University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Chapel in the Convent of St. Anselm, the shrine splendidly illuminated and decorated. The Prior rising from before the altar.
Enter 1st Monk.
“Monk.
How gay and glorious doth our temple seem
“Look round thee, father.

“Prior.
I feel no joy like that the faithful feel,
“Viewing the glories of their holy place;
“An horror of great darkness is upon me,
“A fearful dread hath overwhelmed me.

“Monk.
Wherefore?

“Prior.
As at the shrine I knelt but now in prayer,
“Nor sleep, nor waking, but a horrible vision
“Fell on my tranced spirit, and I dreamed—
“On the dark mountains was the vision wrought,
“Of mist, and moonlight, mingling fitfully—
“A brinded wolf did tear a struggling lion
“While the cowed lioness stood trembling by—
“I wist not what it meant, but in mine agony,
“I prayed to be released, and as I woke
“The echoes gave me back my slumbering cries—

“Monk.
'Tis a good dream, and bodeth something good.—

“Prior.
How sayest thou, good?

“Monk.
I dreamed it on that night
“Lord Aldobrand did from his castle come,
“And blessed days of peace have followed it.—

“Prior.
Heaven grant they may!

“Monk.
Lo, where the knights approach.

Enter the Knights in solemn procession with the consecrated banner.
The Prior advances to meet them.
Prior.
Hail! champions of the church and of the land,
The banner of our holy saint in fight
Full bravely have ye borne, and scatheless back,
From unblessed weapon and from arm unholy,
Restored it to the power whose might struck for you—


The Music commences, the Knights and Monks advance in procession, the Prior bearing the banner, which he has received from the principal Knight.
Hymn.
Guardian of the good and brave
Their banner o'er thy shrine we wave—
Monk, who counts the midnight bead—
Knight, who spurs the battle steed,—
He, who dies 'mid clarion's swelling
He, who dies 'mid requiem's knelling—
Alike thy care, whose grace is shed
On cowled scalp and helmed head—
Thy temple of the rock and flood
For ages 'mid their wrath has stood—
Thy midnight bell, through storm and calm
Hath shed on listening ear its balm.—

(The Hymn is interrupted by 3d Monk rushing in distractedly.)
3d Monk.
Forbear—forbear—

Prior
Why comest thou thus with voice of desperate fear,
Breaking upon our solemn ceremony?

3d Monk.
Despair is round our walls, a wailing spirit
Yea, the mixt wailings of the infernal host
Burst deaffeningly amid the shuddering blast—
No earthly lip might utterance give to such—

Prior.
Thou'rt wild with watching, fear and loneliness,
In thy sole turret that o'erhangs the flood.
Of winds and waves, the strangely-mingled sounds
Ride heavily the night-wind's hollow sweep,
Mocking the sounds of human lamentation—

3d Monk.
Hush, look, it comes again (a scream)


Prior.
Defend us, heaven,
'Twas horrible indeed—'tis in our walls—
Ha, through the cloister there doth something glide
That seems in truth not earthly—

Imogine rushes in with her child, her hair dishevelled, her dress stained with blood.
Imo.
Save me—save me—

Prior.
Save thee, from what?

Imo.
From earth, and heaven, and hell,
All, all are armed, and rushing in pursuit—

Prior.
Monks and knights gathering around, and speaking together.

All.
Who—what—what hath befallen thee? Speak.

Imo.
Oh wait not here to speak, but fly to save him,
For he lies low upon the bloody ground—

Knight.
She speaks in madness, ask the frighted boy,
Hath aught befallen his father?—

Imo.
Ask him not—
He hath no father—we have murdered him—
Traitress and murderer—we have murdered him—
They'll not believe me for mine agony—
Is not his very blood upon my raiment?
Reeks not the charnel-stream of murder from me?

Prior and Monks vehemently.
Impossible.

Imo.
Aye, heaven and earth do cry, impossible,
The shuddering angels round th'eternal throne,
Vailing themselves in glory, shriek impossible,
But hell doth know it true—

Prior.
(advancing to her solemnly.)
Spirits of madness, that possess this woman
Depart I charge you, trouble her no more,
Till she do answer to mine adjuration—
Who did the deed?

