 | Cunigunda's Vow |  |
5
Ernest.
Where is thy lady, Gertrude?
Gertrude.
On the turret
Watching the first glimpse of the stranger knight
Who comes to-day to attempt the perilous feat
Ordained by her rash vow.
Editha.
Poor Cunigunda!
Now pays she dearly the o'erweening pride
Of haughty beauty. Love hath well avenged
His martyred votaries.
Ernest.
Speak not with that tone
Of pity, maiden! I'm an old retainer
Of Cunigunda's house; have carried her
6
Even as a father, as a father gloried
In her unparagoned charms. But her cold cruelty
Doth fret my very heart-strings. Not enough
For this proud beauty to reject all hearts
Of knight, or count, or prince,—for princes sued
At Cunigunda's feet—but she must tempt
Each wooer to his death, grim ghastly death,
Untimely bloody death, by that stern vow
That he should win her, who should safely ride
Around these Kienast walls,—the narrow walls,
Of these steep mountain towers! She might as well
Command them ride upon a falchion's edge,
Or stand erect upon the topmost spray
Of yon tall poplar. Many a gallant steed
Lies whitening in the abyss, many a brave knight
Hath perished in the rocky gulph;—and now
Another victim comes!
Editha.
One—If he fall,
The shades of all that for her sake have died,
7
In Hirchsberg vale, would be avenged! She loves him,
Believe it, Ernest, with the fervid love
Of stern and haughty hearts.
Ernest.
Believe who will!
She, thy proud mistress, love the falcon knight!
Albert the falcon knight! A wandering stranger,
Whose house, whose name she knows not. Tush!
Editha.
Yet Albert
Is the sole name she speaks; the falcon crest
Her only heraldry.
Ernest.
Princes have sighed
For Cunigunda, and that she should sigh
For this poor knight—
Gertrude.
She doth!
Ernest.
One all unapt
To win a lady's eye! She that beheld
Unmoved the gay Count Cassel, whose light step
Came bounding like the roe, whose glance shot fire,—
She that beheld unshaken his bright form
8
Without a tear, the bleeding mangled corse
Of Rudolf of Thuringia, blooming boy,
Fair, slender, blue-eyed boy, whose nut-brown curls
Clustered o'er his white brow, whose damask cheek,
And coral lip, and brilliant smile, and round
And joyous voice were redolent of youth,
And hope, and life;—think'st thou that she, whom bloom
And charms like these ne'er touched, can love yon sad
And pallid stranger?
Editha.
With idolatry,
Passing what hath been told or feigned of love
In story or in song. Unapt to win
A lady's eye! Ernest, thou hast been trained
In courts, and camps, and battles; thou know'st well
All that pertains to man, but woman's heart
To thee is a sealed book. I tell thee, Ernest,
Yon pallid stranger, with the serious grace
Of his fine features, delicate yet full
Of mild command; the dark locks closely shorn
9
Where grandeur blends with elegance; the voice
Clear, deep, and ringing, fitting instrument
Of lofty thought; the reverential port
Majestically bending with a proud
And prompt obedience, to the very name
Of woman rendering homage;—such an one
Might win—
Gertrude.
She comes!
Enter Cunigunda and Otto.
Cunigunda.
Unbar the gates! Be quick,
Unbar the gates! Why bide ye loitering here
When ye should fly to bid the Castellan
Give present entrance to the falcon knight—
The valiant falcon knight?
[Exit Ernest.
Ye dally here,
Whilst he stands waiting,—he! Why of themselves
The Kienast gates should ope to him.
10
He's here,
Fair Madam.
Enter Sir Albert and a Page.
Cunigunda.
Now, Sir Albert!
Albert.
Beauteous lady,
I come to win thee.—Bid them lead my courser
Round to the court of guard. Is't not the way
That we must gain the ramparts?
[Exit Page.
Sweet, I come
To win thee or to perish.
Cunigunda.
Oh, No! No!
Albert.
Why, thou shouldst arm me for this viewless peril
As for some tourney fray. Why dost thou sigh?
Why turn so deadly pale?
Cunigunda.
'Tis a vast peril!
Albert.
'Twas thine own vow imposed it; thine own choice;
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What danger must be dared for Cunigunda,
And knowing came. Thou wouldst not sure fright me
With that same bugbear Peril? I'm a warrior
Trained to defy, to seek each several form
Of death in glorious battle. Wouldst thou teach me
A cowardice now?—Farewell!—The sun shines bright
On hill and valley; the soft breezes play
O'er leaf and flower; over our heads the lark
Chaunts his gay matins; Nature smiles on me
And my high purpose;—for this deed is holy,
Thrice holy, lady!—When I come again—
Farewell!
Cunigunda.
Oh go not! go not!
Albert.
Cunigunda
Hast thou not sworn to yield thy hand to none,
Save him who rides unscathed around these steep
And narrow walls? Is not that oath proclaimed
On earth, and registered in heaven?
Cunigunda.
Alas!
12
And I too have a vow recorded there
To do this deed or perish.
