University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

A garden, under the windows of Amala's apartment.
Athulf.
Athulf.
Enter Amala as bride, with a bridesmaid.

Bridesm.
Amala, good night:
Thou'rt happy. In these high delightful times,
It does the human heart much good to think
On deepest woe, which may be waiting for us,
Masked even in a marriage-hour.

Amala.
Thou'rt timid:
'Tis well to trust in the good genius.
Are not our hearts, in these great pleasures godded,
Let out awhile to their eternity,
And made prophetic? The past is pale to me;
But I do see my future plain of life,
Full of rejoicings and of harvest-dances,
Clearly, it is so sunny. A year hence
I'll laugh at you for this, until you weep.
Good night, sweet fear.

Bridesm.
Take this flower from me,
(A white rose, fitting for a wedding-gift,)
And lay it on your pillow. Pray to live
So fair and innocently; pray to die,
Leaf after leaf, so softly.

[Exit.
Amala.
—Now to my chamber; yet an hour or two,
In which years must be sown.

Athulf.
Stay Amala;
An old acquaintance brings a greeting to you,
Upon your wedding night.

Amala.
His brother Athulf! What can he do here?
I fear the man.

Athulf.
Dost love him?

Amala.
That were cause
Indeed to fear him. Leave me, leave me, sir:
It is too late. We cannot be together
For any good.

Athulf.
This once we can. O Amala,
Had I been in my young days taught the truth,
And brought up with the kindness and affection
Of a good man! I was not myself evil,
But out of youth and ignorance did much wrong.
Had I received lessons in thought and nature,
We might have been together, but not thus.
How then? Did you not love me long ago?
More, O much more than him? Yes, Amala,
You would have been mine now. A life with thee,
Heavenly delight and virtue ever with us!
I've lost it, trod on it, and crush'd it. Woe!
O bitter woe is me!

Amala.
Athulf, why make me
Rue the inevitable? Prithee leave me.

Athulf.
Thee bye and bye: and all that is not thee.
Thee, my all, that I've forfeited I'll leave,
And the world's all, my nothing.

Amala.
Nay; despond not.
Thou'lt be a merry, happy man some day,
And list to this as to a tale of some one
You had forgotten.

Athulf.
Now no need of comfort:
I'm somehow glad that it did thus fall out.
Then had I lived too softly; in these woes
I can stand up, and show myself a man.
I do not think that I shall live an hour.
Wilt pardon me for that my earlier deeds
Have caused to thee of sorrow? Amala,
Pity me, pardon me, bless me in this hour;
In this my death, in this your bridal, hour.
Pity me, sweet.

Amala.
Both thee and me: no more!

Athulf.
Forgive!

Amala.
With all my soul. God bless thee, my dear Athulf.

Athulf.
[Exit Amala.
[He drinks from a vial.

Enter Adalmar.
Adalm.
I'm wearied to the core: where's Amala?
Ha! Near her chambers! Who?

Athulf.
Ask that to-morrow
Of the marble, Adalmar. Come hither to me.
We must be friends: I'm dying.

Adalm.
How?

Athulf.
The cup,
I've drank myself immortal.

Adalm.
You are poisoned?

Athulf.
I am blessed, Adalmar. I've done't myself.
'Tis nearly passed, for I begin to hear
Strange but sweet sounds, and the loud rocky dashing
Of waves, where time into Eternity
Falls over ruined worlds. The wind is fair,
The boat is in the bay,
And the fair mermaid pilot calls away.

Adalm.
Self poisoned?

Athulf.
Ay: a philosophic deed.
Go and be happy.

Adalm.
God! What hast thou done?

Athulf.
Justice upon myself.

Adalm.
No. Thou hast stolen
The right of the deserving good old man
To rest, his cheerful labour being done.
Thou hast been wicked; caused much misery;
Dishonoured maidens; broken fathers' hearts;
Maddened some; made others wicked as thyself;
And darest thou die, leaving a world behind thee
That groans of thee to heaven?

Athulf.
If I thought so—
Terrible would it be: then I've both killed
And damned myself. There's justice!

Adalm.
Thou should'st have lived;
Devoting every minute to the work
Of useful, penitent amendment: then,
After long years, you might have knelt to Fate,
And ta'en her blow not fearing. Wretch, thou diest not,
But goest living into hell.

Athulf.
It is too true:
I am deserted by those turbulent joys.
The fiend had made me death-drunk. Here I'll lie,
And die most wretchedly, accursed, unpitied
Of all, most hated by myself. O God,
If thou could'st but repeal this fatal hour,
And let me live, how day and night I'd toil
For all things to atone! Must I wish vainly?
My brother, is there any way to live?

