SCENE FROM

BERTRAM."

A passage of great poetical beauty, says Sir Walter Scott, in which Bertram is represented as spurred to the commission of his great crimes by the direct agency of a supernatural and malevo

bent being.

P

PRIOR-BERTRAM.

RIOR. The dark knight of the forest,

So from his armor named and sable helm,
Whose unbarred vizor mortal never saw,

He dwells alone; no earthly thing lives near
him,

Save the hoarse raven croaking o'er his towers,
And the dank weeds muffling his stagnant moat.
Bertram. I'll ring a summons on his barred por-
tal

Shall make them through their dark valves rock and
ring.

Pri. Thou'rt mad to take the quest. memory

One solitary man did venture there

Within my

Dark thoughts dwelt with him, which he sought to
vent.

Unto that dark compeer we saw his steps,
In winter's stormy twilight, seek that pass-
But days and years are gone, and he returns not.
Bert. What fate befell him there?

Pri. The manner of his end was never known.

So calls the last dread peal the wandering atoms
Of blood, and bone, and flesh, and dust-worn frag-
ments,

In dire array of ghastly unity,
To bide the eternal summons-

I am not what I was since I beheld him-
I was the slave of passion's ebbing sway—
All is condensed, collected, callous, now-
The groan, the burst, the fiery flash is o'er
Down pours the dense and darkening lava-tide,
Arresting life, and stilling all beneath it,

[Enter TWO OF HIS BAND observing him.]
First Robber. Seest thou with what a step of pride
he stalks?

Thou hast the dark knight of the forest seen;
For never man, from living converse come,
Trod with such step or flashed with eye like thine.
Second Robber. And hast thou of a truth seen the
dark knight?

Bert. [Turning on him suddenly.] Thy hand is
chilled with fear. Well, shivering craven,
Say I have seen him-wherefore dost thou gaze?
Long'st thou for tale of goblin-guarded portal?
Of giant champion, whose spell-forged mail
Crumbled to dust an sound of magic horn—
Banner of sheeted flame, whose foldings shrunk
To withering weeds, that o'er the battlements

Bert. That man shall be my mate. Contend not Wave to the broken spell-or demon-blast

with me

Horrors to me are kindred and society.

Or man, or fiend, he hath won the soul of Bertram.
[Bertram is afterwards discovered alone, wandering near the
fatal tower, and describes the effect of the awful interview which
he had courted.]

Bert. Was it a man or fiend? Whate'er it was,
It hath dealt wonderfully with me—
All is around his dwelling suitable;

The invisible blast to which the dark pines groan,
The unconscious tread to which the dark earth echoes,
The hidden waters rushing to their fall ;

These sounds, of which the causes are not seen,
I love, for they are, like my fate, mysterious!
How towered his proud form through the shrouding

gloom,

How spoke the eloquent silence of its motion,
How through the barred vizor did his accents
Roll their rich thunder on their pausing soul!
And though his mailed hand did shun my grasp,
And though his closed morion hid his feature,
Yea, all resemblance to the face of man,
I felt the hollow whisper of his welcome,
I felt those unseen eyes were fixed on mine,
If eyes indeed were there

Forgotten thoughts of evil, still-born mischiefs,
Foul, fertile seeds of passion and of crime,
That withered in my heart's abortive core,
Roused their dark battle at his trumpet peal:
So sweeps the tempest o'er the slumbering desert,
Waking its myraid hosts of burning death;

Of winded clarion, whose fell summons sinks
To lonely whisper of the shuddering breeze
O'er the charmed towers-

First Robber. Mock me not thus. Hast met him
of a truth?

Bert. Well, fool

First Robber. Why, then, Heaven's benison be
with you.

Upon this hour we part-farewell forever.
For mortal cause I bear a mortal weapon-
But man that leagues with demons lacks not man.
CHARLES ROBERT MATURIN.

a

SCENE FROM "VIRGINIUS."

APPIUS, CLAUDIUS, and LiCTORS.
PPIUS. Well, Claudius, are the forces
At hand?

Claudius. They are, and timely, too: ther
people

Are in unwonted ferment.

App. There's something awes me at
The thought of looking on her father!
Claud. Look

Upon her, my Appius! Fix your gaze upon
The treasures of her beauty, nor avert it
Till they are thine. Haste! Your tribunal!
Haste!
[Appius ascends the tribunal.

[Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LUCIUS, CITIZENS, VIRGINIUS lead-
ing his daughter, SERVIA, and CITIZES. A dead silence pre
vails. 1

Virginius. Does no one speak? I am defendant | From speaking? She was thy sister, too!

here.

Is silence my opponent? Fit opponent

To plead a cause too foul for speech! What brow
Shameless gives front to this most valiant cause,
That tries its prowess 'gainst the honor of

A girl, yet lacks the wit to know, that he

Who casts off shame, should likewise cast off fear-
And on the verge o' the combat wants the nerve
To stammer forth the signal?

App. You had better,

Virginius, wear another kind of carriage;

This is not of the fashion that will serve you.

Vir. [Starting forward.] To be sure she will-a
most wise question that!

Is she not his slave? Will his tongue lie for him—
Or his hand steal-or the finger of his hand
Beckon, or point, or shut, or open for him?
To ask him if she'll swear! Will she walk or run,
Sing, dance, or wag her head; do anything
That is most easy done? She'll as soon swear!
What mockery it is to have one's life

Vir. The fashion, Appius! Appius Claudius tell me In jeopardy by such a berefaced trick!

The fashion it becomes a man to speak in,
Whose property in his own child-the offspring
Of his own body, near to him as is

His hand, his arm—yea, nearer-closer far,
Knit to his heart—I say, who has his property
In such a thing, the very self of himself,
Disputed-and I'll speak so, Appius Claudius;
I'll speak so-Pray you tutor me !

App. Stand forth

Claudius! If you lay claim to any interest
In the question now before us, speak; if not,

Bring on some other cause.

Claud. Most noble Appius-

Vir. And are you the man

That claims my daughter for his slave?-Look at me

And I will give her to thee.

Claud. She is mine, then :

Do I not look at you?

Vir. Your eye does, truly,

But not your soul. I see it through your eye
Shifting and shrinking-turning every way
To shun me. You surprise me, that your eye,
So long the bully of its master, knows not
To put a proper face upon a lie,

But gives the port of impudence to falsehood
When it would pass it off for truth. Your soul
Dares as soon shew its face to me.

Go on,

I had forgot; the fashion of my speech

May not please Appius Claudius.

Claud. I demand

Protection of the Decemvir!

App. You shall have it.

Vir. Doubtless!

App. Keep back the people, Lictors! What's Your plea? You say the girl's your slave. Produce Your proofs.

Claud. My proof is here, which, if they can, Let them confront. The mother of the girl

Is it to be endured? I do protest
Against her oath!

App. No law in Rome, Virginius,
Seconds you. If she swear the girl's her child,
The evidence is good, unless confronted
By better evidence. Look you to that,
Virginius. I shall take the woman's oath.
Virginia. Icilius !

Icilius. Fear not, love; a thousand oaths
Will answer her.

App. You swear the girl's your child,
And that you sold her to Virginius' wife,

Who passed her for her own. Is that your oath?
Slave. It is my oath.

App. Your answer now, Virginius.
Vir. Here it is!

[Brings Virginia forward
Is this the daughter of a slave? I know
'Tis not with men as shrubs and trees, that by
The shoot you know the rank and order of
The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look
For such a shoot. My witnesses are these-
The relatives and friends of Numitoria,
Who saw her, ere Virginia's birth, sustain
The burden which a mother bears, nor feels
The weight, with longing for the sight of it.
Here are the ears that listened to her sighs
In nature's hour of labor, which subsides
In the embrace of joy-the hands, that when
The day first looked upon the infant's face,
And never looked so pleased, helped them up to it
And blessed her for a blessing. Here, the eyes

That saw her lying at the generous

And sympathetic fount, that at her cry
Sent forth a stream of liquid living pearl
To cherish her enamelled veins. The lie
Is most unfruitful then, that takes the flower-
The very flower our bed connubial grew-
To prove its barrenness! Speak for me friends;

[Virginius, stepping forward, is with- | Have I not spoke the truth?
held by Numitorius.

Numitorius. Hold, brother! Hear them out, or suf

fer me

To speak.

Vir. Man, I must speak, or else go mad! And if I do go mad, what then will hold me

Women and Citizens. You have, Virginius.
App. Silence! Keep silence there! No more of
that!

You're very ready for a tumult, citizens.

[Troops appear behind. Lictors, make way to let these troops advance!

We have had a taste of your forbearance, masters,

And wish not for another.

