University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Gothic Gallery in the Castle of Fredolfo— Fredolfo and Berthold discovered—Fredolfo seated, and much exhausted—Berthold standing by him, and watching him with malignant delight.
Fred.
(after a pause.)
Ay,—thus it must be—this is meet and fitting.—
A woman's shrieks must be as music to me,—
Her agony's clasp I must like trophies sport with,
Must watch her writhings with an eye of stone,
And bid my slaves, who shudder at their task,
“Untwine that worm, and fling it far from me.”
It was my child, my fond and lovely child—
My child whom I should love—whom I have loved—
Whom I do love with all a father's yearnings;—
And her I spurn'd—Right—I shall be in time
A fine accomplish'd villain, rude and ruthless!
[turning to Berthold.
What scowl'st thou on, with thy portentous smile,
Passing like lightning, o'er thy stormy visage?
It is some evil, or thou couldst not smile!

Bert.
(with bitter irony.)
I mark with awe the patriot's private moments;
These are thy triumphs, Virtue, view, and boast them!
[suddenly changing.
Oh! what a fool is the brute multitude,
To shout “a God!” before this hollow image!
Ha! ha! ha! things are well balanced here;—
The evening's groan repays the morning's boast.
Vice were too humble, but for scenes like these,
And hopeless Villainy, lacking such solace,
Would turn an anchorite for very sadness!

Fred.
Thou tool of wrath, which, while I grasp, I shudder,
Though one wild moment's sudden agony
Made me a fiend, I am a man again.—
I would not harm that youth for many worlds;
Go, and release the prisoner.

Bert.
(Drawing his dagger, and pointing to it with significant gesture.)
Thus, perchance?—

Fred.
(Giving him a key.)
No, villain, thus—bid him be free, and live!
Bid him, if possible, forget—if not,
Let him revenge—I'm weary of the struggle!

Bert.
Thou weak of purpose, whom the tool thou scorn'st
Scorns in its turn, in soul, if not in tongue,—
With keen and breathless speed thy rage hath chased
This youth from shore to shore—The chase is o'er,—
He pants i'th'toils, he gasps beneath thy fangs—
And now thou say'st, “Go, set the prisoner free.”
Success in crime makes men half deem it virtue,—
Thy weak and partial virtue's half a crime!—
[Seeing Fredolfo moved, he urges him more strongly.
'Tis but a blow! he is unarm'd and helpless,—
Even this weak frame might do the work upon him,
Grasp his white neck with these lean bony fingers,—
Plant this distorted knee upon his breast,—
There, like the night-fiend, sit in grinning triumph,
And watch the gasp, and drink the death-choked howl!

Fred.
(struck with horror.)
Away! begone! and for thy bitterest penance,
Incarnate devil, do one deed of goodness!

Bert.
(absorbed in malignity, and not heeding him.)
I could, such is my heart's o'erflowing spleen
To all that loved, and lovely are—methinks,
I could, even with a look,—as thus—dart through him
The basilisk's eye-fang—dying on the throe!

Fred.
(Incensed beyond patience, and going up to him fiercely, then recollecting himself.)
Slave—but I am thy slave—hence, hence, I say!—
And move me not to do thee some fell outrage.

Bert.
(going reluctantly, then returning with a sneer.)
Would'st thou not do the gentle deed thyself?

Fred.
(stamping furiously.)
Hence! hence!
[Exit Berthold.
(with much agitation.)
I am enthrall'd to one, who wreaks on me
A dæmon's mockery, and a dæmon's malice.—
“Faith, gratitude are gone; gone is the tie
“That darkly binds the guilty to the guilty—
“The iron chain they can nor break nor gild;
“The fearful sympathy of minds unblest
“Communing in the darkness of their purposes.”
The power to torture is the link that binds him,—
Faithful,—but not for me—he's sternly faithful
To the fix'd malice of his hellish nature;—
He goads—he lashes me, then checks at will
My tortured speed, to urge the lash again.
Why does he linger thus?—What, if he dare—
I'll go myself,—with my own hands release him.
[retreating with great horror.
His memory hath slumber'd from a boy,—
But, quicken'd by his wrongs, it may revive;—
Oh! on the mind of man, by many feelings
And varying interests cross'd, the effaced traces
Of memory shift, as time's wave washes them;
But childhood, on its single, first impression
Dwells with fond strength, though all its powers be—pain!
I dare not see him—on my mortal foe
Be my front bent—but not on him I've injured.

