 | Rayner |  |
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A spacious outer room in the prison. Enter an Under-Gaoler and a Clown.Clown.
I pray thee now, my good friend, here is
a piece of money for thee—very good money too;
thou mayst look o' both sides of it an' thou wilt: it
has been wrapped up in the foot of my old holiday
stockings since last Michaelmas twelvemonth, and
neither sun nor wind has blown upon it. Take it,
man, thou art heartily welcome to it if thou canst
put me into a good place near the scaffold; or a
place where I may see him upon the scaffold; for I
am five-and-thirty years old next Shrove Tuesday
when the time comes round, and I have never yet
seen in all my born days so much as a thief set i' the
stocks.
Gaoler.
Poor man! thou hast lived in most
deplorable ignorance indeed. But stand aside a
little, here is the famous executioner of Olmutz acoming,
who has been sent for expressly to do the
job; for our own is but a titulary hangman; he has
all the honours of the office, but little experience in
the duties of it.
Clown.
O dickens, I'll creep into a corner then,
and have a good look of him. A man that has cut
off men's heads, save us all! he must have a strange
bloody look about him for certain.
Enter two Executioners, speaking as they enter.
1st ex.
What! no execution in this town for these
ten years past? Lord pity you all for a set of poor
devils indeed! Why, I have known a smaller town
than this keep ye up a first executioner for the
capital business, with a second man under him for
your petty cart-tail and pillory work; ay, and keep
them handsomely employed too. No execution in
such a town as this for these ten years past! One
might as well live amongst the savages.
2d ex.
It is a pitiful thing to be sure, but don't
despise us altogether, Mr. Master: we shall improve
by-and-bye; and here is a fair beginning for
it too, if heaven prosper us.
1st ex.
Ay, thou wilt, perhaps, have the honour
of hanging a thief or two before thou art the age of
Methuselah; but I warrant ye, the beheading of this
young nobleman here by the famous executioner
of Olmutz will be remembered amongst you for generations
to come. It will be the grand date from
which every thing will be reckoned; ay, your very
grandchildren will boast that their fathers were
present at the sight.
2d ex.
I make no doubt on't, my master, but you
are a very capital man in your way: heaven forbid
that I should envy the greatness of any one; but I
would have you to know that there have been
others in the world as good as yourself ere now.
My own father cut off Baron Koslam's head upon
this very scaffold that we now hear them hammering
at.
1st ex.
Some wandering hocus-pocus baron, I
suppose, that sold nostrums for the toothache. I
always put such fellows into the hands of my underling
to operate upon; I never count the dealing
with them as your prime work, though for certain
we must call it your head work; ha! ha! ha!
(Holding out his axe in a vain-glorious manner.)
Seest thou this axe of mine? The best blood of the
country has been upon its edge. To have had one's
father or brother under its stroke, let me tell thee,
is equal to a patent of nobility.
2d ex.
Well, be it so. I envy no man, though
thou art set over my head upon this occasion. I
have whipped, branded, and pilloried in great
meekness and humility for these seven years past;
but the humble shall be exalted at last, and I shall
have better work to do by-and-bye. Let us have
no more contention about it.—Who's there? (Observing
gaoler and clown.)
Ay, gaoler, do thou go
and kick up the black prince, he is snoring in some
corner near us, and send him for some brandy.
[Gaoler coming forward, with the clown creeping after him, half afraid.
Gaoler.
The black prince is nowhere to be found;
he has not been seen since the cells were locked.
2d ex.
Go fetch us some liquor thyself then.
1st ex.
But who is this sneaking behind thee, and
afraid to show his face?
Gaoler.
Only a poor countryman, a friend of
mine, who wanted to look at you as you passed.
1st ex.
Yes, yes, everybody has a curiosity to look
at extraordinary persons. (To clown.)
Come forward,
man, and don't be afraid. Didst thou ever
before see any thing better than a poor parish
priest, or a scrubby lord of the village? didst thou,
eh?
Clown
(abashed).
I don't know, please you: my
brother did once stand within a team's length of
the Prince of Carrara, when he passed through our
village on his way to Franconia.
1st ex.
So then thou art not the first of thy
family that has seen a great man. But don't be
afraid, my good fellow, I a'n't proud nor haughty
as many of them be: thou shalt even shake hands
with me an' thou wilt.