Adalm.
For thee, alas! in this world there is none.
Think not upon't.

Athulf.

Adalm.
Wretched, yet not despised, farewell my brother.

Athulf.
O Arab, Arab! Thou dost sell true drugs.
Brother, my soul is very weary now:
Speak comfortably to me.

Adalm.
From the Arab,
From Ziba, had'st the poison?

Athulf.
Ay. 'Twas good:
An honest villain is he.

Adalm.
Hold, sweet brother,
A little longer hold in hope on life;
But a few minutes more. I seek the sorcerer,
And he shall cure thee with some wondrous drug.
He can, and shall perform it: rest thee quiet:
Hope or revenge I'll bring thee.

[Exit.
Athulf.
Dare I hope?
O no: methinks it is not so unlovely,
This calm unconscious state, this breathless peace,
Which all, but troublesome and riotous man,
Assume without resistance. Here I'll lay me,
And let life fall from off me tranquilly.

[Enter singers and musicians led by Siegfried; they play under the windows of Amala's apartment, and sing.]
Song.
By female voices.
We have bathed, where none have seen us,
In the lake and in the fountain,
Underneath the charmed statue
Of the timid, bending Venus,
When the water-nymphs were counting
In the waves the stars of night,
And those maidens started at you,
Your limbs shone through so soft and bright.
But no secrets dare we tell,
For thy slaves unlace thee,
And he, who shall embrace thee,
Waits to try thy beauty's spell.

By male voices.
We have crowned thee queen of women,
Since love's love, the rose, hath kept her
Court within thy lips and blushes,
And thine eye, in beauty swimming,
Kissing, we rendered up the sceptre,
At whose touch the startled soul
Like an ocean bounds and gushes,
And spirits bend at thy controul.
But no secrets dare we tell,
For thy slaves unlace thee,
And he, who shall embrace thee,
Is at hand, and so farewell.

Athulf.
Shame on you! Do you sing their bridal song
Ere I have closed mine eyes? Who's there among you
That dare to be enamoured of a maid
So far above you, ye poor rhyming knaves?
Ha! there begins another.

Song by Siegfried.

Athulf.
Ha! Ha! That fellow moves my spleen;
A disappointed and contented lover.
Methinks he's above fifty by his voice:
If not, he should be whipped about the town,
For vending such tame doctrine in love-verses.
Up to the window, carry off the bride,
And away on horseback, squeaker!

Siegfr.
Peace, thou bold drunken fellow that liest there!—
Leave him to sleep his folly out, good fellows.

[Exit with musicians.
Athulf.
Well said: I do deserve it. I lie here
A thousand-fold fool, dying ridiculously
Because I could not have the girl I fancied.
Well, they are wedded; how long now will last
Affection or content? Besides 'twere possible
He might have quaffed a like draught. But 'tis done:
Villanous idiot that I am to think on't.
She willed it so. Then Amala, be fearless:
Wait but a little longer in thy chamber,
And he will be with thee whom thou hast chosen:
Or, if it make thee pastime, listen sweet one,
And I will sing to thee, here in the moonlight,
Thy bridal song and my own dirge in one.
He sings.

Athulf.
Enter Amala.

Amala.
Thy voice is fainter, Athulf: why sang'st thou?

Athulf.
It was my farewell: now I'll sing no more;
Nor speak a great deal after this. 'Tis well
You weep not. If you had esteemed me much,
It were a horrible mistake of mine.
Wilt close my eyes when I am dead, sweet maid?

Amala.
O Athulf, thou might'st still have lived.

Athulf.
What boots it,
And thou not mine, nor even loving me?
But that makes dying very sad to me.
Yet even thy pity is worth much.

Amala.
O no;
I pity not alone, but I am wretched,—
Love thee and ever did most fervently,
Still hoping thou would'st turn and merit it.
But now—O God! if life were possible to thee,
I'd be thy friend for ever.

Athulf.
O thou art full of blessings!
Thou lovest me, Amala: one kiss, but one;
It is not much to grant a dying man.

Amala.
I am thy brother's bride, forget not that;
And never but to this, thy dying ear,
Had I confessed so much in such an hour.
But this be too forgiven. Now farewell.
'Twere not amiss if I should die to-night:
Athulf, my love, my only love, farewell.

Athulf.
Yet one more minute. If we meet hereafter,
Wilt thou be mine? I have the right to thee;
And, if thou promise, I will let him live
This life, unenvied, with thee.

