University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—FIELD AFTER THE BATTLE BY MOONLIGHT.
Panorama of hill and forest, with groups of dead and dying.
Enter Marcella.
Marcella.
Shadow, that fleetest over heath and hill,
That midst the dead and dying guidest me,
When wilt thou pause, and point the noble frame
In which the spirit once was liberal
Of all that wooes and wins? O, Ferrex, stay.
Shew me thy corse, that I may clasp it thus;
And on thy cold, cold lips bestow the kiss
They never felt while living. Stay, O stay!
Illusion! 'tis a moonbeam cheats my vision;
Mantled in mist—and now it fades—it fades.
No spirit hovers to direct my search,
But through the horrors of this silenced plain
I wander, fear-distraught.

Enter Philander.
Philander.
Lady Marcella.

Marcella.
O, I am called; I come, dear shade, I come.
Rebuke me not, if I do seem afraid—
Pardon my shrieks—forgive me if I groan.
I have heard shrieks and groans along the field,
And they have taught my soul to echo them;
And I have wildly screamed, and tossed my arms,
In frantic terror, to the scornful moon,
That me before ne'er mocked. All things are changed—
The living is the dead—the dead is living;
My lover lives, but still the heart I prize
Hath ceased to beat. Mine throbs to agony.

Philander.
I am no spirit, lady, but Philander—
He you were wont to call your pretty page;
I am here to guide you from these slaughtered heaps.
Myself and Dordan came to seek thee, lady,
And good King Gorbudoc. Him he hath found,
Searching, like thee, for Ferrex' corse in vain;
And now, thanks to the moonlight that still shines,
Though battle hath shed blood and broken hearts
On the hushed earth, my quest has prospered here.
Go with me, lady.

Marcella.
Go with thee—and whither?
What canst thou do for me, or I for thee?
Canst thou distinguish where the slain one sleeps?

Philander.
It must be hereabouts.

Marcella.
What sayest thou?
How knowest?

Philander.
Dordan and I were on the field,
Anxious to watch the progress of the fight,
And learn its issue. We did see him fall—

Marcella.
Is this the spot? Ah, let us here remain—
Examine here, until, from out the mass,
We can discern the honoured and the loved.

Philander.
Ha! 'tis—it is the spot—and here he lies.

Marcella.
Where?—where? That is not princely Ferrex.

Philander.
No, sweet lady,
'Tis Hermon.

Marcella.
As his friend, let him be dear—

Philander.
He bravely battled by his prince's side;
Opposed by furious Enyon, till he fell,
Slain by his foeman with a sudden thrust;
Which seeing, princely Ferrex turned apart,
To avenge him on his victor mainly bent,
When Porreo his unguarded brother smote.
What happened next I know not; instant rout
Succeeding that mischance.

Marcella.
What happened next?
What values it what happened? Even the wreck
Of the great earth had been an accident
Of little note; for all the good it had,
Then perished. Nothing beautiful or fair
Was there, in all it compassed, to affect—
And all the hearts in it were void of love.
Sorrow, remorse, and madness, and revenge
Engross all bosoms with one soul of hate—
I know 'tis so—it cannot but be so.

Philander.
Nay, lady, yield not to such sad despair—
Along with me—why not along with me?

Marcella.
We have not found him—Hermon is not he.

Philander.
It cannot be, but he is borne away—

Marcella.
Hush, hush, thou knowst not what thou pratest of.

Philander.
Here comes another. 'Tis Apollo's priest.

Enter the Priest.
Priest.
Here has, I see, my errand glad result.

Marcella.
Thou art a priest and canst inquire of gods,
And they respond in oracles. Now—now—
Give hasty satisfaction my demand—
Tell me where Ferrex lies?

Priest.
Even now, I passed
Where, on a bier, the brave Dunwarro guards
The body of the Prince. The Queen herself,
Who holds her grief with wondrous fortitude,
Dispatched me from the temple, where she bides,
In search of thee; and, hither as I came,
I crossed the sad procession on my way.

