Chapter X: Act IV: Scene I

_A Church._

_Enter two CITIZENS._

FIRST CITIZEN.
Strange omens these!

SECOND CITIZEN. They bode disaster, else Hath Nature changed, and her accustom'd course No longer holds.--See, from the ducal vault The stone--o'er which its mailed warrior rests In such grim pomp--is roll'd, as if that mouth Expectant yawn'd for prey.--How comes it thus?

THIRD CITIZEN. Some swarth attendant, late within the tomb, Hath left unclosed its yet insatiate gulf; And he returns ere long.--His task complete, This stone, oft visited, regains its place;-- Would it were closed for ever!

SECOND CITIZEN. Ne'er to his country's weal a truer prince Shall rise in Mantua--all proper tongues To his just praise are eloquent;--no voice But gathers blessing, when it speaks of Andrea. I'll peep o'er the dark wall of this huge grave. Fresh wonders still!--Here lie funeral trappings Covering the entrance;--an inscription too Upon the pall--[_Reads_]--"_Andrea, the fifth Duke Of Mantua_"--a goodly list of honours, Names and illustrious acts, now follow--"_Died_"-- I cannot tell those mystic characters-- Canst thou assign their import?

FIRST CITIZEN. I am not skill'd To interpret mysteries; but they are form'd By cabalistic art. Elsewhere I've seen The conjuror, Aldenbert, those uncouth shapes Upon his tablets tracing. 'Tis not language Akin to mortal tongue.

SECOND CITIZEN. Treason, I wot, with bold and impious front, Stalks forth uncheck'd:--it skulks not now abroad, But in the open day roams unabash'd, Nor shuns the sunbeam. Some unform'd event Is yet in ripening--it bursts ere long The shell of this dread mystery.

_Enter GRAVE-DIGGER and PRIEST._

GRAVE-DIGGER. None, father, save the Egyptian woman, who so troubles the church. She slept in the porch yesternight, and I sent her away this morning betimes.

PRIEST.
Thou hast sent a message to the Duke?

GRAVE-DIGGER. Some half-hour agone.--I expect his highness in person will take special note of this matter.

PRIEST. I fear me they be foes, enemies to the Duke, who have done this.--Treachery puts on bold aspects, when such foretokenings as these go before her, with loud admonishing of her approach. Here comes the Duke.

_Enter DUKE with ATTENDANTS._

DUKE. Good morrow, friends. I am something curious to behold this device.--Some trick of intimidation, your petty wonder-monger breeds to set our citizens agape.--You have not disturbed this masked frolic?

GRAVE-DIGGER. My lord, it rests in such shape as when it scared me dismally ere the light was well out, about cock-crowing.

DUKE.
Knowest thou any skulking vagrant of late loitering near the church?

GRAVE-DIGGER. None, your grace, save the tall gipsy--she slept in the porch yesternight.

DUKE.
The gipsy woman?

GRAVE-DIGGER. She, with the linen turban, that walks the city with her arms folded--thus.

DUKE.
She was in the porch?

GRAVE-DIGGER.
I waked her there, but roughly, an hour agone.

DUKE. Here hangs some clue to guide us.--I'll have the beldame seized.--Raise that unseemly pall from the tomb, and close its mouth.--This inscription I'll keep as a brief chronicle of the event.--[_Takes off the inscription: a billet falls from beneath it._]--What counsels us here? One wonder treads fast upon another's heels, and o'ertops its neighbour.--[_Reads._]--"_I have garnished thy tomb, and it waiteth not for its prey. Depart!--When thou goest forth, but once shalt thou return hither!_"--Guard, search the city--every chink and avenue.--To your utmost speed.--This hag shall not escape.--Hence!--[_Exit Guard._]--My friends, let not this matter trouble you; some mischievous spirit hath malice at our peace, and hopes to work confusion within the city.--Soon we unravel the flimsy web of this strange craft. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter DUCHESS and HERMIONE._

HERMIONE. Laura hath not yet Put off her sorrow.--Still doth fancy cherish The darling form of yon misguided youth Your lord encounter'd on the terrace.-- With long entreaty I have learnt his name; And, as my yet unquestion'd word befits, 'Tis but a cast-off suitor of mine own!

