Kitabı oku: «André», sayfa 4

ACT III

Scene, the General's Quarters

The General and Bland come forward

General [papers in his hand]

 
Captain, you are noted here with honourable
Praises. Depend upon that countenance
From me, which you have prov'd yourself so richly
Meriting. Both for your father's virtues,
And your own, your country owes you honour —
The sole return the poor can make for service.
 

Bland

 
If from my country ought I've merited,
Or gain'd the approbation of her champion,
At any other time, I should not dare,
Presumptuously, to shew my sense of it;
But now, my tongue, all shameless, dares to name
The boon, the precious recompense, I wish,
Which, granted, pays all service, past or future,
O'erpays the utmost I can e'er achieve.
 

General

 
Brief, my young friend, briefly, your purpose.
 

Bland

 
If I have done my duty as a soldier;
If I have brav'd all dangers for my country;
If my brave father has deserved ought;
Call all to mind – and cancel all – but grant
My one request – mine, and humanity's.
 

General

 
Be less profuse of words, and name your wish;
If fit, its fitness is the best assurance
That not in vain you sue; but, if unjust,
Thy merits, nor the merits of thy race,
Cannot its nature alter, nor my mind,
From its determined opposition change.
 

Bland

 
You hold the fate of my most lov'd of friends;
As gallant soldier as e'er faced a foe,
Bless'd with each polish'd gift of social life,
And every virtue of humanity.
To me, a saviour from the pit of death,
To me, and many more my countrymen.
Oh! could my words portray him what he is;
Bring to your mind the blessings of his deeds,
While thro' the fever-heated, loathsome holds,
Of floating hulks, dungeons obscene, where ne'er
The dewy breeze of morn, or evening's coolness,
Breath'd on our parching skins, he pass'd along,
Diffusing blessings; still his power exerting,
To alleviate the woes which ruthless war,
Perhaps, thro' dire necessity, heap'd on us;
Surely, the scene would move you to forget
His late intent – (tho' only serving then,
As duty prompted) – and turn the rigour
Of War's iron law from him, the best of men,
Meant only for the worst.
 

General

 
Captain, no more.
 

Bland

 
If André lives, the prisoner finds a friend;
Else helpless and forlorn —
All men will bless the act, and bless thee for it.
 

General

 
Think'st thou thy country would not curse the man,
Who, by a clemency ill-tim'd, ill-judg'd,
Encourag'd treason? That pride encourag'd,
Which, by denying us the rights of nations,
Hath caus'd those ills which thou hast now portray'd?
Our prisoners, brave and generous peasantry,
As rebels have been treated, not as men.
'T is mine, brave yeomen, to assert your rights;
'T is mine to teach the foe, that, though array'd
In rude simplicity, ye, yet, are men,
And rank among the foremost. Oft their scouts,
The very refuse of the English arms,
Unquestion'd, have our countrymen consign'd
To death, when captur'd, mocking their agonies.
 

Bland

 
Curse them! [Checking himself.] Yet let not censure fall on André.
Oh, there are Englishmen as brave, as good,
As ever land on earth might call its own;
And gallant André is among the best!
 

General

 
Since they have hurl'd war on us, we must shew
That by the laws of war we will abide;
And have the power to bring their acts for trial,
To that tribunal, eminent 'mongst men,
Erected by the policy of nations,
To stem the flood of ills, which else fell war
Would pour, uncheck'd, upon the sickening world,
Sweeping away all trace of civil life.
 

Bland

 
To pardon him would not encourage ill.
His case is singular: his station high;
His qualities admired; his virtues lov'd.
 

General

 
No more, my good young friend: it is in vain.
The men entrusted with thy country's rights
Have weigh'd, attentive, every circumstance.
An individual's virtue is, by them,
As highly prized as it can be by thee.
I know the virtues of this man, and love them.
But the destiny of millions, millions
Yet unborn, depends upon the rigour
Of this moment. The haughty Briton laughs
To scorn our armies and our councils. Mercy,
Humanity, call loudly, that we make
Our now despised power be felt, vindictive.
Millions demand the death of this young man.
My injur'd country, he his forfeit life
Must yield, to shield thy lacerated breast
From torture. [To Bland.] Thy merits are not overlook'd.
Promotion shall immediately attend thee.
 

Bland [with contemptuous irony]

 
Pardon me, sir, I never shall deserve it.
[With increasing heat.] The country that forgets to reverence virtue;
That makes no difference 'twixt the sordid wretch,
Who, for reward, risks treason's penalty,
And him unfortunate, whose duteous service
Is, by mere accident, so chang'd in form,
As to assume guilt's semblance, I serve not:
Scorn to serve. I have a soldier's honour,
But 't is in union with a freeman's judgment,
And when I act, both prompt. Thus from my helm
I tear, what once I proudly thought, the badge
Of virtuous fellowship. [Tears the cockade from his helmet.] My sword I keep. [Puts on his helmet.]
Would, André, thou hadst never put thine off!
Then hadst thou through opposers' hearts made way
To liberty, or bravely pierc'd thine own!
 

