University of Virginia Library

Part II THE SEQUEL, ENTITLED ‘THE USURPER'S FATE’

Between the flight of the Queen, and the civil war which immediately followed, and in which Emerick remained the victor, a space of twenty years is supposed to have elapsed.

ACT I

Scene I

A Mountainous Country. Bathory's Dwelling at the end of the Stage. Enter Lady Sarolta and Glycine.
Glycine.
Well then! our round of charity is finished.
Rest, Madam! You breathe quick.

Sarolta.
What, tired, Glycine?
No delicate court-dame, but a mountaineer
By choice no less than birth, I gladly use
The good strength Nature gave me.

Glycine.
That last cottage
Is built as if an eagle or a raven
Had chosen it for her nest.

Sarolta.
So many are
The sufferings which no human aid can reach,
It needs must be a duty doubly sweet
To heal the few we can. Well! let us rest.

Glycine.
There?

[Pointing to Bathory's dwelling.
Sarolta.
Here! For on this spot Lord Casimir
Took his last leave. On yonder mountain-ridge
I lost the misty image which so long
Lingered, or seemed at least to linger on it.

Glycine.
And what if even now, on that same ridge,
A speck should rise, and still enlarging, lengthening,
As it clomb downwards, shape itself at last
To a numerous cavalcade, and spurring foremost,
Who but Sarolta's own dear lord returned
From his high embassy?

Sarolta.
Thou hast hit my thought!
All the long day, from yester-morn to evening,
The restless hope fluttered about my heart.
Oh we are querulous creatures! Little less
Than all things can suffice to make us happy;
And little more than nothing is enough
To discontent us.—Were he come, then should I
Repine he had not arrived just one day earlier
To keep his birth-day here, in his own birth-place.

Glycine.
But our best sports belike, and gay processions
Would to my lord have seemed but work-day sights
Compared with those the royal court affords.

Sarolta.
I have small wish to see them. A spring morning
With its wild gladsome minstrelsy of birds
And its bright jewelry of flowers and dew-drops
(Each orbéd drop an orb of glory in it)
Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement
Lord Casimir's wish alone would have made sacred:
But, in good truth, his loving jealousy
Did but command, what I had else entreated.

Glycine.
And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta,
Been wedded to the noblest of the realm,
So beautiful besides, and yet so stately—

Sarolta.
Hush! Innocent flatterer!

Glycine.
Nay! to my poor fancy
The royal court would seem an earthly heaven,
Made for such stars to shine in, and be gracious.

Sarolta.
So doth the ignorant distance still delude us!
Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee,
In its mere self a cold, drear, colourless void,
Seen from below and in the large, becomes
The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods!
Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance?
And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed?

Glycine.
Yes, madam! he was there. So was the maypole,
For we danced round it.

Sarolta.
Ah, Glycine! why,
Why did you then betroth yourself?

Glycine.
Because
My own dear lady wished it! 'twas you asked me!

Sarolta.
Yes, at my lord's request, but never wished,
My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched.
Thou knowest not yet the duties of a wife.

Glycine.
Oh, yes! It is a wife's chief duty, madam!
To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him,
And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska
But I shall tremble.

Sarolta.
Not with fear, I think,
For you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage.
[Exit Glycine into the cottage, Sarolta continues her speech looking after her.
Something above thy rank there hangs about thee,
And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion,
Yea, e'en in thy simplicity, Glycine,
A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel
More as a mother than a mistress to thee!
Thou art a soldier's orphan! that—the courage,
Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to give
A new soul to its gentleness, doth prove thee!
Thou art sprung too of no ignoble blood,
Or there's no faith in instinct!

[Angry voices and clamour within.
Re-enter Glycine.
Glycine.
Oh, madam! there's a party of your servants,
And my lord's steward, Laska, at their head,
Have come to search for old Bathory's son,
Bethlen, that brave young man! 'twas he, my lady,
That took our parts, and beat off the intruders,
And in mere spite and malice, now they charge him
With bad words of Lord Casimir and the king.
Pray don't believe them, madam! This way! This way!
Lady Sarolta's here.—

[Calling without.
Sarolta.
Be calm, Glycine.

Enter Laska and Servants with Old Bathory.
Laska
(to Bathory).
We have no concern with you! What needs your presence?

Old Bathory.
What! Do you think I'll suffer my brave boy
To be slandered by a set of coward-ruffians,
And leave it to their malice,—yes, mere malice!—
To tell its own tale?

[Laska and Servants bow to Lady Sarolta.
Sarolta.
Laska! What may this mean?

Laska.
Madam! and may it please your ladyship!
This old man's son, by name Bethlen Bathory,
Stands charged, on weighty evidence, that he,
On yester-eve, being his lordship's birth-day,
Did traitorously defame Lord Casimir:
The lord high steward of the realm, moreover—

Sarolta.
Be brief! We know his titles!

Laska.
And moreover
Raved like a traitor at our liege King Emerick.
And furthermore, said witnesses make oath,
Led on the assault upon his lordship's servants;
Yea, insolently tore, from this, your huntsman,
His badge of livery of your noble house,
And trampled it in scorn.

Sarolta
(to the Servants who offer to speak).
You have had your spokesman!
Where is the young man thus accused?

Old Bathory.
I know not:
But if no ill betide him on the mountains,
He will not long be absent!

Sarolta.
Thou art his father?

Old Bathory.
None ever with more reason prized a son;
Yet I hate falsehood more than I love him.
But more than one, now in my lady's presence,
Witnessed the affray, besides these men of malice;
And if I swerve from truth—

Glycine.
Yes! good old man!
My lady! pray believe him!

Sarolta.
Hush, Glycine
Be silent, I command you.
[Then to Bathory.
Speak! we hear you!

Old Bathory.
My tale is brief. During our festive dance,
Your servants, the accusers of my son,
Offered gross insults, in unmanly sort,
To our village maidens. He (could he do less?)
Rose in defence of outraged modesty,
And so persuasive did his cudgel prove,
(Your hectoring sparks so over-brave to women
Are always cowards) that they soon took flight,
And now in mere revenge, like baffled boasters,
Have framed this tale, out of some hasty words
Which their own threats provoked.

Sarolta.
Old man! you talk
Too bluntly! Did your son owe no respect
To the livery of our house?

Old Bathory.
Even such respect
As the sheep's skin should gain for the hot wolf
That hath begun to worry the poor lambs!

Laska.
Old insolent ruffian!

Glycine.
Pardon! pardon, madam!
I saw the whole affray. The good old man
Means no offence, sweet lady!—You, yourself,
Laska! know well, that these men were the ruffians!
Shame on you!

Sarolta.
What! Glycine? Go, retire!
[Exit Glycine.
Be it then that these men faulted. Yet yourself,
Or better still belike the maidens' parents,
Might have complained to us. Was ever access
Denied you? Or free audience? Or are we
Weak and unfit to punish our own servants?

Old Bathory.
So then! So then! Heaven grant an old man patience!
And must the gardener leave his seedling plants,
Leave his young roses to the rooting swine
While he goes ask their master, if perchance
His leisure serve to scourge them from their ravage?

Laska.
Ho! Take the rude clown from your lady's presence!
I will report her further will!

Sarolta.
Wait then,
Till thou hast learnt it! Fervent good old man!
Forgive me that, to try thee, I put on
A face of sternness, alien to my meaning!
[Then speaks to the Servants.
Hence! leave my presence! and you, Laska! mark me!
Those rioters are no longer of my household!
If we but shake a dewdrop from a rose
In vain would we replace it, and as vainly
Restore the tear of wounded modesty
To a maiden's eye familiarized to licence.—
But these men, Laska—

Laska
(aside).
Yes, now 'tis coming.

Sarolta.
Brutal aggressors first, then baffled dastards,
That they have sought to piece out their revenge
With a tale of words lured from the lips of anger
Stamps them most dangerous; and till I want
Fit means for wicked ends, we shall not need
Their services. Discharge them! You, Bathory!
Are henceforth of my household! I shall place you
Near my own person. When your son returns.
Present him to us!

Old Bathory.
Ha! what strangers here!
What business have they in an old man's eye?
Your goodness, lady—and it came so sudden—
I can not—must not—let you be deceived.
I have yet another tale, but—
[Then to Sarolta aside.
not for all ears!

Sarolta.
I oft have passed your cottage, and still praised
Its beauty, and that trim orchard-plot, whose blossoms
The gusts of April showered aslant its thatch.
Come, you shall show it me! And, while you bid it
Farewell, be not ashamed that I should witness
The oil of gladness glittering on the water
Of an ebbing grief.

[Bathory shows her into his cottage.
Laska
(alone).
Vexation! baffled! school'd!
Ho! Laska! wake! why? what can all this mean?
She sent away that cockatrice in anger!
Oh the false witch! It is too plain, she loves him.
And now, the old man near my lady's person.
She'll see this Bethlen hourly!

[Laska flings himself into the seat. Glycine peeps in.
Glycine.
Laska! Laska!
my lady gone?

Laska.
Gone.

Glycine.
Have you yet seen him?
Is he returned?
[Laska starts up.
Has the seat stung you, Laska?

Laska.
No, serpent! no; 'tis you that sting me; you!
What! you would cling to him again?

Glycine.
Whom?

Laska.
Bethlen! Bethlen!
Yes; gaze as if your very eyes embraced him!
Ha! you forget the scene of yesterday!
Mute ere he came, but then—Out on your screams,
And your pretended fears!

Glycine.
Your fears, at least,
Were real, Laska! or your trembling limbs
And white cheeks played the hypocrites most vilely!

Laska.
I fear! whom? what?

Glycine.
I know what I should fear,
Were I in Laska's place.

Laska.
What?

Glycine.
My own conscience,
For having fed my jealousy and envy
With a plot, made out of other men's revenges,
Against a brave and innocent young man's life!
Yet, yet, pray tell me!

Laska.
You will know too soon.

