University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE—An Apartment in the Castle.
ERMINIA.
Thy tidings, O Eemoine! chill my breast
As death's cold touch. O rash impatient Raymond,
Why hast thou fled thy castle? One short hour
Had made us ever happy—Ah, how couldst thou
Unkindly leave me in the robber's power?
Alas, my heart—

EEMOINE.
The purpos'd robbery, Madam,
Shall now defeat itself. Indeed the Sovereign
Rages with blindest passion, and will seize
His hapless prey, perhaps, if art prevent not.
Our art shall do it; from the chace we'll fly
To Bourbon's host, and find the injur'd Raymond.
O happy shall I be to lend my aid
To blight the fraudful purpose, which till now
Conceal'd its horrid front.

ERMINIA.
And art thou true?

EEMOINE.
Amazement, Lady!
All, all my heart feels is the wish to serve you.
Oh, Madam, forfeit not your happiness
By doubting my attachment!

ERMINIA.
Though Raymond love me not, yet all my soul
Weeps o'er the thought that Raymond loves me not.
My heart still loves him with a painful anguish.
Oh Raymond, Raymond, didst thou feel as I do,
This, this would melt thee.

EEMOINE.
To the chace, Erminia,
And sieze the golden moments 'ere the hand
Of envious time debase them.

ERMINIA.
This perhaps
May save my honour, and appease my Raymond,
[Snatching up a dagger and concealing it in her dress.
Some ghostly being, by the mortal eye
Unseen, and by human nerves unfelt,
Lays its cold hand upon my inmost soul,
And chills me with an horror mixt with boldness.

EEMOINE.
And let the spirit of your sires inspire you.
Be bold, and trust in Heaven—

ERMINIA.
Thrice happy he
On whom kind Heaven bestows a faithful friend!
Tho' danger leagued with darkness hover over him.
And every step seem on a gulph's dread edge,
Yet on his friend's kind arm he safely leans,
And safely passes through the beating storm.
Thus, leaning on thy friendship, to the chace
I go Eemoine.

EEMOINE.
And gay happiness
Shall close the evening of this doubtful morn.

[Exeunt together.
SCENE—A Cave in a Wood.
Bramville and Raymond in Peasants Cloaks.
BRAMVILLE.
This cave, my Lord, will give us friendly shelter,
While to th' embattled field the purple morn
Calls forth each army.

RAYMOND.
Hail, ye solemn shades,
Ye gloomy haunts! I feel your genius soothe me,
Here my last sigh shall heave; my sudden absence
So Ronsard warn'd me, has alarm'd the tyrant.
This Peasant's cloak may shroud me from his rage
One wretched hour, while yet his cruel scorn
Might pierce my heart. I charge thee, leave me Bramville.

BRAMVILLE.
Alas, my Lord, here will we stay till night
Provide us safety: friendly silence here
Will best indulge, perhaps will soothe your woes.

RAYMOND.
Will soothe my woes! vain hope: Erminia's name,
Like a damn'd spell, calls up the dreary fiends
Of horror and despair in arms against me.
O wounding sight!—lo, floating thro the dusk,
My household smoke curls o'er the waving trees
And does, Oh horrid, does another lover
Riot in unhallow'd dalliance by my hearth,
While I am driven from my paradise
To wander here. O false, ungenerous woman!

Enter Ronsard,
RONSARD.
Tremendous justice, look from heav'n, and bare
Thy red right-arm!—O best, O bravest peer,
Are these thy fitting honours!

RAYMOND.
Never more
Shall I again put on the state of greatness.
Wrap me, ye dismal shades, from yonder sun
That rises hateful on me—
Heard you that groan? 'twas the wind sadly rustling
Thro' the dark shade of yonder dreary pines—
There shall I rest—The busy bustling world
Seems a base crowd to me, scrambling at toys
With such blind rage, that o'er their brothers necks
They tread to catch them. Never shall I more
Mix in that impious crowd. Leave me, my friends.

RONSARD.
I owe my life to thy undaunted valour.
My life is thine, brave Count, my life shall serve thee.