[Exit.

General

 
Rash, headstrong, maddening boy!
Had not this action past without a witness,
Duty would ask that thou shouldst rue thy folly —
But, for the motive, be the deed forgotten.
 

[Exit.

Scene, a Village

At a distance some tents. In front muskets, drums, and other indications of soldiers' quarters

Enter Mrs. Bland and Children, attended by Melville

Melville

 
The General's doors to you are ever open.
But why, my worthy friend, this agitation?
Our Colonel, your husband —
 

Mrs. Bland [in tears, gives him the letter]

 
Read, Melville.
 

1st Child

 
Do not cry, Mama, for I'm sure if Papa said he would come home to-day he will come yet: for he always does what he says he will.
 

Mrs. Bland

 
He cannot come, dear love; they will not let him.
 

2nd Child

 
Why, then, they told him lies. Oh, fie upon them!
 

Melville [returning the letter]

 
Fear nothing, Madam, 't is an empty threat:
A trick of policy. They dare not do it.
 

Mrs. Bland

 
Alas! alas! what dares not power to do?
What art of reasoning, or what magic words,
Can still the storm of fears these lines have rais'd?
The wife's, the mother's fears? Ye innocents,
Unconscious on the brink of what a perilous
Precipice ye stand, unknowing that to-day
Ye are cast down the gulf, poor babes, ye weep
From sympathy. Children of sorrow, nurst,
Nurtur'd, midst camps and arms; unknowing man,
But as man's fell destroyer; must ye now,
To crown your piteous fate, be fatherless?
O, lead me, lead me to him! Let me kneel,
Let these, my children, kneel, till André, pardon'd,
Ensures to me a husband, them a father.
 

Melville

 
Madam, duty forbids further attendance.
I am on guard to-day. But see your son;
To him I leave your guidance. Good wishes
Prosper you!
 

[Exit Melville.

Enter Bland

Mrs. Bland

 
My Arthur, O my Arthur!
 

Bland

 
My mother!
 

[Embracing her.

Mrs. Bland

 
My son, I have been wishing
For you —
 

[Bursts into tears, unable to proceed.

Bland

 
But whence this grief, these tears, my mother?
Why are these little cheeks bedew'd with sorrow?
 

[He kisses the children, who exclaim, Brother, brother!

 
Have I done ought to cause a mother's sadness?
 

Mrs. Bland

 
No, my brave boy! I oft have fear'd, but never
Sorrow'd for thee.
 

Bland

 
High praise! – Then bless me, Madam;
For I have pass'd through many a bustling scene
Since I have seen a father or a mother.
 

Mrs. Bland

 
Bless thee, my boy! O bless him, bless him, Heaven!
Render him worthy to support these babes!
So soon, perhaps, all fatherless – dependent. —
 

Bland

 
What mean'st thou, madam? Why these tears?
 

Mrs. Bland

 
Thy father —
 

Bland

 
A prisoner of war – I long have known it —
But made so without blemish to his honour,
And soon exchang'd, returns unto his friends,
To guard these little ones, and point and lead,
To virtue and to glory.
 

Mrs. Bland

 
Never, never!
His life, a sacrifice to André's manes,⁷
Must soon be offer'd. Even now, endungeon'd,
Like a vile felon, on the earth he lies,
His death expecting. André's execution
Gives signal for the murder of thy father —
André now dies! —
 

Bland [despairingly]

 
My father and my friend!!
 

Mrs. Bland

 
There is but one on earth can save my husband —
But one can pardon André.
 

Bland

 
Haste, my mother!
Thou wilt prevail. Take with thee in each hand
An unoffending child of him thou weep'st.
Save – save them both! This way – haste – lean on me.
 

[Exeunt.

Scene, the General's Quarters

Enter the General and M'Donald

General

 
Here have I intimation from the foe,
That still they deem the spy we have condemn'd,
Merely a captive; by the laws of arms
From death protected; and retaliation,
As they term it, threaten, if we our purpose hold.
Bland is the victim they have singled out,
Hoping his threaten'd death will André save.
 

M'Donald

 
If I were Bland I boldly might advise
My General how to act. Free, and in safety,
I will now suppose my counsel needless.
 

Enter an American Officer

Officer

 
Another flag hath from the foe arriv'd,
And craves admittance.
 

General

 
Conduct it hither.
 

[Exit Officer.

 
Let us, unwearied hear, unbias'd judge,
Whate'er against our martial court's decision,
Our enemies can bring.
 

Enter British Officer, conducted by the American Officer

General

 
You are welcome, sir.
What further says Sir Henry?
 

British Officer

 
This from him.
He calls on you to think what weighty woes
You now are busy bringing on your country.
He bids me say, that, if your sentence reach
The prisoner's life (prisoner of arms he deems him,
And no spy), on him alone it falls not.
He bids me loud proclaim it, and declare,
If this brave officer, by cruel mockery
Of war's stern law, and justice's feign'd pretence,
Be murder'd; the sequel of our strife, bloody,
Unsparing and remorseless, you will make.
Think of the many captives in our power.
Already one is mark'd; for André mark'd; —
And when his death, unparallel'd in war,
The signal gives, then Colonel Bland must die.
 