DUCHESS. I fear me this adventure still broods mischief. The Duke somehow had strange intelligence Of danger threatened to Hermione.-- On that same night he watch'd, and foil'd the ruffian, But he forebore to afflict him farther.

HERMIONE.
Strange--
This brief-told tale--

_Enter DUKE._

Welcome--thrice welcome now. By what good chance, my lord, sought you the terrace Few nights agone?--Some stray intelligence, The Duchess tells, crept to your ear of danger To me denounced!

DUKE. Some secret whisper met me of the matter. Know you this billet?

HERMIONE. Forsooth its fair outside Small import gives of such unworthy deed.-- I know not, save at once you dare commit Its contents to my ken.

DUKE.
Well spoken, lady.--
What read you?

HERMIONE. Carlos!--(_Reads._) Some strange mistake rests here. As my good word Earns your belief--till now, I ne'er beheld This love-lorn billet.

DUKE. Ah, woman, pleasant still, But full of subtlety;--perverse, untoward-- Thy ways mark'd deep by unabash'd deceit: Well thou mayst laugh at thine imposture.

HERMIONE. The riddle solves:--this billet by mistake Hath found its way to yon same helpless virgin. Laura hath dropp'd it--some officious friend Unto your eye the unoffending page Hath straight convey'd.

DUKE.
Thou answerest plausibly;--
I would believe thy honied tongue.

HERMIONE. I did repulse him, sore amazed At his approach.--He threaten'd with his hate, Which I do love more than his unprized favour!

DUKE.
I well remember thy reproof.

DUCHESS. Our rebel cousin hither comes with word Of her departure from our city.--Hence, To-morrow, by the saffron-breaking dawn, To Venice she returns. I urge in vain Some further hindrance.--Wilt thou again make suit To lady's ear, and win her stay?

DUKE. To-morrow! "Let then to-morrow come if e'er it may; But when to-morrow comes, 'tis still to-day-- To-morrow go, and thou art never gone, Till yon to-morrow and to-day are one!"

HERMIONE.
I must hence:
Urge me not further.

DUKE. Nay, I urge thee not. My will in Mantua e'er was held injunction. I'll be thy tyrant, lady--thy stern keeper. This day, within our palace, thou shalt be, If willing and obedient, our guest: If stubborn and self-will'd, our prisoner! I'll compass thee with such delicious chains, Thou shalt not wish e'en thine own thought were free!

HERMIONE. Your guest this day, the last I spend in Mantua. The night I give to Laura.

DUCHESS.
This proud night
Shall so out-mimic day, thou shalt not guess
When night hath drawn the twilight to his bosom.

_Enter SYLVIO._

SYLVIO (_aside to the DUKE_). The guard hath yet no tidings; The woman hides her warily.

DUKE. Not yet! I would, ere night, this mumming witch were found. Without the walls perchance she lurks. Command Their search unto the outskirts: large reward Will follow their success. [_Exit SYLVIO._

DUCHESS. At this inviting hour, we taste The fragrance from our incense-breathing flowers: My lord, attend you us? The roses are fresh sprinkled,--the soft breeze Comes heavily from their odour-blushing heads, Faint and oppress'd with its delicious burden.

DUKE. My spouse hath set her love on some tall poppy, Some velvet-cheek'd, young tulip; drinking nectar From his soft, balmy lip. I must be jealous Of these same gentle favours.

DUCHESS. You shall attend Our fragrant courtship--the unwitting pander To my stolen pleasures. Ah, my lord! what mean you? Comes that dark frown to me, or to my lovers?

