University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Bower in the Castle Garden.
Enter Ida, followed by Count Rodolph.
IDA.
My lord, I pray you follow me not thus.
I would be private.

RODOLPH.
Nay, fair lady, hear me.

IDA.
Not now. There are occasions better suited—

RODOLPH.
What can suit better for a lover's purpose
Than this sequester'd bow'r?—By this fair hand—

IDA.
What means this freedom, sir?

RODOLPH.
Why thus obdurate?

IDA.
My lord, I do implore you leave me.

RODOLPH.
How!
Leave you?

IDA.
I would be mistress of my thoughts
And of myself.

RODOLPH.
Allow me, ma'am, to tell you,
No lady but yourself could have the pow'r
To make me stoop to supplicate an audience.

IDA.
My lord, 'tis a pre-eminence I court not.

RODOLPH.
Permit me to observe, those scornful airs
Are misapplied. Count Rodolph is a man
Who feels his dignity—

IDA.
I would he were
As fully sensible of the respect
Due to a woman's feelings.

RODOLPH.
I presume
You have forgotten, madam, that to-morrow
Gives me a husband's right—

IDA.
I know no right
To-morrow can confer, which justifies
The threat those words convey. But know, my lord,
Whatever claims to-morrow may bring with it,
To-day I'm mistress of myself. Your lordship
Is too well-bred to need another hint.

RODOLPH.
Yes, haughty madam, yes, I understand you.
'Tis now your turn. But, madam, recollect
To-morrow—then my turn will come. You see
I can give hints too.—So, 'till then, farewell!

[Exit.
IDA.
Thank heav'n, he's gone!—Was ever such assurance?
A thing like him to threaten, talk of rights!
It was not such a mockery of man,
Who at the peril of his life sav'd mine.
No, bravest of thy sex, and, since none witness
My fond confession, save the heav'nly spirits
Who read my thoughts—the loveliest—the most lov'd!
Oh! say, why should'st thou veil thy high desert,
Why thus in rude concealment shroud the worth,
Which might adorn and dignify a throne!

Enter Herman.
HERMAN.
Lady, if once again—

IDA.
How! my deliverer!

HERMAN.
If I deserve that title, I possess
Honour more vast than monarchs can bestow.
Ah loveliest of thy sex! to see thee thus,
To think my arm contributed to save
Thy matchless beauties from impending fate,
Is in itself a pleasure so extatic,
I hardly dare to wish for more. And yet
There is a boon I fain would crave—

IDA.
If't be
Within my pow'r, command it.

HERMAN.
Lady, do not
Deem me too bold, if, when my soul is fill'd
With ardour to deserve thy fair opinion,
I crave thy leave thus, in the sight of heav'n,
To dedicate myself to thy blest service:
That, by thy pow'rful influence sustain'd,
Success may crown my efforts, and return me
More worthy of thy favour. When I'm gone—

IDA.
When thou art gone!—Ah! wherefore would'st thou go?

HERMAN.
To cast away the slough, that now defiles
Whate'er of good is in me; to become
Such as a man of honour ought to be.

IDA.
I understand you, sir; I now perceive
That I conjectur'd rightly. Thou art not
What thy exterior shews, a peasant swain.

HERMAN.
I am not.

IDA.
What then, sir, is thy condition?

HERMAN.
I'm for the present bound to secrecy.
A time may come—

IDA.
This is the only time—
Ere this to-morrow, faith, religion, duty
Will doom me never to behold thee more.

HERMAN.
What fatal myst'ry lurks beneath those words?

IDA.
Another then will have a claim upon me—
A husband's claim—

HERMAN.
Support me, heav'nly pow'rs!
A husband, say'st thou?—Oh recal that word!
Rack not my tortur'd heart!—By heav'n! 'twere mercy
To die thus at thy feet, rather than live,
And see thee wedded to another!

IDA.
Rise—
This is no time in vain disguise to lose
The only moments I may call mine own.—
Thou'st said thou'rt not a peasant swain—

HERMAN.
I have.

IDA.
I do believe thee firmly. What thy rank,
And who thou art, thou'st cause not to reveal?

HERMAN.
I'm bound to secrecy by a firm promise.

IDA.
Conjecture then is free. I've found thee noble,
And I will think thee all that I would have thee.
Know then, I'm menac'd with a fate more cruel
Than that from which thy valour rescued me.
To-morrow sees me wedded to a man
Whom my whole soul detests. Alone, defenceless,
My only guardian resolute to force
An union so repugnant to my feelings,
I brood o'er my distresses 'till distraction
To desperation points. Perhaps I wrong
My sex's honour and mine own, when thus,
Impell'd by dire necessity, I breathe
The secret of my heart; but thou'rt too noble
To abuse my confidence.

HERMAN.
All I can boast
Are honour and untainted faith.

IDA.
Ah! think not
Too lightly of me, if I pass beyond
The rigid bound of female delicacy.
Could'st thou but know what passes in this bosom,
Thy gallant nature would again incite thee
To save me from a fate—

HERMAN.
Tell me the means—
My soul, my ev'ry faculty, are thine.
Task me to all that nature can perform,
Bid me dare perils, rush on sure destruction,
I'll meet it all for thee!

IDA.
Thou hast sav'd my life—
But what is life condemn'd to endless anguish!
Pass but a few brief hours, and Ida's heart
Torn with conflicting agonies will break.
I see thou dost compassionate me—heav'n
Sent thee to succour me in my distress—
Oh save me now from mis'ry worse than death!

HERMAN.
There is but one way—but—

IDA.
Oh guess the rest!
In pity do not force me to say more!

HERMAN.
'Till now I never knew what mis'ry was.
Heav'n opens to my view—resplendent scenes
Of never ending joys my senses dazzle—
An angel bids me seize them as mine own—
But ah! between a hideous gulph expands,
Forbidding all approach.—Oh Arnold! Arnold!

IDA.
Whom call'st thou on?

HERMAN.
I told thee of the promise
By which I'm firmly bound to secrecy.
To him 'tis giv'n. Should I prove false to him,
Can'st thou depend on me? I pray thee grant me
A few short moments—let me fly to him,
Implore him to release me from the bond
That now enchains me—

IDA.
I'll not seek to tempt thee
To break those ties which honour has cemented.
Go, seek thy friend—then think of hapless Ida—
Think that to-morrow—

HERMAN.
Speak it not again—
For life or death I go—farewell—farewell!

[Exeunt severally.