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The Suicide.
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THE SUICIDE. A DIALOGUE Exhibited on the Stage at the Public Commencement By YALE-COLLEGE, SEPT. 13th, M.DCC.XCVII.
Litchfield: Printed by T. Collier.
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Dramatis Personae.
- ALPHONSO BELLAMY, Mr. DAY.
- ABRAHAM BELLAMY, Mr. JUDD.
- ORVILL, Mr. BENEDICT.
- SERVANT.
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THE SUICIDE.
SCENE I.
Orvill, Abraham Bellamy.
ORVILL.
AND have you then determined to reject him?
Are you resolved to cast him off forever?
Shall he be doomed to bear, through all the woes
Of life, paternal curses on his head?
ABRAHAM.
I do not curse him.—Let him do the best
He can: But perjured be my soul, if ever I
Assist him more.—He long has disobeyed
My just commands, despis'd my tenderest counsels,
Scorn'd my rebukes, & with vile hand has squander'd
My hard-earned property upon his lusts.
Now let him feel the folly of his conduct.
ORVILL.
Reflect a moment, O my friend, on this
Most dangerous, inconsiderate resolution.
Your son is flighty, gay and thoughtless; warm
In his affections, desperate in his courage;
His heart is open, generous and sincere;
But young, and unexperienced in the world,
The falsly glittering charms of vice have caught
His heedless soul, and like a wandering fire,
Have drawn him from the straighter path of duty.
For this, he claims your pity more than your
Displeasure.
ABRAHAM.
Pity! Can I pity him,
Who, without pitying me, has ruined half
[Page 6]Of my estate? Who not content with all
A father's fond partiality could grant,
With an expensive education, with the means
Of gaining wealth, and meriting esteem,
Must still persist in hurrying down disgrace
Upon himself, his parents, and his friends.
ORVILL.
And are you well convinced
He cannot be reclaimed? Are there no means
To touch his bosom with a sense of duty?
Are there no secret avenues to his conscience?
I
know there are.—The strong, the just impressions
That nature stampt upon his soul, cannot
Be yet obliterated.—'Tis thy own
Imprudent conduct helps his ruin on.
ABRAHAM.
My own imprudent conduct!
ORVILL.
Yes, thy own
Imprudent conduct.—Why dost thou repeat
My words? While yet in tender youth, thou tak'st
From him, the sole support he ever knew.
From the gay lap of luxury and ease,
Thou send'st him, unprepared, to drink the dregs
Of poverty and shame.—No wonder, then,
That he, disgusted, should, in search of food
More pleasant, light on some few poisonous roots.
But once restore him to thy favour,—let
Him know, thou can'st be kind though he rebels,—
His soul will melt with gratitude, and call
Him, for his father's sake, to practise virtue.
ABRAHAM.
O! were there but a single ray of hope
That he would e'er reform, and love his father
As he loves him, my cruel, hasty vows
Should perish in the wind, and my glad arms
Fly open to embrace him.
ORVILL.
[Page 7]
Then revoke
Thy former declarations;—I will haste,
Ere wild dispair shall hurry him to ruin,
And whisper in his ear the gentle voice
Of soft persuasion;—will unfold to him
Thy generous love, the cause of his rejection,
And by what means he may regain thy favour.
ABRAHAM.
Thou best of friends, good
Orvill, go. If Heaven
Will pardon my extorted vows, and grant
My son a disposition to reform,
My anxious soul shall welcome his return,
And meet him as the dead restored to life.
SCENE II.
Alphonso Bellamy.—Servant.
ALPHONSO.
JOHN, have you cleaned my pistols?
SERVANT.
Yes, I have, Sir.
ALPHONSO.
And are they loaded too?
SERVANT.
They are well loaded.
ALPHONSO.
Then bring them both to me. Now take this letter
And carry it directly to my father.—
(
Exit Servant)
O! that the Heaven-daring act were done!
What fears, what terrors rush into my view!
My blood chills at the thought! To tear the soul
From its loved home,—to cease to be,—or far,
[Page 8]Far worse, plunge into unknown, endless being!—
O! horror! horror!—Yet I've once resolved—
Hah! Shall a few wild starts of conscience fright
Me from my steadfast purpose!—Conscience, hush!