Berthold enters slowly, approaches, and stands beside him.
Bert.
'Tis done!

Fred.
(starting)
What's done? there is some evil done:
Whene'er I hear thy step—I feel a shudder;
Whene'er I hear thy voice—I fear a crime.

Bert.
What thou'dst have done—set free thine enemy,
To tell his tale of horror through the world.
Like a slipp'd beagle from the leash he sprung,
To bay with deep-mouth'd yell thy infamy,
'Till the roused welkin answer him again,
And all the hunter's spears are turn'd on thee.

Fred.
(after a long pause)
He knows it not—'Twas night—He was a child— (a pause.)

“Years, years have pass'd—the thought could haunt me only
“In the dark wilds of guilt, where all is fear.”

Bert.
If 'tis unknown, what shakes Fredolfo's soul?

Fred.
(with a burst of agony)
I know it—I—Fredolfo knows it all!
Assembled worlds are dumb when conscience speaks;
The thunder sleeps, the lightning's glance is mark'd not;—
The single criminal, the silent judge,
Are all creation's infinite range contains.
There needs no mortal witness in that court,
“No eye that watches, and no tongue that speaks;
“To him that writhes in guilt's fine sense of torment
“The breeze, the dew, the fugitive clouds of heaven,
“Memorials traced with pen of iron bear;
“All earth is conscious, and all air is voice,
“Quick with one feeling, vocal with one sound.”
His look of innocence is hateful to me.
What must I feel, then, when I gaze on thee?
Thou dream of fear embodied—guilt's fell haunter—
Thou night-mare of the oppressed sight, on whom
Deformity ran wanton!—Yes, she snatch'd
The page where Nature would have written man,
And madly scrawl'd it with a pictured devil!
The view of Adelmar recalls my crime—
The sight of thee inflicts my punishment!

Bert.
If that my presence be so odious to thee,
Give me a gift of price, and let me part.

Fred.
Thou know'st my fallen state—but thou'lt rejoice, (he pauses.)

To save my child from Wallenberg's fell love
I have resign'd mine office in the state,
Hiding my head beneath this roof of horrors.
No hoarded gold, no gem of price is mine—
Yet, take the ancient jewels of mine house,
Clasp from my robe, and signet from my hand,
So thou wilt part!

Bert.
I covet not thy gold—thou hast a daughter!

Fred.
(waking, as from a dream, and going up to him)
I did not hear thee, sure!

Bert.
(viewing him calmly)
Thou hast a daughter!
The maiden is right scornful—but she's duteous;
Her smiles will follow where her father points.

Fred.
(rushing at him furiously)
Slave—damned wretch, and slave!

Bert.
(repelling him fiercely)
Patience, proud lord!
Not one step farther, or thou'lt wake a fiend—
Mine arm is pithless, but my will is strong!
(Fredolfo stands gasping.)
Thou slave, who fear'st thy slave, thou wretch, more wretched
Than him thy pride would spurn, and spurning, rouse,
Stand where thou art, and stand without a murmur,
Bent brow, or writhen lip, or eye that curses,
Or with a word, I strike thee—worse than dead!
(Pointing to him bitterly.)
Is that the patriot—hero—god—Fredolfo?
Methinks he waxeth pale—the idol nods—
He totters on his pedestal—he falls!
Ha, ha, ha!—falls at his vassal's feet!

Fred.
(sinking on his knees with terrible agitation)
Shriek through the public streets, I am a murderer:
Seize on my throat, and drag me forth to justice—
But do not—no—thou dar'st not think of her!

Bert.
I dare not! O, thou know'st not what I dare.
What dares not he whom nature's self hath cursed,
And who retorts her curse upon her minions;
Blasts beauty, scoffs at truth, makes mock at agony,
And laughs and tramples 'mid the wreck he wrought?

Fred.
Torture me—trample on me—spare my child!—
Thou must have pity on a father's agony,
Albeit no child hath ever called thee father;
Revel, thou fiend, in my lost paradise,
But spare the flower I loved before I fell!

Bert.
(significantly, and going)
You trust me with your life, but not your daughter.

Fred.
(in terror)
My life! my life!—

Bert.
(with sternness)
Fredolfo, come to judgment!
The summoner's voice hath call'd—the judges tremble—
Who is the murderer?

