University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—The Rocks of Irene. A Wild and Desolate Spot. On L. are the ruins of an ancient temple—the descent to its vaults perceptible. Somewhat towards R. stands, on a raised pedestal, a lofty wooden cross, with circular steps of ascent.
On the rising of the curtain, at the end of the Entr'acte Music, Bertram and Astoroth, the latter still as the Prince of Grenada, are discovered close to the temple ruins.
Bertram.

Thus far, Ashtoroth, thou perfect semblance of
Grenada's Prince, thou hast most well obeyed my behests.
Thou hast conquered in the tournament.

Ast.

All who opposed me.

Bertram.

Thou hast won the prize.

Ast.

The Princess Isabel. She is to be my bride, and I
receive her hand at midnight.

Bertram.

Another conquest for our gloomy realm!

Ast.

When wilt thou disclose thyself to thy mortal son?

Bertram.

When I have bound his soul so fast in the meshes
of crime that we can never be parted in the next world. His
career has long been a promising one; but this very night I
will allure him to a sacrilegious deed of fatal temptation.

Ast.

And that is—

Bertram.

To pluck the Magic Branch from the holy tomb
of St. Rosalie. That done, he is surely ours; for, possession of
unchecked power will lead his heart to sin, and sin—leads
unto us.

Ast.

I must now attend our sovereign within these ruin
vaults. Thou knowest we are all summoned at this hour.

Enter Arnaud up one of the rocky passes at the back.
Arnaud.

I fancy I'm the first at the appointment, for I
don't see Al—Eh! company here? I'll ask them civilly if they've
seen my Alice.

Bertram.
(to Astoroth.)

I'll shortly follow thee.

Ast.

'Tis well.

(He enters the ruins, and a flash of fire attends his steps.
Arnaud.
(who was advancing, runs back in extreme terror with a loud cry.)

Ah! Mercy upon me! I'm singed!

Bertram.
(turning hastily round.)

That fool here?

Arnaud.
(with his hands over his eyes.)

Fire! Murder! Oh!

Bertram.

What now, idiot minstrel?

Arnaud.
(falling on his knees.)

Don't roast me alive! spare
me for my wife's sake.

Bertram.

Has a passing lightning-flash scared away thy
wits?

Arnaud.

Lightning out of the earth?

Bertram.

So it seemed to thee. Chase away thy foolish
terror. Thou art the Norman peasant I saw this morning?

Arnaud.

Ay, when Duke Robert purposed to hang me on
the nearest tree; but he didn't though.

Bertram.

Just like him; he never carries through his good
intentions.

Arnaud.

Good intentions!

Bertram.

What brings thee to this unfrequented spot?

Arnaud.

My future wife, who appointed me to meet her
here; we are to be married to-day. Sweet Alice! To be sure,
as far as fortune goes, she's worth nothing—and I'm worth just
as much—but it can't be helped. If it weren't for that we
should be the most enviable couple ever yet coupled.

Bertram.

Is it so? Well then, there—take that dross.

(tossing him a purse.
Arnaud.
(with wonder and rapture.)

Eh! dross? (opening the purse.)

By the faith of a Norman, it's true, pure, sensible
gold! (rubbing his eyes.)
Am I asleep, or am I awake? No
matter; I'm perfectly satisfied either way.

Bertram.
(aside, eying him with contempt.)

And that's what
creature man calls happiness! why then, I too, can make man
happy at my will.

Arnaud.
(aside.)

What a good soul! How wrong it is to
take people by their outside.

Bertram.
(aside.)

Weak humanity! Easily won, and scarce
worth the winning. (to Arnaud.)
And so, boy, thou art going
to marry?

Arnaud.

Yes, please your super-excellent excellence.

Bertram.

What folly!

Arnaud.

What folly? Come, I don't think it's any folly at
all. My Alice is a rare tit-bit for anybody; and she's not only
fair, but she's right sensible—witness her choosing me for a
husband in preference to all Normandy. That shews her no
fool.

Bertram.

