University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The inside of a convent chapel, of old Gothic architecture, almost dark: two torches only are seen at a distance, burning over a newly covered grave. Lightning is seen flashing through the windows, and thunder heard, with the sound of wind beating upon the building. Enter two monks.
1st monk.
The storm increases: hark how dismally
It howls along the cloisters. How goes time?

2nd monk.
It is the hour: I hear them near at hand:
And when the solemn requiem has been sung
For the departed sister, we'll retire.
Yet, should this tempest still more violent grow,
We'll beg a friendly shelter till the morn.

1st monk.
See, the procession enters: let us join.

[The organ strikes up a solemn prelude. Enter a procession of nuns, with the abbess, bearing torches. After compassing the grave twice, and remaining there some time, the organ plays a grand dirge, while they stand round the grave.
SONG BY THE NUNS.

Enter a young pensioner, with a wild terrified look, her hair and dress all scattered, and rushes forward amongst them.
Abb.
Why com'st thou here, with such disorder'd looks,
To break upon our sad solemnity?

Pen.
Oh! I did hear through the receding blast,
Such horrid cries! they made my blood run chill.

Abb.
'Tis but the varied voices of the storm,
Which many times will sound like distant screams:
It has deceiv'd thee.

Pen.
O no, for twice it call'd, so loudly call'd,
With horrid strength, beyond the pitch of nature;
And murder! murder! was the dreadful cry.
A third time it return'd with feeble strength,
But o' the sudden ceas'd, as though the words
Were smother'd rudely in the grappled throat,
And all was still again, save the wild blast
Which at a distance growl'd.—
Oh! it will never from my mind depart!
That dreadful cry, all i' the instant still'd:
For then, so near, some horrid deed was done,
And none to rescue.

Abb.
Where didst thou hear it?

Pen.
In the higher cells,
As now a window, open'd by the storm,
I did attempt to close.

1st monk.
I wish our brother Bernard were arriv'd;
He is upon his way.

Abb.
Be not alarm'd; it still may be deception.
'Tis meet we finish our solemnity,
Nor show neglect unto the honour'd dead.

[Gives a sign, and the organ plays again: just as it ceases, a loud knocking is heard without.
Abb.
Ha! who may this be? hush!

[Knocking heard again.
2d monk.
It is the knock of one in furious haste.
Hush! hush! What footsteps come? Ha! brother Bernard.

Enter Bernard bearing a lantern.
1st monk.
See, what a look he wears of stiffen'd fear!
Where hast thou been, good brother?

Bern.
I've seen a horrid sight!
[All gathering round him and speaking at once.
What hast thou seen?

Bern.
As on I hasten'd, bearing thus my light,
Across the path, not fifty paces off,
I saw a murder'd corse, stretch'd on his back,
Smear'd with new blood, as though but freshly slain.

Abb.
A man or woman was't?

Bern.
A man, a man!

Abb.
Didst thou examine if within its breast
There yet were lodg'd some small remains of life?
Was it quite dead?

Bern.
Nought in the grave is deader.
I look'd but once, yet life did never lodge
In any form so laid.
A chilly horror seiz'd me, and I fled.

1st monk.
And does the face seem all unknown to thee?

Bern.
The face! I would not on the face have look'd
For e'en a kingdom's wealth, for all the world!
O no! the bloody neck, the bloody neck!

[Shaking his head and shuddering with horror. Loud knocking heard without.
Sist.
Good mercy! who comes next?

Bern.
Not far behind
I left our brother Thomas on the road;
But then he did repent him as he went,
And threatened to return.

2d monk.
See, here he comes.

Enter Brother Thomas, with a wild terrified look.
1st monk.
How wild he looks!

Bern.
(going up to him eagerly).
What, hast thou seen it too?

Thom.
Yes, yes! it glared upon me as it pass'd.

Bern.
What glared upon thee?
[All gathering round Thomas, and speaking at once.
O! what hast thou seen?

Thom.
As striving with the blast I onward came,
Turning my feeble lantern from the wind,
Its light upon a dreadful visage gleam'd,
Which paus'd and look'd upon me as it pass'd;
But such a look, such wildness of despair,
Such horror-strained features, never yet
Did earthly visage show. I shrank and shudder'd.
If a damn'd spirit may to earth return,
I've seen it.

