University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A flat spot of ground on the top of a cliff, with broken craggy rocks on each side, and a large mass of rock in the middle, on which a great fire of wood is burning; a dark sea in the background; the scene to receive no light but from the fire. Two fishermen are discovered watching the fire, and supplying it with wood.
SONG.
1st Fisherman.

2d fish.
Tush, man! give o'er; thy ballads have no end,
When thou art in the mood. I hear below
A sound of many voices on the shore:
Some boat, belike, forced by the drifting current
Upon the rocks, may be in jeopardy.

1st fish.
'Tis all a mock to cut my ditty short.
Thou hast no mind to hear how it befell
That those two lovers were by kinsmen stern
O'erta'en; and how the knight,—by armed foes
Beset, a bloody combat bravely held,
And was the while robb'd of his lady fair.
And how in Paynim land they met again.
How, as a page disguised, she sought her knight,
Left on the field as lifeless. How she cheer'd him;
And how they married were, and home in state—

2d fish.
Ha' done, ha' done! a hundred times I've heard it.
My grandam lull'd me with it on her lap
Full many a night; and as my father sat,
Mending his nets upon the beach, he sang it.
I would I knew my prayers as well.—But hark!
I hear a noise again.—
[Goes to the bottom of the stage, as if he were looking down to the sea.
Along the shore
I see lights moving swiftly.

1st fish.
(Sings again.)

Bast.
(without).
Holla, good mate! Thou who so bravely singst!
Come down, I pray thee.

1st fish.
Who art thou who callst?

2d fish.
I know the voice; 'tis Signor Bastiani.

1st fish.
What! he, at such an hour, upon the cliff! (Calling down.)

I cannot come. If, from my station here,
This fire untended, I were found; good sooth!
I had as lief the luckless friar be,
Who spilt the abbot's wine.

2d fish.
I'll go to him.

[Exit.
1st fish.
(muttering to himself).
Ay; leave my watch, indeed! a rare entreaty!

Enter Bastiani.
Bast.
Wilt thou not go? A boat near to the shore,
In a most perilous state, calls for assistance:
Who is like thee, good Stephen, bold and skilful?
Haste to its aid, if there be pity in thee,
Or any Christian grace. I will, meantime,
Thy beacon watch; and should the lady come,
Excuse thy absence. Haste; make no reply.

1st fish.
I will; God help us all!

[Exit.
Bast.
Here is, indeed, a splendid noble fire
Left me in ward. It makes the darkness round,
To its fierce light oppos'd, seem thick and palpable,
And closed o'er head, like to the pitchy cope
Of some vast cavern.—Near at hand, methinks,
Soft female voices speak: I'll to my station.
[Retires from the front of the stage behind the fire.

Enter Aurora, Terentia and Viola.
Viola.
A rousing light! Good Stephen hath full well
Obey'd your earnest bidding.—Fays and witches
Might round its blaze their midnight revelry
Right fitly keep.

Ter.
Ay; thou lov'st wilds and darkness,
And fire and storms, and things unsooth and strange:
This suits thee well. Methinks, in gazing on it,
Thy face a witch-like cagerness assumes.

Viola.
I'll be a goblin then, and round it dance.
Did not Aurora say we thus should hold
This nightly vigil. Yea, such were her words.

Aur.
They were light bubbles of some mantling thought,
That now is flat and spiritless; and yet,
If thou art so inclin'd, ask not my leave,
Dance if thou wilt.

Viola.
Nay, not alone, sweet sooth!
Witches, themselves, some fiend-like partners find.

Ter.
And so mayst thou. Look yonder; near the flame
A crested figure stands. That is not Stephen.

Aur.
(eagerly).
A crested figure! Where? O call to it!

[Bast. comes forward.
Ter.
'Tis Bastiani.

Aur.
Ay; 'tis Bastiani:
'Tis he, or any one; 'tis ever thus;
So is my fancy mock'd.

Bast.
If I offend you, madam, 'tis unwillingly
Stephen has for awhile gone to the beach,
To help some fishermen, who, as I guess,
Against the tide would force their boat to land.
He'll soon return; meantime, I did entreat him
To let me watch his beacon. Pardon me;
I had not else intruded; though full oft
I've clamber'd o'er these cliffs, e'en at this hour,
To see the ocean from its sabled breast
The flickering gleam of these bright flames return.

Aur.
Make no excuse, I pray thee. I am told
By good Terentia thou dost wish me well,
Though Ulrick long has been thy friend. I know
A wanderer on the seas in early youth
Thou wast, and still canst feel for all storm-toss'd
On that rude element.