Imogine sinks gradually from his fixed eye, till hiding her face, she falls on the ground in silence.
Knight.
I do believe it, horrid as it seems—

1st Monk.
I'd not believe her words, I do her silence.

Prior.
(who has fallen back in horror into the arms of the monks, rushes forward)
Oh! draw your swords, brave knights, and sheathe them not—
“Slack not to wield the sword of Aldobrand,
Arise, pursue, avenge, exterminate
“With all the implements of mortal might,
“And all the thunders of the church's curse”—

Exeunt tumultuously knights, monks, and attendants, the prior is following them, Imogine still kneeling grasps him by the robe.
Prior.
(With mixt emotion, turning on her)
Thou art a wretch, I did so love and honour thee—
Thou'st broke mine aged heart—that look again—
Woman, let go thy withering hold—

Imo.
I dare not—
I have no hold but upon heaven and thee.

Prior.
(tearing himself from her)
I go, yet ere mine aged feet do bear me
To the dark chase of that fell beast of blood—
Hear thou, and—hope not—if by word or deed
Yea, by invisible thought, unuttered wish
Thou hast been ministrant to this horrid act—
With full collected force of malediction
I do pronounce unto thy soul—despair—

[Exit.
Imo.
(looking round on the chapel, after a long pause)
They've left me—all things leave me—all things human—
Follower and friend—last went the man of God—
The last—but yet he went—

Child.
—I will not leave thee—

Imo.
My son, my son, was that thy voice—
When heaven and angels, earth and earthly things
Do leave the guilty in their guiltiness—
A cherub's voice doth whisper in a child's.
There is a shrine within thy little heart
Where I will hide, nor hear the trump of doom—

Child.
Dear mother, take me home—

Imo.
Thou hast no home—
She, whom thou callest mother left thee none—
We're hunted from mankind— (sinking down)

Here will we lie in darkness down together,
And sleep a dreamless sleep—what form is that—
Why have they laid him there? (recoiling)

Plain in the gloomy depth he lies before me
The cold blue wound whence blood hath ceased to flow,
The stormy clenching of the bared teeth—
The gory socket that the balls have burst from—
I see them all— (shrieking)

It moves—it moves—it rises—it comes on me—
Twill break th'eternal silence of the grave—
'Twill wind me in its creaking marrowless arms.
Hold up thy hands to it, it was thy father—
Ah, it would have thee too, off—save me—off—

(Rushes out with the child.)
Scene changes to the Castle—Prior enters alone—
Prior.
His halls are desolate—the lonely walls
Echo my single tread—through the long galleries—
The hurrying knights can trace nor friend nor foe—
The murderer hath escaped—the saints forgive me,
I feel mine heart of weakness is come back,
Almost I wish he had—ha, here is blood—
Mine ebbing spirits lacked this stirring impulse—
Ho—haste ye here—the shedder must be near—

[Enter the knights, monks, &c. supporting Clotilda.
Knight.
We found this trembling maid, alone, concealed—

Prior.
Speak—tell of Bertram—of thy lord—the vassals—

Clot.
Oh, give me breath, for I am weak with fear—
Short was the bloody conflict of the night—
The few remaining vassals fled in fear—
The bandits loaded with the castle's spoil—
Are gone—I saw them issue from the walls—
But yet I dared not venture forth, while Bertram—

All.
Go on—go on—

Clot.
He bore the murdered body—
Alone into yon chamber
[pointing
I heard the heavy weight trail after him—
I heard his bloody hands make fast the door—
There hath he sat in dread society,
The corse and murderer are there together.

(The Knights draw their swords, and rush towards the door.
Prior.
(interposing)
Hold, champions hold, this warfare is for me.
The arm of flesh were powerless on him now—
Hark how the faltering voice of feeble age
Shall bow him to its bidding. Ho, come forth
[striking the door.
Thou man of blood, come forth, thy doom awaits thee.

