University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A garden with trees, and shrubs, &c. Orra, Theobald, and Hartman, are discovered in a shaded walk at the bottom of the stage, speaking in dumb show, which they cross, disappearing behind the trees; and are presently followed by Cathrina and Alice, who continue walking there. Orra, Theo., and Hart. then appear again, entering near the front of the stage.
Orra
(talking to Hart. as she enters).
And so, since fate has made me, woe the day!
That poor and good-for-nothing, helpless being.
Woman yclept, I must consign myself
With all my lands and rights into the hands
Of some proud man, and say, “Take all, I pray,
And do me in return the grace and favour
To be my master.”

Hart.
Nay, gentle lady, you constrain my words.
And load them with a meaning harsh and foreign
To what they truly bear.—A master! No;
A valiant gentle mate, who in the field
Or in the council will maintain your right:
A noble, equal partner.

Orra
(shaking her head).
Well I know,
In such a partnership, the share of power
Allotted to the wife. See, noble Falkenstein
Hath silent been the while, nor spoke one word
In aid of all your specious arguments.
(To Theo.)
What's your advice, my lord?

Theo.
Ah, noble Orra,
'Twere like self-murder to give honest counsel;
Then urge me not. I frankly do confess
I should be more heroic than I am.

Orra.
Right well I see thy head approves my plan,
And by-and-bye so will thy gen'rous heart.
In short, I would, without another's leave,
Improve the low condition of my peasants,
And cherish them in peace. E'en now, methinks,
Each little cottage of my native vale
Swells out its earthen sides, up-heaves its roof,
Like to a hillock mov'd by lab'ring mole,
And with green trail-weeds clamb'ring up its walls,
Roses and ev'ry gay and fragrant plant,
Before my fancy stands, a fairy bower:
Ay, and within it too do fairies dwell.
[Looking playfully through her fingers like a show-glass.
Peep through its wreathed window, if indeed
The flowers grow not too close, and there within
Thou'lt see some half a dozen rosy brats
Eating from wooden bowls their dainty milk;—
Those are my mountain elves. Seest thou not
Their very forms distinctly?

Theo.
Distinctly; and most beautiful the sight!
A sight which sweetly stirreth in the heart
Feelings that gladden and ennoble it,
Dancing like sun-beams on the rippled sea;
A blessed picture! Foul befall the man
Whose narrow, selfish soul would shade or mar it!

Hart.
To this right heartily I say Amen!
But if there be a man whose gen'rous soul
[Turning to Orra.
Like ardour fills; who would with thee pursue
Thy gen'rous plan; who would his harness don—

Orra
(putting her hand on him in gentle interruption).
Nay, valiant banneret, who would, an't please you,
His harness doff: all feuds, all strife forbear,
All military rivalship, all lust
Of added power, and live in steady quietness,
A mild and fost'ring lord. Know you of one
That would so share my task?—You answer not;
And your brave friend, methinks, casts on the ground
A thoughtful look: wots he of such a lord?

[To Theo.
Theo.
Wot I of such a lord? No, noble Orra,
I do not; nor does Hartman, though perhaps
His friendship may betray his judgment. No;
None such exist: we are all fierce, contentious,
Restless and proud, and prone to vengeful feuds;
The very distant sound of war excites us,
Like the curb'd courser list'ning to the chase,
Who paws, and frets, and bites the rein. Trust none
To cross thy gentle, but most princely purpose,
Who hath on head a circling helmet worn,
Or ever grasp'd a glave.—But ne'ertheless
There is—I know a man.— Might I be bold?

Orra.
Being so honest, boldness is your right.

Theo.
Permitted then, I'll say, I know a man,
Though most unworthy Orra's lord to be,
Who, as her champion, friend, devoted soldier,
Might yet commend himself; and, so received,
Who would at her command, for her defence
His sword right proudly draw. An honour'd sword,
Like that which at the gate of Paradise
From steps profane the blessed region guarded.