DUKE. Nothing, Beatrice,--a passing jest,--'tis gone,-- I needs must frown when I am jealous. Now, Fair dames, I would attend you. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_A Wood._

_ZORAYDA, sitting at the foot of an oak._

ZORAYDA. An outcast from an outcast race,--spurn'd, chid, From the churl's threshold. Shunn'd, unbless'd by all: Nor home nor heritance--I live, alone, Without associate, tie, or fellowship E'en to my kin. I might from these consist Of other nature; other substance might Enfold my spirit,--other shape Envelope me, than wraps the affrighted herd Who stand aloof and gaze! Th' inanimate forms, Nature's unchisel'd workmanship--unsullied By man's rude contact--'tis with these I hold Converse and high communion; And from the spirit that lives in them, free And uncommunicable intercourse My soul receives. In all things there exists Distinct peculiar essence, like the soul Our being animates; at seasons oft, In presence, though unseen, yet to the mind Internal, manifest, imparting there Miraculous influence. In secret, too-- The bodily eye, from grosser matter freed,-- In shape as palpable they come, as doth Each outward image rise to corporeal sense. I am not mad. The heated brain creates not These uncall'd phantoms: yet men say I'm crazed. They know not, dream not, of the mighty world That lives around them. Other orbs might hold us! --By mine art, with potent spell, And wily stratagem, the Duke I've warn'd. Hermione--proud victim! Love unhallow'd Yet lingers in their breasts, and they must sever, Though one heart break in that most cruel parting! There's a foul taint of murder in the wind-- I do suspect her lover--yon Venetian, Her suitor once--rejected. Such revenge Will ofttimes rouse the spirit up to mischief, Loathing, it would abhor e'en if beheld But as a guilty dream. If this fond Duke Seek not again her presence I have hope. To-morrow she departs from Mantua-- No power can harm thee, save in that brief space Appointed with thy birth. Here comes my spy: The urchin loves me for the good he owes.

_Enter GIULIO._

Welcome, boy!
Thine errand?

GIULIO. Some whisperings I've caught, Yet know not to what purpose they should tend. I heard "to-night," twice to each listener told, And oft a cautious glance where I but stood, Tuning my simple lute. As thou hast bid me, With careful eye, note well their secret converse, I hasten'd with the news: and now, good mother, Say me farewell.

ZORAYDA. A toward child; Great largess thou mayest earn for thy discourse: Hence! lest this absence tell what thine excuse May not conceal. [_Exit GIULIO._ To-night!--I'll watch. This hour of danger past, I'll pledge me to thy safety. Noble Mantua, In that dread day, my parent's forfeit life When thou didst spare, I vow'd to seek thy welfare; And my good power, for thee and for thine house, Hath not its use in vain. Yet, I do fear The issue of this night: the vision told Mortal conclusion nigh--"_They will not hear_ "_Warning oft utter'd, but impetuous rush,_ "_Unheeding, to their doom._" Perchance some hidden meaning lurks beneath This fearful message; an ambiguous sense, Its proper import framing, when the event From which it springs, like day-betokening morn, Is past. His death it may not show. I'll save thee, Or my destruction----soft!--the tramp of men: Scouts, peradventure, on my track. Go, follow The wild bee to its nest!--or to yon cliff Climb with the eagle!--then ye mark my course! [_Exit._

_Enter CARLOS and BERTRAND, meeting._

BERTRAND. My messenger brings welcome news: to-day Hermione again visits the palace. Till this dim light shall fade, her promised stay-- But the first watch of night, perchance, may find This cuckoo harbour'd yet in others' nest!

CARLOS. 'Tis well:--our friends with the opportunity Alone are arm'd; and as the time may note Their several parts. From the west turret The accomplice issue signal, if to-night The Duke refreshes in the mountain-breeze, As 'tis his wont, around the platform. When Upon its staff the turret pennon sinks (The moon to this good signal will suffice), We climb the unguarded stair, and it conducts To our dark enterprise. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Part of the Platform, sloping to the Palace Walls._

_Enter DUKE, DUCHESS, HERMIONE, RIDOLFI._

DUKE. We love these moon-lit walks, Hermione, Whilst in her wane: you like her visage best, Perchance, increasing. More I love to mark Her gradual decay--retreating coy, And half aside, as if ashamed to meet The full gaze of the sun.

