# Dramas (Baillie)/The Bride/Act 3

ACT III.
SCENE I.—The Private Chamber of Rasinga, who is discovered walking backwards and forwards in great agitation.
RASINGA.
The very meanest chief who holds a mansion
May therein take his pleasure with a second,
When that his earlier wife begins to fade,
Or that his wearied heart longs for another.
Ay, this may be; but I am deem'd a slave,
A tamed—a woman bound—a simple fool.
(After a pause.)
Nor did I seek for it; fate was my tempter.
That face of beauty was by fate unveil'd;
And I must needs forbear to look upon it,
Or looking, must forbear to love.—Bold traitor!
That he should also, in that very moment,
Catch the bright glimpse and dare to be my rival!
Fy, fy! His jealous sister set him on.
Why is my mind so rack'd and rent with this?
Jealous, rebellious, spiteful, as she is,
I need not, will not look upon her punishment.
Beneath the wat'ry gleam one moment's struggle,—
No more but this. (Tossing his arms in agony.)
Oh, oh! there was a time,
A time but shortly past, when such a thought
Had been——the cords of life had snapt asunder
At such a thought.—And it must come to this!
(After another perturbed pause.)
It needs must be: I'm driven to the brink.
What is a woman's life, or any life
That poisons his repose for whom it flourish'd?
I would have cherish'd, honour'd her, yet she,
Rejecting all, has ev'n to this extremity——
No, no! it is that hateful fiend, her brother,
Who for his damn'd desires and my dishonour
Hath urged her on.—The blood from his shorn trunk
Shall to mine eyes be as the gushing fount
To the parch'd pilgrim—Blood! but that his rank
Forbids such execution, his marr'd carcase,
A trampled mass—a spectacle of horror,
Should——the detested traitor!
[Noise at the door.]
Who is there?
JUAN DE CREDA (without).
RASINGA.
JUAN (without).
I have thy promise once again to see me
Ere thy revengeful purpose take effect;
Yea, and I hold thee to it.
RASINGA.
And hast no further claim.
JUAN (without).
I saw thee as the forest peasant sees
A hunted tiger passing to his lair.
Is this sufficient to acquit thee? No;
I claim thy promise still, as unredeem'd.
Unbar thy chamber door and let me in.
RASINGA (opening the door, and as Juan enters)
Is misery a pleasant sight to thee,
That thou dost pray and beg to look upon it?
JUAN.
The mis'ry of thine alter'd face, to me
Is sight more welcome than a brow composed.
But 't is again to change that haggard face
To the composure of a peaceful mind,
That I am come.—O deign to listen to me!
Let me beseech thee not to wreck thy happiness
For fell revenge!
RASINGA.
I wreck my happiness to save my honour.
JUAN.
RASINGA.
That turns the stubborn soil with dropping brow, Would hold an outraged, unrevenged chief
As more contemptible than torpid reptile
That cannot sting the foot which treads upon it.
JUAN.
As causes why revenge hath been forborne,
Contempt will follow, from the natural feelings
Of every breast, or savage or instructed.
But when the valiant and the gen'rous pardon,
Ev'n instantly as lightning rends the trunk
Of the strong Nahagaha*, pride of the wood,
A kindred glow of admiration passes
Through every manly bosom, proving surely,
That men are brethren, children of one sire,
The Lord of heaven and earth.
RASINGA.
Which to the stunn'd ear of an injured man
Are like the fitful sounds of a swoln torrent,
Noble, but void of all distinctive meaning.
JUAN.
Teaching to froward man the will of God.
RASINGA.
JUAN.
RASINGA.
Which, as I have been told, hath bred more discord
Than all the other firebrands of the earth,
With church opposed to church, and sect to sect,
In fierce contention; ay, fell bloody strife.
Certes, if all from the same book be taught,
Its words may give, as I before have said,
A noble sound, but no distinctive meaning.
JUAN.
Perversely drawn from the pure source of peace,
Is true; and yet it is a book of wisdom,
Whose clear, important, general truths may guide
The simplest and the wisest: truths which still
Have been by every church and sect acknowledged.
RASINGA.
Which they but learn, it seems, to disobey?
JUAN.
Sent in his love to teach his will to men,
Imploring them their hearts to purify
From hatred, wrong, and ev'ry sensual excess,
That in a happier world, when this is past,
They may enjoy true blessedness for ever.
RASINGA.
Which is so plain, and excellent, and acknowledged?
JUAN.
Raised to importance slight and trivial parts;
Contending for them, till they have at last
Believed them of more moment, ev'n than all
The plain and lib'ral tenor of the whole.
As if we should maintain a wart or mole
To be the main distinctions of a man,
Rather than the fair brow and upright form,—
The graceful, general lineaments of nature.
RASINGA.
JUAN.
With all its glorious stars, in some smooth pool
Clearly reflected, till in busy idleness,
Like children gath'ring pebbles on its brink,
Each needs must cast his mite of learning in
To try its depth, till sky, and stars, and glory,
Become one wrinkled maze of wild confusion.
But that good Scripture and its blessed Author
Stand far apart from such perplex'd contention,
As the bright sky from the distorted surface
Of' broken waters wherein it was imaged.
RASINGA.
Contain the will of God.
JUAN.
And therein is a noble duty taught,
To pardon injuries,—to pardon enemies.
RASINGA.
For holy sage or prophet in his cell,
Who lives aloof from wrongs and injuries
Which other men endure, to teach such precepts.
JUAN.
Did not enforce it at a rate so easy.
Though proved by many good and marv'llous acts
To be the mission'd son of the Most High,
He meekly bore the wrongs of wicked men;
And in the agonies of crucifixion,—
The cruel death he died,—did from his cross
Look up to Heaven in earnest supplication
Ev'n for the men who were inflicting on him
Those shameful suff'rings,—pardon ev'n for them.
RASINGA (bowing his head and covering his face with his hands).
JUAN.
Thou hast a heart to own such excellence.
(Laying his hand soothingly on Rasinga's.)
And do consider too how he who wrong'd thee,—
The youthful Samarkoon——
RASINGA (shaking off his hand impatiently).
JUAN.
Who in the fever'd madness of strong passion,
By beauty kindled, goaded by despair,
Perhaps with sympathy, for that he deem'd
A sister's sorrows——
RASINGA.
Thy words exasperate and stir within me
The half-spent flames of wrath.
He is a villain, an audacious villain;
A most ungrateful, cunning, artful villain.
Leave me, I charge thee, lest thou utter that
Which might provoke me to unseemly outrage.
I owe my life to thee, and but for that——
Leave me, I charge thee.
JUAN.
RASINGA.
Out, out! (Opening the door and pushing him away.)
Ho! Ehleypoolie! ye who wait without,
I want your presence here. [Exit Juan.
Enter Ehleypoolie and Mihdoony.
EHLEYPOOLIE (after having waited some time to receive the commands of his master, who without noticing him walks about the chamber in violent agitation).
(Aside to Mihdoony.)
He heeds us not: as though we were not here.
(Aloud.)
We humbly wait, my lord, to know your pleasure.
RASINGA.
(Stopping, and looking bewildered.)
I know not what it is.
MIHDOONY.
Some orders that regard the executions
Fix'd for to-morrow, at an hour so early.
RASINGA.
So call'd for, and so given?—Why wait ye here?
EHLEYPOOLIE.
That Ehleypoolie hath a ready aptness
For——
RASINGA.
Begone, I say; I did not summon you.
At least I meant it not.
[Turns away hastily, and exit by another door.
EHLEYPOOLIE.
How angry men pervert all sober judgment!
If I commend myself, who, like myself,
Can know so well my actual claims to praise?
MIHDOONY.
EHLEYPOOLIE.
MIHDOONY.
Thy fooling may be wit. Then for thy flattery,
What dost thou say to that?
EHLEYPOOLIE.
It had been dealt to him in scantier measure.
And lies—to hear a prince whose fitful humours
Can mar or make the vassals who surround him,
Name this as special charge on any one!
His violent passions have reduced his judgment
To very childishness.
MIHDOONY.
Will make him really bring to execution
A wife who has so long and dearly loved him?
EHLEYPOOLIE.
The words he spoke to me ev'n now may show thee
His judgment is obscured. But if he do;
Where is the harm when faded wives are cross
And will not live in quietness with a younger,
To help them on a step to their Newané?
She never favour'd me, that dame Artina,
And I foresaw she would not come to good.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A large Court, or open Space, with every thing prepared for the Execution of Samarkoon: a Seat of State near the front of the Stage.
Spectators and Guards discovered.
FIRST SPECTATOR.
All eyes, no voice; there is not ev'n the murmur
Of stifled whispers.—Deep and solemn silence!
SECOND SPECTATOR.
Her son in the habiliments of one
Prepared for death. This surely cannot be:
It is impossible.
FIRST SPECTATOR.
Enter Artina and Samar, with Sabawatté on the one side of them, and Juan de Creda on the other; Attendants following.
ARTINA.
SAMAR.
Nay, let me feel your hand upon my shoulder,
And press'd more heavily. It pleases me,
Weak as I am, to think I am thy prop.
ARTINA.
And what a creature for a loathly grave,—
For death to prey upon!—Turn, turn! Oh, turn!
Advance no farther on this dreadful path.
SAMAR.
And what it leads to, if you can endure it,
Then so can I:—fear not for me, dear mother!
Nay, do not fear at all; 't will soon be over.
ARTINA.
Ev'n on the very margin of the grave.——
Good Sabawatté! hold him; take him from me.
SABAWATTÉ.
'T is best that you should yield to his desire.
ARTINA.
SABAWATTÉ.
ARTINA.
Let not my little daughters know of this;
They are too young to miss me. Little Moora
Will soon forget that she has seen my face;
Therefore whoe'er is kind to them they'll love.
Say this to her, who will so shortly fill
Their mother's place, and she will pity them.
Add, if thou wilt, that I such gentle dealings
Expected from her hands, and bade thee teach them
To love and honour her.
SABAWATTÉ.
ARTINA.
[Sabawatté motions assent, but cannot speak.]
Enter Samarkoon chained and guarded.
ARTINA (rushing on to meet him).
Whom I so loved in early, happy days;
Thou top and blossom of my father's house!
SAMARKOON.
And many a brave man's son has died the death
That now abideth me.
ARTINA.
Shall reach his noon, of my brave father's race
No male descendant shall remain alive,—
Not one to wear the honours of his name,—
And I the cursed cause of all this wreck!
Oh, what was I, that I presumptuously
Should think to keep his undivided heart!
'T were better I had lived a drudge,—a slave,
To do the meanest service of his house,
Than see thee thus, my hapless, noble brother.
SAMARKOON.
Debased and scorn'd, and that most wond'rous creature,
Whose name I will not utter, made the means
Of vexing thee—it would have driven me frantic.
Then do not thus lament; nor think that I
Of aught accuse thee. No; still let us be
In love most dearly link'd, which only death
Has power to sever.——
[To Samar, as first observing him.]
Boy, why art thou here?
SAMAR.
'T is meet; for who but me should cling to her?
Enter Rasinga, and places himself in the seat: a deep silence follows for a considerable time.
MIHDOONY (who has kept guard with his spearmen over Samarkoon, now approaching Rasinga).
And you commanded me to give you notice.
Is it your pleasure that the executioners
Proceed to do their office on the prisoners, Who are all three prepared?
RASINGA.
MIHDOONY.
RASINGA.
MIHDOONY.
RASINGA.
MIHDOONY.
A volunteer for death, whom no persuasion
Can move to be divided from his mother.
RASINGA.
Some poor device. Go, bring the boy to me.
[Mihdoony leads Samar to his father.]
Why art thou here, my child? and is it so,
That thou dost wish to die?
SAMAR.
Alive or dead.
RASINGA.
It shall be so if thou indeed desire it.
But be advised; death is a dreadful thing.
SAMAR.
I'll die her death, and feel but what she suffers.
RASINGA.
Thou dost not know the misery of drowning;—
The booming waters closing over thee,
And thou still sinking, struggling in the tank,
On whose deep bottom weeds and water snakes.
And filthy lizards will around thee twine,
Whilst thou art choking. It is horrible.
SAMAR.
Is good enough for me. We'll be together:
Clinging to her, I shall not be afraid,
No, nor will she.
RASINGA.
Thou 'st not offended me; I love thee dearly;
I have no son but thee.
SAMAR.
Thy new young wife will give thee soon another,
And he will be thy son; but I will be
Son of Artina. We'll be still together:
When, in the form of antelope or loorie,
She wends her way to Boodhoo, I shall still
Be as her young one, sporting by her side.
RASINGA (catching him in his arms, and bursting into tears).
O such a son bestow'd on such a father!
Live, noble creature! and thy mother also!
Her crime is pardon'd, if it was a crime;
Ye shall not be divided.
SAMAR (running back to Artina).
We're both to live; my father says we are.
And he has wept and he has kiss'd me too,
As he was wont to do, ay, fonder far.
Come, come! (Pulling her towards Rasinga.)
He's good, you need not fear him now.
RASINGA.
And he hath won for me{bar|2}}I have no words
That can express what he hath won for me.
But thou art sad and silent; how is this,
With life, and such a son to make life sweet?
ARTINA.
Who died an honour'd death, and in his grave
Lies like an honour'd chief,—will have no son,
No male descendant, living on the earth,
To keep his name and lineage from extinction.
[Rasinga throws himself into his seat and buries his face in his mantle.]
FIRST SPECTATOR (in a low voice).
Worthy to be the mother of that boy.
SECOND SPECTATOR (in a low voice to the first).
Rises and falls beneath its silken vesture.
FIRST SPECTATOR (as before).
Known by these tokens, as swoln waves aloft
Betray the secret earthquake's deep-pent struggles.
SECOND SPECTATOR (as before).
The cover from his face: he seems relieved.
RASINGA (looking round him).
Thou feel'st my late rude passion and unkindness.
Misery makes better men than me unkind;
But pardon me, and I will make amends.
I would not listen to thy friendly counsel,
But now I will most freely grant to thee
Whatever grace or favour thou desirest:
Even now, before thou nam'st it.
JUAN.
(Runs to Samarkoon and commands his chains to be knocked off, speaking impatiently as it is doing.)
Who know full well the art to bind men's limbs,
But not to set them free.
(Leads Samarkoon when unbound towards Rasinga, speaking to him as they go.)
Come, noble Samarkoon! nay, look more gracious:
If thou disdain'st to thank him for thy life,
That falls to me, and I will do it gladly.
(Presenting Samarkoon to Rasinga.)
This is the boon which thou hast granted me,
The life of Samarkoon: a boon more precious
To him who grants than who receives it. Yet
Take my most ardent thanks; take many thanks
From other grateful bosoms, beating near thee.
ARTINA (kneeling to embrace the knees of Rasinga).
I do not now repine that thou art changed:
Be happy with another fairer dame,
It shall not grieve me now.
RASINGA (raising her).
Remove her, Samarkoon, a little space.
(Waving them off.)
Juan de Creda, art thou satisfied?
Have I done well?
JUAN.
RASINGA (drawing himself up with dignity).
Would not have satisfied the generous Saviour
Who died upon the cross.—Thy friend is pardon'd,
And more than pardon'd;—he is now my brother,
And I to him resign the mountain bride.
[A shout of joy bursts from all around: Artina folds Samar to her breast, and Samarkoon falls at the feet of Rasinga.]
SAMARKOON.
Urged by strong passions, wrong'd most grievously!
Now may I kneel to thee without disgrace,
For thou hast bound me with those bands of strength
That do ennoble, not disgrace the bravest.
RASINGA.
Since that which I resign is worth——But cease!
Speak not of this—if it be possible,
We 'll think of this no more.
(Turning to Artina.)
And now, my only and my noble wife,
And thou, my dauntless boy, stand by my side,
And I, so flank'd, will feel myself in honour,—
Honour which lifts and warms and cheers the heart.
And we shall have a feast within our walls;
Our good De Creda, he will tarry with us;
He will not go to-morrow as he threaten'd.
JUAN.
And then I must depart; a pressing duty
Compels me so to do.
RASINGA.
The sacred Book which thou hast told me of?
JUAN.
If Heaven permit. But man's uncertain life
Is like a rain-drop hanging on the bough,
Amongst ten thousand of its sparkling kindred,
The remnants of some passing thunder shower,
Who have their moments, dropping one by one,
And which shall soonest lose its per'lous hold
We cannot guess.—— I, on the Continent, must for a time
A wand'rer be; if I return no more,
You may conclude death has prevented me.
Enter Montebesa.
RASINGA.
There; take again your daughter and her boy.
We've striven stoutly with a fearful storm,
But, thanks to good De Creda, it is past;
And all the brighter shall our sky appear,
For that the clouds which have obscured its face
Were of a denseness dark and terrible.
The Scene closes.