Orra.
Thanks to the gen'rous knight! I also know
The man thou wouldst commend; and when my state
Such service needeth, to no sword but his
Will I that service owe.

Theo.
Most noble Orra! greatly is he honour'd;
And will not murmur that a higher wish,
Too high, and too presumptuous, is repress'd.

[Kissing her hand with great respect.
Orra.
Nay, Rudolph Hartman, clear that cloudy brow,
And look on Falkenstein and on myself
As two co-burghers of thy native city
(For such I mean ere long to be), and claiming
From thee, as cadets from an elder born,
Thy cheering equal kindness.

Enter a Servant.
Serv.
The count is now at leisure to receive
The lord of Falkenstein, and Rudolph Hartman.

Hart.
We shall attend him shortly. [Exit servant.
(Aside to Theo.)

Must we now
Our purpos'd suit to some pretended matter
Of slighter import change?

Theo.
(to Hart. aside).
Assuredly.—
Madam, I take my leave with all devotion.

Hart.
I with all friendly wishes.

[Exeunt Theo. and Hart. Cathrina and Alice now advance through the shrubs, &c. at the bottom of the stage, while Orra remains, wrapped in thought, on the front.
Cath.
Madam, you're thoughtful; something occupies
Your busy mind.

Orra.
What was't we talk'd of, when the worthy banneret
With Falkenstein upon our converse broke?

Cath.
How we should spend our time, when in your castle
You shall maintain your state in ancient splendour,
With all your vassals round you.

Orra.
Ay, so it was.

Al.
And you did say, my lady,
It should not be a cold unsocial grandeur:
That you would keep, the while, a merry house.

Orra.
O doubt it not! I'll gather round my board
All that heav'n sends to me of way-worn folks,
And noble travellers, and neighb'ring friends,
Both young and old. Within my ample hall,
The worn-out man of arms (of whom too many,
Nobly descended, rove like reckless vagrants
From one proud chieftain's castle to another,
Half chid, half honour'd) shall o' tiptoe tread,
Tossing his grey locks from his wrinkled brow
With cheerful freedom, as he boasts his feats
Of days gone by.—Music we'll have; and oft
The bick'ring dance upon our oaken floors
Shall, thund'ring loud, strike on the distant ear
Of'nighted trav'llers, who shall gladly bend
Their doubtful footsteps tow'rds the cheering din.
Solemn, and grave, and cloister'd, and demure
We shall not be. Will this content ye, damsels?

Al.
O passing well! 'twill be a pleasant life;
Free from all stern subjection; blithe and fanciful;
We'll do whate'er we list.

Cath.
That right and prudent is, I hope thou meanest.

Al.
Why ever so suspicious and so strict?
How couldst thou think I had another meaning?
(To Orra.)
And shall we ramble in the woods full oft
With hound and horn?—that is my dearest joy.

Orra.
Thou runn'st me fast, good Alice. Do not doubt
This shall be wanting to us. Ev'ry season
Shall have its suited pastime: even Winter
In its deep noon, when mountains piled with snow,
And chok'd up valleys from our mansion bar
All entrance, and nor guest, nor traveller
Sounds at our gate; the empty hall forsaking,
In some warm chamber, by the crackling fire
We'll hold our little, snug, domestic court,
Plying our work with song and tale between.

Cath.
And stories too, I ween, of ghosts and spirits,
And things unearthly, that on Michael's eve
Rise from the yawning tombs.

Orra.
Thou thinkest then one night o'th' year is truly
More horrid than the rest.

Cath.
Perhaps 'tis only silly superstition:
But yet it is well known the count's brave father
Would rather on a glacier's point have lain,
By angry tempests rock'd, than on that night
Sunk in a downy couch in Brunier's castle.

Orra.
How, pray? What fearful thing did scare him so?

Cath.
Hast thou ne'er heard the story of Count Hugo,
His ancestor, who slew the hunter-knight?

Orra
(eagerly).
Tell it, I pray thee.

