University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Gothic room in the castle, with the stage darkened. Enter Cathrina, bearing a light, followed by Orra.
Orra
(catching her by the robe and pulling her back).
Advance no further: turn, I pray! This room
More dismal and more ghastly seems than that
Which we have left behind. Thy taper's light,
As thus aloft thou wav'st it to and fro,
The fretted ceiling gilds with feeble brightness;
While over-head its carved ribs glide past
Like edgy waves of a dark sea, returning
To an eclipsed moon its sullen sheen.

Cath.
To me it seems less dismal than the other.
See, here are chairs around the table set,
As if its last inhabitants had left it
Scarcely an hour ago.

[Setting the light upon the table.
Orra.
Alas! how many hours and years have past
Since human forms around this table sat,
Or lamp or taper on its surface gleam'd!
Methinks I hear the sound of time long past
Still murm'ring o'er us in the lofty void
Of those dark arches, like the ling'ring voices
Of those who long within their graves have slept.
It was their gloomy home; now it is mine. [Sits down, resting her arm upon the table, and covering her eyes with her hand.
Enter Rudigere, beckoning Cathrina to come to him; and speaks to her in a low voice at the corner of the stage.

Go and prepare thy lady's chamber; why
Dost thou for ever closely near her keep?

Cath.
She charged me so to do.

Rud.
I charge thee also
With paramount authority, to leave her:
I for awhile will take thy station here.
Thou art not mad? Thou dost not hesitate?

[Fixing his eyes on her with a fierce threatening look, from which she shrinks. Exit Cath.
Orra.
This was the home of bloody lawless power.
The very air rests thick and heavily
Where murder hath been done.
(Sighing heavily.)
There is a strange oppression in my breast:
Dost thou not feel a close unwholesome vapour?

Rud.
No; ev'ry air to me is light and healthful,
That with thy sweet and heavenly breath is mix'd.

Orra
(starting up).
Thou here! (Looking round.)
Cathrina gone?

Rud.
Does Orra fear to be alone with one,
Whose weal, whose being on her favour hangs?

Orra.
Retire, Sir Knight. I choose to be alone.

Rud.
And dost thou choose it, here, in such a place,
Wearing so near the midnight hour?—Alas!
How loath'd and irksome must my presence be!

Orra.
Dost thou deride my weakness?

Rud.
I deride it!
No, noble maid! say rather that from thee
I have a kindred weakness caught. In battle
My courage never shrank, as my arm'd heel
And crested helm do fairly testify:
But now when midnight comes, I feel by sympathy,
With thinking upon thee, fears rise within me
I never knew before.

Orra
(in a softened kindlier voice).
Ha! dost thou too
Such human weakness own?

Rud.
I plainly feel
We are all creatures, in the wakeful hour
Of ghastly midnight, form'd to cower together,
Forgetting all distinctions of thé day,
Beneath its awful and mysterious power.

[Stealing closer to her as he speaks, and putting his arms round her.
Orra
(breaking from him).
I pray thee hold thy parley further off:
Why dost thou press so near me?

Rud.
And art thou so offended, lovely Orra?
Ah! wherefore am I thus presumptuous deem'd?
The blood that fills thy veins enriches mine;
From the same stock we spring; though by that glance
Of thy disdainful eye, too well I see
My birth erroneously thou countest base.

Orra.
Erroneously!

Rud.
Yes, I will prove it so.
Longer I'll not endure a galling wrong
Which makes each word of tenderness that bursts
From a full heart, bold and presumptuous seem,
And severs us so far.

Orra.
No, subtile snake!
It is the baseness of thy selfish mind,
Full of all guile, and cunning, and deceit,
That severs us so far, and shall do ever.

Rud.
Thou prov'st how far my passion will endure
Unjust reproaches from a mouth so dear.

Orra.
Out on hypocrisy! who but thyself
Did Hughobert advise to send me hither?
And who the jailor's hateful office holds
To make my thraldom sure?

