 | Basil |  |
SCENE I.
An open street, or square.Enter Rosinberg and Frederic, by opposite sides of the stage.
Fred.
So Basil, from the pressing calls of war,
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How is it now? methinks thou art not pleas'd.
Ros.
It matters little if I am or not.
Fred.
Now pray thee do confess thou art asham'd:
Thou, who art wisely wont to set at naught
The noble fire of individual courage,
And call calm prudence the superior virtue,
What sayst thou now, my candid Rosinberg,
When thy great captain, in a time like this,
Denies his weary troops one day of rest
Before the exertions of approaching battle,
Yet grants it to a pretty lady's suit?
Ros.
Who told thee this? it was no friendly tale;
And no one else, besides a trusty friend,
Could know his motives. Then thou wrongst me too;
For I admire, as much as thou dost, Fred'ric,
The fire of valour, e'en rash heedless valour;
But not, like thee, do I depreciate
That far superior, yea that god-like talent,
Which doth direct that fire, because indeed
It is a talent nature has denied me.
Fred.
Well, well, and greatly he may boast his virtue,
Who risks perhaps th' imperial army's fate,
To please a lady's freaks—
Ros.
Go, go, thou'rt prejudic'd:
A passion which I do not choose to name
Has warp'd thy judgment.
Fred.
No, by heav'n, thou wrongst me!
I do, with most enthusiastic warmth,
True valour love: wherever he is found,
I love the hero too; but hate to see
The praises due to him so cheaply earn'd.
Ros.
Then mayst thou now these gen'rous feelings prove.
Behold that man, whose short and grizzly hair
In clust'ring locks his dark brown face o'ershades;
Where now the scars of former sabre wounds,
In hon'rable companionship are seen
With the deep lines of age; whose piercing eye
Beneath its shading eye-brow keenly darts
Its yet unquenched beams, as tho' in age
Its youthful fire had been again renew'd,
To be the guardian of its darken'd mate.
See with what vig'rous steps his upright form
He onward bears; nay, e'en that vacant sleeve,
Which droops so sadly by his better side,
Suits not ungracefully the vet'ran's mien.
This is the man, whose glorious acts in battle,
We heard to-day related o'er our wine.
I go to tell the gen'ral he is come:
Enjoy the gen'rous feelings of thy breast,
And make an old man happy.
[Exit.
Enter Geoffry.
Fred.
Brave soldier, let me profit by the chance
That led me here; I've heard of thy exploits.
Geof.
Ah! then you have but heard an ancient tale.
Which has been long forgotten.
Fred.
But it is true, and should not be forgotten;
Though gen'rals, jealous of their soldiers' fame,
May dash it with neglect.
Geof.
There are, perhaps, who may be so ungen'rous.
Fred.
Perhaps, sayst thou? in very truth there are.
How art thou else rewarded with neglect,
Whilst many a paltry fellow in thy corps
Has been promoted? It is ever thus.
Serv'd not Mardini in your company?
He was, though honour'd with a valiant name,
To those who knew him well, a paltry soldier.
Geof.
Your pardon, sir, we did esteem him much,
Although inferior to his gallant friend,
The brave Sebastian.
Fred.
The brave Sebastian!
He was, as I am told, a learned coxcomb,
And lov'd a goose-quill better than a sword.
What, dost thou call him brave?
Thou, who dost bear about that war-worn trunk,
Like an old target, hack'd and rough with wounds,
Whilst, after all his mighty battles, he
Was with a smooth skin in his coffin laid,
Unblemish'd with a scar.
Geof.
His duty call'd not to such desp'rate service.
For I have fought where few alive remain'd,
And none unscath'd; where but a few remain'd,
Thus marr'd and mangled; (showing his wounds)
As belike you've seen,
O' summer nights, around the evening lamp,
Some wretched moths, wingless, and half consum'd,
Just feebly crawling o'er their heaps of dead.—
In Savoy, on a small, though desp'rate post,
Of full three hundred goodly chosen men,
But twelve were left, and right dear friends were we
For ever after. They are all dead now:
I'm old and lonely.—We were valiant hearts—
Fred'ric Dewalter would have stopp'd a breach
Against the devil himself. I'm lonely now!
Fred.
I'm sorry for thee. Hang ungrateful chiefs!
Why wert thou not promoted?
Geof.
After that battle, where my happy fate
Had led me to fulfil a glorious part,
Chaf'd with the gibing insults of a slave,
The worthless fav'rite of a great man's fav'rite,
I rashly did affront; our cautious prince,
With narrow policy dependant made,
Dar'd not, as I am told, promote me then,
And now he is asham'd, or has forgot it.
Fred.
Fye, fye upon it! let him be asham'd!
Here is a trifle for thee—
(offering him money.)
Geof.
No, good sir,
I have enough to live as poor men do.
When I'm in want I'll thankfully receive,
Because I'm poor, but not because I'm brave.
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You're proud, old soldier.
Geof.
No, I am not proud;
For if I were, methinks I'd be morose,
And willing to depreciate other men.
Enter Rosinberg.
Ros.
(clapping Geof. on the shoulder).
How goes it with thee now, my good fieldmarshal?
Geof.
The better that I see your honour well,
And in the humour to be merry with me.
Ros.
Faith, by my sword, I've rightly nam'd thee too:
What is a good field-marshal, but a man,
Whose gen'rous courage and undaunted mind,
Doth marshal others on in glory's way?
Thou art not one by princely favour dubb'd,
But one of nature's making.
Geof.
You show, my lord, such pleasant courtesy,
I know not how—
Ros.
But see, the gen'ral comes.
Enter Basil.
Ros.
(pointing to Geoffry).
Behold the worthy vet'ran.
Bas.
(taking him by the hand).
Brave honourable man, your worth I know,
And greet it with a brother soldier's love.