But it shews thee a fool to let thyself be chosen.
Thou art an exceedingly proper, wellshaped and attractive
youth; and were I in thy place, I would choose wheresoever I
listed.

Arnaud.

You would choose?

Bertram.

I tell thee I would choose.

Arnaud.

But what would you choose?

Bertram.

What pleased me most

Arnaud.

Well, I've done so exactly.

Bertram.

Tush! I would fly at higher game than thy
buzzard-eye has fastened on. Thou art now rich, and I would
lay my signiory to a beggar's wallet that the fairest of Palermo's
dames would wrangle for thy love.

Arnaud.

Now do you really think so?

Bertram.

I feel assured of it.

Arnaud.

Well, now, to be sure—such a great man as you
ought to know better than a little man like me. (aside.)
I like
him more and more every minute.

Bertram.

Take my word for it, happiness consists in
variety.

Arnaud.

And to be happy is just what I want.

Bertram.

Then be bold and ape thy betters. Be reckless,
capricious, heartless, and fashionable! Follow my advice, and—
(pointedly.)
we may become better acquainted.

Arnaud.
(bowing very deferentially.)

I desire the honour
with all my heart. Then it seems, according to your agreeable
advice, I may just indulge myself as I please?

Bertram.

Surely thou may'st. What men foolishly call
sin— contemptuously shrugging up his shoulders.)
is pleasure;
and when we are no longer able to sin, then comes the proper
time for repentance.

Arnaud.

I like your doctrine of all things! The devil fetch
me if I don't! I'll go and preach it to all my companions, and,
as a first step, (chinking the purse.)
I'll treat 'em all to drink.

Bertram.
(laughing.)

To drink! capital! 'Tis the best first
step I could counsel thee! it leads to all else. Ha, ha, ha!
excellent.

(he retires up towards the ruins, and seems to listen down the vaults.)
Arnaud.

I never met with a more delightful gentleman in
all my life. And what a musical laugh he has! I sincerely
hope we shall become better acquainted; for I like his sayings,
and (ringing the purse.)
I like his doings most particularly. (approaching Bertram with great respect.)

With grateful thanks
for your kind interest, I take my leave.

Bertram.

I do take an interest in thee, and thou shalt
find so.

DUET.—Bertram and Arnaud.
Bertram.
Remember well what I have told thee!

Arnaud.
You may depend I'll not forget.

Bertram.
Sin is but pleasure.

Arnaud.
“Sin is but pleasure;”
All you have told me
In mind I'll treasure.

Bertram.
Never think; but drive care away;
Gamble and drink; love and be gay;
Dream but of joy; heed not to pray.

Arnaud.
You'd have me then—

Bertram.
Do as I say.
Be with the world as gay as they;
Run thee in debt; nor care to pay;
If money run short, then run away.

Arnaud.
That's the best way?

Bertram.
That's the best way.

Arnaud.
(pondering.)
Well now, I protest,
It must be confest,
There's nothing, I'm sure,
Half so pleasant in life
As to do just the thing you like best.

Bertram.
The doctrine is pure.

Arnaud.
Pleasure complete!

Bertram.
Nothing so sweet.

Arnaud.
To laugh and play,
Secure from strife,
Enjoying one's life
Both night and day!

Bertram.
(aside.)
Poor simple fool,
He's easily caught;
He'll honour the school
At which he's been taught.

Arnaud.
(as before.)
There's nothing, I'm sure
Half so pleasant in life, &c.

Arnaud & Bertram.
To laugh and play, &c.

Exit Arnaud, joyfully, R.
Bertram.

Another soul gained! Ha, ha, ha! a mighty
conquest truly! But I laugh at his coming misery, forgetful of
my own approaching trial. Hell's mighty conclave, presided
by its sovereign, is within these caverns met, and I must haste
to join it. This moment will determine all, and turn uncertainty
to sureness. Yes!

