 | Fontainville Forest |  |
41
ACT IV.
SCENE—The Hall (dark.)Violent Thunder and Light'ning, the Abbey rocks, and through the distant Windows one of the Turrets is seen to fall, struck by the Light'ning.
Enter the Marquis, wild and dishevell'd.
Marquis.
Away! Pursue me not! Thou Phantom, hence!
For while thy form thus haunts me, all my powers
Are wither'd as the parchment by the flame,
And my joints frail as nerveless infancy.
(Light'ning.)
See, he unclasps his mangled breast, and points
The deadly dagger.—O, in pity strike
Deep in my heart, and search thy expiation;
Have mercy, mercy! (falls upon his knee.)
Gone! 'tis all illusion!
O no! If images like these are fanciful,
The griding rack gives not such real pain.
My eyes have almost crack'd their strings in wonder,
And my swoln heart so heaves within my breast,
As it would bare its secret to the day.
'Twas sleep that unawares surpriz'd me yonder,
And mem'ry lent imagination arms,
42
I'll tarry here no longer. Ho! Lamotte!
Awake! awake! The horrors of the night
Alone would banish slumber from the pillow
Of quiet innocence.
Enter Lamotte.
Lamotte, forgive me,
For thus disturbing you! I've just rememb'red
A pressing business, that now claims me hence,
And will not bear the least delay.—I'll on.
Lamotte.
The storm is yet tremendous! wait awhile,
Until the fury of its rage be past.
Marquis.
Not a moment! Without! Prepare my horses!
Lamotte, to-morrow I'll return by noon.
Now then, good night to both.
Lamotte.
Good night, my Lord.
[Exit Marquis.
How deadly pale he looks!
(Aside.)
Ay, ay. 'tis so. (Aside.)
[Exit.
SCENE.
Enter Adeline and Louis.
Adeline.
Thus have I made you the depositary
Of all I think or know of yonder villain.
Now then determine, as your love of justice,
With any softer argument to aid it,
May lead you.
Louis.
Lovely Adeline, my father
43
That we must act without his privity.
Do you entrust this parchment to my care;
I am bound for Paris, there to await Nemours,
My father's advocate: unto his honesty
We may confide this evidence of guilt.
Adeline.
I think with you—But, O my friend, I doubt not
Attempts will yet be made to shake my purpose,
Perhaps to wound my honour.
Louis.
Shall I stay,
And bulwark with my life, its dearest blessing?
No danger can be terrible for thee.
Speak but the word, and I refuse the journey.
Adeline.
Nay, let no thought of me withhold your purpose;
My boding spirit tells me that a great,
A mighty vengeance works to punish guilt?
Shall my weak fears prevent or thwart its aim?
No! For against all artifice I am steel'd
By horror and aversion; and the force,
That violates my honour, quenches life;
They never can be sunder'd.
Louis.
O my Adeline,
Thus bowing to your will, 'ere I depart,
Let me breathe out the fervour of one pray'r,
For your prosperity and lasting peace.
And might my death even prove the happy means
To give your merits their due share of homage,
The martyr's crown were not more welcome to him.
44
Adieu, my brother, prosperous be your journey!
Louis.
May angels, not more fair, (for, can they be so?)
But, pure as thou art, bless thee, and preserve thee.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE—The Hall.
Enter Lamotte and Madame.
Lamotte.
Louis may here be spar'd.—Hortensia, tell me,
Has it ne'er struck you, that my son had felt
The charms of Adeline? become their captive?
I have observ'd he gazes oft' upon her—
Has frequent absences; while melancholly
Presses his spirit to her sullen breast,
And chains the gay, and quick alacrity
Of his once happy nature.
Madame.
It may be so,
For she has beauty might allure the feet
Of laggard age, to pace the round of courtship,
And virtues that would give the firmest base,
For wedded bliss to spring from—And were I
To choose a daughter from contending maids,
My choice—
Lamotte.
