University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I

A forest with a half-ruined castle in the background, seen through the trees by moonlight. Franko and several Outlaws are discovered sitting on the ground, round a fire, with flagons, &c. by them, as if they had been drinking.
Song of several voices.

Franko
(to 1st out.).
How lik'st thou this, Fernando?

1st out.
Well sung i' faith! but serving ill our turn,
Who would all trav'llers and benighted folks
Scare from our precincts. Such sweet harmony
Will rather tempt invasion.

Franko.
Fear not, for mingled voices, heard afar,
Through glade and glen and thicket, stealing on
To distant list'ners, seem wild-goblin-sounds;
At which the lonely trav'ller checks his steed,
Pausing with long-drawn breath and keen-turn'd ear,
And twilight pilferers cast down in haste
Their ill-got burthens, while the homeward hind
Turns from his path, full many a mile about,
Through bog and mire to grope his blund'ring way.
Such, to the startled ear of superstition,
Were seraph's song, could we like seraphs sing.

Enter 2d outlaw, hastily.
2d out.
Disperse ye diff'rent ways: we are undone.

Franko.
How sayst thou, shrinking poltroon? we undone!
Outlaw'd and ruin'd men, who live by daring!

2d out.
A train of armed men, some noble dame
Escorting (so their scatter'd words discover'd
As, unperceiv'd, I hung upon their rear),
Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night
Within the castle.

Franko.
Some benighted travellers,
Bold from their numbers, or who ne'er have heard
The ghostly legend of this dreaded place.

1 out.
Let us keep close within our vaulted haunts;
The way to which is tangled and perplex'd,
And cannot be discover'd: with the morn
They will depart.

Franko.
Nay, by the holy mass! within those walls
Not for a night must trav'llers quietly rest,
Or few or many. Would we live securely,
We must uphold the terrors of the place:
Therefore, let us prepare our midnight rouse.
See, from the windows of the castle gleam
[Lights seen from the castle.
Quick passing lights, as though they moved within
In hurried preparation; and that bell,
[Bell heard.
Which from yon turret its shrill 'larum sends,
Betokens some unwonted stir. Come, hearts!
Be all prepared, before the midnight watch,
The fiend-like din of our infernal chace
Around the walls to raise.—Come; night advances.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Gothic room in the castle, with the stage darkened. Enter Cathrina, bearing a light, followed by Orra.
Orra
(catching her by the robe and pulling her back).
Advance no further: turn, I pray! This room
More dismal and more ghastly seems than that
Which we have left behind. Thy taper's light,
As thus aloft thou wav'st it to and fro,
The fretted ceiling gilds with feeble brightness;
While over-head its carved ribs glide past
Like edgy waves of a dark sea, returning
To an eclipsed moon its sullen sheen.

Cath.
To me it seems less dismal than the other.
See, here are chairs around the table set,
As if its last inhabitants had left it
Scarcely an hour ago.

[Setting the light upon the table.
Orra.
Alas! how many hours and years have past
Since human forms around this table sat,
Or lamp or taper on its surface gleam'd!
Methinks I hear the sound of time long past
Still murm'ring o'er us in the lofty void
Of those dark arches, like the ling'ring voices
Of those who long within their graves have slept.
It was their gloomy home; now it is mine.
[Sits down, resting her arm upon the table, and covering her eyes with her hand.
Enter Rudigere, beckoning Cathrina to come to him; and speaks to her in a low voice at the corner of the stage.
Go and prepare thy lady's chamber; why
Dost thou for ever closely near her keep?

Cath.
She charged me so to do.

Rud.
I charge thee also
With paramount authority, to leave her:
I for awhile will take thy station here.
Thou art not mad? Thou dost not hesitate?

[Fixing his eyes on her with a fierce threatening look, from which she shrinks. Exit Cath.
Orra.
This was the home of bloody lawless power.
The very air rests thick and heavily
Where murder hath been done. (Sighing heavily.)

There is a strange oppression in my breast:
Dost thou not feel a close unwholesome vapour?

Rud.
No; ev'ry air to me is light and healthful,
That with thy sweet and heavenly breath is mix'd.

Orra
(starting up).
Thou here! (Looking round.)
Cathrina gone?