RAYMOND.
What canst thou hope with me! and canst thou bear
To view the hideous aspect of misfortune?
The heart is chill'd and feels a dis-esteem
Rising at its approach.
A friend at first may feel; for kindly nature
Will give one pang: but soon he learns to view
His friend thro' the dim shade his fate casts o'er him,
A shade that spreads its evening darkness o'er
His brightest virtues, while it shews his foibles
Crowding and obvious as the midnight stars,
Which in the sunshine of prosperity
Never had been descried.

RONSARD.
So your false friends, the sun-flowers of your fortune,
Will now shrink from you; but may Heaven's dread bolt
Blast this right-arm when it deserts your cause!
Respect your name, your peace, let vengeance rouse you.

BRAMVILLE.
Yet, let to-morrow's thoughts mature each hope.

RONSARD.
This instant is the time. Your manly rage,
When you renounc'd allegiance to the tyrant,
The tyrant knows and holds as daring treason.
A price is on your head: then rouse my Lord;
The King has urg'd your Countess by the dawn
Thro' these wild forest walks, and bordering heath,
To rouse the slumbering deer. Then let full vengeance—

BRAMVILLE.
Fond youth, beware: vain were the dread attempt,
And but a prelude to the dreadful scaffold;
Let other means—

RAYMOND.
To give my rage the rein,
And pour my vengeance on the Sovereign's head,
Were but to give the victory to Bourbon.
See, O my country, what a sacrifice
I give to thee, my injuries for thee
Rest unatoned.

BRAMVILLE.
Thus time will bring calm peace,
And virtue triumph o'er the pangs of woe
As o'er the griefs of childhood. Happiness
Is a coy plant, my Lord; 'tis not a native
Of this cold world; the delicate fair stranger
Demands all sunshine, and a constant tendance;
And oft when the gay bloom gives boastful promise
Of golden fruit, of ever during fruit,
The lovely plant low drops the blasted head.
Yet there's a joy that blooms amid the storm.
Of fortune's coldest winter; a calm joy
That stays behind, when ev'n the last tir'd friend,
The lingering brother, from the sick man's head
Withdraws his weary arm.

RAYMOND.
Tell the pale gasping asthma to breathe free,
And tell the burning fever to allay
Its frantic rage, but tell not woes like mine
To have no feeling—Erminia has begg'd
To be protected from me; not one thought
Sprung in this breast but melted with affection;
Every idea serv'd her; still my fancy
Rov'd on her graces—her bewitching smiles
My heart's sole sunshine; yet I hear'd her beg
To be protected from me. Hell's worst poison
Burns in the wound given by a dear lov'd friend,
By such a friend—Oh burst, ye flashing lightnings,
Burst round my head and wrap me—

RONSARD.
Let your trampled honour
Fire you, my Lord; let no soft tear unman you.
Respect your name, brave Count, and injur'd honour,
And form some resolution to defend them.

RAYMOND.
How, how! O tell me: he that soothes my soul
In death, will do but secondary kindness.

RONSARD.
Leave vain complaint; Bourbon has turn'd his march,
A few hours more will see him rouse the King
From his adulterous revels. Gallant Bourbon
Is still your friend; then join his prosp'rous cause.

RAYMOND.
Now am I low indeed, when thou, fond boy,
Thus dar'st insult me.

RONSARD.
Would to Heaven your eyes,
That now lower on me, saw what cruel pain
Your fate gives here!—Oh Heaven, and must your blood
Spout o'er the scaffold, while the racking wheel
And burning torture, ev'n in these bold eyes,
Shall bring the sullen drop, that spight of courage
Will rise, prevent my Lord—

RAYMOND.
The view of this
Has breath'd a steady calmness thro' my soul,
And passion speaks not this; indeed, O Ronsard,
I fear the rack, my soul shrinks back from torment,
And I will fly it: but it is the torment,
The dreadful rack of my own mind's upbraiding,
'Tis that alone I fear, alone will fly.
Bourbon has rais'd his foot to trample on
My prostrate country; and shall my deep wrongs
Cry vengeance in his camp, and nerve his arm
To parricide! No; let the silent grave
Bury my wrongs 'ere thus they be reveng'd
Upon my country—Never—know, fond youth,
I am no Atticus to smile on him
Who stabs my country.