Bern.
Was there any blood upon it?

Thom.
Nay, as it pass'd, I did not see its form;
Nought but the horrid face.

Bern.
It is the murderer.

1st monk.
What way went it?

Thom.
I durst not look till I had pass'd it far.
Then turning round, upon the rising bank,
I saw, between me and the paly sky,
A dusky form, tossing and agitated.
I stopp'd to mark it; but, in truth, I found
'Twas but a sapling bending to the wind,
And so I onward hied, and look'd no more.

1st monk.
But we must look to't; we must follow it:
Our duty so commands. (To 2d monk.)
Will you go, brother? (To Bernard.)

And you, good Bernard?

Bern.
If I needs must go.

1st monk.
Come, we must all go.

Abb.
Heaven be with you, then!

[Exeunt monks.
Pen.
Amen! amen! Good heav'n, be with us all!
O what a dreadful night!

Abb.
Daughters, retire; peace to the peaceful dead!
Our solemn ceremony now is finish'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A large room in the convent, very dark. Enter the abbess, young pensioner bearing a light, and several nuns; she sets down the light on a table at the bottom of the stage, so that the room is still very gloomy.
Abb.
They have been longer absent than I thought:
I fear he has escap'd them.

1st nun.
Heaven forbid!

Pen.
No, no, found out foul murder ever is,
And the foul murderer too.

2d nun.
The good Saint Francis will direct their search;
The blood so near this holy convent shed
For threefold vengeance calls.

Abb.
I hear a noise within the inner court—
They are return'd (listening);
and Bernard's voice I hear:
They are return'd.

Pen.
Why do I tremble so?
It is not I who ought to tremble thus.

2d nun.
I hear them at the door.

Bern.
(without).
Open the door, I pray thee, brother Thomas;
I cannot now unhand the prisoner.

(All speak together, shrinking back from the door, and staring upon one another.)
He is with them!

[A folding door at the bottom of the stage is opened, and enter Bernard, Thomas, and the other two monks, carrying lanterns in their hands, and bringing in De Monfort. They are likewise followed by other monks. As they lead forward De Monfort, the light is turned away, so that he is seen obscurely; but when they come to the front of the stage, they turn the light side of their lanterns on him at once, and his face is seen in all the strengthened horror of despair, with his hands and clothes bloody.
(Abbess and nuns speak at once, and start back).
Holy saints be with us!

Bern.
(to abb.)
Behold the man of blood!

Abb.
Of misery too; I cannot look upon him.

Bern.
(to nuns).
Nay, holy sisters, turn not thus away.
Speak to him, if, perchance, he will regard you:
For from his mouth we have no utt'rance heard,
Save one deep groan and smother'd exclamation,
When first we seiz'd him.

Abb.
(to De Mon.)
Most miserable man, how art thou thus?
[Pauses.
Thy tongue is silent, but those bloody hands
Do witness horrid things. What is thy name?

De Mon.
(roused, looks steadfastly at the abbess for some time; then speaking in a short hurried voice).
I have no name.

Abb.
(to Bern.)
Do it thyself; I'll speak to him no more.

Pen.
O holy saints! that this should be the man
Who did against his fellow lift the stroke,
Whilst he so loudly call'd.—
Still in my ears it rings: O murder! murder!

De Mon.
(starting).
He calls again!

Pen.
No, he did call, but now his voice is still'd.
'Tis past.

De Mon.
'Tis past.

Pen.
Yes, it is past! art thou not he who did it?

[De Monfort utters a deep groan, and is supported from falling by the monks. A noise is heard without.
Abb.
What noise is this of heavy lumb'ring steps,
Like men who with a weighty burthen come?

Bern.
It is the body: I have orders given
That here it should be laid.

[Enter men bearing the body of Rezenvelt, covered with a white cloth, and set it down in the middle of the room: they then uncover it. De Monfort stands fixed and motionless with horror, only that a sudden shivering seems to pass over him when they uncover the corpse. The abbess and nuns shrink back and retire to some distance, all the rest fixing their eyes steadfastly upon De Monfort. A long pause.
Bern.
(to De Mon.)
Seest thou the lifeless corpse, those bloody wounds?
See how he lies, who but so shortly since
A living creature was, with all the powers
Of sense, and motion, and humanity!
Oh! what a heart had he who did this deed!