Cease, cease thy struggling. Cry out 'guilty,' now
No more.—This world I hate, and all its uses;—
Its best enjoyments are but pains to me;—
Loathsome, insipid, and unprofitable.
My reputation I have sold.—All that
Can sugar o'er the woes of human life
Most wantonly I've lost.—The only part
Immortal of myself is gone, and what
Remains is bestial,—fit, and only fit
To perish from the sight of human eyes.
Farewell—my fond—fond hopes of bliss on earth—
My longings after sweet applause,—and all
Ye promised scenes of mirth and dissipation!—
Farewell, companions of my vice!—Ye, whom
The ties of nature bind to me,—adieu!
Farewell, thou vital air! thou holy light!
Farewell, sweet Life! and, O ye marble Heavens!
Whom I've implored, in vain, to snatch my soul
From woe, look with compassion, while I snatch
Myself from life! Impassioned angels come,
And hover round my dying frame, weep o'er
My fatal woes, prevent a lingering death,
And wing the excursive soul to God.
Enter ORVILL.
Forbear!
Rash youth, forbear! Thy barbarous hand restrain!
What frantic fit of desperation,—what
Bewitching frenzy,—what malignant fiend,
Hath wrought, with magic power, upon thy soul,
And urged thee, scorpion-like, to sting thyself?
Why war with nature?
ALPHONSO.
Generous friend, retire.
[Page 9]Thy presence once I loved; but now I hate thee.
Forgive me: 'Tis no fault of mine.—I hate
The light,—I hate the world,—I hate myself.
Leave me one moment to myself; then come
And shew me the last office of a friend.
ORVILL.
No, wretched, guilty youth, I will not let leave thee.
I'll stay and prove, by powerful arguments,
Drawn fresh from nature, and from nature's God,
Thou need'st far other offices than those
Thy voice declares. Fond friendship's highest act
Shall save thy soul. But first declare, what motive
Compelled thee to attempt this desperate deed?
ALPHONSO.
Compel me not, kind
Orvill, to prolong
A life, that is but to be wretched.—Go—
I call thee kind, because thou'rt used to appear so;
More cruel than the tyger now thou seem'st.
—Yet if thou wilt not leave me, my sad tale
Of woe I will unfold.—My heart was once
Both innocent and gay. Unknown to vice,
It beat not for its fascinating charms.
All I could wish was mine. My friends were true,
My parents kind. Secluded from the world
I liv'd, as well thou know'st, till growing years
Called me to enter a Collegiate life.
Here a new aera, in my morals, opened.
Lured on to vicious pleasures, by example,
And their own novel relish, soon my conscience
Asunder broke all moral ties.—A sense
Of honor then alone restrained my hand
And heart, from all that folly could devise,
Or madness execute.—By nature formed
With passions strong and ardent, was it strange
The snaky charm of gaming should engross
My unexperienced soul?—The anxious doubt,
The long, the deep suspence, and quick relief;
[Page 10]The sudden change from joy to grief, from grief
To joy,—the desperate menaces of fear,—
The flattering promises of hope,—all pleased
While present, and when gone, the craving void,
Left in my heart, invited their return.
Thus rolled away, in dissipation wasted,
Four rapid years; when on the parting eve',
At one mad stake, I lost, I threw away,
All that my father gave me to discharge
The long arrears of many a wasteful hour.
Incensed at this, my father cast me helpless
On the wide world, and bade me never see
His face again.—Banished from home, from all
The soft endearments of domestic life,
And doomed to hopeless poverty and shame,
With curses heaped upon my guilty head,
Think'st thou I can endure the scornful jests
Of my compeers? The sheer, the cold neglect
Of pride and wealth? The insults of the rabble?
No, with the spirit of a man I tell thee,
The lamp of life shall sooner be extinguished,
Than light me to disgrace.
ORVILL.
And dost thou think,
Alphonso, Heaven will hear such vile pretences?
Durst thou thy everlasting welfare hang
On straws like these?
ALPHONSO.
Orvill, I know
My reasons are well founded.—Have not I
A right to quit this world, whene'er I please?
Has a just God compelled me into life,
And shall he here compel me to remain,
When life becomes a curse?
ORVILL.