Marcella.
O give me wings! float me upon the wind—
That, without lapse and motion of my own,
I may be there—for he hath waited long.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD.
Enter the King, with Dordan dressed as a mendicant.
King.
Thanks for thy service—though I know thee not—
Yet sometimes when my twilight mind took note
Of outward things, thy voice hath tones in it
With which I seemed familiar. What art thou?

Dordan.
A beggar, my good master.

King.
Why not work?
How camest thou to beg?

Dordan.
I was—a fool—
That is—in this world's ways. I could not learn
To care for things that other men much prize.
Their wealth, their state, were ostentatious gauds,
The which I thought it wisdom to contemn—
My wit, my parts, were personal accidents,
The which they thought it folly to esteem.
And so I made a world unto myself
Of thoughts and fancies, which, whene'er I uttered,
The world at large mistook for idiocies.

King.
So, so. The vain ones. And their drivelling cares,
To multiply their stores, and keep their power,
And their poor plans to purchase early ease,
They thought were pieces of consummate prudence.
'Tis criminal folly—they were the true idiots;
So they would know, had they but my experience.
Thus thou becamest a beggar?

Dordan.
Ay, good master.

King.
Well, well, 'tis all the same, whatever course
Of life we take. I am a beggar, too,
And yet I wrought by the opposite rule. There's nothing
For man to do, but trust the gods, and they
The issues shape as pleases their great wisdoms.

Dordan.
It is most true.

King.
I could not find my son.
He lay not on the field (my son! my son!);
But I found thee, where I, from weariness,
Had sunk. Sure, I had lain instead of him,
But that a beggar raised me from the soil,
Moist—moist—with blood; ye gods, with human blood.

Dordan.
They have borne thy son away.

King.
Who? who? good fellow.

Dordan.
Dunwarro and his soldiers—

King.
Why, thou fool,
Thou toldst me so before.

Dordan.
Fool? So I am.

King.
I beg thy pardon, thou art but a beggar;
I ought to give thee value for thy service,
Having been once a King. But now I have nothing.
I called thee fool. These brows, though they look grave,
Have not with wisdom overmuch been burthened.
What's here? A crown?—of gold? It is not mine;
'Tis his—and he is dead—slain by his brother.
Fool; wouldst thou think it? I have nothing but
This gaud in all the world! He wants it not;
And there's another shall not have it; so
Take it, good fellow, for thy pains, and be
No more a beggar. Melt it down.

Dordan
(aside).
This is
A sorry jest. Alas, my poor old King
Knows Dordan but by glimpses. (to King)
But, master,
My honesty will not permit my taking
So rich a prize.

King.
Thy honesty? part with it.
Ferrex was honest; nay, was generous,
And therefore he was killed. Wouldst thou escape
Worse even than beggary, part with honesty.

Dordan.
With safety, too, sometimes. They'd say I stole
This crown.

King.
Fool; 'tis not worth the stealing. Who
Hath that, has fear, and pain, and agony;
It weighs so heavy on the skull, the brain
Is crushed, and then confusion comes, and madness,
And he who wears it knows not what he doth.
I will not take it back. Thou hast it—there—
Good luck go with it; I am rid of it.
Put'st it not on?

Dordan.
I am already capped.
A helmet would have better served our need,
Since I am thirsty to a thought, to catch
Some water when we find it.

King.
Come—come—come
Into the city. There is many a fountain—
Troth, but my own tongue's parched; though I forgot it,
Talking with thee. Ye gods! my sons—my sons!

[Exeunt.

SCENE THE LAST.

—EXTERIOR OF THE TEMPLE OF APOLLO.
Steps leading up to the gates.
Enter Enyon and a crowd of people.
Enyon.

I tell you we have conquered. The King is
good as dead. He has been drinking of the fountains
which are all poisoned, and has not an hour to live. Some
who have partaken of them are even dead already. Ferrex
is dead—and Porreo therefore must reign. The prince is
here, with his haughty mother, in this temple, the gates
whereof are locked—but must be opened. Knock loud—
[The people ascend the steps, knock at the gates, and shout vociferously, “Porreo, Porreo, King Porreo!”]