BRAMVILLE.
O my Lord, while thus
Unknowing, what unhappy course to take
We linger here unfix'd and unresolved
The tyrants bands.—

RAYMOND.
I am resolv'd—Alive,
His bands shall never take me; never shall I
Be brought in chains before the exulting Tyrant,
To see my Traitress fondly smile on him,
And scowl disdain on me. No, death shall save
From that worst hell. Down, down, imagination,
Hence with the horrid scene: down, busy thought,
O Bramville, give my limbs a decent grave.

BRAMVILLE.
Mercy, kind Heav'n—Is Raymond's noble soul
Vanquish'd at last and fallen! Oh had Marseilles
Beheld you in ignoble flight, desert
Her firmest ramparts 'ere my eyes had seen you
Desert your mind's firm valour!

RAYMOND.
Talk of valour
To him who fears: I fear not. All I valued,
My heart's sole joy is now for ever iost:
Not Heaven can spotless to my arms restore
The lost Erminia: my soul is now
Familiar with horror, and would wooe
Its dreadful shades—if oft at times o'erwhelm'd
Beneath its woes an unprogressive vacancy
Absorb my faculties, 'tis but more livingly
To feel my first, my constant recollection,
Erminia's faleshood. In each nerve, each thought,
My heart is wounded: to restrain its rage,
Its lust of grief, were torment: let its rage
Then swell, 'till weary nature sink oppress'd
Beneath its burden, then may sullen peace
Come with her awful gloom, while from my breast
The life blood fails—
Ha, death, distraction! must the Tyrant's triumphs
Pursue me here! heardst thou the huntsman's horn?

RONSARD.
This way they drive: the sound draws near.

RAYMOND.
Is lust so soon,
Crawl'd out of bed! fie on't, fie on't, my heart
Is sick of this base world! Erminia
Be false, and yet endure the light! Erminia
Be false, and cheerful too! O haste, my friends,
And mark their rout: 'twere well I knew—

BRAMVILLE.
Alas!
I fear you mean to leave this thickest shade,
And rush on danger.

RAYMOND.
Here I'll wait, believe me:
I'll never leave this thicket to be plung'd
In deeper miseries—
[Ex. Bram. and Ronsard.
—What an awful silence
Surrounds me now! thus life's poor noisy bustle
Goes off at last. Soft gliding thro' my breast
I feel a peaceful foretaste of the rest
That soon will come. Perhaps to these lone shades
Some noble Patriot, fled from Cæsar's sword,
Here wept his country's woes, then sunk to rest
Like a tir'd babe, while death's cold heavy slumbers
Crept on his yielding heart. Perhaps yon stone,
That grey with moss just peers above the weeds,
Points to his bones that fifteen hundred years
Have slept in peace. O death, thou silent Angel,
Soon be my rest like his. Then come, my sword;
My wrongs shall thunder in my ears no more—
Yet anxious nature asks, while holy silence
Wraps the cold ashes, and calm peace invites
Ev'n the wild deer to harbour at his tomb,
Is all as peaceful with the conscious mind?
Ah, what a depth of uncreated night
Hangs here! yet reason through the awful gloom
Shoots her pale beams, and casts a feeble ray
On virtues triumph, on a shore beyond
The darksome grave. Dies that pure spirit, thought,
Which shares the nature of th' eternal mind!
Sleeps that in dust! are guilts convulsive pangs
That oft in death begin to wake their horrors,
All hush'd in death! Who can demonstrate this?
Ah, this wrings confession ev'n from obstinacy,
That death which brings foul guilt along with it,
May bring no rest. Who flies from life confesses
He flies from something that appears so dreadful,
He dares not face it. Is it guilt or virtue
That thus shrinks back and trembles at to-morrow?
Yes, this is meanness, and alone regards
Its selfish ease; virtue is never leagued
With its base dictates. Is it then such meanness
To fly that point where pain and anguish shower
Their burning arrows! Oh distraction, where,
Where am I lost, each feeling longs for death,
But death invited by a coward's guilt.
Oh hell—to live, perhaps to die to-morrow
On an assassin's knife—
Ha, what ungracious foot
Disturbs these shades! O fury, vengeance fire me,
My murderer!
Enter the King armed with a Boar spear.
—Indignant Heaven, proud Tyrant,
Has sent thee here to pour its vengeance on thee.
Thou com'st to rouse the boar in this lone thicket;
But thou hast found a wounded Lion here.
Now shall my sword—

KING.
Off sacrilegious Peasant,
And dread thy fate for daring to approach
My sacred person.