HERMIONE. I love the waxing Yet rather than the wane of yon pale light: Like timid maid, when first her opening charms Meet love's warm beam. Scarce on the wanton boy She dares to gaze, till, bolder grown, her eye Averted still, or half withdrawn, drinks in, With silent ecstacy, love's treacherous glance. Now his fond smile, full orb'd, the embolden'd sight Enamour'd meets: her very being, essence, And every faculty absorb--each thought Rising impregn'd with love's fierce fire; anon There comes a change--shy gleams succeed, her brow Hath one slight shade, scarce seen, but on its light The darkness grows--love's brightest dream is o'er, And his pale taper quench'd in utter gloom!

RIDOLFI. Ay, till another change. Yon fickle goddess Her fond, fool'd swain entices, till enamour'd E'en to his heart's last core; she then averts Her love-impassion'd glance, and, scorning, shuns him!

DUCHESS. If from deserted maid, Hermione, Whose charms were withering in the fallow wane Of an unprofited life, this speech forlorn Had seem'd to ring the knell of her young hopes. But when from rosy lips, and ardent youth, It comes unlook'd for as a wintry chill Beneath a summer sun.--This air blows keenly, My locks fall with the dew--I think the night Hath not its wonted soothness: thrice I shudder'd As the cold breeze methought sigh'd on my bosom. I must begone--Hermione, you go not. 'Tis the last moonlight you behold, mayhap, In this brief stay; take a long parting, ere Ye bid adieu--the Duke himself attends you; With me, our brother his good presence grants, Till your return.

RIDOLFI.
With such proud gallantry
I bow to your decree.
[_Exeunt DUCHESS and RIDOLFI._

DUKE. Beneath the western turret I love to walk--to watch the huge dim battlements On the smooth river sleeping, when the moon, Low in the brightening east, their shadow throws Upon its calm, cold bosom.

HERMIONE.
Awhile I loiter with you there, my lord. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_The Battlements._

_Enter DUKE and HERMIONE._

HERMIONE.
A pleasant tale, you say?

DUKE.
A story
At which the sad might laugh, the merry weep!

HERMIONE.
Strange modes of pleasantry--the sad might laugh?

DUKE.
That his own woes were lighter.

HERMIONE.
And yet, withal,
The merry weep?

DUKE.
So sad the tale--

HERMIONE.
In troth,
Most dolorously pleasant!

DUKE.
I've been in love.

HERMIONE. A strange propensity--a punishment Man suffers for his sins. You've been in love? Most melancholy! How! I wot the Duchess Believed you not?

DUKE. Beatrice yet--mark me-- Most tenderly I love. Her long affection Won my regard: but--late, another power-- It is not love, 'tis witchery, false glamour Chaining the sense, unwilling to be held In such deep thrall--I've seen a basilisk, And it hath holden me within the circuit Of its charmed eye. How counsel you? how break From its bright glance?

HERMIONE.
I know not where, my lord,
You're held, or how enchain'd. Knows she your love?

DUKE. I sought her, and the truth unto her ear I utter'd. Was it well?

HERMIONE. 'Twere answer'd best In the concealed purpose unto which Truth's outward semblance serv'd. What meaning else Behind it crouch'd?

DUKE.
That we might part for ever.

HERMIONE. For ever!--Yes--'twas well! What answer gave she?

DUKE.
Answer?--Oh--'twas well!
Then we must part, Hermione?

HERMIONE.
_We_ part!
Wherefore for ever?

DUKE. I would not again Cringe in thy burning glance,--and yet--I might-- This foolish heart its vanish'd dream forgot-- Unmoved endure thy presence! Bitter the pang! I could not say for ever! I should cling As the doom'd wretch to life, loosing his hold But with the heart's last throb!