[Bertram opens the door, and advances slowly, his dress is stained with blood, and he grasps the hilt of a dagger in his hand—his look is so marked and grand, that the knights, &c. make room for him, and he advances to the front of the stage untouched.
All.
Who art thou?

Ber.
I am the murderer—Wherefore are ye come?—

Prior.
—This majesty of guilt doth awe my spirit—
Is it th'embodied fiend who tempted him
Sublime in guilt?

Ber.
Marvel not at me—Wist ye whence I come?
The tomb—where dwell the dead—and I dwelt with him—
Till sense of life dissolved away within me—
(Looking round ghastlily,)
I am amazed to see ye living men,
I deemed that when I struck the final blow
Mankind expired, and we were left alone,
The corse and I were left alone together,
The only tenants of a blasted world
Dispeopled for my punishment, and changed
Into a penal orb of desolation—

Prior.
Advance and bind him, are ye men and armed?—
What, must this palsied hand be first on him?—
Advance, and seize him, ere his voice of blasphemy
Shall pile the roof in ruins o'er our heads—

Bar.
—Advance, and seize me, ye who smile at blood—
For every drop of mine a life shall pay—
I'm naked, famished, faint, my brand is broken—
Hush, mailed champions, on the helpless Bertram—
(They sink back)
Now prove what fell resistance I shall make.
(Throws down the hilt of his dagger.)
There—bind mine arms—if ye do list to bind them—
I came to yield—but not to be subdued—

Prior.
Oh thou, who o'er thy stormy grandeur flingest
A struggling beam that dazzles, awes, and vanishes—
Thou, who dost blend our wonder with our curses—
Why didst thou this?

Ber.
He wronged me, and I slew him—
To man but thee I ne'er had said even this—
To man but thee, I ne'er shall utter more—
Now speed ye swift from questioning to death—
(They surround him.)
One prayer, my executioners, not conquerors—
Be most ingenious in your cruelty—
Let rack and pincer do their full work on me—
'Twill rouse me from that dread unnatural sleep,
In which my soul hath dreamt its dreams of agony—
This is my prayer, ye'll not refuse it to me—

(As they are leading him off, the prior lays hold of him)
Prior.
Yet bend thy steeled sinews, bend and pray—
The corse of him thou'st murdered, lies within—

(A long pause)
Ber.
I have offended Heaven, but will not mock it—
Spare me your racks and pincers, spare me words.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A dark Wood, in the back Scene a Cavern, Rocks and Precipices above.—Imogine comes forward.
Imo.
(Sighing heavily after a long pause.)
If I could waft away this low-hung mist
That darkens o'er my brow—
If I could but unbind this burning band
That tightens round my heart—
—Or night or morning is it?
I wist not which, a dull and dismal twilight
Pervading all things, and confounding all things,
Doth hover o'er my senses and my soul—
[Comes forward shuddering.
The moon shines on me, but it doth not light me;
The surge glides past me, but it breathes not on me.
My child, my child, where art thou; come to me—
I know thou hidest thyself for sport to mock me—
Yet come—for I am scared with loneliness—
I'll call on thee no more, lo, there he glides—
And there, and there—he flies from me—he laughs—
I'll sing thee songs the church-yard spirits taught me—
I'll sit all night on the grey tombs with thee,
So thou wilt turn to me—he's gone—he's gone.

Enter Clotilda, Prior and Monks surrounding.
Clo.
She's here—she's here—and is it thus I see her?

Prior.
All-pitying Heaven—release her from this misery.

Imo.
Away, unhand me, ye are executioners—
I know your horrible errand—who hath sent you?
This is false Bertram's doing—God—oh, God,
How I did love—and how am I requited—
Well, well, accuse me of what crime you will,
I ne'er was guilty of not loving thee—
Oh, spare the torture—and I will confess—
Nay, now there heeds it not—his look's enough—
That smile hath keener edge than many daggers.

[She sinks into Clotilda's arms.
Clo.
How could this wasted form sustain the toils—
Bearing her helpless child.

Imo.
(starting up)
I was a mother—'twas my child I bore—
The murderer hung upon my flying steps—
The winds with all their speed had failed to match me.
Oh! how we laughed to see the baffled fiend
Stamp on the shore, and grind his iron teeth—
While safe and far, I braved the wave triumphant,
And shook my dripping locks like trophied banner.
I was a mother then.

