University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—Foot of the Battlements—Moonlight—Sentries Marching—Line of Barracks stretching to a distance. Platform in front.
(Enter Prince, followed by Selim.)
Pri.
Which are his quarters, Selim?

Selim.
(Looking about)
Indeed, I do not know—but—

Pri.
Inquire—

Selim.
(Observing one apartment not lighted)
Ah yes! 'tis there (pointing)
'tis there the Soldier sleeps.

Pri.
Art thou sure?

Selim.
O, yes, he never burns a light.

Pri.
Knock!

(Selim taps gently)
Soldier.
(within, in a sullen voice)
Who goes there?

Selim.
A Friend!

Sol.
Who e'er ye are, away! Disturb me not!

Pri.
Open the door, Selim.

(Selim crowds against it)
Sol.
(Furiously)
Who dares disturb my solitude,
When he has heard my voice? Begone!
(Rushes out, and pursues Selim with a drawn sword)
I told you I was not to be disturbed.
(pauses, as Selim retreats to a light)
A boy! ah well, go home.
(Sees the Prince, who has advanced to protect Selim)
—So! ye are two.
Well then, I'll teach ye to assault me thus!

(Strikes at the Prince, Selim throws himself before him)
Selim.
Madman! 'tis the Prince!

(The Soldier throws down his sword, folds his arms and stands in an attitude of martial dignity)
Pri.
(To Selim)
Command the guards to leave the gate awhile.

Sol.
Stay boy! thou wilt not be obeyed.

(Wares his hand, guard approaches with an expression of awe: the Soldier nods in silence, and the platform is instantly cleared.)
Pri.
(Contemplating the whole with earnest attention)
Soldier! thy hand fell heavily to-day;
But unexpected battle finds thee, still,
With heaven closed, bright harness, and a lance
Forever couch'd to guard thy Prince's life;
There is a purse of gold—
(The soldier turns slowly towards him with a look of disturbed majesty)
—'Twas bravely won;
And many a gallant drop hath paid its price:
I could have checked my barb in his career,
And left my helm unshielded from the foe—
Why say I that I could? I did do this—
To see thee wrench the banner from his hand.
Dread Otho feared thy might; he shunn'd thine eye
Here, take this purse!

(Hands it to Selim. Selim reaches it to the Soldier, who puts it back calmly and haughtily.)
Sol.
(Firmly)
No!

Selim.
(Repeating the offer)
Nay, take it, take it, Soldier,

Sol.
(Fiercely)
No! boy, I say.

(Selim retreats in terrour)
Pri.
So then (suppressing his indignation)
my boon is scorned.

Sol.
My Prince, I do not sell my blood for gold.

Pri.
But thou did'st save my life—

Sol.
(Snatching the purse; then, after a struggle, bowing with an air of bitter sarcasm.)
—I saved his life!
Its value then, is this—one purse of gold!
One purse of gold! The man, whose life I've saved,
Would not play fair if this reward were less.
But he's a Prince! Princes have generous hearts;
They never pay the market price of blood,
And—therefore—

Pri.
(In amazement)
Soldier!

Sol.
(Tossing it up and catching it, with an air of supreme contempt.)
And therefore—but enough! I've saved his life.
This, this! is my reward. A Soldier's blood
Shed for a Prince's life, was shed—for gold!
(Prince agitated)
Boy! (Selim advances fearfully)

—Here, take this purse;
(Selim refuses)
—Nay, take it, it is thine.
Thou'st never saved my life, yet there is gold!
Thou'st never torn the banner from the hand
Of conquering murderers, in their sudden fight!
Grappled with murderers! to protect a prince!
(The Prince unsheaths his sword and advances furiously. The Soldier stands unmoved.)
To shield his bride! (The Prince falters and returns his sword to the sheath)
Yet there is gold!

Pri.
(Violent emotion)
Soldier! thou art too bold;—too bold! but brave!
And I am pressed to earth with gratitude;
And may not lift my hand—Oh!
(pause)
Why, what has waked this sudden spirit in thee?
For thou art old—and poor,—hast often fought
My father's battles, and his son's—and yet
Hast ever, to this hour—been paid with gold.

Sol.
Not paid my Prince—but fed.

Pri.
Well! fed. But these are dangerous looks and tones;
Yet, thou art old and brave, hast saved my life.
And I must bless thee for the heavy load!
(Emotion)
The mighty debt!
(pause, trembling)
Nay, nay, I'm wrong—I bless thee, from my soul!
It gave me Ala—
But else,—I do assure thee, for thy words,
Thus spoken with that martial irony,
I would forget my rank—and draw my blade,
And meet thee—foot to foot!—for my reply.
And this, thou knowest, Soldier. But, enough,
I would not touch thy heart, brave man, indeed,
With aught of insult or indignity:
(Soldier appears moved)
For thou art old and poor;—and thy white hairs;
And arm still sinewed with the strength of youth,
Assure me thou art guarded by high Heaven!
Old man! I do assure thee, from my soul,
I feel a filial reverence for those hairs!