Glycine.
Would I could find my lady! though she chid me—
Yet this suspense—

[Going.
Laska.
Stop! stop! one question only—
I am quite calm—

Glycine.
Ay, as the old song says,
Calm as a tiger, valiant as a dove.
Nay now, I have marred the verse: well! this one question—

Laska.
Are you not bound to me by your own promise?
And is it not as plain—

Glycine.
Halt! that's two questions.

Laska.
Pshaw! Is it not as plain as impudence,
That you're in love with this young swaggering beggar,
Bethlen Bathory? When he was accused,
Why pressed you forward? Why did you defend him?

Glycine.
Question meet question: that's a woman's privilege,
Why, Laska, did you urge Lord Casimir
To make my lady force that promise from me?

Laska.
So then, you say, Lady Sarolta forced you?

Glycine.
Could I look up to her dear countenance,
And say her nay? As far back as I wot of
All her commands were gracious, sweet requests.
How could it be then, but that her requests
Must needs have sounded to me as commands?
And as for love, had I a score of loves,
I'd keep them all for my dear, kind, good mistress.

Laska.
Not one for Bethlen?

Glycine.
Oh! that's a different thing.
To be sure he's brave, and handsome, and so pious
To his good old father. But for loving him—
Nay, there, indeed you are mistaken, Laska!
Poor youth! I rather think I grieve for him;
For I sigh so deeply when I think of him!
And if I see him, the tears come in my eyes,
And my heart beats; and all because I dreamt
That the war-wolf had gored him as he hunted
In the haunted forest!

Laska.
You dare own all this?
Your lady will not warrant promise-breach.
Mine, pampered Miss! you shall be; and I'll make you
Grieve for him with a vengeance. Odd's, my fingers
Tingle already!

[Makes threatening signs.
Glycine
(aside).
Ha! Bethlen coming this way!
[Glycine then cries out.
Oh, save me! save me! Pray don't kill me, Laska!

Enter Bethlen in a Hunting Dress.
Bethlen.
What, beat a woman!

Laska
(to Glycine).
O you cockatrice!

Bethlen.
Unmanly dastard, hold!

Laska.
Do you chance to know
Who—I—am, Sir?—('Sdeath! how black he looks!)

Bethlen.
I have started many strange beasts in my time,
But none less like a man, than this before me
That lifts his hand against a timid female.

Laska.
Bold youth! she's mine.

Glycine.
No, not my master yet,
But only is to be; and all, because
Two years ago my lady asked me, and
I promised her, not him; and if she'll let me,
I'll hate you, my lord's steward.

Bethlen.
Hush, Glycine!

Glycine.
Yes, I do, Bethlen; for he just now brought
False witnesses to swear away your life:
Your life, and old Bathory's too.

Bethlen.
Bathory's!
Where is my father? Answer, or—Ha! gone!

[Laska during this time retires from the Stage.
Glycine.
Oh, heed not him! I saw you pressing onward,
And did but feign alarm. Dear gallant youth,
It is your life they seek!

Bethlen.
My life?

Glycine.
Alas,
Lady Sarolta even—

Bethlen.
She does not know me!

Glycine.
Oh that she did! she could not then have spoken
With such stern countenance. But though she spurn me,
I will kneel, Bethlen—

Bethlen.
Not for me, Glycine!
What have I done? or whom have I offended?

Glycine.
Rash words, 'tis said, and treasonous of the king.

[Bethlen mutters to himself.
Glycine
(aside).
So looks the statue, in our hall, o' the god,
The shaft just flown that killed the serpent!

Bethlen.
King!

Glycine.
Ah, often have I wished you were a king.
You would protect the helpless every where,
As you did us. And I, too, should not then
Grieve for you, Bethlen, as I do; nor have
The tears come in my eyes; nor dream bad dreams
That you were killed in the forest; and then Laska
Would have no right to rail at me, nor say
(Yes, the base man, he says,) that I—I love you.

Bethlen.
Pretty Glycine! wert thou not betrothed—
But in good truth I know not what I speak.
This luckless morning I have been so haunted
With my own fancies, starting up like omens,
That I feel like one, who waking from a dream
Both asks and answers wildly.—But Bathory?

Glycine.
Hist! 'tis my lady's step! She must not see you!

[Bethlen retires.
Enter from the Cottage Sarolta and Bathory.
Sarolta.
Go, seek your son! I need not add, be speedy—
You here, Glycine?

[Exit Bathory.
Glycine.
Pardon, pardon, Madam!
If you but saw the old man's son, you would not,
You could not have him harmed.

Sarolta.
Be calm, Glycine!

Glycine.
No, I shall break my heart.

Sarolta.
Ha! is it so?
O strange and hidden power of sympathy,
That of like fates, though all unknown to each,
Dost make blind instincts, orphan's heart to orphan's
Drawing by dim disquiet!

Glycine.
Old Bathory—

Sarolta.
Seeks his brave son. Come, wipe away thy tears.
Yes, in good truth, Glycine, this same Bethlen
Seems a most noble and deserving youth.

Glycine.
My lady does not mock me?

Sarolta.
Where is Laska?
Has he not told thee?

Glycine.
Nothing. In his fear—
Anger, I mean—stole off—I am so fluttered—
Left me abruptly—

Sarolta.
His shame excuses him!
He is somewhat hardly tasked; and in discharging
His own tools, cons a lesson for himself.
Bathory and the youth henceforward live
Safe in my lord's protection.

Glycine.
The saints bless you!
Shame on my graceless heart! How dared I fear,
Lady Sarolta could be cruel?

Sarolta.
Come,
Be yourself, girl!

Glycine.
O, 'tis so full here!
And now it can not harm him if I tell you,
That the old man's son—

Sarolta.
Is not that old man's son!
A destiny, not unlike thine own, is his.
For all I know of thee is, that thou art
A soldier's orphan: left when rage intestine
Shook and engulphed the pillars of Illyria.
This other fragment, thrown back by that same earthquake,
This, so mysteriously inscribed by nature,
Perchance may piece out and interpret thine.
Command thyself! Be secret! His true father—
Hear'st thou?

Glycine.
O tell—

Bethlen
(rushing out).
Yes, tell me, Shape from heaven!
Who is my father?

Sarolta
(gazing with surprise).
Thine? Thy father? Rise!

Glycine.
Alas! He hath alarmed you, my dear lady!

Sarolta.
His countenance, not his act!

Glycine.
Rise, Bethlen! Rise!

Bethlen.
No; kneel thou too! and with thy orphan's tongue
Plead for me! I am rooted to the earth
And have no power to rise! Give me a father!
There is a prayer in those uplifted eyes
That seeks high Heaven! But I will overtake it,
And bring it back, and make it plead for me
In thine own heart! Speak! Speak! Restore to me
A name in the world!

Sarolta.
By that blest Heaven I gazed at,
I know not who thou art. And if I knew,
Dared I—But rise!

Bethlen.
Blest spirits of my parents,
Ye hover o'er me now! Ye shine upon me!
And like a flower that coils forth from a ruin,
I feel and seek the light I can not see!

Sarolta.
Thou see'st yon dim spot on the mountain's ridge,
But what it is thou know'st not. Even such
Is all I know of thee—haply, brave youth,
Is all Fate makes it safe for thee to know!

Bethlen.
Safe? Safe? O let me then inherit danger,
And it shall be my birth-right!

Sarolta
(aside).
That look again!—
The wood which first incloses, and then skirts
The highest track that leads across the mountains—
Thou know'st it, Bethlen?

Bethlen.
Lady, 'twas my wont
To roam there in my childhood oft alone
And mutter to myself the name of father.
For still Bathory (why, till now I guessed not)
Would never hear it from my lips, but sighing
Gazed upward. Yet of late an idle terror—

Glycine.
Madam, that wood is haunted by the war-wolves,
Vampires, and monstrous—

Sarolta.
Moon-calves, credulous girl!
Haply some o'ergrown savage of the forest
Hath his lair there, and fear hath framed the rest.
After that last great battle, (O young man!
Thou wakest anew my life's sole anguish) that
Which fixed Lord Emerick on his throne, Bathory
Led by a cry, far inward from the track,
In the hollow of an oak, as in a nest,
Did find thee, Bethlen, then a helpless babe.
The robe that wrapt thee was a widow's mantle.

Bethlen.
An infant's weakness doth relax my frame.
O say—I fear to ask—

Sarolta.
And I to tell thee.

Bethlen.
Strike! O strike quickly! See, I do not shrink.
I am stone, cold stone.

Sarolta.
Hid in a brake hard by,
Scarce by both palms supported from the earth,
A wounded lady lay, whose life fast waning
Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes,
That strained towards the babe. At length one arm
Painfully from her own weight disengaging,
She pointed first to heaven, then from her bosom
Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated
Thy foster-father took thee in his arms,
And kneeling spake: ‘If aught of this world's comfort
Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man's troth,
That at my life's risk I will save thy child!’
Her countenance worked, as one that seemed preparing
A loud voice, but it died upon her lips
In a faint whisper, ‘Fly! Save him! Hide—hide all!’

Bethlen.
And did he leave her? What! had I a mother?
And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life
With the desertion of a dying mother?
Oh agony!

Glycine.
Alas! thou art bewildered,
And dost forget thou wert a helpless infant!

Bethlen.
What else can I remember, but a mother
Mangled and left to perish?

Sarolta.
Hush, Glycine!
It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct:
Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine,
And it will find a mirror in the waters
It now makes boil above it. Check him not!

Bethlen.
O that I were diffused among the waters
That pierce into the secret depths of earth,
And find their way in darkness! Would that I
Could spread myself upon the homeless winds!
And I would seek her! for she is not dead!
She can not die! O pardon, gracious lady!
You were about to say, that he returned—

Sarolta.
Deep Love, the godlike in us, still believes
Its objects as immortal as itself!

Bethlen.
And found her still—

Sarolta.
Alas! he did return,
He left no spot unsearched in all the forest,
But she (I trust me by some friendly hand)
Had been borne off.

Bethlen.
O whither?

