University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The great Hall in the Castle.
Enter Housdorff and Servants.
HOUSDORFF.
Set ev'ry thing in order—so, you're all
Got here to see the trial I perceive.

SERVANT.
There's neither big nor little, man nor boy,
Who has not hurried from his post, to have
A peep at what goes forward. By the mass,
The walls and gates may take care of themselves,
For not a porter nor a centinel
Is left to guard them.

HOUSDORFF.
Silence! Here's the Baron.
Away, away! Be sure to be in readiness,
When order's given, to attend the pris'ner.

[Exeunt Housdorff and Servants.
Enter Baron Stolberg and Count Rodolph.
BARON.
Be pleas'd to take a chair, my lord; we'll probe
This strange mysterious business to the core.— (They sit).

Your lordship must be sensible I feel,
And pretty strongly too, on this occasion;
But I still trust you'll put a fair construction
Upon my niece's conduct. I'm convinc'd
You'll find no censure can attach on her.

RODOLPH.
I'm an indiff'rent judge of these affairs.
The lady Ida may, for aught I know,
Have infinite desert; but certainly
Her manners do appear rather eccentric
To us who've liv'd in courts, and, in her style
Of conversation, sentiments, and conduct,
There's an agreeable rusticity,
A kind of je ne sçai quoi so captivating—

BARON
(rising).
My lord, I understand you; but such sarcasms,
You'll give me leave to tell you, are mistim'd.

RODOLPH.
Not in the least. The thing is quite apparent.

BARON.
Is't so indeed? Well, well, I know you now.

RODOLPH.
I am rejoic'd you do. I should be glad
To hear what great discov'ry you have made.

BARON.
I'll speak more truly of you than your glass does.
You think yourself a most accomplish'd person,
And in your own sphere, in the drawing room,
Among the vain and gilded insects, who
Spread their gay plumes, buzz their unmeaning nothings,
And flutter in the sunshine of court favour,
You may be a distinguish'd personage—

RODOLPH.
That's true—Go on.

BARON.
So much for what you are.
And now for what you are not. You shall never
Marry my niece, sir.

RODOLPH.
There you're wrong again.

BARON.
No, sir, I'm right, and you shall find it so.
I'd have you know my Ida is a girl
Train'd under my own eye—

RODOLPH.
So I should judge
From her improvement.

BARON.
Should you so? Well, well—
We'll settle that affair anon, sir—Housdorff!—
When we have finish'd what we have in hand—
Bring in the pris'ner—You shall find, my lord,
These taunts will not succeed at Stolberg castle.
Enter Herman, Housdorff, Agatha, and Servants.
So—stand aside there—let me look at him.—
A youth—and of an aspect fair and modest—
I should not guess him one mature in guilt,
A midnight ravisher—Mark me, young man—
Thou stand'st before me, charg'd with having forc'd
Thine entrance here, and having borne away
The lady Ida.

HERMAN.
'Twere a weighty charge,
If proof could reach it. Who is't dares accuse me?

RODOLPH.
Dar'st thou deny it? Thou'rt a special fellow
To ask the question, when thou'rt apprehended
In the direct commission of the crime.

BARON.
Pray, who requested you to interfere?

RODOLPH.
To interfere?

BARON
(to Herman).
It matters not, young man,
Who made the charge. What answer hast thou to it?

HERMAN.
Grant that the charge were founded, let me ask
How my conviction of it would affect
The lady or myself?

BARON.
No doubt would rest
On her fair fame; thy portion would be death.

HERMAN
(aside).
To die—with infamy to quit a world,
In which I leave behind me no memorial
Of one good deed to qualify my shame!
'Tis dreadful! But, by dying, to preserve
Ida's fair fame, to vindicate her honour,
With my last breath to champion her renown—
By heav'n! existence has no charms compar'd
With such a death!—My lord, I own the charge.

BARON.
You own it to be true then?

HERMAN.
I have said.

BARON.
How dar'dst thou thus, a youth whose cheek as yet
Scarcely gives signal of well ripen'd manhood,
Provoke my vengeance by a deed so hardy,
That practis'd villainy would start at it?
Tell me—Who art thou? Where is thine abode?

HERMAN.
I stand before thee, to abide the sentence
Which justice may inflict on my offence.
Whate'er it may be, I have made full atonement.
The lady Ida's fame is clear'd; no tongue
Can dare impeach her purity and honour.
Take then my forfeit life, and let the wretch,
Who with his blood confirms her innocence,
Unquestion'd drop into his silent tomb,
Where he and all his miseries may sleep
In deep forgetfulness.

BARON.
Hath mis'ry then
Been the companion of thine early years?

