University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Cloisters of the Priory at Rolandswerth. The Church, opening into them, seen lighted beyond.
Weilenberg, Father Philip, Ellen veiled, Prioress, Nuns, and Attendants returning from the funeral.
WEILENBERG.
Thanks, lady, for these pains: believe them such,
Not as they seem proportionless or faithless,
But honest as they are.

PRIORESS.
We have put forth
Our duties feebly measured by our will,
Yet with what strength we had.

WEILENBERG.
Again, good night!
As good as prayers or holier tears can make it.
She thanks thee too whose heart is with us here.
I pray make haste to visit her again.

PRIORESS.
We shall be with her yet before we sleep.
Such vigils will not rob us of our rest!
Brother, I promised for us both, with these (to Philip)

To help our prayers.

PHILIP.
Who stops us at the gate?
Move on! make way there!

PRIORESS.
Night comes earlier now:
It is not late.

PHILIP.
We draw toward ten o'clock!
I know not why we tarry thus.

1ST. ATTENDANT.
Adrift?

2ND. ATTENDANT.
Gone whither?

3RD. ATTENDANT.
Down the stream.

1ST. ATTENDANT.
Who says they are?

3RD. ATTENDANT.
I do that saw them go.

PHILIP.
Saw what?

3RD. ATTENDANT.
The boats.

PHILIP.
Well, bring us where they are, then.

3RD. ATTENDANT.
They are gone—
The larger craft down stream unsteered and empty:
The rest across.

WEILENBERG.
What hindrance stays us thus?

PHILIP.
Where be these boatmen?

2ND. ATTENDANT.
In the pageant here:
They left their charge, to follow with the rest.

PHILIP.
The boats are gone!

1ST. ATTENDANT.
Make room! stand back!
The Seneschal, my lord!

PHILIP.
Then send him in.

1ST. ATTENDANT.
This other is a servant of the Count.

PHILIP.
Give place, and let them pass.

Enter Screitch and Hubert.
WEILENBERG.
Who sent thee, Screitch?

SCREITCH.
Count Albert with his page, a foolish youth,
Nor safely trusted by himself: he bears
His message to my lord.

WEILENBERG.
From whom?

SCREITCH.
The Count.

WEILENBERG.
Count Albert sent it to me!—whence?

SCREITCH.
The castle.

WEILENBERG.
He!—what does he there?

SCREITCH.
Much as if at home—
And talks about the gallows masterlike.
The castle was surprised an hour ago.

WEILENBERG.
Surprised?

PHILIP.
What says this babbler?

WEILENBERG.
Rolandseck!

PHILIP.
Do thou speak for him, son.

HUBERT.
He says the truth.

WEILENBERG.
Surprised, sir!—who surprised it?

HUBERT.
May I speak?

WEILENBERG.
Ay, so thou speak at once.

SCREITCH.
The Count surprised it.

WEILENBERG.
Then who betrayed it,—thou? (Seizes Screitch.)


PRIORESS.
I pray release him!
Think where we are, my lord!

WEILENBERG.
A traitor too!

PHILIP.
There was a vow to God—and lo, he proves us!
Have patience still.

ELLEN.
Remember what was promised!

PRIORESS.
Peace, daughter!—come with me—do thou remember!

(She leads Ellen into the church and closes the door.)
WEILENBERG.
My child! pray speak!—Not thou, go drive him hence—
Let him not make me mad!—My daughter, sir? (swoons.)


PHILIP.
Till he can better hear thee, peace—Give help!
This passion staggers life!

HUBERT.
Stand from him, Screitch;
Leave room for air.

PHILIP.
Bring us a seat—he wakes.

WEILENBERG.
Sirrah, where is she?

HUBERT.
She is safe, my lord.

WEILENBERG.
Is there no help?—Have mercy yet awhile!
Then strike, and I will bear it—not this child!
Surprised!—it could not be surprised—he bought it—
He tarried there so long to purchase treason:
Now, where is Rudestein?

SCREITCH.
Slain before the gate:
Count Albert slew him there.

WEILENBERG.
Who sold me, then?

SCREITCH.
Where didst thou find me, youth—and what about?

PHILIP.
This trifler chafes me too!

HUBERT.
The gates were wide—
We found the drawbridge as the pageant left it.

WEILENBERG.
This mantle chokes me!—Whom dost gaze at thus?
Be gone!

PHILIP.
He will, my lord.

