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_ ACT IV
SCENE, the Encampment.
[Enter M'DONALD and BLAND.]
BLAND.
It doth in truth appear, that as a--spy--
Detested word!--brave Andre must be view'd.
His sentence he confesses strictly just.
Yet sure a deed of mercy, from thy hand,
Could never lead to ill. By such an act,
The stern and blood-stain'd brow of War
Would be disarm'd of half its gorgon horrors;
More humanized customs be induced;
And all the race of civilized man
Be blest in the example. Be it thy suit:
'T will well become thy character and station.
M'DONALD.
Trust me, young friend, I am alone the judge
Of what becomes my character and station:
And having judg'd that this young Briton's death,
Even 'though attended by thy father's murder,
Is necessary, in these times accurs'd,
When every thought of man is ting'd with blood,
I will not stir my finger to redeem them.
Nay, much I wonder, Bland, having so oft
The reasons for this necessary rigour
Enforced upon thee, thou wilt still persist
In vain solicitations. Imitate
Thy father!
BLAND.
My father knew not Andre.
I know his value; owe to him my life;
And, gratitude, that first, that best of virtues,--
Without the which man sinks beneath the brute,--
Binds me in ties indissoluble to him.
M'DONALD.
That man-created virtue blinds thy reason.
Man owes to man all love; when exercised,
He does no more than duty. Gratitude,
That selfish rule of action, which commands
That we our preference make of men,
Not for their worth, but that they did us service,
Misleading reason, casting in the way
Of justice stumbling-blocks, cannot be virtue.
BLAND.
Detested sophistry!--'T was Andre sav'd me!
M'DONALD.
He sav'd thy life, and thou art grateful for it.
How self intrudes, delusive, on man's thoughts!
He sav'd thy life, yet strove to damn thy country;
Doom'd millions to the haughty Briton's yoke;
The best, and foremost in the cause of virtue,
To death, by sword, by prison, or the halter:
His sacrifice now stands the only bar
Between the wanton cruelties of war,
And our much-suffering soldiers: yet, when weigh'd
With gratitude, for that he sav'd thy life,
These things prove gossamer, and balance air:--
Perversion monstrous of man's moral sense!
BLAND.
Rather perversion monstrous of all good,
Is thy accurs'd, detestable opinion.
Cold-blooded reasoners, such as thee, would blast
All warm affection; asunder sever
Every social tie of humanized man.
Curst be thy sophisms! cunningly contriv'd
The callous coldness of thy heart to cover,
And screen thee from the brave man's detestation.
M'DONALD.
Boy, boy!
BLAND.
Thou knowest that Andre's not a spy.
M'DONALD.
I know him one. Thou hast acknowledg'd it.
BLAND.
Thou liest!
M'DONALD.
Shame on thy ruffian tongue! how passion
Mars thee! I pity thee! Thou canst not harm,
By words intemperate, a virtuous man.
I pity thee! for passion sometimes sways
My older frame, through former uncheck'd habit:
But when I see the havoc which it makes
In others, I can shun the snare accurst,
And nothing feel but pity.
BLAND
[indignantly].
Pity me!
[Approaches him, and speaks in an under voice.]
Thou canst be cool, yet, trust me, passion sways thee.
Fear does not warm the blood, yet 't is a passion.
Hast thou no feeling? I have call'd thee liar!
M'DONALD.
If thou could'st make me one, I then might grieve.
BLAND.
Thy coolness goes to freezing: thou'rt a coward.
M'DONALD.
Thou knowest thou tell'st a falsehood.
BLAND.
Thou shalt know
None with impunity speaks thus of me.
That to rouse thy courage.
[Touches him gently, with his open hand,
in crossing him. M'DONALD looks at him unmoved.]
Dost thou not yet feel?
M'DONALD.
For thee I feel. And tho' another's acts
Cast no dishonour on the worthy man,
I still feel for thy father. Yet, remember,
I may not, haply, ever be thus guarded;
I may not always the distinction make.
However just, between the blow intended
To provoke, and one that's meant to injure.
BLAND.
Hast thou no sense of honour?
M'DONALD.
Truly, yes:
For I am honour's votary. Honour, with me,
Is worth: 't is truth; 't is virtue; 't is a thing,
So high pre-eminent, that a boy's breath,
Or brute's, or madman's blow, can never reach it.
My honour is so much, so truly mine,
That none hath power to wound it, save myself.
BLAND.