Al.
Cathrina, tell it not; it is not right:
Such stories ever change her cheerful spirits
To gloomy pensiveness; her rosy bloom
To the wan colour of a shrouded corse.
(To Orra.)
What pleasure is there, lady, when thy hand,
Cold as the valley's ice, with hasty grasp
Seizes on her who speaks, while thy shrunk form
Cow'ring and shiv'ring stands with keen turn'd ear
To catch what follows of the pausing tale?

Orra.
And let me cow'ring stand, and be my touch
The valley's ice: there is a pleasure in it.

Al.
Sayst thou indeed there is a pleasure in it?

Orra.
Yea, when the cold blood shoots through every vein:
When every pore upon my shrunken skin
A knotted knoll becomes, and to mine ears
Strange inward sounds awake, and to mine eyes
Rush stranger tears, there is a joy in fear.
[Catching hold of Cathrina.
Tell it, Cathrina, for the life within me
Beats thick, and stirs to hear
He slew the hunter-knight?

Cath.
Since I must tell it, then, the story goes
That grim Count Aldenberg, the ancestor
Of Hughobert, and also of yourself,
From hatred or from envy, to his castle
A noble knight, who hunted in the forest,
Well the Black Forest named, basely decoy'd,
And there, within his chamber, murder'd him—

Orra.
Merciful Heaven! and in my veins there runs
A murderer's blood. Saidst thou not, murder'd him?

Cath.
Ay; as he lay asleep, at dead of night.

Orra.
A deed most horrible!

Cath.
It was on Michael's eve; and since that time,
The neighb'ring hinds oft hear the midnight yell
Of spectre-hounds, and see the spectre shapes
Of huntsmen on their sable steeds, with still
A noble hunter riding in their van
To cheer the chase, shown by the moon's pale beams,
When wanes its horn in long October nights.

Orra.
This hath been often seen?

Cath.
Ay, so they say.
But, as the story goes, on Michael's eve,
And on that night alone of all the year,
The hunter-knight himself, having a horn
Thrice sounded at the gate, the castle enters;
And, in the very chamber where he died,
Calls on his murd'rer, or in his default
Some true descendant of his house, to loose
His spirit from its torment; for his body
Is laid i' the earth unbless'd, and none can tell
The spot of its interment.

Orra.
Call on some true descendant of his race!
It were to such a fearful interview.
But in that chamber, on that night alone—
Hath he elsewhere to any of the race
Appeared? or hath he power—

Al.
Nay, nay, forbear:
See how she looks. (To Orra.)
I fear thou art not well.

Orra.
There is a sickly faintness come upon me.

Al.
And didst thou say there is a joy in fear?

Orra.
My mind of late has strange impressionsg ta'en.
I know not how it is.

Al.
A few nights since,
Stealing o' tiptoe, softly through your chamber,
Towards my own—

Orra.
O heaven defend us! didst thou see aught there?

Al.
Only your sleeping self. But you appear'd
Distress'd and troubled in your dreams; and once
I thought to wake you ere I left the chamber,
But I forbore.

Orra.
And glad I am thou didst.
It is not dreams I fear; for still with me
There is an indistinctness o'er them cast,
Like the dull gloom of misty twilight, where
Before mine eyes pass all incongruous things,
Huge, horrible, and strange, on which I stare
As idiots do upon this changeful world,
With nor surprise nor speculation. No;
Dreams I fear not: it is the dreadful waking,
When, in deep midnight stillness, the roused fancy
Takes up th' imperfect shadows of its sleep,
Like a marr'd speech snatch'd from a bungler's mouth,
Shaping their forms distinctively and vivid
To visions horrible:—this is my bane;—
It is the dreadful waking that I fear.

Al.
Well, speak of other things. There in good time
Your ghostly father comes with quicken'd steps,
Like one who bears some tidings good or ill.
Heaven grant they may be good!

Enter Urston.
Orra.
Father, you seem disturb'd.

