University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Chamber in Lunenberg's Castle.—Storm.—Night.
Lunenberg.
Here I will seek a refuge from myself.
Am I not damned already, since to me
Repentance is denied? Can I recall,
By sighs as heavy as the tempest's moan,
Deeds sinking down eternity's abyss?
She sleeps: how sweetly innocent she looked!
Her breathing was the perfume of the soul,
As, trembling to the couch of loose desire,
I led the unsuspecting purity.
How could I bear the murmuring tenderness
With which she whispered, ‘he will weep to-night?’

[Enter Adelaide.]
Adel.
Where is my husband? where is Lunenberg?

Lunen.
Better to see a vampire's ghastly shape,
And feel it suck my blood.

Adel.
And art thou here?
Have these lone chambers, whose profound recess
Appears an habitation of the spectres
That sweep along their dreary emptiness,
Moving in measure with the falling winds,
Has all this scene of antique desolation
More charm than Adelaide? Why did you leave me?

Lunen.
I raised the lamp to look upon thy face:
Thy slumber was as mild as is a babe's,
And there was o'er thy lips a tender smile
That seemed to say thy dreams were happy ones:
I could not bear that smile.

Adel.
Why is it thus? In what have I offended?
You fright me with the quivering of your lip.
Oh! take me to thy heart! Thou dost not know
When, as I woke and heard the roaring tempest
That howled along the castle's tottering age,
And shrunk for refuge in thy circling arms,
What terrors filled the soul of Adelaide,
To find thee gone. I started up, and listened,
And in the voices of the sinking storm
Methought I heard a cry most sorrowful:
Methought I heard my father! Take me, Lunenberg,
I need the solacing of thy affection.

Lunen.
Thou art a very beauteous wretchedness.

Adel.
Then hast thou ceased to love me, Lunenberg.
Though 'twere my lot to dwell within a cave,
Scooped in the bosom of a desert rock,
That far from land among the rolling waves
Uprose in solitude; where nought was heard
Except the sleepy murmur of the sea;
Yet if I still could think at evening's hour,
When haply I should sit and watch the west,
That thou didst still remember Adelaide—

Lunen.
Oh! thou wilt loathe me.

Adel.
Loathe thee!

Lunen.
Thou wilt curse me.

Adel.
Thus let me throw myself upon thy bosom.

Lunen.
Come, look thee here, and try if he who wrote
A warning on his front who murdered first,
Hath traced ‘a villain’ here. Thou tremblest! ha!
'Tis so—the characters are burning flames—
I am a murderer too—for I have killed thee,
And damned thee with myself—No, Adelaide,
Thou still art innocent: not thine the crime:
Pure as the spotless seraph that adores
In burning contemplation.

Adel.
Save me, heaven!

Lunen.
Two silent fiends will bear me to a dungeon,
And cast me down, and close the grate for ever:
Nothing shall there be heard: no sound, no touch,
No ray of light be there, save when a demon
Will come with some blue lamp's infernal power,
In semblance of thyself, to haunt my sight
And look me in the eyes with tears like thine,
Then vanish with a shriek. Yet thou perchance,
If, haply wandering with thy sister saints,
Thou should'st approach my place of punishment,
Then wilt thou think with pity on the man
Whose sin was loving thee.

Adel.
Why how is this?
The sin? What sin? Thou couldst not play me false.
With burning blushes thus I cast it from me,
And turn to thee, my life, my lord, my husband,
In all the confidence of boundless faith,
And all the constancy of woman's love.

Lunen.
Thou wilt not leave me then? No change, no crime,
Shall ever wring thee from my bleeding heart.

Adel.
Though want should wither all thy worldly substance,
Though scorn should touch and blast thy name for ever,
Though all men fled thee like a noisome plague,
Yet never dove hung o'er her dying young
With half the tenderness I'd cling to thee.
Nay, I'd exult to share my husband's shame,
And glory in the proud sweet consciousness
That I was thine for ever.

Lunen.
Damned ambition,
That hurled from heaven's light and God's bright presence
Millions of spirits, splendid and immortal,
To live a long eternity of pain,
Intense and endless: thou whose sacrilege
Rifled the realms of bliss, and with a curse
Dried up the bounty of the teeming earth,
Why stoop from desolation so sublime,
From mighty havoc that assailed both worlds,
And tempt so pitiful a knave as I am,
To tear this modest wild-briar from its fence,
To toy awhile; and then to trample on it?

Adel.
I've scarcely breath to ask what this may mean?

Lunen.
Oh! thou confiding goodness, I've betrayed thee:
I am a villain, and the most perfidious
Who e'er belied an unsuspecting faith,
And stained the lilies of a virgin's love.

Adel.
What dreadful mystery is bursting on me?
Am I dishonored? Answer me, my husband:
My honor is thine own. Nay, now you mock me—
The book, the altar, and the man of God—
I saw them with these eyes: these ears have heard
The holy form of prayer that made me yours,
Made me for ever yours—your wedded wife.

Lunen.
Never was wife more true, or more beloved.

Adel.
Ten thousand blessings on thee for the word:
Hope has come back to my affrighted heart.

