University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Sweno's Hall.
[SWENO, REYNALD and others.]
SWENO
We do admit thy claims, but some short space
Crave ere the accomplishment. A troublous star
Lowers o'er our house: we lack the pulse of joy
For bridal revels.—I fear my child had framed
Some hopes which must prove vain; but Sweno's daughter
Will know what fits her station.

[Enter Attendant.]
ATTENDANT.
Ubald craves
Admittance.

SWENO.
By your leave.

(Reynald and others fall back to the further end of the stage.)
SWENO,
(alone.)
Wo to who rears
The tyger's young! and yet I love thee, Ubald.
[Enters Ubald.]
Be welcome, Ubald! Sweno's hall is open
To all his knights; to none, than thee, more freely.

UBALD.
There was a time, nor is it long by-gone—
An hour or two perchance—when Sweno's hall
Was open to his son—his foster'd son,
Who, from life's earliest dawn to manhood, knew
No other sire;—nor now.—Dost thou disclaim me?

SWENO.
Would that thou wert my son! Brave youth, this heart
Would leap to see my crest and gallant bearings
With all the honors that my house has earn'd
Worn by mine issue. 'Tis the curse of fate
A stranger shall gird Sweno's sword, a stranger
Lord o'er this princely fief, when I depart,
The last male of my race. I would give half
My wealth thou wert my son.

UBALD.
It hath pleased God
To shroud the fountain of my birth, perchance
For some unpurged offence. And yet methinks,
If there be one upon this lower earth
To whom it stands reveal'd, that should be Sweno.

SWENO.
Ha! how say'st thou?

UBALD.
I say, it should be Sweno.
Why didst thou rear me as thy child, if baseborn?
The lion brings not to his tawny mate
The jackall's cub. O Sweno, I adjure thee
By the one hope I harbour this side heaven,
Unveil my secret birth.

SWENO.
Am I a prophet,
Ubald? Hath not this morn too much reveal'd
Of thy sad story?

UBALD.
Nothing! I stand alone,
Sever'd from every tie, but such as bind me
To thee and thine. My birth is wrapt in gloom
Thick as the inaccessible cloud, which hides
The shrine upon the peak of Caucasus.

SWENO.
Ubald, when first I saw thee, thou wert smiling,
A helpless infant, upon Bertha's bosom.
The fearless smile craved pity. From that hour
(For we esteem'd thee sprung of gentle stock)
Thou hast lack'd nothing, which a parent's fondness
Could lavish on the heir of all his fortunes.
Like a king's issue hast thou been upbrought
With every princely gift; and last, not lightest,
The boon of knighthood.

UBALD.
Sir, that debt is written
Here with indelible characters, and claims
The service of this arm till death.

SWENO.
O Ubald,
I have e'en loved thee like an anxious father;
And thou hast fill'd that void in my affections
Which nature left, denying me a son.
Now haply it behooves me cast thee from me
Adown the vale of life, seeing (though late)
That thou hast clomb unto this lofty nest
From such a lowly and disgracious forlune.
But still I love thee, and will uphold thy knighthood
At no mean cost; but higher hopes are wreck'd
By thy base origin.

UBALD.
O thou dost not, canst not,
Believe it, Sweno!—It is false as hell;
The tongue that did avouch it is accurst.

SWENO.
Ubald, intemperate wrath does ill become
Thy present station. Be of humbler strain!
We are to blame, who have uprear'd thy youth
In boisterous license. Think, what now befits thee.

UBALD.
It fits me, sir, to guard with jealous honor
The rights you gave me; nor will I renounce
Of those one smallest title, while I gird
This sword of knighthood, which departs not from me,
Save in the grasp of death. Were my race abject,
As the blood cries within me it is noble,
I have earn'd that, in perilous fields of fame,
Which doth outshine the best and loftiest birthdom,
A soldier's rank. Upon thy pledged word
I claim my prize, the hand of Agnes.—Start not,
'Tis truth; there lives not in this realm of Jutland
Who can deny my right.

