University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

A very beautiful grove in the forest. Music and horns heard afar off, whilst huntsmen and dogs appear passing over the stage, at a great distance. Enter Victoria and Basil, as if just alighted from their horses.
Vict.
(speaking to attendants without).
Lead on our horses to the further grove,
And wait us there.—
(To Bas.)
This spot so pleasing and so fragrant is,
'Twere sacrilege with horses' hoofs to wear
Its velvet turf, where little elfins dance,
And fairies sport beneath the summer's moon:
I love to tread upon it.

Bas.
O! I would quit the chariot of a god
For such delightful footing!

Vict.
I love this spot.

Bas.
It is a spot where one would live and die.

Vict.
See, through the twisted boughs of those high elms,
The sun-beams on the bright'ning foliage play,
And tinge the scaled bark with ruddy brown.
Is it not beautiful?

Bas.
'Tis passing beautiful,
To see the sunbeams on the foliage play,
(in a soft voice).
And tinge the scaled bark with ruddy brown.

Vict.
And here I've stood full often, and admir'd
The graceful bending, o'er that shady pool,
Of you green willow, whose fair sweepy boughs
So kiss their image on the glassy plain,
And bathe their leafy tresses in the stream.

Bas.
And I too love to see its drooping boughs
So kiss their image on the glassy plain,
And bathe their leafy tresses in the stream.

Vict.
My lord, it is uncivil in you thus
My very words with mock'ry to repeat.

Bas.
Nay, pardon me, did I indeed repeat?
I meant it not; but when I hear thee speak,
So sweetly dwells thy voice upon mine ear,
My tongue e'en unawares assumes the tone;
As mothers on their lisping infants gaze,
And catch their broken words. I pri'thee, pardon!

Vict.
But we must leave this grove: the birds fly low:
This should forebode a storm, and yet o'erhead
The sky, bespread with little downy clouds
Of purest white, would seem to promise peace.
How beautiful those pretty snowy clouds!

Bas.
Of a most dazzling brightness!

Vict.
Nay, nay, a veil that tempers heav'n's brightness,
Of softest, purest white.

Bas.
As though an angel, in his upward flight,
Had left his mantle floating in mid air.

Vict.
Still most unlike a garment; small and sever'd:
[Turning round, and perceiving that he is gazing at her.
But thou regardst them not.

Bas.
Ah! what should I regard, where should I gaze?
For in that far-shot glance, so keenly wak'd,
That sweetly rising smile of admiration,
Far better do I learn how fair heav'n is,
Than if I gaz'd upon the blue serene.

Vict.
Remember you have promis'd, gentle count,
No more to vex me with such foolish words.

Bas.
Ah! wherefore should my tongue alone be mute?
When every look and every motion tell,
So plainly tell, and will not be forbid,
That I adore thee, love thee, worship thee!
[Victoria looks haughty and displeased.
Ah! pardon me, I know not what I say.
Ah! frown not thus! I cannot see thee frown.
I'll do whate'er thou wilt, I will be silent:
But, O! a reined tongue, and bursting heart,
Are hard at once to bear.—Wilt thou forgive me?

Vict.
We'll think no more of it; we'll quit this spot;
I do repent me that I led thee here.
But 'twas the fav'rite path of a dear friend;
Here many a time we wander'd, arm in arm;
We lov'd this grove, and now that he is absent,
I love to haunt it still.

[Basil starts.
Bas.
His fav'rite path—a friend—here arm in arm—
(Clasping his hands, and raising them to his head).
Then there is such an one!
(Drooping his head, and looking distractedly upon the ground).
I dream'd not of it.

Vict.
(pretending not to see him).
That little lane, with woodbine all o'ergrown,
He lov'd so well!—it is a fragrant path,
Is it not, count?

Bas.
It is a gloomy one!

Vict.
I have, my lord, been wont to think it cheerful.

Bas.
I thought your highness meant to leave this spot?

Vict.
I do, and by this lane we'll take our way;
For here he often walk'd with saunt'ring pace,
And listen'd to the woodlark's evening song.

Bas.
What, must I on his very footsteps go?
Accursed be the ground on which he trode!

Vict.
And is Count Basil so uncourtly grown,
That he would curse my brother to my face?

Bas.
Your brother! gracious God! is it your brother?
That dear, that loving friend of whom you spoke,
Is he indeed your brother?

Vict.
He is, indeed, my lord.

Bas.
Then heaven bless him! all good angels bless him!
I could weep o'er him now, shed blood for him!
I could—O what a foolish heart have I!
[Walks up and down with a hurried step, tossing about his arms in transport; then stops short, and runs up to Victoria.
Is it indeed your brother?

Vict.
It is indeed: what thoughts disturb'd thee so?

Bas.
I will not tell thee; foolish thoughts they were.
Heav'n bless your brother!

Vict.
Ay, heav'n bless him too!
I have but him; would I had two brave brothers,
And thou wert one of them!

Bas.
I would fly from thee to earth's utmost bounds,
Were I thy brother—
And yet, methinks, I would I had a sister.

