Representative American Plays/Superstition/Act 5

Scene 1. A Wood. (Stage dark.)

(Enter th' UNKNOWN.)

At length, unseen by human eye, I 've

gain'd Her neighbourhood. The village lies be- fore me ; And on the right rises the eminence On which she dwells — She dwells! who

dwells? heart Hold till thou art assur'd. Such were

the features. The stately form of her, whose cherish'd

image. Time spares my widow'd heart, fresh and

unchang'd. — I must be satisfied. — The night has

fallen Murky and thick; and in the western

Heavens,

The last of day was shrouded in the folds Of gathering clouds, from whose dark

confines come, At intervals, faint flashes, and the voice Of muttering thunder: there will be a

storm. How is it that I feel, as never yet I felt before, the threatening elements; My courage is bow'd down and cowers, as

though The lowering canopy would fall in

streams Of death and desolation. Dark portents, Hence ! There 's a Heaven beyond the

tempest's scope. Above the clouds of death. Wing your

flight thither. Thoughts — hopes, desires; there is your

resting place. {Exit.)

Scene 2. The interior of the Church. {Arranged as a Hall of Justice.) Pas- sages lead to doors on each side of the desk. The Judges seated at the desk. Charles stands on the left, near thi? Judges. Isabella nearer the front; on the same side Ravensworth, Walford, Mary, and Alice; on the opposite side, Villagers, Officers, etc.

Judge. Ye have heard the charge — but ere ye answer to it Bethink ye well. Confession may do

much To save you from the penalty; or miti- gate Your punishment. Denial must. deprive

you Of every hope of mercy. — Answer then — And first, j^ou, madam. ISA. Sorcery! Gracious Heaven!

Is it necessary, in this age of light, And before men and Christians, I should

deny A charge so monstrous! Judge. Answer to the question.

ISA. We are not guilty then; so aid us

Heaven ! Judge. S[)eak for yourself alone. Will you disclose Who — what 3'e are? IsA. I am a gentlewoman-

JNlore I cannot disclose. Jl'dge. Say, wherefore, madam,

You came among us? IsA. Sir, I came to seek

A father. Judge. Who is he ?

ISA. I dare not name him. ​Rav. Mark yon, how she prevaricates? Judge. What evidence

Have you against this woman*? Ray. Ye all remember

The terror and despair that fill'd each

bosom When the red comet, signal of Heaven's

wrath, Shook its portentous fires above our

heads. Ye all have seen, and most of ye have

felt The afflictions which this groaning land

is vex'd with — Our smiling fields withered by blight and

blast. The fruitful earth parch'd into eddying

dust, — On our fair coast the strewings of wreck'd

commerce ; In town and city, fire and pestilence, And famine, walking their destroying

rounds — Our peaceful villages, the scene of slaugh- ter. Echoing the savage yell, and frenzied

shriek Of maid and matron, or the piercing wail Of widows and of orphans — Judge. We deplore

The evils you recite; but what avails Their repetition here; and how do they Affect the cause in question? Rav. Shall we forget

That worldly pride and irreligious light- ness, Are the provoking sins, which our grave

synod Have urg'd us to root out ? Turn then to

her, Swelling with earth-born vanitj^, to her Who scorns religion, and its meek pro- fessors ; And, to this hour — until compell'd, ne'er

stood Within these holy walls. Judge. Yet this is nothing,

Touching the charge against her — ^you

must be Less vague and general. Produce your

proofs. Rav. There are two witnesses at hand; her

servants — Who have confess'd she had prepared to

. fly

This very night — a proof most clear and

potent Of conscious guilt. But why refer to

this !

Each one that hears me is a witness of it,

It is the village horror. Call, at random,

One from the crowd, and mark if he will dare

To doubt the thing I speak of. Judge. 'T must not be.

Nor can we listen further. IsA. I beseech you

Let him proceed; let him endeavour still,

To excite the passions of his auditors;

It will but shew how weak he deems his proof

Who lays such stress on prejudice. I fear not.

But I can answer all his accusations. —

If I intended flight — need I remind you

Of what your fathers — what yourselves have done?

It was not conscious guilt bade them or you

Escape from that, was felt was persecu- tion —

If I have thought the manner of my wor- ship

A matter between Heaven and my con- science.

How can ye blame me, who in caves and rocks

Shunning the church, offer'd your secret prayers ?