[Holding out his hand to clown, who shrinks from him, and puts his hands behind his back.
Clown.
No, I thank you; I ben't much of a
hand-shaker: I have got a little sore on my thumb,
may it please you: I thank you all the same as
though I did.
1st ex.
Ay, thou art too mannerly to call it the
thing that we wot of. Well, thou art a good sort
of fellow; don't be abashed: thou seest I am very
condescending to thee. Come, then, thou shalt
drink a cup of liquor with me. Follow us into the
next ward, my good friend.
Clown
(shrinking from him again).
O na, save your presence! I'll go with the gaoler here.
1st ex.
(to 2d executioner).
Ay, he is but a poor bashful clown, and don't know how to behave himself
in good company.
[Exeunt executioners.
Clown.
Shake hands with him, Mary preserve
us! it sets the very ends of my fingers a-dingling.
Drink out of the same mug with him, too! (sputtering
with his lips)
poh! poh! poh! the taste of
raw heads and carrion is on my lips at the thoughts
of it. (To gaoler.)
Come, let us go out of this
place; I be long enough here. (Stepping short as
he goes off.)
What noise and hammering is this we
hear?
Gaoler.
It is the workmen putting up the scaffold.
Clown
(starting).
What, are we so near to it?
mercy on us! let me get out of this place, for it
puts me into a terrible quandary.
Gaoler.
If this be the mettle thou art made of,
thou hadst better take thy money again, and I'll
give thy place for the sight to somebody that has
got a stouter heart than thou hast.
Clown.
Na, na, I won't do that neither; I have
a huge desire to see how a man looks when he is
going to have his head cut off, and I'll stay for the
sight, though I should swoon for it. Poor man! poor
man! what frightful things there be in this world,
when one's mind sets a-thinking upon it!—Is he a
tall man, now (to gaoler)
, or a short man? a palefaced
man, or—ay, pale enough, I warrant.
Mercy on us! I shall think of him many a night
after this, before I go to sleep. Poor man! poor
man! what terrible things there be in this world, if
a body does but think of them.
[Exeunt clown and gaoler.
SCENE II.
A dungeon; Rayner discovered sitting at a table by the light of a lamp, with a book in his hand; the clock from a neighbouring steeple strikes three, and he, roused by the sound, lays down the book.Ray.
This bell speaks with a deep and sullen voice:
The time comes on apace with silent speed.
Is it indeed so late?
[Looking at his watch.
It is even so.
[Pausing, and looking still at the watch.
How soon time flies away! yet, as I watch it,
Methinks, by the slow progress of this hand,
I should have lived an age since yesterday,
And have an age to live. Still on it creeps,
Each little moment at another's heels,
Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up
Of such small parts as these, and men look back,
Worn and bewilder'd, wond'ring how it is.
Which hath no bounding shore to mark its progress,
O Time! ere long I shall have done with thee.
When next thou leadest on thy nightly shades,
Though many a weary heart thy steps may count,
Thy midnight 'larum shall not waken me.
Then shall I be a thing, at thought of which
The roused soul swells boundless and sublime,
Or wheels in wildness of unfathom'd fears:
A thought; a consciousness; unbodied spirit.
Who but would shrink from this? It goes hard with thee,
Social connected man; it goes hard with thee
To be turn'd out into a state unknown,
From all thy kind, an individual being.
But wherefore shrink? came we not thus to earth?
And He who sent, prepared reception for us.
Ay, glorious are the things that are prepared,
As we believe!—yet, heaven pardon me!
I fain would skulk beneath my wonted cov'ring,
Mean as it is.
Ah, Time! when next thou fillst thy nightly term,
Where shall I be? Fy! fy upon thee still!
E'en where weak infancy, and tim'rous age,
And maiden fearfulness have gone before thee;
And where, as well as he of firmest soul,
The meanly-minded and the coward are.
Then trust thy nature, at th'approaching push,
The mind doth shape itself to its own wants,
And can bear all things.
[Rising from his seat, and walking several times backward and forward.
I know not how it is, I'm wondrous heavy;
Fain would I rest awhile. This weary frame
Has but a little more to do for me,
And yet it asks for rest. I'll lay me down:
It may be possible that I shall sleep,
After these weary tossings of the mind;
I feel as though I should.
[Goes to sleep, covering himself with a cloak.
