 | Basil |  |
SCENE III.
The inside of the cave. Basil discovered lying on the ground, with his head raised a little upon a few stones and earth, the pistols lying beside him, and blood upon his breast. Enter Rosinberg, Valtomer, and officers. Rosinberg, upon seeing Basil, stops short with horror, and remains motionless for some time.Valt.
Great God of heaven! what a sight is this!
[Rosinberg runs to Basil, and stoops down by his side.
Ros.
O Basil! O my friend! what hast thou done?
Bas.
(covering his face with his hand).
Why art thou come? I thought to die in peace.
Ros.
Thou knowst me not—I am thy Rosinberg,
Thy dearest, truest friend, thy loving kinsman!
Thou dost not say to me, Why art thou come?
Bas.
Shame knows no kindred: I am fall'n, disgrac'd;
My fame is gone, I cannot look upon thee.
Ros.
My Basil, noble spirit! talk not thus!
The greatest mind untoward fate may prove:
Thou art our gen'rous, valiant leader still,
Fall'n as thou art—and yet thou art not fall'n;
Who says thou art, must put his harness on,
And prove his words in blood.
Bas.
Ah, Rosinberg! this is no time to boast!
I once had hopes a glorious name to gain;
Too proud of heart, I did too much aspire;
The hour of trial came, and found me wanting.
Talk not of me, but let me be forgotten.—
And O! my friend! something upbraids me here,
[Laying his hand on his breast.
For that I now remember how ofttimes
I have usurp'd it o'er thy better worth,
Most vainly teaching where I should have learnt:
But thou wilt pardon me.—
Ros.
(taking Basil's hand, and pressing it to his breast).
Rend not my heart in twain! O! talk not thus!
I knew thou wert superior to myself,
And to all men beside: thou wert my pride;
I paid thee def'rence with a willing heart.
Bas.
It was delusion, all delusion, Rosinberg!
I feel my weakness now, I own my pride.
Give me thy hand, my time is near the close:
Do this for me: thou knowst my love, Victoria—
Ros.
O curse that woman! she it is alone—
She has undone us all!
Bas.
It doubles unto me the stroke of death
To hear thee name her thus. O curse her not!
The fault is mine; she's gentle, good and blameless—
Thou wilt not then my dying wish fulfil?
Ros.
I will! I will! what wouldst thou have me do?
Bas.
See her when I am gone; be gentle with her;
And tell her that I bless'd her in my death;
E'en in my agonies I lov'd and bless'd her.
Wilt thou do this?—
Ros.
I'll do what thou desir'st
Bas.
I thank thee, Rosinberg; my time draws near.
[Raising his head a little, and perceiving officers.
Is there not some one here? are we alone?
Ros.
(making a sign for the officers to retire).
'Tis but a sentry, to prevent intrusion.
Bas.
Thou knowst this desp'rate deed from sacred rites
Hath shut me out: I am unbless'd of men,
And what I am in sight of th' awful God,
I dare not think; when I am gone, my friend,
O! let a good man's prayers to heav'n ascend
For an offending spirit!—Pray for me.
What thinkest thou? although an outcast here,
May not some heavenly mercy still be found?
Ros.
Thou wilt find mercy—my beloved Basil—
It cannot be that thou shouldst be rejected.
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It chokes mine utterance—I will pray for thee—
Bas.
This comforts me—thou art a loving friend.
[A noise without.
Ros.
(to off. without).
What noise is that?
Enter Valtomer.
Valt.
(to Ros.)
My lord, the soldiers all insist to enter.
What shall I do? they will not be denied:
They say that they will see their noble gen'ral.
Bas.
Ah, my brave fellows! do they call me so?
Ros.
Then let them come.
[Enter soldiers, who gather round Basil, and look mournfully upon him; he holds out his hand to them with a faint smile.
Bas.
My gen'rous soldiers, this is kindly meant.
I'm low i' the dust; God bless you all, brave hearts!
1st Sol.
And God bless you, my noble, noble gen'ral!
We'll never follow such a leader more.
2nd Sol.
Ah! had you staid with us, my noble gen'ral,
We would have died for you.
[3d soldier endeavours next to speak, but cannot; and kneeling down by Basil, covers his face with his cloak. Rosinberg turns his face to the wall and weeps.
Bas.
(in a very faint broken voice).
Where art thou? do not leave me, Rosinberg—
Come near to me—these fellows make me weep:
I have no power to weep—give me thy hand—
I love to feel thy grasp—my heart beats strangely—
It beats as though its breathings would be few—
Remember—
Ros.
Is there aught thou wouldst desire?
Bas.
Nought but a little earth to cover me,
And lay the smooth sod even with the ground—
Let no stone mark the spot—give no offence.
I fain would say—what can I say to thee?
[A deep pause; after a feeble struggle, Basil expires.
1st Sol.
That motion was his last.
2nd Sol.
His spirit's fled.
1st Sol.
God grant it peace! it was a noble spirit!
4th Sol.
The trumpet's sound did never rouse a braver.
1st Sol.
Alas! no trumpet e'er shall rouse him more,
Until the dreadful blast that wakes the dead.
2nd Sol.
And when that sounds it will not wake a braver.
3d Sol.
How pleasantly he shar'd our hardest toil!
Our coarsest food the daintiest fare he made.
4th Sol.
Ay, many a time i' the cold damp plain has he
With cheerful count'nance cried, “Good rest, my hearts!”
Then wrapp'd him in his cloak, and laid him down
E'en like the meanest soldier in the field.
[Rosinberg all this time continues hanging over the body, and gazing upon it. Valtomer now endeavours to draw him away.
Valt.
This is too sad, my lord.
Ros.