Or does my state offend? Habit and taste

May make some difference, and humble things

Seem great to those more humble; yet I have used

My little wealth in benefits. Your saints

Climb'd to high places — Cromwell to the highest —

As the sun seeks the eminence from w^hich

He can diffuse his beams most bounte- ously. Rav. The subtle jDower she serves does not withhold

The aid of sophistiy. Isa. I pray my judges

To shield me from the malice of this man,

And bring me to the trial. I will meet it,

As it concerns myself with firm indiffer- ence ;

But as it touches him w%om I exist in,

With hope that my acquittal shall dis- solve

The fetters of my son. Rav. (Aside.) That must not be.

Judge. Bring forth your proofs, and let the cause proceed. ​Rav. Perhaps it is the wealviiess of the father Prompts the suggestion — But I have be- thought me, It were most tit this youth should first be

dealt with, 'Gainst whom there are a host of wit- nesses Ready to testify — unless his actions, Obvious and known, are proof enough —

his life Which is a course of crime and profli-

g'aey, Ending, with contemplated rape and mur- der. ISA. What do I hear? Judge. How say you? rape and murder ! Rav. The victim of his bloody purpose lingers Upon the verge of death — Here are the

proofs That point out the assassin! (Showing the sword and handkerchief, which are held hi/ a Villager who is stand- ing near him.) For the violence — Myself, my daughter here — Mary. father, father!

Judge. These things are terrible. But you forget. They are not now the charge. Rav. What matters it,

Whether by hellish arts of sorceiy He wrought upon the maiden, — or with

force Attempted violation — Let him answer — Denying one, he but admits the other. Judge. Bid him stand forth. We wait

your answer, youth. Charles. You wait in vain — I shall not

plead. Judge. Not plead!

Rav. [Aside.) This is beyond my hopes. ISA. Charles, my son !

Judge. What do you mean ? Charles. Simply, sir, that I will not

Place myself on my trial here. Judge. Your reason?

Do you question then the justice of the court? Rav. He does, no doubt he does. Charles. However strong

Might be the ground for question — 't is

not that Determines me to silence. Judge. If you hope

To purchase safety by this contumacy; 'T is fit you be aware that clinging there. You may pull ruin on your head. Charles. I know

The danger I incur, but dare to meet it. ISA. Charles, reflect — Charles. Mother my soul is fixed;

They shall not call yon maiden to the bar. Tremble not, weep not, pure and timid

soul, They shall not question thee. Rav. Hence with thy spells —

Take thine eyes off my child, ere her weak

frame Yield to the charm she shakes with — hence I say ! (Mary attempts to speak, hut is pre- vented hy her Father.) Judge. Prisoner, attend: at once inform the court Of all you know concerning the strange

being. Who, like a supernatural visitant, Appear'd this day among us. What con- nexion Subsists between you? Charles. None. I know him not.

Rav. And yet this morning, ere the dawn had broken. They were both seen together in the for- est. Holding mysterious converse. Here's a

witness Who will avouch the fact; and that the

stranger With the first day-beam, vanished from his sight. Isa. {Aside.) He never told me this.

Can he have met him? Judge. Look on these things. They are mark'd with your name. And stain'd with blood. They were

found near the spot

Where a poor wretch lay bleeding. Can

you explain it? ^

Charles. They are mine — I do confess it.

I encountered

A person near that spot, and wounded

him In honourable duel. Nothing more Can I explain. Mary. {Struggling.) father, let me

speak. Rav. Silence! Now answer me, and let the powers Of darkness, that sustain you in your

pride. Yield and abandon you unto your fate. Did you not robber like, this night break

in My unguarded house, and there, with

ruffian force Attempt the honour of this maiden? ​IsA. Heaven !

Rav. D' ye hesitate ! you dare not answer nay.

For here are witnesses to your confu- sion,

Who saw you clasp her in your vile em- brace,

And heard her shrieks for help. Nay, here 's the maiden,

Who will herself aver it.

Mary.

Father, father !

Rav. Come forth, my child.

[Attempting to lead her forward.)

Charles. Forbear ! it shall not need.

Rav. Do you confess *?

Charles. What e'er you will.

ISA. 'T is past.

(Mary faints in the arms of Alice.)

Rav. Hear ye tliis, Judges ! People, hear

ye this? {Storm commences.)

And why do we delay! His doom were

death, Disdaining as he has to make his plea To the charge of sorcery. Now, his full

confession. Which ye have heard, dooms him a second time. {Storm increases; Thunder and Light- ning. ) Then why do ye delay *? The angry

Heavens — Hark, how they chide in thunder ! Mark their lightnings. {The storm rages; the Judges rise; all is confusion; the people and two offi- cers gather around Charles; officers seize him.) ISA. Save him! Heaven! As ye are

men, have mercy! Rav. No; not beneath this roof: among the tombs. Under the fury of the madden'd sky; Fit time and place ! Charles. {As they are dragging him out.)

