University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Chamber in the Palace of the Earl.—Enter Earl Charles and Thancmar.
THANCMAR.
My liege, I claim my own—say it is true,
That his estate is high beyond compare;
'Twill more exalt the power that can reach him.—
That were a strange conclusion, which should make
The very magnitude of the offence
Its plea for pardon.

EARL.
Tis great minds alone
That can afford so greatly.

THANCMAR.
Therefore, Sire,
The greater danger, if they rest uncheck'd.—

EARL.
True—but Bertulphe has ever served me well,
And has most well deserved.

THANCMAR.
And what of that?
He did his duty; the withholding which
Had been itself a crime:—you see not this;—
And, let your Highness pardon that I say it,
You have so long bent to his towering will,
You now shrink from a struggle to be free.

EARL.
Thancmar, no more of this!—You would enlist
My passions, not my judgment, in your cause.

THANCMAR.
Then to your justice I appeal, my Lord!—
My father, dying, left me gold and lands:—
If any man had stolen these away,
I would an instant restitution claim,
And you allow it. On these lands, my father
Left to me also many Serfs and vassals,
As truly mine as are your subjects yours:—
One out of these escaped—I now have found him,
And claim him back again.

EARL
[sighing.]
It must be so!

THANCMAR.
I claim his children too:—
By your own law, who weds a Serf, becomes
A Serf himself. I claim Bouchard as mine.

EARL.
Forego thus much!

THANCMAR.
Not for the world, my Lord!—
Not for the love I bear your princely person,
To which this man is dangerous. You learn'd
His conduct even now—he braved your power—
He must be made to feel it! That just law
Is publish'd, and its tenor known. If he
Escape it, men will say—and say with truth—
Earl Charles the Good—the just Earl Charles—makes laws
To bind the poor alone; the rich break through them;—
And the poor citizen, who feels its weight,
Will be most foully wrong'd.

EARL.
True, Thancmar,—true!
At least he shall have hearing. Let him be
Cited before us.

THANCMAR.
Think you, he will come?—
No—he will bid you fetch him! Nay, I know
That even now, with all his followers,
He seeks his castle.—I beseech you, sir,
Grant me such force as may command obedience,
And let me bring him hither.

EARL.
Be it so:—
If he defies us thus, he is a traitor,
And must as such be met. But mark me, Thancmar,
I'll have no needless violence;—and if
Upon your summons he submit, conduct him
With such observance as befits a knight,
For he in truth has ever been a brave one.

THANCMAR.
But if he bid defiance to your orders,
I have your licence to enforce obedience
With my best judgment.

EARL.
Yes,—but use it well.

THANCMAR.
I'll use it as befits my Prince's honour—
(Aside.)
I'll use it, as shall serve my own revenge;—
My foot is on him now, and I will crush him!

[Exit.
EARL.
Of all the duties of my busy life,
None ever press'd so heavily upon me!
But justice must maintain an even scale
Though mountains quake, and earth be rent before her.
What should be shall be.
Enter Bertulphe from a private door.
How is this?—Bertulphe!—

BERTULPHE.
'Tis new, my presence should surprise your Highness!

EARL.
How came you hither?

BERTULPHE.
Nay,—that's stranger still!—
Your memory, sir, has undergone much change;
And, I do fear, things that with greater weight
Than these should dwell there, are as much forgotten.
'Twas you who fix'd my dwelling next your own:
And by your own command that door was made,
That your beloved and trusty counsellor
(As you were wont to call him) might have access
At any hour without intruding eyes.

EARL.
Yes—that permission was accorded one
I deemed a Noble, true and honest man.

BERTULPHE.
And what am I?

EARL.
A Serf, whose unmatched boldness
Has deck'd him in the mantle of a prince;
And who, beneath the mask of stolen honours,
Has made his lords his fellows!

BERTULPHE.
Hard, sharp words
From you to me, my liege;—yet I am calm;—
I did not come to rail, but reason with you.
You call me Serf, and, it may be, presume
Some little on the base and abject spirit
You think that name betokens.—Let it pass!—
You call me Serf.—How if I should deny
The slavish word, and tell of noble names
Borne by my father's fathers.

EARL.
'Twere in vain—
I have the proofs of your base parentage
In my possession.

BERTULPHE.
An old dotard's ravings,
Or papers which a cunning foe might forge.

EARL.
Yet good until rebutted.—If indeed
You were born noble, bring the public proofs
Of your ancestral line—their name, their race—
The archives of the land that father'd them.

BERTULPHE.
Playthings for children!—would I stoop to this,
I could buy scores of such—names for them all—
Titles and goodly deeds to deck them too!—
Find cunning scriveners, who, on mouldy parchments,
Should draw my pedigree from Charlemagne,
Or any musty monarch I would name them;—
Nay, I could buy me witnesses as well,
Who should come hither from some distant land
And swear they knew my father,—who should be
Whate'er I chose to call him!—They should tell
Of marks upon my person,—moles and stars,
By which they'd know me.—Tush! my Lord, I have wealth
Would buy all this—ay, buy a score of souls
To damn themselves to serve me—if I would!

EARL.
Bertulphe, however low thy parentage,
Thy soul was cast in such a noble mould
As won my love—more than thy services.
Thou hast a high and chivalrous spirit in thee
That could not stoop to baseness.—No, Bertulphe,
Thou couldst not do these things!

BERTULPHE
[warmly].
I thank your Highness!
You judge me well—indeed I could not do them;
And yet I thank your good opinion of me.—
I come to bring you proof that I deserve it.—
I need not tell you, sir, I have some power
In friends and wealth, that, did I will to use them,
Would hold me strong against you,—would I stain
My pure unsullied honour with rebellion.—
That will I never! I will but remember
We have been friends, and that my heart retains
So fondly still that early cherish'd love,
I cannot think it banish'd from your own.—
Sir, I am come to counsel with your friendship.

