University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Countess,
alone.
'Gainst men we vindicate by blood our rights;
And who does not is a poor slave whose bondage
'Twere weakness to compassionate. Why not
'Gainst Fortune wage like war, and seize our own?
Me she has cheated,—lest injustice be
Fate's law; and is it, that which made me know
What justice is, commands me to exact it.
Oppression is not thence more light, because
Its source is unassailable; but that
It is, and thereby we in our self-righting
Divested are of a chief due of justice,
Revenge,—for this, in the retributing
May we with freer hand carve for ourselves.
For me the first of womanly lots was markt,—
On love's soft wings to win a lofty seat.
With love I'd been contented, and above me
Unheeded had ambition's clangor rung.
Wrench'd from my bosom was the hearted hope,
And I was nearly blest, only to be
Completely curst. The one deep-tinted flower,
The woman's blossom, folding in its heart
Her being's fragrance, harshly and with scorn
Was plucked. I was unsex'd. Haste flooded quick
My soul's drain'd passages, capacious made
By warm affection's motion, and with wrath
I conquer'd what with love I ought to have own'd.
My husband should have been my husband's brother,
And I;—but wherefore from their sleepless tomb
Call now the spectre of my murder'd hopes.
Berobb'd, I did regrasp the little part
Of my great loss; and this far-looking castle
Is token of my wrongs and my redress.
(Enter Rudolf equipt for the chase.)
What, Rudolf, to the woods again alone?

Rudolf.
Aye, mother. My new comrade will not with me.
He'd rather talk to-day of deeds than do them.
And by my soul, but he does pitch his words
As featly as his spear. This fresh morn's prime
I've squander'd, listening his so clear discourse,
Whose free and winnow'd phrase approves his say,
That he and his a higher state have known.
I have committed him the while to Ada,
With charge that so his senses she will surfeit
Upon the sights and wonders of the castle,
That his to-morrow's wishes may be outward,
And I shall find him eager for the chase.
He's company for Nimrod.

Countess.
Stay, my son,
At home to-day.

Rudolf.
Ride with me to the hunt
To-day, dear mother.

Countess.
What dost mean?

Rudolf.
Why, mother,
You compass your content within. My pleasure
I find abroad. For us to counterchange
Intents, were viciously to thwart desire,
Upon whose even satisfaction hangs
The day's enjoyment.

Countess.
Thankless boy! Is this
Your use of parent-suckt instruction, me
To mock with wordy subtleties? Show me
'Tis for your good or truly for your pleasure,
And I will with you, following to-day,
The thousandth day, your steps, against my comfort.
But like the toil that, tilling precious grain
Cultures the weeds that choke it, worse than wasted
Are mothers' pains on an ungrateful child.

Rudolf.
You teach me anger by your wrong rebuke.
Why for each small refusal will you chide me
For black ingratitude? Lightly I answer'd
A light request.

Countess.
Thence easier to be granted.
But to the heedless every thing is light.
And so you have his service for your sport,
'Twould scarce obstruct you to behold the sun
Back to the Orient his arch'd motion bend
Convulsive.—Portents to make dumb the wise
And take from the expert all faculty,
Are to th' unthinking transient spectacles;
While hours that he deems passive fractions only
Of a diurnal unit, to th' observant
Are potent ministers from Time's abysm
Uplifted to o'er-rule a life.—
Well, go.

Rudolf.
Nay mother,—

Countess.
No: my wish has died
In th' asking.

Rudolf.
Let my willingness revive it.

Countess.
It were not granted by a forced consent.

Rudolf.
Your thought, whate'er it was, more capable
Will find me now to give it satisfaction,
Than if my duty at the first had shone
Becomingly. I have a fault to mend.

Countess.
Rudolf, you knew my thought. But follow now
Your bent. Instant fruition is of youth
The natural happiness. The living present,
Unladen from the past, bounds under you.
But we who bear time's load should sometimes cast
Athwart your path the shadow of our burden,
Foretokening the future.—Go, my son:
I'll not detain you. But return betimes.
Let not another night bring to your mother
A double gloom.

Rudolf.
The sun shall light me home.

(Exit.)
Countess.
(Alone.)
'Tis so; and I did cast beyond my mark,
When under the same roof I sought to weave
Between these two the strongest tie in nature.
Affection now the soul of both so fills
There is no room for love. For love is curious,
And, palling on familiarity,
Is fed by ignorance. They should apart
Have lived, till the first flush of womanhood
Had dyed her beauty.—Yet have I their words,
Which quickly must by act be ratified,
While still,—their hearts' deep'st secret unreveal'd
To them,—they can believe themselves prepar'd
To sign together the great bond of marriage.
My stewardship must not be called to account.
Ada is dower'd like a princess, rich
From nature, and withall pliant to my will.
Wisdom to choose whose choice were limitless
More fitly could not match my son.

(Exit.)