Mary ; my mother ! Mary ! IsA. My son !

{Leans nearly fainting in Lucy's arms.) Mary. {Reviving.) Who calls me'?

Ah! What would ye do'? He 's innocent — he 's mj'- betroth'd — my

husband ! He came with m^y consent — he 's inno- cent ! Rav. Listen not to her ; 't is his hellish magic Speaks in her voice — away! Mary. Charles, my Charles! —

{She faints.)

{They bear Charles out. The storm continues.) Rav. It is accomplish'd.

{Enter the Unknown.)

Unk. What? what is accomplish'd'?

Rav. Who 'rt thou that ask'st ? Unk. Nay, answer me. They tell

Of dreadful deeds ye are performing

here. — How 's this ! Has death been here among you"? Rav. Yes,

Whatever thou may 'st be, death has been

here Guided by Heaven's vengeance. Unk. Who is this*?

'T is she, 't is she ! Dost know me, Isa- bella'? IsA. Is it not — •?

Unk. 'Tis thy father.

IsA. Father, father!

Have I then found thee! But my son! my son ! Unk. Unhappy child, be calm — I know thy story. And do forgive and bless thee. ISA. Thanks, my father. —

{Struggling to speak.) But— Unk. What means this'? IsA. 0, for a moment's strength —

Haste — haste — they murder him^— my son — Unk. Thy son,

0, where? IsA. There — there — Heaven ! it is too late! {They enter with a Bier, carrying Charles. The Unknown leads Isabella slowly towards it.)

{Enter Sir Reginald.)

Sir R. fatal tardiness! and yet I came The instant that I learned it. Bloody

monsters ! How will ye answer this*? Behold these

papers. They're from the king! They bid me

seek a lady, Nam'd Isabella, whom he espoused in

secret And her son Charles Fitzroy — And is it

thus —

{Enter George Egerton, pale and weak.)

George, look there! George. 0, brave, unhappy youth ! ​My generous foe, my honourable con- queror ! Mary. (Reviving.) Nay, ye shall not de- tain me — I will go.

And tell them all. Before I could not speak

My father held me here fast by the throat.

Why will you hold me*? they will murder hira —

Unless I speak for him. He spoke for me —

He sav'd my honour ! Ah ! what 's here *? Heaven!

'T is he — is he asleep'? — No, it is not he.—

I 'd think 't were he, but that his eyes are swolFn

Out of their sockets — and his face is black

With settled blood. — It is a murder'd man

You 've brought me to — and not my Charles — my Charles!

He was so young and lovely. — Soft, soft, soft!

Now I remember. — They have made you look so.

To fright me from your love. It will not do—

I know you well enough — I know those lips

Tho' I have never touch'd them. There, love, there,

It is our nuptial kiss. They shall not cheat us —

Hark in thine ear, how we will laugh at them. {Leans her head down on the body, as if ivhispering.) Sir R. Alas ! poor maniac.

(Isabella who, supported by her father, had been bending over the body in mute despair, is now sink- ing.) UxK. Daughter — Isabella —

IsA. Father — {Looking up in his face.) UxK. You will not leave me, Isabella ?

ISA. I would remain to comfort you, my father.

But there 's a tightness here. — For nine- teen years

He was my only stay on earth — my good, My duteous son. Ere I found thee, my

father. The cord was snapp'cl — Forgive me — (Isabella falls^ and is received in the arms of Lucy.) UxK. Bless thee, child —

I will not linger long behind thee.

{Storm subsides.)

Sir R. Sir,

If you 're that lady's father, I have here

A pardon for you from the king.

UxK. I thank him ;

But it is now too late. — She 's gone. —

The world Has nothing left for me — deep in the

wilderness, I '11 seek a grave, unknown, unseen by man. — Walf. How fares your hapless friend? Alice. Her cold cheek rests

Against his cheek — not colder — Walf. Place your hand

Upon her heart : is there no beating there ? Alice. There is no beating there — She 's

dead ! Rav. Dead, dead ! —

(Ravensworth, ivho thro' this scene^ had shewn the signs of stern and set- tled despair, occasionally casting his eyes upon his daughter, or raising them to Heaven, but withdrawing them again in utter hopelessness, now sinks groaning into the arms of Walford. Isabella is on her knees, on the upper side of the bier, leaning on Lucy. The Uxkxown, with his hands clasp'd, bends over his daugh- ter. Alice is kneeling at the side of her friend. Sir Reginald and George Egertox stand near the head of the bier. Lucy and Edward be- hind their mistress. The back ground filled up by the Judges, Vil- lagers, etc. The Curtaix falls amidst a burst of the Storm, accom- panied by Thunder and Lightning.)