral.
GUISE.
And know'st thou, Bramville, how thy furious Nephew
Defies the King's high will, deserts his station
Even in the foe's proud face? His fate is mark'd
In bloody characters.

BRAMVILLE.
Ay, and his foes
Will speed the blow—Alas, I know it well—

[Ex. Bram. and Ron.
LORD ADMIRAL.
Now is the moment, Guise. Tell me no more
What Raymond's love will do, and boasted honour;
Speed! instant to the King! and bring commission
To seize the lingering traitor.

GUISE.
On ourselves
Thus shall we call destruction. Raymond's Countess
Yet loves her husband with a bride's devotion;
And should his fate ev'n wound her with a sigh,
The love-intoxicated King would spurn us,
Degraded from his presence. Yes, my Lord,
I'll trust the workings of the Count's fierce honour.

Enter Eemoine.
EEMOINE.
My Lord, oh speed!—Fierce Raymond, on the instant,
Will burst into the mask room—

GUISE.
Ay, and there,
Fierce as a tyger, let him meet his spouse!
The kingly lion will not yield his prey:
Yes, let the Monarch curse his rude intrusion
And from the ferment of their mounting passions,
Our's be the gain—Ha! while I speak it happens,
Uproar and wild confusion at the mask
Seal what I hoped. They bring the fainting lady:
Let us withdraw, my Lord—

[Ex. Guise and Ld. Admiral.
Erminia, supported by Attendants, Eemoine advancing.
EEMOINE.
Hah, yet she lives!—and have I basely done it?—
Mercy, sweet heaven!—am I the blinded agent
Of adamantine hearted treachery?
Ah, these pale looks upbraid my ministry!
Yet, yet I knew not—Oh, my friend Erminia!
Cast not the look of terror thus around thee:
Here each awaits to soothe thy sudden woe
Whate'er its grief.

ERMINIA.
Oh, how severely did his look upbraid
My breach of promise! Fiercest indignation
Lower'd in his eye, and wither'd in his heart,
Each soft, each dear remembrance! whither shall I,
Oh, whither turn me!

EEMOINE.
All around you, Lady,
Shall yet smile gay. The King, the generous Francis
Shall guard your happiness.

ERMINIA.
The King—Ah me!
Piercing with coldest horror, comes the voice
That bids me hope that kindness from another
I only wish from Raymond—Oh, ungenerous
Have I requited him—one test of love.
Oft he implor'd with all the rage of earnestness,
And I, unworthy of a love like his,
Have carelessly neglected that poor test.
Yet to my Raymond shall I only fly;
E'en tho' he spurn me with a sterner look,
Yet will I hold him to my trembling breast,
My foe and only friend, my dread and refuge.
Where has my Raymond fled me—

Enter Guise.
GUISE.
Weep not lady;
Other resentments, noble ones, should heave
The indignant sigh—And Raymond shall lament—

ERMINIA.
Raymond lament! Oh pitying heaven defend him!
My careless breach of promise has involved him
In death's dark paths. Ay, death was in the frowns
The King and Raymond lower'd upon each other.
Yet will I now repeat my breach of promise,
And humbly grasp the frowning monarch's knees,
Till his high dignity forgive my husband—

GUISE.
Generous lady,
Thou art thy Raymond's better Angel, sent
From heaven to save him—

[Exeunt.
SCENE—Another Apartment.
Guise and his Lady.
EEMOINE.
Thus, on my knees, by heaven's eternal grace,
My Guise, my Husband, I adjure thee tell me,
Tell me, what means this earnestness to win
Erminia to the Court?—beneath this kindness
Lurks an ambiguous darkness; whence the horror
That shakes ev'n Raymond's knees, and chills his Countess
As death's cold touch?

GUISE.
Stern Raymond's wayward humour
Thus beats the air, and o'er his hapless spouse
Acts the dread Lord; to save his gentle lady
From this wild tyranny, were heaven's own kindness
Were worthy noblest friendship.

EEMOINE.
Ah, my Lord,
Her woes are all the woes of tenderest love,
And shall I act the part which you impose,
And add despair to anguish? No; forbid it,
Oh gracious heaven!

GUISE.
And thus a woman's weakness
Must blight the fairest harvest of my hopes.
Distraction, madness—

EEMOINE.
Yet, my Lord, yet hear;
I dread—Alas—

GUISE.
Few be my words—The King
In wildest admiration views the bravery
Of gallant Raymond: Raymond soon will shine
The first high-favour'd subject of the world;
And Raymond is my foe—Unless your friendship
With his lov'd Countess win me into favour,
Disgrac'd and banish'd from the court, our castle
In Normandy's wild hills, to you, to me,
Will soon become a lonely gloomy prison—
You tremble at the thought—Be wise; prevent it;
Be the bold friend of Raymond's injured Countess.
Give her the noblest gift a friend can give;
Teach her to vindicate her independence,
Leave to her gratitude the rest; and thou,
Be grateful too: remember the lone cloyster
From which my youthful love brought thee to grandeur.

