University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room in the Castle.
Countess,
alone.
Our weaknesses are like neglected debts,
Wherewith Time heaps up loads that press us most
When we are most in need. Now would I have
The mother's strength which I've so fondly wasted.
Only on this I count; Rudolf knows not
To th' full, how feeble is the parent's sway,
When blind affection leads authority.

(Enter Rudolf.)
Rudolf.
Mother, I'm come upon your bidding.

Countess.
Rudolf,
I'm glad you're come; and yet, so full of fears
Are mother's thoughts, that reason-prov'd desires
Shrink from their aim, and wisest wishes falter,
When in the treacherous bosom of the future
Sleeps their fulfilment. Rudolf, you and Ada
Are now of age.

Rudolf.
And our majority
We just now solemniz'd. We have agreed,
That to be cousins is a tie as strong
As we desire to have us bound withal.

Countess.
I err'd then when I said, both are of age.
She is a woman: thou art still a boy.

Rudolf.
How so?

Countess.
'Tis the child's office to be rul'd.

Rudolf.
Mother, you speak in riddles.

Countess.
Thou hast seen her
Tire of a doll and fondle a new toy?
'Twas the girl's lesson for the woman's practice.

Rudolf.
You do not think—

Countess.
Where was your new companion?
His skill perhaps had serv'd you also here.
Or was it Ada he deem'd most in straights,—
Whom he would rescue from Count Rudolf's fangs?

Rudolf.
(aside.)
By Heav'n, I saw him leave her as I enter'd.

Countess.
Belike he is some knight itinerant
Bent on high exploits of benevolence.

Rudolf.
If I believ'd—

Countess.
Believe yourself a boy,
Rupert a man, and Ada a shrewd woman,
Who knows the difference.

Rudolf.
He would not dare,—

Countess.
Not dare?—Rudolf, I am asham'd of thee
That in thy veins my blood does course so tamely?
Not dare! What will a man not dare for beauty?
Who feels his manly destiny, will brave
Earth, Heav'n,—aye Hell itself although it gape
Against the consummation of his love,
For the rich joy that woman lavishes.
Not dare! He has a soul for proud achievement
This youth, whoe'er he be. To such a one,
Tough opposition is the lion's hunger,
Stinging his mettle to o'erbearing fierceness.

Rudolf.
Mother, I have been weak. I would forget
I have been, but that of the shame thereof
I'd make a rude remembrancer.

Countess.
My son,
You have not known yourself. Does the suggestion
Of a love-stirr'd aberance from her duty
Cast such alarm into your flagging thoughts?
What had you heard she were another's? Think—
But that you cannot. Loss must weigh itself.
Imagination dives into the future;
But only pictures thence can she bring up,
Which of the treasures or the horrors there
Give no more knowledge, than the storm-cloud's shadow
Gives of the coming desolation. We
Can only know what we have felt.—Rudolf,
You recollect your sportful jealousy
(Sportful as you believ'd, but I saw deeper)
When Count Von Alten, but a month gone by,
Proffer'd to Ada his fame-blazon'd son,
Or choice 'mongst all the prime nobility,
If she would with him to th' Imperial court,
To maze it with her beauty. You were stung
With jealous fear ev'n at the distant danger,—
For such I noted well you felt it was.
'Tis now afront of you. The thing itself,
Whose far-off image frighted you, is here,
Dogging your heels and hideous with dishonour.
A churl beards the Count Rudolf in his hall,
A nameless rustic—.

Rudolf.
Mother, say no more.
To-morrow he shall hence.

Countess.
I'll leave you now:
You are yourself again.

Rudolf.
(Alone.)
Ada is trustful.
This fellow's bearing captivates the eye.
He is so open and so calm; and then,
His modesty is so with frankness blent;
It has no taint of low humility.
Women are all capricious, and they have
Such quenchless appetites for what is hidden,
They'll love a man to know his mystery.

(Exit.)