Rud.
Does Orra fear to be alone with one,
Whose weal, whose being on her favour hangs?

Orra.
Retire, Sir Knight. I choose to be alone.

Rud.
And dost thou choose it, here, in such a place,
Wearing so near the midnight hour?—Alas!
How loath'd and irksome must my presence be!

Orra.
Dost thou deride my weakness?

Rud.
I deride it!
No, noble maid! say rather that from thee
I have a kindred weakness caught. In battle
My courage never shrank, as my arm'd heel
And crested helm do fairly testify:
But now when midnight comes, I feel by sympathy,
With thinking upon thee, fears rise within me
I never knew before.

Orra
(in a softened kindlier voice).
Ha! dost thou too
Such human weakness own?

Rud.
I plainly feel
We are all creatures, in the wakeful hour
Of ghastly midnight, form'd to cower together,
Forgetting all distinctions of thé day,
Beneath its awful and mysterious power.

[Stealing closer to her as he speaks, and putting his arms round her.
Orra
(breaking from him).
I pray thee hold thy parley further off:
Why dost thou press so near me?

Rud.
And art thou so offended, lovely Orra?
Ah! wherefore am I thus presumptuous deem'd?
The blood that fills thy veins enriches mine;
From the same stock we spring; though by that glance
Of thy disdainful eye, too well I see
My birth erroneously thou countest base.

Orra.
Erroneously!

Rud.
Yes, I will prove it so.
Longer I'll not endure a galling wrong
Which makes each word of tenderness that bursts
From a full heart, bold and presumptuous seem,
And severs us so far.

Orra.
No, subtile snake!
It is the baseness of thy selfish mind,
Full of all guile, and cunning, and deceit,
That severs us so far, and shall do ever.

Rud.
Thou prov'st how far my passion will endure
Unjust reproaches from a mouth so dear.

Orra.
Out on hypocrisy! who but thyself
Did Hughobert advise to send me hither?
And who the jailor's hateful office holds
To make my thraldom sure?

Rud.
Upbraid me not for this: had I refused,
One less thy friend had ta'en th' ungracious task.
And, gentle Orra! dost thou know a man,
Who might in ward all that his soul holds dear
From danger keep, yet would the charge refuse,
For that strict right such wardship doth condemn?
O! still to be with thee; to look upon thee;
To hear thy voice, makes even this place of horrors,—
Where, as 'tis said, the spectre of a chief,
Slain by our common grandsire, haunts the night,
A paradise—a place where I could live
In penury and gloom, and be most bless'd.
Ah! Orra! if there's misery in thraldom,
Pity a wretch who breathes but in thy favour:
Who till he look'd upon that beauteous face,
Was free and happy.—Pity me or kill me!

[Kneeling and catching hold of her hand.
Orra.
Off, fiend! let snakes and vipers cling to me
So thou dost keep aloof.

Rud.
(rising indignantly).
And is my love with so much hatred met?
Madam, beware lest scorn like this should change me
E'en to the baleful thing your fears have fancied.

Orra.
Dar'st thou to threaten me?

Rud.
He, who is mad with love and gall'd with scorn,
Dares any thing.—But O! forgive such words
From one who rather, humbled at your feet,
Would of that gentleness, that gen'rous pity,
The native inmate of each female breast,
Receive the grace on which his life depends.
There was a time when thou didst look on me
With other eyes.

Orra.
Thou dost amaze me much.
Whilst I believ'd thou wert an honest man,
Being no fool, and an adventurous soldier,
I look'd upon thee with good-will; if more
Thou didst discover in my looks than this,
Thy wisdom with thine honesty, in truth,
Was fairly match'd.

Rud.
Madam, the proud derision of that smile
Deceives me not. It is the lord of Falkenstein,
Who better skill'd than I in tournay-war,
Though not in th' actual field more valiant found,
Engrosses now your partial thoughts. And yet
What may he boast which, in a lover's suit,
I may not urge? He's brave, and so am I.
In birth I am his equal; for my mother,
As I shall prove, was married to Count Albert,
My noble father, though for reasons tedious
Here to be stated, still their secret nuptials
Were unacknowledg'd, and on me hath fallen
A cruel stigma which degrades my fortunes.
But were I—O forgive th' aspiring thought!—
But were I Orra's lord, I should break forth
Like the unclouded sun, by all acknowledg'd
As ranking with the highest in the land.

