University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—The Garden of the Castle.
Enter Sir Rupert and Sir Conrad.
Sir Rup.
Time is the same. 'Tis our condition's changed.
The hours hang weary heavy on our hands,
We scarce could catch when Catherine was here;
They went so fleetly by us. Then the death
Of the Duke hath left a blank, which, while he lived,
Light offices, with grateful tasks fill'd up,
And kept our spirits from flagging.

Sir Con.
Eventful day,
The day he died! Eventful day to us!
Our Catherine married Huon then, and fled;
And Huon fled, avoiding Catherine;
Nor since of either tidings—though for him
Almost the world was search'd. Strange, loathing him
As she did, with hate almost unnatural,
How much to heart the Countess took his flight.

Sir Rup.
Ay, as a gentle stream would take a rock,
Suppose one cast sudden into it,
Damming its channel up, and making foam,
Where all before went crystal, without ripple,
But such as noteth gliding. Yes, 'twas strange.

Sir Con.
'Twas very strange.

Sir Rup.
'Twas one of certain things
We see, yet question that we see, yet there
We know they are.

Sir Con.
She pines for loss of him.

Sir Rup.
No, sir; she takes to heart her father's will,
Compelling her to choose a husband, or
Accept of him the tournament may send her.
And so, she keeps alone, to all forbidding
Approach to her, except this youth, who sits
In Huon's place, her secretary now,
The forward cousin of fair Catherine.

Sir Con.
Strange, Catherine should fly, and Huon too!
That each should purpose, what, if known to each,
Had one accomplish'd, had sufficed for both—
To shun the consummation of the rites!
Strange, that the Duke that very day should die!

Sir Rup.
Untimely was the Duke's decease for us—
Prevented by his death from profiting
By the fair opening, which the turbulent
And wild Bohemians for our lances made.
We could not take the field; and, lo, the war,
Ere well commenced, is done; concluded too
By single combat, and the conqueror
A knight unknown till now, whose championship
Had graced the proudest days of chivalry:
Of presence noble as his deeds are lofty,
By that confirming what by these he won—
The favour of the Empress. Yonder comes
The secretary.

Sir Con.
Ay, 'tis he.

Sir Rup.
I fear
He laughs at us, giving us hopes—as still
You know he does—that one of us shall yet
Make wife of Catherine. A forward spark!
I hate a stripling that's so much the man;
It shows like aping. He grows worse and worse,
Since he hath got his office. For the sake
Of Catherine, alone, I bear with him.

Sir Con.
He is like her; never brother more like sister.
I have a word to say to you anon,
Touching to-morrow, when the tournament
Decides who weds the Countess; she declining
To choose a mate herself.

Cath.
[without, very loud].
Ho! Holloa!

Sir Rup.
Ho!
Catherine enters.
Why call you, sir, so loud?

Cath.
To make you hear
News, sirs, from Catherine! Shall I whisper it?
She is coming!

Sir Rup.
So you told us months ago.

Cath.
Well, when she comes, she'll be the welcomer!

Sir Con.
I'll wait for her no longer.

Cath.
Wait for her?
O! ay!—A man may wait, and wait in vain.
I wait for a wife; though the odds are ten to one,
As I'm a man, I die a bachelor.
Do you know the signs of one?

Sir Con.
No; what are they?

Cath.
O, various; but the chief, a cautious eye,
And calculating. He that scans a fence,
But seldom makes a clever leap of it;
Nine times in ten he balks his spring and falls,
In the ditch; while he who takes it at a glance,
Goes flying over. Women are shrewd imps!
Behoves a man he thinks not of their pockets,
When he is looking in their faces; for,
Wear he his eye ever so languishingly,
They'll find he's only busy at a sum
In arithmetic! Sir Rupert, let me see
Your face! Don't look so sullen at me. Who
Can see the sun, if he's behind a cloud?
That's right. I would not say, but when the woman
Kind Heaven intends for wife to you shall come,
You'll marry her.

Sir Con.
What say you of my face!