Glycine.
Dearest Bethlen!
I would that you could weep like me! O do not
Gaze so upon the air!

Sarolta.
While he was absent,
A friendly troop, 'tis certain, scoured the wood,
Hotly pursued indeed by Emerick.

Bethlen.
Emerick.
Oh hell!

Glycine.
Bethlen!

Bethlen.
Hist! I'll curse him in a whisper!
This gracious lady must hear blessings only.
She hath not yet the glory round her head,
Nor those strong eagle wings, which make swift way
To that appointed place, which I must seek;
Or else she were my mother!

Sarolta.
Noble youth!
From me fear nothing! Long time have I owed
Offerings of expiation for misdeeds
Long past that weigh me down, though innocent!
Thy foster-father hid the secret from thee,
For he perceived thy thoughts as they expanded,
Proud, restless, and ill-sorting with thy state!
Vain was his care! Thou'st made thyself suspected
E'en where suspicion reigns, and asks no proof
But its own fears! Great Nature hath endowed thee
With her best gifts! From me thou shalt receive
All honourable aidance! But haste hence!
Travel will ripen thee, and enterprise
Beseems thy years! Be thou henceforth my soldier!
And whatsoe'er betide thee, still believe
That in each noble deed, achieved or suffered,
Thou solvest best the riddle of thy birth!
And may the light that streams from thine own honour
Guide thee to that thou seekest!

Glycine.
Must he leave us?

Bethlen.
And for such goodness can I return nothing
But some hot tears that sting mine eyes? Some sighs
That if not breathed would swell my heart to stifling?
May heaven and thine own virtues, high-born lady,
Be as a shield of fire, far, far aloof
To scare all evil from thee! Yet, if fate
Hath destined thee one doubtful hour of danger,
From the uttermost region of the earth, methinks,
Swift as a spirit invoked, I should be with thee!
And then, perchance, I might have power to unbosom
These thanks that struggle here. Eyes fair as thine
Have gazed on me with tears of love and anguish,
Which these eyes saw not, or beheld unconscious;
And tones of anxious fondness, passionate prayers,
Have been talked to me! But this tongue ne'er soothed
A mother's ear, lisping a mother's name!
O, at how dear a price have I been loved
And no love could return! One boon then, lady!
Where'er thou bidd'st, I go thy faithful soldier,
But first must trace the spot, where she lay bleeding
Who gave me life. No more shall beast of ravine
Affront with baser spoil that sacred forest!
Or if avengers more than human haunt there,
Take they what shape they list, savage or heavenly,
They shall make answer to me, though my heart's blood
Should be the spell to bind them. Blood calls for blood!

[Exit Bethlen.
Sarolta.
Ah! it was this I feared. To ward off this
Did I withhold from him that old Bathory
Returning hid beneath the self-same oak,
Where the babe lay, the mantle, and some jewel
Bound on his infant arm.

Glycine.
Oh, let me fly
And stop him! Mangled limbs do there lie scattered
Till the lured eagle bears them to her nest.
And voices have been heard! And there the plant grows
That being eaten gives the inhuman wizard
Power to put on the fell hyæna's shape.

Sarolta.
What idle tongue hath bewitched thee, Glycine?
I hoped that thou had'st learnt a nobler faith.

Glycine.
O chide me not, dear lady; question Laska,
Or the old man.

Sarolta.
Forgive me, I spake harshly.
It is indeed a mighty sorcery
That doth enthral thy young heart, my poor girl,
And what hath Laska told thee?

Glycine.
Three days past
A courier from the king did cross that wood;
A wilful man, that armed himself on purpose:
And never hath been heard of from that time!

[Sound of horns without.
Sarolta.
Hark! dost thou hear it!

Glycine.
'Tis the sound of horns!
Our huntsmen are not out!

Sarolta.
Lord Casimir
Would not come thus!

[Horns again.
Glycine.
Still louder!

Sarolta.
Haste we hence!
For I believe in part thy tale of terror!
But, trust me, 'tis the inner man transformed:
Beasts in the shape of men are worse than war-wolves.

[Sarolta and Glycine exeunt. Trumpets, &c. louder. Enter Emerick, Lord Rudolph, Laska, and Huntsmen and Attendants.
Rudolph.
A gallant chase, sire.

Emerick.
Aye, but this new quarry
That we last started seems worth all the rest.
[then to Laska.
And you—excuse me—what's your name?

Laska.
Whatever
Your majesty may please.

Emerick.
Nay, that's too late, man.
Say, what thy mother and thy godfather
Were pleased to call thee.

Laska.
Laska, my liege sovereign.

Emerick.
Well, my liege subject, Laska! And you are
Lord Casimir's steward?

Laska.
And your majesty's creature.

Emerick.
Two gentle dames made off at our approach.
Which was your lady?

Laska
My liege lord, the taller.
The other, please your grace, is her poor handmaid,
Long since betrothed to me. But the maid's froward—
Yet would your grace but speak—

Emerick.
Hum, master steward!
I am honoured with this sudden confidence.
Lead on.
[to Laska, then to Rudolph.
Lord Rudolph, you'll announce our coming.
Greet fair Sarolta from me, and entreat her
To be our gentle hostess. Mark, you add
How much we grieve, that business of the state
Hath forced us to delay her lord's return.

Lord Rudolph
(aside).
Lewd, ingrate tyrant! Yes, I will announce thee.

Emerick.
Now onward all.
[Exeunt attendants.
A fair one, by my faith!
If her face rival but her gait and stature,
My good friend Casimir had his reasons too.
‘Her tender health, her vow of strict retirement,
Made early in the convent—His word pledged—’
All fictions, all! fictions of jealousy.
Well! If the mountain move not to the prophet,
The prophet must to the mountain! In this Laska
There's somewhat of the knave mixed up with dolt.
Through the transparence of the fool, methought.
I saw (as I could lay my finger on it)
The crocodile's eye, that peered up from the bottom.
This knave may do us service. Hot ambition
Won me the husband. Now let vanity
And the resentment for a forced seclusion
Decoy the wife! Let him be deemed the aggressor
Whose cunning and distrust began the game!
[Exit.

ACT II

Scene I

A savage wood. At one side a cavern, overhung with ivy. Zapolya and Raab Kiuprili discovered: both, but especially the latter, in rude and savage garments.
Raab Kiuprili.
Heard you then aught while I was slumbering?

Zapolya.
Nothing.
Only your face became convulsed. We miserable!
Is heaven's last mercy fled? Is sleep grown treacherous?

Raab Kiuprili.
O for a sleep, for sleep itself to rest in!
I dream'd I had met with food beneath a tree,
And I was seeking you, when all at once
My feet became entangled in a net:
Still more entangled as in rage I tore it.
At length I freed myself, had sight of you,
But as I hastened eagerly, again
I found my frame encumbered: a huge serpent
Twined round my chest, but tightest round my throat.

Zapolya.
Alas! 'twas lack of food: for hunger chokes!

Raab Kiuprili.
And now I saw you by a shrivelled child
Strangely pursued. You did not fly, yet neither
Touched you the ground, methought, but close above it
Did seem to shoot yourself along the air,
And as you passed me, turned your face and shrieked.

Zapolya.
I did in truth send forth a feeble shriek,
Scarce knowing why. Perhaps the mock'd sense craved
To hear the scream, which you but seemed to utter.
For your whole face looked like a mask of torture!
Yet a child's image doth indeed pursue me
Shrivelled with toil and penury!

Raab Kiuprili.
Nay! what ails you?

Zapolya.
A wondrous faintness there comes stealing o'er me.
Is it Death's lengthening shadow, who comes onward,
Life's setting sun behind him?

Raab Kiuprili.
Cheerly! The dusk
Will quickly shroud us. Ere the moon be up,
Trust me I'll bring thee food!

Zapolya.
Hunger's tooth has
Gnawn itself blunt. O, I could queen it well
O'er my own sorrows as my rightful subjects.
But wherefore, O revered Kiuprili! wherefore
Did my importunate prayers, my hopes and fancies,
Force thee from thy secure though sad retreat?
Would that my tongue had then cloven to my mouth!
But Heaven is just! With tears I conquered thee,
And not a tear is left me to repent with!
Had'st thou not done already—had'st thou not
Suffered—oh, more than e'er man feigned of friendship?

Raab Kiuprili.
Yet be thou comforted! What! had'st thou faith
When I turned back incredulous? 'Twas thy light
That kindled mine. And shall it now go out,
And leave thy soul in darkness? Yet look up,
And think thou see'st thy sainted lord commissioned
And on his way to aid us! Whence those late dreams,
Which after such long interval of hopeless
And silent resignation all at once
Night after night commanded thy return
Hither? and still presented in clear vision
This wood as in a scene? this very cavern?
Thou darest not doubt that Heaven's especial hand
Worked in those signs. The hour of thy deliverance
Is on the stroke:—for misery can not add
Grief to thy griefs, or patience to thy sufferance!

Zapolya.
Can not! Oh, what if thou wert taken from me?
Nay, thou said'st well: for that and death were one.
Life's grief is at its height indeed; the hard
Necessity of this inhuman state
Hath made our deeds inhuman as our vestments.
Housed in this wild wood, with wild usages,
Danger our guest, and famine at our portal—
Wolf-like to prowl in the shepherd's fold by night!
At once for food and safety to affrighten
The traveller from his road—

[Glycine is heard singing without.
Raab Kiuprili.
Hark! heard you not
A distant chaunt?

SONG By Glycine
A sunny shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold—
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!
He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled
Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst!
And thus he sang: ‘Adieu! adieu!
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms, they make no delay:
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,
We must away;
Far, far away!
To-day! to-day!’

Zapolya.
Sure 'tis some blest spirit!
For since thou slew'st the usurper's emissary
That plunged upon us, a more than mortal fear
Is as a wall, that wards off the beleaguerer
And starves the poor besieged.

[Song again.
Raab Kiuprili.
It is a maiden's voice! quick to the cave!

Zapolya.
Hark! her voice falters!