RECITATIVE.—Bertram.
Now the hour is arriv'd! Robert's fate is decided!
He must be mine and mine alone.
Yes, the truth to his own ear must this day be confided,
And, even now, like his, my own fate must be known.
(approaching the ruins.
Ruler of the fallen host! Thy will's obey'd. I tremble!
He is there, and I'm call'd! Yes, the loud bursts I hear
Of their wild hellish rapture! Often thus they assemble
Upon this earthy ball, shaking mortals with fear!

INFERNAL WALTZ.
(chorus and dance of Invisible Demons within the vaults.)
Black Demons attending,
In circle dance round;
Beneath us earth bending,
As joyful, we bound.

AIR.—Bertram.
Oh, my son—now's the hour!
For thee, long lov'd so well,
I've defy'd holy pow'r,
And would defy e'en hell!

Demons.
(within.)
Prince of darkness, we adore thee!
All of evil bends before thee.

Exit Bertram into the ruins, L. U. E. and three flashes of fire ascend from the entrance.
The previous darkness gradually clears away, and Alice is seen slowly and carefully coming down the slope of a hill at the back, during the soft symphony following Bertram's disappearance.
RECITATIVE.—Alice.
(calling once or twice as she descends.)
Alice.
AIR.

Dear, dear! where can the man be? To find myself by myself,
in such a wild place is more than I bargained for; I've
been all of a tremble for the last half hour! But near this
symbol of peace, (kneeling reverently on the step of the cross.)
my
heart feels quieter; I feel very weary though— (sitting on the circular stone.)

ay, and very vexed. A lover, and treat me so?
What am I to expect when he becomes my husband? Heigho!
I wonder when that happy moment is to arive.

(the daylight becomes suddenly obscured, and the fiendish strain is heard as before. Alice starts up, and looks with extreme terror towards the ruins.)
RECITATIVE.—Alice.
Preserve me, Heav'n! Those sounds my heart appal!
No help, no protector is near;
Let me fly!

Demons.
(within the ruins.)
Robert, Robert, bring here!

Alice.
Some name they fiercely call.

Demons.
Robert, thy son, bring here!

Alice.
Ha! Robert's name loud they sound!
Some fearful danger his steps may surround!
The darkness that pervades the vault
My approach perhaps may hide.
(she advances towards the cavern-mouth, when a flame of fire flashes up before her. She flies back, hiding her face in terror.)
Horrid spot! Red fire flashes from the ground!
Yet I'll on.
(dropping on her knees.
To Thee I pray! Be thou my guide!
Thou who a feeble child—yea, e'en a timid maid
Ere now hast call'd, 'tis said,
To do thy high command,
Stretch forth thy guardian hand!

(rising, she advances to the subterranean entrance, L. U. E. and, looking down the steps of the vaults, appears anxiously to listen. Suddenly she utters a loud shriek, and staggering faintly towards the cross, sinks upon the steps around it.
Re-enter Bertram, L., with a haggard and agitated look.
Bertram.

The decree is pronounced! fatal and irrevocable!
Fearful sentence! Robert must be lost to me for ever, unless,
of his own free will, he yield himself mine this very night, before
midnight!

Alice.
(recovering herself with effort.)

To-night! Before
midnight! Horrible!

Bertram.

Ha! some one spoke. What daring mortal—
(aside.)
'Tis the peasant's bride! What has she heard? What
does she know? (shrinkingly.)
The sign of safety shields her—
but her agitation tells me all.

Alice.
(rising feebly to her feet.)

My strength fails me; I
cannot fly.

Bertram.
(with winning softness.)

What aileth thee, sweet
Alice?

Alice.
(aside.)

Horror! 'Tis the fiend!

Bertram.

Come hither, gentle maid! come nigh me.

Alice.
(recoiling.)

I cannot.

Bertram.

Tell me—what hast thou heard?

Alice.
(trembling.)

Heard? nothing—nothing.

Bertram.

Nay, then, what hast thou seen, child?

Alice.

Nothing.

Bertram.
(exulting, aside.)

Her excessive fear will engender
lies, and make her my prey.

Alice.
(aside.)

His voice thrills me with horror! I faint!