RAYMOND.
Oh indignity!
Is black unmanly lurking cruelty,
Is dark adultery sacred! But my sword
Shall do me right.

KING.
Thee right! base slave, thy King did never wrong thee.

RAYMOND.
And know'st thou not the deeply injur'd Raymond!

KING.
Oh mercy, Heav'n!

RAYMOND.
Does thy deep guilt unman thee?
The wrongs which thou hast basely heap'd upon me,
To me unking thee. Thou art now to me
But Duke of Valois, I a Peer thine equal,
In all but guilt thy equal; there thou art
As the vile worm, below me—Ha, where now
The eye that scowl'd like Jove's!—but guard thy heart.
Tho' thou hast stabb'd my heart when it was guardless,
And glowing in thy service, yet I feel
I cannot be so base as do thee justice;
My wrongs demand, while thou stand'st like a sacrifice
Yielding and trembling.

KING.
Thy wrongs shall have full justice.

RAYMOND.
Yes, by Heaven,
This sword shall have it.
Thy power, thy titles, all thy pageant tinsel,
The indignant hand of reason shuffles by.
And shews, in the true colours of thy mind,
Thy naked self—Ah, blushing honour turns
From that poor sight—Good heav'n, and is my sword
Now pointed at the man it lately guarded!
I cannot view myself but every part
Wakes the remembrance of my loyalty.
This breast, this faithful breast, where thou hast planted
The thorns of hell, is furrow'd with the wounds
Receiv'd for thee. Away, this milkiness;
My wrongs, my wrongs, cry vengeance!

KING.
Strike it home then.

[dropping his spear.
RAYMOND.
What, I attack thee guardless! I attack thee
Like an assassin!—No—Prostrate, yet awful,
My country meets my view. Alas, vain man,
Thou thinks that Bourbon's fled—The cruel sword
Of Bourbon hangs like Heaven's own vengeance o'er thee;
Hangs o'er the land that gave my father birth.
And I, no more her soldier, must stand by,
Like palsied age, and see my country bleed.
Yet Tyrant as thou art, yet thou her King,
May'st save my country: live then, haughty plunderer!
And be thy own stung heart my wrongs revenger.
My wrongs—Valois, I fly thee 'ere my wrongs
Burst into raging madness—
[Ex. Raymond.

KING.
How dreadful is the frown of injured merit!
Not Heaven's red light'ning volley'd at my head
Could thus have aw'd me. Death! and did I tremble
Before the daring Traytor! Ample vengeance
Shall yet atone—His crime against my royalty
Shall now give full possession to my love.
Enter Guise hastily.
Why thus alarm'd! Where, where the beauteous prize
I charg'd you here to bring, that here my vows
Of faithful care might lend a healing balm
'Ere she was borne to Fountainbleau—

GUISE.
My Liege,
Your crown—your life—the haughty rebel Bourbon
Has meant no flight. From the surrounding woods
He pours his legions, like a sudden flood
Bursting upon us.

KING.
Tenfold vengeance strike him!
And must this sacred hour be stain'd and blighted
By his dire treason? But my tenfold fury
Shall thunder on his crest.

Enter Lord Admiral hastily with Attendants.
LORD ADMIRAL.
O to the camp, my Liege,
Our troops are all in tumult and dismay,
And on the step to fly. Each common soldier
Reminds his fellow of old prophecies,
And wizard-rhymes, which say, the House of Bourbon
Shall wear the crown of France.

KING.
Bring me my steed,
[to the Attendants.
And bid our trumpets sound to arms, to battle.

LORD ADMIRAL.
'Tis echoed thro' the camp, that gallant Raymond
Now fights for Bourbon: Consternation trembles
On every knee; speechless they eye each other.
But your bold fire, my Liege, will chase the paleness
From their cold cheeks.