1st monk
(looking at the body).
How hard those teeth against the lips are press'd,
As though he struggled still!

2nd monk.
The hands too, clench'd: nature's last fearful effort.

[De Monfort still stands motionless. Brother Thomas then goes to the body, and raising up the head a little, turns it towards De Monfort.
Thom.
Knowst thou this ghastly face?

De Mon.
(putting his hands before his face in violent perturbation).
Oh, do not! do not! Veil it from my sight!
Put me to any agony but this!

Thom.
Ha! dost thou then confess the dreadful deed?
Hast thou against the laws of awful heaven
Such horrid murder done? What fiend could tempt thee?

[Pauses, and looks steadfastly at De Monfort.
De Mon.
I hear thy words, but do not hear their sense—
Hast thou not cover'd it?

Bern.
(to Thom.)
Forbear, my brother, for thou seest right well
He is not in a state to answer thee.
Let us retire and leave him for awhile.
These windows are with iron grated o'er;
He is secur'd, and other duty calls.

Thom.
Then let it be.

Bern.
(to monks, &c.)
Come, let us all depart.

[Exeunt abbess and nuns, followed by the monks, one monk lingering a little behind.
De Mon.
All gone! (Perceiving the monk.)

O stay thou here!

Monk.
It must not be.

De Mon.
I'll give thee gold; I'll make thee rich in gold,
If thou wilt stay e'en but a little while.

Monk.
I must not, must not, stay.

De Mon.
I do conjure thee!

Monk.
I dare not stay with thee.

[Going.
De Mon.
And wilt thou go?
[Catching hold of him eagerly.
O! throw thy cloak upon this grizly form!
The unclos'd eyes do stare upon me still.
O do not leave me thus!

[Monk covers the body, and exit.
De Mon.
(alone, looking at the covered body, but at a distance).
Alone with thee! but thou art nothing now.
'Tis done, 'tis number'd with the things o'erpast;
Would! would it were to come!—
What fated end, what darkly gathering cloud
Will close on all this horror?
O that dire madness would unloose my thoughts,
And fill my mind with wildest fantasies,
Dark, restless, terrible! aught, aught but this!
[Pauses and shudders.
How with convulsive life he heav'd beneath me,
E'en with the death's wound gor'd! O horrid, horrid!
Methinks I feel him still.—What sound is that?
I heard a smother'd groan.—It is impossible!
[Looking steadfastly at the body.
It moves! it moves! the cloth doth heave and swell.
It moves again! I cannot suffer this—
Whate'er it be, I will uncover it.
[Runs to the corpse, and tears off the cloth in despair.
All still beneath.
Nought is there here but fix'd and grizly death,
How sternly fixed! Oh! those glazed eyes!
They look upon me still.
[Shrinks back with horror.
Come, madness! come unto me, senseless death!
I cannot suffer this! Here, rocky wall,
Seatter these brains, or dull them!

[Runs furiously, and dashing his head against the wall, falls upon the floor.
Enter two monks hastily.
1st monk.
See: wretched man, he hath destroy'd himself.

2d monk.
He does but faint. Let us remove him hence.

1st monk.
We did not well to leave him here alone.

2d monk.
Come, let us bear him to the open air.

[Exeunt, bearing out De Monfort.

SCENE III.

Before the gates of the convent. Enter Jane De Monfort, Freberg, and Manuel. As they are proceeding towards the gate, Jane stops short and shrinks back.
Freb.
Ha! wherefore? has a sudden illness seiz'd thee?

Jane.
No, no, my friend.—And yet I am very faint—
I dread to enter here.

Man.
Ay, so I thought:
For, when between the trees, that abbey tower
First show'd its top, I saw your count'nance change.
But breathe a little here: I'll go before,
And make inquiry at the nearest gate.

Freb.
Do so, good Manuel.
[Manuel goes and knocks at the gate.
Courage, dear madam: all may yet be well.
Rezenvelt's servant, frighten'd with the storm,
And seeing that his master join'd him not,
As by appointment, at the forest's edge,
Might be alarm'd, and give too ready ear
To an unfounded rumour.
He saw it not; he came not here himself.