[Exit Zapolya.
Raab Kiuprili.
She must not enter
The cavern, else I will remain unseen!

[Kiuprili retires to one side of the stage. Glycine enters singing.
Glycine.
A savage place! saints shield me! Bethlen! Bethlen!
Not here?—There's no one here! I'll sing again!
[Sings again.
If I do not hear my own voice, I shall fancy
Voices in all chance sounds!
[Starts.
'Twas some dry branch
Dropt of itself! Oh, he went forth so rashly,
Took no food with him—only his arms and boar-spear!
What if I leave these cakes, this cruse of wine,
Here by this cave, and seek him with the rest?

Raab Kiuprili
(unseen).
Leave them and flee!

Glycine
(shrieks, then recovering).
Where are you?

Raab Kiuprili
(still unseen).
Leave them!

Glycine.
'Tis Glycine!
Speak to me, Bethlen! speak in your own voice!
All silent!—If this were the war-wolf's den!
'Twas not his voice!—

[Glycine leaves the provisions, and exit. Kiuprili comes forward, seizes them and carries them into the cavern. Glycine returns.
Glycine.
Shame! Nothing hurt me!
If some fierce beast have gored him, he must needs
Speak with a strange voice. Wounds cause thirst and hoarseness!
Speak, Bethlen! or but moan. St—St—No—Bethlen!
If I turn back and he should be found dead here,
[She creeps nearer and nearer to the cavern.
I should go mad!—Again!—'Twas my own heart!
Hush, coward heart! better beat loud with fear,
Than break with shame and anguish!
[As she approaches to enter the cavern, Kiuprili stops her. Glycine shrieks.
Saints protect me!

Raab Kiuprili.
Swear then by all thy hopes, by all thy fears—

Glycine.
Save me!

Raab Kiuprili.
Swear secrecy and silence!

Glycine.
I swear!

Raab Kiuprili.
Tell what thou art, and what thou seekest?

Glycine.
Only
A harmless orphan youth, to bring him food—

Raab Kiuprili.
Wherefore in this wood?

Glycine.
Alas! it was his purpose—

Raab Kiuprili.
With what intention came he? Would'st thou save him,
Hide nothing!

Glycine.
Save him! O forgive his rashness!
He is good, and did not know that thou wert human!

Raab Kiuprili.
Human?
With what design?

Glycine.
To kill thee, or
If that thou wert a spirit, to compel thee
By prayers, and with the shedding of his blood,
To make disclosure of his parentage.
But most of all—

Zapolya
(rushing out from the cavern).
Heaven's blessing on thee! Speak!

Glycine.
Whether his mother live, or perished here!

Zapolya.
Angel of mercy, I was perishing
And thou did'st bring me food: and now thou bring'st
The sweet, sweet food of hope and consolation
To a mother's famished heart! His name, sweet maiden!

Glycine.
E'en till this morning we were wont to name him
Bethlen Bathory!

Zapolya.
Even till this morning?
This morning? when my weak faith failed me wholly!
Pardon, O thou that portion'st out our sufferance,
And fill'st again the widow's empty cruse!
Say on!

Glycine.
The false ones charged the valiant youth
With treasonous words of Emerick—

Zapolya.
Ha! my son!

Glycine.
And of Lord Casimir—

Raab Kiuprili
(aside).
O agony! my son!

Glycine.
But my dear lady—

Zapolya and Raab Kiuprili.
Who?

Glycine.
Lady Sarolta
Frowned and discharged these bad men.

Raab Kiuprili
(to himself).
Righteous Heaven
Sent me a daughter once, and I repined
That it was not a son. A son was given me.
My daughter died, and I scarce shed a tear:
And lo! that son became my curse and infamy.

Zapolya
(embraces Glycine).
Sweet innocent! and you came here to seek him,
And bring him food. Alas! thou fear'st?

Glycine.
Not much!
My own dear lady, when I was a child,
Embraced me oft, but her heart never beat so.
For I too am an orphan, motherless!

Raab Kiuprili
(to Zapolya).
O yet beware, lest hope's brief flash but deepen
The after gloom, and make the darkness stormy!
In that last conflict, following our escape,
The usurper's cruelty had clogged our flight
With many a babe and many a childing mother.
This maid herself is one of numberless
Planks from the same vast wreck.
[Then to Glycine again.
Well! Casimir's wife—

Glycine.
She is always gracious, and so praised the old man
That his heart o'erflowed, and made discovery
That in this wood—

Zapolya.
O speak!

Glycine.
A wounded lady—

[Zapolya faints—they both support her.
Glycine.
Is this his mother?

Raab Kiuprili.
She would fain believe it,
Weak though the proofs be. Hope draws towards itself
The flame with which it kindles.
[Horn heard without.
To the cavern!
Quick! quick!

Glycine.
Perchance some huntsmen of the king's.

Raab Kiuprili.
Emerick?

Glycine.
He came this morning—

[They retire to the cavern, bearing Zapolya. Then enter Bethlen, armed with a boar-spear.
Bethlen.
I had a glimpse
Of some fierce shape; and but that Fancy often
Is Nature's intermeddler, and cries halves
With the outward sight, I should believe I saw it
Bear off some human prey. O my preserver!
Bathory! Father! Yes, thou deserv'st that name!
Thou did'st not mock me! These are blessed findings!
The secret cypher of my destiny
[Looking at his signet.
Stands here inscribed: it is the seal of fate!
Ha!—Had ever monster fitting lair, 'tis yonder!
Thou yawning den, I well remember thee!
Mine eyes deceived me not. Heaven leads me on!
Now for a blast, loud as a king's defiance,
To rouse the monster couchant o'er his ravine!
[Blows the horn—then a pause.
Another blast! and with another swell
To you, ye charméd watchers of this wood!
If haply I have come, the rightful heir
Of vengeance: if in me survive the spirits
Of those, whose guiltless blood flowed streaming here!
[Blows again louder.
Still silent? Is the monster gorged? Heaven shield me!
Thou, faithful spear! be both my torch and guide.

[As Bethlen is about to enter, Kiuprili speaks from the cavern unseen.
Raab Kiuprili.
Withdraw thy foot! Retract thine idle spear,
And wait obedient!

Bethlen.
Ha! What art thou? speak!

Raab Kiuprili
(still unseen).
Avengers!

Bethlen.
By a dying mother's pangs
E'en such am I. Receive me!

Raab Kiuprili
(still unseen).
Wait! Beware!
At thy first step, thou treadest upon the light,
Thenceforth must darkling flow, and sink in darkness!

Bethlen.
Ha! see my boar-spear trembles like a reed!—
Oh, fool! mine eyes are duped by my own shuddering.—
Those piléd thoughts, built up in solitude,
Year following year, that pressed upon my heart
As on the altar of some unknown God,
Then, as if touched by fire from heaven descending,
Blazed up within me at a father's name—
Do they desert me now?—at my last trial?
Voice of command! and thou, O hidden Light!
I have obeyed! Declare ye by what name
I dare invoke you! Tell what sacrifice
Will make you gracious.

Raab Kiuprili
(still unseen).
Patience! Truth! Obedience!
Be thy whole soul transparent! so the Light,
Thou seekest, may enshrine itself within thee!
Thy name?

Bethlen.
Ask rather the poor roaming savage,
Whose infancy no holy rite had blest,
To him, perchance, rude spoil or ghastly trophy,
In chase or battle won, have given a name.
I have none—but like a dog have answered
To the chance sound which he that fed me, called me.

Raab Kiuprili
(still unseen).
Thy birth-place?

Bethlen.
Deluding spirits! Do ye mock me?
Question the Night! Bid Darkness tell its birth-place?
Yet hear! Within yon old oak's hollow trunk,
Where the bats cling, have I surveyed my cradle!
The mother-falcon hath her nest above it,
And in it the wolf litters!—I invoke you,
Tell me, ye secret ones! if ye beheld me
As I stood there, like one who having delved
For hidden gold hath found a talisman.
O tell! what rights, what offices of duty
This signet doth command? What rebel spirits
Owe homage to its Lord?

Raab Kiuprili
(still unseen).
More, guiltier, mightier,
Than thou mayest summon! Wait the destined hour!

Bethlen.
O yet again, and with more clamorous prayer,
I importune ye! Mock me no more with shadows!
This sable mantle—tell, dread voice! did this
Enwrap one fatherless!

Zapolya
(unseen).
One fatherless!

Bethlen.
A sweeter voice!—A voice of love and pity!
Was it the softened echo of mine own?
Sad echo! but the hope it kill'd was sickly,
And ere it died it had been mourned as dead!
One other hope yet lives within my soul:
Quick let me ask!—while yet this stifling fear,
This stop of the heart, leaves utterance!—Are—are these
The sole remains of her that gave me life?
Have I a mother?
[Zapolya rushes out to embrace him.
Ha!

Zapolya.
My son! my son!
A wretched—Oh no, no! a blest—a happy mother!

[They embrace. Kiuprili and Glycine come forward and the curtain drops.

ACT III

Scene I

A stately room in Lord Casimir's castle. Enter Emerick and Laska.
Emerick.
I do perceive thou hast a tender conscience,
Laska, in all things that concern thine own
Interest or safety.

Laska.
In this sovereign presence
I can fear nothing, but your dread displeasure.

Emerick.
Perchance, thou think'st it strange, that I of all men
Should covet thus the love of fair Sarolta,
Dishonouring Casimir?

Laska.
Far be it from me!
Your Majesty's love and choice bring honour with them.

Emerick.
Perchance, thou hast heard that Casimir is my friend,
Fought for me, yea, for my sake, set at nought
A parent's blessing; braved a father's curse?

Laska
(aside).
Would I but knew now, what his Majesty meant!
Oh yes, Sire! 'tis our common talk, how Lord
Kiuprili, my Lord's father—

Emerick.
'Tis your talk,
Is it, good statesman Laska?

Laska.
No, not mine,
Not mine, an please your Majesty! There are
Some insolent malcontents indeed that talk thus—
Nay worse, mere treason. As Bathory's son,
The fool that ran into the monster's jaws.