HERMAN.
The past I wish not to recal. What boots it
To talk of one, who soon must cease to be,
And whose inglorious life no splendid deed
From merited oblivion has redeem'd?
I pray thee, let me die as I have liv'd,
Unnotic'd and unknown; and, since for death
Thy sentence goes, this only I implore,
Let not delay enhance its bitterness.

RODOLPH.
That seems a very reas'nable request.
The sooner you comply with it the better.

BARON.
Is this a time for ribbald jesting, sir?
Cannot the gallant firmness of this youth
Move thee to pity? There is that about him
Which strangely touches me, and makes me loth
To pass the sentence of his death.

Enter Ida.
IDA.
His death!
What has he done to merit such a fate?

RODOLPH.
Surely your ladyship can't ask that question.
A fellow who feloniously stole you
When we had left you fast asleep—

IDA.
'Tis false—
He's innocent—I'll swear he is—

BARON.
Nay, nay,
Hasn't he pleaded guilty? His confession
Has clear'd thy reputation.

IDA
(aside).
Gen'rous youth!
Hast thou then sacrific'd thyself for me?
(To the Baron).
—Sir, let me thus, in presence of that heav'n
Which knows my truth, absolve him from offence.
He enter'd not my chamber, he was not
Companion of my flight.

BARON.
Were ye not found
Together in the forest?

IDA.
I confess it;
But he was not the man who led me thither.

RODOLPH.
So, then another was concern'd. Come, madam,
Pray let us hear the fortunate man's name.

IDA.
Peace, wretch! thou'rt ev'ry way below my scorn.
(To the Baron).
—My lord, to you I make appeal. When did I
Speak other than the truth?

BARON.
Thou never did'st.

IDA.
Then, on my soul, that youth is innocent.

BARON.
Tell me then, Ida, on thy truth I charge thee,
Who was th' audacious man who bore thee off?

IDA.
To that I cannot answer.

BARON.
No! Why not?
I'll know it ere we part.— (To Herman)
—Speak thou—Declare
Who thy accomplice was?— (A noise without)
—Ha! What means this?

Enter Arnold hastily.
ARNOLD.
Herman in bonds! Arraign'd too for his life!
Forbear, rash man, thou know'st not what thou dost.
I charge thee, by thy hopes of happiness
Now and hereafter, to respect his life.
Look on him—doth not ev'ry nerve, each drop
Of blood that circulates within thee, thrill
When thou regard'st him?—Take him to thine heart—
He is thy son, thy long-lost Albert—

IDA.
Heav'ns!
His son!— (To the Baron)
—Oh! can you stand unmov'd and hear
That name, so dear, so oft lemented by you?

BARON.
Say, who art thou, who confidently thus
Call'st him my son?

ARNOLD.
My name is Arnold.

BARON.
Whence
Com'st thou, and what thy station?

ARNOLD.
From the forest,
Where a bold troop of bandits call me leader.

RODOLPH.
A proper witness! Seize on him!

ARNOLD.
Beware!
Thou'dst better take a lion by the beard,
Than lay a hand on me.

[Sounds his bugle.
RODOLPH.
Zounds, what a peal!
Enough to burst one's brain.

Enter Banditti.
FINCK.
Here, noble captain;
What is thy pleasure? Shall we seize them all?
Here's one I make my pris'ner. He appears
As if he'd ransom handsomely—

[Seizes the Count.
RODOLPH.
Keep off!
Lay not thy beastly paws upon me, fellow!

FINCK.
Beastly! I scorn the word.—Say it again—

ARNOLD.
No more—Release him—Keep a guard without;
I'll give the signal, if I want your aid.
[Exeunt Banditti.
You see I came prepar'd. My lord, your castle
Is in our hands, and you are in our pow'r.
Fear not we shall abuse it. But, my lord,
Since you refuse me credit, you shall have
A stronger witness. Did you know Count Walstein?

BARON.
What right hast thou to ask?

ARNOLD.
That of his son.

BARON.
Of Walstein—of the man whose vengeful hate
Had wrought my fall, had not his plans recoil'd
On his own head, and driv'n him with disgrace
To pass in some obscure recess that life
His crimes had justly forfeited?

ARNOLD.
Of him,
Of Walstein, whom you character too truly,
Behold th' unhappy son. From Presburg driv'n,
Here, in the neighb'ring forest, he took refuge,
His anguish heighten'd to despair, his soul
Fost'ring revenge against mankind and thee.
Soon a congenial troop of wild banditti
Obey'd him as their chief; but incomplete
Remain'd the vengeance he had vow'd 'gainst thee,
'Till from his slumb'ring nurse he stole thy son.