Cunigunda.
Oh, go not!
Not yet! not yet!
Albert.
Why should I dally?
Cunigunda.
Stay
A month, a little month! Thou wilt not? Then
A week, a day, an hour! Grant but such respite
As the poor sentenced criminal may claim
When he craves time for prayer.—Oh, go not yet!
Not yet! not yet!
Albert.
Is this the soft relenting
Of woman's tender heart to all whom pain
Or danger threaten? Didst thou thus implore
Henry of Cassel? or the gentle boy
Young Rudolf of Thuringia?
Cunigunda.
No. Oh, frown not,
Nor turn away thy head, nor snatch thy hand
From mine! They knew the peril that they braved,
And they would brave that peril. Canst thou blame me
13
Oh, go not, Albert!
Albert.
Lady I am bound
By a strong fettering vow.—If I return
This hand is mine?
Cunigunda.
Ay, hand and heart. Yet go not!
Beseech thee, stay with me!
Albert.
When I come back
Thou art wholly mine?
Cunigunda.
Ay; ay. But go not yet!
Albert.
Mine to dispose even as I will?
Cunigunda.
Ay, dearest,
Even as thou wilt. But stay with me awhile!
Stay! stay!
[Exit Albert.
Editha.
He's gone!
Cunigunda.
Oh, stop him! Say I beg!
Say I command! Fly! fly!
[Exit Otto.
And yet my oath,
14
We may not wed—But, oh, to see him dashed,
As they have been, from off the wall and lain
A pale disfigured corse—Oh horror! horror!
Re-enter Otto.
Stop him, I say; and if need be by force.
Command him hither.
Otto.
Lady—
Cunigunda.
Dost thou hear?
Where is the falcon knight? Am I not mistress
Within these towers? Command him hither.
Otto.
Lady,
Even as he left thee, at a bound he sprang
On his proud steed, and scaled the rampart stairs;
Ere now he's on the walls.
Cunigunda.
Oh save him! save him,
Ye saints that watch o'er love! Go some of ye
To the high turret that o'erhangs the Castle,
And look ye send me blessed tidings—no!
15
[Exeunt Otto and Gertrude.
Editha.
Wilt thou not go thyself? 'Twere a less grief
Than crouching there in that strong agony
Of fear—thy head between thy hands, thy limbs
Shivering, thy bosom panting. Go!
Cunigunda.
He'll die!
He'll die! And how could I endure—He'll die
For me! for me!
Editha.
Take comfort, lady.
Cunigunda.
Comfort!
Who ever passed that dread abyss, where yawns
The Hirschberg valley under the high rock
Crowned with our frowning battlements, or dared
The desperate leap from tower to tower, nor fell
Crushed, breathless, motionless? Who e'er returned
Alive?—Oh horror! horror! Edith, fly!
Speed me some tidings.
[Exit Editha.
16
I that so loved him, I that would have given
My life a thousand fold to save him—I
Shall be his murderess.
Enter Ernest.
Ernest.
Nay, lady, nay,
There's yet a hope.
Cunigunda.
Old man, art thou turned flatterer?
He'll perish.
Ernest.
I beheld the manèged steed
Ascend the steep and narrow stair; a steed
Of Araby, light-limbed and fine, with eyes
Of living fire half starting from his slim
And veiny head; a hot and mettled steed;
Yet trained to such obedience, that each motion
Of the swift foot seemed guided by the will
Of the bold rider, even as they had been
One and incorporate. If man may atchieve
This perilous deed, the falcon knight alone—
17
Ernest, thou shalt have lands enow to make
Thyself a belted knight! Now blessings on thee
That bring'st me hope!—But Edith, Gertrude, Otto,
Why come they not? I could have won to Prague
And back, in half the time. Why come they not?
Good tidings find swift messengers. Alas!
I fear; I fear.
Ernest.
Shall I go seek them?
Cunigunda.
No.
The abyss, the dread abyss, where the old wall
Shelving, and steep, and crumbling, overhangs
The vale of Hirschberg from such dizzying height
As never plummet fathomed;—that abyss—
Henry of Cassel there, and the good knight
Of Olmutz—Oh I have been cruel, Ernest,
And for my sins he'll die! to punish me
He'll die! he'll die!
18
Gertrude.
Lady—
Cunigunda.
Why dost thou pause?
Ernest.
See how she pants! she's breathless.
Cunigunda.
Is there any
Panting and breathless save myself? He's dead!
I see it in her face.
Gertrude.
He hath safely passed
The abyss.
Cunigunda.
Now thanks to Heaven! The dread abyss.
He's safe! he's safe! Thou shalt be portioned, Gertrude.
He's safe!
Ernest.
Yet that wide leap from tower to tower
Where Rudolf of Thuringia—
Cunigunda.
Out on thee,
Raven!
Ernest.
That fearful leap, with scarce a ledge
Where steed—
(Shouts without.
19
What means that cry?
Re-enter Otto and Editha.
Editha, Otto,
What means that cry?
Editha.