—louder—
and call on Porreo, Porreo, King Porreo! No answer? O
there's jugglery. We'll find a means. But see. There
comes Dunwarro, with his procession and the corse of

Ferrex. His followers are well armed. We are not. Let
us to the town, and supply our hands with what they need.

[Exeunt clamorously.
Trumpets. Enter Dunwarro, Marcella, with three or four Soldiers (one bearing the crown of gold).
Dunwarro.
No further seek, my daughter: thou hast found
The living; nor is distant far the dead.
Stretched on a bier, sustained in the embrace
Of faithful men who've for their country fought,
Slain Ferrex' corse approaches.

[Solemn music.—Enter Soldiers carrying the body of Ferrex on a bier, which they set down.]
Marcella.
Beautiful,
And lovely, art thou, even in thy death.
For sake of thee, and of thy noble goodness,
Wronged shade! most solemnly I make my vow—
The unnatural hand that slew thee ne'er in mine
Shall pressure feel—the pleadings of his lips
My heart shall never hear. I banish him
From the deep memories of my haunted soul,
Which thou henceforth shalt fill to plenitude,
Its prince, its hero, and its only king!

Dunwarro.
A virtuous resolution, O my daughter!
And still to heal what civil war has vexed,
And grace the memory of restorèd peace,
To Concord straight a temple I'll erect;
And since, because of what has chanced, a maid,
Marcella, thou art pledged to live and die,
Thereof thou shalt the vestal priestess be.
[Exit Marcella.
And now, brave mourners for the valiant dead,
Resume the honoured corse; and let the dirge
Throw once again its moanings on the wind,
While to the shrine ye bear your sacred charge.
[Music.
Set wide the temple gates without delay.
Knock loud! knock loud! Within there! who's within?
What ho! what ho! None answers? Soft; there comes
The honest priest.
Enter the Priest.
Grant us, good priest, admittance.

Priest.
I have sought it for myself, this hour or more,
In vain. The Queen Videna, with Prince Porreo,
Is there alone. Why they keep shut the gates,
I cannot guess.

Dunwarro.
O! did she know the need
We have for instant entrance, she would match
The speed wherewith the wedded eagle flies
To soothe her dying mate.

Priest.
King Gorbudoc?

Dunwarro.
Ay, honest priest—even he. Couldst thou but see him,
Where under escort he approaches hither.
I sped but on before to make all ready.

Priest.
What shape assumes the crime or accident?

Dunwarro.
'Tis both. Not long ago (having obtained
Success in an apt stratagem, whereby
Victory set foot upon Rebellion's crest,
And spurned the brains out), joyously returning
From our long labours in the well-fought field,
We passed the fountain at the city gates.
There, sitting, Gorbudoc himself we saw,
And on his knees a seeming mendicant,
Who, closely scanned, presented to our wonder
Dordan, the sometime fool; but he was dead,
Having within his grasp this crown of gold
Strictly secured, for to his charge the king
The precious gift had in some way confided.
It was not in me not to pity him;
For lately I found in him a kind of merit,
The which before his office kept concealed.
He had drunken of that fountain, and was poisoned.
So likewise had the king, who, from the field
Where lay his eldest son had been led thither,
Frantic almost in mind. 'Twould seem as if
Their feverish grief had kindled in them both
The appetite of thirst. Dordan is dead,
And Gorbudoc is dying. No more words—
They're bringing him this way. Knock at the gates,—
Make riotous onset; break through bolts and bars;
Bring levers here.

Enter the King, supported by Eubulus and attendants, with Marcella.
King.
Where bear ye me?

Eubulus.
To the temple.

King.
Ha! there I have a son yet. Remains the Queen?

Dunwarro.
Both, saith this priest, are there; but locked within.

King.
O, what? Ah, sure, I have drunk a draught from Orcus,
It is so hot within me. Locked the gates!
Why this? Why this? My wits I think were wandering;
But the medicine of the poisoned spring hath called
The truants back. Alas, evil is now
So common I can dream of nothing else.
Psha—there can be no harm.

Dunwarro.
Knock at the gates,
I say.—What ho. (They knock.)


King.
Who poisoned all the wells?