Lunen.
Had I but loved thee less, I ne'er had wronged thee:
Or had it been my destiny to know thee
Before—

Adel.
Am I your wife?

Lunen.
'Twas madness seized me:
The fury of a guilty desperate passion.
Before I saw, before I burned for thee,
My faith was plighted, and my sovereign's will
Commanded marriage. Call the lightning down!
I lured thy unsuspecting innocence,
And, with a semblance of religion's rites,
Abused thy trust, and plunged thee into shame.
But here, behold me kneeling at thy feet,
Behold me here renounce the world for thee.

Adel.
An icy adder winds around my heart,
And now it stings and stings, and yet I live.
Not wedded to thee! Oh for some dark depth
To hide me from all eyes, where odious light
Could never see my shame! False! false! all false!
And I am that vile thing I dare not name.

Lunen.
My fame, the pride of power, the legion's guidance,
My emperor's smile, my all, I yield to thee:
The pomp of courts, the soldier's acclamation,
The host, the battle, and the victory.
I'll lead thee to the altar, and proclaim
Our consecrated nuptials. There a priest,
With all the solemn rite and circumstance
Religion asks, shall join our hallowed hands.

Adel.
They curse me!

Lunen.
Here shall be thy throne, thy empire. (Placing his hand upon his heart.)


Adel.
Not wedded to thee! then I'll wed despair.
Come my new bridegroom to this heart: 'tis thine,
For ever thine: thou wilt be faithful to me:
Thou canst not flatter: thou wilt not deceive me:
Come then: let's fly: but hold—no mockery now,
We'll wed in earnest, and without a priest.

Lunen.
My wife, my Adelaide: I'll call thee wife,
For so thou shalt be—

Adel.
Ha! unhand me! help!
Pollution's in thy touch.

Enter Albert St. Evermont.
Alb.
It came this way.
It is the master of these lonely towers,
And with him's one, whose sorrows at this hour
Rose like a spirit's wailing on the blast.
Her cheek is blanched, and every broken thought
Intruding on that lovely dreariness,
Appears a wild and haggard wanderer.

Adel.
They call me back: they bid me come to them.

Lunen.
Where wouldst thou rush?

Adel.
Thou shalt not stay me from them—
I am their child! (Thunder)
Aye, thou art angry, heaven!
Why does the lightning flash, and not fall here
Upon this guilty head? Strike here and blast me!

[Exit.
Alb.
What may this mean? It seems a fitting place
For deeds of foul mysterious villainy;
And sure the storm, that shakes these tottering towers,
And swings the forest with its groaning strength,
Doth howl auspiciously. Count Lunenberg!
Unconscious of the sound! 'tis something terrible,
For in the hollow of his gleamy eyes
The dreadful passions light their murky fires;
And in my chamber from this very place
I heard the voice of intermingled anguish—

Lunen.
He was unfortunate, he was my friend!
(turning to Albert)
Begone: avoid my sight: avoid a plague:
My bosom heaves with guilt, and every breath
Will shed a rotting leprosy upon thee.
If in the social cup I had infused
The chilling draught of death, or at the couch
Of him who sought a shelter 'neath my roof
Had crept at midnight to the act of blood,
I were not half the villain that I am.
Dost thou not fly me yet? Then hear it all,
And thou wilt bid volcanos burst between us.
I robbed the fondest parents of their child,
The noblest mind of honor's treasured hoard,
Abused a believing woman's confidence,
Trod down the blooming of her innocence,
The flower that grew upon the grave of hope!

Alb.
(aside)
I had a sister.

Lunen.
Adelaide!

Alb.
Speak on!

Lunen.
Thou art the emigrant, and thou hast cause
To load me with the choicest execration,
For she was consecrate of misery
And shared thy griefs. I would avoid thy face,
For thou rememberest me that he was wrecked
In France's stormy fate.

Alb.
Hear me, ye heavens!
I saw my country frantic with the thirst
Of her own blood: I have awaked at night,
And, from a dungeon's subterranean depth,
Have heard the tocsin with its fierce alarm
Arouse the Furies from their dreams of blood.
I've lost my name, my fortunes, and my country:
I am without the sparrow's privilege,
Without a home, a naked wanderer.
But let not all be crowned with infamy.
Speak, thou proud lord, my blood is pure as thine,
Its fount as noble. Hast thou tarnished it?
Hast thou received me in thy guilty towers
That I might see thee gorge thy lechery
Upon a sister's shame? Speak, who was this,
That tossed her arms on high, and rent her hair,
Then rushed into the centre of the night?

Lunen.
What? lie upon the cold and barren earth!
That form, whose delicate and tender touch
Would hardly leave impression on the bed
Which love had strewed with roses; and that bosom
Where lingering thought hath never yet reposed,
And was not heated into exstacy.
A torch there! hoa! a torch: set night in flames:
Awake, and through the forest's blackening depth
Wave your exploring fires. (rushes out)


Alb.
Hear, villain, hear!
Thou shalt not 'scape me thus: if it be she—
Let it not be my sister—make me poor:
Poor, not dishonored; wretched, not disgraced.

[Exit.