 | Basil |  |
SCENE III.
An apartment in Basil's lodgings. Enter Basil and Rosinberg.Ros.
Thank heaven I am now alone with thee.
Last night I sought thee with an anxious mind,
And curs'd thine ill-tim'd absence. —
39
Against thee plotting, and this morning's tumult
Hath been its damn'd effect.
Bas.
Nay, nay, my friend!
The nature of man's mind too well thou knowst,
To judge as vulgar hoodwink'd statesmen do;
Who, ever with their own poor wiles misled,
Believe each popular tumult or commotion
Must be the work of deep-laid policy.
Poor, mean, mechanic souls, who little know
A few short words of energetic force,
Some powerful passion on the sudden rous'd,
The animating sight of something noble,
Some fond trait of the mem'ry finely wak'd,
A sound, a simple song without design,
In revolutions, tumults, wars, rebellions,
All grand events, have oft effected more
Than deepest cunning of their paltry art.
Some drunken soldier, eloquent with wine,
Who loves not fighting, hath harangu'd his mates,
For they in truth some hardships have endur'd:
Wherefore in this should we suspect the court?
Ros.
Ah! there is something, friend, in Mantua's court,
Will make the blackest trait of barefac'd treason
Seem fair and guiltless to thy partial eye.
Bas.
Nay, 'tis a weakness in thee, Rosinberg,
Which makes thy mind so jealous and distrustful.
Why should the duke be false?
Ros.
Because he is a double, crafty prince —
Because I've heard it rumour'd secretly,
That he in some dark treaty is engag'd,
E'en with our master's enemy the Frank.
Bas.
And so thou thinkst —
Ros.
Nay, hear me to the end.
Last night that good and honourable dame,
Noble Albini, with most friendly art,
From the gay clam'rous throng my steps beguil'd,
Unmask'd before me, and with earnest grace
Entreated me, if I were Basil's friend,
To tell him hidden danger waits him here,
And warn him earnestly this court to leave.
She said she lov'd thee much; and hadst thou seen
How anxiously she urg'd—
Bas.
(interrupting him).
By heav'n and earth,
There is a ray of light breaks through thy tale,
And I could leap like madmen in their freaks,
So blessed is the gleam! Ah! no, no, no!
It cannot be! alas, it cannot be!
Yet didst thou say she urg'd it earnestly?
She is a woman, who avoids all share
In secret politics; one only charge
Her int'rest claims, Victoria's guardian friend —
And she would have me hence — it must be so.
O! would it were! how saidst thou, gentle Rosinberg?
She urg'd it earnestly — how did she urge it?
Nay, pri'thee do not stare upon me thus,
But tell me all her words. What said she else?
Ros.
O Basil! I could laugh to see thy folly,
But that thy weakness doth provoke me so.
Most admirable, brave, determin'd man!
So well, so lately tried, what art thou now?
A vain deceitful thought transports thee thus.
Thinkst thou —
Bas.
I will not tell thee what I think.
Ros.
But I can guess it well, and it deceives thee.
Leave this detested place, this fatal court,
Where dark deceitful cunning plots thy ruin.
A soldier's duty calls thee loudly hence.
The time is critical. How wilt thou feel
When they shall tell these tidings in thine ear,
That brave Pescara and his royal troops,
Our valiant fellows, have the en'my fought,
Whilst we, so near at hand, lay loit'ring here?
Bas.
Thou dost disturb thy brain with fancied fears.
Our fortunes rest not on a point so nice,
That one short day should be of all this moment;
And yet this one short day will be to me
Worth years of other time.
Ros.
Nay, rather say,
A day to darken all thy days beside.
Confound the fatal beauty of that woman,
Which hath bewitch'd thee so!
Bas.
'Tis most ungen'rous
To push me thus with rough unsparing hand,
Where but the slightest touch is felt so dearly.
It is unfriendly.
Ros.
God knows my heart! I would not give thee pain;
But it disturbs me, Basil, vexes me,
To see thee so enthralled by a woman.
If she be fair, others are fair as she.
Some other face will like emotions raise,
When thou canst better play a lover's part:
But for the present, — fie upon it, Basil!
Bas.
