University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Court of Rudolph at Stantz.
Rudolph, Hertman, and Officers discovered.
Rud.
They talk of freedom, do they? words kill not.

Hert.
Nor does the trumpet's blast: but it awakens
The slumbering resolution into
Action.

Rud.
They must be silenc'd, and that
Quickly; ere the infection spreads too wide.

Enter a Servant, L. H.
Servant.
A brother of the convent of St. Dominic
Hath brought this letter from the holy abbot,
And craves your lordship's instant reading.

[Gives letter—Rudolph signs to him to leave]
[Exit Servant, L. H.
Rud.
What means this, Hertman?

Hert.
I can opine not;
Unless the troops, despairing of their pay
Have foraged on the monks.

Rud.
(Reads.)
“To Lord Rudolph—
These:—a most unseemly outrage on our
Convent has been perpetrated;
The image of the blessed virgin broken;
The holy vessels of the church defiled
By bacchanal excesses” (no novelty
Methinks) A silver censor stolen, by your
Troops, as by a testimony most clearly
Proved; for which we ask reprisal at your hand.
“Gustavus, Abbot of St. Dominic.”

Hert.
The holy man is not o'er humble.

Rud.
Humility ne'er looks from 'neath a cowl
Perchance the eye of cringing supplication
May glisten there, fed by the hopes of gain
But ne'er humility no monarch like a monk,
Who rules men by their fears and makes their sins
The taxers of their wealth. Your rousing friar
Is the only king. He lives right jollily
His head ne'er throbs with racking cares of state:
The only ache he knows is from the fumes
Of the past night's o'er spiced wassail,
A thriving wooer he; for such ready sinners
In their hearts are women 'tis only love
To err and be forgiven. Now I'd be sworn,
The leanest of their brood they send as
Messenger, lest well fed sides and ruby cheeks
Should tell of well paid dues, and their ill uses.

Hert.
(R. H.)
But they're no jesters, when the laugh costs gold.

Rud.
(R. H.)
True Hertman, we must provide the means
To satisfy their claim. Their wily tongues
Are stronger than our swords. I'd rather fight
The devil than Sir Priest, arm'd with book and
Bead.

Hert.
'Twere easy to transfer, the robber's title
From the state's soldiery to the state's serfs,
And to repay the charges of these monks.
Compel the grumbling slaves to toil and tax
So leave your treasury a gainer.

Rud.
Thanks.
My better genius. The holy men
Will only note the produce of the mine,
Nor think upon the workers of the ore.
To night the walls of good St. Dominic
Shall echo with the praises of our love.
So largely will we pay with others gold.
I fain would be at vespers with them, Hertman;
The bell that rings them there to night will be
Of brighter metal than their matin's call;
The grape's rich tears will be more freely pour'd
Than penitental drops. Should we lose
Our honours in the state, we will turn monk
And be a king indeed.

Enter Servant, L. H.
Servant.
My lord, two men without are clamorous
For admittance. They're from the mountains,
And say they have sustained much wrong
Which they will not divulge to any ear
But thine.

Rud.
Methinks they are over nice!
I like the thought on't. Goatherds, sirs, at court?
Look to your daughters, barons, or ye'll have
Perchance some lusty sons-in-law. For ourself
We needs must learn to doff our cap with grace
To welcome them with all due courtesy. [To Servant.]

Back to the slaves, and tell them they forget
Their breeding strangely. Swine and deer ne'er herd
Together that I wot of. The times are chang'd
My lords, and we must heed the aspect of them.
You, Gesler, have the memory of an act,
That left your great grandfather childless,
And men whose hair is white, have heard their sires
Tell o'er the wounds they got from hunters spears,
[Arnold without L. H.]
Strike at your peril! I do not hunt the wolf
With childhood's spear of lath.

Rud.
This looks revolt
When even to our beards they breathe their threats.
Enter Arnold with a staff in his hand supporting Eberhard, who appears overpowered with fatigue and grief,]
How is it, sirs? Some kid has gone astray
And you do need our yagers to reclaim
The wanderer,—or perchance the tempest
Has uptorn your vineyards—or the chase
Been unsuccessful, and ye would our coffers
Drain? Is it not so? I pray ye not to lack
The breath to ask it.