I will proclaim thee through the camp a coward.
M'DONALD.
Think better of it! Proclaim not thine own shame.
BLAND.
I'll brand thee--Damnation!
[Exit.]
M'DONALD.
O, passion, passion!
A man who values fame, far more than life;
A brave young man; in many things a good;
Utters vile falsehood; adds injury to insult;
Striving with blood to seal such foul injustice;
And all from impulse of unbridled feeling.--
[Pause.]
Here comes the mother of this headstrong boy,
Severely rack'd--What shall allay her torture?
For common consolation, here, is insult.
Enter MRS. BLAND and CHILDREN.
MRS. BLAND.
O my good friend!
M'DONALD [taking her hand].
I know thy cause of sorrow.
Art thou now from our Commander?
MRS. BLAND
[drying her tears, and assuming dignity].
I am.
But vain is my entreaty. All unmov'd
He hears my words, he sees my desperate sorrow.
Fain would I blame his conduct--but I cannot.
Strictly examin'd, with intent to mark
The error which so fatal proves to me,
My scrutiny but ends in admiration.
Thus when the prophet from the Hills of Moab,
Look'd down upon the chosen race of heaven,
With fell intent to curse; ere yet he spake,
Truth all resistless, emanation bright
From great Adonai, fill'd his froward mind,
And chang'd the curses of his heart to blessings.
M'DONALD.
Thou payest high praise to virtue. Whither now?--
MRS. BLAND.
I still must hover round this spot until
My doom is known.
M'DONALD.
Then to my quarters, lady,
There shall my mate give comfort and refreshment:
One of your sex can best your sorrows soothe.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE, the Prison.
[Enter BLAND.]
BLAND.
Where'er I look cold desolation meets me.
My father--Andre--and self-condemnation!
Why seek I Andre now? Am I a man,
To soothe the sorrows of a suffering friend?
The weather-cock of passion! fool inebriate!
Who could with ruffian hand strive to provoke
Hoar wisdom to intemperance! who could lie!
Aye, swagger, lie, and brag!--Liar! Damnation!!
O, let me steal away and hide my head,
Nor view a man, condemn'd to harshest death,
Whose words and actions, when by mine compar'd,
Shew white as innocence, and bright as truth.
I now would shun him; but that his shorten'd
Thread of life, gives me no line to play with.
He comes, with smiles, and all the air of triumph;
While I am sinking with remorse and shame:
Yet he is doom'd to death, and I am free!
[Enter ANDRE.]
ANDRE.
Welcome, my Bland! Cheerly, a welcome hither!
I feel assurance that my last request
Will not be slighted. Safely thy father
Shall return to thee.
[Holding out a paper.]
See what employment
For a dying man. Take thou these verses;
And, after my decease, send them to her
Whose name is woven in them; whose image
Hath controul'd my destiny. Such tokens
Are rather out of date. Fashions
There are in love as in all else; they change
As variously. A gallant Knight, erewhile,
Of Coeur de Lion's day, would, dying, send
His heart home to its mistress; degenerate
Soldier I, send but some blotted paper.
BLAND.
If 't would not damp thy present cheerfulness,
I would require the meaning of thy words.
I ne'er till now did hear of Andre's mistress.
ANDRE.
Mine is a story of that common kind,
So often told, with scanty variation,
That the pall'd ear loaths the repeated tale.
Each young romancer chooses for his theme
The woes of youthful hearts, by the cold hand
Of frosty Age, arm'd with parental power,
Asunder torn. But I long since have ceas'd
To mourn; well satisfied that she I love,
Happy in holy union with another,
Shares not my wayward fortunes. Nor would I
Now these tokens send, remembrance to awaken,
But that I know her happy: and the happy
Can think on misery and share it not.
BLAND
[agitated].
Some one approaches.
ANDRE.
Why, 't is near the time.
But tell me, Bland, say--is the manner chang'd?
BLAND.
I hope it--but I yet have no assurance.
ANDRE.
Well, well!
HONORA
[without].
I must see him.
ANDRE.
Whose voice was that?
My senses!--Do I dream--?
[Leans on BLAND.]
[Enter HONORA.]
HONORA.
Where is he?
ANDRE.
T is she!!
[Starts from BLAND
and advances towards HONORA; she rushes into his arms.]
HONORA.
It is enough! He lives, and I shall save him.
[She faints in the arms of ANDRE.]
ANDRE.
She sinks--assist me, Bland! O, save her, save her!