Bast.
'Tis true, fair lady: I have been, ere now,
Where such a warning light, sent from the shore,
Had saved some precious lives; which makes the task,
I now fulfil, more grateful.

Aur.
How many leagues from shore may such a light
By the benighted mariner be seen?

Bast.
Some six or so, he will descry it faintly,
Like a small star, or hermit's taper, peering
From some cav'd rock that brows the dreary waste;
Or like the lamp of some lone lazar-house,
Which through the silent night the traveller spies
Upon his doubtful way.

Viola.
Fie on such images!
Thou shouldst have liken'd it to things more seemly.
Thou mightst have said the peasant's evening fire
That from his upland cot, through winter's gloom,
What time his wife their evening meal prepares,
Blinks on the traveller's eye, and cheers his heart;
Or signal-torch, that from my lady's bower
Tells wand'ring knights the revels are begun;
Or blazing brand, that from the vintage-house
O' long October nights, through the still air
Looks rousingly.—To have our gallant beacon
Ta'en for a lazar-house!

Bast.
Well, maiden, as thou wilt: thy gentle mistress
Of all these things may choose what likes her best,
To paint more clearly how her noble fire
The distant seamen cheer'd, who bless the while
The hand that kindled it.

Aur.
Shall I be bless'd—
By wand'ring men returning to their homes?
By those from shipwreck sav'd, again to cheer
Their wives, their friends, their kindred? Bless'd by those!
And shall it not a blessing call from heaven?
It will; my heart leaps at the very thought:
The seamen's blessing rests upon my head,
To charm my wand'rer home.—
Heap on more wood:
Let it more brightly blaze.—Good Bastiani,
Hie to thy task, and we'll assist thee gladly.

[As they begin to occupy themselves with the fire, the sound of distant voices, singing in harmony, is heard under the stage as if ascending the cliff.
Aur.
What may it be?

Viola.
The songs of Paradise,
But that our savage rocks and gloomy night
So ill agree with peaceful soothing bliss.

Ter.
No blessed spirits in these evil days
Hymn, through the stilly darkness, strains of grace.

Aur.
Nay, list; it comes again.

[Voices heard nearer.
Ter.
The mingled sound comes nearer, and betrays
Voices of mortal men.

Viola.
In such sweet harmony!
I never heard the like.

Aur.
They must be good and holy who can utter
Such heavenly sounds.

Bast.
I've surely heard before
This solemn chorus chaunted by the knights,
The holy brothers of Jerusalem.
It is a carol sung by them full oft,
When saved from peril dire of flood or field.

Aur.
The Knights of blest St. John from Palestine!
Alas! why feel I thus? knowing too well
They cannot bring the tidings I would hear.

[Chorus rises again very near.
Viola.
List, list! they've gain'd the summit of the cliff:
They are at hand; their voices are distinct;
Yea, e'en the words they sing.

[A solemn song or hymn, sung in harmony, heard without.

Enter six Knights of St. John of Jerusalem in procession, with their followers behind them, who do not advance upon the stage, but remain partly concealed behind the rocks.
Aur.
Speak to them, Bastiani; thou'rt a soldier;
Thy mind is more composed.—I pray thee do.

[Motioning Bast. to accost them.
Bast.
This lady, noble warriors, greets you all,
And offers you such hospitality
As this late hour and scanty means afford.
Will't please ye round this blazing fire to rest?
After such perilous tossing on the waves,
You needs must be forspent.

1st knight.
We thank you, sir, and this most noble dame,
Whose beacon hath from shipwreck sav'd us. Driven
By adverse winds too near your rocky coast,
Warn'd by its friendly light, we stood to sea:
But soon discov'ring that our crazy bark
Had sprung a dangerous leak, we took our boat
And made for shore. The nearest point of land
Beneath this cliff, with peril imminent,
By help of some good fishermen we gain'd;
And here, in God's good mercy, safe we are
With grateful hearts.

Aur.
We praise that mercy also
Which hath preserv'd you.

1st knight.
Lady, take our thanks.
And may the vessel of that friend beloved,
For whom you watch, as we have now been told,
Soon to your shore its welcome freight convey!

Aur.
Thanks for the wish; and may its prayers be heard!
Renowned men ye are; holy and brave;
In every field of honour and of arms
Some of your noble brotherhood are found:
Perhaps the valiant knights I now behold,
Did on that luckless day against the Souldan
With brave De Villeneuve for the cross contend.
If this be so, you can, perhaps, inform me
Of one who in the battle fought, whose fate
Is still unknown.

1st knight.
None of us all, fair dame, so honour'd were
As in that field to be, save this young knight.
Sir Bertram, wherefore, in thy mantle wrapt,
Standst thou so far behind? Speak to him, lady:
For in that battle he right nobly fought,
And may, belike, wot of the friend you mention'd.