Vict.
And wherefore would ye so?

Bas.
To place her near thee,
The soft companion of thy hours to prove,
And, when far distant, sometimes talk of me.
Thou couldst not chide a gentle sister's cares.
Perhaps, when rumour from the distant war,
Uncertain tales of dreadful slaughter bore,
Thou'dst see the tear hang on her pale wan cheek,
And kindly say, How does it fare with Basil?

Vict.
No more of this—indeed there must no more.
A friend's remembrance I will ever bear thee.
But see where Isabella this way comes:
I had a wish to speak with her alone;
Attend us here, for soon will we return,
And then take horse again.

[Exit.
Bas.
(looking after her for some time).
See with what graceful steps she moves along,
Her lovely form, in ev'ry action lovely!
If but the wind her ruffled garment raise,
It twists it into some light pretty fold,
Which adds new grace. Or should some small mishap,
Some tangling branch, her fair attire derange,
What would in others strange or awkward seem,
But lends to her some wild bewitching charm.
See, yonder does she raise her lovely arm
To pluck the dangling hedge-flow'r as she goes;
And now she turns her head, as though she view'd
The distant landscape; now methinks she walks
With doubtful ling'ring steps—will she look back?
Ah, no! you thicket hides her from my sight.
Bless'd are the eyes that may behold her still,
Nor dread that ev'ry look shall be the last!
And yet she said she would remember me.
I will believe it: Ah! I must believe it,
Or be the saddest soul that sees the light!
But, lo, a messenger, and from the army!
He brings me tidings; grant they may be good!
Till now I never fear'd what man might utter;
I dread his tale, God grant it may be good!

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Yes, my lord.

Bas.
What tidings bringst thou?

Mess.
Th' imperial army, under brave Pescara,
Has beat the enemy near Pavia's walls.

Bas.
Ha! have they fought? and is the battle o'er?

Mess.
Yes, conquer'd; ta'en the French king prisoner,
Who, like a noble, gallant gentleman,
Fought to the last, nor yielded up his sword
Till, being one amidst surrounding foes,
His arm could do no more.

Bas.
What dost thou say? who is made pris'ner?
What king did fight so well?

Mess.
The king of France.

Bas.
Thou saidst—thy words do ring so in mine ears,
I cannot catch their sense—the battle's o'er?

Mess.
It is, my lord. Pescara staid your coming,
But could no longer stay. His troops were bold,
Occasion press'd him, and they bravely fought—
They bravely fought, my lord!

Bas.
I hear, I hear thee.
Accurs'd am I, that it should wring my heart
To hear they bravely fought!—
They bravely fought, while we lay ling'ring here.
O! what a fated blow to strike me thus!
Perdition! shame! disgrace! a damned blow!

Mess.
Ten thousand of the enemy are slain;
We too have lost full many a gallant soul.
I view'd the closing armies from afar;
Their close pik'd ranks in goodly order spread,
Which seem'd, alas! when that the fight was o'er,
Like the wild marsh's crop of stately reeds,
Laid with the passing storm. But woe is me!
When to the field I came, what dismal sights!
What waste of life! what heaps of bleeding slain!

Bas.
Would I were laid a red, disfigur'd corse,
Amid those heaps! They fought, and we were absent!
[Walks about distractedly, then stops short.
Who sent thee here?

Mess.
Pescara sent me to inform Count Basil,
He needs not now his aid, and gives him leave
To march his tardy troops to distant quarters.

Bas.
He says so, does he? well, it shall be so.
[Tossing his arms distractedly.
I will to quarters, narrow quarters go,
Where voice of war shall rouse me forth no more.

[Exit.
Mess.
I'll follow after him; he is distracted:—
And yet he looks so wild, I dare not do it.

Enter Victoria, as if frightened, followed by Isabella.
Vict.
(to Isab.)
Didst thou not mark him as he pass'd thee too?

Isab.
I saw him pass, but with such hasty steps I had no time.

Vict.
I met him with a wild disorder'd air,
In furious haste; he stopp'd distractedly,
And gaz'd upon me with a mournful look,
But pass'd away, and spoke not. Who art thou?
(To the messenger).
I fear thou art a bearer of bad tidings.

Mess.
No, rather good, as I should deem it, madam,
Although unwelcome tidings to Count Basil.
Our army hath a glorious battle won;
Ten thousand French are slain, their monarch captive.

Vict.
(to Mess).
Ah, there it is! he was not in the fight.
Run after him I pray—nay, do not so—
Run to his kinsman, good Count Rosinberg,
And bid him follow him—I pray thee run!

Mess.
Nay, lady, by your leave, you seem not well;
I will conduct you hence, and then I'll go.

Vict.
No, no, I'm well enough; I'm very well;
Go, hie thee hence, and do thine errand swiftly.
[Exit messenger.
O what a wretch am I! I am to blame!
I only am to blame!

Isab.
Nay, wherefore say so?
What have you done that others would not do?

Vict.
What have I done? I've fool'd a noble heart—
I've wreck'd a brave man's honour!

[Exit, leaning upon Isabella.