Emerick.
Well, 'tis a loyal monster if he rids us
Of traitors! But art sure the youth's devoured?

Laska.
Not a limb left, an please your Majesty!
And that unhappy girl—

Emerick.
Thou followed'st her
Into the wood?
[Laska bows assent.
Henceforth then I'll believe
That jealousy can make a hare a lion.

Laska.
Scarce had I got the first glimpse of her veil,
When, with a horrid roar that made the leaves
Of the wood shake—

Emerick.
Made thee shake like a leaf!

Laska.
The war-wolf leapt; at the first plunge he seized her;
Forward I rushed!

Emerick.
Most marvellous!

Laska.
Hurled my javelin;
Which from his dragon-scales recoiling—

Emerick.
Enough!
And take, friend, this advice. When next thou tonguest it,
Hold constant to thy exploit with this monster,
And leave untouched your common talk aforesaid,
What your Lord did, or should have done.

Laska.
My talk?
The saints forbid! I always said, for my part,
‘Was not the king Lord Casimir's dearest friend?
Was not that friend a king? Whate'er he did
'Twas all from pure love to his Majesty.’

Emerick.
And this then was thy talk? While knave and coward,
Both strong within thee, wrestle for the uppermost,
In slips the fool and takes the place of both.
Babbler! Lord Casimir did, as thou and all men.
He loved himself, loved honours, wealth, dominion.
All these were set upon a father's head:
Good truth! a most unlucky accident!
For he but wished to hit the prize; not graze
The head that bore it: so with steady eye
Off flew the parricidal arrow.—Even
As Casimir loved Emerick, Emerick
Loves Casimir, intends him no dishonour.
He winked not then, for love of me forsooth!
For love of me now let him wink! Or if
The dame prove half as wise as she is fair,
He may still pass his hand, and find all smooth.

[Passing his hand across his brow.
Laska.
Your Majesty's reasoning has convinced me.

Emerick.
Thee!
'Tis well! and more than meant. For by my faith
I had half forgotten thee.—Thou hast the key?
[Laska bows.
And in your lady's chamber there's full space?

Laska.
Between the wall and arras to conceal you.

Emerick.
Here! This purse is but an earnest of thy fortune,
If thou prov'st faithful. But if thou betrayest me,
Hark you!—the wolf that shall drag thee to his den
Shall be no fiction.

[Exit Emerick. Laska manet with a key in one hand, and a purse in the other.
Laska.
Well then! here I stand,
Like Hercules, on either side a goddess.
Call this (looking at the purse)

Preferment; this (holding up the key)
Fidelity!
And first my golden goddess: what bids she?
Only:—‘This way, your Majesty! hush! The household
Are all safe lodged.’—Then, put Fidelity
Within her proper wards, just turn her round—
So—the door opens—and for all the rest,
'Tis the king's deed, not Laska's. Do but this
And—‘I'm the mere earnest of your future fortunes.’
But what says the other?—Whisper on! I hear you!
[Putting the key to his ear.
All very true!—but, good Fidelity!
If I refuse King Emerick, will you promise,
And swear now, to unlock the dungeon door,
And save me from the hangman? Aye! you're silent!
What, not a word in answer? A clear nonsuit!
Now for one look to see that all are lodged
At the due distance—then—yonder lies the road
For Laska and his royal friend, King Emerick!

[Exit Laska. Then enter Bathory and Bethlen.
Bethlen.
He looked as if he were some God disguised
In an old warrior's venerable shape
To guard and guide my mother. Is there not
Chapel or oratory in this mansion?

Old Bathory.
Even so.

Bethlen.
From that place then am I to take
A helm and breast-plate, both inlaid with gold,
And the good sword that once was Raab Kiuprili's.

Old Bathory.
Those very arms this day Sarolta show'd me—
With wistful look. I'm lost in wild conjectures!

Bethlen.
O tempt me not, e'en with a wandering guess,
To break the first command a mother's will
Imposed, a mother's voice made known to me!
‘Ask not, my son,’ said she, ‘our names or thine.
The shadow of the eclipse is passing off
The full orb of thy destiny! Already
The victor Crescent glitters forth and sheds
O'er the yet lingering haze a phantom light.
Thou canst not hasten it! Leave then to Heaven
The work of Heaven: and with a silent spirit
Sympathize with the powers that work in silence!’
Thus spake she, and she looked as she were then
Fresh from some heavenly vision!

[Re-enter Laska, not perceiving them.
Laska.
All asleep!
[Then observing Bethlen, stands in idiot-affright.
I must speak to it first—Put—put the question!
I'll confess all!

[Stammering with fear.
Old Bathory.
Laska! what ails thee, man?

Laska
(pointing to Bethlen.)
There!

Old Bathory.
I see nothing! where?

Laska.
He does not see it!
Bethlen, torment me not!

Bethlen.
Soft! Rouse him gently!
He hath outwatched his hour, and half asleep,
With eyes half open, mingles sight with dreams.

Old Bathory.
Ho! Laska! Don't you know us! 'tis Bathory
And Bethlen!

Laska.
Good now! Ha! ha! An excellent trick.
Afraid? Nay, no offence! But I must laugh.
But are you sure now, that 'tis you, yourself?

Bethlen.
Would'st be convinced?

Laska.
No nearer, pray! consider!
If it should prove his ghost, the touch would freeze me
To a tombstone. No nearer!

Bethlen.
The fool is drunk!

Laska.
Well now! I love a brave man to my heart.
I myself braved the monster, and would fain
Have saved the false one from the fate she tempted.

Old Bathory.
You, Laska?

Bethlen
(to Bathory).
Mark! Heaven grant it may be so!
Glycine?

Laska.
She! I traced her by the voice.
You'll scarce believe me, when I say I heard
The close of a song: the poor wretch had been singing:
As if she wished to compliment the war-wolf
At once with music and a meal!

Bethlen
(to Bathory).
Mark that!

Laska.
At the next moment I beheld her running,
Wringing her hands with, ‘Bethlen! O poor Bethlen!’
I almost fear, the sudden noise I made,
Rushing impetuous through the brake, alarmed her.
She stopt, then mad with fear, turned round and ran
Into the monster's gripe. One piteous scream
I heard. There was no second—I—

Bethlen.
Stop there!
We'll spare your modesty! Who dares not honour
Laska's brave tongue, and high heroic fancy?

Laska.
You too, Sir Knight, have come back safe and sound!
You played the hero at a cautious distance!
Or was it that you sent the poor girl forward
To stay the monster's stomach? Dainties quickly
Pall on the taste and cloy the appetite!

Old Bathory.
Laska, beware! Forget not what thou art!
Should'st thou but dream thou'rt valiant, cross thyself!
And ache all over at the dangerous fancy!

Laska.
What then! you swell upon my lady's favour,
High Lords and perilous of one day's growth!
But other judges now sit on the bench!
And haply, Laska hath found audience there,
Where to defend the treason of a son
Might end in lifting up both son and father
Still higher; to a height from which indeed
You both may drop, but, spite of fate and fortune,
Will be secured from falling to the ground.
'Tis possible too, young man! that royal Emerick,
At Laska's rightful suit, may make inquiry
By whom seduced, the maid so strangely missing—

Bethlen.
Soft! my good Laska! might it not suffice,
If to yourself, being Lord Casimir's steward,
I should make record of Glycine's fate?

Laska.
'Tis well! it shall content me! though your fear
Has all the credit of these lowered tones.
First we demand the manner of her death?

Bethlen.
Nay! that's superfluous! Have you not just told us,
That you yourself, led by impetuous valour,
Witnessed the whole? My tale's of later date.
After the fate, from which your valour strove
In vain to rescue the rash maid, I saw her!

Laska.
Glycine?

Bethlen.
Nay! Dare I accuse wise Laska,
Whose words find access to a monarch's ear,
Of a base, braggart lie? It must have been
Her spirit that appeared to me. But haply
I come too late? It has itself delivered
Its own commission to you?

Old Bathory.
'Tis most likely!
And the ghost doubtless vanished, when we entered
And found brave Laska staring wide—at nothing!

Laska.
'Tis well! You've ready wits! I shall report them,
With all due honour, to his Majesty!
Treasure them up, I pray! A certain person,
Whom the king flatters with his confidence,
Tells you, his royal friend asks startling questions!
'Tis but a hint! And now what says the ghost!

Bethlen.
Listen! for thus it spake: ‘Say thou to Laska,
Glycine, knowing all thy thoughts engrossed
In thy new office of king's fool and knave,
Foreseeing thou'lt forget with thine own hand
To make due penance for the wrongs thou'st caused her,
For thy soul's safety, doth consent to take it
From Bethlen's cudgel’—thus.
[Beats him off.
Off! scoundrel! off!

[Laska runs away.
Old Bathory.
The sudden swelling of this shallow dastard
Tells of a recent storm: the first disruption
Of the black cloud that hangs and threatens o'er us.

Bethlen.
E'en this reproves my loitering. Say where lies
The oratory?

Old Bathory.
Ascend yon flight of stairs!
Midway the corridor a silver lamp
Hangs o'er the entrance of Sarolta's chamber,
And facing it, the low arched oratory!
Me thou'lt find watching at the outward gate:
For a petard might burst the bars, unheard
By the drenched porter, and Sarolta hourly
Expects Lord Casimir, spite of Emerick's message!

Bethlen.
There I will meet you! And till then good-night!
Dear good old man, good-night!

Old Bathory.
O yet one moment!
What I repelled, when it did seem my own,
I cling to, now 'tis parting—call me father!
It can not now mislead thee. O my son,
Ere yet our tongues have learnt another name,
Bethlen!—say ‘Father’ to me!

Bethlen.
Now, and for ever
My father! other sire than thou, on earth
I never had, a dearer could not have!
From the base earth you raised me to your arms,
And I would leap from off a throne, and kneeling,
Ask Heaven's blessing from thy lips. My father!