Urst.
Daughter, I am in truth disturb'd. The count
All o' the sudden, being much enraged
That Falkenstein still lingers near these walls,
Resolves to send thee hence, to be awhile
In banishment detain'd, till on his son
Thou lookst with better favour.

Orra.
Ay, indeed!
That is to say perpetual banishment:
A sentence light or heavy, as the place
Is sweet or irksome he would send me to.

Urst.
He will contrive to make it, doubt him not,
Irksome enough. Therefore I would advise thee
To feign at least, but for a little time,
A disposition to obey his wishes.
He's stern, but not relentless; and his dame,
The gentle Eleanor, will still befriend you,
When fit occasion serves.

Orra.
What saidst thou, father?
To feign a disposition to obey!
I did mistake thy words.

Urst.
No, gentle daughter;
So press'd, thou mayest feign and yet be blameless.
A trusty guardian's faith with thee he holds not,
And therefore thou art free to meet his wrongs
With what defence thou hast.

Orra
(proudly).
Nay, pardon me; I, with an unshorn crown,
Must hold the truth in plain simplicity,
And am in nice distinctions most unskilful.

Urst.
Lady, have I deserv'd this sharpness? oft
Thine infant hand has strok'd this shaven crown:
Thou'st ne'er till now reproach'd it.

Orra
(bursting into tears).
Pardon, O pardon me, my gentle Urston!
Pardon a wayward child, whose eager temper
Doth sometimes mar the kindness of her heart.
Father, am I forgiven?

(Hanging on him.)
Urst.
Thou art, thou art:
Thou art forgiven; more than forgiven, my child.

Orra.
Then lead me to the count, I will myself
Learn his stern purpose.

Urst.
In the hall he is,
Seated in state, and waiting to receive you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A spacious apartment, or baron's hall, with a chair of state. Hughobert, Eleanora, and Glottenbal enter near the front, speaking as they enter; and afterwards enter Vassals and Attendants, who range themselves at the bottom of the stage.
Hugh.
Cease, dame! I will not hear; thou striv'st in vain
With thy weak pleadings. Orra hence must go
Within the hour, unless she will engage
Her plighted word to marry Glottenbal.

Glot.
Ay, and a mighty hardship, by the mass!

Hugh.
I've summon'd her in solemn form before me,
That these my vassals should my act approve,
Knowing my right of guardianship; and also
That her late father, in his dying moments,
Did will she should be married to my son;
Which will, she now must promise to obey,
Or take the consequence.

El.
But why so hasty?

Hugh.
Why, sayst thou? Falkenstein still in these parts
Lingers with sly intent. Even now he left me,
After an interview of small importance,
Which he and Hartman, as a blind pretence
For seeing Orra, formally requested.
I say again she must forthwith obey me,
Or take the consequence of wayward will.

El.
Nay, not for Orra do I now entreat
So much as for thyself. Bethink thee well
What honour thou shalt have, when it is known
Thy ward from thy protecting roof was sent;
Thou who shouldst be to her a friend, a father.

Hugh.
But do I send her unprotected? No!
Brave Rudigere conducts her with a band
Of trusty spearmen. In her new abode
She will be safe as here.

El.
Ha! Rudigere!
Putst thou such trust in him? Alas, my lord!
His heart is full of cunning and deceit.
Wilt thou to him the flower of all thy race
Rashly intrust? O be advised, my lord!

Hugh.
Thy ghostly father tells thee so, I doubt not.
Another priest confesses Rudigere,
And Urston likes him not. But canst thou think,
With aught but honest purpose, he would chose
From all her women the severe Cathrina,
So strictly virtuous, for her companion?
This puts all doubt to silence. Say no more,
Else I shall think thou pleadst against my son,
More with a step-dame's than a mother's feelings.

Glot.
Ay, marry does she, father! And forsooth!
Regards me as a fool. No marvel then
That Orra scorns me; being taught by her,—
How should she else?—So to consider me!

Hugh.
(to Glottenbal).
Tut! hold thy tongue.

El.
He wrongs me much, my lord.