Orra.
Do what thou wilt when thou art Orra's lord;
But being as thou art, retire and leave me:
I choose to be alone.

(Very proudly.)
Rud.
Then be it so.
Thy pleasure, mighty dame, I will not balk.
This night, to-morrow's night, and every night,
Shalt thou in solitude be left; if absence
Of human beings can secure it for thee.
[Pauses and looks on her, while she seems struck and disturbed.
It wears already on the midnight hour;
Good night!
[Pauses again, she still more disturbed.
Perhaps I understood too hastily
Commands you may retract.

Orra
(recovering her state).
Leave me, I say; that part of my commands
I never can retract.

Rud.
You are obey'd.

[Exit.
Orra
(paces up and down hastily for some time, then stops short, and after remaining a little while in a thoughtful posture).
Can spirit from the tomb, or fiend from hell,
More hateful, more malignant be than man—
Than villanous man? Although to look on such,
Yea, even the very thought of looking on them,
Makes natural blood to curdle in the veins,
And loosen'd limbs to shake,
There are who have endur'd the visitation
Of supernatural beings.—O forefend it!
I would close couch me to my deadliest foe
Rather than for a moment bear alone
The horrors of the sight.
Who's there? who's there?
[Looking round.
Heard I not voices near? That door ajar
Sends forth a cheerful light. Perhaps my women,
Who now prepare my chamber. Grant it be!

[Exit, running hastily to a door from which a light is seen.

SCENE III.

A chamber, with a small bed or couch in it. Enter Rudigere and Cathrina, wrangling together.
Rud.
I say begone, and occupy the chamber
I have appointed for thee: here I'm fix'd,
And here I pass the night.

Cath.
Thou saidst my chamber
Should be adjoining that which Orra holds?
I know thy wicked thoughts: they meditate
Some dev'lish scheme; but think not I'll abet it.

Rud.
Thou wilt not!—angry, restive, simple fool!
Dost thou stop short and say, “I'll go no further?”
Thou, whom concealed shame hath bound so fast,—
My tool,—my instrument?—Fulfil thy charge
To the full bent of thy commission, else
Thee, and thy bantling too, I'll from me cast
To want and infamy.

Cath.
O, shameless man!
Thou art the son of a degraded mother
As low as I am, yet thou hast no pity.

Rud.
Ay, and dost thou reproach my bastardy
To make more base the man who conquer'd thee,
With all thy virtue, rigid and demure?
Who would have thought less than a sovereign prince
Could e'er have compass'd such achievement? Mean
As he may be, thou'st given thyself a master,
And must obey him.—Dost thou yet resist?
Thou know'st my meaning.

[Tearing open his vest in vehemence of action.
Cath.
Under thy vest a dagger!—Ah! too well,
I know thy meaning, cruel, ruthless man!

Rud.
Have I discovered it?—I thought not of it:
The vehemence of gesture hath betray'd me.
I keep it not for thee, but for myself;
A refuge from disgrace. Here is another:
He who with high, but dangerous fortune grapples,
Should he be foil'd, looks but to friends like these.
[Pulling out two daggers from his vest.
This steel is strong to give a vig'rous thrust;
The other on its venom'd point hath that
Which, in the feeblest hand, gives death as certain,
As though a giant smote the destin'd prey.

Cath.
Thou desp'rate man! so arm'd against thyself!

Rud.
Ay; and against myself with such resolves,
Consider well how I shall deal with those
Who may withstand my will or mar my purpose.
Thinkst thou I'll feebly—

Cath.
O be pacified.
I will begone: I am a humbled wretch
On whom thou tramplest with a tyrant's cruelty.

[Exit.
Rud.
(looks after her with a malignant laugh, and then goes to the door of an adjoining chamber, to the lock of which he applies his ear).
All still within—I'm tired and heavy grown:
I'll lay me down to rest. She is secure:
No one can pass me here to gain her chamber.
If she hold parley now with any thing,
It must in truth be ghost or sprite.—Heigh ho!
I'm tir'd, and will to bed.

