University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Chamber in the Castle.
Rudestein and Barbara.
RUDESTEIN.
I will not see him till we meet elsewhere:
Now prithee go and say so.

BARBARA.
To the rash,
Wine is less perilous in its fumes at night,
Than in its fogs to-morrow, child. It is
The morning's fermentation that o'erthrows thee—
What Screitch calls crapula: hence desperate pride,
Crazed pertinacity in wrong—or worse,
Headlong repentance that exasperates sin,
But never tarries long enough to mend.

RUDESTEIN.
We are not married yet, so peace!

BARBARA.
'Tis well!
Do thou and Screitch resign prëoccupance—
This Count shall have my heart.

RUDESTEIN.
I yield my share.

BARBARA.
He soars above hate's archery and its cries,
On wings proportioned to the weight they carry.
Such grief as love's disasters, loss of friends,
Or hoped alliance set aside—at most
Flash some brief sparkles from his eyes, compress
His lips a little closer, tinge his paleness,
And shape his smiles the sharper. Sour or sorry
He never seems, and least when most perplexed.

RUDESTEIN.
What ring dost rub and breathe upon?

BARBARA.
It is
A gift, and not from Screitch.

RUDESTEIN.
Who gave it—he?

BARBARA.
Dost see the little lamp a-blaze within?
Look! look!—Nay, hand and all—let those sick eyes
Draw lustre from it.

RUDESTEIN.
Babbler, was it his?

BARBARA.
Brawler, wilt fight with me? Let go, I say,
And hear its history. It was the Count's:
Ellen's it should have been, but fell to me.
He gave it with a kiss. See how he mourns,
Man's moods, and mortal mutabilities!
Thou first didst quarrel with thy friend—and next,
The Baron with his son-in-law—and last,
The gentle Ellen bade her love farewell!
After the clock had stricken twelve last night,
Thy crowns, his baronies, her favour, vanished:
At one, his heart and brains were cool as ever;
He kissed, and gave me this.

RUDESTEIN.
What said he since?

BARBARA.
Just now?

RUDESTEIN.
Ay, half an hour ago.

BARBARA.
He said
He would come hither straight.

RUDESTEIN.
For what?

BARBARA.
Ask him.
He bade me nurse thee, boil a posset for thee,
Give thee a single flask of weakest wine,
Put thee in temper, make thee wise and social,
Then say that he will fight with thee no more.
Lo! here he is—so peace.
[Exit Barbara.

(Enter Count.)
RUDESTEIN.
There scarce is time,
Count Albert, for regrets. Last night, believe me,
I was half drunk.

COUNT.
Believe me, thou wast quite.
Why, I was half, nor did we drink alike.

RUDESTEIN.
Your highness was not ruined too—at least
We differ in this.

COUNT.
Faith, but I was! ask Barbara:
As surely so as she is, by your doings!
Past help, or hope, like her! Canst tell me why—
Unless we needs must quarrel yet again—
These losses should afflict thee thus?

RUDESTEIN.
I have
At present for their payment but the promise
That sometime I will pay.

COUNT.
This is the growl
Of thunder in the sunshine, long and low,
So far away. Now that the storm is passed,
Behold the rainbow! Let us talk awhile
Wisely, as we were used to do. This sometime,
Which shall eat up all promises at last,
As Saturn ate his babes, though stones in hardness,
How near dost think it is? Since yesterday
My rights are mine by luck, and law, and battle—
Two thousand crowns are trebly due to me.
Canst give a tithe in earnest of the whole?
Canst find two score?

RUDESTEIN.
I may hereafter, perhaps.

COUNT.
Ay, doubtless—or a dukedom! look about!
Perhaps does, indeed, brings strangest things to pass!
The imperial crown itself is findable—
All possibilities we grant. Such men
As thou have been made popes. Bestir thyself!
Awake! who knows?

RUDESTEIN.
What would your highness have?

COUNT.
Thine aid, thy brains, thy fellowship, and Ellen.
And thou shalt have these vouchers back again;
Two thousand crowns to boot.

RUDESTEIN.
My life is yours!

COUNT.
When will these yeasty wits have purged themselves?
I must not wait thine head-ache.

RUDESTEIN.
It is gone.
Haply this quarrel may be turned to use:
We thrive but ill as friends. Before last night,
My footing here was slippery at the best:
Yet can I help no longer than I keep it.
We may be better credited apart.