Fred.
(seizing him furiously)
Villain, here he stands;—
He grasps thy throat!

Bert.
(struggling)
Another murder! well—

Fred.
(shuddering)
Murder!—no, wretch, vile as thou art, the dungeon—
Struggle not—shriek not— (drawing him off.)


Bert.
Help, ho! help for life!

[They struggle.
(A horn sounds without, then a burst of martial music.)
Fred.
Whence was that blast?

Waldo and attendants enter in haste.
Wal.
My lord, my lord! the governor Wallenberg,
All by an arm'd and gallant train attended,
Stands at the castle-gate.

Fred.
(with great terror)
Count Wallenberg!
What means this visit? Wallenberg!—admit him! (much agitation.)

Why gaze ye on me thus? Begone! admit him!
[Exeunt Waldo and attendants.
He must not see me thus!—Oh! shame, and horror!
Let me wipe off the death-damps from my brow—
(Turning to Berthold.)
Villain! remember, if again—No more!

Enter Wallenberg, attended by a splendid train, his air haughty and contemptuous. Through the whole of the scene Fredolfo resumes and retains his dignity. Berthold, when Fredolfo turns from him, follows him with a look of diabolical malignity.
Wall.
Hail to Fredolfo! With a friend's free boldness
We press upon his midnight solitude
To claim a welcome.

Fred.
(very coldly)
Sir, you honour me;
'Tis honour all unmeet for this poor roof,
To house such lordly guest as Wallenberg.

Wall.
(with irony)
Lightly I hold such heartless festalry;
Give me a courtly, friendly host like thee;
The long and eager clasp of outstretch'd hands;
(A pause—keener irony.)
Such welcome as Fredolfo's greeting gives;
Such smile as hovers on Fredolfo's lips!
(Exulting in Fredolfo's emotion.)
Give me thy hand—in faith I love thee much!

Fred.
Not from unbidden guest can I withhold it.
There, sir!

[Gives his hand, with reluctant dignity.
Wall.
(looking round him)
In sooth, my lord Fredolfo,
Your fancy boasts a nice and curious taste,
To fly the ample, cheerful domes of Altdorf,
And on St. Gothard's wild and naked peak
To battle with the eagle for his eyry,
And wrest your rude meal from the famish'd wolf!
(Looking round him with increasing scorn.)
A mansion rear'd to spite the elements,
To struggle with the storm for doubtful safety,
And hold its trembling tenure from the blast.

Fred.
It hath a charm the stranger knoweth not:—
It is the dwelling of mine ancestry;
There is an inspiration in its shade;
The echoes of its vaults are eloquent,—
They speak of the glorious dead!
Its tenants are not human—they are more!
The stones have voices, and the walls do live:—
It is the house of memories, dearly honour'd
By many a trace of long departed glory;
Honour'd by dead and living—honour'd most
(with dignified contempt)
By Wallenberg's light scorn, and scorned lightness!

Wall.
Nay, nay, be not thus moody, aged lord—
In faith, I scorn to chafe plebeian pride.—
Ay, struggle as thou wilt through storm and darkness,
Feed, worm-like, on thy legendary parchments,
Watch cobwebs grow, and cherish the pale mildew—
But thou hast a fair daughter—

Fred.
(after a struggle)
Sir!—proceed.

Wall.
And must that lovely lady linger here,
Shedding her pined beauties on the waste,
Like flower, that in the dark vale dies for woe,
At seeing not the sun? It must not be!
I'll lead her to the city's gay resort,
Where noble knights and courtly ladies be,
And high-plumed gallants in their bravery!
And gems, and torches bright, and ladies' eyes,
Shed luxury of light, and teach cold maids
Mildly to listen to the tale of love.

Fred.
(struggling with emotion, then calm)
Count Wallenberg!—this roof is your protection.

Wall.
I read the language of that flashing eye,
And could defy it—But, by Heaven you wrong me!
I gazed upon the maid with lawless love;
But my loose days of dalliance are gone by.
Fredolfo, hear me!—Friend, or foe, I reck not—
Spite of the pride that burns upon my cheek,
Spite of the blood, whose cold recoiling drops
Refuse to flow ere they would mix with thine;
Spite of our nations, natures, hearts averse,
Of all that makes me shudder while I sue,—
I claim thy daughter's hand!

