________________________________________________
_ ACT V
SCENE, the Encampment.
[Enter BLAND.]
BLAND.
Suspense--uncertainty--man's bane and solace!
How racking now to me! My mother comes.
Forgive me, O my father! if in this war,
This wasting conflict of my wildering passions,
Memory of thee holds here a second place!
M'Donald comes with her. I would not meet him:
Yet I will do it. Summon up some courage--
Confess my fault, and gain, if not his love,
At least the approbation of my judgment.
[Enter MRS. BLAND and CHILDREN with M'DONALD.]
BLAND.
Say, madam, is there no change of counsel,
Or new determination?
MRS. BLAND.
Nought new, my son.
The tale of misery is told unheard.
The widow's and the orphans' sighs
Fly up, unnoted by the eye of man,
And mingle, undistinguish'd, with the winds.
My friend
[To M'DONALD.],
attend thy duties. I must away.
2nd CHILD.
You need not cry, Mama, the General will do it, I am sure;
for I saw him cry. He turn'd away his head from you, but I saw it.
MRS. BLAND.
Poor thing! come let us home and weep. Alas!
I can no more, for war hath made men rocks.
[Exeunt MRS. BLAND and CHILDREN.]
BLAND.
Colonel, I used thee ill this morning.
M'DONALD.
No!
Thyself thou used'st most vilely, I remember.
BLAND.
Myself sustained the injury, most true;
But the intent of what I said and did
Was ill to thee alone: I'm sorry for it.
Seest thou these blushes? They proceed from warmth
As honest as the heart of man e'er felt;--
But not with shame unmingled, while I force
This tongue, debased, to own, it slander'd thee,
And utter'd--I could curse it--utter'd falsehood.
Howe'er misled by passion, still my mind
Retains that sense of honest rectitude
Which makes the memory of an evil deed
A troublesome companion. I was wrong.
M'DONALD.
Why, now this glads me; for thou now art right.
Oh, may thy tongue, henceforward, utter nought
But Truth's sweet precepts, in fair Virtue's cause!
Give me thy hand.
[Takes his hand.]
Ne'er may it grasp a sword
But in defense of justice.
BLAND.
Yet, erewhile,
A few short hours scarce past, when this vile hand
Attempted on thee insult; and was raised
Against thy honour; ready to be raised
Against thy life. If this my deep remorse--
M'DONALD.
No more, no more. 'T is past. Remember it
But as thou would'st the action of another,
By thy enlighten'd judgment much condemn'd;
And serving as a beacon in the storms
Thy passions yet may raise. Remorse is vice:
Guard thee against its influence debasing.
Say to thyself, "I am not what I was;
I am not now the instrument of vice;
I'm changed; I am a man; Virtue's firm friend;
Sever'd for ever from my former self;
No link, but in remembrance salutary."
BLAND.
How[8] all men tower above me!
Footnote:
[8] Insert the lines which were substituted after the
first night for the lines here put in brackets. They
are given in the Preface, page 509.
M'DONALD.
Nay, not so.
Above what once thou wast, some few do rise;
None above what thou art.
BLAND.
It shall be so.
M'DONALD.
It is so.
BLAND.
Then to prove it.
For I must yet a trial undergo,
That will require a consciousness of virtue.
[Exit.]
M'DONALD.
Oh, what a temper doth in man reside!
How capable of yet unthought perfection!]
[Exit.]
SCENE, the GENERAL'S Quarters.
[Enter GENERAL and SEWARD.]
GENERAL.
Ask her, my friend, to send by thee her pacquets.
[Exit SEWARD.]
Oh, what keen struggles must I undergo!
Unbless'd estate! to have the power to pardon;
The court's stern sentence to remit;--give life;--
Feel the strong wish to use such blessed power;
Yet know that circumstances strong as fate
Forbid to obey the impulse. Oh, I feel
That man should never shed the blood of man!
[Enter SEWARD.]
SEWARD.
Nought can the lovely suitor satisfy,
But conference with thee, and much I fear
Refusal would cause madness.
GENERAL.
Yet to admit,
To hear, be tortur'd, and refuse at last--
SEWARD.
Sure never man such spectacle of sorrow
Saw before. Motionless the rough-hewn soldiers
Silent view her, or walk aside and weep.