Hugh.
No more, for here she comes.

Enter Orra, attended by Urston, Alice and Cathrina, whilst Hughobert seats himself in his chair of state, the vassals, &c. ranging themselves on each side.
Hugh.
(to Orra).
Madam and ward, placed under mine authority,
And to my charge committed by my kinsman,
Ulric of Aldenberg, thy noble father:
Having all gentle means essay'd to win thee
To the fulfilment of his dying will,
That did decree his heiress should be married
With Glottenbal my heir; I solemnly
Now call upon thee, ere that rougher means
Be used for this good end, to promise truly
Thou wilt, within a short and stated time,
Before the altar give thy plighted faith
To this my only son. I wait thine answer.
Orra of Aldenberg, wilt thou do this?

Orra.
Count of the same, my lord and guardian,
I will not.

Hugh.
Have a care, thou froward maid!
'Tis thy last opportunity: ere long
Thou shalt, within a dreary dwelling pent,
Count thy dull hours, told by the dead man's watch,
And wish thou hadst not been so proudly wilful.

Orra.
And let my dull hours by the dead man's watch
Be told; yea, make me too the dead man's mate,
My dwelling place the nailed coffin; still
I would prefer it to the living lord
Your goodness offers me.

Hugh.
Art thou bewitch'd?
Is he not young, well featured and well form'd?
And dost thou put him in thy estimation
With bones and sheeted clay?
Beyond endurance is thy stubborn spirit.
Right well thy father knew that all thy sex
Stubborn and headstrong are; therefore, in wisdom,
He vested me with power that might compel thee
To what he will'd should be.

Orra.
O not in wisdom!
Say rather in that weak, but gen'rous faith,
Which said to him, the cope of heaven would fall
And smother in its cradle his swath'd babe,
Rather than thou. his mate in arms, his kinsman,
Who by his side in many a field had fought,
Shouldst take advantage of his confidence
For sordid ends.—
My brave and noble father!
A voice comes from thy grave and cries against it,
And bids me to be bold. Thine awful form
Rises before me,—and that look of anguish
On thy dark brow!—O no! I blame thee not.

Hugh.
Thou seemst beside thyself with such wild gestures
And strangely-flashing eyes. Repress these fancies,
And to plain reason listen. Thou hast said,
For sordid ends I have advantage ta'en.
Since thy brave father's death, by war and compact,
Thou of thy lands hast lost a third; whilst I,
By happy fortune, in my heir's behalf,
Have doubled my domains to what they were
When Ulric chose him as a match for thee.

Orra.
O, and what speaketh this, but that my father
Domains regarded not; and thought a man
Such as the son should be of such a man
As thou to him appear'dst, a match more honourable
Than one of ampler state. Take thou from Glottenbal
The largely added lands of which thou boastest,
And put, in lieu thereof, into his stores
Some weight of manly sense and gen'rous worth,
And I will say thou keepst faith with thy friend:
But as it is, although a king's domains
Increas'd thy wealth, thou poorly wouldst deceive him.

Hugh.
(rising from his chair in anger).
Now, madam, be all counsel on this matter
Between us closed. Prepare thee for thy journey.

El.
Nay, good my lord! consider.

Hugh.
(to Eleanora).
What, again!
Have I not said thou hast an alien's heart
From me and mine. Learn to respect my will:
—Be silent, as becomes a youthful dame.

Urst.
For a few days may she not still remain?

Hugh.
No, priest; not for an hour. It is my pleasure
That she for Brunier's castle do set forth
Without delay.

Orra
(with a faint starting movement).
In Brunier's castle!

Hugh.
Ay;
And doth this change the colour of thy cheek,
And give thy alter'd voice a feebler sound?
[Aside to Glottenbal.
She shrinks, now to her, boy; this is thy time.

Glot.
(to Orra).
Unless thou wilt, thou needst not go at all.
There is full many a maiden would right gladly
Accept the terms we offer, and remain.
(A pause.)
Wilt thou not answer me?