Rud.
Upbraid me not for this: had I refused,
One less thy friend had ta'en th' ungracious task.
And, gentle Orra! dost thou know a man,
Who might in ward all that his soul holds dear
From danger keep, yet would the charge refuse,
For that strict right such wardship doth condemn?
O! still to be with thee; to look upon thee;
To hear thy voice, makes even this place of horrors,—
Where, as 'tis said, the spectre of a chief,
Slain by our common grandsire, haunts the night,
A paradise—a place where I could live
In penury and gloom, and be most bless'd.
Ah! Orra! if there's misery in thraldom,
Pity a wretch who breathes but in thy favour:
Who till he look'd upon that beauteous face,
Was free and happy.—Pity me or kill me!

[Kneeling and catching hold of her hand.
Orra.
Off, fiend! let snakes and vipers cling to me
So thou dost keep aloof.

Rud.
(rising indignantly).
And is my love with so much hatred met?
Madam, beware lest scorn like this should change me
E'en to the baleful thing your fears have fancied.

Orra.
Dar'st thou to threaten me?

Rud.
He, who is mad with love and gall'd with scorn,
Dares any thing.—But O! forgive such words
From one who rather, humbled at your feet,
Would of that gentleness, that gen'rous pity,
The native inmate of each female breast,
Receive the grace on which his life depends.
There was a time when thou didst look on me
With other eyes.

Orra.
Thou dost amaze me much.
Whilst I believ'd thou wert an honest man,
Being no fool, and an adventurous soldier,
I look'd upon thee with good-will; if more
Thou didst discover in my looks than this,
Thy wisdom with thine honesty, in truth,
Was fairly match'd.

Rud.
Madam, the proud derision of that smile
Deceives me not. It is the lord of Falkenstein,
Who better skill'd than I in tournay-war,
Though not in th' actual field more valiant found,
Engrosses now your partial thoughts. And yet
What may he boast which, in a lover's suit,
I may not urge? He's brave, and so am I.
In birth I am his equal; for my mother,
As I shall prove, was married to Count Albert,
My noble father, though for reasons tedious
Here to be stated, still their secret nuptials
Were unacknowledg'd, and on me hath fallen
A cruel stigma which degrades my fortunes.
But were I—O forgive th' aspiring thought!—
But were I Orra's lord, I should break forth
Like the unclouded sun, by all acknowledg'd
As ranking with the highest in the land.

Orra.
Do what thou wilt when thou art Orra's lord;
But being as thou art, retire and leave me:
I choose to be alone.

(Very proudly.)
Rud.
Then be it so.
Thy pleasure, mighty dame, I will not balk.
This night, to-morrow's night, and every night,
Shalt thou in solitude be left; if absence
Of human beings can secure it for thee.
[Pauses and looks on her, while she seems struck and disturbed.
It wears already on the midnight hour;
Good night!
[Pauses again, she still more disturbed.
Perhaps I understood too hastily
Commands you may retract.

Orra
(recovering her state).
Leave me, I say; that part of my commands
I never can retract.

Rud.
You are obey'd.

[Exit.
Orra
(paces up and down hastily for some time, then stops short, and after remaining a little while in a thoughtful posture).
Can spirit from the tomb, or fiend from hell,
More hateful, more malignant be than man—
Than villanous man? Although to look on such,
Yea, even the very thought of looking on them,
Makes natural blood to curdle in the veins,
And loosen'd limbs to shake,
There are who have endur'd the visitation
Of supernatural beings.—O forefend it!
I would close couch me to my deadliest foe
Rather than for a moment bear alone
The horrors of the sight.
Who's there? who's there?
[Looking round.
Heard I not voices near? That door ajar
Sends forth a cheerful light. Perhaps my women,
Who now prepare my chamber. Grant it be!

[Exit, running hastily to a door from which a light is seen.