EARL.
I like not this beginning. Yet proceed.

BERTULPHE.
Then to my friend I freely will confess
If e'er my house was noble,—which in truth
It may have been long since—but if it was,
'Twas all forgotten ere my father's birth.
He was a Serf—and yet so good a man,
It were my shame if I should blush to own him.—
But though I was his son—My lord! My lord!
I see your darkening brow! It grieves me much
That I must then remind you what you owe
My father's son. Your proud and ancient line
Had miss'd their representative in you
But for the aid of my Serf father's child!

EARL.
I own your merits, and have paid them well;
Nor least in this,—that you are placed so high,
You dare thus boldly question with your prince.

BERTULPHE.
Forgive me!—I was wrong—I had forgot
That I must sue for—not demand your grace.
Beseech you pardon me:—the sins of state
Have got some hold on me; I have been proud,
And play but ill the beggar's part at first.

EARL.
Thou find'st the recompense thy pride has brought!
Thus every springing sin bears in its seed
The germ of retribution. Thine ambition,
That first did tempt thee to o'erleap thy state,
Has been thy guide;—till now its fatuous light
Proves thy destruction. Though I pity thee,
I cannot aid.

BERTULPHE.
Pity, but cannot aid!

EARL.
Such were my words.
Wert thou my Serf, I would enfranchise thee;
But, being another's, he must rule thy fate.—
Justice has no alternative.

BERTULPHE.
His Serf!—
Justice!—Thancmar my fate! Hear this, great Heaven!
And 'tis for this I have debased myself!—
Humbled my lips to accents of entreaty
For this!—Thou man without a heart!—Thy justice!
Thou know'st not justice, save by the cold name—
A heathen worshipper of a fair image
That bears indeed the outward show of beauty,
But lacks the inward sense that marks the god!—
Stone—stone to the heart!

EARL.
What means this daring speech?
Within, there! ho! a guard!—Here's treason, sirs!

Bertulphe
[seizing him by the arm.]
Earl Charles, another word and 'tis thy last,
For I am desperate! You would expose me!—
Make me the gossip of your menials' tongues!
There's such a maddening frenzy in my soul,
I lose my purpose. But beware, Earl Charles!
If there is treason in me, I have yet
Enough of vigour in this trembling arm—
Enough of fire within this burning brain
To make me dangerous!—Ah me! ah me!
I am a very wretched, weak old man,
With all my thoughts entangled!—There was something
I would have said—and now it flash'd upon me—
And now again 'tis gone: the few last hours
Have piled a heap of years upon my head!

EARL.
Bertulphe, I pardon thee thy folly,—speak,
And I will listen still; and think the past
As it had never been. Thou art not thyself,—
Collect thee.

BERTULPHE
[subdued.]
'Twas my child! Sir, I came here
Arm'd, as I thought, in coldness and in pride—
But that one word unmans me. My poor child—
My daughter!—she has been so fondly nursed,
And life for her made such a rosy path,
This blow will kill her! Sir, you know her fair
And young—you may have heard too she is good;—
But all your knowledge, or your fondest fancy,
Could never tell how dear she is to me!
Forgive me—I cannot.

EARL.
Calm thyself! What of thy daughter?

BERTULPHE.
'Twere weak to say that I have lived for her:
But in whatever I have served your Highness,
Which has been something, I beseech you think
Yourself her debtor. Oh, my Lord—my Lord!
You would not give, to feed a loathsome canker,
The only flower that decks my lonely garden!

EARL.
What would you ask?

BERTULPHE.
But little for myself:
Yet, for my daughter's sake, I would extend
My prayer for leave to seek some foreign land,
With means to bear us honourably there,—
And we will be the rest to one another.
I might ask more, yet I ask only this—
A few short months—and I shall be at rest;
And all my fault, if 'twas a fault, die with me.—
You hesitate! I have demean'd me, sir,
To such an humble prayer as never yet
My lips did utter, save to Heaven: yet hear me,
And I will not repent my abject phrase.
But if, untouch'd, thou still shalt drive me from thee,
Then my despairing curse shall ever stand
'Twixt thee and mercy; and, when thou wouldst pray,
Stifle thy cry ere it can reach to Heaven.

EARL.
Still threatening! Did I give my judgment up
Into my passion's guidance, thou wouldst make me
Thy foe, though purposed to be thy friend;—
But I have pardon'd much, and pardon this;
And, though thou think'st I bear a heart of stone,
I have so much compassion on thy grief,
My pity, and remembrance of thy service,
Shall warp thus far the line of rigid justice:—
Two days are thine;—bestow you as you will—
Go where you will—no man shall question you.
But mark! that term expired, and thou in Flanders,
Thyself must bear the consequence.

BERTULPHE.
Content!
I will not say I thank you: 'twere too much
To give a mockery of thanks for exile;
But I will learn to think less hardly of you,
And pray to Heaven you may find other servants
As faithful as I was; and with no taint
Of blood to drive them from you. Fare you well!—
No, not your hand, my Lord! It has been taken
In friendship often—I'll not now pollute it!
I cannot yet forget that you have made me
The victim of a most ungracious law:—
Yet 'tis a law—the worse for those who stay
To suffer under it. My Lord, farewell!

[Exit.
EARL.
Proud to the last! Oh! thou capricious nature,
That such a lofty soul should spring so basely!
They lose the most who lose so brave a spirit—
Not thou who bearest thy native worthiness
To hallow still thy home in any land.

[Exit.