What, is it possible thou hast beheld,
Hast tarried by her too, her converse shar'd,
Yet talkst as though she were a common fair one,
Such as a man may fancy and forget?
Thou art not, sure, so dull and brutish grown:
It is not so; thou dost belie thy thoughts,
And vainly try'st to gain me with the cheat.
Ros.
So thinks each lover of the maid he loves,
Yet, in their lives, some many maidens love.
Fie on it! leave this town, and be a soldier!
Bas.
Have done, have done! why dost thou bait me thus?
Thy words become disgusting to me, Rosinberg.
What claim hast thou my actions to control?
I'll Mantua leave when it is fit I should.
Ros.
Then, 'faith! 'tis fitting thou shouldst leave it now;
Ay, on the instant. Is't not desperation
To stay and hazard ruin on thy fame,
Though yet uncheer'd e'en by that tempting lure,
No lover breathes without? thou hast no hope.
Bas.
What, dost thou mean — curse on the paltry thought!
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Upon the chances of unstinted favour,
As little souls their base-bred fancies feed?
O! were I conscious that within her breast
I held some portion of her dear regard,
Though pent for life within a prison's walls,
Where through my grate I yet might sometimes see
E'en but her shadow sporting in the sun;
Though plac'd by fate where some obstructing bound,
Some deep impassable between us roll'd,
And I might yet from some high tow'ring cliff
Perceive her distant mansion from afar,
Or mark its blue smoke rising eve and morn;
Nay, though within the circle of the moon
Some spell did fix her, never to return,
And I might wander in the hours of night,
And upward turn my ever-gazing eye,
Fondly to mark upon its varied disk
Some little spot that might her dwelling be;
My fond, my fixed heart would still adore,
And own no other love. Away, away!
How canst thou say to one who loves like me,
Thou hast no hope?
Ros.
But with such hope, my friend, how stand thy fears?
Are they so well refin'd? how wilt thou bear
Ere long to hear, that some high-favour'd prince
Has won her heart, her hand, has married her?
Though now unshackled, will it always be?
Bas.
By heav'n thou dost contrive but to torment,
And hast a pleasure in the pain thou giv'st!
There is malignity in what thou sayst.
Ros.
No, not malignity, but kindness, Basil,
That fain would save thee from the yawning gulf,
To which blind passion guides thy heedless steps.
Bas.
Go, rather save thyself
From the weak passion which has seiz'd thy breast,
T' assume authority with sage-like brow,
And shape my actions by thine own caprice.
I can direct myself.
Ros.
Yes, do thyself,
And let no artful woman do it for thee.
Bas.
I scorn thy thought: it is beneath my scorn:
It is of meanness sprung — an artful woman!
O! she has all the loveliness of heav'n,
And all its goodness too!
Ros.
I mean not to impute dishonest arts,
I mean not to impute —
Bas.
No, 'faith, thou canst not.
Ros.
What, can I not? their arts all women have.
But now of this no more; it moves thee greatly.
Yet once again, as a most loving friend,
Let me conjure thee, if thou prizest honour,
A soldier's fair repute, a hero's fame,
What noble spirits love, and well I know
Full dearly dost thou prize them, leave this place,
And give thy soldiers orders for the march.
Bas.
Nay, since thou must assume it o'er me thus,
Be gen'ral, and command my soldiers too.
Ros.
What, hath this passion in so short a space,
O! curses on it! so far chang'd thee, Basil,
That thou dost take with such ungentle warmth,
The kindly freedom of thine ancient friend?
Methinks the beauty of a thousand maids
Would not have mov'd me thus to treat my friend,
My best, mine earliest friend!
Bas.
Say kinsman rather; chance has link'd us so:
Our blood is near, our hearts are sever'd far;
No act of choice did e'er unite our souls.
Men most unlike we are; our thoughts unlike;
My breast disowns thee — thou'rt no friend of mine.
Ros.
Ah! have I then so long, so dearly lov'd thee;
So often, with an elder brother's care,
Thy childish rambles tended, shar'd thy sports;
Fill'd up by stealth thy weary school-boy's task;
Taught thy young arms thine earliest feats of strength;
With boastful pride thine early rise beheld
In glory's paths, contented then to fill
A second place, so I might serve with thee;
And sayst thou now, I am no friend of thine?