Vir. Troops in the forum!

App. Virginius, have you spoken?

Vir. If you have heard me,

I have; if not, I'll speak again.

App. You need not,

Virginius; I had evidence to give,

Which, should you speak a hundred times again,
Would make your pleading vain.

Vir. Your hand, Virginia!

Stand close to me.

App. My conscience will not let me Be silent. 'Tis notorious to you all,

[The people make a show of resistance; but, upon the advance of the soldiers, retreat, and leave ICILIUS, VIRGINIUS, and his daughter, etc., in the hands of APPIUS and his party]. Deserted!-Cowards! traitors! Let me free But for a moment! I relied on you;

Had I relied upon myself alone,

I had kept them still at bay! I kneel to you-
Let me but loose a moment, if 'tis only

To rush upon your swords.

Vir. Icilius, peace!

You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left

Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies,

[Aside. Nerveless and helpless.

That Claudius' father, at his death, declared me
The guardian of his son. This cheat has long
Been known to me. I know the girl is not
Virginius' daughter.

Vir. Join your friends, Icilius,

And leave Virginia to my care.

App. The justice

I should have done my client unrequired,
Now cited by him, how shall I refuse?

Vir. Don't tremble, girl! don't tremble.
App. Virginius,

[Aside

App. Separate them, Lictors!

Vir. Let them forbear awhile, I pray you, Appius: It is not very easy. Though her arms

Are tender, yet the hold is strong by which

She grasps me, Appius-forcing them will hurt them;
They'll soon unclasp themselves. Wait but a little-
You know you're sure of her!

App. I have not time

To idle with thee; give her to my Lictors.

Vir. Appius, I pray you wait! If she is not
My child, she hath been like a child to me

[Aside. For fifteen years. If I am not her father,
I have been like a father to her, Appius,
For even such a time. They that have lived
So long a time together, in so near
And dear society, may be allowed
A little time for parting. Let me take
The maid aside, I pray you, and confer

I feel for you; but though you were my father,
The majesty of justice should be sacred-
Claudius must take Virginia home with him!

Vir. And if he must, I should advise him, Appius,
To take her home in time, before his guardian
Complete the violation which his eyes
Already have begun.-Friends! fellow-citizens !
Look not on Claudius-look on your Decemvir!
He is the master claims Virginia!

The tongues that told him she was not my child
Are these-the costly charms he cannot purchase,
Except by making her the slave of Claudius,
His client, his purveyor, that caters for
His pleasure-markets for him—picks, and scents,
And tastes, that he may banquet-serves him up
His sensual feast, and is not now ashamed,
In the open, common street, before your eyes-
Frighting your daughters' and your matrons' cheeks
With blushes they ne'er thought to meet-to help him
To the honor of a Roman maid! my child!
Who now clings to me, as you see, as if
This second Tarquin had already coiled
His arms around her. Look upon her, Romans!
Befriend her! succor her! see her not polluted
Before her father's eyes!-He is but one.
Tear her from Appius and his Lictors while

She is unstained.-Your hands! your hands! your

hands!

Citizens. They are yours, Virginius.

App. Keep the people back—

Support my Lictors, soldiers! Seize the girl,

And drive the people back.

Icilius. Down with the slaves!

A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me
Some token will unloose a tie so twined

And knotted round my heart, that, if you break it,
My heart breaks with it.

App. Have your wish. Be brief!
Lictors, look to them!

Virginia. Do you go from me?
Do you leave? Father! Father!
Vir. No, my child-

No, my Virginia-come along with me.

Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me

with you?

Will you take me home again? O, bless you! bless you!
My father! my dear father! Art thou not
My father?

[VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall, with a knife upon it.]

Vir. This way, my child-No, no; I am not going
To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee.
App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not
Approach Virginius! Keep the people back!
[Virginius secures the knife.

Well, have you done?

Vir. Short time for converse, Appius,
But I have.

App. I hope you are satisfied.

Vir. I am

I am that she is my daughter!