Prior.
Where is thy child?

Clo.
(Pointing to the cave into which she has looked)
Oh, he lies cold within his cavern-tomb—
Why dost thou urge her with the horrid theme?

Prior.
It was to wake one living chord o'th'heart,
And I will try—though mine own breaks at it—
Where is thy child?

Imo.
(with a frantic laugh)
The forest fiend hath snatched him—
He rides the night-mare through the wizard woods.

Prior.
Hopeless and dark—even the last spark extinct.

Enter 3d Monk hastily.
Monk.
Bertram—the prisoner Bertram—

Prior.
—Hush—thou'lt kill her—
Haste thee, Clotilda,—holy brethren, haste;
Remove her hence—aye, even to that sad shelter—
[Pointing to the cave.
I see the approaching torches of the guard,
Flash their red light athwart the forest's shade—
Bear her away—oh my weak eye doth fail
Amid these horrors—

[Imogine is torn to the cave, the Prior follows.
Manet last Monk—Enter a Knight.
“Knight.
Where is the prior?

“Monk.
In yonder cave he bides,
“And here he wills us wait, for 'tis his purpose
“Once more to parley with that wretched man:
“How fares he now?

“Knight.
As one whose pride of soul
“Bears him up singly in this terrible hour—
“His step is firm—his eye is fixed—
“Nor menace, nor reviling, prayers, nor curses
“Can win an answer from his closed lips—
“It pities me—for he is brave—most brave—

“Monk.
Pity him not.

“Knight.
Hush—lo, he comes—

[A gleam of torch-light falls on the rocks, Bertram, Knights, and Monks, are seen winding down the precipices, the clank of Bertram's chains the only sound heard. They enter, Bertram is between two Monks, who bear torches.]
1st Monk.
Leave him with us, and seek the Prior, I pray you.

Knight.
(aside to Monk)
He yet may try escape. We'll watch concealed.

[Exeunt all but Bertram and the two Monks.
1st Monk.
Brief rest is here allowed thee—murderer, pause—
How fearful was our footing on those cliffs,
Where time had worn those steep and rocky steps—
I counted them to thee as we descended,
But thou for pride wast dumb—

Ber.
I heard thee not—

2d Monk.
Look round thee, murderer, drear thy resting place—
This is thy latest stage—survey it well—
Lo, as I wave my dimmed torch aloft,
Yon precipice crag seems as if every tread
(Yea, echoed impulse of the passing foot)
Would loose its weight to topple o'er our heads—
Those cavities hollowed by the hand of wrath—
Those deepening gulfs, have they no horrible tenant?
Dare thine eye scan that spectred vacancy?

Ber.
I do not mark the things thou tell'st me of.—

1st Monk.
Wretch, if thy fear no spectred inmate shapes—

Ber.
(starting from his trance)
Cease, triflers, would you have me feel remorse?
Leave me alone—nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon,
Speaks to the murderer with the voice of solitude.

1st Monk.
Thou sayest true—
In cruelty of mercy will we leave thee—

[Exeunt Monks.
Ber.
If they would go in truth—but what avails it?

[He meditates in gloomy reflection for some minutes, and his countenance slowly relaxes from its stern expression.
[The prior enters unobserved, and stands opposite him in an attitude of supplication, Bertram resumes his sternness.
Ber.
Why art thou here?—There was an hovering angel
Just lighting on my heart—and thou hast scared it—

Prior.
Yea, rather, with my prayers I'll woo it back.
In very pity of thy soul I come
To weep upon that heart I cannot soften—
[A long pause.
Oh! thou art on the verge of awful death—
Think of the moment, when the veiling scarf
That binds thine eyes, shall shut out earth for ever—
When in thy dizzy ear, hurtles the groan
Of those who see the smiting hand upreared,
Thou canst but feel—that moment comes apace—
[Bertram smiles.
But terrors move in thee a horrid joy,
And thou art hardened by habitual danger
Beyond the sense of aught but pride in death.
[Bertram turns away.
Can I not move thee by one power in nature?
There have been those whom Heaven hath failed to move,
Yet moved they were by tears of kneeling age.
[Kneels.
I wave all pride of ghostly power o'er thee—
I lift no cross, I count no bead before thee—
By the locked agony of these withered hands,
By these white hairs, such as thy father bore,
(Whom thou coulds't ne'er see prostrate in the dust)
With toil to seek thee here my limbs do fail,
Send me not broken-hearted back again—
Yield, and relent, Bertram, my son, my son (weeping)