Orra.
I heard thee not.—
I heard thy voice, but not thy words. What saidst thou?

Glot.
I say, there's many a maiden would right gladly
Accept the terms we offer, and remain.
The daughter of a king hath match'd ere now
With mine inferior. We are link'd together
As 'twere by right and natural property.
And as I've said before I say again,
I love thee too: what more couldst thou desire?

Orra.
I thank thee for thy courtship, though uncouth;
For it confirms my purpose: and my strength
Grows as thou speakst, firm like the deep-bas'd rock.
(To Hughobert).
Now for my journey when you will, my lord!
I'm ready.

Hugh.
Be it so! on thine own head
Rest all the blame!
[Going from her.
Perverse past all belief!
[Turning round to her sternly.
Orra of Aldenberg, wilt thou obey me?

Orra.
Count of that noble house, with all respect,
Again I say I will not.

[Exit Hughobert in anger, followed by Glottenbal, Urston, &c. Manent anly Eleanora, Cathrina, Alice, and Orra, who keeps up with stately pride till Hughobert and all attendants are gone out, and then throwing herself into the arms of Eleanora, gives vent to her feelings.
El.
Sweet Orra! be not so depress'd; thou goest
For a short term, soon to return again;
The banishment is mine, who stays behind.
But I will beg of heaven with ceaseless prayers
To have thee soon restored: and, when I dare,
Will plead with Hughobert in thy behalf;
He is not always stern.

Orra.
Thanks, gentle friend! Thy voice to me doth ring
Like the last tones of kindly nature; dearly
In my remembrance shall they rest.—What sounds,
What sights, what horrid intercourse I may,
Ere we shall meet again, be doom'd to prove,
High heaven alone doth know.—If that indeed
We e'er shall meet again!

[Falls on her neck and weeps.
El.
Nay, nay! come to my chamber. There awhile
Compose your spirits. Be not so depress'd. [Exeunt.
[Rudigere, who has appeared, during the last part of the above scene, at the bottom of the stage, half concealed, as if upon the watch, now comes forward, speaking as he advances.

Hold firm her pride till fairly from these walls
Our journey is begun; then fortune hail!
Thy favours are secured.
[Looking off the stage.
Ho, Maurice there!
Enter Maurice.
My faithful Maurice, I would speak with thee.
I leave thee here behind me; to thy care,
My int'rests I commit; be it thy charge
To counteract thy lady's influence,
Who will entreat her lord the term to shorten
Of Orra's absence, maiming thus my plan,
Which must, belike, have time to be effected.
Be vigilant, be artful; and be sure
Thy services I amply will repay.

Maur.
Ay, thou hast said so, and I have believ'd thee.

Rud.
And dost thou doubt?

Maur.
No; yet meantime, good sooth!
If somewhat of thy bounty I might finger,
'Twere well: I like to have some actual proof.
Didst thou not promise it?

Rud.
'Tis true I did,
But other pressing calls have drain'd my means.

Maur.
And other pressing calls my ebbing faith
May also drain, and change my promis'd purpose.

Rud.
Go to! I know thou art a greedy leech,
Though ne'ertheless thou lov'st me.
[Taking a small case from his pocket, which he opens.
Seest thou here?
I have no coin; but look upon these jewels:
I took them from a knight I slew in battle.
When I am Orra's lord, thou shalt receive,
Were it ten thousand crowns, whate'er their worth
Shall by a skilful lapidary be
In honesty esteem'd.

[Gives him the jewels.
Maur.
I thank thee, but methinks their lustre's dim.
I've seen the stones before upon thy breast
In gala days, but never heard thee boast
They were of so much value.

Rud.
I was too prudent: I had lost them else.
To no one but thyself would I entrust
The secret of their value.

Enter Servant.
Serv.
Sir Rudigere, the spearmen are without,
Waiting your further orders, for the journey.

Rud.
(to servant).
I'll come to them anon.
[Exit servant.
Before I go, I'll speak to thee again.

[Exeunt severally.