COUNT.
Alas, a day too late! I must be gone.
It is a day too late! (bells tolls.)
What bell is that?

RUDESTEIN.
Hark! from the chapel! 'tis the passing bell—
My cousin's farewell to a graceless world!

COUNT.
There is another farther off—dost hear it?

RUDESTEIN.
These nuns have waked their loudest. Every knee,
Within a league, is bent but yours and mine.
If prayers and sighs may waft a soul to bliss,
Hers will not lack a gale.

COUNT.
Lend thine aid too—
She was no kin to me.

RUDESTEIN.
She might have been,
But would not wait.

COUNT.
Had death come yesterday,
He might have turned me out, and saved offence—
Saved us our last night's buffet—spared my sighs—
Left me the baron's debtor and his daughter's—
Who must not find me here.

RUDESTEIN.
These bells still tolling,
He scarce would feel a tug upon his beard.

COUNT.
I hope to find a time for giving that
When he shall feel.

RUDESTEIN.
Our little Countess pouts?
What did she say last night?

COUNT.
She has her cares—
She will think justly, kindly.

RUDESTEIN.
Good! all good!

COUNT.
I thought so too, and gave my promise bravely:
Therefore she wishes me a long adieu—
Thenceforth she has renounced me!

RUDESTEIN.
Was it thus?

COUNT.
Bear witness that it was, her own saint Ursula,
And thy saint Barbara! It was gravely thus!
Majestically thus!

RUDESTEIN.
My pretty cousin!
Last leaf above the rotten root of Roland!
Our crabstock keeps its savour still!

COUNT.
The puppet!
A bright-eyed laughter-loving simpleton,
With rosier cheeks than Hebe's six weeks back!
Now would she change their hue for Cynthia's paleness
While he, who slept at Latmos, woke at last
To wonder that the stars were almost gone,
And feebly lighted by her waning moon.

RUDESTEIN.
The ill-digested wine has made me sad—
Or else, belike, this chapel-bell afflicts me!
Pains plague the Sacristan! The stomach's qualms,
And qualms of conscience are so near alike,
I scarce know which is which. It rings the passing
Of one who, though in thought she loved me little,
Was little less, in deed, my friend for that—
Quenching hot wrath, and covering frailties.
Beside, she lent some crowns without a bond.
She kept no vouchers, Count.

COUNT.
Till late last night
My dreams were ever bestial!

RUDESTEIN.
What about?

COUNT.
Of flowery pastures, with this milk-white lamb,
In which to graze at large—the bride, nor less
The barony. But love prevails at last!
Love pure as Tancred's, when he fought too well.
Those cheeks must blush again, those eyes must sparkle,
And laughter light upon those lips—or else
I rest no more.

RUDESTEIN.
We have a ready road
To such repose, but rough withal.

COUNT.
Which way?
Wilt follow?

RUDESTEIN.
Will your highness follow me?
I should go first—it suits a soldier's step:
The politician's were a pace too slow.
There is no danger but in drawing back.

COUNT.
Keep honor from beneath our feet, and then
Which way you will.

RUDESTEIN.
Who bars us after reckonings?

COUNT.
I may do what I can—and what I wish
I will do when I can, and how I can,
With this brief reservation. Power content
To rest unquestioned, smiles on me.

RUDESTEIN.
Why—so
I would be Emperor yet ere Lammas day:
And in my realm there should be Empresses
More numerous than the walnut trees! Pledge that,
And I will give thee, for a summer grange,
This castle where we are—its parks for sport—
Its farms for sustenance—my cousin's lordship—
Old Roland's fortress for a hunting-lodge.
Screitch shall be seneschal, and father Philip
Thy guide to peace.

COUNT.
How soon?

RUDESTEIN.
Stay while I count.
John Baptist's martyrdom comes Thursday next:
Thou shalt sup here, then, on John Baptist's eve—
As heir, if this suffice and please thee best,
Or else as lord.

COUNT.
Wooing the good old way,
With shield and spear, Achilles-like—or how?
But what says honor?

RUDESTEIN.
Honor sees us chased
Like dogs, to-day, with scourges at their tails:
And honor will but laugh if, three days hence,
We chase the scourger. Mount, sir, and look sad!
Your highness tarries here too long.

COUNT.
I quit
Both house and wife; do thou take care of them.

RUDESTEIN.
It is a two day's charge.

COUNT.
Where shall we meet?

RUDESTEIN.
Where the brook widens at the forest side:
Look for me there at sunset. Now, adieu!