University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An Apartment in the Castle of Wittelsbach; an Oriel Window, through which Towers and Turrets are visible; a practicable Door near the Window, which may be supposed to lead to one of the Turrets.
Enter Ida to Ulric.
Ida.
Ulric! Alone, dear boy? What so tricked out
In lace and tissue like an Emperor's page.
A dagger, too—a real dagger—sharp
As our good seneschal's, no blunted mockery.
So fine, and yet alone! Thou shouldst be prancing
Half o'er the Castle, showing thee to Gertrude
And Ermengarde, or sallying from the gates
To Margaret's cot, and bidding her admire
Her nursling's gay adornment. Still so sad!
Thou only lack'st a broidered purse. Take this,
And fix it in thy girdle—so, boy, so!—
What, not a smile? And this thy manlier gaud
Neglected too! Disclose the shining steel!
So weaponed, yet so sad!

Ul.
Tell me, sweet sister,
Why am I decked thus?

Ida.
Lest our father come
Again afore his time. Whilst sluggish travellers
Count the brief hours against the weary leagues
And gravely say, so long to Wittelsbach,
He's here. And now he brings his gentle bride,
Whom we must welcome as a mother. Trust me,
She'll pay our greetings with a mother's love.

Ul.
Be sure she will not come to-day; or if
She come—

Ida.
What then, Sir Prophet?

Ul.
An' thou jeer me,
I will not tell thee. Ida, hast thou faith
In dreams?

Ida.
Ah, gentle boy, 'tis all too soon
For thee to hold such faith! When years shall bring
Quick teeming fancies to thy midnight couch,
Thoughts of shy fear compact, and shyer hope,
And flitting memories, less and less distinct
As slumber creeps upon thee; then should some
Blest vision show before thy sleeping eyes,
In vivid pageant, thy heart's waking wish,
Then turn believer, Ulric; not till then,
I warn thee.

Ul.
This is mockery. Thou know'st
My peacock?

Ida.
Know him! There he sits i' th' sun,
Look, scattering, as he waves his glittering plumes,
Bright scintillating sparks of golden light,
Changeful and glorious; such a light as lives
On the wings of the rose-beetle. Radiant bird!
Look how he sits on yonder turret!

Ul.
Well!
Last night I dreamt that that proud stately bird,
My father's gift—meet emblem, as he said,
Of lofty chivalry—was, as he sate
On that same turret, sunning his bright plumes,
Pecked at and done to death by ravening crows
And shrieking vultures. I cried lustily,
Thy bower-women heard me, for my bow
And arrows—

Ida.
But as still befalls in dreams,
They were not to be found. Is't so? A dream
Is but a fragment phantasm; the bright end
Of a rainbow painted on one lowering cloud
While the upper sky is clear.

Ul.
Nay, pr'ythee, listen.
The bow was found; but as I fixed the bolt,
The false string snapt, and the fair bird was slain
Before my eyes. I promise thee, I woke
Trembling with rage, and weeping.

Ida.
Loving boy!

Ul.
And that's not all. Shooting this very day
At one of those vile crows, the bow-string broke
As in that dismal dream.

Ida.
Yet there he sits
Unscathed, the knightly bird!

Ul.
And, Ida! Ida!
My lesson of this morning—Rest thee sure
Some evil will betide! The very task
I conned for Father Cyril—

[A horn is heard without.
Ida.
Hark! A horn!
My father! No! The sound is tremulous,
Wild, and unearthly. His quick spirit sends forth
A bold and stirring blast; keen as his war-cry,
Glad as his summons to the chase. Some sick
Or houseless wanderer passing near our towers—
Enter Otto.
Himself! So pale, and staggering. Take his sword.
Thou art weary, father. Sit thee here.

Ul.
There's blood
Upon the blade. Hast been in battle, father?
Ay, that thou hast, like a good knight, and slain
Thy foe. Why looks he angrily upon me?
To slay in equal fight a stalwart foe
Is a right knightly deed.

Ida.
Take hence the sword,
Dear Ulric, and bring wine.
[Exit Ulric.
Thou art pale, and faint,
And trembling, dearest father. Hath aught ill
Befallen the gentle Princess that thou com'st
Alone? Speak to me. Groan not thus. What grief
Can equal this wild fear! Speak to me. Tell me
Hath any wronged thee?

Otto.
Wronged me, girl! I found them—
I who, for Suabia's paltry coronet,
Placed the Imperial crown on Philip's brow,
Placed it and held it there, prop of his throne,
Champion and victor of a hundred fields!—
I found them wedding Adela, my Adela,
My own affianced bride, to Leopold,
Their enemy and mine.

Ida.
Poor Adela!
And did she wed him?