Bertram.
(making a step towards her.)

Approach, and let
thy charms—

Alice.
(with sudden energy, flying up the steps to the wooden cross, and clinging to it.)

Avaunt! Begone, foul fiend!

RECITATIVE DIALOGUE
Bertram.
(with a fierce burst of rage.)
Ha! thou know'st me, 'tis clear!
With bold and fearless eye,
Into that which may destroy thee
Thou hast ventured to pry.
But, (e'en when none are nigh thee)
Should'st name what thou'st seen here,
Thou shalt die that same hour.

Alice.
(boldly.)
Thy darkest evil do,
O'er me thou hast no pow'r;
(unconsciously advancing towards him, and with great force:
I hate, and I defy thee!

Bertram.
(suddenly getting between her and the cross.)
Thou shalt die—thou, thy lover too.

Alice.
(struck with fear.)
Alas!
Next, thy aged father! thy friends! thy all of kin!
(with a triumphant and ferocious smile.
Thou'st sought it all—the deed is thine;
We are now, both, partners joined in sin,
And from this time thou'rt wholly mine!
(Alice, who, breathless and crouching to the earth, has remained shrinking beneath the Fiend's denunciation, now screams in horror, and hiding her face in her hands, flies from him to the L. C.—Bertram looks off, R. H., and continues.
'Tis Robert! Remember, not a breath;
Be dumb, or else—thy doom is death.

Enter Robert, R. H., sad and pensive, and without noticing Bertram or Alice.
TRIO.
Bertram.
(aside.)
By heavy grief he seems opprest;
The snares I've laid he cannot fly;
But I must hide from every eye
The doubts and fears that fill my breast.

Robert.
(aside.)
By heavy grief my soul's opprest;
To find relief I fain would try;
But I must hide from ev'ry eye
The doubts and fears that fill my breast.

Alice.
(aside.)
By heavy grief he seems opprest;
To save him yet I fain would try;
But I must hide from ev'ry eye
The doubts and fears that fill my breast.

Exit Alice, L.
Robert.

Bertram, we are alone; give me counsel to quiet
my despair! I am lost—dishonoured!—Baffled and overreached
by a detested rival—my steps lured after a vain phantom—I
have be wandering in a wilderness while the accursed Prince of
Grenada, conqueror at the tournay, has won my Isabel, and
this very midnight, in Palermo's Cathedral, receives her hand.
My only hope is in thee! Thou has sworn never to forsake me.

Bertram.

And nought but hell's strongest power shall
make me forsworn. Hark to me, Robert—thou hast fallen
into a dark snare, and hast been the victim of foul magic arts.

Robert.

Ha!

Bertram.

By unholy means hath thy rival detroyed thy
projects. He thereunto employed the resistless charms and
potent spells of infernal spirits.

Robert.

What then, is to be done?

Bertram.

Foil him with his own evil weapons. Imitate,
and crush him.

Robert.

But the means? Be there secrets of power to
conjure up invisible spirits?

Bertram.

Ay! from the viewless air—from the fathomless
sea—from the bowels of the earth—and from the regions of
everlasting fire.

Robert.

Dost know those secrets? answer.

Bertram.

I do know them.

Robert.

Ha! how comest thou by the unhallowed knowledge?
Speak! who art thou, Bertram? Silent!

Bertram.

Thou shalt know me in good time. Till then,
look on me as thy best friend, and trust me. These mysteries,
all-terrible as they are, yet are nothing to the man who has a
daring and determined heart. Hast thou such a one?

Robert.
(indignantly.)

Bertram!

Bertram.

Frown not—I believe in thy valour. Now,
answer me! What wouldst thou peril to possess a talisman of
such miraculous power that it bestows on its owner—wealth
and immortality, and the instant gratification of his every
wish.

Robert.

I would risk my life to obtain it. Be there such a
charm?

Bertram.

Ay! a simple branch of cypress is the awful and
all-powerful spell.

Robert.

Where is it to be sought—and when?

Bertram.

