University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A splendid apartment in Wallenberg's palace.
A Banquet seen through arches in the back ground.
Music.
(Wallenberg rushes from the Banquet-room with distracted gesture.)
Wall.
Break off your minstrelsy.
[Music ceases.
And must I love her?
And must this maddening pulse and feverish heart
Beat for her still? for her—Can it be love?
Hate's fellest throe were luxury to this!
I could rend out the veins that throb for her;—
I could on mine own heart fix suicide's fangs,
So they defaced that form it dares to cherish!
“I dream'd that I had torn her from my bosom;
“I dream'd—I knew not that it was Urilda:—
“I woke, and found her there.
“I feel her in her prostrate beauty still,
“Her cold hands twined in mine,—her marble lip
“Like that o'er which no breath of life e'er thrill'd;
“The stony fixture of the unpleading eye,
“When hope's last light is quench'd—that gazes on
“The fearful eloquence of convulsed limbs,
“Whose writhings speak what the choak'd tongue denies.
“Away! 'tis folly—vile and loathed folly!—
“I will upon my proud rebellious heart
“Lay the keen stripe of each remember'd wrong,
“And lash it like a lion into madness.”
Did she not spurn me?—That I could forgive.
Did she not shrink from me, as never maiden
From wooer shrunk?—Even that I could forgive.
Has she not dared to love another?—
And can a lover pardon that?—No, never!
My lips can utter “never!” maiden, too—
And I can feel that stern, immortal purpose—
That iron thought—that wall of adamant—
That never of the soul, divorcing hope,
And stamping fate upon futurity.

Enter Berthold hastily.
Bert.
How hast thou fared—is Adelmar secured?

Wall.
My fierce and wayward mood hath crossed my will (sullenly)
.
I had upon her fearing credulous heart
Wrought the nice work of art,—she would have fled
To the earth's verge for hope and Adelmar—
“She bless'd me,—then I pitied her:—she kiss'd
“My dooming hand, that trembled in her grasp.”
Then rush'd that raving dotard from his nook—
His cunning madness foil'd the hopeful snare,—
My mood was stirr'd—I cursed them, and I parted.—
Do the next feat of wily mischief, thou;
I hate, and curse,—but thou canst curse, and smile!

Bert.
(derisively)
Yea—such a smile as I can spare thee now—
Thou, who canst let even spleen defeat thy vengeance!

Wall.
“I was a fool! with sullen spleen I own it.
“Chide not, or thou may'st feel the wrath thou mockest!
“E'en from my boyhood did I loathe the hand
“That proffer'd me a kindness—my soul's pride
“Had rather met a scorn it could revenge:—
“Yet I did love,—at that proud maiden's feet
“I flung the heart she tramples on. She knew not
“'Twas on the adder's slumbering pride she trod.
“I hate her!—Need I seek another cause—”

Bert.
(looking round)
Hush! hush! she comes to seek thee—linger not—
Thy passion will break forth, and mar mine art.
(More eagerly)
She shall unto thy bent and thrilling ear
Own all her father's crime!

Wall.
She did—I heard it.

Bert.
She shall unto thy headsman's bloody stroke
Yield the white throat of Adelmar—yea, bless thee,
—In credulous woman's fond unconsciousness—
For that thy hand doth speed the stroke of death.

Wall.
Ay—let him perish—let me see him perish!
My stormy mood would burst thy puny toils,
Albeit I need them.—Weave thy web alone,
But look thou wind it fast and dark around her.
(Looking out towards her.)
Thou, whom I know not if I loathe or love,—
Who mak'st me tremble with unnamed sensation,—
Whom I could clasp, or curse, embrace, or stab;
Round whom I could, like the dark serpent, fold,
To twine, and—ha! to crush thee!

[Rushes out.
Enter Urilda; she approaches, without knowing Berthold, who has turned away from her, and addresses him as a domestic of Wallenberg.
Uril.
Turn, turn—in mercy turn, my gracious friend!
A wretched suppliant to thy lord's high presence
Would win admittance by thy gentle ministry,—
Heaven, in thy soul's last need, so deal with thee,
As thou dost speed my boon!

Bert.
(turning on her)
What wouldst thou, maiden?

Uril.
(screaming with horror at his sight)
Ah! Berthold!—Serpent! have I trod on thee?
And art thou twining round the mercy-seat
I fled to cling to?—Mercy is not there—
Forgive, forgive me! (changing.)
I must plead to thee—
Thou hast not eat Fredolfo's bread to curse it—
Thou hast not known Fredolfo's heart to pierce it!
(Approaching nearer to him.)
The blessing of his roof is on thee still,
Its holy air hangs round thee, and I feel it—
The sweet breeze of the valley breathes on me!
Friend,—servant of my father—spurn me not—
The daughter of thy master bends to thee!