Otto.
Wed him! I being by!
My good sword in my hand! Ida, there's blood
Upon that sword.

Ida.
Count Calheim? Leopold?

Otto.
No; for he rushed between.

Ida.
Whom wouldst thou say?
Who rushed between ye, father? Who?

Otto.
I did not
Think to have slain him, Ida.

Ida.
Father! father!
Thou know'st what I would say! Thou seest the fear
That quivers in my heart! The Emperor?

Otto.
Why did he rush 'twixt my uplifted sword
And my armed foeman? He as well might seek
To check in its mid-flight the death-winged arrow,
To arrest in its swift path the thunderbolt,
As to stay my keen blade when raised to strike.
It was the will of Heaven, and I the blind
Unconscious instrument. Why should I grieve?
It was ordained above.

Ida.
But is he dead?
Art sure that he is dead? Didst search the wound?

Otto.
Girl, my hand deals no second blow. I tell thee
He came between me and my enemy,
And as a silken scarf, a floating banner,
A garment delicate as thine, I cleft
The ermine. 'Twas the All-Righteous Power that nerved
My arm to smite him in his treachery.
Why weep'st thou, Ida? Change those pallid looks
And those reproachful tears for joyous smiles!
Say, “Thou hast done a noble deed, Count Otto!”
Be wiser than those dames whose puling fears
Trouble our homes.
Re-enter Ulric, with Wine.
Ulric, my boy, be glad!
Laugh! laugh! How knew I where the uplifted blade
Would fall? Be merry.

Ul.
Ida, what hath chanced?
Is he not sick?

Otto.
Be merry! Let me hear
Laughter and jollity.

Ul.
He's angry, Ida.
Father!

Otto.
Ha! wine! Fill high, boy!

Ul.
'Tis a flask
Of the rich Hungarian wine the Emperor sent thee.
Quaff to his health, dear father; to the Emperor;
Thine own dear Emperor, Philip; then another
To the fair Princess Adela.

Ida.
He twists
The barbed arrow in the festering flesh.
Peace, Ulric!

Ul.
Hath the Emperor put on
The haughty master, and forgot to treat
Our father as his friend?

Otto.
Oh, I have slain
My friend and master, Ulric! slain the friend
Of twenty years, whom I have loved and served
Even as a brother. I, who saved his life
Thrice in the battle, who put down his foes,
Whose soul was pledged to his by services
He never could repay, the pledge that binds
Kind hearts to kinder deeds, and giving hands
To gifts more liberal—I, that was his all,
I, to have slain him! 'Tis as though the mother
Should stab the ailing child, that she had watched
By day and night, since the first feeble cry
Told that a child was born! I that was vowed
To him and to my country, not by words
Hollow and false, but deeds, pure shining deeds
That might have been writ i' th' sunbeams, might have stood
I' th' flood of light at noontide white and stainless,
Am black as midnight now. O God! O God!
That on a point of time so brief, that scarce,
The sand wags in the hour-glass hangs man's all,
Life, honour, name, and fame! I am tarnished now,
That was so bright. My sword is dim, my shield
Sullied.

Ida.
Be comforted.

Otto.
Her father, too,
The true, the faithful! Hers!

Ul.
Full surely, Ida,
This Emperor did our father flagrant wrong;
He had not slain him else. Tell me the cause,
Sweet sister.

Ida.
Brave and loving child! Who comes?

Enter Isidore.
Isi.
Count Otto, rouse thee! Arm thyself, Count Otto!
Go head thy vassals; man thy walls; heave up
To the high battlements huge blocks of stone
To hurl upon the foe; heat mighty cauldrons
Of molten lead to pour upon their heads.
There's but a moment's pause 'twixt thee and fate,
And thou art dallying here! Rouse thee! He comes,
Leading the Imperial archers! Calheim comes,
And at his side Revenge. Mine Ida! Ulric!

Ida.
O truest friend! But think on no one now
Save him.

Isi.
Wake from this torpor of despair,
Count Otto! What! must I needs bid thee twice
Make ready for the combat? All's not lost!
Though Calheim come hate-quickened; Faith and Love
Were swifter. Thine old squire and Alf ere now
Have roused thy vassals. Up, and head their bands.
Manned by bold warriors, these strong towers may yet
Hold out 'gainst Calheim's power.

Ul.
They did hold out
In our good ancestor Count Berthold's time,
Five weeks 'gainst the Bohemians, without half
Our cause. Thou'lt see how every man will fight
For thee and Wittelsbach. Even I—Thou'lt see
That I can draw the cross-bow. Shall I call
The Seneschal?

Otto.
My child! Oh, what a joy
Had this been yesterday!