BARON.
I know not what to think—Too well I knew
He was my mortal foe—But thou, thou had'st
No cause to hate me. If thou knew'st the secret,
How could'st thou trifle with a father's pangs,
And doom me thus to years of hopeless anguish?

ARNOLD.
I was prepar'd, my lord, to meet your censure.
Now grant me patience, while I state the cause
That led me thus, against my better nature,
Not to divulge it. On the couch of death
My father first disclos'd to me the secret
Of Herman's birth. His trembling hand was lock'd
In mine, as thus he solemnly address'd me.
“As thou would'st 'scape a dying father's curse,
“Swear that to Stolberg thou wilt ne'er reveal
“Th' existence of his son; so shall my hate
“Survive me, so shall my revenge be full.”
I shudder'd as he spoke, but I obey'd him.
Too long my guilty vow have I fulfil'd;
But now the hand of heav'n itself impels me
To shield him from destruction, and save thee
From the commission of a crime, from which
Nature recoils.

BARON.
I know not how to doubt thee.

RODOLPH.
I'd have your lordship be upon your guard.
The whole may be a history trumpt up
Between these fellows, to impose on you.
I would require some further evidence.

BARON.
Hear'st thou, sir, what he says? In such a case,
Some proof, some token of identity
May doubtless be produc'd—

AGATHA.
Oh the good saints!
The truth I see will out. The poor dear baby—
It breaks my heart to think on't—was stol'n from me,
When I had left it playing in the grove;
And as, in the first moment of my fright,
I laid his loss to some wild rav'ning beast,
I ne'er had courage to confess the truth.
By the same token, on his wrist he bore
A bloody arrow's mark.

HERMAN
(baring his arm).
Behold it here.

BARON.
Come to my arms! Thou art indeed my son!

HERMAN.
Thus on my knees let me receive thy blessing!

BARON.
Thou hast it.—Quick! release him from these bonds—
Oh Ida! My lov'd child!

IDA.
My heart o'erflows
With joy and transport; heav'n has heard my pray'r,
And my whole soul expands with gratitude.

BARON.
My Albert! How can I repay thy suff'rings?

HERMAN.
Life has for me but one attractive treasure.
A father will not chide his new-found son,
If, at the moment when his heart beats high
With exultation, he avow his love
For her, who deign'd to grace with her pure favour
An unknown, abject outcast—

BARON.
Hear'st thou, Ida?
What shall I say for thee? Answer him, girl.
Whate'er thou say'st I'll ratify—

RODOLPH.
My lord,
This is such singular behaviour—

BARON.
Can't you be quiet?

RODOLPH.
To a man like me—

BARON.
Let her go on, sir; you shall have your turn,
I warrant me.—Come, dearest, speak.

IDA.
From him,
Whom, from the moment when returning sense
Reveal'd him as my brave deliverer,
I felt entitled to the best return
My heart could offer, can I now withhold
The hand which thus his modest suit solicits?
(To Herman)
Take it, the sacred pledge of Ida's love.

RODOLPH.
Madam, I vow—My lord—This is beyond
All bearing—in my presence to proclaim
Affection for a bandit—Madam, madam—

HERMAN.
Keep off! and learn to govern thy discourse.

RODOLPH.
Thou talk to me, sir?

HERMAN.
Aye, my lord to thee.
Nay, frown not, nor look big. If thou presum'st
To speak one disrespectful syllable
To yonder lady, not this noble presence
Shall skreen thee from my vengeance.

BARON.
There it is now—
I said my niece would never be thy bride.
Matters are alter'd, Count; I've found a son,
Who now must be sole heir of my possessions.
That makes a little diff'rence.

RODOLPH.
An immense one.
This is a very pleasant incident;
(forcing a laugh)
Upon my honour it diverts me vastly.
You've pick'd up some acquaintances, who doubtless
Will do great credit to your family party.
I wish you heartily joy of each other,
And am, with sentiments of due respect,
The company's obedient humble servant.

[Exit.
BARON.
Well, get thee gone—thou art not worth recalling.
Sir Arnold—let me rather call thee Walstein—
Count Walstein—look upon this roof as thine.
As for your followers—

ARNOLD.
From this hour, no more
Hold I connection with them; but I crave,
Whate'er be their offences, they may have
Free pardon for them. I am bound in honour
Not to abandon those, whom confidence
In my good faith induc'd to follow me.

BARON.
Their pardon is secur'd. If they shall quit
Their savage habits, and become good subjects,
They shall find favour from me.—Come, my son,
Come, Ida, dearer to my heart than ever!
My cares are over, all my future days
I dedicate to happiness and you!

[Exeunt Omnes.