[Places her in a chair, and looks tenderly on her.
Yet, why should she awake from that sweet sleep!
Why should she open her eyes--[Wildly.]--to see me hung!
What does she here? Stand off--[Tenderly.]--and let her die.
How pale she looks! how worn that tender frame!--
She has known sorrow! Who could injure her?
BLAND.
She revives--Andre--soft, bend her forward.
[ANDRE kneels and supports her.
HONORA.
Andre--!
ANDRE.
Lov'd excellence!
HONORA.
Yes, it is Andre!
[Rises and looks at him.]
No more deceived by visionary forms,
By him supported--
[Leans on him.]
ANDRE.
Why is this?
Thou dost look pale, Honora--sick and wan--
Languid thy fainting limbs--
HONORA.
All will be well.
But was it kind to leave me as thou didst--?
So rashly to desert thy vow-link'd wife?--
ANDRE.
When made another's both by vows and laws--
HONORA
[quitting his support].
What meanest thou?
ANDRE.
Didst thou not marry him?
HONORA.
Marry!
ANDRE.
Didst thou not give thy hand away
From me?
HONORA.
O, never, never!
ANDRE.
Not married?
HONORA.
To none but thee, and but in will to thee.
ANDRE.
O blind, blind wretch!--Thy father told me----
HONORA.
Thou wast deceived. They hurried me away,
Spreading false rumours to remove thy love--
[Tenderly.]
Thou didst too soon believe them.
ANDRE.
Thy father--
How could I but believe Honora's father?
And he did tell me so. I reverenced age,
Yet knew, age was not virtue. I believed
His snowy locks, and yet they did deceive me!
I have destroy'd myself and thee!--Alas!
Ill-fated maid! why didst thou not forget me?
Hast thou rude seas and hostile shores explor'd
For this? To see my death? Witness my shame?
HONORA.
I come to bless thee, Andre; and shall do it.
I bear such offers from thy kind Commander,
As must prevail to save thee. Thus the daughter
May repair the ills her cruel sire inflicted.
My father, dying, gave me cause to think
That arts were us'd to drive thee from thy home;
But what those arts I knew not. An heiress left,
Of years mature, with power and liberty,
I straight resolv'd to seek thee o'er the seas.
A long-known friend who came to join her lord,
Yielded protection and lov'd fellowship.--
Indeed, when I did hear of thy estate
It almost kill'd me:--I was weak before--
ANDRE.
'T is I have murder'd thee!--
HONORA.
All shall be well.
Thy General heard of me, and instant form'd
The plan of this my visit. I am strong,
Compar'd with what I was. Hope strengthens me;
Nay, even solicitude supports me now;
And when thou shalt be safe, thou wilt support me.
ANDRE.
Support thee!--O heaven! What!--And must I die?
Die!--and leave her thus--suffering--unprotected!--
[Enter MELVILLE and GUARD.]
MELVILLE.
I am sorry that my duty should require
Service, at which my heart revolts; but, sir,
Our soldiers wait in arms. All is prepar'd----
HONORA.
To death!--Impossible! Has my delay,
Then, murder'd him?--A momentary respite--
MELVILLE.
Lady, I have no power.
BLAND.
Melville, my friend,
This lady bears dispatches of high import,
Touching this business:--should they arrive too late----
HONORA.
For pity's sake, and heaven's, conduct me to him;
And wait the issue of our conference.
Oh, 't would be murder of the blackest dye,
Sin execrable, not to break thy orders--
Inhuman, thou art not.
MELVILLE.
Lady, thou say'st true;
For rather would I lose my rank in arms,
And stand cashier'd for lack of discipline,
Than, gain 'mongst military men all praise,
Wanting the touch of sweet humanity.
HONORA.
Thou grantest my request?
MELVILLE.
Lady, I do.
Retire!
[SOLDIERS go out.]
BLAND.
I know not what excuse, to martial men,
Thou canst advance for this; but to thy heart
Thou wilt need none, good Melville.
ANDRE.
O, Honora!
HONORA.
Cheer up, I feel assur'd. Hope wings my flight,
To bring thee tidings of much joy to come.
[Exit HONORA, with BLAND and MELVILLE.]
ANDRE.
Eternal blessings on thee, matchless woman!--
If death now comes, he finds the veriest coward
That e'er he dealt withal. I cannot think
Of dying. Void of fortitude, each thought
Clings to the world--the world that holds Honora!
[Exit.] _
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