Fred.
My daughter's hand!
Ho! call my daughter hither—Wallenberg,
I answer not—herself shall answer thee!
[Looking off the stage.
My daughter waits you, count, and speed your wooing!

[Retires.
Wall.
(watching her approach)
She comes with all that shrinking bashfulness,
The eloquence of motion,—mute, but felt.
The air around her breathes of purity;
And, as she moves, her equal tread's fine impulse
Falls on the ear like harmony;—the light
That gleams on her fair locks and slender form
Crowns them with hallowed glory, like some vision
To saintly eyes reveal'd!—She is a thing
To knee and worship. Beauty hath no lustre,
Save when it gleameth through the crystal web
That Purity's fine fingers weave for it;
And then it shows like Venus from the wave,
The fresh drops clinging to her beauty still!
Urilda enters.
Lady, your fair hand!—suffer me to press
Love's true kiss on it—paying with glad lips
The debt that lovers to their ladies owe.

Uril.
(very coldly)
My lord, your presence in my father's halls
Warrants a gentle maiden's courtesy;
As such, I pray, accept this meet obeisance.

Wall.
I am not wont to woo in suppliant strain,
Nor form'd to languish at a lady's feet,
In such sad guise as smooth-cheek'd striplings use;
I woo thee like a man:—I love thee, lady!
Start not, nor tremble;
Thou, only, could'st subdue a soul like mine—
A soul that, even in softness, half regrets
Its former liberty, and scorns its weakness:
My vanquish'd pride's a victim to my heart,—
The proud reluctant slave is worth the conqueror.

Uril.
My lord, perchance a harder task remains,
To conquer mine—My father, speak for me!

[Turning away.
Fred.
(Coldly.)
Urilda, speak thyself—thy father's presence
Gives thee protection, but suspends control.
Banish the tremblings of thy maiden coyness,
Answer, my child, this noble, courteous wooer.

Uril.
(Advancing.)
Then, thus:—Around my shrunk and faded form
Wrap the dim veil that mortal touch withdraws not;—
“Fold me in the pale votarist's vestal's stole,—
“Ay,—in the mendicant's foul weeds of wretchedness;—
“Ay,—in the earthy and worm-dropping shroud;”—
Before ye deck me in the bridal robe,
And place my wedded hand in Wallenberg's.

[Falls into her father's arms.
Wall.
Am I awake!—and does a rustic girl,
The low-descended daughter of scorn'd peasants
With blood no richer than the mountain stream,
Spurn the proud hand outstretch'd to raise her?
Thou toy, whom in mine hour of fond insanity
Madly I prized, I fling thy lightness from me,
As the heal'd maniac, glancing round his cell,
Scoffs at the straw his dream of frenzy gilded!—
Oh! that I could from my dishonour'd life
Pluck this foul night of shame! Mark me, proud girl!
Thy folly's penance shall o'erpay thy lover's.—
I loathe the hour of weakness when I knelt;
But thou shalt curse the hour I knelt in vain!

Fred.
(Incensed.)
Count Wallenberg!—

Uril.
My father—Oh, my father!
I had not thought to speak, but this proud insult
Unchains the maiden shame that binds my tongue.
I am a mountain-girl, in whose free veins
Rolls the rich blood of heroes! Men, who scorning
To rule their country, only sought to bless it!
The spirits of the great are strong within me,
They prompt me now,—they urge my trembling tongue
To tell thee, that this weak and female hand,
Ere it clasp one red with my country's blood,
Would clutch with eager hold Death's bony fingers;
And this proud heart, big with its country's feeling,
Would burst this cincture, ere its throbbings press'd
Against a bosom swelling with fell purposes.—
My father's foe,—my country's,—and my God's!
No, Wallenberg!—no, Austrian!—never!—never!—
“Seek thou thy mate amid proud Austria's dames,
“The daughter of the mountains spurns thy hand.”

[Sinks into her father's arms.
Fred.
Thou art my daughter—never loved as now—
Thou mountain-maid,—thou child of liberty!
Urilda! Well from Uri's height I named thee,
Free as its breezes,—purer than its snows!—
[A pause.
Count Wallenberg, you have my daughter's answer.