SWENO.
I—Sweno—tell thee,
I, I, would plunge this sword, my father's weapon,
Like he of Rome, into my daughter's bosom,
Abolishing with her each joy of age,
Ere she should soil by such a foul alliance
The blood of my fore-elders.

UBALD.
It is false;
It were no stain to wed with Ubald. Hark ye,
Sir—fearless I assert—mark well my words—
Thou canst not, durst not, Sweno, for thine honor,
Uphold that wizzard's tale.

SWENO.
Nay, by my sword,
Her proofs admit not doubt or question.

UBALD.
O monstrous! By that self-same speech convicted
Thou wert a murderer. Ay, start now, and learn
What 'tis to have the jewel of thy life
Hang on a traitor's proof!

SWENO.
Boy, thou art frantic.

UBALD.
By heaven, I am calm; I speak the things I know,
And I embrace with juster apprehension
Their form and bearings, than thou dost. Take me with thee,
I do not charge on thee that damning guilt;
Here I discard the thought, as loathsome treason
Gender'd in hell. But, if her speech were true,
Thine hate has robb'd me of a princely father.
She speaks; not I. Her voice cries loud for vengeance.
Thou canst not heap her tale upon my head,
And not take home to thine that charge of murder.

SWENO.
What ho!
(Reynald, &c. come forward.)
Sirs, we are bearded in our hall;
The whelp, which we have nurtured, turns upon us
With rabid fang. Thus from our love we cast him!
Base-born, away! we brook not thy rash words.

UBALD,
(drawing his sword.)
Say'st thou? And yet I have no sire but thee.
No other tongue had scorn'd me thus, and lived!
No other eye upon my fallen fortunes
Had glared, as thine does now! I will not harm thee.
Thou, Reynald, thou whose bold pretensions
Assail my rights, stand forth. Let heaven decide
Which be the better and the nobler champion.
Thou didst erewhile defy me unto death.

REYNALD.
I did; and thy bold arm eschew'd the cartel
Even in the shelter of a woman's bower.
That arm perhaps is abject as thy birth.

UBALD,
(fighting.)
Thus—thus—we shall be quickly weigh'd.

SWENO,
(interposing.)
Stand back!
I do forbid the challenge. Lay hands on him. (The Knights interpose with drawn swords.)

We have been far too mild; but Sweno's presence
Shall not be braved. Our will is thus determined;
To-morrow, Reynald, thou shalt wed our daughter.
But if thou wieldest sword or lance before,
We cast thee from our love. (To UBALD.)

Thou, sir, begone.
We would not willingly let thee down the wind;
But thou, unruly tarsel, quitt'st thy perch
To strike too high a quarry. Lead him forth.

UBALD
Which is the vassal will lay hands on Ubald?—
I quit thee, Sweno.—Thou hast done me wrong,
Which haply should wipe out the memory
Of all I owe thee:—but it is not so.
Thou, haughty Reynald, mark me. It were safer
To take the fleshless and abhorred death
To be thy mate, than lay the hand of power
Upon mine Agnes.

[Exit.
REYNALD.
Faith, thou bear'st thee nobly;
And I could prize thee rather in its ebb,
Than brook the rash flow of thy better fortune.

SWENO.
We do desire the Lady Agnes' presence.
[Exit Attendant.
Reynald, I am much moved. This headstrong youth
Has part in my affections, and my daughter
Regards his worth too highly: if she bewail him,
We must be brief, and use authority,
Though it sound harsh. (Enters AGNES.)
(SWENO, embracing her.)

My child!

AGNES.
My gracious sire!

SWENO.
Thou art pale, and yet, believe me, child, I love thee
As my best hope on earth.—Said I my best?
My only hope!

AGNES.
Ever my own kind father!

SWENO.
I have no son. A son is to his father
A mirror, in the which his aged eyes
May read their image; ay, a magic mirror,
Which doth give back himself, his form and likeness,
Even in the pride and semblance of his youth!—
Thou would'st speak, but the inarticulate sound
Dies on thy lips.