Yes, a just GOD
Has brought thee from the rayless shades of night,
[Page 11]To endless being.—For this, as thy Creator,
Exact submission to his holy pleasure,
Most justly he demands.
ALPHONSO.
But was not life
Communicated to me as a blessing?
And shall it not be lawful to return it,
When soured into a curse?
ORVILL.
Life was not given to man to bless himself
Alone,—to pamper sense, to satiate lust,
And roll in guilty pleasures for a moment,
And then exist no more.—Far nobler ends
His great Creator had in view, when first
He called him into being.—To promote
The aggregate of universal good,
Thro time, and thro eternity, is man's
Unceasing duty.—Hence, while he can praise
His God, or bless mankind, his duty bids
Him live, and husband all the means of life.
ALPHONSO.
What is a single life to this great world,
Or vast extent of universal nature?
Think on what terms the life of man depends!
A single drop of poison may destroy him;
A falling tree may crush him into nothing;
A mis-step on the precipice may dash
His frame to atoms; beasts of prey may tear
His limbs asunder: Nay, the meanest reptile
That crawls upon the earth,—a worm, a fly
May force his footsteps to the untimely tomb.
And has the God of nature then refused
To man his life's disposal, and bestow'd it
On the mad dog? the snake? the worm? the fly?
To me 'tis certain, since the exalted powers
Of man, in prudent foresight, far outstretch
The powers of brutal nature, He, the wise,
[Page 12]The great, the just, would trust to reasoning minds
What he commits to serpents, flies and worms.
ORVILL.
But ought we less to prize the privilege
Of life, while it remains, because oft-times,
The Almighty Power himself, by trifling means,
Brings on our exit?—Shall not He who gave
Our lives, recall them in what manner best
Shall please Him? And shall we, with daring hand,
Presume to give them up ourselves unbidden?
If life is frail, as thou hast well remarked,
We ought the better to improve it, while
It lasts, and with more cautious, prudent care,
Preserve it.—The wise providence of God
Will soon enough, without our interference,
Extinguish life.
ALPHONSO.
But I no more encroach
Upon the order of God's providence,
When I resign my life, than when my neighbour,
Through malice, takes it from me.—All events
Are brought to pass by the Almighty Power,
And in exact accordance with his will.
We know the will and providence of God
But by the events produced. As, then, we know not
What is his future providence and pleasure,—
To act for the continuance of our lives,
May be a crime as heinous, as to act
For their destruction.
ORVILL.
Happy news for thieves,
Adulterers, drunkards, traitors, profligates,
And murderers! Let them wallow in the sink
Of vice and folly; let them rot with sloth,
Or stew in sensual pleasure;—all is right:
'Tis brought to pass by the Almighty Power,
And in exact accordance with his will.
[Page 13]As we know not the future providence
Of God, to follow his commands may be
A crime as heinous, as to disregard them.
An argument than this, more weak and vain,
No straw-crowned king of Bedlam ever sung
To listening madmen.
ALPHONSO.
Tho thou confoundst, thou still dost not convince me.
Sustained by reasons strong, I still believe
That Suicide is just. Life not our own,
We have no right to expose it; none to fight
In freedom's cause; none to repel the assaults
Of unjust foes; none to withstand the wrongs
Of fell oppressors. Even martyrs, who
Have sacrificed their lives in the defence
Of virtue's cause, must stand by thee condemned,
ORVILL.
Thyself confounded, thou confoundest all
Things else. When virtue calls we must obey.
What God commands is just, is right, is duty.
We trust for the protection of our lives,
To his unerring wisdom. When those lives
May be prolonged, by dangerous means, then too,
The precept, that prohibits Suicide,
Oft times, demands their application. But
How widely diverse is that wretch's case,
Who thro impatience, pride and cowardice,
Resolves to cheat his Maker, and slip out
Of life, without his leave.
ALPHONSO.
Life not our own,
The members of a nation have no right
To grant their legislators power to take
Their lives away, for capital offences.
Hence every death, on criminals inflicted,
Is so much barbarous tyranny and murder.
ORVILL.
[Page 14]
No member of a nation ever gave,
Or ever had it in his power to give
His life to the disposal of his sovereign.
From God alone the sacred trust descends,
Borne on the wings of universal good.