WEILENBERG.
Take off this cloak—
Thy master could not make me thus—he lies—
Go, tell him so, and what thou wilt beside.
I have slept ill of late—he could not do it—
The heat has made me faint.

HUBERT.
I have no will
In bearing what I bring, my lord. It is
The curse of such as I to blush and serve.
'Twere better live by beggary, and be spared
The greater shame, than thus return a thief
Where welcome was so liberal!

WEILENBERG.
Pray forgive!
I wound the unoffending yet again—
And speak before a servant of his lord!
Thou art not yet a father, gentle youth,
Or I would ask no patience. What dost bring me?
Now for this message from the Count?—be brief!

HUBERT.
Chased out from Rolandseck, he so far makes
The balance just, he says;—in what remains,
He shall be better pleased with kinder dealings;
And that your Lordship may regain your peace
By first restoring his.

WEILENBERG.
Alas! ill-broke,
And raw to baseness—what dost falter at?

HUBERT.
I do not love my harness.

WEILENBERG.
Tell the Count—
It is to him, not of him, that I speak—
He looked for traitors where he lived a guest;
He chose an hour to strike whom Death had stricken;
He mocks me at the grave.—Wilt thou say this?

HUBERT.
I will, my lord.

WEILENBERG.
There has been hate enough,
But still in honour, tell him: neither side
Has hired from fraud its cowardice till now.
Henceforth he must endure the names I send him—
Traitor, and traitor-maker, coward beside,
Unless he cast his fortune from the scale—
The difference which his fraud has made between us—
And like a soldier, meet me as I am;
Of late grown old apace. Lend arms to-night—
The thief that stole them should be so far just—
To-morrow I will hoot him at his gate;
Coward, traitor, traitor-maker, say.

PHILIP.
Thine heart
Is in thy mastery, though thy hands are not;
Keep it from counsels such as these, my son!
Where is the Lady Ellen?

HUBERT.
She is safe,
And will be honoured.

WEILENBERG.
Will she be restored?

SCREITCH.
The Lady Ellen would not hear my counsel:
But is it thrown away? I keep, and use it.
The crumbs rejected serve to feed ourselves;
Let us receive them humbly. Where didst find me?

PHILIP.
This haste may do us wrong. Give space to breathe.
She would not hear thee, sayest? Let me go with them.
Haply I shall find access where she is.
My lord, let me go too! We scarce can mar
What seems so ruinous, by awkward handling.
There needs a comforter; but time let slip
Is lost, with hopes mere precious than itself.
What sayest thou, son, wilt take me there?

HUBERT.
I will.

WEILENBERG.
If so, make haste: be with her in my place.

PHILIP.
Now which way went the Prioress? Tarry for me.
Expect me at the boat.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Church, lighted. A Coffin before the Altar.
Ellen and Prioress—the veils of both withdrawn.
PRIORESS.
To what thou seemest and art, the words were apt—
He marked them not.

ELLEN.
Then spare to chide me thus.

PRIORESS.
Ay, so I will—but henceforth how to trust thee?
Be patient yet.

ELLEN.
I am.

PRIORESS.
Be thankful too!
Good guidance brought thee with us here.

ELLEN.
I know it,
And have confessed it on my knees. Till now
Her voice seemed near who taught me to endure.
My steps to-night were steady as your own,
The tears I shed as few. But this is hard,
That he should prove so cruel who has left us
No home to rest in coming from the grave!—
Hard to have loved the hard-hearted!

PRIORESS.
Love! what now?
For other thoughts I brought thee where we are.
We blessed the All-merciful, and so He is:
But yet his judgments follow one apace,
And must outrun them both:—they shall not prosper!

ELLEN.
My father? God forbid! what has he done?
Judgment for what?

PRIORESS.
Askest thou for what?—look there!
[Points to the coffin.
Hast lost remembrance of thy mother's tears?
So soon forgot? I saw them on her cheek,
Washing the freshness off it day by day,
Till changed to what she is:—and still I see them!
Judgment for what?—is one of these hard-hearted?
Which was it broke her heart, if only one?

ELLEN.
She pitied the unhappy.

PRIORESS.
So did I.

ELLEN.
His misery is the more to need forgiveness.
My mother, look upon me! leave me not!
There is no bosom now to hide my tears!
O, hear me still, my mother!

PRIORESS.
Hush! she does—
This passion is of sin—I am thy mother.

