Kitabı oku: «André», sayfa 6

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

 
[How⁸ all men tower above me!
 

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

André meeting Bland

André

 
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, André, spurn me, strike me to the earth;
For what a wretch am I, in André's mind,
That he can think he leaves his love alone,
And I retaining life!
 

André

 
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! —
 

André

 
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.
 

André

 
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.
 

André

 
No more, as thou dost love me.
 

Bland

 
I have a sword, and arm, that never fail'd me.
 

André

 
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.

André

 
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.
 

André

 
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, André.
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 André's distress.] Thou art not glad to see me.
 

André

 
Break my heart!
 

Honora

 
Indeed, I feel not much in spirits. I wept but now.
 

Enter Melville and Guard

Bland [to Melville]

 
Say nothing.
 

André

 
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 André – 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 André's mother? We will home
And rest, for thou art weary – very weary.
 

[Leans on Mrs. Bland.

[André 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 André. First enter Pioneers – Detachment of Infantry – Military Band of Music – Infantry. The Music having passed off, enter André between Melville and American Officer; they sorrowful, he cheerfully conversing as he passes over the stage

André

 
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. André, 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