[Lays himself on the couch and falls asleep. The cry of hounds is then heard without at a distance, with the sound of a horn; and presently Orra enters, bursting from the door of the adjoining chamber, in great alarm.
Orra.
Cathrina! sleepest thou? Awake! awake!
[Running up to the couch and starting back on seeing Rudigere.
That hateful viper here!
Is this my nightly guard? Detested wretch!
I will steal back again.
[Walks softly on tiptoe to the door of her chamber, when the cry of hounds, &c. is again heard without, nearer than before.
O no! I dare not.
Though sleeping, and most hateful when awake,
Still he is natural life and may be rous'd.
[Listening again.
'Tis nearer now: that dismal thrilling blast!
I must awake him.
[Approaching the couch and shrinking back again.
O no! no, no!
Upon his face he wears a horrid smile
That speaks bad thoughts.
[Rud. speaks in his sleep.
He mutters too my name.—
I dare not do it.
[Listening again.
The dreadful sound is now upon the wind,
Sullen and low, as if it wound its way
Into the cavern'd earth that swallow'd it.
I will abide in patient silence here;
Though hateful and asleep, I feel me still
Near something of my kind.
[Crosses her arms, and leans in a cowering posture over the back of a chair at a distance from the couch; when presently the horn is heard without, louder than before, and she starts up.
O it returns! as though the yawning earth
Had given it up again, near to the walls.
The horribly mingled din! 'tis nearer still:
'Tis close at hand: 'tis at the very gate!
[Running up to the couch.
Were he a murd'rer, clenching in his hands
The bloody knife, I must awake him.—No!
That face of dark and subtle wickedness!
I dare not do it. (Listening again.)
Ay; 'tis at the gate—
Within the gate.—
What rushing blast is that
Shaking the doors? Some awful visitation
Dread entrance makes! O mighty God of Heav'n!
A sound ascends the stairs.
Ho, Rudigere!
Awake, awake! Ho! wake thee, Rudigere!

Rud.
(waking).
What cry is that so terribly strong? — Ha! Orra!
What is the matter?

Orra.
It is within the walls. Didst thou not hear it?

Rud.
What? The loud voice that called me?

Orra.
No, it was mine.

Rud.
It sounded in my ears
With more than human strength.

Orra.
Did it so sound?
There is around us, in this midnight air,
A power surpassing nature. List, I pray:
Although more distant now, dost thou not hear
The yell of hounds; the spectre-huntsman's horn?

Rud.
I hear, indeed, a strangely mingled sound:
The wind is howling round the battlements.
But rest secure where safety is, sweet Orra!
Within these arms, nor man nor fiend shall harm thee.

[Approaching her with a softened winning voice, while she pushes him off with abhorrence.
Orra.
Vile reptile! touch me not.

Rud.
Ah! Orra! thou art warp'd by prejudice,
And taught to think me base; but in my veins
Lives noble blood, which I will justify.

Orra.
But in thy heart, false traitor! what lives there?

Rud.
Alas! thy angel-faultlessness conceives not
The strong temptations of a soul impassion'd
Beyond control of reason.—At thy feet—
[Kneeling.
O spurn me not!

Enter several Servants, alarmed.
Rud.
What, all these fools upon us! Staring knaves,
What brings ye here at this untimely hour?

1st serv.
We have all heard it—'twas the yell of hounds
And clatt'ring steeds, and the shrill horn between.

Rud.
Out on such folly!

2d serv.
In very truth it pass'd close to the walls;
Did not your honour hear it?

Rud.
Ha! sayst thou so? thou art not wont to join
In idle tales.—I'll to the battlements
And watch it there: it may return again.

[Exeunt severally, Rudigere followed by servants, and Orra into her own chamber.

SCENE IV.

The Outlaws' cave. Enter Theobald.
Theo.
(looking round).
Here is a place in which some traces are
Of late inhabitants. In yonder nook
The embers faintly gleam, and on the walls
Hang spears and ancient arms: I must be right
A figure through the gloom moves towards me.
Ho! there! Whoe'er you are: Holla! good friend!