Wall.
(Furiously.)
Away!—my train,—my steed!—away this hour!
[Coming up to Urilda, with irony.
Grieve not for my departure, gentle maid;
I shall return again,—return full soon,
But, not as wooers come.—My lord Fredolfo,
I thank you for your splendid, noble courtesy,
And thus I pledge my hand, and pledge my soul,
My foot shall pause not, nor my thoughts have rest,
Nor mine eyes close, nor my dry lip taste food,
Till with all implements of furious will,
Intensest wit, deadly, heart-nested vengeance,
And zeal of hate, I've wrought you full repayment.

Fred.
(Retiring calmly.)
Rail to the winds, chafed lord,—they may regard thee.
Look up, Urilda; tremble not, my child!

Wall.
Hell and its furies burn within me!

[Draws his sword, and rushes at Fredolfo. Urilda screams, and darts between them.
Uril.
Ah!

[Fredolfo's attendants gather round—a tumult —Wallenberg disarmed.
Fred.
(Calmly.)
Give him his sword again—let fall your weapons!
By heaven, I smite to earth the arm that's raised—
He is beneath my roof. Throw wide the gates.
Count Wallenberg, you may depart in safety.

[Exit, leading out Urilda, who sinks on him, exhausted.
Wall.
Hence! let me plunge into the night's thick gloom,
Pierce the dark forest,—in the cavern hide me,
If that their darkness may conceal my shame.

[Rushing out; he is detained by Berthold, who clings to him.
Bert.
One moment, noble Wallenberg, one moment!

Wall.
What worm art thou, that twin'st around my knees?
Hence! or I spurn thee!

Bert.
Spurn me not, dread lord,—
I am a worm, whose sting can pierce—Fredolfo.
(More eagerly, as Wallenberg listens.)
There is a deed, untold to mortal ear,
There is a thing, unthought by mortal minds,—
A thing of guilt, of horror, and of shame,
And him that wrought it only Berthold knows!

Wall.
There is a glowing malice in thy visage,—
There is a kindling devil in thine eye,—
Go on—I do believe thee—tell thy tale.

Bert.
Secure my life—I am Fredolfo's vassal—
Secure my safety first!

Wall.
His vassal, say'st thou?
If thou can'st evil of Fredolfo tell,
I will unto my breast, with friendly clasp,
Hug thy deformity;—thou shalt be great,
Be robed in silk, and lodged in palaces—
Beauty shall smile on thee, and thou on high
Shalt stand among the nobles of the land,
So thou wilt show but evil of Fredolfo!

Bert.
I ask not that—I ask a lighter boon.

Wall.
Ask what thou wilt, it shall be granted thee!

(Berthold approaching very slowly, and whispering.)
Bert.
Thy father perish'd by a hand unknown,
But not to all.

Wall.
My father—perished! speak!

Bert.
(Whispering.)
The brand that pierced the breast of Wallenberg
Hung in the sheath of—Ha!

Enter Fredolfo.
Fred.
(With calm dignity.)
Count Wallenberg,
I had forgot the duties of a host;—
O'er the wild mazes of our mountain tracks
Ten of my boldest vassals shall conduct you.—
Depart in safety, guided by the care
Of him against whose breast your arm was raised.

Wall.
(With irony.)
Most generous, noble host; I shall depart,
And take with me a sure and faithful guide,
Who will my swift and ready steps conduct
Through mazes darker than your mountain-tracks.—
(Suddenly advancing, and with emphasis.)
I claim your vassal, Berthold, for my guide!

Fred.
(Horror struck.)
Ha!

Bert.
(Going up to him with a sneer.)
Farewell, my lord—your duteous vassal leaves you.

[A pause.
[Fredolfo recovers, and gives his hand to him with a mixed emotion, arising from a wish to conceal his agitation from Wallenberg, and a faint hope to excite compassion in Berthold.
Fred.
(Slowly.)
Farewell.

Wall.
(Significantly.)
Farewell, my lord Fredolfo!
Ho! Berthold,—follow me!

[As they go out, Fredolfo, losing all self-command, rushes after Berthold with a wild attempt; Berthold gives him a look of malignity; Wallenberg turns on him, with affected surprise, mixed with disdain; Fredolfo, in an agony, throws himself into the arms of his own attendants.
Fred.
Lost! lost! Oh God, for ever!

(He is conveyed off.)
[Exeunt Wallenberg and Berthold, triumphantly.