Cath.
The same I say of his. By my honour, sirs!
Though I may pass for an astrologer,
I never yet, believe me, made pretence
To read the stars; nor am I adept, yet,
In palmistry; nor have I studied signs
As lucky or unlucky omens; yet
Things can I tell before they come to pass.

Sir Con.
But shall I die a bachelor?

Cath.
You will,
Unless it chance upon a certain day,
In a certain month, in such or such a year—
At present which is doubtful, but as sure
As time runs on 'twill come—you get a wife!
Now, there's a puzzle for you; make it out,
And tell it me; and then I'll tell it you,
If you are in the right. Your lot is cast
In mystery; but for Sir Rupert, his
Is plain. 'Tis right before me! I can tell
The year, the month, the week, the day, almost
The very hour, he will be married, or—
Not married! yet am I no conjurer.
Where is Sir Otto?

Sir Con.
We are going to him;
He waits for us.

Cath.
I'll follow. News wait I
From Catherine; I'll bring it, if it comes.
Nay, sirs, beseech you, look not thus upon me
With eyes of marvel. On my word! indeed,
And, by my honour,—and, if nothing else
Will satisfy you, though I have ta'en an oath
'Gainst swearing, I will give it on my oath—
I am no conjurer! Another word:
What I have told you, tell not, as you love me,
Lest I should pay for it by flood or faggot!
Upon my life, sirs, I am no conjurer!

[They go out severally.

SCENE II.

—A Room in the Castle.
Enter Ulrick.
Ulrick.
At length the day almost arrived that brings
The tournament, whose issue brings to her
A consort for her state—she yields me audience.
Is it for loss of Huon she has pined,
And kept herself forbiddingly alone?
If so, why give his hand to Catherine?
This is a mystery, the which the more
I try to sound, deeper and deeper grows;
While surmise after surmise rises, as
Report succeeds report of high exploits
Achieved by this unknown adventurer,
Who now stands next the Empress, chief in place,
That even he and Huon are the same!
Should it be so, and he should come as well,
What then the issue of her meeting with him?
This I revolve, and with a troubled heart,
That sees no end to its perplexity.
[Looks off.
How changed she is! Her fiery eye is quench'd!
Her head its haughty carriage hath abated,
Her cheek is beggar'd of its prideful flush.

Enter Countess [a parchment in her hand].
Countess.
I have perused the testament, my lord,
Carefully, word for word, and see no mention,
Either directly or by implication,
Touching the quality of him may win me.

Ulrick.
No, none is made.—A slight omission only.

Countess.
Yet space enough to let my will creep through.
You say, my lord, you have made proclamation
Of this fair passage, far and wide?

Ulrick.
I have.

Countess.
And now expect the Empress?

Ulrick.
Yes.

Countess.
And with her?

Ulrick.
The noblest of her court; a glorious crowd;
Among the rest her favourite; that youth
With whose exploits the wondering realm resounds,
Who, in so brief a space, without a name,
Has made himself the noblest which the tongue
Of high renown proclaims.

Countess.
That youth! what youth?

Ulrick.
A young adventurer, of whom it seems
Fair fortune is enamour'd—gives him all
He asks!

Countess.
I never heard of him, before.

Ulrick.
So please you, madam, you forget till now,
Since that your father died and Huon fled,
Save your new secretary, you have deign'd
With none vouchsafe communing.

Countess.
You are right.
I have forgot the world, time, everything!
What is this favourite called?

Ulrick.
His titles change
So fast—the former almost new as its
Successor—scarce I know now his present style.

Countess.
His name I mean?

Ulrick.
His name I know not, madam.

Countess.
What moves my heart, so leaden-dull before?
Why did it leap at mention of the stranger?
[Aside.
Has he been seen by any whom we know,
Any of our vassals, chiefs, or friends?

Ulrick.
I have met
With none, that yet have seen him.

Countess
[abstractedly].
Happy woman!

Ulrick.
Madam?

Countess:
The Empress is a happy woman.
She can reward desert, ennoble it.

Ulrick.
So in this instance hath her highness done
With such profusion of munificence,
There are not wanting those who think she sees
Less with an empress', than a woman's eyes;
And means her bounties but as costly heralds,
Poor to the costlier comer they forerun.