KING.
And has the name of Raymond
So dread a charm? Speed to the camp of dastards,
Lord Admiral, and let the coldest know,
The shadow has not mov'd upon the dial
Since Raymond's sword was brandish'd at their sovereign,
And dar'd his breast. Away, and on the instant
Ourself shall lead the battle—
[Ex Ld. Adm.
—Where, my Guise,
My heart's best treasure, where the dearest fair one?

GUISE.
Safe in the deepest thicket of the wood,
My Spouse, in trust of my return, delays her.

KING.
Oh Heaven, her charms are irresistible!
And Heaven gave me the power to make them mine,
And by Heaven's charter I will riot in them!
Behold these lofty towers, these lordly forests,
And these wide lawns, my Guise—these shall reward thee.
[pointing to the Castle, &c.
Raymond lurks near—and be it thine to seize him;
But hide the deed from the bewitching fair one.
Her, swift to Fountainbleau, how e'er reluctant,
With smoothest art and kindest mien convey.
The royal promise grants thee these domains;
These bands obey thy nod.

GUISE.
These deeds, my Liege,
Fierce Raymond seiz'd, and fair Erminia thine,
Shall crown the triumph of thy victory.

Exeunt.
SCENE—The Wood.
Raymond and Bramville.
BRAMVILLE.
The chace, my Lord, now sounds among the hills,
That bound the forest on the western edge:
But other toils will soon demand the field:
The van of Bourbon's host draws on to battle.
The camp is all in tumult, and the King
Prepares to meet him.

RAYMOND.
Now, now, my heart: Oh how it pants for something
That might relieve it. That poor wild fire, Reason,
Mocks me; it glimmers now on this side, now
Flits to the other, ever vanishing
As I approach it! What an awful gloom
Surrounds me! not a choice left to my action,
Not one my heart approves. Dreadful condition,
Where every principle that stirs within me
Burns to act nobly, yet some act of meanness,
Turn where I will, of madness or of meanness,
Obtrudes upon me! A stern Judge that never
Will pardon me; myself, bids me beware—

RONSARD.
Away these doubts: when Prudence weighs an action
Her cold blood slumbers o'er it 'till the time
Of action flies. Your awful sword was brandish'd
At the King's breast. I saw him join his bands.
I heard your fate pronounc'd. This is the moment
To shun the dreadful scaffold. Let the rage
Of injur'd honour guide you: mark the Tyrant,
And meet him in the flight with sword to sword,
And leave the event to Heaven.

RAYMOND.
It was my country,
'Twas her great cause disarm'd me, when my sword
Was pointed at the trembling heart! then what
Alone remains I'll do. Leave me, my friends;
I am mark'd out for vengeance: would you give
New tortures to my woes by falling with me?

RONSARD.
Thy blood must soon secure the Tyrant's rapine,
Unless—Ah me, and shall I leave thee now!
No; by thy wrongs I will not—Give the rein
To manly indignation, and atone
Thy wounded honour: let thy wrongs have vengeance.
Heavens, were thy wrongs but mine!—Yes; they are mine,
They are my friend's. The moment flies, my Lord.

BRAMVILLE.
O my fallen country! Raymond's gallant arm
Guards thee no more: upon the King's own valour
Rests all thy hope: And shall my Raymond's wrongs
In these most sacred moments cry for vengeance,
And blunt the sword that guards his native land?
Should the King fall—

RAYMOND.
The King!—My vengeance rouses,
My sword plung'd in his heart were not to wrong him.

BRAMVILLE.
But it would stab your country.

RAYMOND.
Gracious Heaven!
This, this at last must heal my woes—

[drawing his sword.
RONSARD.
What! die!
And leave th' Adulterer in triumphant riot
In your love bed, drunk with Erminia's charm's?

RAYMOND.
Speak it no more—Oh 'tis a glympse of heaven
Shewn to the damn'd.

RONSARD.
Then o'er the Tyrant's heaven
Pour hell's black shades. But speak the word, my Lord.
Then let her die.