ELLEN.
O, no—not thou—we never have but one!

Enter Philip.
PHILIP.
There is hope yet!

PRIORESS.
We need it.

PHILIP.
I must haste!

PRIORESS.
The hope of what?

PHILIP.
Peace, sister! hear me speak—
This Count has cast his net upon a stake—
So far the purpose of his treason fails.
He climbs so high to reach an empty nest:
The bird is flown! Why tarry in the wind
Rocked to and fro 'twixt hate and mockery?
He cannot bide up there alone! He finds
No hostage, as he hoped, nor plea for violence—
No tenure but a thief's, who must appear
At last, descending from the chimney's top,
So much the blacker as he stays the longer.
The page who brought this message, takes me back.

PRIORESS.
Is Ursula faithful, thinkest—or has he learnt
That what is lost is here?

PHILIP.
He had not learnt,
When these came from him, that he was a loser;
But held the unopened casket in his hand,
Nor doubted if the pearl were there or no.
I run to mis-direct pursuit from us
By asking access in her father's name—
Demanding what is missed as if he hid it.
Guile in defence is not injurious,
When, like the lapwing's feignings of distress,
It cries the loudest farthest from mischance.
Count Albert must not look toward Rolandswerth!—
The gods he served are desecrated—praise—
The majesty of honor. He that spurns
His ancient worship, will deal worse with ours,
Defenceless truth and innocence afraid.
Our gates are weaker than the castle's were.

PRIORESS.
He will not seek her here?

PHILIP.
Sister, he will;
If he shall hope to find her here, he must;
Constrained by shame to darn his tattered treachery,
And tack advantage as a fringe to fraud.
Daughter, be prisoner to thy promise still—
Lock up this secret, give the key to us!—
Who leave their wits behind thrive ill abroad:
Let me not doubt of mischief while away:
Thou wilt not draw the veil from off thy face,
Till I come back.

ELLEN.
To none beside my father.

PHILIP.
Thy father!—none beside thy father, sayest?
Marry, this cuts our counsel short enough!
The mystery need not borrow of our brains.
Tell thou thy father—let me tell the Count!
Lo, this is all I wished thee not to do!
Whom else wouldst hide thee from?

ELLEN.
But why from him?
He is as wise as we are.

PHILIP.
Not to-night.

ELLEN.
Philip, he will endure as he sees me.
His knowledge cannot reach to Rolandseck.

PRIORESS.
Wouldst tell him,—why?

ELLEN.
To make his misery less.

PHILIP.
Child, he has sent defiance by this page;
Proclaimed the Count a traitor, as he is—
And coward, which he is not. This must be hushed,
Or will be answered.

PRIORESS.
What dost purpose, then?

PHILIP.
To humble both while each believes her lost,
And waken hope, in both, to repossess.
To keep their hate apart, then tread it out.
They cannot tarry as they are. The Count
Has sold his honor for an empty house,
At last not his. My lord will fear to leave
His child up there; and of his too great pride
Abate a part to ransom her.

ELLEN.
Then go—
Make haste—I will do any thing!

PHILIP.
Do this.

ELLEN.
Let me be veiled, and see him so—I will!
Trust me, he shall not know me.

PHILIP.
We risk all!
I must be gone—Well, kneel, child—look this way—
Swear by the altar, and by her before it!
The baron shall not learn thy presence here
Till I come back!

PRIORESS.
If thou shouldst not come back?

PHILIP.
Release her, in my name, at break of day.
Do as thy wisdom teaches thee.

ELLEN.
I swear!

PHILIP.
It is a vow to God—and by her soul
Make it, and keep it, awfully!

ELLEN.
I will!

PHILIP.
The altar and the grave are witnesses.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

On the Island. A boat and boatmen seen by moonlight at some distance. The Castle on the farther side of the Rhine.
Screitch and Hubert.
HUBERT.
I may not tarry longer for this priest.
The words we bear are winged like thunder-bolts:
Their echo will be louder than themselves.
Do thou stay here.

SCREITCH.
I must—to gather breath.

HUBERT.
All spent so soon? How shalt thou reach the height
Whence Barbara sends her sighs to meet and greet thee?
With clearer wind-pipe sobs the sea-horse drowning!
A leaden Cupid at a Dutchman's gate
Might blush for such a worshipper.—Canst guess
Why both these masters speed their errands thus—
The old and new one chuck thee to and fro?
Canst tell me why?