GENERAL
[after a pause].
Admit her.
[SEWARD goes out.]
Oh, for the art, the precious art,
To reconcile the sufferer to his sorrows!
[HONORA rushes in, and throws herself wildly on her knees before him;
he endeavours to raise her.
HONORA.
Nay, nay, here is my place, or here, or lower,
Unless thou grant'st his life. All forms away!
Thus will I clasp thy knees, thus cling to thee.--
I am his wife--'tis I have ruin'd him--
Oh, save him! Give him to me! Let us cross
The mighty seas, far, far--ne'er to offend again.--
[The GENERAL turns away, and hides his eyes with his hand.]
[Enter SEWARD and an OFFICER.]
GENERAL.
Seward, support her--my heart is torn in twain.
[HONORA as if exhausted,
suffers herself to be raised, and leans on SEWARD.]
OFFICER.
This moment, sir, a messenger arrived
With well confirm'd and mournful information,
That gallant Hastings, by the lawless scouts
Of Britain taken, after cruel mockery
With shew of trial and condemnation,
On the next tree was hung.
HONORA
[wildly].
Oh, it is false!
GENERAL.
Why, why, my country, did I hesitate?
[Exit.]
[HONORA sinks, faints, and is borne off by SEWARD and OFFICER.]
SCENE, the Prison.
[ANDRE meeting BLAND.]
ANDRE.
How speeds Honora?
[Pause.]
Art thou silent, Bland?
Why, then I know my task. The mind of man,
If not by vice debas'd, debilitated,
Or by disease of body quite unton'd,
Hath o'er its thoughts a power--energy divine!
Of fortitude the source and every virtue--
A godlike power, which e'en o'er circumstance
Its sov'reignty exerts. Now, from my thoughts,
Honora! Yet she is left alone--expos'd--
BLAND.
O, Andre, spurn me, strike me to the earth;
For what a wretch am I, in Andre's mind,
That he can think he leaves his love alone,
And I retaining life!
ANDRE.
Forgive me, Bland,
My thoughts glanc'd not on thee. Imagination
Pictur'd only, then, her orphan state, helpless;
Her weak and grief-exhausted frame. Alas!
This blow will kill her!
BLAND
[kneeling].
Here do I myself
Devote, my fortune consecrate, to thee,
To thy remembrance, and Honora's service!--
ANDRE.
Enough! Let me not see her more--nor think of her--
Farewell! farewell, sweet image! Now for death.
BLAND.
Yet that you shouldst the felon's fate fulfill--
Damnation! my blood boils. Indignation
Makes the current of my life course wildly
Through its round, and maddens each emotion.
ANDRE.
Come, come, it matters not.
BLAND.
I do remember,
When a boy, at school, in our allotted tasks,
We, by our puny acts, strove to portray
The giant thoughts of Otway. I was Pierre.--
O, thou art Pierre's reality! a soldier,
On whose manly brow sits fortitude enamour'd!
A Mars, abhorring vice, yet doom'd to die
A death of infamy; thy corse expos'd
To vulgar gaze--halter'd--distorted--Oh!!
[Pauses, and then adds in a low, hollow voice.]
Pierre had a friend to save him from such shame--
And so hast thou.
ANDRE.
No more, as thou dost love me.
BLAND.
I have a sword, and arm, that never fail'd me.
ANDRE.
Bland, such an act would justly thee involve,
And leave that helpless one thou sworest to guard,
Expos'd to every ill. Oh! think not of it.
BLAND.
If thou wilt not my aid--take it thyself.
[Draws and offers his sword.]
ANDRE.
No, men will say that cowardice did urge me.
In my mind's weakness, I did wish to shun
That mode of death which error represented
Infamous: Now let me rise superior;
And with a fortitude too true to start
From mere appearances, shew your country,
That she, in me, destroys a man who might
Have liv'd to virtue.
BLAND
[sheathing his sword].
I will not think more of it;
I was again the sport of erring passion.
ANDRE.
Go thou and guide Honora from this spot.
HONORA
[entering].
Who shall oppose his wife? I will have way!
They, cruel, would have kept me from thee, Andre.
Say, am I not thy wife? Wilt thou deny me?