Jane
(looking eagerly to the gate, where Manuel talks with the porter).
Ha! see, he talks with some one earnestly.
And seest thou not that motion of his hands?
He stands like one who hears a horrid tale.
Almighty God!
[Manuel goes into the convent.
He comes not back; he enters.

Freb.
Bear up, my noble friend.

Jane.
I will, I will! But this suspense is dreadful.
[A long pause. Manuel re-enters from the convent, and comes forward slowly with a sad countenance.
Is this the face of one who bears good tidings?
O God! his face doth tell the horrid fact:
There is nought doubtful here.

Freb.
How is it, Manuel?

Man.
I've seen him through a crevice in his door:
It is indeed my master.

[Bursting into tears.
[Jane faints, and is supported by Freberg.— Enter abbess and several nuns from the convent, who gather about her, and apply remedies. She recovers.
1st nun.
The life returns again.

2d nun.
Yes, she revives.

Abb.
(to Freb.)
Let me entreat this noble lady's leave
To lead her in. She seems in great distress:
We would with holy kindness soothe her woe,
And do by her the deeds of christian love.

Freb.
Madam, your goodness has my grateful thanks.

[Exeunt, supporting Jane into the convent.

SCENE IV.

De Monfort is discovered sitting in a thoughtful posture. He remains so for some time. His face afterwards begins to appear agitated, like one whose mind is harrowed with the severest thoughts; then, starting from his seat, he clasps his hands together, and holds them up to heaven.
De Mon.
O that I ne'er had known the light of day!
That filmy darkness on mine eyes had hung,
And clos'd me out from the fair face of nature!
O that my mind in mental darkness pent,
Had no perception, no distinction known,
Of fair or foul, perfection or defect,
Nor thought conceiv'd of proud pre-eminence!
O that it had! O that I had been form'd
An idiot from the birth! a senseless changeling,
Who eats his glutton's meal with greedy haste,
Nor knows the hand which feeds him.—
[Pauses; then in a calmer sorrowful voice.
What am I now? how ends the day of life?
For end it must; and terrible this gloom,
This storm of horrors that surrounds its close.
This little term of nature's agony
Will soon be o'er, and what is past is past;
But shall I then, on the dark lap of earth
Lay me to rest, in still unconsciousness,
Like senseless clod that doth no pressure feel
From wearing foot of daily passenger;
Like a steep'd rock o'er which the breaking waves
Bellow and foam unheard? O would I could!

Enter Manuel, who springs forward to his master, but is checked upon perceiving De Monfort draw back and look sternly at him.
Man.
My lord, my master! O my dearest master!
[De Monfort still looks at him without speaking.
Nay, do not thus regard me, good my lord!
Speak to me: am I not your faithful Manuel?

De Mon.
(in a hasty broken voice).
Art thou alone?

Man.
No, sir, the Lady Jane is on her way;
She is not far behind.

De Mon.
(tossing his arm over his head in an agony).
This is too much! all I can bear but this!
It must not be.—Run and prevent her coming.
Say, he who is detain'd a prisoner here
Is one to her unknown. I now am nothing.
I am a man of holy claims bereft;
Out of the pale of social kindred cast;
Nameless and horrible.—
Tell her De Monfort far from hence is gone
Into a desolate and distant land,
Ne'er to return again. Fly, tell her this;
For we must meet no more.

Enter Jane De Monfort, bursting into the chamber and followed by Freberg, abbess, and several nuns.
Jane.
We must! we must! My brother, O my brother!
[De Monfort turns away his head and hides his face with his arm. Jane stops short, and, making a great effort, turns to Freberg, and the others who followed her, and with an air of dignity stretches out her hand, beckoning them to retire. All retire but Freberg, who seems to hesitate.
And thou too, Freberg: call it not unkind.

[Exit Freberg: Jane and De Monfort only remain.
Jane.
My hapless Monfort!

[De Monfort turns round and looks sorrowfully upon her; she opens her arms to him, and he, rushing into them, hides his face upon her breast, and weeps.
Jane.
Ay, give thy sorrow vent; here mayst thou weep.

De Mon.
(in broken accents).
Oh! this, my sister, makes me feel again
The kindness of affection.
My mind has in a dreadful storm been tost;
Horrid and dark—I thought to weep no more—
I've done a deed—But I am human still.