SCREITCH.
I can.

HUBERT.
Then do.

SCREITCH.
The nurse
Is seen to travel at her weanling's heels,
With hand outstretched to pluck him from the dirt,
And rod to stir remembrance of mischance.
Now for this page's prate of Barbara!

HUBERT.
Wouldst learn her doings—what she is about?
She laughs, and lengthens yet her holiday.
She sits with Rudestein and the Count at supper.
She thinks and speaks of thee—thy love, thy learning,
Thy vigilance to-night, thine embassy.
All three have shining faces through thy means,
But look for larger mirth at thy return.

SCREITCH.
It is a sin to lie if men will credit;
A silly sin to lie when none believes.

HUBERT.
Thou sayest so, Seneschal, of whom?

SCREITCH.
A page
Whose birth, breath, breeding, have none other use.
Rudestein is dead.

HUBERT.
Then lies will be the less.
He must have been a page, or page-begot—
Page-bred, page-principled, and propertied.
We found him at the gate—and thou shalt find him
With empty flasks and Bab on either hand.
Haply she told thee of his death?

SCREITCH.
She did.

HUBERT.
Then Barbara is a page in petticoats.
A Christian soldier lies?

SCREITCH.
Ay, many do.

HUBERT.
Art ready, Seneschal?

SCREITCH.
For what?

HUBERT.
For death.

(Draws.
SCREITCH.
A Christian Seneschal is always ready.
Once since the sunset have I thought me nearer,
But now the readier if thou saidst the truth.
My lord believes me faithless—Barbara is—
Behold, child, I defy thee!

HUBERT.
Get thy breath:
Unsheathe, and then stand fast.

SCREITCH.
I yield my neck,
As Tullius did to those from Anthony.
The sheath is all I have.

HUBERT.
'Twas all I left thee.
Yon bright moon sees me blush.—Here comes the Father.

Enter Philip.
PHILIP.
The Seneschal is old in suffering wrongs,
And like the old, forgets.

HUBERT.
Let there be peace—
On my part love and honour, Seneschal.

PHILIP.
Make me partaker in this league. There is
Enough of wrath elsewhere.

HUBERT.
With all my heart.

PHILIP.
We need not be the merchants of men's hate:
Contention wants not us to speed its traffic.
The peaceful lips are blessed.

HUBERT.
Father, thou hast
No Lord but one who cannot be disgraced—
I keep aloof, mine may.

PHILIP.
Hast thou but one?
And is he honoured best by doing ill?
Best served by worst of services? Wouldst pick
The straws which misery scatters in its haste,
And bind them up as gleanings for the cruel?
His honour who has robbed the house he dwelt in,
Requires to slay his host! If such thy calling,
It is accursed.

HUBERT.
And if dogs felt as men,
I should run mad, to carry in my mouth
No matter what, or what its filthiness.
To chase my last kind feeder out of doors,
And tear grief's freshest robes like beggar's rags.
The Baron was a soldier once—he knows
The shortest way to justice. Here, at least,
He is not rash, but wise.

SCREITCH.
I fain would stake
His white hairs now 'gainst this Count Albert's black,
Were grief away which makes the helmet heavy,
And care which dries the bones.

PHILIP.
It must not be.

HUBERT.
Father, it were the best for both of them!
The loser gains.

PHILIP.
There is one more to think for:
What hath she done amiss? Thyself art young—
Youth should be pitiful.

HUBERT.
If all my blood
Might save the shedding of but half her tears,
It should run every drop!—Does God forsake her,
So fair and innocent as she is? Speak out—
I fear as little as thyself. The Count
Has lost a princely name since yesterday;
And some who serve him, blush for him. Foul love
And this suggesting traitor, damn us all!
This piebald Rudestein! Shall I tell him so?

PHILIP.
Tell truth, but wisely—make this challenge air—
The breath of wrath and rashness, as it was.

HUBERT.
Instruct me as we go. The boat there, Gregory!
This way the bank gives safest footing, Screitch:
Tread where the moon shines—here are steps of stone.

SCREITCH.
It is a youth whose breeding should be cared for:
I will bestow some pains.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Night. Chamber in the Castle.
Count Albert and Barbara.
COUNT.
Hast found her, Barbara?

BARBARA.
We have searched thrice through
All places that are possible to hide in,
And thrice as many that are not, my lord—
But still we cannot find her.