HERMIONE. I cannot counsel thus! Alas! more need some power above our own To tear us hence--to sever. You will forget This idle thought--'tis but a vagrant breath, Stirring your past affections--they respond Untouch'd, when memory wakes the soft still voice Of other years. Their echoes o'er, again Peace, haply frighted thence, your bosom visits. I would not now for ever part!

DUKE. Then for a time--when absence The torn heart heals, we meet again. Hermione, For thee, in this night's converse, have I risk'd My happiness, my hope, and every comfort Which most I prize--my peace, my honour--all Committed to thy trust--true confidence If not in mutual charge--nor interchange Of strict communion held. If one alone The precious load entrusts, it is o'erbalanced Without due counterpoise, reciprocal faith, And it endures not. Tell me--nay, but listen-- This heart unfetter'd, offer'd thee, unplighted, Would'st thou have ta'en?

HERMIONE.
Indeed, I cannot now
Such wild words answer. Spare me but this trial--

DUKE. Nay, answer me--what--silent?--why 'tis well. And so we part--but I repent me now Thou hast my trust. No answer?--then 'tis well! We part for ever! On that treacherous face I would not gaze again.

HERMIONE.
My lord, you must--
If this suffice--I answer--_Yes!_

DUKE.
Angel
Of soul visiting light! the storm hath still'd
At thy omnipotent word! I would not----

_Enter ZORAYDA hastily, before the DUKE; she points to the
stream._

What notest thou, dun sorceress?--speak!

ZORAYDA.
Yon shadow!

DUKE. Yet two full hours unspent, ere on the stream Yon pennon flits: and now we part. But who Sent thee with such authority--with power To question, and to watch, with daring eye, Mine every movement? I have sought thee, fiend! If thine hell-vomited sire protect thee not, Again thou shalt not 'scape. I charge thee, witch! Confederate with foul treachery.

ZORAYDA.
There's treason in the air!
Meet not the wind, it blows incontinently--
The maid hath other lovers.

HERMIONE.
Hag! thy meaning?
We study not ambiguous phrase.

DUKE.
I'll crush thy treason,
Ere it be ripe for hatching.
[_As the DUKE raises the silver call to his lips,
ZORAYDA seizes his arm._

ZORAYDA. 'Tis for thy rescue--stay! one moment stay Thy rash resolve. If I depart, undone, Destroy'd this night! [_The DUKE makes the signal._ Rash prince! it shriek'd thy doom!

_Enter Guard._

DUKE. Seize that bold traitress!--stop her hated croak! Lest each ensnared accomplice, if such be Within her call, gain tidings of her seizure. To-morrow, and in private, mark me, Hugo, We hear her further.

ZORAYDA.
To-morrow!--nay, to-night, proud Duke.
To-morrow is not thine. Beware!
[_They lead her away._

DUKE. Of thee! Thou fearful wonder. 'Tis not idle terror O'ermasters me, but yon foul-plotting witch Quails me unwarily. Our country's welfare, Perchance, brings o'erused caution; yet the wise No proffer'd warning slights. Within the palace We may defy an ambush'd foe.

HERMIONE. To this, Ere mischief burst abroad, I would entreat. Yon being hath intelligence not breathed From mortal lips!

DUKE. I dare not say The last farewell: the coming word, when summon'd, So galls my tongue, it hath no utterance When it might pass. The breath that from it issues Parches my palate; like the hot simoom, It scorches, though it sweep as stilly o'er Some blasted, bladeless desert!-- I dream!--or I am fool'd!--unbind me, daemon! Unseal mine eyeballs!--they are possess'd--again! Glazed with thy mockeries! I see not: hark! 'Tis but the mental image to the brain Recoiling: yet as palpable it comes! What seest thou?--yon shadow?--where?

HERMIONE.
Yon shadow?

DUKE. It cannot be: a brief told moment past, I marked beyond the brink, on the dim wood, The shadow waving. Now 'tis strange. There!--there! How keen this air creeps curdling to my vitals!-- The shadow yet hangs dark and motionless On shore and wave!