Countess.
What! means she to espouse him?

Ulrick.
'Tis surmised.
Matter to wonder at, yet justified.
For they report him of a presence noble,
As e'er bespoke a man to challenge honour.

Countess.
I never dreamt of an abyss so hideous—
And to be standing on the very brink on't!

Ulrick.
[Alarmed at her vehemence.]
Madam!

Countess.
Ay! what's the matter? [Aside.]
I am frighten'd
At myself! [Aloud.]
My lord, my spirits are so dreamy,
Things which are not, I see—which are, see not!
Pray do not heed me. For this tournament,
Thus near, without obstruction on my part,
Hath it approach'd; but, pray you, keep in mind
On what condition; that—at any time—
The husband it awards, revolting to me,
I am at liberty to make a choice
Between the conqueror and the cloister. So!
I'll read the will again.

[Sits down and reads.
Stephen.
[Entering hastily.]
News! news! my lord.

Ulrick.
What is it?

Stephen.
Huon!

Countess.
Ha!
Well, what of Huon, is he found?

Stephen.
He is.

Countess.
Propitious Heaven, at what a time! Where is he?

Stephen.
In the suite of the Empress.

Countess.
Well?—Go on!

Stephen.
I saw him! More; that sun of chivalry,
Hath blazed so suddenly forth in the brief war,
So late gone by and dazzled friends and foes—
The fav'rite of the Empress—

Countess.
Well? Go on!

Stephen.
Huon and he are one.

Countess.
I was sure of it!
Send him away.

[She staggers to a seat, Ulrick supports her.
Ulrick.
Hence, sir.

[Stephen goes out.
Countess.
Don't wonder at me! Don't!
Nor question me, whate'er I say or do!
Listen and do my bidding. I prepare
To give reception to the Empress,—thou
See Huon. Tell him I would speak with him
Soon as occasion serves; or let him make
Occasion, and at once—at once, my lord!
[Aside.]
Where shall we meet? In the garden? No; the garden
Is overlook'd. In the library? No;
We may be subject to intrusion there.
What should prevent his coming to my closet?
What place so fit? Why think of any other?
[Aloud.]
My lord, bring Huon to my closet. Huon!
The favourite of the Empress I should say.

[The Countess and Ulrick go out severally.

SCENE III.

—Sir Otto's House.
Enter Sir Otto, Sir Conrad, and Sir Rupert.
Sir Otto.
'Tis slight of fortune not to take the chance
She proffers; since the lists must open, sirs,
To every lance, why not adventure ours,
With such a prize? Wait you for Catherine.
I'm for the tournament.

Sir Con.
And so am I.
This secretary is a subtle spark.
He has harp'd upon our suit to Catherine,
Awaken'd hopes, we had given o'er as dead,
And pledged himself with oaths she would return
Free, as she ne'er had plighted troth to Huon;
And, yet she comes not. What we take in earnest,
Be sure he only gives in mockery.

Sir Otto.
I'm of your counsel, and shall break a lance
To-morrow for the Countess.

Sir Rup.
Do so, sir.
I break no lance except for Catherine.

Catherine.
[Entering disguised as a man.]
Who talks of breaking lances?

Sir Otto.
Ha! our friend
The Secretary.

Sir Con.
Well, sir, what's your news?
Where's Catherine?

Cath.
Absorb'd in solving, sir,
A knotty point.

Sir Con.
A knotty point; what is't?

Cath.
The measure of a lover's patience, sir.

Sir Otto.
Does she not come?

Cath.
Not till that point is solved.
Now, could you solve it for her, she might come
The sooner.

Sir Otto.
'Tis an hour.

Sir Con.
A day.

Sir Otto.
A week.

Sir Con.
A month.

Sir Otto.
A year.

Cath.
[To Sir Rupert.]
Will you not make a guess?

Sir Rup.
[Sighing.]
It is a life!

Cath.
Can't you go further, sir?
Try if you can. Lovers do miracles:
'Tis said they do, I never saw them, though,
Nor met with those that did.