[Virginia shrieks, and falls half-dead upon Begin to mantle o'er his pallid form,

And glow-and glow-till forth at last it burst
Into confirmed, broad, and glorious day!
Lor. You loved, and he did love?
Mar. To say he did,

Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouched,
What many an action testified-and yet―
[Kissing her. What wanted confirmation of his tongue.
But if he loved, it brought him not content!
'Twas now abstraction—now a start-anon
A pacing to and fro-anon a stillness,
As nought remained of life, save life itself,
And feeling, thought, and motion, were extinct.
Then all again was action! Disinclined
To converse, save he held it with himself;
Which oft he did, in moody vein discoursing,
And ever and anon invoking honor,

ORENZO. That's right-you are collected and At length he talked of leaving us; at length

And talk to me. So! I've a rival here;
What's this that sleeps so sweetly on your neck!
Floribel. Jealous so soon, my Hesperus? Look
then,

It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for you:
Here's the blue violet, like Pandora's eye,
When first it darkened with immortal life.

Hesp. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper fingers,
Have they been brushing the long grass aside,
To drag the daisy from its hiding-place,
Where it shuns light, the Danaë of flowers,
With gold up-hoarded on its virgin lap?

Flor. And here's a treasure that I found by chance,
A lily-of-the-valley; low it lay

Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping,
As on a fairy's grave.

Hesp. Of all the posy

Give me the rose, though there's a tale of blood
Soiling its name. In elfin annals old

'Tis writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love-
The love he bare to Summer, who since then
Has, weeping, visited the world-once found
The baby perfume cradled in a violet;
('Twas said the beauteous bantling was the child
Of a gay bee, that in his wantonness
Toyed with a pea-bud in a lady's garland);
The felon winds, confederate with him,
Bound the sweet slumberer with golden chains,
Pulled from the wreathed laburnum, and together
Deep cast him in the bosom of a rose,

And fed the fettered wretch with dew and air.

THOMAS Beddoes.

Lady S. Nay, but we should make allowance. Si Benjamin is a wit and a poet.

Maria. For my part, I own, madam, wit loses its respect with me when I see it in company with malice. What do you think, Mr. Surface?

Joseph S. Certainly, madam; to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal in the mischief.

Lady S. Pshaw!-there's no possibility of being witty without a little ill-nature; the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick. What's your opinion, Mr. Surface?

Joseph S. To be sure, madam; that conversation where the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious and insipid.

Maria. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allowable; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contemptible. We have pride, envy, rivalship, and a thousand little motives to depreciate each other; but the male slanderer must have the cowardice of a woman before he can traduce one.

[Enter SERVANT.]

Servant. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and if your ladyship's at leisure, will leave her carriage.

Lady S. Beg her to walk in. [Exit Servant.] Now, Maria, however, here is a character to your taste; for though Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, everybody allows her to be the best natured and best sort of woman.

Maria. Yes-with a very gross affectation of good nature and benevolence, she does more mischief than the direct malice of old Crabtree.

Joseph S. I' faith, that's true, Lady Sneerwell;

PICKING TO PIECES THE CHARACTERS OF whenever I hear the current running against the

OTHER PEOPLE.

[From the “School for Scandal.”]

MARIA enters to LADY SNEERWELL and Joseph Surface. ADY SNEER WELL. Maria, my dear, how do you do? What's the matter? Maria. Oh! there is that disagreeable lover of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my guardian's with his odious uncle, Crabtree; so I slipt out, and ran hither to avoid them. Lady S. Is that all?

Joseph Surface. If my brother Charles had been of the party, madam, perhaps you would not have been so much alarmed.

Lady S. Nay, now you are severe; for I dare swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you were here. But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin done that you should avoid him so?

Maria. Oh, he has done nothing-but 'tis for what he has said: his conversation is a perpetual libel on all his acquaintance.

Joseph S. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no acvantage in not knowing him-for he'll abuse a stranger just as soon as his best friend; and his uncle Crabtree's as bad.

characters of my friends, I never think them in such danger as when Candour undertakes their defence.

Lady S. Hush!-here she is!

[Enter MRS. CANDOUR.]

Mrs. Candour. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how have you been this century? Mr. Surface, what news do you hear?—though indeed it is no matter, for I think one hears nothing else but scandal. Joseph S. Just so, indeed, ma'am.

Mrs. C. Oh, Maria! child-what! is the whole af fair off between you and Charles? His extravagance, I presume-the town talks of nothing else.

Maria. I am very sorry, ma'am, the town has so little to do.

Mrs. C. True, true, child: but there's no stopping people's tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it, as I indeed was to learn, from the same quarter, that your guardian, Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, have not agreed lately as well as could be wished.

Maria. 'Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy themselves so.

Mrs. C. Very true, child: but what's to be done? People will talk-there's no preventing it. Why, it