HERMIONE. Whence comes this wondering terror? The flag hath on its staff but newly dropp'd-- Look to the turret, why that spell-bound gaze So wildly on the stream!

DUKE. Fell hag! thy boding screech Too surely sped. They come! Protect me, Heaven!

_Enter four Assassins, masked. Three of them attack the DUKE, ere
he can make signals for the Guard; whilst their leader seizes on
HERMIONE._

HERMIONE.
Help!--murderers! Unhand me, wretch.
[_He stops her mouth._

CARLOS. Wretch! 'tis thy Carlos come to woo--not now To kiss thy very footprints, and the earth Whereon they fell! I'll bear thee hence, my mistress; And thou shalt live my menial slave. Rage not-- I'll tame thy spirit, lady. Thou shalt crouch, My gentle captive, as thy Carlos once, To lick the dust, and I will spurn thee. Nay, Content thee, dame, our friends will do thee service. [_The DUKE defends himself against his assailants. One of the Assassins falls._

DUKE.
There, villain! my good brand hath served thee.
[_HERMIONE, whilst struggling with CARLOS, frees
herself by a sudden effort, and seizes the sword
of the dying ruffian._

HERMIONE. I'll bury this, deep, to thy heart, monster, If thou approach. Help, guards!

CARLOS.
Thy tongue I fear
More than thy weapon. [_Attempts to cover her mouth._

HERMIONE.
Then to thy doom, hell-destined spirit! [_Stabs him._

CARLOS. Oh--fly!--save ye, my friends--escape whilst yet-- The guards--this fiend hath summon'd---- [_Falls._

HERMIONE (_rushes towards the DUKE_).
Cowards! ye cannot escape. They come!

BERTRAND (_tearing off his mask_).
Then swifter come
Insatiate vengeance. To thy place, proud Mantua!
[_Makes a desperate lunge at the DUKE, who falls._

DUKE. A mortal thrust! Hermione, now--now-- Farewell--'tis past!

BERTRAND.
Thou leavest not thy paramour.
[_Stabs HERMIONE._
Hence! to the pale ghosts howl in company.

HERMIONE.
I'd bless thee----for this---- [_Dies._

_Enter Guard, Soldiers; they seize the Conspirators._

DUKE. Too late ye come-- Life ebbs fast from my veins--mine eyes are dim; But there's a voice--or death unreins my fancy-- Comes o'er mine ear, I do remember, mingling Ere now 'mid mortal strife.

BERTRAND. 'Tis I: mine hate is quench'd but with the blood That nourish'd thee! Now to your dungeons lead me: Your rarest tortures--haste. This blest revenge Will slake your hottest fires, heal the hurt flesh, Make the unpitying rack a gentle pillow. Softer than cygnet down, or thy death-couch, Unsceptred Duke. Guards, do your office.

DUKE. Unhappy man! thy fierce, untamed spirit, In its own fiery nature, hath to endure What bodily tortures reach not. I forgive thee. But this good city, thy most unjust hate This night bereaves of her protector, seeks Her just atonement! Bear me hence--Beatrice, To thy loved arms. Would that I ne'er had left thee-- A fearful meeting now--Hermione! What--dead! My cup is drain'd e'en to the dregs, The vessel shiver'd, dash'd erewhile to earth!-- Just Heaven! I bow to thee! Thou hast not sent my spirit Unshriven to thy bar--brief space on earth My span of time, but unto thee I turn, Abused mercy; grant with my last last hour Repentance, and thy promised pardon! [_Exeunt Attendants with the DUKE._

LEGENDS.

One of the following Legends, The Crystal Goblet, was written for the Traditions of the County of York. It appeared by permission in an Annual entitled, "The White Rose of York;" but having only had a local circulation at the time, and having been carefully revised by the Author during the last winter of his life, it finds a place in the present volume.

MOTHER RED CAP;

OR,

THE ROSICRUCIANS.

A LEGEND OF THE NORTH.