Sir Otto.
Where is our mistress?

Cath.
Here,
Where'er she is; or nowhere, where you are.
Have you a mistress, there your mistress is,
Were she at one end of the world and you
At the other.

Sir Rup.
Ay, were she in another world!

Cath.
Why what's the matter with Sir Rupert? Is
The gentleman gone mad? I think myself
A sterling lover, but I take no oath,
Except to flesh and blood. Sir Rupert, what's
Your thought of a mistress?

Sir Rup.
A vitality
Precious, peculiar, not to be supplied;
Once with your being join'd, a part of it
For ever!

Cath.
Humph! and you believe, Sir Rupert,
You have met with such a thing?

Sir Rup.
I have.

Cath.
And where?

Sir Rup.
In Catherine.

Cath.
Heaven help the man, he speaks
As if he thought himself in earnest, sirs.
Whom said he now he'd break a lance for?

Sir Con. and Sir Otto.
Her.

Cath.
For Catherine? poor man! Far better break
A lance for the Countess; as the lists, they say,
Are open to all challengers, that bear
The rank of knighthood.

Sir Otto.
So they are, and we
Design to try our fortune, and lament
To find Sir Rupert not of the same mind.

Cath.
That mortifies you, does it? So, Sir Rupert,
Will you make suit again to Catherine,
Say she comes back again, released from her
Enforcéd vow?

Sir Rup.
Will I make suit to her?
My heart is ever lying at her feet.

Cath.
'Tis neighbour, then, to an ungainly shoe.
She has broken her ancle, and the awkward leech
Who set it for her made a botch of it.
Her foot's awry; she limps; her taper waist,
So straight, before, when she moved, goes, zig-zag, now.
Give your heart joy, sir, of its pleasant seat.

Sir Rup.
The gait and shape of gentle Catherine
Are in her heart, no fracture—warping—there!

Sir Otto.
With what a serious face you play the cheat.

Cath.
Sir, I look serious at a serious thing.

Sir Con.
It is not as you say?

Cath.
Believe 'tis not;
But take this with you, I should be more grieved
Than you would, to disparage Catherine.

Sir Otto.
So the fair Catherine halts?

Sir Con.
Halts my love.

Sir Otto.
And so does mine.

Cath.
I have not told him all.

Sir Otto.
What, is there more to come?

Cath.
Listen—you'll hear.
So, sir, you make retainers of your eyes,
[To Sir Rupert.
Nor feast at the same table, but eschew
Their homely fare; though men, as noble, deem
A well-turn'd leg a dainty! Let that pass;
But give not me a mistress, with a fair
Transparent skin, that you can see, beneath,
Tracery costlier than veins of gold,
Suppose they lay in bed of alabaster.
It never stands the weather.

Sir Otto.
Is she changed
In her complexion?

Cath.
Do not urge me, sir,
To speak more than I would speak; speaking that
With pain.

Sir Con.
What!—Has she turn'd from ivory to—

Cath.
Anything that you please.

Sir Con.
Mahogany?

Cath.
You say it for me, I'm beholden to you;
'Tis hard to speak unwelcome things of friends.

Sir Otto.
And hard to hear them too. Sir Rupert!

Sir Rup.
Well?

Sir Otto.
Hear ye?

Sir Rup.
I do.

Sir Otto.
And what resolve you?

Sir Rup.
What
You heard me say before—to break no lance
Except for Catherine. Her maiden thoughts—
Sweet to the most tenacious mood of love—
And generous affections, might unveil
Themselves, without a blush, to modesty,
Are Catherine's complexion!

[Retires.
Cath.
He is mad!
Isn't he, sir? Have twenty masses said,
That you preserve your wits! seeing the thing,
That turn'd his brain for him, you all affect;
Think you 'twould bring him to his senses, sirs,
To tell him she hath squander'd all her wealth?

Sir Otto.
Better she halted in her gait than that!

Sir Con.
Or cast her white skin for an Ethiop's!
You do not tell us so?

Cath.
I'll tell it him.

Sir Otto.
But is it so?
She was a prudent girl
Before she went.