RAYMOND.
O God! the dreadful issue
My thoughts avoided—Let her die—O Tyrant,
What horrid ruin hast thou brought on me!
Yes; let her die—

RONSARD.
Now at the chace we'll-find her.
Hark! 'tis the horn: the chace draws near. Amidst
His triumph, heavy shall our vengeance fall.

RAYMOND.
Then shall my trampled honour yet erase
My name's disgrace, and tear hot breath'd pollution
From its rank soil; then shall the exulting Tyrant,
Amid the triumph of his pride, behold
His lustful bed chang'd for her ghastly shroud.
Horror now has steel'd me:
Yes, I could smile, then drop the yearning tear;
To see Erminia breathless at my feet.
But to behold her in th' Adulterer's bed,
To see her but in fancy there—O Hell,
It strikes with madness!

RONSARD.
We'll tear her thence, my Lord.

RAYMOND.
My hand shall strike the blow: No other sword
Shall touch her faithless breast. I cannot leave
That dreadful office to another's rage.
Yes; I shall drop the tear in luxury
Of raging grief, and kiss the hands that mangle
Her faithless bosom. O my friends, how lovely,
How flush'd with ev'ry graceful seeming virtue,
Shone my Erminia! and shall this hand—
Oh burning anguish still the dear idea
Obtrudes upon me, when each happy moment
Led on another happier, till at last
Came one curst hour, and darken'd all the rest,
And lost the world to me.

BRAMVILLE.
Hear'd you that echo?
It is the huntsman's voice: the chace turns hither.

RONSARD.
Then stand to arms.

RAYMOND.
And thus an happy death
May close my woes. But should I fall, my wish.
Unsatisfied, by all your dearest hopes,
Oh soothe my ghost, and blast the Tyrant's revels!

RONSARD.
I swear, my Lord, my sword waits the fair time.

[Ex. Ronsard.
BRAMVILLE.
And mine, my Lord.

RAYMOND.
Oh my friends indulge me!
I have been rudely waken'd from a dream
Of more than human bliss and extacy,
To all the horrors of the madman's cell.
Heaven try'd on me what bliss a man could know,
But gave the keeping of it to a Woman;
And that false-hearted woman has betray'd it,
To one who boasts of faithlessness to woman;
To one who holds the character of woman
Worthless and vain; despising what he conquers.
O I could weep for that unhappy man
Whose heart's sole treasure is embark'd in Woman;
Just when he thinks his halcyon days are come,
When on the smooth calm tide of life, his joys
Securely glide, poor man, what storms rush in,
What dreadful ruin! And oh cruel wound,
He feels that flaunting baseness, thinly gilded
With gallantry, gay trifling, oaths and flattery
Have had more graceful charms than all his merit.
Alas, this is but weeping for myself!
What now, brave youth?—

Ronsard re-enters hastily.
RONSARD.
The moment sacred to thy injur'd honour
Is now on wing,—The royal camp
Is all in tumult: thither the King has sped;
The ladies with the huntsmen chase the deer
On yon nigh dale: 'ere now by the forests edge
May we surprise them, and atchieve our purpose,

RAYMOND.
My spirit rises as the dreadful hour;
Rises in horror!

RONSARD.
Righteous heaven, my Lord,
Itself is party in our just attempt,
And on my sword, I swear—

BRAMVILLE.
And on my sword, I swear,
All that an old man's wither'd arm can do,
This arm shall do!—I will not boast, my Lord;
Yet still there's warm blood here that shall flow freely.

RAYMOND.
From yonder dark brow'd glade the prospect opens
In wide extent. Thither with speed, my friends.

RONSARD.
And mark the Lady in the silk of white,
Arm'd like the sylvan Goddess of the chace,
With bow and quiver—

RAYMOND.
Hah! the false Erminia—

RONSARD.
Erminia's graceful port, and noble mien
Seem'd to adorn her; but the distance veil'd
Her smiles accurs'd—

RAYMOND.
Horror now strengthens me.
Eternal justice, be my sword thy minister,
To pour thy vengeance on triumphing guilt!
Yes; Heaven's own vengeance points my thirsty sword.
Hither with speed, my friends!

[Exeunt.