Aur.
(going up eagerly to the young knight).
Didst thou there fight? then surely thou didst know
The noble Ermingard, who from this isle
With valiant Conrad went:—
What fate had he upon that dismal day?

Young knight.
Whate'er his fate in that fell fight might be,
He now is as the dead.

Aur.
Is as the dead! ha! then he is not dead:
He's living still. O tell me—tell me this!
Say he is still alive; and though he breathe
In the foul pest-house; though a wretched wand'rer,
Wounded and maim'd; yea, though his noble form
With chains and stripes and slavery be disgraced,
Say he is living still, and I will bless thee.
Thou knowst—full well thou knowst, but wilt not speak.
What means that heavy groan? For love of God, speak to me!
[Tears the mantle from his face, with which he had concealed it.
My Ermingard! My blessed Ermingard!
Thy very living self restored again!
Why turn from me?

Er.
Ah! callst thou this restor'd?

Aur.
Do I not grasp thy real living hand?
Dear, dear!—so dear! most dear!—my lost, my found!
Thou turnst and weepst; art thou not so to me?

Er.
Ah! would I were! alas, alas, I'm lost:
Sever'd from thee for ever.

Aur.
How so? What mean such words?

Er.
(shaking his head, and pointing to the cross on his mantle).
Look on this emblem of a holy vow,
Which binds and weds me to a heavenly love:
We are, my sweet Aurora, far divided;
Out bliss is wreck'd for ever.

Aur.
No; thou art still alive, and that is bliss.
Few moments since, what would I not have sacrificed,
To know that in the lapse of many years
I should again behold thee?—I had been—
How strongly thou art moved!—Thou heedst me not.

Ter.
(to Aur.)
Were it not better he should leave this spot?
Let me conduct him to my quiet bower.
Rest and retirement may compose his mind.

Aur.
Ay, thou art right, Terentia.

Ter.
(to the other knights).
Noble knights,
And these your followers! gentle Bastiani
Will to a place of better comfort lead you,
Where ye shall find some hospitable cheer,
And couches for repose.—Have we your leave
That your companion be a little time
Ta'en from your company?

1st knight.
You have, good lady,
Most readily we grant it.—Heaven be with you,
And this your lovely charge! (To Bast.)

Sir, to your guidance
We yield ourselves right gladly.

[Exeunt knights, &c., by a path between the rocks, and Aurora and Ermingard, &c., by another path.

SCENE II.

An ante-room in the house of Aurora. Enter Garcio, beckoning the page, who presently enters by the opposite side.
Gar.
Come hither, little friend, who didst before
Serve me so willingly. Wilt thou from me
Bear to Sir Ermingard a friendly message;
And say his old companion—

Page.
Nay, I dare not.
The holy legate and the pope besides
Might not disturb him now; for dame Terentia
Hath so decreed. He is in her apartment,
And yonder is the door.

[Pointing off the stage.
Gar.
From which e'en now
I saw thee turn?

Page.
I listen'd not for harm.

Gar.
Do I accuse thee, boy? Is he alone?
Or is thy lady with him?

Page.
That I know not.
Do folks groan heaviest when they are alone?

Gar.
Full oft they do; for then without restraint
They utter what they feel.

Page.
Then, by my beard, I think he be alone!
For as I slipp'd on tiptoe to the door,
I heard him groan so deeply!

Gar.
Thou heardst him groan?

Page.
Ay; deeply.
I thought when he return'd, we should be merry:
So starting up at the good tidings, quickly,
All darkling as I was, I donn'd my clothes:
But, by my beard! I'd go to bed again,
Did I not long most curiously to know
What will betide.

Gar.
Speak softly, boy; thou, and thy beard to boot,
Will badly fare if Ulrick should o'erhear thee.
I know his angry voice: he is at hand.

Page.
Where shall I go?—He will not tarry here:
He will but pass to the adjoining hall.
In this dark nook I'll hide me from his sight,
Lest he should chide me.

[Retires behind the pillar.
Gar.
Is there room for me?
He'll greet me too with little courtesy,
If I remain to front him.

[Retires behind the pillar also.
Enter Ulrick and Bastiani, speaking as they anter.
Ul.
And still thou sayst, forbear!

Bast.
Pass on, my lord.

Ul.
No, by the holy rood! I'll keep in sight
Of that accursed door which gave him entrance.
An hour's sand well hath run, which undisturb'd
They have in converse or endearments spent.
And yet I must forbear!

Bast.
They have not told the truth who told you so;
It is not yet so long.