Should never fall on Adeline;
I sent the boy hence to avoid the ruin,
A passion so perverse wou'd bring on us.
The Marquis doats upon her: think the rest,
Were he to find a rival in my son!
45
Something of this before you touch'd on to me:
But I am yet to know Montault's design:
For to espouse her, that, my fears inform me,
His dignity disdains—and ought below this
Would be, deservedly, by her rejected.
Lamotte.
He may be brought to wed her. But, Hortensia,
Has she in confidence e'er given you up
The nature of his first proposals to her?
Madame.
Never. Indeed her hatred seems so rooted,
That I avoid the subject, which most wrings
Her placid temper from its calm of sweetness.
Lamotte.
The sex, the precious sex! still apt to fly
The object, wisdom woos them to accept,
And court, in madness, beggary and love!
Spurning all guests but such as make them wretched;
Infatuate folly ruling their affections,
Is the epitome of womankind.
Madame.
Then you would aid the Marquis's designs?
Lamotte.
Would! Nay, I must.
Madame.
Lamotte, consider first
Whether that best friend, Conscience, will allow it.
Lamotte.
I have no time for craven thoughts like these.
A lot like mine needs powerful supporters;
46
A school-boy's terror make me shrink to clasp them?
Madame.
Chance threw, too, in your way a helpless orphan,
You did not snatch her from the ruffian's dagger,
Nor bear her from a most disnatur'd father,
To yield her beauty to the lust of greatness,
And save her life but to destroy her honour.
Lamotte.
O, what I find you are of their mystery,
The confidante of this illustrious passion!
Which, to indulge the mother's hopeful boy!
Devotes the needless Sire to certain ruin.
Madame.
Not so, my husband. We have here obtain'd
A shelter from the perils which you fled;
But greater may be found even in safety,
If feeling fall a sacrifice to interest.
Lamotte.
No more of this I charge you.—Must I stand,
And hear with temper lectures thus compos'd
By kindred frailty and injurious fondness?
Madame.
Neither of these have led me to suggest
What you thus taunt.—I am myself a mother,
I feel the crowding hopes, the anxious fears,
The sorrows, and the transports of a mother!
I were unworthy of that sacred name,
Could I stand by, and see one mother's joy
Basely betray'd to misery and guilt.
[Exit.
47
Confusion! So, Hortensia then suspects
The Marquis may play false—and hints dishonour
On such as tamely give his passion scope.
My crimes have wound his toils so fast around me,
I dare not thwart his purpose.—Tempt her for him!
Poison her mind! that when the real snake
Encircles her fair form, he may be welcom'd!
No, by my guilt I will not be that fiend.
What, if I trust to further explanation?
He may desist from fondness misapplied,
And quit with high disdain her cold rejection.—
Enter Peter.
Peter.
One of the Marquis's attendants now
Is just arriv'd—He brings intelligence
His Lord will on the instant reach the Abbey.
[Exit.
Lamotte.
I will attend him. Yes, it shall be so;
Tho' deeply sunk by wrongs of less account,
Conscience, not quite extinguish'd, starts with horror
At such a crime as this! O may it work,
Till sweet contentment heal my tortur'd breast.
[Exit.
SCENE—Adeline's Apartment.
Adeline alone.
Adeline.
From the Oriel window, I discern'd just now
48
Hastening to give him welcome—Some strong chain
So links him to yon villain's interest,
I dare not flatter me, his pity e'er
Would cross his patron's will, to succour me.
'Tis likely I shall soon be summon'd down
To meet new insults—Some one now approaches—
'Tis my tormentor—'tis Montault himself.
Enter Marquis.
Marquis.
You will, no doubt, feel somewhat of surprize,
That, after the contempt which lately met me,
I court again unwilling conference.
But the rude treatment which my passion found,
Convinces me its tenour was mistaken,
And I forget indignity unmerited.
Adeline.
I'm glad, ev'n now, to hear its sting disclaim'd!
Language as gross as sensual man e'er utter'd,
Found from me but the scorn it well deserv'd.
Marquis.
Believe me, loveliest Adeline, no thought,
But such as modest Hymen well might sanction,
E'er sprung within the bosom that adores you.
Explicit declaration best may serve
To aid my love, and shape your resolution.
I offer you my fortune with my hand.
Adeline.
Were the gay knot to bind me to the wealth
49
I should at once inflexibly reject it.
Marquis.
‘'Tis then as I suspected; prepossession
‘So rooted and unyielding, takes its date
‘From some more favour'd passion—Ay, why not
‘Yon Boy, my easy nature has permitted
‘To sting my breast uncrush'd.
Adeline.
‘Nay, hear me, Marquis,
‘May there not be some other cause more strong
‘Than preference, to stimulate rejection?
Marquis.
‘None. When the courted shrine of vanity
‘Is heap'd with offerings of unbounded wealth,
‘If prudence did not dictate their acceptance,
‘Virtue would thus secure the splendid means
‘Of succouring the miseries arround her.’
Adeline.
What! to become more miserable far
Than any cause external e'er cou'd make her?
Know, that a tranquil bosom is the good
Which virtue dearest prizes, and when wealth
Courts her reluctant gratitude in vain,
She spurns it, and remains in peace, tho' poor.
Marquis.
You but deceive yourself.—‘Survey the world,
‘Its daily tribes of wedded sacrifices!
‘Most to supposed necessity give up
‘The boon withheld from humble, faithful love.
‘The Great are interest's perpetual slaves,
‘And live, and act, and think alone for others.
50
‘This is no novel doctrine, nor I need not
‘Such arguments as these to mould my purpose.
‘I never can be yours.
Marquis.
‘You must—You will.
‘By all my love, I charge you tempt me not
‘By such rejection, to abuse my power.
‘I would persuade by honourable means,
‘But once defied, may fall on lower forms.’
Adeline.
My Lord, I beg you leave me! nor provoke
The language must displease you.
Marquis.
No! Ev'n now
My passion chides me for this dull delay,
And bids me seize the tempting treasure here,
Nor idly waste entreaties when my pow'r
May force compliance.
Adeline.
Hear me, I conjure you.
Marquis.
I have heard too much; and my impetuous love
Now grasps its choicest good—In vain this struggle!
How lovely is this terror! By my transport
It heightens the bewitching charm of beauty,
And lends ten thousand graces to that bosom.
Adeline.
Help! help! for mercy's sake.
Marquis.
You call in vain.
None dare intrude. Know, here, that I command;
No power on earth shall snatch you from my arms—
(He pursues her, and seeing the picture of her mother, snatches it from her bosom.)
51
My brother's wife! Even as she liv'd once more!
Adeline.
Then my father's murderer stands before me.
Marquis.
Thou shadowy Minister of punishment!
Why does thy withering power of curs'd resemblance
Now start before my sight to blast my joys?
Art thou sent here by him, whose phantom form
In horrid vengeance hurried me to madness?
Or is there yet some living instrument
To punish fratricide? Thou, who hast thus
Unmann'd my soul, tell me, I charge thee, truly,
Whose the resemblance that is now before me?
Adeline.
My mother's!
Marquis.
Dreadful certainty!
How to resolve, as yet I know not; but
My better angel bids me to beware,
And make all sure. Yes, this shall be her prison.
Distracting thoughts so crowd upon my brain,
That all is chaos, frenzy and despair.
[Exit.
Adeline.
Amazement wraps my senses! Gracious God,
In awful sorrow I adore thy justice!
Protector of the Orphan, O direct me!
And lead the Child, miraculously sav'd,
To pull down vengeance on her father's murd'rer.
[Exit.
52
Enter the Marquis and Lamotte.
Marquis.
Lamotte, I think I can depend upon you.
Lamotte.
You may, my Lord, securely—Is there aught
Yet lies within my power to further what
Your passion may intend on Adeline?
Marquis.
Nothing. It was not for a theme like that
I ask'd this conference.
Lamotte.
What then, my Lord?
Marquis.
Tell me, my friend, for it excites surprize,
How one like you, with powers by no means humble,
Has thus been driv'n from Paris and your friends?
Lamotte.
My Lord, with plainness and with truth I'll tell you.
My means for ever sunk below my wishes—
I languish'd still for splendour out of reach,
Never by industry to be obtain'd.
I added fraud, at length, in all the forms
By which the sharper preys on inexperience.
Confederate with a bold and lawless band,
In time detection found us—Justice soon
Grown weary of protecting barefac'd guilt,
Pursued us to our ruin—I escap'd
53
Marquis.
Could there no way be found to make your peace
At home? If it be in the scope of friendship,
You may command my fortune and my int'rest
In your atonement to the parties injur'd.
Lamotte.
Your generosity, my Lord, o'erpow'rs me.
Would but the means could offer to my wish,
That I might shew my gratitude in deeds,
And spare these idle words.
Marquis.
My worthy friend,
Such means do offer—They demand, indeed,
A mind superior to all common forms;
One prompt at friendship's bidding, to advance
The lingering step of vengeance.
Lamotte.
Good, my Lord,
Speak plainly, and at once, what 'tis you point at;
It will not start me.
Marquis.
Know, I have a foe;
Deadly, irreconcileably my foe.
Lamotte.
O give him to my sword—this ready arm
Shall instant dare him to the field of death,
And rid my benefactor of his dread.
Marquis.
Not so, Lamotte—This open-soul'd revenge
Has danger frequently to him who aims it.
The idle chivalry of modern manners
54
Committed injury, to add a second,
And slay the fool complaining for atonement.
The savage unperverted follows nature,
And stabs his unsuspecting enemy,
Pursues occasion of secure revenge,
And strikes the blow, when harmless to himself.
Lamotte.
Say on, my Lord.
Marquis.
No one, I think, observes us.
Lamotte.
Not ev'n the zephyr stirs the trembling leaf,
All nature seems to pause.
Marquis.
Nature! why, aye.
She pauses when her children's streaming blood
Moistens in death her most inhuman breast;
But ne'er takes cognizance of why they suffer.
Lamotte.
I know her system is continued slaughter—
The strong devour the weak, and life is held
But by the tenure of surrounding groans.
Doubt not my zeal, nor aim thus to sustain
My rugged temper by such trite remark.
Whate'er your interest calls for on your foe,
By every power, or good, or bad, I'll do it.
Marquis.
Then take this dagger.
Lamotte.
How shall I employ it?
Marquis.
Plunge it—
Lamotte.
Where?
Marquis.
Deep in the heart of Adeline.
[Lamotte starts.
Traitor, is this thy friendship?
55
Allow me but some moments of reflection.
The death of Adeline! of her so lov'd,
Her whom you follow'd with such warmth of fondness?
Marquis.
Aye. She is now the rancour of my peace,
And while she lives, plants daggers in my breast.
She must be dead, and instantly—Now answer.
Lamotte.
My Lord, altho' the act with sudden horror
Startled my fix'd resolve, to do your bidding—
Yet shew me how it may be done with safety,
And I consent.
Marquis.
Nothing more easy—thus.
My good Lamotte, it must be done this night.—
You can with ease enter her chamber, and
There rid me of my sole remaining fear—
I will return to-morrow, and then think
How I can best reward my kindest friend.
Lamotte.
Conclude it done, my Lord.
Marquis.
Lamotte, good day.
[Exit.
Lamotte.
O most accomplish'd villain! wretched slave!
There can be no alternative but this—
Or she must be destroy'd—or I shall perish.
Behold the miserable lot of guilt!
One crime but pulls another on our heads,
And still the last is weightier than the former.
O, never let the luxury of life
56
From meanness, guilt is never far remov'd;
The tide of hell-born passions swells within him,
And whelms the soul in fathomless perdition.
[Exit.
THE END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
| Fontainville Forest | |