Enter Seneschal.
Sen.
My lord, the vassals,
Armed as 'gainst present danger, throng the courts,
And wait your bidding.

Otto.
Hearken, Seneschal!
Dismiss the vassals straight; let down the drawbridge;
Raise the portcullis; open wide the gates;
And when an armèd foe shall come, as come
He will, and cry, “Yield men of Wittelsbach,”
Resist not; fight not; slay not; but submit.
Give ready entrance; lay aside your arms;
Yield peacefully. 'Tis a hard duty, Seneschal,
But 'tis thy master's last command! Farewell!
Farewell!
[Exit Seneschal.
I, that am lord of these bold hearts,
I, that have led them in a hundred fields,
And now in mine own castle, and afore
My brave boy's face, to bid them veil their crests,
And lay their weapons down! It must be, shall be.
Blood weighs too heavy on my soul already;
I'll spill no more.

Isi.
'Twas the last chance of life.

Otto.
Say rather death prolonged and multiplied.
I'll wait him here.

Ida.
Fly to the cave, dear father!
Thanks, Holy Mary, for that blessed thought!
Fly to the cave! There safety dwells, and hope
Unsullied by a crime.

Isi.
Alas! dear maid!
Calheim approaches. None may quit these walls
Unnoted.

Ida.
But a passage leads beneath
The walls. Count Otto knows it well, unknown
To all save him and them of his high line;—
The entrance is hard by, in yonder turret.
Ye might spend a day upon the winding stair
Ere ye could trace the groove, so quaint and cunning
The workmanship! Well! that dark passage leads,
After long windings, to a spacious cave,
All floored with silver sand, o'er which a spring,
A little sparkling spring wells ceaselessly,
And through the natural brushwood, leafy screen
That veils the cavern's mouth, goes dancing down
The deep ravine. The place is wild and rude;
Far from these towers, from human dwelling far,
Save Margaret's lonely cot.

Isi.
The good old Margaret,
Ulric's fond faithful nurse, she to supply
Food until I can seek them there! Blest chance!
Fly! fly! we waste the hour!

Otto.
Was it thy voice
That counselled flight? Dost think me turned stark coward,
That thou, a knight, shouldst bid me flee, as calmly
As yon fond girl? Ulric, wouldst have thy father
Flee, like a craven recreant?

Ul.
No,

Otto.
My boy!
Hear how he shames thee! Have I not fronted Death
Oft in the battle?

Isi.
Ay, in the battle, Death,
'Twixt Victory and Honour, stalks the field
Triumphant as a bridegroom. But when shame—

Otto.
I can abide it.

Ida.
Oh, in mercy! Hark!
Is it the tread of distant steeds? or is it
My own heart beating? Fly, dear father!

Otto.
Peace!

Isi.
How will thy proud and fiery temper bear
The slow procession through the hustling crowd;
The gaze of hate and scorn; the muttered curse,
Or shriller jest, drowning thy last low prayer?
And then the dismal scaffold; the grim headsman,
His horrid garments stiff with gore; his hands
Red from some recent butchery; he profaning,
With rough, unhallowed grip, thy free-born limbs;
Hacking the spurs of knighthood from thy heels;
Shivering above thy head thy stainless sword;
And trampling under foot the lion shield
Of thy great name. He would not need his axe.
Thy heart would break.

Otto.
Even that I can endure.

Ida.
I hear them now. They come! they come! Oh, father,
Have pity on thy children! Fling not thus
Thy life away.

Isi.
Nor wilt thou fall alone! Hast thou forgot
The cruel law which dooms sons, brethren, kinsfolk—

Otto.
The Ban! the Ban! My boy! A sword!

[Horn without.
Isi.
There blows
Count Calheim's blast of vengeance.

Ida.
Hasten, father!

Otto.
Bless thee, sweet child! Protect her, Isidore!
She may not share our perils. The Ban spares
Her innocent head. My boy! I'll save thee yet,
My valiant boy!

[Exeunt Otto and Ulric.
Ida.
Oh, why not take me with them!
Why leave me here, the prey of torturing fear,
Alone!

Isi.
Am I not with thee?

Ida.
Hark! Again,
Again that trumpet! Watch if they have gained
The turret. I am blind with scalding tears.
But thou may'st plainly view the winding stair
Through the barred loophole. If the door be locked—
I've known it so!—And Calheim must be close
Beneath the Castle wall. Dost see them?

Isi.
No.
Yes, now they pass. There's Ulric's little hand,
His dagger in it. Now Count Otto's plume
Sweeps past the narrow opening. They are gone.

Ida.
They're safe! They're safe! Thanks to All-righteous Heaven!
They've 'scaped the fell destroyer! I can meet him
With a firm heart.