Amala.
I will, Athulf:
Our bliss there will be greater for the sorrow
We now in parting feel.

Athulf.
I go, to wait thee.
[Exit Amala.
Farewell, my bliss! She loves me with her soul,
And I might have enjoyed her, were he fallen.
Ha! ha! and I am dying like a rat,
And he shall drink his wine, twenty years hence,
Beside his cherished wife, and speak of me
With a compassionate smile! Come, Madness, come,
For death is loitering still.

Enter Adalmar and Ziba.
Adalm.
An antidote!
Restore him whom thy poisons have laid low,
If thou wilt not sup with thy fellow fiends
In hell to-night.

Ziba.
I pray thee strike me not.
It was his choice; and why should he be breathing
Against his will?

Athulf.
Ziba, I need not perish.
Now my intents are changed: so, if thou canst,
Dispense me life again.

Adalm.
Listen to him, slave,
And once be a preserver.

Ziba.
Let him rise.
Why, think you that I'd deal a benefit,
So precious to the noble as is death,
To such a pampered darling of delight
As he that shivers there? O, not for him,
Blooms my dark Nightshade, nor doth Hemlock brew
Murder for cups within her cavernous root.
Not for him is the metal blessed to kill,
Nor lets the poppy her leaves fall for him.
To heroes such are sacred. He may live,
As long as 'tis the Gout and Dropsy's pleasure.
He wished to play at suicide, and swallowed
A draught, that may depress and shake his powers
Until he sleeps awhile; then all is o'er.
And so good night, my princes.

[Exit.
Adalm.
Dost thou hear?

Athulf.
Victory! victory! I do hear; and Fate hears,
And plays with Life for one of our two souls,
With dice made of death's bones. But shall I do't?
O Heaven! it is a fearful thing to be so saved!

Adalm.
Now, brother, thou'lt be happy.

Athulf.
With thy wife!
I tell thee, hapless brother, on my soul,
Now that I live, I will live; I alone;
And Amala alone shall be my love.
There's no more room for you, since you have chosen
The woman and the power which I covet.
Out of thy bridal bed, out of thy throne!
Away to Abel's grave.

[Stabs Adalmar
Adalm.
Thou murderous fiend!
I was thy brother.

[dies.
Athulf.
(after a pause)
How long a time it is since I was here!
And yet I know not whether I have slept,
Or wandered through a dreary cavernous forest,
Struggling with monsters. 'Tis a quiet place,
And one inviting strangely to deep rest.
I have forgotten something; my whole life
Seems to have vanished from me to this hour.
There was a foe whom I should guard against;
Who is he?

Amala.
(from her window)
Adalmar!

Athulf.
(in a low voice)
Hush! hush! I come to thee.
Let me but see if he be dead: speak gently,
His jealous ghost still hears.

Amala.
So, it is over
With that poor troubled heart! O then to-night
Leave me alone to weep.

Athulf.
As thou wilt, lady.
I'm stunned with what has happened. He is dead.

Amala.
O night of sorrow! Bear him from the threshold.
None of my servants must know where and why
He sought his grave. Remove him. O poor Athulf,
Why did'st thou it? I'll to my bed and mourn.

[retires.
Athulf.
Hear'st thou, corpse, how I play thy part?
Thus had he
Pitied me in fraternal charity,
And I lain there so helpless. Precious cup,
A few drops more of thy somniferous balm,
To keep out spectres from my dreams to-night:
My eyelids thirst for slumber. But what's this,
That chills my blood and darkens so my eyes?
What's going on in my heart and in my brain,
My bones, my life, all over me, all through me?
It cannot last. No longer shall I be
What I am now. O I am changing, changing,
Dreadfully changing! Even here and now
A transformation will o'ertake me. Hark!
It is God's sentence muttered over me.
I am unsouled, dishumanized, uncreated;
My passions swell and grow like brutes conceived;
My feet are fixing roots, and every limb
Is billowy and gigantic, till I seem
A wild, old, wicked mountain in the air:
And the abhorred conscience of this murder,
It will grow up a lion, all alone,
A mighty-maned, grave-mouthed prodigy,
And lair him in my caves: and other thoughts,
Some will be snakes, and bears, and savage wolves:
And when I lie tremendous in the desart,
Or abandoned sea, murderers and idiot men
Will come to live upon my rugged sides,
Die, and be buried in me. Now it comes;
I break, and magnify, and lose my form.
And yet I shall be taken for a man,
And never be discovered till I die.
Terrible, terrible: damned before my time,
In secret! 'Tis a dread, o'erpowering phantom.

(He lies down by the body, and sleeps: the scene closes.)