Cath.
Man, sir, is but a plant,
Although he holds no rank in botany;
And, as with change of climate, plants will change,
Thrive more or less, or take no root at all;
So man discovers strange diversity,
Transferr'd to sun and soil, not native to him.

Sir Otto.
But are her riches dwindled?

Sir Con.
Has she shrunk,
Indeed, from affluence to poverty?

Cath.
Sirs, you shall judge from one particular.
From morn till night she lives in masquerade.
You wouldn't know her, though you look'd upon her,
Walk'd with her, talk'd with her. Can this be done
At light expense? Moreover, sirs, she keeps
Bad company; nor that of her own sex;
Two arrant knaves especially, that stick
Like leeches to her, and will ne'er fall off
Long as she suffers them, while there's a drop
To gorge.

Sir Otto.
She is ruin'd utterly.

Sir Con.
Undone,
Beyond redemption. Look, Sir Rupert.

Sir Rup.
Well?

Sir Con.
Catherine's for hire; she must take service! All
Her wealth is gone!

Sir Rup.
[cheerfully].
Is gone?

Sir Con.
It makes you glad!

Sir Rup.
Now could I woo her with the best of ye;
Her match in fortune. I could praise her now,
Dreading no charge of venal flattery.
Fair sir, take pity on an honest heart
And loving one, and as you know the haunt,
This gentle fawn hath slunk to, tell it me,
That I may trace her, straight, and make her mine.

Sir Otto.
Better you wait to-morrow's tournament,
As we shall!

Cath.
Gentlemen, you do not know
Your man! Tell me a linsey-woolsey maid,
With halting gait, and saffron-colour'd skin,
And not a doit to make a market with them,
Could for a moment, in comparison,
Stand with the Countess! Who could credit it?
The simple truth is this, your friend lacks mettle.

Sir Rup.
Sir!

Cath.
He can bluster, that is evident.
See what a giant!—He would eat me up
If he could! but think you, sirs, I heed his club?
Give me a straw, I'll face him. You mistake
Your friend! his frame's robust enough, but, sooth,
His spirit is a lank one.

Sir Rup.
'Sdeath, sir!

Cath.
Ho!
If you have sworn men into agues, sir,
Don't try your skill on me! My parrot swears
As well as you, and just as much I heed her.

Sir Rup.
[Drawing.]
This passes all endurance—pshaw, a stripling!

[Returning his sword.
Cath.
A stripling, sir, to make an oak afear'd.

Sir Rup.
[Again drawing.]
Indeed!

Cath.
As I live, his sword is out again!
But he's a spaniel, as I'll prove to you,
Who thinks he bites by showing you his teeth.
Here's for you, sir— [Draws]
—but hold, what day is this?

Sir Con.
Friday.

Cath.
I never fight on Fridays, sirs.
My killing days are all the rest of the week,
E'en Sundays not excepted. Sirs, your friend
Is a coward.

[Coolly puts up her sword.
Sir Rup.
Furies!

Cath.
Fiends and all sorts of imps!
Swearing won't save you, sir. I'll prove my words.
I dare you, at the tournament to-morrow,
To break a lance with me. Observe you, sirs,
At the thought of it, he shakes, from head to foot,
And thinks to pass it off with swaggering.
He dares as soon confront stout Charlemagne,
Were he alive, as me. I'll wager you
My sword to your dagger, he takes flight to-day,
And waits not for to-morrow.

Sir Rup.
Will I not!
I will have satisfaction. I accept
His challenge. I will have satisfaction, sirs.

Cath.
You shall, and have it to your heart's content!
Take linsey-woolsey with a halt, and the skin
Of a negro, rather than essay a tilt
With chance to win a Countess! I could laugh
To scorn the man that would believe him. Oh!
He shall have satisfaction. I could beat him
With a rush, in rest. He shall have satisfaction!
Sirs, he will cower at very sight of me;
Fall on his knees, and beg his life of me,
With clasp'd hands. He shall have satisfaction!

[They go out severally.

SCENE IV.