Jane.
I know thy suff'rings: leave thy sorrow free!
Thou art with one who never did upbraid;
Who mourns, who loves thee still.

De Mon.
Ah! sayst thou so? no, no; it should not be. (Shrinking from her.)

I am a foul and bloody murderer,
For such embrace unmeet: O leave me! leave me!
Disgrace and public shame abide me now;
And all, alas! who do my kindred own,
The direful portion share.—Away, away!
Shall a disgrac'd and public criminal
Degrade thy name, and claim affinity
To noble worth like thine?—I have no name—
I'm nothing now, not e'en to thee: depart.

[She takes his hand, and grasping it firmly, speaks with a determined voice.
Jane.
De Monfort, hand in hand we have enjoy'd
The playful term of infancy together;
And in the rougher path of ripen'd years
We've been each other's stay. Dark low'rs our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest agony
Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose
This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house;
In the terrific face of armed law;
Yea, on the seaffold, if it needs must be,
I never will forsake thee.

De Mon.
(looking at her with admiration.)
Heav'n bless thy gen'ro us soul, my noble Jane!
I thought to sink beneath this load of ill,
Depress'd with infamy and open shame;
I thought to sink in abject wretchedness:
But for thy sake I'll rouse my manhood up,
And meet it bravely; no unseemly weakness,
I feel my rising strength, shall blot my end,
To clothe thy cheek with shame.

Jane.
Yes, thou art noble still.

De Mon.
With thee I am; who were not so with thee?
But, ah! my sister, short will be the term:
Death's stroke will come, and in that state beyond,
Where things unutterable wait the soul,
New from its earthly tenement discharg'd,
We shall be sever'd far.
Far as the spotless purity of virtue
Is from the murd'rer's guilt, far shall we be.
This is the gulf of dread uncertainty
From which the soul recoils.

Jane.
The God who made thee is a God of mercy:
Think upon this.

De Mon.
(shaking his head).
No, no! this blood! this blood!

Jane.
Yes, e'en the sin of blood may be forgiv'n,
When humble penitence hath once aton'd.

De Mon.
(eagerly).
What, after terms of lengthen'd misery,
Imprison'd anguish of tormented spirits,
Shall I again, a renovated soul,
Into the blessed family of the good
Admittance have? Thinkst thou that this may be?
Speak, if thou canst: O speak me comfort here!
For dreadful fancies, like an armed host,
Have push'd me to despair. It is most horrible—
O speak of hope! if any hope there be.

[Jane is silent, and looks sorrowfully upon him; then clasping her hands, and turning her eyes to heaven, seems to mutter a prayer.
De Mon.
Ha! dost thou pray for me? heav'n hear thy prayer!
I fain would kneel.—Alas! I dare not do it.

Jane.
Not so! all by th' Almighty Father form'd,
May in their deepest misery call on Him.
Come kneel with me, my brother.

[She kneels and prays to herself; he kneels by her, and clasps his hands fervently, but speaks not. A noise of chains clanking is heard without, and they both rise.
De Mon.
Hearest thou that noise? They come to interrupt us.

Jane.
(moving towards a side door).
Then let us enter here.

De Mon.
(catching hold of her with a look of horror).
Not there—not there—the corpse —the bloody corpse!

Jane.
What, lies he there?—Unhappy Rezenvelt!

De Mon.
A sudden thought has come across my mind;
How came it not before? Unhappy Rezenvelt!
Sayst thou but this?

Jane.
What should I say? he was an honest man;
I still have thought him such, as such lament him.
[De Monfort utters a deep groan.
What means this heavy groan?

De Mon.
It hath a meaning.

Enter abbess and monks, with two officers of justice carrying fetters in their hands to put upon De Monfort.
Jane
(starting.)
What men are these?

1st off.
Lady, we are the servants of the law,
And bear with us a power, which doth constrain
To bind with fetters this our prisoner.

[Pointing to De Monfort.
Jane.
A stranger uncondemn'd? this cannot be.

1st off.
As yet, indeed, he is by law unjudg'd,
But is so far condemn'd by circumstance,
That law, or custom sacred held as law,
Doth fully warrant us, and it must be.