The most propitious moment is close at hand; for
the day is fading rapidly, and the full moon will soon gain
mastery of light.

Robert.

But where lies it?

Bertram.

On an ancient tomb.

Robert.
(impatiently.)

But where? in what secret spot?

Bertram.

Mark me, and heed well my words!

RECITATIVE DIALOGUE.
[Bertram]
(mysteriously.)
Thou'st heard, no doubt, of the old abbey ruins,
Abandon'd long ago to the dark pow'rs of gloom?

Robert.
I have.

Bertram.
In the centre aisle
Of the pile
All lonely stands the tomb
Of Rosalie the blest.

Robert.
Alas, with pain thou wring'st my breast!
As her's, the same
Was my lov'd mother's name.

Bertram.
O'er that tomb waves the spell,
Distinct in darkest night
With green and paley light,
The branch of magic might,
Whose power awes the fiends of hell.

Robert.
(anxiously.)
Proceed!

Bertram.
(with solemn and emphatic earnestness.)
When midnight strikes,
Just then, at that silent dark hour of dread,
With hushed and cautious tread
Must the mortal approach where are lying the dead.

Robert.
(excitedly.)
What more? say on, say on!

Bertram.
(impressively.)
Nor word, nor sound
Must breathe around,
Or the charm is gone!
The phantom shapes seen nigh,
As they glide, or flit by,
Must, unquestion'd, pass on.
With doleful wail
Dark pow'rs guard the prize;
Should the mortal's courage fail,
That very instant he dies!
Now, Robert, from off the tomb to bear
That branch of magic might,
Wilt thou dare, boldly dare
Enter alone—alone at dead of night?

Robert.
Dare?

DUET.—Robert and Bertram.
[Robert]
Dost ask if I dare?
(proudly.)
The warriors of my native land,
Still brave and bold, no fear appals.
Guided on by valour's hand
I go where danger calls.

Bertram,
The warriors of thy native land,
By all 'tis known, no fear appals;
Guided on by valour's hand
Then go where danger calls.

Robert.
From off the sacred tomb the holy branch I'll tear,
And it shall be for me a proud triumphant palm.

Bertram
But horrors all unearthly thy boldness yet may calm?

Robert.
No! no horrors my steps shall scare;
Tho' hell oppos'd I still would dare!

Bertram.
(aside, darkly.)
Before thyself will I be there.

Together.
The warriors of my/thy native land, &c., &c.

Exit Robert, R. and Bertram into the ruins.

SCENE II.

—The Outward Court of the Palace.
Arnaud.
(outside, singing the burthen of his duet with Bertram.)

La-lal la-ra-la!-la-dal-diddle-dee!

Enter Arnaud, jovially drunk, L.
Arnaud.

I declare I feel—ha! ha! ha!—I feel, for all the
world as if I was somebody else ever since I met with that
merry, agreeable, ill-looking, handsome gentleman, who gave
me this handsome purse. He was an excellent fellow; and my
companions at the tavern—whom I've made very completely
drunk—are all excellent fellows; and I—who was almost in
danger of getting pretty completely drunk, too—I'm an excellent
fellow myself. And then there's Alice, she's an excellent
fellow, too; and—and—Well, now, I never thought of that!
I wonder what's become of Alice? Though I'm so greatly
superior to her, and worthy—as the worthy gentleman said—
of being pulled to pieces by the finest ladies of Palermo, I'm
not so hard-hearted, neither, as to wish to part with little Alice
altogether. Why didn't she come to the appointment? (stopping short, and seeming to cogitate.)

Well, now, it's very odd,
but I can't get that stranger, and his words, and his lively ha,
ha, ha! out of my head, do what I will. How taken he seemed
with me!—and how sensibly he spoke! Every word he uttered
is fixed here in my head.

Enter Alice at the back, L. D.
Alice.

How can I save Duke Robert? There is but one
hope; I must seek the princess, instantly. (seeing Arnaud.)

Can it be?—is not that Arnaud? He seems deep in thought.

Arnaud.