He's safe! The leap is past;
The falcon knight is safe!
Ernest.
Look to her!
Cunigunda.
Nay
I'm well. Say o'er again!
Editha.
The leap is past.
The falcon knight is safe.
Cunigunda.
My Editha,
Ask what thou wilt of me. Was ever woman
So blest before! The falcon knight is mine,
Mine own, and I am his. Oh, thanks to Heaven!
Now, ye that called my vow cruel and rash,
What say ye now?
Ernest.
Alas, dear lady, still
I grieve for them that—
20
Talk not of them. Think
What were a thousand such as they, compared
With the bold falcon knight!—Editha, Gertrude,
Albert will come to claim his bride; wipe off
These blistering tears, braid this dishevelled hair,
Adjust my wimple and my veil;—my knight
Will come to claim his bride.
Enter Sir Albert and a Page.
He comes! away!
I was a fool to think of vanity;
He will not love his Cunigunda less
That she hath lain on the stone floor in prayer
And tearful agony, whilst he hath dared
This perilous deed.—Albert!
Albert
(to a page.)
Lead Saladin
Gently around the court. He trembles still
At the o'ermastered danger.
Cunigunda.
Albert!
21
(still to the page.)
Loosen
The foaming bit. It is a matchless steed.
Cunigunda.
Oh matchless! matchless! I myself would be
His groom. But Albert!—
Albert.
When he's cooler, bid
Thy comrade, Jerome, ride him back to Prague.
Bring thou another courser straight. The day
Wears on.
[Exit Page.
Cunigunda.
Sir Albert!
Albert.
Madam!
Cunigunda.
Hast thou not
A word for Cunigunda? Dost thou stand
There, like some breathing marble in thy cold
Stern haughty beauty, mute and motionless,
With arms close-folded and down-gazing eyes,
No thought for Cunigunda, not a word
For her whom thou hast won, not even a look?
Dost thou not claim me, Albert?
Albert.
Lady, no;
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As pale as winter snows! feel every pang
That thou hast caused and scorned!—I have a wife,
A sweet and gracious woman; beautiful
Beyond all beauty, for the blush of love
The smile of kindness, and the dancing light
Of those joy-kindling eyes in whose bright play
The innocent spirit revels, blend their spell
With features delicate as lily bells,
A shape more graceful than the clustering vine.
Talk of thy stately charms! At Ida's side
Thou would'st shew coarse and sunburnt, as the brown
And rugged elm beside the shining beech.—
Ay, shrink and tremble! hide thy burning cheeks
Within thy quivering hands!—Wilt thou hear more?—
This lovely loving wife, my three years' bride
And twice a mother,—Oh none ever bent
With such a grace as she o'er sleeping babes,
Nor ever youthful mother bent o'er babes
So like the Cherubim!—This wife, so fair,
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Would ache to see a sparrow die, this wife
I love.
Cunigunda.
Why then—Oh cruel!
Albert.
Dar'st thou talk
Of cruelty, proud murderess, whose meed
For true-love hath been death? Whose sinful vow
Slew the most gracious boy of all the earth,
The hope and pride and joy of his high line
Young Rudolf of Thuringia, my dear brother,
My dear and only brother?
Ernest.
'Tis Duke Albert!
Yet pity her! See how she smites her brow,
And tears her raven hair!
Albert.
Where was her pity
When that fair boy—Murderess, 'tis Rudolf's brother
That speaks to thee. When first I heard that tale,
Several revenges, deadly, bloody, fierce,
All that the body can endure of keen
And lengthened agony, the rack, the wheel,
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A poor and trivial vengeance, all unmeet
For such o'erwhelming wrong; my cunning hate
Hath found a more enduring curse. Thou lov'st me,
Thou lov'st me, Cunigunda, with the hot
Wild passion of thy nature, and I scorn thee!
Thou art contemned and loathed by whom thou lov'st;
Won and abandoned; spurned and thrown aside
Like an infected garment. The plague spot
Of sin is on thee, woman; blackest shame
Shall follow like thy shadow. 'Twas for this
I donned the mask of courtship; for this trained
My faithful steed. Thy worthless hand is mine—
Nay touch me not, hang not about my knees—
Mine to bestow. Some horse-boy of my train
Shall prove thy fitting partner.
Editha.
Oh for pity!
For manly pity, good my lord, break not
The bruised flower!
Cunigunda.
Be silent, Editha!
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Even as thou wilt, Duke Albert. I've deserved
Thy hate—but soon my heart—my bursting heart—
Deal with me as thou wilt. 'Twill not be long!
Albert.
Nay then—Rise, Cunigunda! Lift thy face
From off the ground and listen. I'll not break
The bruised flower. Live and repent. In prayer
And pious penance live. The cloister cell
Were thy meet refuge. By to-morrow's dawn
Go join the Carmelites at Prague. For them
Who died untimely, for thyself, for me
And for my children, pray!—Now home, Sir Page!
My steed! my steed!
[Exeunt.
| Cunigunda's Vow | |