Bathory.
Go! Go!
[Exit Bethlen.
May every star now shining over us,
Be as an angel's eye, to watch and guard him!
[Exit Bathory.

Scene changes to a splendid Bed-chamber, hung with tapestry. Sarolta and an Attendant.
Attendant.
We all did love her, madam!

Sarolta.
She deserved it!
Luckless Glycine! rash, unhappy girl!
'Twas the first time she e'er deceived me.

Attendant.
She was in love, and had she not died thus,
With grief for Bethlen's loss, and fear of Laska,
She would have pined herself to death at home.

Sarolta.
Has the youth's father come back from his search?

Attendant.
He never will, I fear me. O dear lady!
That Laska did so triumph o'er the old man—
It was quite cruel—‘You'll be sure,’ said he,
‘To meet with part at least of your son Bethlen,
Or the war-wolf must have a quick digestion!
Go! Search the wood by all means! Go! I pray you!’

Sarolta.
Inhuman wretch!

Attendant.
And old Bathory answered
With a sad smile, ‘It is a witch's prayer,
And may Heaven read it backwards.’ Though she was rash,
'Twas a small fault for such a punishment!

Sarolta.
Nay! 'twas my grief, and not my anger spoke.
Small fault indeed! but leave me, my poor girl!
I feel a weight that only prayer can lighten.
[Exit Attendant.
O they were innocent, and yet have perished
In their May of life; and Vice grows old in triumph.
Is it Mercy's hand, that for the bad man holds
Life's closing gate?—
Still passing thence petitionary Hours
To woo the obdurate spirit to repentance?
Or would this chillness tell me, that there is
Guilt too enormous to be duly punished,
Save by increase of guilt? The Powers of Evil
Are jealous claimants. Guilt too hath its ordeal,
And Hell its own probation!—Merciful Heaven,
Rather than this, pour down upon thy suppliant
Disease, and agony, and comfortless want!
O send us forth to wander on, unsheltered!
Make our food bitter with despiséd tears!
Let viperous scorn hiss at us as we pass!
Yea, let us sink down at our enemy's gate,
And beg forgiveness and a morsel of bread!
With all the heaviest worldly visitations
Let the dire father's curse that hovers o'er us
Work out its dread fulfilment, and the spirit
Of wronged Kiuprili be appeased. But only,
Only, O merciful in vengeance! let not
That plague turn inward on my Casimir's soul!
Scare thence the fiend Ambition, and restore him
To his own heart! O save him! Save my husband!
[During the latter part of this speech Emerick comes forward from his hiding-place. Sarolta seeing him, without recognizing him.
In such a shape a father's curse should come.

Emerick
(advancing).
Fear not.

Sarolta.
Who art thou? Robber? Traitor?

Emerick.
Friend!
Who in good hour hath startled these dark fancies,
Rapacious traitors, that would fain depose
Joy, love, and beauty, from their natural thrones:
Those lips, those angel eyes, that regal forehead.

Sarolta.
Strengthen me, Heaven! I must not seem afraid!
[Aside.
The king to-night then deigns to play the masker.
What seeks your Majesty?

Emerick.
Sarolta's love;
And Emerick's power lies prostrate at her feet.

Sarolta.
Heaven guard the sovereign's power from such debasement!
Far rather, Sire, let it descend in vengeance
On the base villain, on the faithless slave
Who dared unbar the doors of these retirements!
For whom? Has Casimir deserved this insult?
O my misgiving heart! If—if—from Heaven
Yet not from you, Lord Emerick!

Emerick.
Chiefly from me.
Has he not like an ingrate robbed my court
Of Beauty's star, and kept my heart in darkness?
First then on him I will administer justice—
If not in mercy, yet in love and rapture.

[Seizes her
Sarolta.
Help! Treason! Help!

Emerick.
Call louder! Scream again!
Here's none can hear you!

Sarolta.
Hear me, hear me, Heaven!

Emerick.
Nay, why this rage? Who best deserves you? Casimir,
Emerick's bought implement, the jealous slave
That mews you up with bolts and bars? or Emerick
Who proffers you a throne? Nay, mine you shall be.
Hence with this fond resistance! Yield; then live
This month a widow, and the next a queen!

Sarolta.
Yet, yet for one brief moment
[Struggling.
Unhand me, I conjure you.

[She throws him off, and rushes towards a toilet. Emerick follows, and as she takes a dagger, he grasps it in her hand.
Emerick.
Ha! Ha! a dagger;
A seemly ornament for a lady's casket!
'Tis held, devotion is akin to love,
But yours is tragic! Love in war! It charms me,
And makes your beauty worth a king's embraces!

[During this speech Bethlen enters armed.
Bethlen.
Ruffian, forbear! Turn, turn and front my sword!

Emerick.
Pish! who is this?

Sarolta.
O sleepless eye of Heaven!
A blest, a blessed spirit! Whence camest thou?
May I still call thee Bethlen?

Bethlen.
Ever, lady,
Your faithful soldier!

Emerick.
Insolent slave! Depart
Know'st thou not me?

Bethlen.
I know thou art a villain
And coward! That thy devilish purpose marks thee!
What else, this lady must instruct my sword!

Sarolta.
Monster, retire! O touch him not, thou blest one!
This is the hour that fiends and damnéd spirits
Do walk the earth, and take what form they list!
Yon devil hath assumed a king's!

Bethlen.
Usurped it!

Emerick.
The king will play the devil with thee indeed!
But that I mean to hear thee howl on the rack,
I would debase this sword, and lay thee prostrate
At this thy paramour's feet; then drag her forth
Stained with adulterous blood, and—
—mark you, traitress!
Strumpeted first, then turned adrift to beggary!
Thou prayed'st for't too.

Sarolta.
Thou art so fiendish wicked,
That in thy blasphemies I scarce hear thy threats!

Bethlen.
Lady, be calm! fear not this king of the buskin!
A king? Oh laughter! A king Bajazet!
That from some vagrant actor's tiring-room,
Hath stolen at once his speech and crown!

Emerick.
Ah! treason!
Thou hast been lessoned and tricked up for this!
As surely as the wax on thy death-warrant
Shall take the impression of this royal signet,
So plain thy face hath ta'en the mask of rebel!

[Bethlen seizes Emerick's hand and eagerly observes the signet.
Bethlen.
It must be so! 'Tis e'en the counterpart!
But with a foul usurping cypher on it!
The light hath flashed from Heaven, and I must follow it!
O curst usurper! O thou brother-murderer!
That mad'st a star-bright queen a fugitive widow!
Who fill'st the land with curses, being thyself
All curses in one tyrant! see and tremble!
This is Kiuprili's sword that now hangs o'er thee!
Kiuprili's blasting curse, that from its point
Shoots lightnings at thee. Hark! in Andreas' name,
Heir of his vengeance, hell-hound! I defy thee.

[They fight, and just as Emerick is disarmed, in rush Casimir, Old Bathory, and Attendants. Casimir runs in between the combatants, and parts them; in the struggle Bethlen's sword is thrown down.
Casimir.
The king! disarmed too by a stranger! Speak!
What may this mean?

Emerick.
Deceived, dishonored lord!
Ask thou yon fair adultress! She will tell thee
A tale, which would'st thou be both dupe and traitor,
Thou wilt believe against thy friend and sovereign!
Thou art present now, and a friend's duty ceases:
To thine own justice leave I thine own wrongs.
Of half thy vengeance I perforce must rob thee,
For that the sovereign claims. To thy allegiance
I now commit this traitor and assassin.
[Then to the Attendants.
Hence with him to the dungeon! and to-morrow,
Ere the sun rises,—Hark! your heads or his!

Bethlen.
Can Hell work miracles to mock Heaven's justice?

Emerick.
Who speaks to him dies! The traitor that has menaced
His king, must not pollute the breathing air,
Even with a word!

Casimir
(to Bathory).
Hence with him to the dungeon!

[Exit Bethlen, hurried off by Bathory and Attendants.
Emerick.
We hunt to-morrow in your upland forest:
Thou (to Casimir)
wilt attend us: and wilt then explain
This sudden and most fortunate arrival.

[Exit Emerick; Manent Casimir and Sarolta.
Sarolta.
My lord! my husband! look whose sword lies yonder!
It is Kiuprili's, Casimir; 'tis thy father's!
And wielded by a stripling's arm, it baffled,
Yea, fell like Heaven's own lightnings on that Tarquin.

Casimir.
Hush! hush!
I had detected ere I left the city
The tyrant's curst intent. Lewd, damnéd ingrate!
For him did I bring down a father's curse!
Swift, swift must be our means! To-morrow's sun
Sets on his fate or mine! O blest Sarolta!
No other prayer, late penitent, dare I offer,
But that thy spotless virtues may prevail
O'er Casimir's crimes, and dread Kiuprili's curse!

[Exeunt.

ACT IV

Scene I

A glade in a wood. Enter Casimir looking anxiously around.
Casimir.
This needs must be the spot! O, here he comes!
Enter Lord Rudolph.
Well met, Lord Rudolph!—
Your whisper was not lost upon my ear,
And I dare trust—

Lord Rudolph.
Enough! the time is precious!
You left Temeswar late on yester-eve?
And sojourned there some hours?

Casimir.
I did so!

Lord Rudolph.
Heard you
Aught of a hunt preparing?

Casimir.
Yes; and met
The assembled huntsmen!

Lord Rudolph.
Was there no word given?

Casimir.
The word for me was this:—The royal Leopard
Chases thy milk-white dedicated Hind.

Lord Rudolph.
Your answer?

Casimir.
As the word proves false or true
Will Casimir cross the hunt, or join the huntsmen!

Lord Rudolph.
The event redeemed their pledge?

Casimir.
It did, and therefore
Have I sent back both pledge and invitation.
The spotless Hind hath fled to them for shelter,
And bears with her my seal of fellowship!

[They take hands.
Lord Rudolph.
But Emerick! how when you reported to him
Sarolta's disappearance, and the flight
Of Bethlen with his guards?