—A Room in the Castle.
Enter Countess.
Count.
All is confirm'd—Each gives the same account
His mistress sees her mate. Of all her court
He is the only one, whose duties to her
She takes as favours, not as things of course.
He comes! Who stops him thus untimely? Oh,
How changed he is!—The fiery hardihood
Of the life he hath of late made consort of,
Has given another spirit to his eyes.
His face is cast anew, as circumstance
Could alter Nature's modelling and work,
Improving, on her mould. Is that the man,
Was, once, my father's serf? whom once I scorn'd?
Fell ever at my wayward frown that brow?
Or stoop'd that knee, for me, to kiss the ground?
Would it do it now? Fell ever at my feet
That form, as prostrate as the hand of death
Had struck it to the floor? 'Twould take that hand
To lay it, now, there—and a wave of mine
Had done it, once! If he confesses hold
Of any other, never shall he learn
His hold of me! If he bears me love,
I bless my stars I have the 'vantage-ground.

Huon enters, and remains standing at a distance, with his eyes on the ground.
Countess.
Is Huon here, and does not Huon speak?
[Pauses.
Absent so long, no greeting for a friend—
[Pauses.
A woman, too! [Pauses]
—No salutation, kind,
Prelude of happy news she'd joy to hear,—
Relation of adventures she would thrill
To listen to,—exploits she would wonder at,
And the next moment at her wonder blush,
Knowing whose arm achieved them!

Huon.
I am glad
To find you well.

Countess.
You are glad to find me well?
I hope you are! It were not saying much,
I trust, to say I know you are! You are glad
To find me well! Is that your news?
If 'tis, 'tis very strange.

Huon.
You wish'd to see me,
And I am here to learn your will.

Countess.
More news!
You are a friend worth parting with, you bring
Such marvels home with you. Some time methinks
Since last we met together, and you are glad
To find me well; and, as I wish'd to see you,
You are here to learn my will! You were not here, then,
Had not I sent for you.

Huon.
It would have been
Presumptuous.

Countess.
Presumptuous!

Huon.
Yes, madam,
In the serf.

Countess.
[With sudden indignation.]
No, sir, not in the favourite
Of the Empress!—Huon, this is not the way
We ought to meet! It should not be in anger!
You are come home, and you are welcome home.
Requires my tongue a backer to get credence?
Well! there's my hand beside. Do you not take
My hand?

Huon.
You are a noble lady, madam,
Whose father was my lord, by leave of whom,
I thought and had a will—did what I did—
Yea, kept the very blood within my veins.
Behoves it I should take his daughter's hand?

Countess.
You mock me!

Huon.
Would I did, and 'twere a dream!
But dreams are not repeated, day by day,
And day by day reminds me of a time
I was your father's serf.

Countess.
No more of this.

Huon.
Oh! would no more! The wounded body heals,
The pain is over, all is sound again,
A scar reminds you of it—nothing more!
Not so the heart, you lacerate it once!
Habit may dull, pursuit engross—divert—
But never are you ransom'd from the throe!
Live your meridian out, it comes again,
Fresh as at first, to make you writhe anew.

Countess.
We do not meet to talk of grievances,
Huon. I offer'd you my hand just now.
Why do you weep? I did not give it you
To kiss it with your tears!

Huon.
O, 'tis a hand
Thou hast forbidden mine to meet.

Countess.
No, Huon,
Not as a friend's!— [Recovering herself.]
—I'll see him clearly first—
[Aside.
Sit down and let us talk. I have fifty things
I want to say to you, yet know not which
To begin with. Huon, do you like the Empress?

Huon.
Like her?

Countess.
Yes; like her,—that's the word I said.
Perhaps it should be “love her?”

Huon.
Love her, madam!—

Countess.
[Interrupting him.]
I see you do! Go on? What were you going
To say?

Huon.
O contrast marvellous! beyond
Belief of nature!

Countess.
Ay! 'twixt her and me!
Go on! The contrast? Best we understand
Each other! Well? The contrast?