Sol.
(Faltering)
My Prince! Forgive me—
—I have served thee long,
(voice becomes more firm)
Have served thy father in his bloodiest march;
Will serve thee, too—forever! 'till my death.
For thou art young—impetuous—and as fierce
As that young Lion that I nursed for war!
O, were he living, what a matchless pair!
But no! No, no:—and I must cleave to thee—
(suffocating emotion)
My Prince—I ask no pay. But let me see
Thy sabre flash! and tall plumes blaze in battle!
As I have seen that boy's! and then—I'll die.
(Hesitating—a sudden thought illuminates his face— approaches the Prince—speaks in a hurried voice, increasing to passionate vehemence.)
Yes! I will be repaid! O, give me rank!
Enable me to meet dark Ola once,
And smite him in his pride!

Pri.
Ola! Lord Ola? that mysterious man!

Sol.
Yes, yes my Prince! to meet the Savage once!
To rend the mystery that enwraps his heart—
On equal terms! When gallant Lords and Knights
May judge our strife like men! Oh, give me this!
My smother'd prayer! for days—and nights—and years!
That till this hour I've breathed but to my God!

Pri.
(Catching his enthusiasm)
Soldier!

Sol.
(Falling at his feet.)
O, give me this! my Prince;
For one short hour—then lay me in my grave!
(Rising in an agony of supplication)
Or, let me still be trampled in the dust—
By all that nerves the Soldier's arm for war!
His self respect—and confidence in Heaven—
Abandoned!—and forever!
—O, give me this!
Then let the neigh of steeds be heard again!
Place thy young bride where I may see her eye!
Then let the murderers come! And they shall see
The resurrection of a Warriour's soul!
Bursting, in tempest, from its self contempt!
O, give me this, my Prince! And I will worship thee.

Pri.
(Shaking with emotion. Soldier has fallen at his feet)
—Old man!
Thy prayer is heard.
(Unsheathes his sword—stretches it over the prostrate soldier—waves it—flourish of trumpets heard.)
—Henceforth, be thou a Knight!
Knight Aufred rise! (Soldier rises fiercely; unsheathes his sword, and stands gazing at it.)

The lightnings of thine aged eye
Would shame the fiercest of our youthful Knights.
(Unbuckles his Scymetar and reaches it to the Soldier.)
Accept this Sword—

Sol.
(Compares their edges and weight—and then returns the Prince's.)
No, no, my Prince. This is my oldest friend.
I've worn it long. It is a trusty blade.
(The eye of the Prince rests on the hill)
A humble hilt—but strong: a keen-edged blade
That shall go with me to my bloody grave.
It is the first I buckled on my thigh;
Has served me well in many a trying hour;
And, had I worn it when dishonour smote me,
It would have burst its scabbard! Ola! Ola!
This shall redeem me if we meet on earth,
And then—we'll go together to our tomb!

Pri.
(Awe-struck)
Why, what a deadly hate is this of thine!
So many years of peace, and battles fought
Together—side by side—: so many deeds
Achieved in soldier rivalry—in blood!
So many years of smothered flame in thee!
For sure, I know the waking of thy wrath,
And yet, thou seekest his life.
—That hand, was raised
In other days to stretch him on the earth;
And yet, he pardoned thee!

Sol.
He pardoned me! Why, what had he to pardon?
I would have dealt him but a Soldier's blow:
Would but have stabbed him with a Soldier's blade?
Nor this, 'till he had scorned my suppliant prayer;
Nor this, 'till I had fallen on my face
Upon the naked earth—and begged for death.
'Till he refused me vengeance—and was safe.
O, Ola! Ola! withered be thy heart,
To smite a warriour thus!
One who had moved in blood, and used his sword—
Curse on his heart! it chokes me—with a lash!
O, we were both unarmed or I had died!
I could have shouted, and unwrapped my heart
To meet the midnight dagger—but, a scourge!
No, no, I never will forgive him, never!
So help me Heaven, in my utmost need!
The brand of everlasting slavery,
The badge of infamy is on my brain!
O, he shall feel what 'tis, to touch a man
With other than the weapon of a man.

(Enter Messenger.)
Messenger.
The Duke's arrived.

Pri.
We'll meet him in the hall.

(Soldier waves his sword. Music. An escort suddenly appears and attend the Prince in silence.)