Jane.
Nay, say not so; he has no power t'escape:
Distress hath bound him with a heavy chain;
There is no need of yours.

1st off.
We must perform our office.

Jane.
O! do not offer this indignity!

1st off.
Is it indignity in sacred law
To bind a murderer? (To 2d off.)
Come, do thy work.

Jane.
Harsh are thy words, and stern thy harden'd brow;
Dark is thine eye; but all some pity have
Unto the last extreme of misery.
I do beseech thee! if thou art a man—

[Kneeling to him.
[De Monfort, roused at this, runs up to Jane, and raises her hastily from the ground: then stretches himself up proudly.
De Mon.
(to Jane).
Stand thou erect in native dignity;
And bend to none on earth the suppliant knee,
Though cloth'd in power imperial. To my heart
It gives a feller gripe than many irons. (Holding out his hands.)

Here, officers of law, bind on those shackles;
And, if they are too light, bring heavier chains,
Add iron to iron; load, crush me to the ground:
Nay, heap ten thousand weight upon my breast,
For that were best of all.

[A long pause, whilst they put irons upon him. After they are on, Jane looks at him sorrowfully, and lets her head sink on her breast. De Monfort stretches out his hand, looks at them, and then at Jane; crosses them over his breast, and endeavours to suppress his feelings.
1st off.
(to De Monfort).
I have it, too, in charge to move you hence,
Into another chamber more sccure.

De Mon.
Well, I am ready, sir.
[Approaching Jane, whom the abbess is endeavouring to comfort, but to no purpose.
Ah! wherefore thus, most honour'd and most dear?
Shrink not at the accoutrements of ill,
Daring the thing itself.
[Endeavouring to look cheerful.
Wilt thou permit me with a gyved hand?
[She gives him her hand, which he raises to his lips.
This was my proudest office.

[Exeunt, De Monfort leading out Jane.

SCENE V.

An apartment in the convent, opening into another room, whose low arched door is seen at the bottom of the stage. In one corner a monk is seen kneeling. Enter another monk, who, on perceiving him, stops till he rises from his knees, and then goes eagerly up to him.
1st monk.
How is the prisoner?

2d monk
(pointing to the door).
He is within, and the strong hand of death
Is dealing with him.

1st monk.
How is this, good brother?
Methought he brav'd it with a manly spirit;
And led, with shackled hands, his sister forth,
Like one resolv'd to bear misfortune bravely.

2d monk.
Yes, with heroic courage, for a while
He seem'd inspir'd; but soon depress'd again,
Remorse and dark despair o'erwhelm'd his soul:
And, from the violent working of his mind,
Some stream of life within his breast has burst;
For many a time, within a little space,
The ruddy tide has rush'd into his mouth.
God grant his pains be short!

1st monk.
How does the lady?

2d monk.
She sits and bears his head upon her lap.
Wiping the cold drops from his ghastly face
With such a look of tender wretchedness,
It wrings the heart to see her.
How goes the night?

1st monk.
It wears, methinks, upon the midnight hour.
It is a dark and fearful night; the moon
Is wrapp'd in sable clouds; the chill blast sounds
Like dismal lamentations. Ay, who knows
What voices mix with the dark midnight winds?
Nay, as I pass'd that yawning cavern's mouth,
A whisp'ring sound, unearthly, reach'd my ear,
And o'er my head a chilly coldness crept.
Are there not wicked fiends and damned sprites,
Whom yawning charnels, and th' unfathom'd depths
Of secret darkness, at this fearful hour,
Do upwards send, to watch, unseen, around
The murd'rer's death-bed, at his fatal term,
Ready to hail with dire and horrid welcome,
Their future mate?—I do believe there are.

2d monk.
Peace, peace! a God of wisdom and of mercy,
Veils from our sight—Ha! hear that heavy groan.

[A groan heard within.
1st monk.
It is the dying man.

[Another groan.
2d monk.
God grant him rest!
[Listening at the door.
I hear him struggling in the gripe of death.
O piteous heaven!
[Goes from the door.
Enter Brother Thomas from the chamber.
How now, good brother?

