University of Virginia Library

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.