Enter Ohio, creeping out from a hiding-place at the bottom of the stage, and going softly up to Rayner, looks for some time upon him with a malicious grin.
Ohio.
Thou hast loved negroes' blood, I warrant thee.
Dost sleep? ay, they will waken thee ere long,
And cut thy head off. They'll put thee to rest;
They'll close thine eyes for thee without thy leave;
They'll bloat thy white skin for thee, lily-face.
Come, less harm will I do thee than thy fellows:
My sides are cold: a dead man needs no cloak.
[Beginning gently to pull off Rayner's cloak, who starts from his sleep, and looks at him in amazement.
Ray.
Ha! what hole of the earth hath cast thee up?
What thing art thou? and what wouldst thou with me?
Ohio.
My sides are cold; a dead man needs no cloak.
Ray.
'Tis true indeed, but do not strip the living.
Where dost thou run to now? where wast thou hid?
Ohio
(after running to his hiding-place, and fetching out a stick, which he presents to Rayner).
Beat me thyself, but do not tell of me.
Ray.
I would not harm thee for a greater fault.
I'm sorry thou art cold; here is my cloak:
Thou hast said well; a dead man needs it not.
I know thee now; thou art the wretched negro
Who serves the prisoners; I have observ'd thee:
I'm sorry for thee; thou art bare enough,
And winter is at hand.
Ohio.
Ha! art thou sorry that the negro's cold?
Where wast thou born who art so pitiful?
I will not take thy cloak, but I will love thee.
They shall not cut thy head off.
Ray.
Go thy ways;
Go skulk within thy hiding-place again,
And, when the cell is open'd, save thyself.
Ohio.
They sha'n't cut off thy head.
Ray.
Now, pray thee go.
Ohio.
I'll kiss thy feet; I'll spend my blood for thee.
Ray.
I do beseech thee go! there's some one coming:
I hear them at the door.
[Pushes him hastily off.
Enter Hardibrand, advancing slowly to Rayner, his eyes cast upon the ground.
Ray.
Good morrow, general: where's thy friendly hand?
Why dost thou turn thine eyes aside, and fear
To look me in the face? Is there upon it
Aught that betrays the workings of the mind
Too strongly mark'd? I will confess to thee
I've struggled hard, I've felt the fears of nature;
But yet I have the spirit of a man
That will uphold me: therefore, my brave friend,
Do me the grace to look upon me boldly;
I'll not disgrace thee.
Har.
No, my valiant boy!
I know thou'lt not disgrace me, nor will I
Put shame on thee by wearing on this morn
A weeping face: I will be valiant too.
We will not, Rayner, though thou'rt thus—Oh! oh!
[Bursting into tears.
Ray.
My gen'rous friend, my second father, why
Wilt thou oppress me thus?
Har.
Bear with me, bear with me; I meant to brave it,
And I will brave it. But to thee, my son,
In thy distress, encompass'd as thou art,
My heart so strongly has enlink'd itself,
That to part from thee, boy, is—
[Falling on his neck, and bursting again into tears.
Mar.
(after looking at them for some time, and in a solemn imposing tone of voice).
The strength of man sinks in the hour of trial;
But there doth live a pow'r that to the battle
Girdeth the weak: heaven's vivifying grace,
And strength, and holy confidence be thine,
Who art in mercy stricken!
[Holding up his right hand to heaven, whilst
Rayner, approaching with reverence, bows himself beneath it very low.
Ray.
Thanks to thee, father! these are words of power,
And I do feel their strength. Beneath that hand,
Which hath in mercy stricken me, I bow;
Yea bow, the nobler and the bolder grown
For such humility.—(Familiarly.)
How goes the time?
Does day begin to dawn?
Mar.
Grey light peeps faintly o'er the eastern towers.
Ray.
The time is then advanced; we'll husband it.
Come close to me, my friends.
[Taking Hardibrand and Mardonio each by the hand, and pressing them close to his breast.
Of worldly cares, upon my mind there rest
But only those which I have mention'd to you.
Yet, in this solemn hour, let me remind you:—
My poor Elizabeth—
Har.
(eagerly).
Thou'st said enough:
She is my child and heiress of my lands
To the last rood.—Ah! what avails it now!
Ray.
How shall a dying man find thanks for this,
Whose day is closed? I will attempt no thanks.