“Thou art an exceeding proper, well-shaped, and
attractive youth, and were I in thy place, I'd marry every one
I liked.” That's the first thing he said that particularly struck
me.

Alice.
(aside.)

'Tis he, indeed.

Arnaud.

“Thou art a fool—”

Alice.
(aside.)

He is muttering to himself.

Arnaud.

“To let thyself be chosen.” That, to be sure,
wasn't very civil in a stranger, especially at a first introduction;
but, however—

Alice.
(advancing to him.)

Arnaud!

Arnaud.

Eh—what, Alice? Dear me, art thou there,
Alice? Bless my heart, how d'ye do, Alice?

Alice.

Art not ashamed of thy conduct? Didst not promise
to meet me an hour ago? Thou art a scandal to the name
of lover.

Arnaud.

Hoity-toity! here's a loving beginning!

Alice.

Dost thou not blush I, say?

Arnaud.

Blush!—no one ever saw me blush yet. Blush,
indeed!—why should I blush? (assuming a consequential air.)

“I'm an exceeding proper, well-shaped, and attractive youth!
and the best of Palermo's dames would pull caps for my love.”

Alice.

Goodness protect me! what nonsense is he uttering?
Why, Arnaud, thou hast been drinking?

Arnaud.

Drinking? To be sure I've been drinking. “It's
the first step I counsel thee—it leads to all else—ha, ha, ha!”

(imitating the Demon's laugh.
Alice.

Wilt thou deny thou art a vile wretch?

Arnaud.
(not attending to her.)

I'm to deny myself nothing
I can obtain.

Alice.
(angrily.)

Thou art a false, ungrateful brute.

Arnaud.

Just so; I'm to “ape my betters and be fashionable.”

Alice.

'Tis well; but thou shalt yet pay for this.

Arnaud.

“Care not to pay; and if money runs short, then
—run away.”

Alice.
(bursting into tears.)

Alas! every sorrow besets me
at once.

Arnaud.

Why, Alice! (aside.)
How I've improved already
in my power over her! I never made her cry before. Come,
never mind, Alice; I know you've got a lucky bargain in me,
but I won't desert you. Come, give me a kiss.

Alice.

Away from me! (crossing to R.)
Thou art suddenly
and sadly changed. It were a sin to have more to do with thee.

Arnaud.

A sin? Pooh! (snapping his fingers.)
I know
better. (imitating Bertram.)
“What man foolishly calls sin—
(shrugging up his shoulders.)
is pleasure; and when we're no
longer able to sin, then comes the proper time for repentance.”

Alice.
(shocked.)

What horrible words are those? Arnaud,
where hast thou imbibed such fearful doctrine?

Arnaud.

I've imbibed nothing but two bottles of wine;
and, as to the rest, he said—“Thou art an exceeding attractive
youth.”

Alice.

Of whom dost thou speak?

Arnaud.

Why, of myself, to be sure, those were his iden—
titi—tickle words; “and then,” says he—

Alice.
(with impatience.)

Who?—who said?

Arnaud.

Who? A most fascinating, though rather strange
kind of a personage whom I met at the Rocks of St Irene.

Alice.
(hastily, and with alarm.)

At the Rocks of St. Irene?
Can it be? Speak!—what was his look?

Arnaud.

His look? Nay his look was at first anything but
charming; but he improved amazingly on acquaintance; and
when he gave me this purse, I thought him a most fascinating
gentleman.

Alice.
(drawing back.)

That purse! Oh, my fears!

Arnaud.

This full purse; that's to say, it was full then, but
twelve bottles have jumped out of it since, so it's no wonder it
looks rather thin. It rings sweetly yet, though.

Alice.
(with continued agitation.)

Describe him to me, if
thou hop'st for happiness!

Arnaud.

Bless me, Alice, what's the matter with you? You
quite disturb my equanini—nimity.

Alice.

Delay not, I charge thee, but tell me instantly what
I dread to find true. Speak—was not his look hideous, and
his voice unearthly?

Arnaud.