When universal good shall bring to man
A right to kill himself, then let him use it.
I pity thee,
Alphonso! thou art much
Deluded. Plain it is as gospel truth
Can make it; plain as nature's voice can speak,
In every instance, Suicide is guilt.
The holy book of God exhibits life
As a set term, assigned man by his Maker,
A race to run with patience, and a course,
With joy to finish. No one virtue more
Does the Redeemer of the world enjoin
On all his followers, than a full submission
To the wise providence of God. Himself
First set the bright example, while on earth.
Thro dangers, griefs and sorrows led the way,
And bade us, with an eye of faith, look on,
And follow. When all means of doing good
Below, shall fail, this virtue then, and then
Alone, may flourish in its full extent.
ALPHONSO.
I could perhaps believe it right in others,
To struggle through the woes of life, and wait
With patience nature's call; but for myself
I cannot bear it. 'Tis too much for me
To endure.
ORVILL.
Art thou,
Alphonso, fit to die?
Admit that Suicide itself is just,
Canst thou assure thyself of endless bliss
Hereafter? Wretched as thou art on earth,
Canst thou be certain, in the eternal world,
[Page 15]Thy wretchedness will cease? Think what surprize
Must seize thy anguished soul, if unprepared,
Thou rush into the mansions of the dead!
How would thy bosom freeze with horror, when
Those gay illusions, that had lured thee on
To perpetrate the unnatural deed, should burst,
And open on thy sight, a boundless scene
Of real woe, of never ending torment!
And wert thou, spite of truth, prepared to die
Already, couldst thou not by longer life
Be more prepared? Are there no grades of bliss
To be enjoyed throughout the extent of Heaven?
Will God bestow on him who buries half
His talents in the earth, equal rewards
With him who uses all, and to the best
Advantage? Common justice frowns, no less
Than one's own private good, on Suicide.
What a long train of duties, by thy death,
Wouldst thou desert, what numerous claims defraud!
How ill requite thy parents for their pains,
Their fond solicitudes, their anxious cares,
And all the expense thy lawless lusts demanded!
O think,
Alphonso, had thy father entered,
As soon as thou had'st done the fatal deed,
And found thee weltering, in thy streaming blood,
What pains, what anguish, must have racked his heart!
Think, when he brought thee to thy mother, cold,
And pale, and lifeless!—when he shewed thy head
All swollen, thy face deformed, thy garments stiff
With gore, & told her, ''twas her son,' what shrieks
Would rend the air!—what groans assail the skies!
What madness, what despair, seize on her soul!
Far better reasons would thy parents find
To end their lives, than thou, to end thy own.
Their brothers, and their sisters, and their friends,
[Page 16]Pierced with like grief, might follow their example;
Their children theirs, and in this manner, death
And consternation spread throughout the world.
ALPHONSO.
Cease,
Orvill, cease. Thou mak'st me feel myself
The pangs thy voice describes. Thou wak'st that conscience
Which, with much pains, I lulled, at last, to sleep.
O! teach me what to do! I must not die,—
I cannot live! If there's a state beyond
This life, where each receives his due reward,
The fruit of all his works,—too well I know,
Without repentance, I must there be wretched.
As well I know, that in this world alone,
'Midst numerous crowds, a solitary being;
Forsaken and unfriended; stigmatized
With endless shame; oppressed with poverty;
And worse than all, permitted never more
To see my father's face; I cannot live.
What
shall I,—
can I do?
ORVILL.
Reform and live.
ALPHONSO.
I will reform, but cannot live.—My father—
ORVILL.
Thy father gladly would extend his arms,
And press thee to his heart, were he but sure
Thou wouldst reform.
ALPHONSO.
Orvill, deceive me not.
Those wrathful eyes, that stung my soul, when he
Pronounced the dreadful sentence, never more
Can look complacent, on a wretch like me.
ORVILL.
The hasty sparks of anger soon are cold.
These very words I now reveal to thee,
I lately copied from thy father's lips.
ALPHONSO.
[Page 17]
Transporting thought! But can this tale be true?
Just reasons for offence, I surely gave him;
And can he now restore me to his favor,
Upon the bare condition of repentance?
ORVILL.
He can. But promise first, thou ne'er wilt more
Lay violent hands upon thyself.
