 | The Crown Jewel |  |
Scene 4.
Entrance to a cave in the forest. Curtain rising discovers the body of Lord Soartes with a poignard sticking in his heart; also a huge raven perched upon the corpse in the act of picking out one of the eyes. The bird is diverted from its purpose by the sound of approaching footsteps.[Enter Inora, King, Prince, nobles, ranger, and soldiers.
Raven.
Croak! croak! croak.
Prince.
The prophet fed, in day of dole, by ravens,
Excuse had to regard their utterances
With ravished ear. On ours, these dismal notes
Grate harshly and the revelation bode
Of horrors close at hand. The evil bird
Whose marvellous instinct leads from haunt remote
In mountain gorge or facings of the sea,
To scenes of blood and rapine, has taken flight.
List to the ghostly flapping of its wings!
But to our pilot through this under-wood
And mazings of the forest, we are bound
To give implicitly our confidence,
Here is our point of halt, or I mistake
Her gestures?
Inora.
King, Prince, and Nobles! witnesses be you
To my confession and this spectacle!
There lies the Lord Soartes slain by me—
Slain by the hand that would have helped him back
To fortune's favour and to men's esteem.
My love for him and constancy concealed
His execrable points and gilded o'er
His vices so, I grew enamour'd of them—
Hugged them as virtues—shaped a paragon
Out of their grossness, made him my heart's idol.
Oh, Gracious King! from such misguided faith,
Crop up whole harvests of calamity;
Treasons and wrongs, the accidents of war,—
A hundred growths entailing bitter fruits
Come of this cause and simple origin.
The wrong done thee, from no more lofty source
Drew its gigantic and abhorrent shape;
See there! a measure of the Expiation!
[points to the body of Soartes.
To have been prompter to this treachery
Thou hast confessed thyself. Thy plea advanced
Before Heaven's high tribunal may avail,
Where angels are enrolled as witnesses,
And every sore tentation to the crime
Is taken account of. Its acceptance, here,
Our straighten'd apprehensions bar the way to.
On such lame score to justify thyself,
In face of stubborn and resistless facts,
Before the most indulgent of our judges,
Hold it impossible! Thy doom is sure,
Taking this crime alone into account
But doubly sure, when murder mates with Treason.
Inora.
Thy sentence, King, all trial interdicts.
King.
Nay, woman! Justice in our ancient realm
Shall have its method and solemnities.
Trial awaits thee in its usual form;
And now thou know'st the doom o'erhanging thee,
And hast considered of it—art thyself
Against thyself the accuser and the witness—
If thou hold'st hopes of mercy from thy God
(For not a remnant of forgiving grace
Is left thee here), make clear thy conscience
Answer me straightly, woman, on these hopes.
Much rests upon the droppings from thy tongue
Of high importance to ourselves and lieges,
And to yourself of consequence. Reflect.
Among our usages the Rack and Question
Are still in vogue! Therefore, we urge it on you,
Be plain in your replies, direct and truthful,
Prevaricating none, concealing nothing.
Inora.
My being self-accuser and informer—
A traitress to the treason I had plann'd—
A murderess who glories in her crime;
No marvel, Sire, such aggregate of guilt
Bearing with violence on thy tender heart
Should so convulse and overset its nature.
Mistake me not, my honoured sovereign!
These menaces of torture from your lips
Move but to higher holdings of respect.
I ask no grace—no mercy at your hands
No commutation or delay of sentence.
Of pardon and release from punishment
In its most cruel and revolting shape,
I cherish not one solitary hope.
But put thy questioning to me. I am here
To expiate my self-acknowledged crimes,
Willing, too willing! Into strong desire
And purpose to unbosom all I know
Of this conspiracy, my willingness
Hath mounted and awaits your royal pleasure.
King.
What we would know of thee (Prince Amored
These nobles and our guard of soldiers
Attesting to thy shrift) concerns ourselves
Less than the loyal bearing of a subject.
Thy thoughts are with Soartes. Put aside
The hoary traitor. 'Tis not carrion
Like that we would refer to, but a man
Of highest value in all men's esteem;
And mated with him is a noble lady
And victim, brought to verge of poverty.
Answer me plainly of the Lord Vicente,
And of his Countess, Lady Meranie—
What part they played in this conspiracy?
Inora.
An accusation lying at the doors
Of this sweet lady and her noble husband
So foul, so devilish! King! believe it not.
None but that caitiff whom my hands have slain,
And whom the dark experience of a life-time,
Taught me too late, was schooled in villany
Up to his passing graduate in its arts,—
Adept the more that he was plausible,
None but this miscreant could have mouthed or penned
Such an aspersion!