Huon.
'Twere as one
Should find the sun by following the night!
Should plunge into her regions, and for chill,
And gloom, and sterileness, find light, and warmth,
And verdure,—such as should belong to day!
'Twere as death own'd a heart, and life had none
But with the shows of animation
Harbour'd, within its breast, a core of stone,
While the still ribs of death held throbs beneath them!

Countess.
Am I that day, that life, compared to which
Death, night, are e'en so rich? Is she thou servest
That death, that night, preferr'd to life and day?

Huon.
O, I did love thee to oblivion
Of myself! What Nature gave me, to assert
The man, neglecting, as despiséd things
Compared to thee! That she intended me
For deeds of nobleness, I may confess,
Seeing that others own I have achieved them;
Yet I abused her bounties,—and, for what?
Scorns—wrongs—through love of thee, preferr'd them!
And which I bore, until the cause itself,
That made me bear them, thou wouldst make a means
Of yet unknown oppression. That I bore!
But, patience there gave up! Yes!—Not, until
Coercéd there—where, spared, I were content
To last the thrall of passion's lethargy—
Did I rebel! But when I was struck down
Prostrate, as, for the sake of flesh and blood,
Behoves not slave to lie,—with marvel on't
I waked to the sense of what I ought to be!
Of what, against my will, 'twas past the sport
Of power to change me from! A MAN!—and straight
A man I started up! a man, resolved
To use his attributes as fits a man;
To vindicate the ancient, common birth-right,
And answer the design of Him that framed him!

Countess.
So! You have register'd your debts to me,
No item overlook'd thou knowest of.
What, now, if I could name to thee one debt
Would blot out all the rest?—not known to thee;
A debt thy fairest dreams ne'er gave thee glimpse of,
Howe'er they buoy'd thee up; when, cast away
The clog that day put on, thou soar'dst as high
As e'er ambition left at large could wing,
Daring the eagle himself to follow thee!

Huon.
No debt that thou couldst name were gain to me.
I keep no register of aught between us.
Or, if I do, I never turn'd to it,
Unless enforced, as now. Whate'er has pass'd,
Is pass'd, and, profitless to memory,
Were better be forgotten.

Countess.
Ay? Indeed!
So easily done? Well, be it so! 'Tis past,
And, so, should be forgotten. Please you now
Turn to the Empress. You have painted me;
Proceed to her. Come, let me see what hand
You will make of her picture. When I ask'd you now
If you liked her, you but echo'd me!—and then
I ask'd you if you loved her, and again
You echo'd me! I want an answer, not
An echo! Well, sir? well?

Huon.
Madam, I love
And honour her.

[She starts from her seat; he rises also.
Countess.
Thou art rewarded, pride!—
Meet'st thy deserts! Show thy high breeding now!
Tread stately! throw thy spurning glances round!
And talk as mighty things as though the earth
Were made for thee alone! Where's thy domain?
Gone! And thy palace, what is it? a ruin!
And what art thou thyself? a beggar now!
Huon, you loved me once!

[Bursting into tears.
Huon.
I loved thee once!
Oh, tell me, when it was I loved thee not?
Was't in my childhood, boyhood, manhood? Oh!
In all of them I loved thee? And were I now
To live the span of my past life, twice told,
And then to wither, thou surviving me,
And yet I lived in thy sweet memory,
Then mightst thou say of me, “He loved me once;
But that was all his life!”

Countess.
'Twas heart for heart!
I loved thee ever! Yes! the love that now
Thrills on the woman's tongue; the girl's had told thee,
Had I been bold as fond; for, even then,
I saw thy worth; but did not see thy station,
Till others, not so well affected towards thee,
Reveal'd it to me by their cold regards.
I could not help my nature. From that time
Two passions strove in my divided soul
For mastery—scorn of thy station—love
For thee—each feeding on the other's hate,
And growing stronger, till I thought their strife
Would shake my frame to dissolution! Yes!
O, Huon! when my brow sat cloudy, oft,
O'er my cold eye, that look'd askant at thee,
Thou little thought'st what friend there was within
Would make that brow clear as a summer sky,
That eye bright, glowing as a summer's sun,
To kindle thee—as they, their world, with life,
And health, and wealth, and gladness!