ALPHONSO.
Then hear,
And witness this my solemn declaration.
Till the true needle shall forsake the pole,
And the streams wind their journey up the mountains
I'll never more attempt the guilty deed.
ORVILL.
Then let us go directly to thy father.
ALPHONSO.
I'll follow thee.
SCENE III.
Abraham Bellamy.—Servant.
ABRAHAM.
WHERE have you been, John, all this while?
SERVANT.
My master
Detained me in his service. I was ordered
To gather all his clothes and books, and pack
Them up, to adjust and pay his debts, and what
I thought was rather strange, to clean and load
His pistols.—All this time he was employed
In writing.—Then he handed me this letter,
And bade me carry it, with speed, to you.
ABRAHAM.
[Page 18]
'Tis like his sitting out upon a journey,
And therefore wants to wheedle out of me
Some new supplies for travelling expences.
—But if for money, why this large black seal?
SERVANT.
He wore a very solemn aspect, when
He handed me the letter.—It contains,
No doubt, some matters of the last importance.
ABRAHAM
[Breaks the seal and reads.]
—"My dear Father,"Before you will have received this letter, I shall
"probably be in the eternal world.—My pistols are
"loaded, and as soon as my servant shall have got
"beyond the hearing of the report, I shall discharge
"their contents thro' my head.
"From your dying son,
"ALPHONSO BELLAMY."
SERVANT.
Oh! my poor master!
ABRAHAM.
Oh! hapless son! Oh! cruel, cruel father!
Yes,
Orvill told me true.—It is my own
Unfeeling conduct, that hath caused, to him
This dreadful death, these racking pangs to me.
Wretch that I am! How could rebellious nature
Permit me to reject my only son!
How could my mischief-making head contrive
The infernal plan! How could my flinty heart
Consent to execute it! Oh, my son!
My murdered son! Fly,
John, perhaps he lives—
Stay, stay his hand,—quick,—snatch the means of death—
I'll follow thee,—I cannot,—yet I will.—
Haste for thy life.
SERVANT.
[Page 19]
Oh, my poor master!—
[Going.]
ABRAHAM.
Myself a murderer, whither shall I fly?
Bereaved of him I loved, what now remains?
The love of paltry pelf has led me on
Thus to contribute to the horrid deed!
Whole worlds of gold, how freely would I give,
Could I restore him to these anguished eyes:
But, oh! he's gone—gone never to return!—
'The poor remains of my decripit life
'I'll wear away in penitence and tears.
'The God of grace, will lend, at last, an ear
'To my complaints, and take me to himself.'
Enter ALPHONSO
and ORVILL.
Who's there? Thou shade of my departed son,
Sent while the blood is smoaking from his body,
To torture my chilled soul! approach me not!
ALPHONSO.
I am thy son.—Snatched from the jaws of death,
By generous
Orvill, thy
Alphonso comes
To own his crimson guilt, with penitence,
And on his knees, to supplicate thy pardon.
ORVILL.
Frankly to me he has confessed his vices,
Explained their rise and progress, told me how,
By bad examples, and by novel scenes,
He was seduced; his sense of guilt and shame
Expressed, and solemn protestations made
Of reformation.—Still he loves his father,
And plights his faith to wound his heart no more.
ABRAHAM.
Come to my arms, thou dead restored to life!
My faults shall cover thine; we'll both implore
Of God forgiveness.—'Twas in thee a crime
To disobey thy father, and in me,
No less a crime to cast thee from my bosom.
ALPHONSO.
[Page 20]
And have I yet a father! Oh! thy goodness
Confounds, o'erwhelms my soul! Do thou but say
Thou wilt not hate me,—I can ask no more.
ABRAHAM.
Sooner, far sooner shall I hate myself.
All my rash vows, as made unjustly, I
This moment do revoke. Thy native station
Do thou assume.—My son and heir be thou
Forever.—Sacred to no common joy
Shall be this happy day.—From every heart
Let grief be banished,—every painful thought
Be gone.—Music shall strike her rapturous notes,
Each youth exulting shall lead up the dance,
And light, on nature's face, a joyful smile.
Let earth rejoice, "For this my son was lost
But now is found, was dead but lives again."