Dunwarro.
Heed not of that, thou dying majesty.
Look, how he suffers, yet how patiently.

King
(to Marcella).
Come, my good girl. Ai—ai—let me not groan—
Let me not groan. No—no—nor sigh, nor weep.
Not weep? A cooling tear might soothe this fire.
Let it rage—let it rage; for could I quench it, grief
Were wild for thee, my Queen, and our young Princes.

Dunwarro.
Stand by, and give him air.

King.
Air? air? Not all
The winds could fan me into ease again.
I would bespeak Marcella.

Dunwarro.
Go to him.

[Marcella goes.
King
(to Marcella).
My daughter! Such thou hadst been, if thy virtues
Had not made thee too well beloved—my daughter!
I die—I leave no heir to Britain's throne;
None—ne'er that fratricide shall sit upon it—
I looked to have seen thee Queen of one fair half.
Half—that division has divided all;
Brother from brother, parent from the child,
And lovers from each other; even the betrothed
Soul from the body. How mine struggles here.
She burns for freedom from the flesh she loathes.
My life pants forth; I'll bite my lip and keep
The fiery breath yet in. Well, that pain's conquered.
Marcella, take yon crown. Did not the god
Inspire thee with foreknowledge of this woe?
And promise peace when that should rule alone?
The iron crown is broken, and my line—
The line of Brutus—is without a claimant.
Thy father hath made peace. Let him succeed me.
Crown him. Dunwarro shall be King. It is
My dying will. Crown him, I say, while yet
My eyes can see, for they grow very dim.

Dunwarro.
Knock at the gates again. O royal wife;
O princely son; is there not instinct in ye
To know who waits without, and in what need?
Videna! Porreo! Gorbudoc demands you—
Come forth, and aid him in the hour of death.

[The gates open, Videna appears between them at the threshold, where she stands immovable in an erect attitude.]
Videna.
Whose clamour here disturbs the peace of gods?

Dunwarro.
The King requires admission.

Videna.
Ha, old man.
Approach me not, for I am consecrate;
Not human, but divine; the immaculate
Goddess of justice.

Dunwarro.
What is this? Dread lady,
King Gorbudoc is at the point of death.

Videna.
The better—

King.
O these pangs; yet I must question
The solemn mystery she hath late become—
Videna!

Videna.
Thou beholdst the corse of Ferrex.

King.
Sad mother, ay, and soon shall see his soul.

Videna.
Wouldst also look on the slain corse of Porreo?

King.
How died he?

Videna
(descending the steps).
King, I say not he is dead;
I but demand if thou wouldst see him so,
As once thou saidst to see him so were good.

King.
I would not see him living; and, anon,
These eyes will nothing see that's of this world—
Say, is he dead?

Videna.
Not dead—he sleeps.

King.
Sleeps?

Videna.
Ay (coming forward),

He sleeps. He sleeps? How can he sleep? His arm
Is wearied with long conflict, and his mind
With labour worn, sleeps—though the work was mortal.

King.
Now should I grieve, but that, without design,
Into my heart, which is a prisoner here,
Within a wall of flesh, a friend has come,
Who is battering down for me the dungeon barriers,
A faithful friend, yet sharp in his reproofs.

Videna.
Sleep! makest no difference 'twixt the innocent
And guilty? Art thou a god indifferent
To crime or folly? Frequent I've been told
That conscience lived in dreams, and waked in sleep:
He hath a brother's blood upon his soul,
And yet he sleeps.

King.
Videna—O this fire.

Videna.
My mother's heart. O pardon, Gorbudoc,
The wife's neglect. O King, why art thou thus?

King.
Videna, I am dying.

Videna
(coming closer to him).
Dying?

King.
Ay—
Pain, pain—'tis over. 'Twas in mercy given;
This corporal anguish calms the wounded soul,
That else were ravished into agony.
The gods have rightly judged.

Videna
(coming still closer).
Hast taken poison?

King.
By chance, not by design. The springs were poisoned.