AGNES.
Sir—Something I would say,
But it might savor of presumptuous wishes
To think a worthless maiden could reflect
Ought of her father's virtues, in whom the mould
Of nature's noblest pattern is most perfect:
Yet gazing on them, living in the shine
Of all thy glories, something my thoughts must borrow
From thine high attributes; and store it here,
As the pale ineffectual orb of night
Drinks the sun's lustre.

SWENO.
I do esteem thee, Agnes,
Worthy thy blood; one in whom gentle pleasance
With loftier thoughts is wedded! born to grace
Thy noble lord and rear his princely issue
To wear our dignities.

AGNES.
Sir?

SWENO.
We lack an heir
To bear them worthily. Behold the Knight
Whose unmatch'd prowess we have this day chosen,
To uphold our race. Thou art a bride to-morrow.

AGNES.
Say not unmatch'd—O, sir, you are too hasty. (Kneeling.)

Pray you, recall that speech! 'Twas but yestre'en
You said, my lord must stand in arms unrivall'd;
I do take sanctuary on those thy words,
The altar of thy truth.

SWENO.
And so he does.

AGNES.
O father, I address me to your justice!
I will not plead, as other maids are used,
The dreamings of the fancy. I adjure thee
By thine own blood which throbs within this heart,
Do not that wrong! for Ubald is the victor.
And if that strange tale (false perchance) have thrown
A shade upon his fortunes, and ta'en from him
The sunshine of thy favor, let me bide
E'en as I am, thine own, thy loving handmaid!
Or if that be too blessed, and his fall
Must marr my joys and cast me forth from thee,
O let me in some barren cloister chew
The bread of solitude, but do not curse me
With such worse thraldom!

SWENO.
Daughter, thou offendest.
Thou sinn'st against thy name. I bid thee purge
The avenues of thy thoughts, and from that bosom
Pluck the foul image which is nurtured there
With all its baseness. Gods! shall Sweno's child
Stoop to a beggar's wooing?—Leave my cloak.

AGNES.
Say not to-morrow, father!

SWENO.
Loose me! rise!
The valiant Reynald has my word. Receive him,
As fits thee, courteously.
(Going, while she stretches her arms to follow him.)
I bid thee stay.

[Exit SWENO, &c. Manent AGNES, REYNALD.]
AGNES.
My father!—He has left me.—Now, good angels,
Arm me with strength. I will embrace my shroud
Ere I prove faithless.

REYNALD.
This hand, midst war's alarums,
Has purchased honor in the hazardous field
At my life's hourly venture; but the frown
Of lovely woman I am ill wont to strive with.

AGNES.
There is no strife between us, sir.—What mean you?
I wear my temper evenly, as fits
The daughter of a prince; if thou hast cause
Of strife, declare it.

REYNALD.
No cause, fair Agnes,
Saving such war, as oft-times is the herald
Of gentle love. Permit . . .

(He offers to take her hand.)
AGNES.
Touch me not, sir!
I may not brook thy freedom.

REYNALD.
On my knee . . .

AGNES.
Go to, go to; I take no fallen champion,
No knight whose sword is broken. I commend you
Unto that Syrian princess whom you rescued!
You soar too high.

REYNALD.
Ha! Dost thou scorn me, lady?

AGNES.
Hast thou ne'er heard, how they of heathendom
Stood back in awe, before the livid corse
Which to their gods was consecrate by lightning?
E'en such am I; amid the joys of youth
Struck by the angry bolt of heaven, and will
Henceforth hold fellowship with nothing earthly.
I do embrace the altar, and will rather
Wear out my years in solitary penance
Than wed with thee.

[Exit.
REYNALD.
'Tis strange; this baseborn churl
Spreads an infectious rashness. Scornful maid,
This may be rued; for thou perforce art mine
In all thy flood of beauty, and must bend.
This splendid heritage outweighs thy love.

[Exit.