There, seest thou how he lies? so fix'd, so pale!
Ah! what an end is this! thus lost! thus fall'n!
To be thus taken in his middle course,
Where he so nobly strove; till cursed passion
Came like a sun-stroke on his mid-day toil,
And cut the strong man down. O Basil! Basil!
Valt.
Forbear, my friend, we must not sorrow here.
Ros.
He was the younger brother of my soul.
Valt.
Indeed, my lord, it is too sad a sight.
Time calls us, let the body be remov'd.
Ros.
He was—O! he was like no other man!
Valt.
(still endeavouring to draw him away).
Nay, now forbear.
Ros.
I lov'd him from his birth!
Valt.
Time presses, let the body be remov'd.
Ros.
What sayst thou?
Valt.
Shall we not remove him hence?
Ros.
He has forbid it, and has charg'd me well
To leave his grave unknown? for that the church
All sacred rites to the self-slain denies.
He would not give offence.
1st Sol.
What! shall our gen'ral, like a very wretch,
Be laid unhonour'd in the common ground?
No last salute to bid his soul farewell?
No warlike honours paid? it shall not be.
2nd Sol.
Laid thus? no, by the blessed light of heav'n!
In the most holy spot in Mantua's walls
He shall be laid; in face of day be laid:
And though black priests should curse us in the teeth,
We will fire o'er him whilst our hands have power
To grasp a musket.
Several soldiers.
Let those who dare forbid it!
Ros.
My brave companions, be it as you will.
[Spreading out his arms as if he would embrace the soldiers.—They prepare to remove the body.
Valt.
Nay, stop a while, we will not move it now,
For see a mournful visitor appears,
And must not be denied.
Enter Victoria and Isabella.
Vict.
I though to find him here; where has he fled?
[Rosinberg points to the body without speaking; Victoria shrieks out and falls into the arms of Isabella.
Isab.
Alas! my gentle mistress, this will kill thee.
Vict.
(recovering).
Unloose thy hold, and let me look upon him.
O! horrid, horrid sight! my ruin'd Basil!
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O! I have murder'd thee!
[Kneels down by the body, and bends over it.
These wasted streams of life! this bloody wound!
[Laying her hand upon his heart.
Is there no breathing here? all still! all cold!
Open thine eyes, speak, be thyself again,
And I will love thee, serve thee, follow thee,
In spite of all reproach. Alas! alas!
A lifeless corse art thou for ever laid,
And dost not hear my call.
Ros.
No, madam; now your pity comes too late.
Vict.
Dost thou upbraid me? O! I have deserv'd it!
Ros.
No, madam, no, I will not now upbraid:
But woman's grief is like a summer storm,
Short as it violent is; in gayer scenes,
Where soon thou shalt in giddy circles blaze,
And play the airy goddess of the day,
Thine eye, perchance, amidst th' observing crowd,
Shall mark th' indignant face of Basil's friend,
And then it will upbraid.
Vict.
No, never, never! thus it shall not be.
To the dark, shaded cloister wilt thou go,
Where sad and lonely, through the dismal grate
Thou'lt spy my wasted form, and then upbraid me.
Ros.
Forgive me, heed me not; I'm griev'd at heart;
I'm fretted, gall'd, all things are hateful to me.
If thou didst love my friend, I will forgive thee;
I must forgive thee: with his dying breath
He bade me tell thee, that his latest thoughts
Were love to thee; in death he lov'd and bless'd thee.
[Victoria goes to throw herself upon the body, but is prevented by Valtomer and Isabella, who support her in their arms, and endeavour to draw her away from it.
Vict.
Oh! force me not away! by his cold corse
Let me lie down and weep. O! Basil, Basil!
The gallant and the brave! how hast thou lov'd me!
If there is any holy kindness in you,
[To Isab. and Valt.
Tear me not hence.
For he lov'd me in thoughtless folly lost,
With all my faults, most worthless of his love;
And him I'll love in the low bed of death,
In horror and decay.—
Near his lone tomb I'll spend my wretched days
In humble pray'r for his departed spirit:
Cold as his grave shall be my earthy bed,
As dark my cheerless cell. Force me not hence.
I will not go, for grief hath made me strong.
[Struggling to get loose.
Ros.
Do not withhold her, leave her sorrow free.
[They let her go, and she throws herself upon the body in an agony of grief.
It doth subdue the sternness of my grief
To see her mourn him thus.—Yet I must curse.—
Heav'n's curses light upon her damned father,
Whose crooked policy has wrought this wreck!
Isab.
If he has done it, you are well reveng'd,
For all his hidden plots are now detected.
Gauriecio, for some int'rest of his own,
His master's secret dealings with the foe
Has to Lannoy betray'd; who straight hath sent,
On the behalf of his imperial lord,
A message full of dreadful threats to Mantua.
His discontented subjects aid him not;
He must submit to the degrading terms
A haughty conqu'ring power will now impose.
Ros.
And art thou sure of this?
Isab.
I am, my lord.
Ros.
Give me thy hand, I'm glad on't, O! I'm glad on't!
It should be so! how like a hateful ape,
Detected, grinning, 'midst his pilfer'd hoard,
A cunning man appears, whose secret frauds
Are open'd to the day! scorn'd, hooted, mock'd!
Scorn'd by the very fools who most admir'd
His worthless art. But when a great mind falls,
The noble nature of man's gen'rous heart
Doth bear him up against the shame of ruin;
With gentle censure using but his faults
As modest means to introduce his praise;
For pity like a dewy twilight comes
To close th' oppressive splendour of his day,
And they who but admir'd him in his height,
His alter'd state lament, and love him fallen.
[Exeunt.
| Basil | |