Videna.
Ha! and by whom? He told me, ere he fell
Asleep, the manner of the war, and, chief,
This stratagem. He sleeps; but I sleep not.
I wander wakeful. Wherefore should he sleep?
Ha! why should he awake? Oracular
Slumber! thou image of stern death! 'Tis clear;
The mystery is made clear—I see it well.
[Ascends the steps and looks into the temple.
There is a rush of thoughts, like that of waves,
Filling the mind, as they the sea, with a voice
Of power in motion, irresistible.

[Looking again into the temple, and going a little way into it.]
Dunwarro
(to the King).
Let's help thee to the temple.

King.
To the dead?
No, I can die even here. 'Twill soon be passed;
Then I may look on him, unwounded by
The hand that bare him, in Elysium,
By that dread act of justice expiate.

Dunwarro.
What dream is this?

King.
The thought is in her heart!

Videna
(returning).
No; he should never wake again (descends the steps).
He smiles
In his sleep, as if he were a child; my child—
My only child. My only child! And why
My only—only child? A mother's heart pours gall
Upon the murderer of her son—of thee,
His father, too (coming close to the King)
—

King.
'Twas chance—he knew it not—
(My sons! my sons!) Or thou, or I am dying—
Thou lookst so pale: I touch thee, thou art cold—
Thou diest as thou standest—it is strange,
Looking how proud, even in death—severe,
But ever just. How are the royal fallen.
There; now I feel less pain—less pain—and now,
None—none. Farewell! (dies.)


Videna
(who has been absorbed in contemplating the King, now ròuses as from a trance).
Farewell? farewell. Alas!
That pallor and that coldness were thine own.
Thou art dead—I live alone. The avenger lives
Both of a son's and royal lord's foredoing.
“Chance,” was it? There's no chance in anything;
But good and evil both are of design,
Or man's or gods', and must be answered for.
Wonder, he sleeps so long. Sore-wearied, he is lying
In yon far chamber. Chamber—where is it?
Apollo, in thy temple. Should a fane—
A sacred, holy fane—be desecrate
With murder? Who said murder? 'Twas not I—
Nor thou, Apollo. No; nor ye, ye Furies.
Whom mildly we bespeak, and not in fear—
At least not I—for I do love ye now—
I love ye, O ye Furies. Beautiful,
And calm, and most affectionate are ye;
For ye take pity on my double wrongs.
[Tumult without; Enyon and a great crowd armed rush in, shouting “King Porreo; King Porreo!”]
Are ye the Furies? timely have ye come.
But hush, else he will wake—King Porreo sleeps!

Enyon.
We'll have him for our King. None else but he!

Videna.
You'll have him for your King? No Furies ye—
Our sometime subjects. Am I not your Queen?
Whom would you have for King?

Enyon.
Whom else but Porreo?

Videna.
Whom else but Porreo? None else but he!
Behold you, here, his sire; and, here, his brother,
Sleeping in death—death by his deed procured,
Or acted—and he there, but dead in sleep.

Enyon.
Dead? Friends—

Videna.
Your patience, prithee! I but said,
In sleep, even as these two sleep in death.
I marvel at ye, ye can plead for him,
The brother-slayer and the father-slayer.
A people destined for dominion,
(For I in this great hour can prophesy),
Methinks, should rather crush such criminal,
Than crown him! I, his mother, loving him,
There mused how I might do the deed? What means?
What instruments? These hands were all too weak,
And from the pillows of his couch I shrank;
For they would need more strength than woman hath,
To crush a man, who is a reptile, yet
Strong as a serpent or a dragonet,—
Born of a dragon-mother!

Enyon.
Horrid thought!
And yet thou smilest at it?

Videna.
Yes, I smile.
I am his mother. What he did I can do.

Enyon.
Break way into the temple—find King Porreo.

Videna.
Dunwarro wears the crown, not Porreo;
And guards the temple, as ye see, with soldiers.

Enyon.
Treason to Porreo! Citizens and friends,
We are the greater number—they must yield.
Besides, the city is in arms, to help us;
And, lo, they come by hundreds to our aid.