Thom.
Retire, my friends. O many a bed of death
With all its pangs and horrors I have seen,
But never aught like this! Retire, my friends!
The death-bell will its awful signal give,
When he has breath'd his last.
I would move hence, but I am weak and faint:
Let me a moment on thy shoulder lean.
Oh, weak and mortal man!

[Leans on 2d monk: a pause.
Enter Bernard from the chamber.
2d monk.
(to Bern.)
How is your penitent?

Bern.
He is with Him who made him; Him, who knows
The soul of man: before whose awful presence
Th' unsceptred tyrant stands despoil'd and helpless,
Like an unclothed babe.
[Bell tolls.
The dismal sound!
Retire, and pray for the blood-stained soul:
May heav'n have mercy on him!
[Bell tolls again.
[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

A hall or large room in the convent. The bodies of De Monfort and Rezenvelt are discovered laid out upon a low table or platform, covered with black. Freberg, Bernard, abbess, monks, and nuns attending.
Abb.
(to Freb.)
Here must they lie, my lord, until we know
Respecting this the order of the law.

Freb.
And you have wisely done, my rev'rend mother.
[Goes to the table, and looks at the bodies, but without uncovering them..
Unhappy men! ye, both in nature rich,
With talents and with virtues were endued.
Ye should have lov'd, yet deadly rancour came,
And in the prime and manhood of your days
Ye sleep in horrid death. O direful hate!
What shame and wretchedness his portion is,
Who, for a secret inmate, harbours thee!
And who shall call him blameless, who excites,
Ungen'rously excites, with careless scorn,
Such baleful passion in a brother's breast,
Whom heav'n commands to love? Low are ye laid:
Still all contention now.—Low are ye laid:
I lov'd you both, and mourn your hapless fall.

Abb.
They were your friends, my lord?

Freb.
I lov'd them both. How does the Lady Jane?

Abb.
She bears misfortune with intrepid soul.
I never saw in woman, bow'd with grief,
Such moving dignity.

Freb.
Ay, still the same.
I've known her long: of worth most excellent;
But in the day of woe she ever rose
Upon the mind with added majesty,
As the dark mountain more sublimely tow'rs
Mantled in clouds and storm.

Enter Manuel and Jerome.
Man.
(pointing).
Here, my good Jerome, here's a piteous sight.

Jer.
A piteous sight! yet I will look upon him:
I'll see his face in death. Alas, alas!
I've seen him move a noble gentleman!
And when with vexing passion undisturb'd,
He look'd most graciously.
[Lifts up in mistake the cloth from the body of Rezenvelt, and starts back with horror.
Oh! this was the bloody work! Oh! oh, oh, oh!
That human hands could do it!

[Drops the cloth again.
Man.
That is the murder'd corpse; here lies De Monfort.

[Going to uncover the other body.
Jer.
(turning away his head).
No, no! I cannot look upon him now.

Man.
Didst thou not come to see him?

Jer.
Fy! cover him—inter him in the dark—
Let no one look upon him.

Bern.
(to Jer.)
Well dost thou show the abhorrence nature feels
For deeds of blood, and I commend thee well.
In the most ruthless heart compassion wakes
For one, who, from the hand of fellow man,
Hath felt such cruelty.
[Uncovering the body of Rezenvelt.
This is the murder'd corse:
[Uncovering the body of De Monfort.
But see, I pray!
Here lies the murderer. What thinkst thou here?
Look on those features, thou hast seen them oft,
With the last dreadful conflict of despair,
So fix'd in horrid strength.
See those knit brows; those hollow sunken eyes;
The sharpen'd nose, with nostrils all distent;
That writhed mouth, where yet the teeth appear,
In agony, to gnash the nether lip.
Thinkst thou, less painful than the murd'rer's knife
Was such a death as this?
Ay, and how changed too those matted locks!

Jer.
Merciful heaven! his hair is grizly grown,
Chang'd to white age, that was, but two days since,
Black as the raven's plume. How may this be?

Bern.
Such change, from violent conflict of the mind,
Will sometimes come.

Jer.
Alas, alas! most wretched!
Thou wert too good to do a cruel deed,
And so it kill'd thee. Thou hast suffer'd for it.
God rest thy soul! I needs must touch thy hand,
And bid thee long farewell.

[Laying his hand on De Monfort.
Bern.
Draw back, draw back: see where the lady comes.