COUNT.
Where is Ursula?

BARBARA.
Safely locked up.

COUNT.
Her tears are passionless—
I doubt this close composure.

BARBARA.
I do not.
Her grief is sullen, as it used to be:
Feebler she is in pride than heretofore,
But else unchanged.

COUNT.
Then let us search again.
Enter Rudestein.
What comfort, Rudestein?

RUDESTEIN.
Worse than none at all!
A hundred torches lend their light to find
Despair instead of it.

COUNT.
Begin once more!
She could not quite expend herself in sighs—
Fine as that body is, it must have substance.
Walls such as these were partly built to hide in;
What seemed compact of rock had caves scooped out—
Panting and listening, like a frighted fawn,
She stoops in one of these.

RUDESTEIN.
How late didst see her?—
And where, Bab, was it?

BARBARA.
When the sun went down:
And in the chamber opening to her bed:—
Not where she sleeps, but next this side of it.

RUDESTEIN.
She must have issued by the public stairs—
Or through the casement, like a lark uncaged!
I have slept there before this bird was hatched.
Her nest is in a tower on three sides naked,
With slanting battlements, and foot advanced,
As treading giddily on such a height.
Its walls are solid—both the lights one way.
A mossy sort of ledge for briars and weeds,
Where the rock mingles with the masonry
Confounding which is which, is all beneath them
From height to depth, between the daws and fishes.

BARBARA.
She has not ventured there!

COUNT.
Is it possible?

BARBARA.
She would not do it!

COUNT.
But could she if she would?
Is the thought possible?

RUDESTEIN.
She dared not think it.
Who searched that chamber first?

BARBARA.
I followed Ursula.

RUDESTEIN.
Were both the casements closed?

BARBARA.
No—one was not.

COUNT.
How far beneath the window is that ledge?
Could any venture on it?

RUDESTEIN.
With a rope,
Or some such aidance, hanging from above—
Not else, though light as Harlequin.

BARBARA.
And yet
The footing seems less perilous than it is,
Benched out by briars and wall-flowers.

RUDESTEIN.
Trusting to it,
The world were dear against a new-laid egg.
And she!—a lamb at play were scarce so shy!

BARBARA.
At play she was—in earnest, I have seen
Her eyes look like her father's.

COUNT.
So have I
The last time that I saw them—or shall see them
If what we fear be so!

BARBARA.
It cannot be!

COUNT.
Else are we damned unprofitably, Bab!

RUDESTEIN.
Well, what says Ursula to it?—bring her in.
[Exit Barbara.
I could believe that one might take this leap,
Who thought not of the next as sure to follow.
The fearful are the desperate when pursued.
The lion goes straight, the hare flies any where.
This fawn has tried the brambles, perhaps!
Enter Ursula and Barbara.
We talk
Of hares and hunting, mistress Ursula.
But look—such doublings as might mend our sport,
With mirth and better leisure for the chase,
Are dangerous now! Hast thought on what I said?

COUNT.
We that have gone so far, shall not turn back.

RUDESTEIN.
Wilt wipe thy tears, and tell us of thy mistress?

URSULA.
Barbara was with me, ask her where she is.

RUDESTEIN.
Wouldst rather have one husband, or a score?
Speak, thou brine-sodden idiot!

URSULA.
We left together—
We two went out to see the guests assemble—
My lady staid behind us; Barbara knows it.

COUNT.
Behind you where?

URSULA.
The chamber next her bed.
The door between was closed when I returned.
How could I press on grief at such a season?
The bells chimed still, the chaunt was heard up there!
I have not seen her since.

RUDESTEIN.
How long didst wait?

URSULA.
Till Screitch and Barbara found me there—they first,
And soon his grace.

COUNT.
But was the door closed still?

URSULA.
Your highness saw me knock, and made me enter.

COUNT.
Were both the casements shut?

URSULA.
But one of them.
Barbara was with me, let her speak.

COUNT.
Could grief
Have made thy mistress desperate?

URSULA.
Terror might.

BARBARA.
Shame on so base a thought!

COUNT.
Terror at what?

URSULA.
Your highness—Barbara's cries to hide herself—
So sick and broken-hearted as she was,
The Rhine might seem the least unmerciful.

RUDESTEIN.
We give thee leave to follow. Take her back—
Lock the door fast, and set the casements open.

[Exeunt Ursula and Barbara.
COUNT.
She speaks the truth!

RUDESTEIN.
Well, spur her to the leap—
Prick her on both flanks. Drown thee in the Rhine!
Leap from thy love, my pretty peevish cousin!

COUNT.
Better the vessel perish than the freight!
We pirates gain the wreck of Rolandseck,
Its wealth washed out. Her father may reclaim it!

RUDESTEIN.
I prophesied so much.

Enter Barbara, with Philip, Screitch, and Hubert.
BARBARA.
Your grace beholds
The two ambassadors come back!

RUDESTEIN.
And this
That dove-like bears his olive-branch between them—
Welcome thyself and tidings, father Philip!

PHILIP.
Who was it made thee host at Rolandseck?
Which of the two is master here? I crave
No larger welcome than sufficed for these.

COUNT.
What audience hadst thou, Hubert? Speak thou first—
Hast seen the lord of Weilenberg?

HUBERT.
I have—
And sealed your grace's faith beneath mine own
For equal payment of the patience shown me.

COUNT.
Then he was patient?

HUBERT.
Sparingly at first—
Awhile he seemed perplexed by what we told him,
Confounding names, and hasty through mistakes.
Which was his house he knew not—that or this.
He marvelled at a message dated hence,
And carried from your highness by his guest—
For so far he remembered me:—his friends,
His kinsmen, people, followers, oddly mixed—
His daughter here, her mother in the church—
He scarce could understand me.

COUNT.
When he did?

HUBERT.
He swooned, my lord—but like a wrestler fallen,
The first time shorn of victory by mischance—
He blamed his heedlessness, the ground, the weather,
Diminished rest in sleep—his cloak was heavy,
His thoughts distract—the game was falsely played,
The treachery manifest, he said—but chief
He ill endured that we should see him thus.
Some hasty words he dropped about your grace—
There had been hate between your house and his,
But neither party sat the other's guests
And ate them out a wider way to treason—
Nor would they wait to strike whom death had stricken.

RUDESTEIN.
A clerkly page it is, and wise withal!
I see the hallowed candlestick behind him
Whence falls the illumination!

COUNT.
What beside?
Hast lost the answer that I sent thee for?
What said he of his daughter, boy?

HUBERT.
It was
Of her he talked so giddily, my lord:
And for her liberty would risk his age,
Though hurried onward past its speed of late.
Your highness is a soldier—so was he!

RUDESTEIN.
Good cheer down yonder, Screitch?—these two are drunk!
The Prioress gives her best?—What said thy lord?

SCREITCH.
Of thee? he thinks thee dead—I told him so—
As Barbara taught me—slain before the gate!
Fie on thee, Bab! thou hast reported falsely!

BARBARA.
He fought as well as thou didst. Odds and chance
O'erthrow the mightiest! What says Seneca?

SCREITCH.
He stood a traitor at his kinsman's gate!
He sold his birth-place to the Count for gold!
The inheritance of his fathers!

RUDESTEIN.
Stop awhile!
Dost call me traitor?

SCREITCH.
Ay, a second time.
Remount me on the horse thou borrowedst from me,
And let me make it good.

HUBERT.
Stand off, and loose him—
He says the truth.

SCREITCH.
Be thou attorney for me:
I loathe to lay mine hand upon a thief.

COUNT.
Give me this message, father, as it is:
And shorten pity's rhetoric—to the point—
Let slip the repetition of remorse.
What would the Baron fight with me about?
His house and child?—the stakes are lost already.
We shall be soon too near akin for strife:
First let me ask his blessing.

PHILIP.
I will seek
No pity toward my lord, nor from your grace:
Both are too proud for that! Scorn scarce can reach
So high as his grey head: the imperial crown
Would rest henceforth unhonored on thine own.
The Baron asks that I may see his child.

RUDESTEIN.
To licence fraud—suggest obduracy.
A triple twist, fool, priest, and priest's apprentice!
Put them all three in ward.

COUNT.
See her for what?

PHILIP.
I needs must sink the privilege of my place.
Our conference may be here, or where you please.

COUNT.
Hast thou not seen her once to-day?

PHILIP.
Three times.
Such days come seldom—I have seen her thrice—
I saw her here at sunset.

COUNT.
Wait without.

(Exeunt Philip and Screitch.).
RUDESTEIN.
This nursling politician, take him too!
There may be gossip worth his gathering.
The key-holes and his ears are ancient friends—
Beware to leave the door ajar.