[He looks out—approaching huzzahs are heard.
Videna.
Is it so? He sleeps soundly on his couch,
Or this would wake him. So, ye are bent upon it?
Well, ye shall have the monster for your King,
Who is not fit to live the meanest slave.
I'll bring him forth. But first I would dispose
These unregarded bodies (that, methinks,
Your plaudits would profane the presence of)
Within these hallowed chambers. Gentle priest,
I pray your office. We will order this—
To Dunwarro)
Stay thou, and reason with these rebel men.

[The corses of Ferrex and the King are borne into the temple, led by Videna and Marcella, and followed by Priest.]
Dunwarro.
Trust in the Queen—she will bring forth her son;
Nor doubt, I wear this crown against your wills,
Though set upon my brows by Gorbudoc;—
But, as to Porreo, let your own hearts speak.
[Enter others, crying “King Porreo! King Porreo! Porreo shall be King.”]
It shall be so, then
[As he is about to uncrown himself, a loud shriek is heard from the temple.]
What is that? (shrieks repeated).

Again!
Terror and pity, and all passions else,
Blend in those dismal cries.

Re-enter Priest, distractedly.
Priest.
O hour of fate.

Enyon.
What fate?

Priest.
Here comes the doer of the deed,
The sternest yet was done. O mother earth!—
Ne'er to my dying hour shall I forget
What I have witnessed in yon temple's chamber.
Stretched on his couch, the princely Porreo lay,
As now he slumbers there—but not, as now,
A wound, wide as the gates of life and death,
Midst of his manly chest:—and, him beside,
Conscious of blood, the fatal weapon glowed,
Even his own battle sword, whose ruthless edge
Soon rent that hideous chasm.

Re-enter Videna, followed by Marcella, who, however, stops at the threshold of the temple, and upon the loftiest step, where she sinks down, burying her face in her hands, and remains in that fixed attitude till the fall of the curtain.
Videna.
Bring forth King Porreo—
Shew the rude people whom they'd have for king.

Priest.
No, no; keep it within. 'Tis fit that now
Ye disobey her. See, she stands enrapt;
She notes us not while she is thus abstract.

Videna.
Lay it on the earth—here, lay it at our feet.

Priest.
She dreams she is obeyed, and that the corse
Of Porreo is brought forth and laid before her.

Enyon.
Treason—most bloody treason. Swift revenge.

[Clashing of swords, conflict.
Videna
(disclosing the sword which she had previously concealed under her robes).
Look ye, I have his sword. Could this not sting?
Couldst thou not, sword? There is some blood upon thee,
Which, having voice, saith, “Ask his brother's heart?”
Should it not sting his own? Should it not, Heaven?
[Thunder heard.
Thunder? I'm answered.
(Kneels)
Heaven, thy will be done.
The Oracle long said fulfils itself!
I kiss the blood upon thee.

Enyon.
Whose is it?

Videna.
'Tis Porreo's.

Enyon.
Porreo's.

Videna
(rising).
Ay, your King's—my Son's.
'Tis his and Ferrex' blood, here blended now.

Enyon.
How came to deed this horror?

Videna.
By this hand.
Some one remove that felon from my sight.

Enyon.
Come with me, friends; elsewhere we'll seek redress.

[Enyon exit, others prepare to follow him.
Videna.
Stay! Ye left no choice to me. He reign? he reign?
O'er a great people, virtuous, free, and brave?
He, fratricide and parricide at once!
Was't not immortal justice thus to wreak
The vengeance of a broken heart on him?
'Twas worthy of that altar, of that place;
That holy ground of all the general earth
Was fittest spot for such most righteous deed.
None other were so suited—it was sacred—
A deed so pure as consecrates anew
The temple where 'twas done, and should be done
Only in a temple, or make a temple there
Where it was done. Divinity of justice,
I feel thee—I confess thee—I am thine.
—Faint—give me strength; faint—faint—my brain is swimming—
My soul's escaping! Whither would it fly?
O the world fades.—Make room!—my heart would burst.

[She swoons.
Dunwarro
(leaning over her).
Whence hadst thou heart this duty to perform?

Videna.
There! there! 'Twas smitten, and I maddened—now
'Tis broken, and I die (falls as if dead, then rallies).
Reign thou the King.

[Dies.