 | Murtzoufle |  |
SCENE VIII.
—A Prison Cell.Montmorency walking the length of his chains.
Montm.
(Pausing.)
The depths of slumber could not hide the thought,—
And I must face it. Hapless maid for ever,
Dost know thou'rt ruin'd? and perchance this moment—
That moment's fled—and thou may'st be—for ever.
'Twould fright thee girl to death, to know what dread
My soul has of this night.—
(Walks.)
(Pausing.)
Step down, Eudocia, to the deep green sea—
It is thy best—for look I help thee not,—
Unless, unless you get within these walls.
O! I would wrap thee with these chains, my love,
My death to unwind them. Devil, would I not do
Thy dreaded 'hests to rid me of these links?
By Heaven 'tis strange, beyond my mem'ry strange,
How this has happen'd; it seems a hurrying dream
That I was captiv'd; and am now in bonds.
Would, maiden, thou wert dead.—I cannot help thee.—
Hark! there the bolts, harsh harbingers of death!
My sword? 'tis gone—I fear to die unarm'd.—
To give one's body to the gashing knife
That's greedy to the hilt, and have no guard—
I'd rather bow before a thousand foes
With inch of sword—they come—I must stand thus.
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Com'st thou to do thine office? thou'rt but one,
Come back with three; for, look ye, I am young,
And shall not die without an awful struggle.
Jail.
I am not what you think.
Montm.
Not he that keeps
The keys of these low shambles, turning bolts
Through half the night? Art thou not he that holds
His dark lamp thus above his head to ken
His corner pensioners? that winks by day
To grim-fac'd men, that slily trace thy steps,
But shake their black beards at the fall of night,
And roll dread words, like pebbles, 'neath their tongues?
Dark man, is not thy hour-glass sand the dust
Got on these low floors of the dead men's bones?
Your pardon, if you have no wish to-night
To catch me unawares—to stab my sleep.
Jail.
I am thy keeper, but I loathe the office.
What shall I do to make thy chains less heavy?
Montm.
I have one wish, indeed,—but 'twere thy ruin.
Why take them off?—you cannot—then I urge,
Loose me these bonds an hour, and but one hour,
By my soul's honour I shall put them on
Within that space.
Jail.
And leave this place, my lord?
Montm.
Quick—quick unbind me.
(Knocking without.)
Jail.
It is now too late.
That noise—that knocking—cease a moment there.
Why can't you cease till I have seen my pris'ner.
Montm.
Give me that dagger, there.—
(Snatches it from his side.)
Jail.
Give me that dagger back.
No? look ye, thou'rt captive, and I may revenge.
But to thy breast with it, and hide it there
Till it can serve thee. I was born in France.
Montm.
Look then, 'tis done.
Thou hast a soul: but I can serve thee not.
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(aloud.)
All's right within—why, don't you know my office?
You noisy fellow, don't you know my hours?—
(Exit Jail.)
Montm.
Why if 'tis thus, then must I say farewell
To fame and all: my life has been a miss.
Hence never day to me of high renown.
And she—and she—O down thou bitter thought!
They come, now welcome, 'tis the proper moment.
These thoughts are turn'd to vengeance for her sake.
Come, dagger, shake thy sparks.
Enter Two Figures wrapt in cloaks—Door shuts behind.
Ye have no voice within these hollow rooms?
1st Fig.
Put up that dagger, and we speak, my lord.
Montm.
It frightens women,—if I know that voice.
Thou art Eudocia?
Eud.
(throwing off her cloak.)
Help, my lord, O help.
Montm.
These chains—these chains.
Eud.
Ah! thou must die.
Montm.
I cannot help thee, maid;
And that is death; what seek'st thou in this place?
I wish'd even this, but still my better thought
Declar'd it foolish. Yet art thou an angel.
Heed not these chains—embrace me—tears are here?
Smile thy short minute ere I tell thee, maid,
Our stars have look'd awry.
Eud.
I know—I know.
Montm.
Look at me, maid, for we can only say
The fire burns deep that has no fringe of flame;
So is our love the passion, not the hope.—
O, I would leap on edge
Of narrowest safety, could it bridge our fears:—
Tug unto death: or stand till dawning thus,
Might one half thought come with the morning-star
To help my love. My soul is put to rack
By that pale face; but I can't answer thee.—
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Brave youth, they dare not cut thee in thy strength.
