University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

A Hill by the Camp, near Engelborg. Break of day.
Enter Ethel and Cornelius.
Cor.
Why are you so long silent?

Eth.
Stillness of morning,
And the ineffable serenity
And peace of young creation, bind my lips.
Oh, who would mar the season with dull speech,
That must tie up our visionary meanings
And subtle individual apprehensions
Into the common tongue of every man,
And of the swift and scarce-detected visitants
Of our illusive thoughts seek to make prisoners,
And only grasp their garments! Well, let's talk.

Cor.
Indeed, no language can express the hour.

Eth.
It is the very time of contemplation,
More rich for being instinct with coming life.
Short breathing-space between oblivion's sleep
And the world's tumult. Day's virginity,
Unmarried yet to action, nor made mother
Of all that brood of intricate consequents,
Quick progeny of her ephemeral womb,
That twining with their brothers of past birth,
Weave the vast web of circumstance. Oh, think of it!
We are creative gods, and whether we will or no,
Upon the present moment we beget
Shapes of the future time. Most awful present!
That swifter than the winged lightning flies,
And more irrevocable; subtly charged
With some small influence, some diminution,
Or fine accession to our immortal character,
Making a difference that shall never die
In what we might have been. Have you heard of it?
To-day we try our edges on the Swede,
For the relief of Engelborg.

Cor.
The rumour
Got wind last night. Many a young starting blood,
That never yet saw itself sluiced in battle,
Beats thick with expectation, and awaits
The trumpet's summons.

Eth.
'Twill not be till noon.
O peaceful morning-tide, with what rude deeds
Will they deface thy evening! Is it not heavenly?
The air is cool and still; soft dawn shoots up
Into the fleecy heaven, that, like a mother
Uncovering her rosy naked babe,
Looks down upon the tender new-born day.
Strange prelude to a battle.

Cor.
True, it is piteous,
And best not thought of.

Eth.
Piteous it is indeed,
And yet not best not thought of, so is nothing.
We dare not faint at woe and violence,
When we are sure our cause is with the right.
And gaping wounds, and the red skeleton death,
Painted in blood of many slaughtered men,
Though they may stir our gorge more, are in themselves,
And should be to our spirits, less abhorrent
Than living men, walking like sepulchres
Of their dead spiritual lives.

Cor.
I have seen such men.

Eth.
So sick, I have seen many, and some dead.
He is noble that can hang a shield of patience
Between himself and injuries, but most base
That sees injustices unremedied.

Cor.
That did you never.

Eth.
No, nor you, Cornelius,
Nor any man who doth believe in heaven,
But when he sees a wrong must war with it—
By sufferance, if sufferance best abates it,
But only then. And always in his spirit
Eager antagonism, not passive spirits,
Oppose the dangerous devil's mastery;
But sworded and aggressive warriors,
Who with swift charge beat down his mustered ranks,
And all day long maintain the weary war,
And die in faith of unseen victory.

Cor.
Warriors of God; servants of God;—great titles.

Eth.
Oh, that we might be worthy to be such!
Our youth is like this morning, and we stand
Between the night of our unconscious childhood
And the world's monstrous battle, whose loud roar
Grows in our ears. Well, when we mix in it,
God keep us in his hand!

Cor.
Look, the great sun
Streaks all the orient.

[The sun rises.
Eth.
Glorious apparition!

Enter Haveloc.
Hav.
May I speak with you? You keep early hours.

Eth.
We love to breathe the morning; now you have joined us,
Is't not worth while?

Hav.
My brother writes to me
I must come back. That's a strange notion, surely!

Eth.
My lord, I dare not question it.

Hav.
But tell me,
Is't true we fight to-day?

Eth.
So it is commanded.

Hav.
Well, thus much my brief service will have gained me,
To have seen a battle. Will the General use me
To bear the news home?

Cor.
Pardon me, my lord,
That charge is mine.

Hav.
Why, then, I'll ride with you.
I am loth to leave you. Some of you soldiers learn
Too hardened and mechanical a spirit,
Prompt and unscrupulous in your obedience,
And too familiar with the change of death;
Yet in your tents here many virtues spring
The court and city know not; and some baseness,
Which there is drawn familiar as the air,
Shows here still strange and shameful. In your hearts
Self is less ingrained, if sometimes more violent.
Can I serve you in the court?

Eth.
Indeed you may,
And in a service where your least exertion
Shall buy my dearest gratitude.

Hav.
Pray, let me.

Eth.
There is a lady—

Hav.
The fair Countess Ingelwald.
I'll tell her you are well, and living here.
You write your heart to twenty different ladies.

Eth.
Play me no tricks; but in good earnest, sir,
If you will keep an eye upon her state,
And warn me if she is not well at ease,
You'll bind me very closely.

Hav.
I will serve her
In any way I can without obtrusion.
I know your drift, knowing my brother's temper.

Eth.
I have a private task for you, Cornelius.
Come to my tent.—Nay, go with us, my lord.

[Exeunt.