Casimir.
O he received it
As evidence of their mutual guilt. In fine,
With cozening warmth condoled with, and dismissed me.

Lord Rudolph.
I entered as the door was closing on you:
His eye was fixed, yet seemed to follow you,—
With such a look of hate, and scorn and triumph,
As if he had you in the toils already,
And were then choosing where to stab you first.
But hush! draw back!

Casimir.
This nook is at the furthest
From any beaten track.

Lord Rudolph.
There! mark them!

[Points to where Laska and Pestalutz cross the Stage.
Casimir.
Laska!

Lord Rudolph.
One of the two I recognized this morning;
His name is Pestalutz: a trusty ruffian,
Whose face is prologue still to some dark murder.
Beware no stratagem, no trick of message,
Dispart you from your servants.

Casimir
(aside).
I deserve it.
The comrade of that ruffian is my servant:
The one I trusted most and most preferred.
But we must part. What makes the king so late?
It was his wont to be an early stirrer.

Lord Rudolph.
And his main policy.
To enthral the sluggard nature in ourselves
Is, in good truth, the better half of the secret
To enthral the world: for the will governs all.
See, the sky lowers! the cross-winds waywardly
Chase the fantastic masses of the clouds
With a wild mockery of the coming hunt!

Casimir.
Mark yonder mass! I make it wear the shape
Of a huge ram that butts with head depressed.

Lord Rudolph
(smiling).
Belike, some stray sheep of the oozy flock,
Which, if bards lie not, the Sea-shepherds tend,
Glaucus or Proteus. But my fancy shapes it
A monster couchant on a rocky shelf.

Casimir.
Mark too the edges of the lurid mass—
Restless, as if some idly-vexing Sprite,
On swift wing coasting by, with tetchy hand
Pluck'd at the ringlets of the vaporous Fleece.
These are sure signs of conflict nigh at hand,
And elemental war!

[A single trumpet heard at some distance.
Lord Rudolph.
That single blast
Announces that the tyrant's pawing courser
Neighs at the gate.
[Trumpets.
Hark! now the king comes forth!
For ever 'midst this crash of horns and clarions
He mounts his steed, which proudly rears an-end
While he looks round at ease, and scans the crowd,
Vain of his stately form and horsemanship!
I must away! my absence may be noticed.

Casimir.
Oft as thou canst, essay to lead the hunt
Hard by the forest-skirts; and ere high noon
Expect our sworn confederates from Temeswar.
I trust, ere yet this clouded sun slopes westward.
That Emerick's death, or Casimir's, will appease
The manes of Zapolya and Kiuprili!
[Exit Rudolph.
The traitor, Laska!—
And yet Sarolta, simple, inexperienced,
Could see him as he was, and often warned me.
Whence learned she this?—O she was innocent!
And to be innocent is Nature's wisdom!
The fledge-dove knows the prowlers of the air,
Feared soon as seen, and flutters back to shelter.
And the young steed recoils upon his haunches,
The never-yet-seen adder's hiss first heard.
O surer than Suspicion's hundred eyes
Is that fine sense, which to the pure in heart,
By mere oppugnancy of their own goodness,
Reveals the approach of evil. Casimir!
O fool! O parricide! through yon wood did'st thou,
With fire and sword, pursue a patriot father,
A widow and an orphan. Dar'st thou then
(Curse-laden wretch) put forth these hands to raise
The ark, all sacred, of thy country's cause?
Look down in pity on thy son, Kiuprili!
And let this deep abhorrence of his crime,
Unstained with selfish fears, be his atonement!
O strengthen him to nobler compensation
In the deliverance of his bleeding country!

[Exit Casimir.
Scene changes to the mouth of a Cavern, as in Act II. Zapolya and Glycine discovered.
Zapolya.
Our friend is gone to seek some safer cave:
Do not then leave me long alone, Glycine!
Having enjoyed thy commune, loneliness,
That but oppressed me hitherto, now scares.

Glycine.
I shall know Bethlen at the furthest distance,
And the same moment I descry him, lady,
I will return to you.

[Exit Glycine.
[Enter Old Bathory, speaking as he enters.
Old Bathory.
Who hears? A friend!
A messenger from him who bears the signet!

Zapolya.
He hath the watch-word!—Art thou not Bathory?

Old Bathory.
O noble lady! greetings from your son!

[Bathory kneels.
Zapolya.
Rise! rise! Or shall I rather kneel beside thee,
And call down blessings from the wealth of Heaven
Upon thy honoured head? When thou last saw'st me
I would full fain have knelt to thee, and could not,
Thou dear old man! How oft since then in dreams
Have I done worship to thee, as an angel
Bearing my helpless babe upon thy wings!

Old Bathory.
O he was born to honour! Gallant deeds
And perilous hath he wrought since yester-eve.
Now from Temeswar (for to him was trusted
A life, save thine, the dearest) he hastes hither—

Zapolya.
Lady Sarolta mean'st thou?

Old Bathory.
She is safe.
The royal brute hath overleapt his prey,
And when he turned, a sworded Virtue faced him.
My own brave boy—O pardon, noble lady!
Your son—

Zapolya.
Hark! Is it he?

Old Bathory.
I hear a voice
Too hoarse for Bethlen's! 'Twas his scheme and hope,
Long ere the hunters could approach the forest,
To have led you hence.—Retire.

Zapolya.
O life of terrors!

Old Bathory.
In the cave's mouth we have such 'vantage ground
That even this old arm—

[Exeunt Zapolya and Bathory into the cave.
Enter Laska and Pestalutz.
Laska.
Not a step further!

Pestalutz.
Dastard! was this your promise to the king?

Laska.
I have fulfilled his orders. Have walked with you
As with a friend: have pointed out Lord Casimir:
And now I leave you to take care of him.
For the king's purposes are doubtless friendly.

Pestalutz.
Be on your guard, man!

Laska.
Ha! what now?

Pestalutz.
Behind you!
'Twas one of Satan's imps, that grinned and threatened you
For your most impudent hope to cheat his master!

Laska.
Pshaw! What! you think 'tis fear that makes me leave you?

Pestalutz.
Is't not enough to play the knave to others,
But thou must lie to thine own heart?

Laska.
Friend! Laska will be found at his own post,
Watching elsewhere for the king's interest.
There's a rank plot that Laska must hunt down,
'Twixt Bethlen and Glycine!

Pestalutz.
What! the girl
Whom Laska saw the war-wolf tear in pieces?

Laska.
Well! Take my arms! Hark! should your javelin fail you,
These points are tipt with venom.
[Seeing Glycine without.
By Heaven! Glycine!
Now as you love the king, help me to seize her!

[They run out after Glycine. Enter Bathory from the cavern.
Old Bathory.
Rest, lady, rest! I feel in every sinew
A young man's strength returning! Which way went they?
The shriek came thence.

[Enter Glycine.
Glycine.
Ha! weapons here? Then, Bethlen, thy Glycine
Will die with thee or save thee!

[She seizes them and rushes out. Bathory following. Music, and Peasants with hunting spears cross the stage, singing chorally.

[Exeunt Huntsmen.
Re-enter Bathory, Bethlen, and Glycine.
Glycine.
And now once more a woman—

Bethlen.
Was it then
That timid eye, was it those maiden hands
That sped the shaft, which saved me and avenged me?

Old Bathory.
'Twas as a vision blazoned on a cloud
By lightning, shaped into a passionate scheme
Of life and death! I saw the traitor, Laska,
Stoop and snatch up the javelin of his comrade;
The point was at your back, when her shaft reached him.
The coward turned, and at the self-same instant
The braver villain fell beneath your sword.

Enter Zapolya.
Zapolya.
Bethlen! my child! and safe too!

Bethlen.
Mother! Queen.
Royal Zapolya! name me Andreas!
Nor blame thy son, if being a king, he yet
Hath made his own arm minister of his justice.
So do the gods who launch the thunderbolt!

Zapolya.
O Raab Kiuprili! Friend! Protector! Guide!
In vain we trenched the altar round with waters,
A flash from Heaven hath touched the hidden incense—

Bethlen.
And that majestic form that stood beside thee
Was Raab Kiuprili!

Zapolya.
It was Raab Kiuprili;
As sure as thou art Andreas, and the king.

Old Bathory.
Hail Andreas! hail my king!

Andreas.
Stop, thou revered one,
Lest we offend the jealous destinies
By shouts ere victory. Deem it then thy duty
To pay this homage, when 'tis mine to claim it.

Glycine.
Accept thine hand-maid's service!

[Kneeling.
Zapolya.
Raise her, son!
O raise her to thine arms! she saved thy life,
And through her love for thee, she saved thy mother's!
Hereafter thou shalt know, that this dear maid
Hath other and hereditary claims
Upon thy heart, and with Heaven-guarded instinct
But carried on the work her sire began!

Andreas.
Dear maid! more dear thou canst not be! the rest
Shall make my love religion. Haste we hence:
For as I reached the skirts of this high forest,
I heard the noise and uproar of the chase,
Doubling its echoes from the mountain foot.

Glycine.
Hark! sure the hunt approaches.

[Horn without, and afterwards distant thunder.
Zapolya.
O Kiuprili!

Old Bathory.
The demon-hunters of the middle air
Are in full cry, and scare with arrowy fire
The guilty! Hark! now here, now there, a horn
Swells singly with irregular blast! the tempest
Has scattered them!

[Horns at a distance.
Zapolya.
O Heavens! where stays Kiuprili?

Old Bathory.
The wood will be surrounded! leave me here.

Andreas.
My mother! let me see thee once in safety.
I too will hasten back, with lightning's speed,
To seek the hero!

Old Bathory.
Haste! my life upon it
I'll guide him safe.

Andreas
(thunder).
Ha! what a crash was there!
Heaven seems to claim a mightier criminal
Than yon vile subaltern.

Zapolya.
Your behest, High powers,
Lo, I obey! To the appointed spirit,
That hath so long kept watch round this drear cavern,
In fervent faith, Kiuprili, I entrust thee!