Montm.
For black Murtzoufle finds thee out to-night,
Or in the palace, or within these walls,—
The city gates are his—and thou art.—No—
Sooner death's coronal be on thy brow,
His narrow ring upon the blue-vein'd finger
Of thy consumption. Were I shut in with death,
O'er his pale gate, I'd stretch and catch at thee
Ere thou, my girl,—
Eud.
My lord, we'll match thee with a secret there.—
(Taking out a dagger.)
Montm.
I see thee, love; but fly, the hour is come—
This night his agent promis'd me a visit.
Eud.
I'll guard this door, and thou shalt cheer me on.
Montm.
Mock'st thou this shorten'd chain that I can't reach thee?
Away, and seek the humblest hole to hide in,
For thou art mine, and ne'er shalt be another's.
Eud.
Ah, Zillah, we must go, softly to tread
This dark'ning world, and leave this youth behind.
May Heaven inspire some lonely dweller's heart
To meet us at the gate, and take us home,
If this is not our home. We leave thee then,
For we are troublesome. Ah, Montmorency!
Montm.
Still here?
And not away? Ho, jailer! ope the door.
Pause—come not near—I have a dang'rous thought—
Curse on thy charms; but, maid, thou shalt not hence
To be Murtzoufle's—time thou wert in Heaven.
Eud.
My lord—my lord—
Montm.
Then let me turn my eyes, that thou may'st fly
Ere I behold.
Eud.
These chains are heavily borne;
Then sit, my lord; and I shall stand the while
And hear of this.
Montm.
These chains have now their weight.
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I'm not unkind, but I shall kill thee, girl—
This hand shall strike thee, for I dare not stay.
Dost thou not fly me?
Eud.
I do not fly, my lord,
Though I must die in youth:—but thy hand must not:
Give me the dagger.
Montm.
O, no, no, we dream.
Eud.
This hand shall do it, and not thine.
Montm.
There—there.
And grasp it thus. O 'tis not blown away!
Where are Heaven's winds.
Eud.
(retreating out of his reach.)
My lord the dagger's won.
Montm.
And thou art lost, false maid.
Eud.
'Tis not thy hour—
Thou art a soldier, and must win renown.
Less surely does the mantling ivy tell
Of mask'd decay; than hopeless love, the ruin
Of the hot soldier. Let me die, my love;
For I am ominous—farewell for ever:
But weep not for me if you wish my death.
(As she is about to stab herself, Zillah seizes her arm.)
Zill.
Forbear, forbear! some mercy in the dead!
And shut your urns. My mistress shall not come
At this so early hour.
Montm.
Whence came that form
That I should worship?— (noise)
—hark—O hark! come near,
Let's die together.
Marsas bursts in—Jailer follows.
Mar.
Joy—joy for all our years! the tyrant's off—
The city won—Montferrat seeks my lord.
Quick, he'll be angry that you stay thus long.
(Montmorency and Eudocia embrace without speaking.)
Montm.
Art thou still here, my love?
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It should be morning, and the sun should shine
O'er the clear world. O now I long to see
Thy friend, Montferrat; I have never seen him.
Montm.
Follow me, jailer thou must be my soldier.
Eud.
Thy hand, good fellow, I'll reward thy love.
And, Marsas, where art thou? Must I believe,
For thy good services, the stars are worlds,
Walk'd in by pure inhabitants as thou,
Would'st have me think?
Mar.
But this is not the place;
My lord shall hear me in these leisure days.
Eud.
(to Montmorency.)
It is his fancy.
Montm.
Love and this is mine—
That these star-figur'd mansions have no being
Purer than she that would have died to-night;
She whom I nearly slew.
Jail.
My lord, I am ready, let me knock these fetters.
Eud.
O now you're free.
Montm.
Ay, ay, I feel the change.
Eud.
There's Arab Zillah; lead her forth, my lord.
Montm.
I shudder to think how much I owe the maid.
(He takes Zillah's hand.)
Eud.
Come, captive and all, come, and dungeons deep,
Ne'er be you visited by man again.
[Exeunt.
| Murtzoufle | |