(Looking up eagerly.)
Did not a gracious drop bedew thine eye?

Ber.
Perchance a tear had fallen, hadst thou not marked it.

Prior.
(rising with dignity.)
Obdurate soul—then perish in thy pride—
Hear in my voice thy parting angel speak,
Repent—and be forgiven—

(Bertram turns towards him in strong emotion, when a shriek is heard from the cavern, Bertram stands fixed in horror.)
Prior.
(stretching out his hands towards the cavern.)
Plead thou for me—thou, whose wild voice of horror,
Has pierced the heart my prayers have failed to touch—

Ber.
(wildly)
What voice was that—yet do not dare to tell me,
Name not her name, I charge thee.

Prior.
Imogine—
A maniac through these shuddering woods she wanders,
But in her madness never cursed thy name.

(Bertram attempts to rush towards the cave, but stands stupified on hearing a shriek from the cavern. Imogine rushes from it in distraction, bursting from the arms of Clotilda, the Monks and Knights follow, and remain in the back ground.)
Imo.
Away, away, away, no wife—no mother—

(She rushes forward till she meets Bertram, who stands in speechless horror.)
Imo.
Give me my husband, give me back my child—
Nay, give me back myself—
They say I'm mad, but yet I know thee well—
Look on me—They would bind these wasted limbs—
I ask but death—death from thy hand—that hand can deal death well—and yet thou wilt not give it.

Ber.
(gazing on her for a moment, then rushing to the prior, and sinking at his feet.)
Who hath done this? Where are the racks I hoped for?
Am I not weak? am I not humbled now?
(Grovelling at the Prior's feet, and then turning to the Knights.)
Hast thou no curse to blast—no curse for me—
Is there no hand to pierce a soldier's heart?
Is there no foot to crush a felon's neck?

Imo.
(Raising herself at the sound of his voice.)
Bertram.

(He rushes towards her, and first repeats Imogine feebly, as he approaches, he utters her name again passionately, but as he draws nearer and sees her look of madness and desperation, he repeats it once more in despair, and does not dare to approach her, till he perceives her falling into Clotilda's arms, and catches her in his.)
Imo.
Have I deserved this of thee?— (she dies slowly, with her eyes fixed on Bertram, who continues to gaze on her unconscious of her having expired.)


Prior.
'Tis past—remove him from the corse—

(The Knights and Monks advance, he waves them off with one hand still supporting the body.)
Prior.
(to the Monks)
—Brethren, remove the corse—

Ber.
She is not dead— (starting up.)

She must not, shall not die, till she forgives me—
Speak—speak to me— (kneeling to the corse)

(Turning to the Monks)
—Yes—she will speak anon—
(A long pause, he drops the corse.)
She speaks no more—Why do ye gaze on me—
I loved her, yea, I love, in death I loved her—
I killed her—but—I loved her—
What arm shall loose the grasp of love and death?

(The Knights and Monks surround, and attempt to tear him from the body, he snatches a sword from one of the Knights, who retreats in terror, as it is pointed towards him. Bertram resuming all his former previous sternness, bursts into a disdainful laugh.)
Ber.
Thee—against thee—oh, thou art safe—thou worm—
Bertram hath but one fatal foe on earth—
And he is here— (stabs himself.)


Prior.
(rushes forward.)
He dies, he dies.

Ber.
(struggling with the agonies of death.)
I know thee, holy Prior—I know ye, brethren—
Lift up your holy hands in charity.
(With a burst of wild exultation.)
I died no felon death—
A warrior's weapon freed a warrior's soul—