HUBERT.
I might
List long, nor hear so foul a knave again.

RUDESTEIN.
I cannot seat thee in the stocks to-night.
They and the whipping-post are out of doors—
Tarry till breakfast time.

HUBERT.
I know the place—
Between the gate and drawbridge, where we found thee
A step this side the gallows.

COUNT.
Let him go!
Hubert, stand from him. Strike who will again,
My turn comes next. Boy, what has made thee mad?—
Give me the sword, I say—and get to bed.

HUBERT.
I will not serve in fellowship like this.
The sight of those white hairs has made me mad—
Of him so great, now friendless and betrayed!
Shame makes me mad!

(Hubert throws his sword on the ground, and exit.)
COUNT.
Place him in ward there—go!

(The Count, Rudestein, and Barbara remain.)
COUNT.
The fiend that owns and helps thee, baulk and blast thee—
Then leave thee blacker then himself, thou beast!
Art drunk to-night again?—Whose loss is perilled?
What canst thou lose or hazard? honor—love?
What farther infamy can touch to harm thee?
Why shouldst thou fear disgrace? Canst hear the hiss
Which makes me giddy? Art thou damned, as I am,
For being a fool alone?

BARBARA.
My lord, this page
Called not your grace a traitor.

COUNT.
But he did—
Traitor and traitor-teacher, mistress Bab.
Hast lost both wits and womanhood?—thine ears
As well as honesty? He called me traitor!
I lack the advantages of ancient use:
I am not yet at ease, like you, with baseness!
To me scorn's breath stinks still!

RUDESTEIN.
Discourse well timed,
And eloquent withal, to teach me patience!
Temperance sets forth its praises to the drunk!—
Well, let us profit by it, mistress mine!
Behold the great exemplar, Bab! Ten tongues
Are telling all by this time: Father Philip
Hath filled his scrip with news to marvel at.
My cousin is lost, her father may defy us—
Let him go back and say so!

COUNT.
He bides here.
We must do what we mean to do at once.
Shall we prevent this rumour, and be gone?
Our better choice is lost! The daughter safe,
Love's wrongs had helped us with the vulgar sort,
And pride been blamed which would not yield to tears.
Now are we thieves and murderers!

RUDESTEIN.
Treat, then, treat!
Affect the conqueror—henceforth pity moves you;
And so make peace, sir. Till the game is lost,
I keep my cards. She may be found, perhaps, yet.
Assure thee that my kinsman thinks her here—
Search him, and sift him thoroughly. Take heed
That not a whisper pass the gates before thee—
Hold these three fast awhile.

COUNT.
How treat? by whom?
The envoys are locked up. He thinks thee dead.

RUDESTEIN.
But then I died with credit at the gate.
Your highness slew me there. To this extent—
Half-killed, and sorely wounded for his sake,
Thrust out of doors, your grace's challenger—
To this extent he might believe me faithful,
Remembering how we hated one another.
And if he disbelieved me—well, what then?
We are but where we were. I care not which—
One needs must go, and presently.

COUNT.
Make haste!
When servants shake their heads, our state looks sick—
I must not leave them here. It matters little,
Now that the prize we played for falls to neither,
Who wins the seconds takes. (Exit Count.)


RUDESTEIN.
They fall to me.
Fiend-tempted I!—a fool—and drunk beside!
This page may call me traitor! cuff me too!
I looked for this, but scarce on this side Christmas.
He pays us early in the oldest coin.

BARBARA.
Part that he said was true!

RUDESTEIN.
Of womanhood?
I do not quarrel with him for its truth.

BARBARA.
This jostling of your blood and policy.
Mark him when eyes are on him, how sedate!
And yet, at heart, as mad as Hercules.

RUDESTEIN.
It is my turn to make thee marvel, Barbara.
Do thou mark me, child.—Judge whose devil is wisest,
Is boldest, nimblest, strongest—his or mine.
Now comes the consummation, mistress Bab!
'Tis time to serve ourselves. All hopeless is it?
I never felt so pleased, or sped more surely.
This girl is in the Rhine—her father is
Where he shall rest a hundred years. The Count—
The love-sick Count—is sick of sin beside,
And sick of solitude, and sick of us—
Marry, the Count is sick of Rolandseck!
Quick! quick, child—run beside me to the boat!
And study what I teach thee as we go—
Thou shalt be mistress here before we sleep.

[Exeunt.