Bert.
(aside)
Love knows no luxury like this!
(Turning to her)
Beshrew me,
Fair damsel, but thy sad plight pities me.—
Alone—untended—with dishevell'd locks!
And did the nice Urilda, all regardless (irony)

Of her state's pride, and of her maiden fame,
Traverse at midnight the deserted streets,
To woo the audience of a feverish reveller,
All too susceptive of fair maiden's charms?

Uril.
Thou speak'st in mockery—hadst thou e'er a father?
I fear'd for one—I know no other fear!

Bert.
Thy father's life hangs trembling on these moments:—
Speak! wouldst thou save him?

Uril.
(with emotion)
Would I?—

Bert.
Sign this scroll,
And Adelmar, ere midnight, with strong arm
Shall burst thy father's fetters—sign this scroll!

Uril.
Give it me—but, oh! Berthold, glare not on me—
Why must my hand thus beckon him to danger?—

Bert.
The question mocks my patience!—Will he trust
Aught but thy hand?
Would it beseem the governor of Altdorf
To break the chains of an arraigned murderer?
Does it beseem the daughter of Fredolfo
To pause, when her sole touch can burst those chains?
Would Adelmar obey the Austrian's bidding?
Will Adelmar reject Urilda's call?

Uril.
Give me the paper!
(She snatches the paper, then shrieks at seeing the horrid change in his expression.)
Canst thou betray me—canst thou?—
Say that thou wilt not—speak, but look not on me!

Bert.
Have I not said?

Uril.
Swear—swear!

Bert.
And by what power?

Uril.
(with fervent agony)
Swear by that Heaven who saw a father's crime;—
That Heaven who sees a daughter's broken heart;—
That Heaven who sees the tortured and the perjured;—
That Heaven who on my crush'd and whirling brain
Hath flash'd a horrid light—swear, this instant swear!

Bert.
(with the utmost affected coldness)
Why, here's a coil to win thee to thy will.—
I care not—I—to bear such thankless office—
The sorry meed of fond officious virtue—
In faith I am too pitiful, and patient!
(Increasing his assumed indifference as he watches her increasing agony.)
The hours are waning; life wanes fast with them:—
The beam of morn may gild a bloody scaffold.
(She staggers towards him.)
Sign an' thou wilt—hold! that is not the paper—
Thou'st seized my garment's hem!

Uril.
(madly)
Give me the paper!
There! there!
(She snatches the paper and signs her name.)
Thou hast it now—thou hast me, Berthold!
(Attempting to snatch the paper.)
But if—oh, no—I will not think.

Bert.
(detaining the paper)
Thou must
—In this dread moment of thy utmost fate—
Be more than Nature's woman,—think and act.

Uril.
(Resolutely.)
I will!

Bert.
And can'st thou?

Uril.
And I can!

Bert.
Away then!
Sit by thy father with a patient smile,—
Win o'er the weary hours with constant talk,—
And when the prison-bell o'er vault and dome
Booms its deep sound, startling the wretch that sleeps not,
Rouse all thy courage at thy utmost need,
For then will be a need to try that courage.
[Urilda rushes to him in an agony of gratitude.
Away, and save thy father!

Uril.
I must bless thee!

[Rushes out.
Bert.
(Following her with a wild laugh.)
How weak a thing is woman, when she loves!—
How fierce a thing is woman, when she hates!—
Enter Wallenberg and Officer.
I have—I have it—in my hand I grasp it—
The doom of Adelmar!—Urilda seal'd it.

Wall.
Away! begone, and find him—should he 'scape!—

Bert.
Fear not—I've watch'd his steps—he is at hand,
With all his desperate band still prompt and restless—
They want but this— (the paper)
and they, ere long, shall have it.

Offi.
Shall we not toll the bell, and give the alarm?

Wall.
Toll for thy knell, if that thou dare to touch it!
[Throwing off his fierceness, and assuming a malignant caution.
On, slave!—but steal with an assassin's tread.—
The mother, to whose breast he smiling clung
In life's young morn, when life is loveliest,
Felt not his weal more dear than Wallenberg!
No hand must be upon him—he is mine!
Not worlds shall buy his heart-drops' priceless ransom.
Before her eyes—and summon'd by her hand—
Then,—then,—to see him writhe—and hear her shriek—
Oh! let me drain that last rich draught of vengeance,
Then—fling the cup away!

[Rushes out, followed by Berthold and Officer.