Well, be it so; I am thy kinsman then,
And by that title will I save thy name
From danger of disgrace. Indulge thy will.
I'll lay me down and feign that I am sick:
And yet I shall not feign — I shall not feign;
For thy unkindness makes me so indeed.
It will be said that Basil tarried here
To save his friend, for so they'll call me still;
Nor will dishonour fall upon thy name
For such a kindly deed.—
[Basil walks up and down in great agitation, then stops, covers his face with his hands, and seems to be overcome. Rosinberg looks at him earnestly.
O! blessed heav'n, he weeps!
[Runs up to him, and catches him in his arms.
O Basil! I have been too hard upon thee.
And is it possible I've mov'd thee thus?
Bas.
(in a convulsed broken voice).
I will renounce — I'll leave —
Ros.
What says my Basil?
Bas.
I'll Mantua leave — I'll leave this seat of bliss —
This lovely woman — tear my heart in twain —
Cast off at once my little span of joy —
Be wretched — miserable — whate'er thou wilt —
Dost thou forgive me?
Ros.
O my friend! my friend!
I love thee now more than I ever lov'd thee.
I must be cruel to thee to be kind:
Each pang I see thee feel strikes through my heart;
Then spare us both, call up thy noble spirit,
And meet the blow at once. Thy troops are ready —
Let us depart, nor lose another hour.
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Bas.
Nay, put me not to death upon the instant;
I'll see her once again, and then depart.
Ros.
See her but once again, and thou art ruin'd!
It must not be — if thou regardest me —
Bas.
Well then, it shall not be. Thou hast no mercy!
Ros.
Ah! thou wilt bless me all thine after-life
For what now seems to thee so merciless.
Bas.
(sitting down very dejectedly).
Mine after-life! what is mine after-life?
My day is clos'd! the gloom of night is come!
A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate.
I've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes;
I've heard the last sounds of her blessed voice;
I've seen her fair form from my sight depart:
My doom is clos'd!
Ros.
(hanging over him with pity and affection).
Alas! my friend!
Bas.
In all her lovely grace she disappear'd,
Ah! little thought I never to return!
Ros.
Why so desponding? think of warlike glory.
The fields of fair renown are still before thee;
Who would not burn such noble fame to earn?
Bas.
What now are arms, or fair renown to me?
Strive for it those who will — and yet, a while,
Welcome rough war; with all thy scenes of blood;
[Starting from his seat.
Thy roaring thunders, and thy clashing steel!
Welcome once more! what have I now to do
But play the brave man o'er again, and die?
Enter Isabella.
Isab.
(to Bas.)
My princess bids me greet you, noble count —
Bas.
(starting).
What dost thou say?
Ros.
Damn this untimely message!
Isab.
The princess bids me greet you, noble count:
In the cool grove, hard by the southern gate,
She with her train —
Bas.
What, she indeed, herself?
Isab.
Herself, my lord, and she requests to see you.
Bas.
Thank heav'n for this! I will be there anon.
Ros.
(taking hold of him).
Stay, stay, and do not be a madman still.
Bas.
Let go thy hold: what, must I be a brute,
A very brute to please thee? no, by heav'n!
[Breaks from him, and Exit.
Ros.
(striking his forehead).
All lost again! ill fortune light upon her!
[Turning eagerly to Isab.
And so thy virtuous mistress sends thee here
To make appointments, honourable dame?
Isab.
Not so, my lord, you must not call it so:
The court will hunt to-morrow, and Victoria
Would have your noble gen'ral of her train.
Ros.
Confound these women, and their artful snares,
Since men will be such fools!
Isab.
Yes, grumble at our empire as you will —
Ros.
What, boast ye of it? empire do ye call it?
It is your shame! a short-liv'd tyranny,
That ends at last in hatred and contempt.
Isab.
Nay, but some women do so wisely rule,
Their subjects never from the yoke escape.
Ros.
Some women do, but they are rarely found.
There is not one in all your paltry court
Hath wit enough for the ungen'rous task.
'Faith! of you all, not one, but brave Albini,
And she disdains it — Good be with you, lady!
[Going.
Isab.
O would I could but touch that stubborn heart,
How dearly should he pay for this hour's scorn!
[Exeunt severally.
| Basil | |