General

 
'T is well, sir; bear this message in return.
Sir Henry Clinton knows the laws of arms:
He is a soldier, and, I think, a brave one.
The prisoners he retains he must account for.
Perhaps the reckoning's near. I, likewise, am
A soldier; entrusted by my country.
What I shall judge most for that country's good,
That shall I do. When doubtful, I consult
My country's friends; never her enemies.
In André's case there are no doubts: 't is clear:
Sir Henry Clinton knows it.
 

British Officer

 
Weigh consequences.
 

General

 
In strict regard to consequence I act;
And much should doubt to call that action right,
However specious, whose apparent end
Was misery to man. That brave officer
Whose death you threaten, for himself drew not
His sword – his country's wrongs arous'd his mind;
Her good alone his aim; and if his fall
Can further fire that country to resistance,
He will, with smiles, yield up his glorious life,
And count his death a gain; and tho' Columbians
Will lament his fall, they will lament in blood.
 

[General walks up the stage.

M'Donald

 
Hear this! hear this, mankind!
 

British Officer

 
Thus am I answered?
 

Enter a Sergeant with a letter

Sergeant

 
Express from Colonel Bland.
 

[Delivers it and exit.

General

 
With your permission.
 

[Opens it.

British Officer

 
Your pleasure, sir. It may my mission further.
 

M'Donald

 
O, Bland! my countryman, surely I know thee!
 

General

 
'T is short: I will put form aside, and read it.
[Reads.] "Excuse me, my Commander, for having a moment doubted your virtue: but you love me. If you waver, let this confirm you. My wife and children, to you and my country. Do your duty." Report this to your General.
 

British Officer

 
I shall, sir.
 

[Bows, and exit with American Officer.

General

 
O, Bland! my countryman!
 

[Exit with emotion.

M'Donald

 
Triumph of virtue!
Like him and thee, still be Americans.
Then, tho' all-powerful Europe league against us,
And pour in arms her legions on our shores;
Who is so dull would doubt their shameful flight?
Who doubt our safety, and our glorious triumph?
 

Scene, the Prison

Enter Bland

Bland

 
Lingering, I come to crush the bud of hope
My breath has, flattering, to existence warm'd.
Hard is the task to friendship! hard to say,
To the lov'd object there remains no hope,
No consolation for thee; thou must die;
The worst of deaths; no circumstance abated.
 

Enter André in his uniform, and dress'd

André

 
Is there that state on earth which friendship cannot cheer?
 

Bland

 
Little I bring to cheer thee, André.
 

André

 
I understand. 'T is well. 'T will soon be past.
Yet, 't was not much I ask'd. A soldier's death.
A trifling change of form.
 

Bland

 
Of that I spoke not.
By vehemence of passion hurried on,
I pleaded for thy precious life alone;
The which denied, my indignation barr'd
All further parley. But strong solicitation
Now is urg'd to gain the wish'd-for favour.
 

André

 
What is 't o'clock?
 

Bland

 
'T is past the stroke of nine.
 

André

 
Why, then, 't is almost o'er. But to be hung —
Is there no way to escape that infamy?
What then is infamy? – no matter – no matter.
 

Bland

 
Our General hath received another flag.
 

André

 
Soliciting for me?
 

Bland

 
On thy behalf.
 

André

 
I have been ever favour'd.
 

Bland

 
Threat'nings, now;
No more solicitations. Harsh, indeed,
The import of the message: harsh, indeed.
 

André

 
I am sorry for it. Would that I were dead,
And all was well with those I leave behind.
 

Bland

 
Such a threat! Is it not enough, just heaven,
That I must lose this man? Yet there was left
One for my soul to rest on. But, to know
That the same blow deprives them both of life —
 

André

 
What mean'st thou, Bland? Surely my General
Threats not retaliation. In vengeance,
Dooms not some better man to die for me?
 

Bland

 
The best of men.
 

André

 
Thou hast a father, captive —
I dare not ask —
 

Bland

 
That father dies for thee.
 

André

 
Gracious heaven! how woes are heap'd upon me!
What! cannot one, so trifling in life's scene,
Fall, without drawing such a ponderous ruin?
Leave me, my friend, awhile – I yet have life —
A little space of life – let me exert it
To prevent injustice: – From death to save
Thy father, thee to save from utter desolation.
 

Bland

 
What mean'st thou, André?
 

André

 
Seek thou the messenger
Who brought this threat. I will my last entreaty
Send by him. My General, sure, will grant it.
 

Bland

 
To the last thyself!
 

[Exit.

André

 
If, at this moment,
When the pangs of death already touch me,
Firmly my mind against injustice strives,
And the last impulse to my vital powers
Is given by anxious wishes to redeem
My fellowmen from pain; surely my end,
Howe'er accomplished, is not infamous.
 

[Exit.

End of the Third Act