University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—The prison. Otho seen walking about in great agitation. Feeble light.
Otho.
No, no, I cannot sleep!
Would that ruine hour
Of pulseless sleep had come!—that I might die,
And pour my blood out, like a brooding curse,
Upon the land that nourished me for death.
[OMITTED]
Oh, Ala, Ala! thou shalt know me yet—
For even thou didst leave me!—Thou shalt see
That man upon his bloody scaffold yet,
Who should have sat, with thee, upon a throne!
Would that my father lived!—mother!—all!
That I have loved in youth! Oh, they should see
And feel the vengeance of the bastard here,
When he went forth to death—
O, Ala! Ala.

(A female, cloaked and veiled—approaches slowly.)
Ala.
(Hesitating)
It is indeed!
Art thou that wretched man!—
So full of contradiction—greatness—crime—
(Pause)
To save—and spare a woman in thy power;
Then rend her shrieking from her husband's arms!
O, man!—man!

Otho.
Hast thou a husband, lady?

Ala.
Yes—in the sight of heaven—

Otho.
(With great feeling)
Yes! yes! thou hast indeed.

Ala.
And yet, thou would'st have torn me from his arms?

Otho.
I!—by heaven— (Stops abruptly)


Ala.
Aye—shrieking—from the altar!—slay her lord,
And sprinkle his young widow with his blood!

Otho.
(Agony)
Woman! (instantly recovers: bitter and sarcastick.)

Why, lady; art thou dreaming?

Ala.
No, no; not now (thoughtfully)
—but I did dream.

Otho.
And so! the sudden trumpet that ye heard,
The planted foot, the war of men, and flash
Of whistling blades, encountering, not in sport,
When blood was spilt, and gallant hearts were rent,
And banners flew!
Could but have been for woman! but for thee!
True, we were foes—Otho and Irman:—true
We've sought each other long in deadly hate—
Yet—when we meet!—I come to steal his bride!

Ala.
(Kindling at the sneer)
And yet, dark man!—thou would'st have stolen his bride!
Tho' thou repell'st the charge in scorn—thou would'st!
Thine eye assures me so. I know thee well—
And Irman knows thee, too!

Otho.
And so—
Nothing on earth could move me to the deed:—
Nothing of hate for rivalry in arms—
Nothing but woman!—I must draw my blade.
Not to subdue the prince—but win his bride!
And this thou can'st behove—Oh vanity!

Ala.
(Passionately)
—Yes, from my soul, I do!

Otho.
(Significantly)
—Lady, this is a solitary spot—
[OMITTED]
For one so bright to meet an outlaw in!—
Away from succour—on her wedding night—
A desperate man, whose final hour is near,—
Who would have torn thee, shrieking—from the arms
Of thy young husband!—
—Woman!—woman!
Who would have sprinkled o'er thy bridal bed
With thy young husband's blood!

(Ala retreats in terror—he steps before her way.)
Ala.
Nay stranger—

Otho.
Lady—it is a lonely spot—perhaps
Thou know'st thy husband is my deadliest foe—
My conqueror!—will condemn me to a death
Of slow—intolerable agony—
And know'st thou not—I see thou dost, indeed;
The fading of thy cheek betrays thy fear—

Ala.
(Struggling with her terror—yet keeping her eye on the door.)
Stranger—'tis false!—I know all this, 'tis true—
But fear it not!—Wert thou unchained and free,
I should not fear thee, then—

Otho.
(Gathering up his chains and moving about unencumbered.)
I am free lady!—

Ala.
Ha treachery!

Otho.
None, lady—none! nought but the bursting strength
Of desperation I have wrenched the links!

Ala.
Impossible!

Otho.
I have, I tell thee—Would'st thou see the proof?

(Gathers up the chains—extends his arms—makes a convulsive effort and they fall from his limbs.)
Ala.
Merciful heaven! (Reels—Otho support her —She repulses him—haughtily.)