[Ex. Guise.
EEMOINE.
I well remember it: thy dreary castle
In Normandy needs only to be nam'd,
And the dark cloyster's wintery shades return,
Where, lost to hope, my mounting soul seem'd fix'd
To a condition rooted to the earth
As the base weed that creeps on the cold rock;
Where, if at times my generous mind presag'd
The courtly scenes of grandeur and of joy,
Dependance, like a stern stepmother, blotted
The beauteous prospect, and sunk down my heart
In cold despair—Yes, I remember these;
And, were I spouse to Raymond, would not yield
To his ungenerous thraldom! Be my friendship
To Raymond's Countess then, such as myself,
In her lorn hours, would wish—

[Exit.
SCENE—Another Apartment.
Bramville and Raymond.
BRAMVILLE.
Indeed, my Lord, indeed your headlong passion
Has rudely injur'd the most faithful spouse—

RAYMOND.
My breast was torn with fierce conflicting passions,
And still is torn. Oh Bramville! speed again,
Tell my Erminia—

BRAMVILLE.
Bourbon, my Lord,
Perhaps ev'n now, ranges his host for battle;
Your Country asks your sword—

RAYMOND.
And witness, Heav'n,
I tremble for her fate yet, yet I will not,
I will not leave defenceless innocence
Beneath the wolf's hot eye. If you would arm me
To fight my country's battles, find me access
To my Erminia.

BRAMVILLE.
I speed, my Lord—

[Ex. Bramville.
RAYMOND.
Oh woman, woman, what may fix thy liking!
Good heav'n, what tenderness, what ardent passion
The yielding virgin's honest blush betrays!
But ah, how soon that honesty expires!
And to the first gross flatterer that assails,
Wanders her poison'd fancy; in affliction,
As light and changeful as the gaudy fly
Which hastens to the rose with eager speed,
And on its damask leaves, with fond embrace,
Flutters her painted wings a little while.
A little while, for lift she but her eyes
And the first thistle flower that catches them,
Catches her fancy too, and thither speeds she.
Oh Heaven what haggard imperfection blots
Thy fairest work!

Enter Ronsard.
RONSARD.
The troops, my Lord, you sent me to prepare,
Are all on fire to think you'll lead them—Ha,
How dark and wild that look!

RAYMOND.
Give me your hand.
Is this an honest hand?

RONSARD.
Unstain'd, my Lord.

RAYMOND.
Away! the world is false—

RONSARD.
Good heaven, my friend!

RAYMOND.
An old hag once told me,
That my friend's hands should tear my heart, should read
Each string, and while it wrung the master-cord,
With sleek adulterous smiles, should mock my woes.

RONSARD.
Oh heaven, let me confront the daring traitor,
Whose poisonous tongue—

RAYMOND.
Alas, Ronsard, thy manners
Have beauteous innocence. My thoughts were roving,
Were warm, my friend, warm with an ancient tale,
A noble one: brave Cyrus had a captive,
The pride of beauty; for the King's own bed
The chiefs reserv'd her: mark, she was a captive
Taken in war, the very flow'r of beauty.
But she was chaste, pure as the snow-rob'd angel
That guards the holy altar: every thought
Glow'd with her husband; cold as death's chill hand
To all the world beside. Yet she was woman;
And love might hope. But Cyrus made no revel,
No mid-night mask, no flattering amorous fondling
To fan her pride, or melt her guardless heart.
Ay, and her husband was the soe of Cyrus,
In arms against him; mark, he was an enemy,
But gallant Cyrus reverenc'd his love,
And to his arms restor'd the beauteous maid,
Pure as th' ethereal blushes of the dawn.

Enter Bramville.
BRAMVILLE.
My Lord, the keen impatience of your fears
Is the worst foe that wars against your spouse,
Eemoine soon will soothe your mind to peace.

RAYMOND.
Eemoine, not Erminia!

BRAMVILLE.
Your fiery glances struck your fond Erminia
As withering light'ning; by Eemoine's lips
She begg'd some little space for slow recovery;
But to the chapel: here your stay is treason;
Here may some spy betray you.

RAYMOND.
Struck her, said you?
Sweet heaven, what hope dwells here!
Guilt lifts the harden'd front against the injur'd.
[as slowly retiring.
She's innocent! then hence—
—Yet this Eemoine
Is spouse of Guise—A courtier, who could calmly
To death and infamy consign the friend
Who stood in his ambition's darkling way,
And smile too while he stabb'd him—

[Exeunt.
SCENE—Another Apartment.
The King, Guise, and the Lord Admiral.
KING.
My Lords, my happiness demands your service.
The Countess—Oh what charms! but go, my Guise,
I left her trembling on the giddy whirl
Of various passions. Fan her, least suspicions
Of Raymond's hatred—Tell her his dread revenge
Should bid her delicate resentment blaze.
Then let the powers of music soothe her spirits:
I'll follow you: when the dissolving soul
Glows in her eyes, the melting melody
Shall softly whisper what my looks would say.
[Ex Guise
And you, Lord Admiral, in every passage
Plant armed soldiers: have a watchful eye
On Raymond.—

LORD ADMIRAL.
And in iron chains secure him.

KING.
No, by my crown: to seize him yet were death
To the most lovely fair one. I have promised,
Tho' with affected shyness, to forgive him.
Heavens, how my feign'd reluctance fired her earnestness,
And fixt her keen imploring eyes upon me!
Tho' to my love her words spoke cold despair.
'Twas luxury to read her asking eyes
Thus languishing on me. And again,
Soon shall they woo me, while my lingering favour
Shall be the trammel of the god of love.
Her husband must be purchased. Hither Lord Admiral.

[Exeunt.