Indeed I am not dress'd in bridal trim.
But I have travel'd far:--rough was the road--
Rugged and rough--that must excuse my dress.
[Seeing ANDRE'S distress.]
Thou art not glad to see me.
ANDRE.
Break my heart!
HONORA.
Indeed, I feel not much in spirits. I wept but now.
[Enter MELVILLE and GUARD.]
BLAND
[to MELVILLE].
Say nothing.
ANDRE.
I am ready.
HONORA
[seeing the GUARD].
Are they here?
Here again!--The same--but they shall not harm me--
I am with thee, my Andre--I am safe--
And thou art safe with me. Is it not so?
[Clinging to him.]
[Enter MRS. BLAND.]
MRS. BLAND.
Where is this lovely victim?
BLAND.
Thanks, my mother.
MRS. BLAND.
M'Donald sent me hither. My woes are past.
Thy father, by the foe releas'd, already
Is in safety. This be forgotten now;
And every thought be turn'd to this sad scene.
Come, lady, home with me.
HONORA.
Go home with thee?
Art thou my Andre's mother? We will home
And rest, for thou art weary--very weary.
[Leans on MRS. BLAND.]
[ANDRE retires to the GUARD, and goes off with them, looking on
her to the last, and with an action of extreme tenderness takes
leave of her. MELVILLE and BLAND accompany him.]
HONORA.
Now we will go. Come, love! Where is he?
All gone!--I do remember--I awake--
They have him. Murder! Help! Oh, save him! save him!
[HONORA attempts to follow, but falls. MRS. BLAND
kneels to assist her. Scene closes.]
SCENE, the Encampment.
Procession to the execution of ANDRE. First enter Pioneers--Detachment
of Infantry--Military Band of Music--Infantry. The Music having
passed off, enter ANDRE between MELVILLE and AMERICAN OFFICER; they
sorrowful, he cheerfully conversing as he passes over the stage.
ANDRE.
It may in me be merely prejudice,
The effect of young-opinion deep engraved
Upon the tender mind by care parental;
But I must think your country has mistook
Her interests. Believe me, but for this I should
Not willingly have drawn a sword against her.
[They bow their heads in silence.]
Opinion must, nay ought, to sway our actions;
Therefore--
Having crossed the stage, he goes out as still conversing with them.
Another detachment of Infantry, with muffled and craped drums, close
the procession: as soon as they are off--
Scene draws and discovers the distant view of the Encampment.
Procession enters in same order as before, proceeds up the stage, and
goes off on the opposite side.
[Enter M'DONALD, leading BLAND, who looks wildly back.]
BLAND.
I dare not thee resist. Yet why, O, why
Thus hurry me away--?--
M'DONALD.
Would'st thou behold----
BLAND.
Oh, name it not!
M'DONALD.
Or would'st thou, by thy looks
And gestures wild, o'erthrow that manly calmness
Which, or assum'd or felt, so well becomes thy friend?
BLAND.
What means that cannon's sound?
M'DONALD
[after a pause].
Signal of death
Appointed. Andre, thy friend, is now no more!
BLAND.
Farewell, farewell, brave spirit! O, let my countrymen,
Henceforward, when the cruelties of war
Arise in their remembrance; when their ready
Speech would pour forth torrents in their foe's dispraise,
Think on this act accurst, and lock complaint in silence.
[BLAND throws himself on the earth.]
M'DONALD.
Such are the dictates of the heart, not head.
Oh, may the children of Columbia still
Be taught by every teacher of mankind,
Each circumstance of calculative gain,
Or wounded pride, which prompted our oppressors:
May every child be taught to lisp the tale:
And may, in times to come, no foreign force,
No European influence, tempt to misstate,
Or awe the tongue of eloquence to silence.
Still may our children's children deep abhor
The motives, doubly deep detest the actors;
Ever remembering, that the race who plan'd,
Who acquiesced, or did the deeds abhor'd,
Has pass'd from off the earth; and, in its stead,
Stand men who challenge love or detestation
But from their proper, individual deeds.
Never let memory of the sire's offence
Descend upon the son.
[Curtain drops.]
[THE END]
William Dunlap's play: Andre
_
Read previous: Act 4
Table of content of Andre
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