Otho.
Now, lady, we can hold communion here—
And hold it—as we please—
Lady, I am no common man—and this (Taking her hand)

No common vengeance, now within my power—
The youthful—spotless bride—upon the wedding night!
Of him—my deadliest foe!—

Ala.
(Snatching away her hand)
Stranger—I am deceived—farewell!

(Otho prevails her from reaching the gate.)
Otho.
Nay, lady, nay—we do not part so soon—
Thou should'st know more of him who gave himself
“To snatch thee from the altar”—and thy lord—
Thou art ungrateful!—think the price he paid!
And not one smile!
[OMITTED]
(Changing his whole manner.)
Vengeance is mine!—one word—thou tremblest now!

(A sudden blaze of light illuminates the whole prison— Cheerful music heard from a distance. Ala gazes at his countenance—appears bewildered by some sudden recollection—and then utters a passionate acclamation.)
Ala.
No, no!—for I am not deceived!

Otho.
You knew the ring?

Ala.
Yes, Selim told me—or I should have wept,
To see thee thus, dark men—in prison—chained—

Otho.
(Pointing to the links)
Not chained!

Ala.
(Forgetting her terror in a burst of enthusiasm)
Thy mighty spirit checked in its career
Of stormy liberty!—I've hated thee,
And cursed thee for thy deeds—and yet, should weep
To see thy stern magnificence in chains—

(Otho points to the broken links in silence. Light increases —revelry approaching.)
Otho.
Thy nuptials, lady?

Ala.
O yes!—that music that we hear!—that light—
Streaming from yonder halls!—the horns
That spring so freshly on the dancing winds!
(Recollects herself—stops abruptly—in confusion)
Yes—all this revelry is made for me.

Otho.
(Aside)
Ambition!

Ala.
My ladies wait—thy purpose by the ring?
Stranger, that pledge shall be redeemed!
Think of me in thy prayers— (Going)


Otho.
My prayers!

Ala.
To-morrow,—thou art free—

Otho.
(Absent)
Yes, yes—to-morrow I am free—and she—
To-morrow she's another's—

Ala.
Another's!

Otho.
(Still musing)
Yes—another's—Irman's— (Abruptly)

Be sure you love him!—'tis a fearful pledge—
A youthful soldier's hand when given for ever!
'Tis not the holiday of tournaments—
Of cavalcades, and gorgeous pageantry—
A summer dance—when youthful lovers meet
In jewelry and plumes!
(Ala listens with breathless attention.)
It is the pledge
Of everlasting union!—life and death!
For earth and heaven!—in poverty and wo!
(Faltering)
Disgrace and infamy!
The wedded heart
Should be the sanctuary of the soul!
Its refuge from the storm!—its home!—its heaven!
But less than that—'tis hell!—the wintry chill
Of everlasting ice—

Ala.
(Involuntary exclamation)
'Tis true indeed!

Otho.
(With a look of struggling triumph)
The prince is young and proud—and thou should'st think
What 'tis to meet the throbbings of a heart
That's prest to thine in faith and truth—for life—
And answer, with the echoes of thine own,
Like sepulchres to songs!

Ala.
(Unconsciously dropping her hand upon his in the intensity of her feeling)
O, horrible!

Otho.
Yet that were heaven!—to the endless pang
That thou would'st feel unwakened by its throb;
For souls like thine, must ever love or hate—
They're plants that bear no blossoms—bend with fruit
Or shrink in ghastly barrenness—and die!
Thou Ala!
(At the sound of this voice, Ala utters a faint cry—looks around as if experting some other person to appear—gradually become composed.)
Thou can'st love!—and thou would'st hate
The man, whose love and faith reproached thy soul,
And feel like one awaken'd in her tomb!
To find her struggling limbs forever bound!
For sepulture in life!—And kept from heaven!
O, thou would'st curse him, Ala, and forever!

Ala.
Oh God!—no more! no more!

Otho.
Hast thou a doubt?—then never wed the prince!
That doubt is death—nay, worse than death to thee

Ala.
Stranger! (with great dignity)


Otho.
(Forgetting himself in tenderness)
Oh, Ala, Ala! canst thou love the prince!