Ul.
It is! it is!
I have within these walls, who for my service
More faithfully have watch'd than Bastiani—
Ay, or Terentia either.

Bast.
Wrong us not.
Since Ermingard returns by holy vows
So bound, that as a rival to your love,
You may, with honest thoughts of her you love,
No more consider him; all jealousy
Within your noble breast should be extinct.
Then think not to disturb these few short moments
Of unavailing sorrow; that were cruel.

Ul.
Thou pitiest others well; I am tormented,
And no one pities me.—That cursed beacon!
I said in vain this night should be the last:
It was a night too much: the sea had now
Roll'd o'er his lifeless corse; I, been at peace.

Bast.
For mercy, good my lord! curb such fell thoughts:
They bear no kindred to your better nature.

Ul.
My better nature! Mock me not with words;
Who loves like me, no nature hath but one,
And that so keen—Would the engulfing waves
Had fifty fathom deep entombed him!

Bast.
Speak not so loud: pass on; we are within
The observation of a prying household.
Pass on, and presently I'll bring you notice
Of what you would. I pray you, stop not here!

[Exeunt Ul. and Bast., while Gar. and page come from their concealment.
Page.
He would have chid me shrewdly.

Gar.
He is, indeed, an angry, ruthless man,
And Bastiani no slight task will have
To keep his wrath from mischief. To the legate
I'll hie me straight, and ask his better counsel:
So far thee well, sweet child.

Page.
Nay, take me with you; I'm afraid to stay.
I can my prayers and Ave-Maria say,
The legate will not chide me.

Gar.
Nay, stay behind; thou art secure, poor elf!
I'll soon return again.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The apartment of Terentia: Ermingard and Aurora are discovered with Terentia, who is withdrawn to a distance from them. Ermingard is seated with his body thrown back, and his face covered with both his hands, while Aurora stands by him in the attitude of one who is entreating or soothing him.
Erm.
O cease! Thy words, thy voice, thy hand on mine,
That touch so dearly felt, do but enhance
An agony too great.—Untoward fate!
Thus to have lost thee!

Aur.
Say not, thou hast lost me.
Heaven will subdue our minds, and we shall still,
With what is spared us from our wreck of bliss,
Be happy.

Erm.
Most unblest, untoward fate!
After that hapless battle, where in vain
I courted death, I kept my name conceal'd.
E'en brave De Villeneuve, master of our Order,
When he received my vows, did pledge his faith
Not to declare it. Thus I kept myself
From all communication with these shores,
Perversely forwarding my rival's will.
O blind and credulous fool!

Aur.
Nay, do not thus upbraid thyself: Heaven will'd it.
Be not so keenly moved: there still is left
What to the soul is dear.—We'll still be happy.

Erm.
The chasten'd pilgrim o'er his lady's grave
Sweet tears may shed, and may without reproach
Thoughts of his past love blend with thoughts of heaven.
He whom the treach'ry of some faithless maid
Hath robb'd of bliss, may, in the sturdy pride
Of a wrong'd man, the galling ill endure;
But sever'd thus from thee, so true, so noble,
By vows that all the soul's devotion claim,
It makes me feel—may God forgive the crime!
A very hatred of all saintly things.
Fool—rash and credulous fool! to lose thee thus!

Aur.
Nay, say not so: thou still art mine. Short while,
I would have given my whole of life besides
To've seen but once again thy passing form—
Thy face—thine eyes turn'd on me for a moment;
Or only to have heard through the still air
Thy voice distinctly call me, or the sound
Of thy known steps upon my lonely floor:
And shall I then, holding thy living hand
In love and honour, say, thou art not mine?

Erm.
(shaking his head).
This state—this sacred badge!

Aur.
O no! that holy cross upon thy breast
Throws such a charm of valorous sanctity
O'er thy lov'd form: my thoughts do forward glance
To deeds of such high fame by thee achieved;
That e'en methinks the bliss of wedded love
Less dear, less noble is, than such strong bonds
As may, without reproach, unite us still.

Erm.
O creature of a gen'rous constancy!
Thou but the more distractest me! Fool, fool!
[Starting from his seat, and pacing to and fro distractedly.
Mean, misbelieving fool!—I thought her false,
Credulous alone of evil—I have lost,
And have deserv'd to lose her.

Aur.
Oh! be not thus! Have I no power to soothe thee?
See, good Terentia weeps, and fain would try
To speak thee comfort.

Ter.
(coming forward).
Ay; bethink thee well,
Most noble Ermingard, heaven grants thee still
All that is truly precious of her love,—
Her true and dear regard.