[Arnold places Eberhard against a pillar and presses his hand encouragingly.]
Arn.
Thinkst thou our only ills
Are those of Heaven's decreeing? Would they were so,
We should know their justice! If the tempest
Eats into our wealth, we know it is impartial;
If the chase leaves us an empty board,
We think upon the plenty of the past, and hope
The future will repay us. We come not now
To ask the beggar's mite. We have a debt
Your master's kingdom would not half repay
To our full bosoms. This old man's whole wealth
Of heart is gone, to feed the craving lust
Of one among your court retainers.

Rud.
How know ye that?

Arn.
The eyes that now are veil'd
In honest shame beheld him. A father's eye
Doth never look upon his offsprings wronger
But to convey the memory to the brain
Indelible and true.
His child has had her innocence pluck'd out
To please your wills. The casket now is empty,
And she so lacks the jewel it contain'd,
She has gone mad with weeping for the gem.

Eber.
(Starts.)
Mad, Arnold! my child mad?

Arn.
Aye, brother,
That mind, the summer of thy life was given
To train to beautiful perfection
Is now a waste!

Eber.
(Falls.)
Oh, powers of mercy!

[Attendants advance to raise him.]
Arn.
Back! fellows! back! his garments shall not smell
E'en of your touch.

Eber.
(L. H.)
Arnold, those words were kindly
Spoken, for they have snapp'd the slender thread
Which held my spirit to this earth—my child! [Dies]


Arn.
(C.)
Eberhard! old friend—old friend
[Places his hand on Eberhard's hand.]
All is still!
He has outran me in the race of life.

Rud.
(R. H.)
He is not dead?

Arn.
As surely as thou liv'st
To judge between us, let not his spirit
Appeal to heaven to right his sum of wrong;
And though the living evidence is not,
This bauble, which the struggling victim pluck'd
[Shows a jewel.]
From her destroyer's breast, may testify
Against him.

Hert.
My lord, what show of injury
These men do bring attaches to myself.

Arn.
Is this a man, and does he own this deed
Without a deeper tint than dyes his cheek
At pray'rs or acts of godliness?
I fain would touch thee, sir; that I may know
Thou art of mortal substance; and no shadow
Thou seemest of us; perchance thy form is given
As sculptur'd marble o'er the mouldering dead,
To hide the foulness of the thing within.

Rud.
Reserve thy wonder for thy fellow's ears
What would you ask of us? gold?

Arn.
Gold! if gold
Can link the subtleties of reason
Again together in the perfect chain
Their giver left them, or resuscitate
The dead that lies before thee, or pluck out
The gnawing sorrows of a hopeless life—
The gift were welcome. Were the vast world
Of thrice refined gold,—its hills all heaps
Of time defying diamond, the least of that
It could not purchase, would its worth outweigh,
The deity you worship so devoutly
Is not the one we bow to on the hills!
What would ye demand, if that good old man
Had been the partner of your glad boyhood.
The steady friend of life's maturer years,
The expected partner of your autumn's peace
And thus he lay struck by a random shaft,
And I the shooter? Pause ere you reply;
And mark how well the sinewy limbs are formed;
How much the lofty brow proclaims the man;
And let thy fancy conjure back the fire
That life could give to those still glassy orbs.
Then look around the nobles of your court
And point me one he did not more than peer!

Rud.
What boaster's this, my lords, that dares to placo
The carrion with the eagle's of the land?

Rud.
Arnold of Winkelried.

Rud.
Arnold the rebel!
Whose tongue is ever wagging of some ill.
His trait'rous thought alone is father to.
Our spies have made that name not over welcome.

Arn.
Ah!

Rud.
And he who could have been so much to thee
Is Eberhard of Lucerne? Said I not rightly?

Arn.
Most rightly; and since you know his worth,
Repay it on this man!

Rud.
It is repaid
The rebel's death hath paid the rebel's deeds;
And thank our mercy that the braggart breath
Thou hast to day so prodigally spent
Is left thee to recount.

Arn.
Your mercy!
I'll use it sirs, for that; I'll lay this corse
Before his children's eyes, and bid them thank
Your mercy for the quiet of the grave!

Rud.
Hurl out the prating slave!

Arn.
(He raises the body of Eberhard up.)
Thou'rt deaf! Thou'rt deaf!
And hear'st not that I'm called slave by a slave?

Rud.
Why am I not obey'd? Away with him!

[An attendant advances to Arnold.]
Arn.
Lay but a finger on me, cringing hound!
And I will lay thee prostrate at my feet!
Slave! Let me take my burthen.

[As Arnold raises the body of Eberhard, the scene closes.]