Ala.
(In amazement)
Who art thou! (Pause—as endeavouring to recall some long forgotten image.)

Strange man!—I ever thee much—and yet
Such word—'tis wonderful!
But, to thine adjuration, stranger—Yes!
I do love Irman from my heart and soul!
Now answer me—O, tell me, who art thou?
For thrice have I encounter'd thee;
Thrice have I shaken while I heard thy voice
As if I heard one calling from the tomb!
And felt while thrilling in thy sullen gaze,
As if I breathed in pestilence and death!
And yet—cannot avoid thee! (Agitation)
And I feel
Thou art my evil genius—
And yet, I cannot fly—There seems to me
A dreadful fascination in thine eye—
That eye!—that voice! (increasing emotion and terror)

Oh yes, I know full well,
Thou art familiar with the darkest deeds—
With a strange feeling of dislike, I've met thee—
Shudder'd and fled—and yet again—we meet!
That voice!—that eye!
O yes! thou bear'st some dreadful spell!
Yet spare me!—Spare me!

Otho.
(Losing his self-possession, and falling at her feet.)
Lady!—I adjure thee!
—Ala! hear my voice!
Thou'rt on a dreadful precipice—Oh, fly!
(Ala retreats in amazement—Otho rises haughtily)
Nay, this is declamation—idle rant
O, woman, cans't thou feel? I cannot talk.

Ala.
O yes—but thou'rt deceived. 'Tis true I've wept;
And wondered at thy desperate fortitude:
But I have wonder'd more to see such might
Exhausted on such deeds—Nay, more,
While I have wondered at thy fierce career,
Thy midnight stragglers—and thy rebel hordes—
So terrible in glory!—I have dreamt
Of thee—dark man—until I pray'd and wept!
Yes wept!— (Retreating from his extended arms)

—And yet thou art deceived:
For 'twas all done in horrour—as we would,
To deprecate the wrath of evil ones.—
Do I love Irman!—love him—One so young
So full of chivalry!—whose soul bows down
In mute idolatry to me—
Oh heaven! may I be worthy of his love!
'Tis all my prayer—'tis all I wish on earth!

Otho.
(Starting from a profound reverie)
Princess—'tis said thou'rt proud—and cold,

Ala.
'Tis true.

Otho.
And yet—to me—a stranger—and alone,
The secrets of thy soul are all laid here:

Ala.
Well—so I am!—and had'st thou prostrate knelt
And sued for life—as others have for love;
Or yielded up my signet with a doubt—
Or shook when conquered and condemned to death—
I should have spurned thee—
—But thou art a man;
And therefore have I opened all my heart.
I feel thee as a being, whose command
May not be slighted or evaded here;
And I have come to meet thee—thus—alone
Far less in courtesy than in obedience.

Otho.
This is frank.

Ala.
But I am frank against my will.

Otho.
Thou surely lov'st him then?

Ala.
Yes—surely!

Otho.
Princess—Lady! (forgets himself again)
Ala!

Ala.
That voice again! in mercy speak!

Otho.
(Leading her to the light)
Now, Lady, let me read thy heart—thy soul—
Now, Lady, mark my words—I know thee well!
Thou dost not love Irman.

Ala.
'Tis false!

Otho.
(Vehemently)
No, no!—I say thou dost not love him—no!
A boy with glossy eye!—a stripling knight!
With unbruis'd armour, and unsullied crest.—
With maiden helm—and sword—and shield—and lance,
The blooming champion of the tilting ground,
(Ala appears disturbed—wandering)
To tread the lists for Ala! God of heaven!
A hand so weak, it cannot rein his steed;
Who sinks before the lightning of the strife.
Like summer blossoms blasted in their youth:
He couch the lance for thee! (Her eyes kindle)

Woman! thou wast not fashioned for such fate!
Thy spirit is of flame!—should meet with flame!
O—never!—never!—thou wert made for man,
And thou should'st mate with man! a warriour's bride:
Who can walk upright in the battle's storm!

Ala.
(Seeing his purpose—instantly awakening to her danger—and replying with mingled scorn and detestation)
And sheathe his dagger in the sleeping heart!
A pirate!—murderer!—Ha!