[Exeunt Zapolya, Andreas, and Glycine.
Old Bathory.
Yon bleeding corse may work us mischief still:
Once seen, 'twill rouse alarm and crowd the hunt
From all parts towards this spot. Stript of its armour,
I'll drag it hither.

[Exit Bathory. Several Hunters cross the Stage. Enter Kiuprili.
Raab Kiuprili
(throwing off his disguise).
Since Heaven alone can save me, Heaven alone
Shall be my trust.
Haste! haste! Zapolya, flee!
Gone! Seized perhaps? Oh no, let me not perish
Despairing of Heaven's justice! Faint, disarmed,
Each sinew powerless; senseless rock, sustain me!
Thou art parcel of my native land!
A sword!
Ha! and my sword! Zapolya hath escaped,
The murderers are baffled, and there lives
An Andreas to avenge Kiuprili's fall!—
There was a time, when this dear sword did flash
As dreadful as the storm-fire from mine arm—
I can scarce raise it now—yet come, fell tyrant!
And bring with thee my shame and bitter anguish,
To end his work and thine! Kiuprili now
Can take the death-blow as a soldier should.

Re-enter Bathory, with the dead body of Pestalutz.
Old Bathory.
Poor tool and victim of another's guilt!
Thou follow'st heavily: a reluctant weight!
Good truth, it is an undeservéd honour
That in Zapolya and Kiuprili's cave
A wretch like thee should find a burial-place.
'Tis he!—In Andreas' and Zapolya's name
Follow me, reverend form! Thou need'st not speak,
For thou canst be no other than Kiuprili.

Kiuprili.
And are they safe?

[Noise without.
Old Bathory.
Conceal yourself, my lord!
I will mislead them!

Kiuprili.
Is Zapolya safe?

Old Bathory.
I doubt it not; but haste, haste, I conjure you!

[Enter Casimir.
Casimir.
Monster!
Thou shalt not now escape me!

Old Bathory.
Stop, lord Casimir!
It is no monster.

Casimir.
Art thou too a traitor?
Is this the place where Emerick's murderers lurk?
Say where is he that, tricked in this disguise,
First lured me on, then scared my dastard followers?
Thou must have seen him. Say where is th' assassin?

Old Bathory.
There lies the assassin! slain by that same sword
That was descending on his curst employer,
When entering thou beheld'st Sarolta rescued!

Casimir.
Strange providence! what then was he who fled me?
Thy looks speak fearful things! Whither, old man!
Would thy hand point me?

Old Bathory.
Casimir, to thy father.

Casimir.
The curse! the curse! Open and swallow me,
Unsteady earth! Fall, dizzy rocks! and hide me!

Old Bathory.
Speak, speak, my lord!

Kiuprili.
Bid him fulfil his work!

Casimir.
Thou art Heaven's immediate minister, dread spirit!
O for sweet mercy, take some other form,
And save me from perdition and despair!

Old Bathory.
He lives!

Casimir.
Lives! A father's curse can never die!

Kiuprili.
O Casimir! Casimir!

Old Bathory.
Look! he doth forgive you!
Hark! 'tis the tyrant's voice.

[Emerick's voice without.
Casimir.
I kneel, I kneel!
Retract thy curse! O, by my mother's ashes,
Have pity on thy self-abhorring child!
If not for me, yet for my innocent wife,
Yet for my country's sake, give my arm strength,
Permitting me again to call thee father!

Kiuprili.
Son, I forgive thee! Take thy father's sword;
When thou shalt lift it in thy country's cause,
In that same instant doth thy father bless thee!

Enter Emerick.
Emerick.
Fools! Cowards! follow—or by Hell I'll make you
Find reason to fear Emerick, more than all
The mummer-fiends that ever masqueraded
As gods or wood-nymphs!—
Ha! 'tis done then!
Our necessary villain hath proved faithful,
And there lies Casimir, and our last fears!
Well!—Aye, well!—
And is it not well? For though grafted on us,
And filled too with our sap, the deadly power
Of the parent poison-tree lurked in its fibres:
There was too much of Raab Kiuprili in him:
The old enemy looked at me in his face,
E'en when his words did flatter me with duty.

Enter Casimir and Bathory.
Old Bathory
(aside).
This way they come!

Casimir
(aside).
Hold them in check awhile,
The path is narrow! Rudolph will assist thee.

Emerick
(aside).
And ere I ring the alarum of my sorrow,
I'll scan that face once more, and murmur—Here
Lies Casimir, the last of the Kiuprilis!
Hell! 'tis Pestalutz!

Casimir
(coming forward).
Yes, thou ingrate Emerick!
'Tis Pestalutz! 'tis thy trusty murderer!
To quell thee more, see Raab Kiuprili's sword!

Emerick.
Curses on it and thee! Think'st thou that petty omen
Dare whisper fear to Emerick's destiny?
Ho! Treason! Treason!

Casimir.
Then have at thee, tyrant!

[They fight. Emerick falls.
Emerick.
Betrayed and baffled
By mine own tool!—Oh!

[Dies.
Casimir.
Hear, hear, my Father!
Thou should'st have witnessed thine own deed. O Father,
Wake from that envious swoon! The tyrant's fallen!
Thy sword hath conquered! As I lifted it
Thy blessing did indeed descend upon me;
Dislodging the dread curse. It flew forth from me
And lighted on the tyrant!

Enter Rudolph, Bathory, and Attendants.
Rudolph and Bathory.
Friends! friends to Casimir!

Casimir.
Rejoice, Illyrians! the usurper's fallen.

Rudolph.
So perish tyrants! so end usurpation!

Casimir.
Bear hence the body, and move slowly on!
One moment—
Devoted to a joy, that bears no witness,
I follow you, and we will greet our countrymen
With the two best and fullest gifts of heaven—
A tyrant fallen, a patriot chief restored!

[Casimir enters the Cavern.
Scene.—Chamber in Casimir's Castle. Confederates discovered.
First Confederate.
It cannot but succeed, friends. From this palace
E'en to the wood, our messengers are posted
With such short interspace, that fast as sound
Can travel to us, we shall learn the event!
Enter another Confederate.
What tidings from Temeswar?

Second Confederate.
With one voice
Th' assembled chieftains have deposed the tyrant;
He is proclaimed the public enemy,
And the protection of the law withdrawn.

First Confederate.
Just doom for him, who governs without law!
Is it known on whom the sov'reignty will fall?

Second Confederate.
Nothing is yet decided: but report
Points to Lord Casimir. The grateful memory
Of his renownéd father—
Enter Sarolta.
Hail to Sarolta!

Sarolta.
Confederate friends! I bring to you a joy
Worthy your noble cause! Kiuprili lives,
And from his obscure exile, hath returned
To bless our country. More and greater tidings
Might I disclose; but that a woman's voice
Would mar the wondrous tale. Wait we for him,
The partner of the glory—Raab Kiuprili;
For he alone is worthy to announce it.

[Shouts of ‘Kiuprili, Kiuprili,’ and ‘The Tyrant's fallen,’ without. Enter Kiuprili, Casimir, Rudolph, Bathory, and Attendants.
Raab Kiuprili.
Spare yet your joy, my friends! A higher waits you:
Behold, your Queen!

[Enter Zapolya and Andreas royally attired, with Glycine.
Confederate.
Comes she from heaven to bless us?

Other Confederates.
It is! it is!

Zapolya.
Heaven's work of grace is full!
Kiuprili, thou art safe!

Raab Kiuprili.
Royal Zapolya!
To the heavenly powers, pay we our duty first;
Who not alone preserved thee, but for thee
And for our country, the one precious branch
Of Andreas' royal house. O countrymen,
Behold your King! And thank our country's genius,
That the same means which have preserved our sovereign,
Have likewise reared him worthier of the throne
By virtue than by birth. The undoubted proofs
Pledged by his royal mother, and this old man,
(Whose name henceforth be dear to all Illyrians)
We haste to lay before the assembled council.

All.
Hail, Andreas! Hail, Illyria's rightful king!

Andreas.
Supported thus, O friends! 'twere cowardice
Unworthy of a royal birth, to shrink
From the appointed charge. Yet, while we wait
The awful sanction of convened Illyria,
In this brief while, O let me feel myself
The child, the friend, the debtor!—Heroic mother!—
But what can breath add to that sacred name?
Kiuprili! gift of Providence, to teach us
That loyalty is but the public form
Of the sublimest friendship, let my youth
Climb round thee, as the vine around its elm:
Thou my support and I thy faithful fruitage.
My heart is full, and these poor words express not,
They are but an art to check its over-swelling.
Bathory! shrink not from my filial arms!
Now, and from henceforth thou shalt not forbid me
To call thee father! And dare I forget
The powerful intercession of thy virtue,
Lady Sarolta? Still acknowledge me
Thy faithful soldier!—But what invocation
Shall my full soul address to thee, Glycine?
Thou sword that leap'dst forth from a bed of roses:
Thou falcon-hearted dove?

Zapolya.
Hear that from me, son!
For ere she lived, her father saved thy life,
Thine, and thy fugitive mother's!

Casimir.
Chef Ragozzi!
O shame upon my head! I would have given her
To a base slave!

Zapolya.
Heaven overruled thy purpose,
And sent an angel to thy house to guard her!
Thou precious bark! freighted with all our treasures!
The sports of tempests, and yet ne'er the victim,
How many may claim salvage in thee! Take her, son!
A queen that brings with her a richer dowry
Than orient kings can give!

Sarolta.
A banquet waits!—
On this auspicious day, for some few hours
I claim to be your hostess. Scenes so awful
With flashing light, force wisdom on us all!
E'en women at the distaff hence may see,
That bad men may rebel, but ne'er be free;
May whisper, when the waves of faction foam,
None love their country, but who love their home;
For freedom can with those alone abide,
Who wear the golden chain, with honest pride,
Of love and duty, at their own fire-side:
While mad ambition ever doth caress
Its own sure fate, in its own restlessness!