Well, rather so, I confess; but he said—“Thou
art an exceedingly attractive—”

Alice.
(with vexation, interrupting him.)

He wore a scarlet
mantle, and his matted locks uncovered?

Arnaud.

The same; did you meet him, too?

Alice.
(clasping her hands.)

'Tis he—'tis he! Terrible
being!

Arnaud.
(becoming alarmed.)

Hey!—terrible! What's that
you say?

Alice.

Thou took'st that dreadful purse from his hands?

Arnaud.

I did; why is it a dreadful purse?

Alice.

Miserable Arnaud!—thou art lost!

Arnaud.
(trembling.)

Am I? Who has lost me?

Alice.

Well may'st thou look alarmed; for, hear that he
who sought to seduce thee to thy ruin—

Arnaud.

My what!

Alice.

That fearful being was—

Arnaud.
(in an agony of fear.)

Who?—what?

Alice.

I fear to name him.

Arnaud.

Oh, la!—what was he?

Alice.

A fiend!—a demon!

Arnaud.

Ah!

Alice.

That purse holds the wages of hell.

Arnaud.
(hastily dropping the purse in extreme terror.)

Hah!

Alice.

Pray to thy good angel, and repent!

Arnaud.
(falling on his knees.)

I do repent. Unfortunate
wretch that I am!—why should the Devil take a fancy to me?
Do you pray for me, too, Alice! Make haste, make haste, and
pray for me as fast as ever you can!

Alice.

I see thy fear is real, for it hath sobered thee.

Arnaud.

The Devil has gone out of me, and taken his wine
along with him. (rising.)

Alice.

His power, I trust, is over.

Arnaud.

Oh! how much lighter I feel since I've thrown
away my purse!—just as if I had got rid of something that
didn't agree with me.

Alice.

How fortunate this timely explanation!

Arnaud.

I thought he was a devilish queer-looking chap, as
well as his companion, who kicked up fire with his heels. “Oh,
it's only lightning,” says the fiend; infernal cheat!

Alice.

Be grateful for thy escape; and now let us hence,
for I must seek the Princess.

Arnaud.

Ay, and I'll stick close to you. From this minute
I'll speak to nobody else—I'll accept no more purses—I'll—
(stopping.)
Alice, don't you think it would be a pity for any
one coming-by to run the danger of picking up that hellish
purse? Were it not better, as I'm already used to it, to keep
it till the priest says an “exorciso te” over it?

Alice.

I charge thee, as thou dost care for me, Arnaud,
possess not thyself again of that unhallowed purse!

Arnaud.

I won't, I won't. Suppose I leave the purse, Alice,
is there any harm in taking the money? It seems very honest
and virtuous money, and I assure you it passed quite current
at the vintner's.

Alice.

Thou must not think of it. Take it up and throw it
into the moat as we cross the draw-bridge.

Arnaud.

So I will; and if the devil likes to jump after it, I
hope he'll stick in the muddy bottom till I help him out. Come
along, Alice.

Exeunt, R.
(the clouds of night darken the scene; the light totally disappears; and when the clouds disperse, they discover—

SCENE III

—The Abbey-Ruins, shewing the principal aisle of the Cloister. Through the openings of the arches is perceived a court filled with tombstones, some of them covered with moss and ivy; and beyond, are other galleries in lengthened perspective. On L. stands a row of monumental statues, raised on high pedestals. Upon the ground-tombs are discerned, the recumbent stone figures of the deceased Nuns; and in the centre, embedded in one of the middle arches, is prominently seen the tomb of St. Rosalie, the Foundress of the Abbey. Her statue cut in white marble, and covered with a religious habit, holds a branch of cypress. At the back is seen a large gate, with a staircase leading to the convent vaults. Lamps of rusted iron still hang from the vaulted roof, and everything betokens that the spot has long been deserted. The stars are seen in the sky, and the ruins receive no other light than what is thrown by the rays of the moon, which fall so brightly on the pavement as to show the moving shadow of any figure that passes.
Enter Bertram by the gate, C.; he advances slowly, gazing on the objects around him. The birds of night, disturbed in their solitary haunt by the unusual noise, take wing.
RECITATIVE.—Bertram.
EVOCATION.