Enter Jane De Monfort. Freberg, who has been for some time retired by himself at the bottom of the stage, now steps forward to lead her in, but checks himself on seeing the fixed sorrow of her countenance, and draws back respectfully. Jane advances to the table, and looks attentively at the covered bodies. Manuel points out the body of De Monfort, and she gives a gentle inclination of the head, to signify that she understands him. She then bends tenderly over it, without speaking.
Man.
(to Jane, as she raises her head).
Oh, madam, my good lord!

Jane.
Well says thy love, my good and faithful Manuel:
But we must mourn in silence.

Man.
Alas! the times that I have followed him!

Jane.
Forbear, my faithful Manuel. For this love
Thou hast my grateful thanks; and here's my hand:
Thou hast lov'd him, and I'll remember thee.
Where'er I am, in whate'er spot of earth
I linger out the remnant of my days,
I will remember thee.

Man.
Nay, by the living God! where'er you are,
There will I be. I'll prove a trusty servant:
I'll follow you, even to the world's end.
My master's gone; and I indeed am mean,
Yet will I show the strength of nobler men,
Should any dare upon your honour'd worth
To put the slightest wrong. Leave you, dear lady!
Kill me, but say not this!

[Throwing himself at her feet.
Jane
(raising him).
Well, then! be thou my servant, and my friend.
Art thou, good Jerome, too, in kindness come?
I see thou art. How goes it with thine age?

Jer.
Ah, madam! woe and weakness dwell with age:
Would I could serve you with a young man's strength!
I'd spend my life for you.

Jane.
Thanks, worthy Jerome.
O! who hath said, the wretched have no friends?

Freb.
In every sensible and gen'rous breast
Affliction finds a friend; but unto thee,
Thou most exalted and most honourable,
The heart in warmest adoration bows,
And even a worship pays.

Jane.
Nay, Freberg! Freberg! grieve me not, my friend.
He, to whose ear my praise most welcome was,
Hears it no more! and, oh, our piteous lot!
What tongue will talk of him? Alas, alas!
This more than all will bow me to the earth;
I feel my misery here.
The voice of praise was wont to name us both:
I had no greater pride.

[Covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears. Here they all hang about her: Freberg supporting her tenderly, Manuel embracing her knees, and old Jerome catching hold of her robe affectionately. Bernard, abbess, monks, and nuns likewise gather round her, with looks of sympathy.
Enter two Officers of Law.
1st off.
Where is the prisoner?
Into our hands he straight must be consign'd.

Bern.
He is not subject now to human laws;
The prison that awaits him is the grave.

1st off.
Ha! sayst thou so? there is foul play in this.

Man.
(to off.)
Hold thy unrighteous tongue, or hie thee hence,
Nor in the presence of this honour'd dame,
Utter the slightest meaning of reproach.

1st off.
I am an officer on duty call'd,
And have authority to say, “How died he?”

[Here Jane shakes off the weakness of grief, and repressing Manuel, who is about to reply to the officer, steps forward with dignity.
Jane.
Tell them by whose authority you come,
He died that death which best becomes a man,
Who is with keenest sense of conscious ill
And deep remorse assail'd, a wounded spirit.
A death that kills the noble and the brave,
And only them. He had no other wound.

1st off.
And shall I trust to this?

Jane.
Do as thou wilt:
To one who can suspect my simple word
I have no more reply. Fulfil thine office.

1st off.
No, lady. I believe your honour'd word,
And will no further search.

Jane.
I thank your courtesy: thanks, thanks to all;
My rev'rend mother, and ye honour'd maids;
Ye holy men, and you, my faithful friends;
The blessing of the afflicted rest with you!
And He, who to the wretched is most piteous,
Will recompense you.—Freberg, thou art good;
Remove the body of the friend you lov'd:
'Tis Rezenvelt I mean. Take thou this charge:
'Tis meet, that with his noble ancestors
He lie entomb'd in honourable state.
And now I have a sad request to make,
Nor will these holy sisters scorn my boon;
That I, within these sacred cloister walls,
May raise a humble, nameless tomb to him,
Who, but for one dark passion, one dire deed,
Had claim'd a record of as noble worth,
As e'er enrich'd the sculptur'd pedestal.

[Exeunt.