Erm.
Then heaven forgive my black ingratitude,
For I am most unthankful!

Ter.
Nay, consider,
Her heart is thine: you are in mind united.

Erm.
United! In the farthest nook o' th' earth
I may in lonely solitude reflect,
That in some spot—some happier land she lives,
And thinks of me. Is this to be united?

Aur.
I cannot, in a page's surtout clad,
Thy steps attend as other maids have done
To other knights.

Erm.
No, by the holy rood!
Thou canst not, and thou shouldst not. Rather would I,
Dear as thou art, weep o'er thee in thy grave,
Than see thee so degraded.

Aur.
Hear me out.
I cannot so attend thee—noon and eve
Thy near companion be! but I have heard
That near the sacred houses of your order,
Convents of maids devout in Holy Land
Establish'd are—maids who in deeds of charity
To pilgrims and to all in warfare maim'd,
In sacred warfare for the holy cross,
Are deem'd the humble partners of your zeal.

Erm.
Ay, such there are; but what availeth this?

Aur.
There will I dwell, a vow'd and humble sister.
We shall not far be sever'd. The same winds
That do o' nights through your still cloisters sigh,
Our quiet cells visiting with mournful harmony,
Shall lull my pillow too. Our window'd towers
Shall sometimes show me on the neighbouring plains,
Amidst thy brave companions, thy mail'd form
Crested with glory, on thy pawing steed
Returning from the wars. And when at last
Thou art in sickness laid—who will forbid
The dear sad pleasure—like a holy bride
I'll by thy death-bed stand, and look to heaven
Where all bless'd union is. O! at the thought,
Methinks this span of life to nothing shrinks,
And we are bless'd already. Thou art silent:
Dost thou despise my words?

Erm.
O no! speak to me thus: say what thou wilt:
I am subdued. And yet these bursting tears!
My heart is rent in twain: I fear—I fear
I am rebellious still.
[Kneeling, and taking both her hands between his, and kissing them with great devotion.
School me or chide me now: do what thou wilt:
I am resign'd and humble.

Ter.
(advancing to them with alarm).
Hear ye that noise without?—They force the door,
And angry Ulrick comes.

Erm.
(starting from his knees furiously).
Thank heaven this hated rival front to front
Shall now oppose me! God avenge the right!

Enter Ulrick, bursting into the room, followed by Bastiani.
Ul.
(to Erm.)
Vow'd, holy knight; from all vain earthly love
Pure and divided; in a lady's chamber
Do we surprise thee? Quit it instantly:
It is a place for thee unfit: and know,
In sacred wardship will I keep that maid.

Erm.
In sacred wardship! O unblushing face!
What of thy baseness, treachery, and falsehood
I could declare, my choking voice forbids,
Which utterance hath not.—Here's a ready tongue—
[Drawing his sword.
Defend thee, then, and heaven defend the right!

[They both draw, and fight furiously, Bastiani endeavouring in vain to interpose; when the legate and his train, with Garcio and the Knights of St. John, enter, and separate them.
Leg.
Put up your weapons: to the holy church
This cause belongs, and to her high award
I charge you both that you in all humility
Submit. Lord Ulrick, to the pope perforce
You must account of this your wardship give,
Or by yourself in person, or your deputy,
To Rome forthwith despatch'd.
[Ul. bows sullenly.
As for the lady, to my guardian care,
Till we before the holy father come,
She must commit herself. And thou, Sir Ermingard,
Shalt to the sovereign pontiff and the patron
Of thy most valiant order, fully show
Wherein thou'st been aggriev'd. If the bless'd cross
Thou hast assum'd, supposing other vows
That did before engage thee, were annull'd,
By false reports deceived; the holy Urban,
Our wise enlighten'd father, will, I trust,
A dispensation grant, that shall empower thee
To doff with honour this thy sacred mantle,
And in its stead a bridegroom's robe assume.
[Ermingard and Aurora both embrace the legate's knees, who raises them up gently.
It is enough; forbear, forbear, my children;
I am too richly thank'd.
And now we must with sober minds confer:
For when the wind is fair, we sail for Rome.
Some days, perhaps, it may adversely blow—
Perhaps some weeks; for I have known it oft
Hold vessels bound.

Aur.
(tossing up her arms joyfully as she speaks).
No; it will change to-morrow.

Erm.
Dear ardent soul! canst thou command the winds?

[Aur. shrinks back ashamed.
Leg.
Blush not, sweet maid; nor check thy ardent thoughts;
That gen'rous, buoyant spirit is a power
Which in the virtuous mind doth all things conquer.
It bears the hero on to arduous deeds:
It lifts the saint to heaven.

[Curtain drops.