(flitting wild fires, of a bluish hue, appear quivering along the galleries, play over the different tombs, and finally extinguish their light over the Nuns' figures as well as over the gravestones in the court, when the statues, forming the row, L., noiselessly slide down to the ground, and the monumental figures on the flat tombstones slowly arise till they stand erect, and then descend without any effort of volition. A group of Nuns in white shrouds appear upon the gateway staircase, and seem to glide along. Another group advance in procession, with the same gliding motion, from the court; and finally they appear gathering and approaching on every side. No movement of the body yet betrays their revival. They all silently gather around Bertram. Presently, their eyes

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39

open, and they begin to move by degrees; and the restoration of life seems complete, but still attended by the pallidness of death. The iron lamps light of themselves, and darkness ceases.
Bertram.

Daughters once of heaven, now of hell—workers
of evil, my voice hath for one hour recalled you to your former
selves, to do my bidding. Listen to my command! The steps
of a valiant knight, whom I protect and love, now approach
these ruins; he comes to pluck yonder green branch; but, if his
hand should falter, be it your task to win him to the deed!
Tempt him, force him to accomplish his promised daring, nor
let him suspect the fate that awaits his rashness. Ye have
heard; tremble to disobey!

Exit, C.
(the Nuns give token of implicit obedience. Soon the instinct of their former passions glows in their reanimated forms. They recognize each other and express their joy; Helena, their superior, incites them by her example; they throw off their shrouds, and join in frenzied dance. Some of them draw forth from the tombs the former objects of their profane predilection, amphorœ, cups, diceboxes, &c. Others present offerings to a hideous idol. In the midst of their impious orgies, they hear the approaching steps of Robert; they suddenly suspend their pursuits, and hide themselves behind the pillars and tombs. The lamps go out, and the scene resumes its previous appearance.
Enter Robert through the Abbey-gate, C., with awe and hesitation.
RECITATIVE.—Robert.
I've reach'd at last
The spot where the Dead, silent, sleep.
Let me on; Thro' my veins, fast,
Chilling horrors creep!
These cloisters—dismal tombs,
That tell of crime and woe,
My courage nigh o'erthrow!
'Neath the moon's silvery ray,
Shines the branch—(with its green paley light,
Its leaves o'er the tomb brightly bending—)
Which, gain'd, shall my daring repay
With wealth unending,
And ever-new delight.
Why feel I fear so base?
(he advances to the statue of St. Rosalie, and instantly starts back, struck with sudden terror.)
Ah me! Yon marble statue,
Like my dead mother's face,
Frowns with reproachful eye;
My heart recoils!
With fear and shame I fly!

(as he seeks to retreat, the scene lights up again, and he finds himself surrounded by all the phantom Nuns. They eagerly allure him by divers temptations—they present him with wine, drinking it themselves with avidity; lead him to the implements of play, scattered o'er a tombstone, displaying to him gold and caskets of jewels. After a momentary yielding, he breaks away in disgust. But he at last succumbs to the fascinating wiles of Helena, who leads him captive towards the magic cypress branch. While she indicates it to him with her finger, he snatches a kiss from her lips, and in the intoxication of his passion, seizes on the talisman. All at once, the discordant laughter of Invisible Fiends, rings loudly through the vaults, accompanied by the rattling of chains, and unearthly noises. The Spirit-Nuns form a frantic Bacchanalian chain round Robert, who forces his way through them with the power of the magic branch. Demons with blazing torches now join in the dance, while others traverse the air. By degrees, the temporary life that animated the revived Nuns expires; and, becoming more and more languid, they fall lifeless near their respective tombs; when a Demon, appearing from the inside of each sepulchure, seizes anew upon his victim, while the following chorus is yelled around—

The prey is ours!
Infernal pow'rs,
Spirits of ill,
We triumph still!