Enter an Outlaw.
Out.
A stranger! Who art thou, who art thus bold,
To hail us here unbidden?

Theo.
That thou shalt shortly know. Thou art, I guess,
One of the outlaw'd band who haunt this forest.

Out.
Be thy conjecture right or wrong, no more
Shalt thou return to tell where thou hast found us.
Now for thy life!

[Drawing his sword.
Theo.
Hear me, I do entreat thee.

Out.
Nay, nay! no foolish pleadings; for thy life
Is forfeit now; have at thee!

[Falls fiercely upon Theobald, Who also draws and defends himself bravely, when another outlaw enters and falls likewise upon him. Theo. then recedes fighting, till he gets his back to the wall of the cavern, and there defends himself stoutly.
Enter Franko.
Franko.
Desist, I charge you! Fighting with a stranger,
Two swords to one—a solitary stranger!

1st out.
We are discover'd; had he master'd me,
He had return'd to tell his mates above
What neighbours in these nether caves they have.
Let us despatch him.

Franko.
No, thou hateful butcher!
Despatch a man alone and in our power!
Who art thou, stranger, who dost use thy sword
With no mean skill; and in this perilous case
So bold an air and countenance maintainest?
What brought thee hither?

Theo.
My name is Theobald of Falkenstein;
To find the valiant captain of these bands,
And crave assistance of his gen'rous arm:
This is my business here.

Franko
(struck and agitated, to his men).
Go, join your comrades in the further cave.
[Exeunt outlaws.
And thou art Falkenstein? In truth thou art.
And who thinkst thou am I?

Theo.
Franko, the gen'rous leader of those outlaws.

Franko.
So am I call'd, and by that name alone
They know me. Sporting on the mountain's side,
Where Garva's wood waves green, in other days,
Some fifteen years ago, they call'd me Albert.

Theo.
(rushing into his arms).
Albert; my playmate Albert! Woe the day!
What cruel fortune drove thee to this state?

Franko.
I'll tell thee all! but tell thou first to me
What is the aid thou camest here to ask.

Theo.
Ay, thou wert ever thus: still forward bent
To serve, not to be serv'd.
But wave we this.
Last night a lady to the castle came,
In thraldom by a villain kept, whom I
E'en with my life would rescue. Of armed force
At present destitute, I come to thee
Craving thy aid in counsel and in arms.

Franko.
When didst thou learn that outlaws harbour here,
For 'tis but lately we have held these haunts?

Theo.
Not till within the precincts of the forest,
Following the traces of that villain's course,
One of your band I met, and recogniz'd
As an old soldier, who, some few years back,
Had under my command right bravely serv'd.
Seeing himself discover'd, and encouraged
By what I told him of my story, freely
He offer'd to conduct me to his captain.
But in a tangled path some space before me,
Alarm'd at sight of spearmen through the brake,
He started from his way, and so I miss'd him,
Making my way alone to gain your cave.

Franko.
Thou'rt welcome here: and gladly I'll assist thee,
Though not by arms, the force within the castle
So far out-numbering mine.
But other means may serve thy purpose better.

Theo.
What other means, I pray?

Franko.
From these low caves, a passage under ground
Leads to the castle—to the very tower
Where, as I guess, the lady is confin'd.
When sleep has still'd the house, we'll make our way.

Theo.
Ay, by my faith it is a noble plan!
Guarded or not, we well may overcome
The few that may compose her midnight guard.

Franko.
We shall not shrink from that.—But by my fay!
To-morrow is St. Michael's eve: 'twere well
To be the spectre-huntsman for a night,
And bear her off, without pursuit or hindrance.

Theo.
I comprehend thee not.

Franko.
Thou shalt ere long.
But stand not here; an inner room I have,
Where thou shalt rest and some refreshment take,
And then we will more fully talk of this,
Which, slightly mention'd, seems chimerical.
Follow me.
[Turning to him as they go out.
Hast thou still upon thine arm
That mark which from mine arrow thou receiv'dst
When sportively we shot? The wound was deep,
And gall'd thee much, but thou mad'st light of it.

Theo.
Yes, here it is.

[Pulling up his sleeve as they go out, and Exeunt.