Otho.
O, think not, lady, that a soul like mine,
Could leave the sway of men to crouch to thee!
Thou art a lioness! but even thou
Art far too tame for me!
The woman who would share my rifted heart,
Should stand unshaken on the thunder cliff,
And laugh upon the tumults pealing round!
Should bare her naked bosom to the bolt,
And feel in safety there! if I were by!
Such she should be—an Angel of the storm!

Ala.
(Struggling with many feelings)
I must be gone—farewell!

Otho.
One moment, lady, thou hast loved before!

Ala.
Never!

Otho.
Never!—reflect—hath never yet some heart
Of kindred flame, blazed forth, encountering thine?
Hast never felt a sudden, fiery thrill
Along thine arteries?—then, a bolt of ice!
Then felt as if thy struggling heart were grasped
By some convulsive hand? thy dizzy brain
(increasing vehemence.)
Before some flashing eye and nodding plume—

Ala.
(Passionately.)
Oh!

Otho.
Hast never seen a form, and shun'd it, too,
When,—could'st then be unseen—thy soul would hang
Forever on its path—

Ala.
(Sadly.)
But once—

Otho.
Some melancholy—wild enthusiast?

Ala.
(Recovering.)
Never!

Otho.
(Suddenly changing to a tone of thrilling energy.)
Some youthful spirit, when its airy lightning,
Like the young war-horse,—at the trumpet's blast
Went flashing!—wild!—and—

Ala.
(Passionate vehemence.)
Yes! yes! Oh yes!

Otho.
And felt thy pulses quicken, and thy voice
Drop fainting from thy lip—when he approached
And—

Ala.
Stranger! (Otho struggles to conceal his triumph.)

And would'st thou know for whom I felt all this?

Otho.
(Eagerly.)
—Aye, lady, aye—

Ala.
Well then— (he advances.)
—for gallant—glorious Irman!

Otho.
Never—never—not for him!
But tell me, woman—hast thou never felt
(emphasis—deliberate.)
Thy freedom shrinking—fettered as it heard
The deep enchantment of some master spirit,
And felt its potent workings in thy brain?

(Fastening her eye upon him.)
Ala.
But that was terrour, stranger—'twas not love.—

Otho.
'Twas love—almighty love!

Ala.
Nay, Stranger,—for I have that feeling now;
Have felt it, too, for many a weary day—
Felt it—nay, smile not—felt it all for thee!
(with great calmness)
But thou!—no no, I never loved thee yet!

Otho.
(Aside.)
By heaven, I'll probe that bosom to the quick!
Lady!—Ala! (she turns.)
—thou art, indeed, deceived.
Give me thy hand. (places it upon his heart.)

—There! Ala, there!
Dost thou not feel thy pulse keep time with mine?
And answer?—throb for throb!—nay, lady, speak—

Ala.
I dare not—

Otho.
(Triumphantly.)
Thou dost, indeed read thy downcast eye;
Thy swelling lip—and struggling step of pride;
Thou art a woman yet—but can't conceal
That thou dost love me!
Nay, Ala—stay that glance—'tis true by heaven.
Thou art incredulous? Well!—I'll convince thee.
Now listen.—
—Once I saved thee in the storm,
When we were wrapped in foam. I then was young:
And other glories lightened from mine eye.
You trembled when I placed your sinking head
(Ala appears much moved.)
Upon my breast—and when you woke at last—
Unconsciously embraced me!—Why that blush?
'Twas innocent, as is the first caress
When angels meet in heaven!
Yet, even then, when I had told thee all,
That same bright blush enkindled on thy cheek.
In that delirium, girl, thy heart spoke out!
Ye are all hypocrites but when ye're mad!
(Observing her agitation.)
From that bright hour, until we met again,
Thy dreams were of the pirate and the storm—
Thy prayers and tears—
And then—when next we met—it was in blood!
You knew me not 'till I revealed myself—
And then you shuddered—and your sinking heart
Shrunk from the red pollution of my touch.

(As awakening from an oppressive dream.)
Ala.
Yes, then I hated thee in truth!

Otho.
Well, so you did—and yet, we met again!
And not by accident—

Ala.
(indignantly.)
Who has told you this?

Otho.
Told me lady!—Who could tell me this!
And now, again, we meet—and all, alone.
You come to see the hated Otho here!
Who would have torn thee shrieking from the arms
Of thy young husband!

Ala.
What mockery is this!

Otho.
The signet, too, you gave me, proved your hate:
Now, tell me lady,—was it not your prayer,
When you bestowed that ring—that I might live?
That you might prove your gratitude?—and
Once more, on earth—the hated man!

Ala.
Stranger! stranger!—how am I deceived!
I deemed thee one so sternly desolate:—
Unshaken—when thy retribution came:—
On whom Calamity could take no hold—
The monarch wanderer of the foaming deep—
Companion to the spirits of the storm!
And then!—I could have fallen before thy path,
In prostrate adoration to thy might—
So inaccessible!—and so sublime!
Yet thou art but a man—farewell!

(going)
Otho.
(Seizing her hand.)
Proud dame!—
Thou didst adore me?—Yes, I know thou didst,
And dost, and wilt—until thy dying day!
Thy hate and fear!—they're woman's steadiest love.
'Tis woman's nature—when she talks of hate,
And thinks herself sincere—to feel but love!
Her fears outlast ten thousand lives of love!
And woman's everlasting fear, is but
The pledge of everlasting love!
What ye should love—once gained—is thrown wide:
Thus hate me, Ala!—I would not be loved,
Caress'd—and then forgotten!

Ala.
Madman!—

Otho.
(Dropping her hand, and leaving the passage clear.)
Farewell!—but mark my words,
Thy heart and soul are mine.—The first warm kiss
That Irman gives thy lips, will wake thee, girl,
'Twill be the seal of agony!
Give me the ring—then, woman, let us part—
I'll wear it for thee, Ala!—to my grave.

Ala.
(Drawing it reluctantly from her hand.)
Well, take it for to-night—
To-morrow thou art free.—

Otho.
(With calm contempt)
Leave me, woman—leave me—
Go to thy nuptial couch and dream of me.
I'll to my grave.

Ala.
(Struggling with emotion.)
—Farewell?

(Exit Ala.)
(Otho,
Solus.)
Yes—she remembers me!—my voice of youth
Hath waked an echo in her faithless heart,
That ne'er shall sleep again.—
[OMITTED]
Yes!—All my nights of agony and toil.—
The days I've watched in seeing her unfold—
My resignation to contempt are all repaid!
All—all!
The infamy of birth—that dreadful curse,
My lengthening life—the immortality
Of woe, that weigh'd me down—are all forgot!
No lists on earth, were open for my lance!
No battle roll'd its anthems to my name!
No trumpet sang my deeds!—no noble hand
Grasped mine in confidence—on cannon's voice
Was e'er to peal a requiem o'er my grave!
—But that is all forgot!
My life a scene of one perpetual night—
With no relief on earth—
With none to watch my corse—to drop the tear
Upon my nameless tomb—with no fair sky
To greet the Bastard's spirit after death.
And wipe away the stain, in mercy, there;
Yet that is all forgot!
[OMITTED]
No tear shall drop for me but tears of blood,—
Or such as fall from heaven upon the tombs
Of men of might—that die unknown—and sleep
Upon the hills!
Oh—heaven!—if I may lift my voice to thee,
And not blaspheme—now, let thy lightnings forth!
And in the stillness of the coming night,
Let thine Archangel speak!
(Wildness—Solemnity.)
O, I would bear—once more—once more!—on earth
That anthem of the skies!—O, I would hear
The thunders roll their everlasting base
And harps and trumpets ring.—
O—mercy!—mercy!—
(Sudden terrour fixing his eye on the dark part of the prison.)
O! can I be mad? (Recovering with impressive solemnity.)

What art thou!
Lead on!—I'll follow thee—lead on I say.

(goes out as pursuing something with a stately step.)