The other wish that closely presses on me:—
Mardonio, upon thee must hang this boon:—
That miserable man of whom I've told you;
Now living in the hell of his remorse,
Cut off from human intercourse; whose vision
Of midnight horrors saved this hand from blood:
I fain—
Har.
(again eagerly interrupting him).
Fear not! fear not! he shall be saved;
And shall with human beings yet consort
In blessed charity, if ghostly care
From holiest men procured, or off'rings made
To ev'ry sacred shrine on christian ground
Can give him peace.
Ray.
(smiling and pressing Hardibrand to his bosom).
With all the prompt and gen'rous profusion
Of eager youth dost thou, mine aged friend,
Take every thing upon thee. Be it so.
And good Mardonio with his sober counsel
Will aid thy bounty. Here I join your hands:
My worldly cares are closed.
Enter Elizabeth, followed by Richard and Bertram, who remain on the background whilst she comes slowly forward; Rayner turning round on hearing them enter.
Ah! who is this?
Alas! alas! it is Elizabeth.
[Holding out his hand to her.
Advance, my love; thou'rt ever welcome here.
How does it fare with thee?
Eliz.
It is all mist and darkness with me now;
I know not how it fares with me.
Ray.
Alas!
Thou gentle soul! a dark cloud o'er thee hangs,
But through the gloom the sun again will break,
And, in the soberness of calm remembrance,
Thou wilt look back upon misfortunes past
Like tempests that are laid. Thou dost not heed me:
Thou dost not speak to me. Alas! Alas!
What shall I say to thee?
I've loved thee well, and would have loved thee long,
Had it so been—but thou shalt be beloved!
Heav'n will take charge of thee when I'm at rest:
The kindly and the good shall be thy kindred,
[Putting her hand in Hardibrand's.
And ev'ry sorrowful and gentle heart
Shall knit itself to thee, and call thee sister.
[Elizabeth makes a motion with her hand as if she would speak, and he pauses, but she is silent.
What meant, my love, that motion of thy hand?
Mar.
She fain would speak to thee, but has no voice.
Ray.
I know it well, Elizabeth; no voice
Needst thou to tell me how thou'st dearly loved me,
And dearly do I prize it; 'tis my pride;
E'en humbled as I am, it is my pride.
Heav'n's dearest blessings rest upon thy head!—
And now, since we must part, do in thy love,
Do for me this last grace; bid me farewell,
And let my earthly sorrows now be closed.
Heav'n's blessing rest upon thee!
[He kisses her, and she turns to go away, Rayner looking after her as she goes, but presently returns again.
Ray.
Thou art return'd, my soul, what wouldst thou have?
Eliz.
(in a broken voice).
A thought—a wish did press upon my heart,
But it is gone.
Ray.
I thank thee for thy wish;
It is a good one, though thou canst not speak it,
And it will do me good. But leave me! leave me!
Thou wilt unfit me for a task of strength.
[Elizabeth again attempts to go away, but still returns.
Ah, wherefore still! wilt thou be cruel to me?
O, no! O, no! I know not what I do:
It is all mist and darkness with me now:
I look upon thee, but I see thee not.
Let me once more but feel thy hand in mine
And send me where ye will: my being then
Is at an end.
[They embrace again, and she still continues to hang upon him.
Ray.
(to Bertram and Richard).
O, lead her hence, and have some mercy on me!
My father died i' the field a valiant death,
And shall his son upon the scaffold die
O'ercome and weak, reft of that decent firmness
Which e'en the base and vulgar there assume?
O lead her hence! in mercy lead her hence!
[Bertram and Richard tear her from him, and lead her away, whilst he turns his back, and hides his face with his hands.
Eliz.
(stopping short, and tossing up her arms distractedly as they are leading her out).
Reprieve, reprieve! I hear a voice i' the air!
I hear it yet again!
Ray.
(uncovering his face, and looking about eagerly, whilst Hardibrand rushes forward impetuously from the bottom of the stage, where he has been pacing backward and forward with hasty strides).
Is't any thing?
Mar.
Alas, no! all is silent: 'tis the fancy
Of fond distraction list'ning to itself.
Har.
Nay, it was something: Bertram, thou didst hear it?
Ber.
No, I heard nothing.
Har.
What, nor thou, good Richard?
Rich.
No, nothing.