Huon.
Say'st thou this
To me? or do I dream I hear thee say it?
Or is the past a dream? I did not yield
At thy command, to marry Catherine?
Thou didst not see me wed her? Fancy forged
The ring I thought I put upon her finger?
Thou wast not by at all? From first to last,
Hadst not a hand in it? or, if thou hadst,
Why, then, untimely this unfold to me?
For well I know thee to be prime of all
Proud honour's children! Art thou offspring prime
Of cruelty as well? O, Heaven, to think
She loved me, and could give me to another,
Nor yet to her alone!—another!—

Countess.
Ha! Well?

Huon.
One who ne'er set eyes on me, until
An outcast, by her deed of hate, who loved me!
Saw me, a stranger, hunting after fortune,
And gave her hand to me could help me up!
Lavish'd her favours on me!—decorates
With honours, till beside the bright themselves
I lost no brightness!

Countess.
To the Empress?

Huon.
Yes!
Thou lovest me?—O, fate! There was a time,
'Twere more than bliss, if more could be, to know it;
But now 'tis misery!

Countess.
'Tis misery!
[Countess starts up again; Huon also rising.
Art thou in such a strait indeed as that,
To give my love for thee so harsh a name?
What shall I call it then? Coin me a name
Will stand for something worse than misery—
Will paint the case of a high, noble maid,
Who stoop'd to love a serf; nay, stopp'd not there,
But told her passion to him—Misery!

Huon.
I am no more a serf.

Countess.
Thou art ennobled;
Yet art thou still the same; thou hast won honours,
Rewards of deeds, in spite of thy base blood
Achieved by thee!

Huon.
Nay, madam, spare my blood,
And pardon me, its owner, if I say
It is not base.

Countess.
It is!—What should it be
But base? A serf gave it to thee, a serf
Gave him his blood! Trace back the current, sir,
Far as you can, and you will find it base,
Nothing but base!

Huon.
Madam, men's natures are
Their blood; they have no other—high or low.
If base the current hitherto of mine,
It ceased with me. Born in thy father's house
A serf, I left it one, to seek my fortune,
Make it or mar it, for promotion having
No other patron than my own right arm,
And my own heart and head to guide and nerve it;
And with their help, I see that house again,
An independent, self-exalted man,
While many a son, who left a noble home.
With blood untainted for a thousand years,
Returns to it no better than he left it.
Is my blood base?

Countess.
No, Huon! mine was base
To let me call it so. Alas! alas!
And hast no better welcome for my love
Than that sad word thou spok'st?

Huon.
What word so fit?
What is it to a man condemn'd to die,
To tell him of a treasure left to him?
Shall he be glad and thank his lucky stars,
Or shall not that, their bounty, aggravate
The ruin, makes it vain!

Countess.
Condemn'd to die?
Resemblest thou a man condemn'd to die?

Huon.
Why didst thou drive me from thee by that act?

Countess.
That act was nothing; 'twas thy flight,
And that which follow'd it. Thou art entangled—
And thank thy flight. Oh! Huon, were thy love
In daring enterprise the tithe of mine,
'Twould attempt something to enlarge thee from
The cause thou art prisoner to!

Huon.
It cannot cease,
Except with life.

Countess.
The Empress loves thee, Huon!

Huon.
No.

Countess.
But she does.
Thou art her favourite. She
Hath chain'd thee to her throne.

Huon.
No.

Countess.
But she has!
Thou hast made merchandise,
Most shameful merchandise, of thy allegiance!
Broken oaths as tiny shells, which at a touch,
Will fall to powder!

Huon.
Broken oaths!

Countess.
Yes, oaths!
Thy life was all one oath of love to me!
Sworn to me daily, hourly, by thine eyes,
Which, when they saw me, lighten'd up, as though
An angel's presence had enhanced their vision,
That I have seen their very colour change,
Subliming into hues past earthliness.
Talk of the adjuration of the tongue—
Compare love's name, a sound which any lip
May pipe! a breath!—with holy love itself!
Thou'rt not forsworn, because thou took'st no oath?
What were thy accents then? thy accents, