The Mysterious Mother/Act 4 Scene 4
SCENE IV.
COUNTESS, ADELIZA.
COUNTESS.
Now, Adeliza, summon all thy courage.
Retrace my precepts past: nor let a tear
Profane a moment that's worth martyrdom.
Remember patience is the christian's courage,
Stoics have bled, and demigods have died.
A christian's talk is harder—'tis to suffer.
Now, Adeliza, summon all thy courage.
Retrace my precepts past: nor let a tear
Profane a moment that's worth martyrdom.
Remember patience is the christian's courage,
Stoics have bled, and demigods have died.
A christian's talk is harder—'tis to suffer.
ADELIZA.
Alas! have I not learnt the bitter lesson?
Have I not borne thy woes? What is to come
Can tax my patience with a ruder trial?
Alas! have I not learnt the bitter lesson?
Have I not borne thy woes? What is to come
Can tax my patience with a ruder trial?
COUNTESS.
Oh! yes, thou must do more. Adversity
Has various arrows. When the soul is steel'd
By meditation to encounter sorrow,
The foe of man shifts his artillery,
And drowns in luxury and careless softness
The breast he could not storm. Canst thou bear wealth,
And pleasure's melting couch? Thou hast known virtue
But at a scanty board. She has awak'd thee
To chilling vapours in the midnight vault,
And beckon'd thee to hardships, tears, and penance.
Wilt thou acknowledge the divine instructress,
When syren pleasures lap thee in delights?
Oh! yes, thou must do more. Adversity
Has various arrows. When the soul is steel'd
By meditation to encounter sorrow,
The foe of man shifts his artillery,
And drowns in luxury and careless softness
The breast he could not storm. Canst thou bear wealth,
And pleasure's melting couch? Thou hast known virtue
But at a scanty board. She has awak'd thee
To chilling vapours in the midnight vault,
And beckon'd thee to hardships, tears, and penance.
Wilt thou acknowledge the divine instructress,
When syren pleasures lap thee in delights?
ADELIZA.
If such the witchery that waits on guilt,
Why should I seek th' enchantress and her wiles?
The virgin veil shall guard my spotless hours,
Assure my peace, and saint me for hereafter.
If such the witchery that waits on guilt,
Why should I seek th' enchantress and her wiles?
The virgin veil shall guard my spotless hours,
Assure my peace, and saint me for hereafter.
COUNTESS.
It cannot be—
To Narbonne thou must bid a last adieu!
And with the stranger knight depart a bride.
It cannot be—
To Narbonne thou must bid a last adieu!
And with the stranger knight depart a bride.
ADELIZA.
Unhappy me! too sure I have o'erburthen'd
Thy charity, if thou wouldst drive me from thee.
Restrain thy alms, dear lady. I have learnt
From our kind sister-hood the needle's art.
My needle and thy smiles will life support.
Pray let me bring my last embroidery;
'Tis all by my own hand. Indeed I meant it
For my kind lady's festival.
Unhappy me! too sure I have o'erburthen'd
Thy charity, if thou wouldst drive me from thee.
Restrain thy alms, dear lady. I have learnt
From our kind sister-hood the needle's art.
My needle and thy smiles will life support.
Pray let me bring my last embroidery;
'Tis all by my own hand. Indeed I meant it
For my kind lady's festival.
COUNTESS.
Great justice!
Does this stroke pierce not deep enough? These tears,
Wrung from my vital fondness, scald they not
Worse than the living coal that sears the limbs?
Great justice!
Does this stroke pierce not deep enough? These tears,
Wrung from my vital fondness, scald they not
Worse than the living coal that sears the limbs?
ADELIZA.
Alas! thou hearest not! What grief o'erwhelms thee?
Why darts thy eye into my inmost soul?
Then vacant, motionless, arrests its course,
And seems not to perceive what it reads there?
My much-lov'd patroness!
Alas! thou hearest not! What grief o'erwhelms thee?
Why darts thy eye into my inmost soul?
Then vacant, motionless, arrests its course,
And seems not to perceive what it reads there?
My much-lov'd patroness!
COUNTESS.
O Adeliza,
Thy words now slake, and now augment my fever!
But oh! e'er reason quits this lab'ring frame,
While I dare weep these tears of anguish o'er thee,
Unutterable, petrifying anguish!
Hear my last breath. Avoid the scorpion pleasure.
Death lurks beneath the velvet of his lip,
And but to think him over, is perdition!
—O retrospect of horror!—To the altar!
Haste, Adeliza,—vow thou wilt be wretched!
O Adeliza,
Thy words now slake, and now augment my fever!
But oh! e'er reason quits this lab'ring frame,
While I dare weep these tears of anguish o'er thee,
Unutterable, petrifying anguish!
Hear my last breath. Avoid the scorpion pleasure.
Death lurks beneath the velvet of his lip,
And but to think him over, is perdition!
—O retrospect of horror!—To the altar!
Haste, Adeliza,—vow thou wilt be wretched!
ADELIZA.
Dost thou then doom me to eternal sorrows?
Hast thou deceiv'd me? is not virtue, happiness?
Dost thou then doom me to eternal sorrows?
Hast thou deceiv'd me? is not virtue, happiness?
COUNTESS.
I know not that. I know that guilt is torture.
I know not that. I know that guilt is torture.
ADELIZA.
Sure pestilence has flapp'd his baleful wing,
And shed its poison o'er thy saintlike reason!
When thou so patient, holy, so resign'd,
Doubtest of virtue's health, of virtue's peace.
—But 'tis to try me—look upon this relick:
'Twas the good abbess's bequest. 'Twill chase
The fiend that walks at twilight.
Sure pestilence has flapp'd his baleful wing,
And shed its poison o'er thy saintlike reason!
When thou so patient, holy, so resign'd,
Doubtest of virtue's health, of virtue's peace.
—But 'tis to try me—look upon this relick:
'Twas the good abbess's bequest. 'Twill chase
The fiend that walks at twilight.
COUNTESS.
How she melts me!
What have I said—my lovely innocence,
Thou art my only thought—Oh! wast thou form'd
The child of sin?—and dare I not embrace thee?
Must I with eager ecstacy gaze on thee,
Yet curse the hour that stamp'd thee with a being!
How she melts me!
What have I said—my lovely innocence,
Thou art my only thought—Oh! wast thou form'd
The child of sin?—and dare I not embrace thee?
Must I with eager ecstacy gaze on thee,
Yet curse the hour that stamp'd thee with a being!
ADELIZA.
Alas! was I then born the child of sin!
Who were my parents? I will pray for them.
Alas! was I then born the child of sin!
Who were my parents? I will pray for them.
COUNTESS.
Oh! if the bolt must come, here let it strike me!
[Flinging herself on the ground.
Nature! these feelings were thy gift. Thou knowest
How ill I can resist thy forceful impulse.
If these emotions are imputed to me,
I have one sin I cannot yet repent of!
Oh! if the bolt must come, here let it strike me!
[Flinging herself on the ground.
Nature! these feelings were thy gift. Thou knowest
How ill I can resist thy forceful impulse.
If these emotions are imputed to me,
I have one sin I cannot yet repent of!
ADELIZA.
Oh! raise thee from the earth. Shall I behold thee
Prostrate, embracing an unfriended beggar?
Or dost thou mock me still? What is my lot?
Wilt thou yet cherish me? Or do the great
Exalt us but in sport, lend us a taste,
A vision of enjoyment, and then dash us
To poverty, more poignant by comparison?
Sure I could never wanton with affliction!
Oh! raise thee from the earth. Shall I behold thee
Prostrate, embracing an unfriended beggar?
Or dost thou mock me still? What is my lot?
Wilt thou yet cherish me? Or do the great
Exalt us but in sport, lend us a taste,
A vision of enjoyment, and then dash us
To poverty, more poignant by comparison?
Sure I could never wanton with affliction!
COUNTESS.
Ah! canst thou doubt this conflict of the soul!
Mock thee!—oh! yes, there are such savage natures,
That will deride thy woes—and thou must bear it—
With foul reproach will gall thy spotless soul,
And taunt thee with a crime past thy conceiving.
Oh! 'tis to shield thee from this world of sorrows,
That thou must fly, must wed, must never view
The tow'rs of Narbonne more; must never know
The doom reserv'd for thy sad patroness!
Ah! canst thou doubt this conflict of the soul!
Mock thee!—oh! yes, there are such savage natures,
That will deride thy woes—and thou must bear it—
With foul reproach will gall thy spotless soul,
And taunt thee with a crime past thy conceiving.
Oh! 'tis to shield thee from this world of sorrows,
That thou must fly, must wed, must never view
The tow'rs of Narbonne more; must never know
The doom reserv'd for thy sad patroness!
ADELIZA.
Who threatens thy dear life! recall thy son.
His valiant arm will stem a host of foes,
Replace thy lord, and woo thee to be happy.
Who threatens thy dear life! recall thy son.
His valiant arm will stem a host of foes,
Replace thy lord, and woo thee to be happy.
COUNTESS.
Hah! little imp of darkness! dost thou wear
That angel form to gird me with upbraidings!
Fly, e'er my rage forget distinction, nature,
And make a medley of unheard-of crimes.
Fly, e'er it be too late—
Hah! little imp of darkness! dost thou wear
That angel form to gird me with upbraidings!
Fly, e'er my rage forget distinction, nature,
And make a medley of unheard-of crimes.
Fly, e'er it be too late—
ADELIZA.
For pity!
For pity!
COUNTESS.
Hence!
Pity would bid me stab thee, while the charm
Of ignorance locks thee in its happy slumbers.
Hence!
Pity would bid me stab thee, while the charm
Of ignorance locks thee in its happy slumbers.
ADELIZA.
Alas! she raves—I will call help. [Exit.
Alas! she raves—I will call help. [Exit.
COUNTESS, alone.
[After a long pause, in which he looks
tenderly after Adeliza.
She's gone.
—That pang, great God, was my last sacrifice!
Now recollect thyself, my soul! consummate
The pomp of horror with tremendous coolness.
'Tis fit that reason punish passion's crime.
—Reason!—alas! 'tis one of my convulsions!
Now it empow'rs me past myself: now leaves me
Exhausted, spiritless, eying with despair
The heights I cannot reach. Then madness comes;
Imperial fool and promises to waft me
Beyond the grin of scorn—but who sits there,
Supereminent?—'tis conscience!—phrenzy shield me!
I know the foe—see! see! he points his lance!
He plunges it all flaming in my soul;
And down I sink, lost in eternal anguish! [Runs out.
[After a long pause, in which he looks
tenderly after Adeliza.
She's gone.
—That pang, great God, was my last sacrifice!
Now recollect thyself, my soul! consummate
The pomp of horror with tremendous coolness.
'Tis fit that reason punish passion's crime.
—Reason!—alas! 'tis one of my convulsions!
Now it empow'rs me past myself: now leaves me
Exhausted, spiritless, eying with despair
The heights I cannot reach. Then madness comes;
Imperial fool and promises to waft me
Beyond the grin of scorn—but who sits there,
Supereminent?—'tis conscience!—phrenzy shield me!
I know the foe—see! see! he points his lance!
He plunges it all flaming in my soul;
And down I sink, lost in eternal anguish! [Runs out.