Eliz.
(holding up her arm distractedly as Richard and Bertram lead her off).
And is it nothing? no redemption near!
[Exeunt Elizabeth, Richard, and Bertram, whilst Rayner, uttering a deep groan, hides his face, and Hardibrand returns with hasty strides to the bottom of the stage.
Ray.
(uncovering his face).
Is she gone now?
Mar.
She is.
Ray.
Thank God for it! Now to our task:
[Stepping forward with assumed firmness.
What of it now remains we shall o'er-master.
Pray thee how goes the time? But pardon me!
I have too oft inquired how goes the time:
It is my weakness.
Mar.
The morning now advances.
Ray.
So I reckon'd.
We too shall put ourselves in forwardness:
And so, good father, to your ghostly guidance
I do commend myself.
Enter Gaoler.
Gaoler.
The officers of justice are arrived,
And wait the presence of the prisoner.
Ray.
They come upon us sooner than we wist;
But 'tis so much the better. (To Mardonio, aside.)
Shall we have time allow'd us for retirement,
Before they lead me forth?
Mar.
'Tis ever so allow'd.
Ray.
Come then, I feel me stronger than I was:
'Twill soon be past; the work goes on apace.
[Taking hold of Hardibrand and Mardonio as he goes out.
Your arm, I pray:—I know not how it is;
My head feels dizzy, but my limbs are firm.
Good Hardibrand, thinkst thou I shall disgrace thee?
Har.
No, by the mass! I'll give them this old carcase
To hack for crow's meat if thou shrinkst one hair's breadth
From the comportment of a gallant soldier,
And of a brave man's son.
Ray.
(smiling with a gratified look).
I thank thee.
Methinks I tread now, as I onward move,
With more elastic and dilating step,
As if a spirit of pride within me stirr'd
Buoying me up on the swoln billow's ridge.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
An outer garden-room or portico in the house whereZaterloo is concealed. Enter Countess and a confessor, with two attendants bearing Zaterloo on a small couch, which they set down on the middle of the stage; the attendants retire.
Countess.
The air revives him: look, I pray thee, father,
How the fresh air revives him: say not then
All hope is banish'd quite.—Thou shak'st thy head:
But whilst I see upon his moving breast
One heave of breath, betok'ning life within,
I'll grasp at hope, and will not let it go. (Bending over the couch.)
My son, my son! hearst thou my voice, my son?
Zat.
Yes, mother: I have had a fearful struggle.
'Tis a strong enemy that grapples with me,
And I must yield to him.—O pious father!
Pray thou for mercy on me.
Countess.
Yes, my son,
This holy man shall pray for thee; the shrines
Of holiest saints be gifted for thee; masses
And sacred hymns be chanted for thy peace:—
And thou thyself, even 'midst thine agony,
Hast spoken precious words of heav'nly grace;
Therefore be comforted.
Zat.
(shaking his head).
There is no comfort here: dark, veil'd, and terrible,
That which abides me; and how short a space—
Countess.
O thou mayst yet recover!
Con.
Lady, forbear! this is no time to soothe
Therefore, I do again entreat it of you,
Sond off the messenger with his confession,
Lest it should be too late to save the innocent,
And he be sent unto his long account
With a most heavy charge upon his head.
Countess.
Thou mak'st me tremble.—Ho! There, you without!
Send here the messenger. (Calling off the stage.)
—His steed is ready:
He shall forthwith depart.
Enter Messenger.
Con.
(to messenger).
Take thou this packet, and with full-bent speed
Go to the city to the governor,
And see that into his own hand thou give it,
With charges that he read it instantly.
It is of precious moment to his life
Who on the scaffold should this morning suffer.
Quick mount thy horse: few minutes' goaded speed
Will take thee to the gates.
Mes.
Few minutes' goaded speed, five leagues to master!
Con.
Five leagues! thou'rt mad.
Mes.
No, marry! know ye not
The flooded river hath last night broken down
The nearer bridge?
Con.
What, art thou sure of this?
Mes.
I am now come from gazing on the sight.
From bank to bank the red swoln river roars;
And on the deep and slowly-rolling mass
Of its strong centre-tide, grumly and dark,
The wrecks of cottages, whole ricks of grain,
Trunks of huge trees, torn by the roots,—ay, save us!
And floating carcases of perish'd things,
Bloated and black, are borne along; whilst currents
Cross-set and furious, meeting adverse streams
On rude uneven surface, far beyond
The water's natural bed, do loudly war
And terrible contest hold; and swelt'ring eddies
With dizzy whirling fury, toss aloft
Their surgy waves i' the air, and scatter round
Their ceaseless bick'ring gleams of jagged foam,
All fiercely whit'ning in the morning light.
Crowds now are standing upon either shore
In awful silence; not a sound is heard
But the flood's awful voice, and from the city
A dismal bell heard through the air by starts,
Already tolling for the execution.
Con.
What's to be done? fate seems to war against us.
No, no! we'll not despair! Mount thy fleet horse,
Life and death's in thy speed:—
Let nought one moment stop thee on thy way:
All things are possible to vig'rous zeal:
Life and death's in thy speed: depart! depart!
And heaven be with thine efforts.
[Exit messenger, after receiving the packet.
Zat.
Is he gone? is it done?
Con.
Yes, he is gone: God grant he be in time,
For unto human reck'ning 'tis impossible!
[To countess, with an upbraiding look.
Half an hour sooner—
Countess.
Oh, torment me not!
Who could foresee this hind'rance?—O, good father!
Look to thy penitent. Upon his count'nance
There's something new and terrible. Speak to him:
Go close to him, good father. O my son!
Zat.
I feel within me now—this is the feeling:
I am upon the brink, the dreadful brink:
It is a fearful gulf I have to shoot.
O yet support me! in this racking pain
I still may hold a space the grasp of life,
And keep back from the dark and horrid—Oh! (Uttering a deep groan.)
It is upon me!
[Struggles and expires with a faint groan. Countess, wringing her hands in agony of grief, is hurried off the stage by the Confessor and attendants, who rush in and take hold of her.
SCENE IV.
An open square before the great gate of the prison: a crowd of spectators, with guards, &c., are discovered, waiting for the coming forth of Rayner to his execution, and a solemn bell is heard at intervals. The gate opens, and enter Rayner walking between Mardonio and Hardibrand, and followed by Richard and Bertram, preceded and followed by guards, officers, &c. The procession moves slowly over the stage, and exeunt, followed by the greater part of the crowd, though a good many of them still remain upon the stage. Then re-enter Hardibrand and Richard, followed by one or two of the crowd: Hardibrand walking up and down in a perturbed manner, and Richard leaning his back against the side-scene, where he continues motionless with his eyes fixed on the ground. The murmur of the multitude is heard for some time without, and then ceases, followed by a dead silence.1st crowd.
The sound of the multitude is still now.
2d crowd
(looking out).
I fancy, by the crowd
who stand all gathered round yonder in dead silence,
he is now preparing for the block.
3d crowd.
It must be so: mercy on us, what a
mantle of human faces there be spread round on
every side, and not one sound of voice amongst
them all!
Har.
(starting and stopping suddenly, to 1st crowd). A long pause.
Didst thou hear aught?
1st crowd.
No, they are still silent.
Look out, I pray thee, and tell me what thou seest.
What dost thou gaze at with so broad an eye?
[1st crowd looks out.
1st crowd.
The executioner is now mounted upon
the platform, and the prisoner—O! I cannot
look any more!
[A loud confused noise is heard without.
Har.
What's that?
2d crowd.
It is like the cry of a great multitude,
when they look upon something that is
terrible.
1st crowd.
Then the stroke is given, and it is all over now.
[Hardibrand turns hastily away, and rushes to the other end of the stage, whilst Richard gives a heavy groan, and still remains motionless. A shout is heard without.
Har.
(returning furiously from the bottom of the stage).
More of that horrible din!—
May they bring down the welkin on their heads!
2d crowd
(to 1st crowd).
What art thou looking at now?
1st crowd.
Nay, there is nothing to look at now:
the platform is down, and the crowd is returning
home again.
Enter Ohio, running across the stage.
Ohio.
I've done it! I've done it! I've done it!
[Exit.
Enter a messenger in great haste, followed by a civil Officer.
1st crowd.
Where are you running to so fast?
Mes.
Is the execution over?
1st crowd.
Yes, it is over.
Mes.
Ah! then I am too late.
1st crowd.
What mean ye by that?
Mes.
I brought a pardon for him.
Har.