King.
Note the womans' words—
The verity which, in this hour of trial,
Dwells in her face—the angel overcoming,
Not without struggle, its opposing devil!
Our fond anticipations are encouraged
But we have question more to put to thee;
Nor will the doubt which intercepts our faith
Rest satisfied until thou answer'st truly.
Confederates in the seizure of our jewels
Ye must have had—thou and thy paramour;
We know you as the back-ground of the plot,
For upon that score, you are self-confessed;
But that another—others shall we say?
Took forward and especial part in it,
It needs no stretch of ingenuity
To go beyond suspicion of.
Now, that we've studied and avized thee closely,
A face crops us, so much resembling thine
And that dead traitor's blended into thine,
It could be sworn to, as the consequence
Of your illicit loves. The when and where
That face confronted us, how strange it is
That only at this instant we recal them!
And yet three hours at most have not elapsed
Since the disturbance at our palace revels.
Say, Amored, are we deceived and does
This woman's visage practise on our senses?
Prince.
Nay, royal father! thou hast hit the truth,
And cleared off hesitation from my mind.
The self-same fancy has been troubling it,
All through the mazes of this strange confession,
To safe conclusion we arrive together.
The insolent, who at our festival
Obtruded with impeachment on his lips
And foul aspersions, was this woman's son,
Confederate and chief actor in the plot.
'Tis fortunate we hold him in arrest,
But see to her! Her eye is fixed on us!
Inora.
A calumny! Unsay it. Prince, unsay it!
High aspirations were his mother's curse
And a misplaced affection. What befel her,
Your eyes and ears bear woful witness to;
But all the climbings of my heart and soul
Were grovellings in the mire compared to his.
That he had high hand in that business
Regarding the regalia I confess to,
But that he moved in't for ulterior purpose,
Oh, God! the thought makes doubly desolate!
Of all abandoned women, I the most!
Even in this hour of expiation,
I held Gonseres the appointed means
Whereby to vindicate my outraged honour—
O, soaring offspring of a soaring mother!
Vulture from vulture bred! is this the close,
Of all our grasping ventures?
[Rushes to the body of Soartes and detaches the poignard.
Take in charge
That woman, guards!
Inora.
Keep off one moment, dogs!
'Twill save the costs of trial and the headsman.
Heart's blood to heart's blood let them so commingle.
[stabs herself.
That whether heav'n or hell be our award,
No matter! there is marriage now betwixt us.
[dies.
Prince.
A woman valorous and resolute,
More sinned against than sinning!
King.
Soldiers!
Your swords and axes hurry into play,
Make tressels of these timbers. Here, at hand,
Are prunings of an oak, the hurricane
Or fiery thunderbolt hath been at work on.
Shape them to hand-spokes of convenient length,
On which to rest these bodies. Yonder stands
A cypress whose funereal plumes wrenched off
Will form a ready and appropriate pall;
Heap them on thickly, so no passer by
May of your ghastly burden catch a glimpse.
Our noble Ranger here will take the lead.
To the State Prison bear them, with instructions
To hold them closely under lock and key.
[Soldiers and Ranger retire to cut hand-spokes.
Now that we hold our evidence complete,
There is no motive to delay this trial.
What say you Amored? and you my lords?
A shift of diet is expedient.
These corpora delicti will be needed
As witnesses. More emphasis of speech
Dwells in their mute and haggard visages—
More verity upon their tacit lips—
More searching lightnings in their fixed gaze
Than in a hundred vacillating tongues
And twice than number of unmeaning eyes.
We therefore to insure their evidence,
Recal the putting off of this enquiry,
And name to-morrow, as the day of trial.
You will arrange it so, good Chancellor!
Here come our soldiers laden with their hand-biers
And screeny umbrage.
[Re-enter Ranger and soldiers bearing their wood-spoils.
Take these corpses up
And lay them separately upon their staves;—
Muffle them well with cypress.
[The bodies are arranged on the hand-spokes and covered over with boughs. Four soldiers take their places on each side.
Lift and march!
[Ranger and soldiers exeunt with the bodies.
The air is stifling,
We feel as if an earthquake were at hand.
Your arm, dear Amored! let us leave this spot—
Tradition will re-people it with spectres
And round it cast a halo of great horrors.
This day's experiences forebode to-morrow's!
Our throne's a seat of thorns and canopied with sorrows,
The trial that impends is trial sore
To those he loves, but to their sovereign more;
God give him courage to do well his part
And fortify alike both head and heart!
[Exeunt omnes.
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