Geof.
(taking away his hand in confusion).
My gen'ral, this is too much, too much honour.
Bas.
(taking his hand again).
No, valiant soldier, I must have it so.
Geof.
My humble state agrees not with such honour.
Bas.
Think not of it, thy state is not thyself.
Let mean souls, highly rank'd, look down on thee,
As the poor dwarf, perch'd on a pedestal,
O'erlooks the gaint: 'tis not worth a thought.
Art thou not Geoffry of the tenth brigade,
Whose warlike feats child, maid, and matron know,
And oft, cross-elbow'd, o'er his nightly bowl,
The jolly toper to his comrade tells;
Whose glorious feats of war, by cottage door,
The ancient soldier, tracing in the sand
The many movements of the varied field,
In warlike terms to list'ning swains relates;
Whose bosoms glowing at the wondrous tale,
First learn to scorn the hind's inglorious life?
Shame seize me, if I would not rather be
The man thou art, than court-created chief,
Known only by the dates of his promotion.
Geof.
Ah! would I were, would I were young again,
To fight beneath your standard, noble gen'ral!
Methinks what I have done were but a jest,
Ay, but a jest to what I now should do,
Were I again the man that I have been.
O! I could fight!
Bas.
And wouldst thou fight for me?
Geof.
Ay, to the death!
Bas.
Then come, brave man, and be my champion still:
The sight of thee will fire my soldiers' breasts.
Come, noble vet'ran, thou shalt fight for me.
[Exit with Geoffry.
Fred.
What does he mean to do?
Ros.
We'll know ere long.
Fred.
Our gen'ral bears it with a careless face,
For one so wise.
Ros.
A careless face! on what?
Fred.
Now, feign not ignorance, we know it all.
News which have spread in whispers from the court,
Since last night's messenger arriv'd from Milan.
Ros.
As I'm an honest man, I know it not!
Fred.
'Tis said the rival armies are so near,
A battle must immediately ensue.
Ros.
It cannot be. Our gen'ral knows it not.
The Duke is of our side a sworn ally,
And had such messenger to Mantua come,
He would have been appriz'd upon the instant.
It cannot be; it is some idle tale.
Fred.
So may it prove till we have joined them too,
Then heaven grant they may be nearer still!
For O! my soul for war and danger pants,
As doth the noble lion for his prey.
My soul delights in battle.
Ros.
Upon my simple word, I'd rather see
A score of friendly fellows shaking hands,
Than all the world in arms. Hast thou no fear?
Fred.
What dost thou mean?
Ros.
Hast thou no fear of death?
Fred.
Fear is a name for something in the mind,
But what, from inward sense, I cannot tell.
I could as little anxious march to battle,
As when a boy to childish games I ran.
Ros.
Then as much virtue hast thou in thy valour
As when a child thou hadst in childish play.
The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational;
But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
As for your youth, whom blood and blows delight,
Away with them! there is not in the crew
One valiant spirit — Ha! what sound is this?
[Shouting is heard without.
Fred.
The soldiers shout; I'll run and learn the cause.
Ros.
But tell me first, how didst thou like the vet'ran?
Fred.
He is too proud; he was displeas'd with me
Because I offer'd him a little sum.
Ros.
What money! O! most gen'rous noble spirit!
Noble rewarder of superior worth!
A halfpenny for Belisarius!
But hark! they shout again — here comes Valtomer.
[Shouting heard without.
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What does this shouting mean?
Valt.
O! I have seen a sight, a glorious sight!
Thou wouldst have smil'd to see it.
Ros.
How smile? methinks thine eyes are wet with tears.
Valt.
(passing the back of his hands across his eyes).
'Faith so they are; well, well, but I smil'd too.
You heard the shouting.
Ros. and Fred.
Yes.
Valt.
O had you seen it!
Drawn out in goodly ranks, there stood our troops;
Here, in the graceful state of manly youth,
His dark face brighten'd with a gen'rous smile,
Which to his eyes such flashing lustre gave,
As though his soul, like an unsheathed sword,
Had through them gleam'd, our noble gen'ral stood;
And to his soldiers, with heart-moving words,
The vet'ran showing, his brave deeds rehears'd;
Who by his side stood like a storm-scath'd oak,
Beneath the shelter of some noble tree,
In the green honours of its youthful prime.
Ros.
How look'd the veteran?
Valt.
I cannot tell thee!
At first he bore it up with cheerful looks,
As one who fain would wear his honours bravely,
And greet the soldiers with a comrade's face:
But when Count Basil, in such moving speech,
Told o'er his actions past, and bade his troops
Great deeds to emulate, his count'nance chang'd;
High-heav'd his manly breast, as it had been
By inward strong emotion half convuls'd;
Trembled his nether lip; he shed some tears.
The gen'ral paus'd, the soldiers shouted loud;
Then hastily he brush'd the drops away,
And wav'd his hand, and clear'd his tear-chok'd voice,
As though he would some grateful answer make;
When back with double force the whelming tide
Of passion came; high o'er his hoary head
His arm he toss'd, and heedless of respect,
In Basil's bosom hid his aged face,
Sobbing aloud. From the admiring ranks
A cry arose; still louder shouts resound.
I felt a sudden tightness grasp my throat
As it would strangle me; such as I felt,
I knew it well, some twenty years ago,
When my good father shed his blessing on me:
I hate to weep, and so I came away.
Ros.
(giving Valt. his hand).
And there, take thou my blessing for the tale.
Hark! how they shout again! 'tis nearer now.
This way they march.
[Martial music heard. Enter Soldiers marching in order, bearing Geoffry in triumph on their shoulders. After them enter Basil: the whole preceded by a band of music. They cross over the stage, are joined by Ros. &c., and Exeunt.
| Basil | |