(rushing upon the messenger and collaring him).
A pardon! O confound your tardy speed!
Had you upon some paltry wager striv'n,
You had run faster. O, thou cursed fool!
O hadst thou sped, I'd make a rich man of thee!
Mes.
(disentangling himself).
My steed and I across the high-swoln flood,
Those on the shore shrieking to see our boldness,
Have fearless swum some miles short of the pass
Which we must else have gain'd, or, by my faith,
I had been later.
Har.
Thou liest, thou cursed fool! thou shouldst have sped
Swift as a bullet from the cannon's mouth.
[Collaring him again.
Enter Rayner, Mardonio, Bertram, and crowd.
Mar.
(to Hardibrand, pulling him back from the messenger).
Hold, general! what hath the poor man done?
Har.
What has he done! he's brought a pardon, fiend!
[The crowd give a great shout, crying out “Pardon, pardon,” and Hardibrand, turning round at the noise, and seeing Rayner, springs forward, and catches him in his arms.
God bless us all, and let us keep our wits!
Is this true seeing that my eyes are blest with?
O welcome, welcome! this is wonderful!
My boy! my noble boy! my gallant boy!
Thou art a man again, and I—I'm mad:
My head wheels round, but 'tis a blessed madness.
What sayst thou? art thou silent?
Hast no voice?
Ray.
To be upon the verge of death is awful;
And awful from that verge to be recall'd.
God bless you! O God bless you! I am spent;
But let me draw my breath a little while,
And I will thank you—I will—Bear with me:
I cannot speak.
[Recovering himself, and seeing the crowd gather round him with joyful and sympathising looks.
Surely 'tis a kind world I have return'd to;
There's sympathy and love in ev'ry heart.
Mar.
(to messenger).
Where is the pardon? let me have it, friend,
That I may read it.
[Messenger gives him a paper, which he reads.
We charge thee upon our authority to set the—
[Reading the rest low to himself.
What! call ye this a pardon which acquits
The prisoner as guiltless of the crime?
May God be praised! how has all this been?
Mess.
Count Zaterloo, who on his death-bed lies,
In deep remorse, a paper of confession,
Attested by a priest and his own mother,
Caused to be drawn, which to the governor
I've brought, I wot, as quickly as I might,
Though (pointing to Hardibrand)
this good gentleman—
Har.
(embracing the messenger).
O no! O no! thou'rt a brave fellow now,
And, as I've said, I'll make a rich man of thee.
But I'm bewilder'd still: how hath it been
That he is saved, seeing no pardon reach'd him?
Mar.
Yes, thou mayst wonder! for some unknown friend
Had sawn across the main prop of the scaffold,
So that the headsman mounting first, the platform
Fell with a crash; and he, all maim'd and bruised,
Unfit to do his office, was perforce—
Har.
Ay, ay, 'tis plain, thou needst not tell me more.—
But he, the unknown friend—
Enter Ohio, running exultingly.
Ohio.
'Twas I that did it!
Beat me and scourge me as ye list: I did it!
And I have paid him back.
Har.
Ha! well done and well said, my brave black thing!
Art thou a prince? in faith I think thou art.
I'll take thee home, and make a man of thee.
No, no! (Pointing to Rayner.)
Here is my son, my heir, my child:
All that I have is his: he will reward thee.
Thou hast a gen'rous mind, although debased
With vile oppression and unmanly scorn.
Ray.
(taking Ohio and Hardibrand both by the hand).
What shall I say to you? my heart would speak
What my voice cannot. O! and here comes one
Who mocks all power of words.
[Enter Elizabeth running, and rushes into Rayner's arms; the crowd then eagerly gathers round them, and closes upon them.
Mar.
(stepping out from the crowd, and looking upon them).
Yes, gather round him, kindly souls, though rude,
In the true artless sympathy of nature;
For he is one o'er whom the storm has roll'd
In awful power, but spared the thunderbolt.—
When urged by strong temptation to the brink
Of guilt and ruin, stands the virtuous mind
With scarce a step between; all pitying heaven,
Severe in mercy, chast'ning in its love,
Ofttimes, in dark and awful visitation,
Doth interpose, and leads the wand'rer back
To the straight path, to be for ever after
A firm, undaunted, onward-bearing traveller
Strong in humility, who swerves no more.
[Exeunt.
| Rayner | |