 | Alasco |  |
37
ACT II.
SCENE I.
The retired part of a Forest, at the close of Evening.Enter Alasco and Conrad.
ALASCO.
No! to be cold in such a cause as this,
Were cowardice, my friend, and not discretion.
“But what has roused them from their lethargy?
“Dismayed and prostrate at the foot of power,
“Their hearts seem'd dead within them.
CONRAD.
Stunn'd a while,
“I grant you, by the blow; but our state quacks
“Have plied them with a course of stimulants,
“And so they throb again; their discipline
“Has lashed us into life, and now our swords
“Give sign of animation.”
ALASCO.
Armed, you say?
And eager for the field?
CONRAD.
Charged like a mine,
And ready to explode. There's not a man of them
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Upon his sword.
ALASCO.
Your sanguine spirit, Conrad,
Always outruns the promise of events—
Provoking fortune. “But why have you so long
“Conceal'd their movements from me?
CONRAD.
“To redeem
My credit for discretion.
ALASCO.
“That's a pledge
“For which there's no redemption.
CONRAD.
“Nay, not so.
“I know you think me rash—impetuous—
“Prompt to set sail with any wind that blows—
“Unballasted, and without chart or compass.
“But here I've used some caution, and observed
“A more deliberate policy, to prove
“The ship sea-worthy, ere my friend embark'd.
ALASCO.
“Discretion, Conrad, sits not easy on you:
“It is too cold a virtue for your use.
“I trust, however, your ardour has not sought
“In spirits sluggish and insensible,
“To stir revolt, to unavailing ruin.”
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No. Their own wrongs have raised a flame that needs
No spark from me.
ALASCO.
They have a cause indeed,
Might warm the coward's blood to enterprize,
And wake the apathy of willing slaves;
“But if they feel it not—if sunk—subdued,
“The general spirit droops, and must be spurr'd
“And goaded on to action, 'tis in vain—
“The rash attempt recoils on their own heads,
“And crushes all their hopes.”
CONRAD.
Lives there a Pole
That should not blush to wear an idle sword!
They feel it, and their hands are on their hilts—
Give but the word—they flash upon the foe.
The chieftains, with Malinski at their head,
Demand their country's freedom, and invoke
Alasco's aid.
ALASCO.
I like not that Malinski.
He's a mere brawler, Conrad—one who loves
To ring his peal loud in the public ear.
A fellow restless—crafty—full of wiles:
Beneath whose slimy surface you may trace
An under current gliding—deep and dangerous.
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“Has revell'd it with profligates, who scoff
“At all restraint, and let the passions loose,
“In riotous excess. 'Mongst such, indeed,
“The fawning slave and factious demagogue
“Are often found; but seek not there, my friend,
“For patriot worth, nor credit private vice
“For public virtue.
CONRAD.
“O! you're hard upon him:
“He has been wild indeed, and thoughtless; yet,
“We soldiers may excuse him.
ALASCO.
Conrad, no!
“The soldier's licence must not stretch so far.
“In the loose camp, and reckless hour of war,
“He cannot always move by moral rule.
“But we've no privilege to compound with crime,
“Or comrade with dishonor.
CONRAD.
“I confess
“He's vain, and for a brave man, rather boisterous;
“But yet, you'll find him fired with noble zeal,
“And hearty in the cause.”
ALASCO.
Beware of him.
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And the low spleen that vulgar natures cherish,
Against the pomps and dignities of the world,
Too oft assume the mask of patriot zeal,
And cheat us, in the garb of public virtue.
CONRAD.
My life upon their honesty and spirit!
This is no flash of thoughtless turbulence—
No sudden burst of feverish discontent,
That in a frantic struggle raves and dies,
But a matured and well-weigh'd enterprize,
Where all is risk'd by those who all have suffer'd,
And each man feels, 'tis victory or death!
ALASCO.
Well, then, there's hope for Poland. As for me,
I hold my sword, my station, and my life,
But as a trust, devoted to my country;
And when she calls, I'm ready.
CONRAD.
They depend
Upon your aid and guidance.
ALASCO.
I will not fail them, Conrad.
Since their own hearts have kindled in this cause,
They'll stand to it like men, and do their duty.
There lies our strength. But must we shake his chains,
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The slave is roused in vain.
[A noise of fighting at a distance.
A voice behind the scenes.
Assassins! murderers!
ALASCO.
This way, Conrad! this way the cry approaches.
(Alasco and Conrad draw their swords and run out. Col. Walsingham enters at the back scene fighting with two ruffians, masked, who nearly overpower him. Alasco and Conrad re-enter to his assistance. Alasco kills one of the assassins, and the other takes to flight.
WALSINGHAM.
Sir, you have nobly rescued me, and saved
A worn out soldier.
ALASCO.
Heavens! Colonel Walsingham!
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Alasco!
ALASCO.
Alone, and in this trackless wood,
Assailed by ruffians—you are wounded, Sir.
WALSINGHAM.
A scratch, skin-deep—the wretch who gave it, would
Have seized my sword—I foiled him, and his life
Has answered it.
ALASCO.
What strange occurrence can
Have led to this?
WALSINGHAM.
I have scarcely breath to tell you.
Proceeding to the castle, as we reached
The outskirts of the forest, a loud cry
Of one in desperate peril, called for help;
We, on the instant, plunged into the wood,
And by the sound conducted, followed far,
Still baffled, and the object of our search
Receding from us; till at length, perplexed,
And doubtful of our course, we stood at fault;
When sudden, from the ambush where they lay,
Three ruffians, masked and muffled, rushed upon us:
Dismayed, my dastardly attendant fled,
And left me to the fate, which your good swords
So timely have prevented.
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O! most fortunate!
Thank heaven! Amantha shared not your alarm.
WALSINGHAM.
She, with her escort had passed on before,
Ere this, I trust, she's safe within the castle.
ALASCO.
Amantha at the castle, did you say?
Amantha safe beneath the roof of Hohendahl!
With wolves and tygers—fiends and devils safe—
But not with Hohendahl—the thought is frenzy!
By Heaven you have compelled her to this course;
Not e'en a father's prayers should have prevailed
To such perdition. No!—
WALSINGHAM.
Alasco, hear me!
For all that life is worth to age, and care,
I am your debtor, and would spare reproaches.
But, if I've sought the safety of my child,
Beneath the Baron's roof, you are yourself
The cause. Peruse this paper.
[Gives him a letter.
ALASCO.
(reading.)
“If you regard the safety of your daughter,
“Remove her from your house without delay;
“The Count Alasco has devised a plan,
“To seize this night, possession of her person;
“He has a force prepared to effect his purpose,
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“In giving you this warning, I conceive
“I act the friend to both, and without scruple
“Therefore, sign it—Conrad.”
CONRAD.
Conrad!
ALASCO.
Confusion!
By Heaven there's treachery here of blackest dye!
My soul is all alarm—the monster Hohendahl
Has hatched some horrid mischief 'gainst Amantha,
And this device has placed her in his power.
CONRAD.
Must I disclaim this baseness, and protest—
ALASCO.
Your hand, my friend! you are above suspicion.
But let us view this miscreant's face more nearly.
(They examine the assassin.
CONRAD.
I have seen these features,—'tis the ruffian brow
Of Rudolph—better named, the Baron's blood-hound.
ALASCO.
As I suspected! a most foul intent,
Combining fraud, and blood, and violation.
Unhappy father! you have placed your child,
E'en in the tyger's grasp—but let me rush
To my Amantha's rescue—on moments now,
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Conduct the Colonel safely through the forest,
Then follow to the castle, with what force
Your zeal may muster, to assist me there.
I fly to save, or perish to avenge her.
(Exit Alasco.
WALSINGHAM.
A sudden light has opened on my soul,
In gleams of horror—Hohendahl's a villain:
A thousand damning proofs now flash around me!
He first suggested danger to Amantha,
And urged me to remove her; nay the wretch
Who fled, and left me to the assassin's daggers,
He sent me as an escort. Powers of mercy!
Have I betrayed my daughter to a ruffian!
CONRAD.
'Twere prudent, Sir, to seek the nearest succour,
Your wound still bleeds.
WALSINGHAM.
The body's hurt is slight,
And soon repaired—but I have a deeper wound;
That's planted here—a wound that bleeds to death—
Struck to the very vitals of my peace;
Yet shall the traitor find, that some warm drops
Are left in this old heart; and they shall flow—
Flow till the very fount of life is dry,
Or else I will have vengeance for this wrong.
[Exeunt.
The reader, I should think, will be at a loss to conceive, what there is morally, or politically wrong in this sentiment, to call forth official indignation:—it points out the folly, if not the wickedness, of stirring up to unavailing effort, those who are not alive to the degradation of slavery, or prepared for the blessings of freedom: it would leave the fruit of liberty to ripen by the natural process, and not force it by stimulants, to an unsound and deceitful maturity.
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SCENE II.
An antiquated Apartment in the Castle.Enter Amantha and Bertha.
AMANTHA.
Not yet arrived! good Heaven protect my father!
I fear some sad mischance—
BERTHA.
My dear young lady,
Do not thus lightly yield to causeless terrors,
Some unforeseen occurrence has delayed him.
AMANTHA.
Bertha, a thousand horrid thoughts arise
That threaten to distract me. Why am I here?
Beneath this hated roof—the roof of Hohendahl?
At such a moment, suddenly removed,
So unprepared, and even unapprized,
Or why, or whither: then, that letter too;
Which seemed so strangely to disturb my father!
Whence came that letter, Bertha?
BERTHA.
One, whose garb
Of forester seemed rather a disguise,
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Then hastily retired.
AMANTHA.
There is in this,
A mystery that confounds me. Heavenly powers!
What must Alasco think?—how will he rave,
To find me thus delivered as it were,
To his worst enemy;—but no—it cannot be,—
My father never would betray his child.
Hark! hark! did I not hear the tramp of horsemen!
Fly Bertha, to the gate—in pity fly,
And bless me with some tidings of my father.
[Exit Bertha.
A terror sure, beyond th' occasion thrills
Through all my frame. I feel as one imprisoned—
As hope and safety were shut out these walls.
How still again!—no stir of life relieves
The dreary sense of loneliness that sinks me!
Would Bertha were come back! silence sleeps here,
As 'twere the death of sound, appalling more
Than uproar. Hark!—'twas my own motion startled me.
“There is a gloom in grandeur which, methinks,
“O'erclouds the cheerful spirit—frolic mirth,
“The homely happiness of humbler life,
“Retreats abashed before the solemn brow,
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In these apartments, since her death, disused,
The Baron's lady—hapless Elrica,
From some mysterious cause, was long immured.
A woman of all excellence, 'tis said,
And as the story goes, most foully dealt by.
Here hangs her picture, and it speaks her fair;
“A sweetness sad, submissive and resigned,
“Beaming serenely forth, thro' grace and symmetry.”
How my heart sinks in horror of the wretch,
Whose cruelty betrayed her!
Enter Hohendahl.
Heavens! he's here!
HOHENDAHL.
The fair Amantha honors much my roof;
Her presence in this heart makes holiday,
And thus I pay my thanks.
(Stooping to kiss her hand.
AMANTHA
(withdrawing it.)
Your thanks, my Lord,
If thanks indeed, be due, are misapplied;
My father may receive, but I disclaim them.
I am here but in obedience to his will,
Against my own.
HOHENDAHL.
Unkindly said! in what,
Has my presumption called for this reproof?
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Were sure the last delusion, dying hope
Could frame for Hohendahl.
AMANTHA.
I pray you, pardon me;—
My thoughts are ill attuned to compliment.
Some fears disturb me for my father's safety;
You can, perhaps, remove them, and account
For his delay.
HOHENDAHL.
I look'd to have found him here;
“But though the time grows wanton, and of late,
“To outrage prone, I entertain no thought
“Of danger to my friend.” The precious charge,
Confided to my care, he knows is safe,
And at his leisure, follows, to reclaim it.
Why will Amantha thus with scorn repel,
The homage of a heart, which, at her shrine,
Forgets all other worship?
AMANTHA.
Sir, this theme
Was never grateful to me—you are aware
Of that which now would make it culpable,
For you to urge it more, or me to listen to it.
HOHENDAHL.
By Heavens! I know not what should bar my way,
To fair Amantha's favour, nor whose claim,
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Yields no precedence, lady, in a cause,
Where love, or honor is the prize; and he
Might hope a patient hearing to his suit,
E'en though unprivileged by a father's sanction.
AMANTHA.
My father, Sir, can never sanction crime,
And would not suffer insult.
HOHENDAHL.
Insult!
AMANTHA.
Yes,
Insult, my Lord! what 'twere a crime to grant,
'Tis insult to solicit—a lover's vows
Profane the wedded ear; and from her soul,
The wife of Count Alasco scorns a suit,
Which, but to hear, must taint her plighted honor.
HOHENDAHL.
The wife of Count Alasco! ha! beware!
Nor rashly tempt too far an outraged spirit.
As you would shun perdition and despair,
Plead not to me that title.
AMANTHA.
Not to thee!—
It is my pride—my boast—my sole possession!
'Tis my best hope of happiness in life,
And death alone can now deprive me of it.
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Do you not fear to rouse a tempest here?—
To wake wild passion in a breast like mine?
Where love is lashed to madness by disdain,
And jealousy and vengeance rage by turns?
By Heaven! could I believe the crafty tale,
Devised to work upon a father's weakness,
'Twould but the more inflame my burning blood,
And give to love the relish of revenge.
AMANTHA.
What you call love, I well believe, may prompt
A bad man's passions to a wicked purpose;
“Nor can I doubt, the privilege of your roof
“(That hallowed claim, which to a sanctuary turns
“The savage hut, even for a deadly foe)
“Were urged in vain, to such a heart as yours,”
Yet think not I can fear your love or hate;
My father's honor guards me, and I feel,
Even here, secure beneath the shield of Walsingham.
HOHENDAHL.
Your father, madam, or I much mistake,
Would use that shield against another foe:
A different danger pressed him, when he found
His only daughter plotting 'gainst his peace,
And sought the refuge of my roof, to guard
Her person, and her honor from a traitor.
AMANTHA.
A traitor!
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Yes,—a most notorius traitor!
Who holds his life on sufferance of the law,
Till mellowed in rebellion, he becomes
Avowed in villainy, and ripe for vengeance.
AMANTHA.
Good angels guard the life of my Alasco!
But shall I credit this unmanly railer!
No, 'tis slander—'tis slander, on my life!
The wanton malice of a coward's tongue,
To terrify a woman.
HOHENDAHL.
Ha! your zeal
Is ardent, madam, and defies all hazards:
Perhaps, a calmer bearing were discretion.
I may resent these insults—yes, by Heaven!
What hinders now, but on those scornful lips,
That pout their high displeasure thus against me,
I print the vengeance due to love disdained,
And triumph o'er your minion!
AMANTHA.
Heaven defend me!
A dreadful thought—a dart of fire has pierced me!
Where is my father?—tell me where's my father?
This wanton outrage wakes me to a fear,
My nature shrinks at. Oh! you have not murdered him?
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And I will on my knees, for blessings on you.
But did you think he breathed upon this earth,
You had not dared this insult to his child.
HOHENDAHL.
Living or dead, a thousand fathers now
Should not prevail, to turn me from my prey;
No!—you have trampled on a heart that yet,
Was never safely scorned—you are in the toils,
And by hell's powers! a miracle alone,
Can now redeem you from them.
AMANTHA.
Angels guard me!
HOHENDAHL.
I meant a gentler prelude to my purpose;
But your proud taunts have fallen upon my soul,
Like fiery drops, and blistered me to frenzy.
AMANTHA.
Monster! what mean your horrid threats and gestures?
You would not kill me?
HOHENDAHL.
No! at least not yet—
Till I have closed the account of love and vengeance,—
Have paid myself with interest for my wrongs,
And triumphed in thy arms.
AMANTHA.
Lost—lost for ever!
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“Perhaps, when you grow tarnished in my sight,
“And other beauties tempt me, I may then,
“From this bad world in pity set you free,
“Or cast you with disdain, to your Alasco.
AMANTHA.
“Merciless villain!—betrayed to shame and ruin!”
HOHENDAHL.
Come, let me stop this railing, and instruct
Those lips in gentler duties.
AMANTHA.
Ruffian, unhand me!
My cries shall raise the castle, and proclaim
To heaven, this perfidy.
A voice seeming to proceed from an Alcove in the back scene.
“Forbear, forbear!”
HOHENDAHL
(Starting.)
Am I betrayed! or, was that dreadful voice,
A warning from the grave!—
Voice
again.
Forbear!
HOHENDAHL.
Again!
By heaven! the sound unbraces every nerve,
And chills the heart within me—who goes there?
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Can walls and things inanimate find tongues,
To startle our intents!—What! do I shake
In superstition's palsy, like a slave!
A fanatic, that's scared at his own shadow!
No!—if the devil and all his imps stood guard,
I'll rush upon my prey.
AMANTHA.
Help, help! Oh, help!
Friar Jerome enters suddenly from a private door of the Alcove in the back scene, and at the same instant, Alasco bursts in violently at the side door, with his sword drawn.
HOHENDAHL,
Hell and vengeance!—thus to be braved and baffled!—
ALASCO
(runs to Amantha.)
Fear not, my Amantha! your Alasco's here.
HOHENDAHL.
What! you would beard the lion in his den!—
Even within my castle's walls assault me!
Die, fool! in thy presumption.
[Draws a pistol from his breast, and fires at Alasco
AMANTHA.
Oh! my Alasco!
[Sinks fainting into a chair, supported by Jerome.
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Wretch! I am reserved, to punish guilt like thine.
Draw and defend yourself.
[They fight, and the Baron is disarmed.
Take up your sword;
“I scorn to press on a defenceless foe.
HOHENDAHL.
“Strike! 'tis the mercy you had found from me;
“Disarmed, I dare still grapple with a traitor.
ALASCO.
Villain, defend yourself!
HOHENDAHL
(taking up his sword.)
To your heart, then.
[They fight,—the Baron's servants, alarmed by the sound of the pistol, rush in, seize and disarm Alasco.
AMANTHA
(reviving.)
Where am I!—Alasco!—Heavens! do I revive,
To see you thus! save him—Oh save my husband
[Runs to Alasco, who catches her in his arms.
HOHENDAHL.
Tear them asunder, tho' you rend their joints,
And to the lowest dungeon, drag that traitor.
ALASCO.
Off! off, ye ruffians!
[Breaks from them, and rushes to Amantha, but is again overpowered.
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Slaves, drag him hence!
And rid my presence of that reverend spy,
Who lurks in holes and secret passages,
To steal upon my privacy, and betray me.
JEROME.
Rash man! restrain thy rage—thou knowest, I dare
Defy the frothy menace of thy power,
And will fulfil my duty.—
HOHENDAHL.
Duty, priest!
JEROME.
Proud Baron, yes!—to save a second victim.—
“Priests are the guards of innocence and virtue,
“And in that office, still, the church protects
“Her ministers. Nay, chafe not idly thus;
“I have a privilege here, thou darest not question:—
“Beneath this roof, till thy base usurpation,
“The seat and shrine of my long honoured race,
“Not one of those who tremble at thy frown,
“Would at thy bidding harm this hoary head.
HOHENDAHL.
Audacious meddler!
[Noise of tumult without
Ha! what means this uproar?
Enter a Servant hastily.
Slave, what portends the ague of thy face?
Speak, or I will strike you to the earth!
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My Lord,
The guard has been surprised. The outer gate,
Forced by the furious onset of a crowd,
Who cry, to fire the castle, and demand
The Count Alasco.
HOHENDAHL.
Ha! Treason so near!
Summon my servants—guard the postern gate,
And, on your lives! let none pass out, or enter!
When we have dash'd these miscreants from our walls,
We'll deal with Count Alasco—follow me.
[Draws his sword, and exit with his servants.
AMANTHA.
Oh, Heavens! Alasco, what a fate is ours!
My father too!
ALASCO.
Is safe, my best Amantha.
Calm all your fears; there's succour in those shouts;
They speak the approach of friends, and promise rescue.
Good Jerome, to your safeguard for awhile—
This arm, though weaponless, may be of use.
[Exit Alasco.
AMANTHA.
Alasco! Oh! Alasco! do not leave me.
Oh! God! he has rush'd unarm'd amidst his foes!
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Courage, my child! his virtues are his shield:
Heaven will not let th' unjust prevail against him.
But let us seize the means that Providence
Now offers for thy safety—through this door,
A passage lies, unthought of and unguarded.
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“I have a friend within the castle's walls,
“Will aid us for concealment or escape.”
Nay, shrink not thus—I'll answer for thy safety.
AMANTHA.
What! fly, uncertain of Alasco's fate?
Leave him, perhaps to torture and to death!
Oh! never—never—I am his wife, good father,
And will not now desert him.
JEROME.
Hark! my child!
The tumult draws this way—a moment more,
'Twill be too late. E'en for Alasco's sake,
Consult thy safety.
AMANTHA.
Urge me not in vain;
Nor think I slight thy zeal; but I'm resolved,
And will abide the storm.
[The tumult approaches.
JEROME.
Alas! they're here!
Enter Alasco, Conrad, and a party of armed Peasants, with the Baron Hohendahl and his servants, disarmed, and prisoners.
ALASCO
(running to AMANTHA.)
Heaven, my Amantha, still extends its shield
O'er innocence and virtue. Thou art safe,
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And these, our brave deliverers.
AMANTHA.
Oh! my Alasco,
Let us fly this roof:—lead, lead me to my father.
CONRAD
half aside to ALASCO.
Say, shall we fire the castle, and unhouse
This hedgehog?
ALASCO.
Conrad, no!—as you regard
My honor and your own, no farther violence!
For this bad man, the burning rage and shame
Of baffled guilt confound him; and we need
No heavier vengeance, than the hell within him.
Release him, friends, and give him back the sword,
His prowess, in a nobler cause, had graced.
But boldness, seconding an evil purpose,
Shews like a ruffian's daring, and at best,
Is but the coward's courage—desperation.
[They return the Baron his sword, which appears broken.
HOHENDAHL.
Curse on the treacherous steel that fail'd this arm!
Else had not traitors triumph'd.
ALASCO.
When next we meet,
A double retribution waits thee. Now,
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The avenging sword;—we strike but for our country!
[Exeunt Alasco, Amantha, and party, at one door, the Baron and servants at the other.
Far be it from the author of Alasco, to introduce with levity or irreverence, the solemn exclamation here objected to.—He conceives, however, that the principle upon which the use of it is censured, to be consistent, should be carried much farther, and directed to reprobate and put down all those impressive appeals to heaven and its sacred host, which have been hitherto allowed, to assist the impassioned effect and moral dignity of the tragic muse. The piety of our present licenser, however, will reform all this, and I have only to say in my defence, that if I have sinned, I have sinned in good company.
Hamlet, Act 1. Scene 2.
“God! O God!
“How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable
“Seem to me all the uses of this world!”
Pizarro, Act 1. Scene 1.
“Elvira.
O! God! what have I not sacrificed for him.”
Pizarro, Act 4. Scene 1.
“Alonzo.
O! God!
Pizarro, Act 4. Scene 1.
“Rolla.
Forgive me, God of truth, if I am wrong.”
Oroonoko, Act 2. Scene 1.
“Thou God adored!”
To which might be added about a thousand other examples from our best tragedies, ancient and modern; but these above quoted may perhaps satisfy the reader, that the author of Alasco has indulged in no unprecedented exclamatory impiety. He is aware, however, that the reforming rage of our new dramatic moralist is not to be appeased by the citation of such profane authorities.
As this passage has been expunged with more than the ordinary rage of red ink, it is to be supposed, that private vengeance is, in the estimation of our judicious censor, a nobler motive for drawing the sword, than public wrong, and that when we strike, it should be for ourselves, and not for our country!!!
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
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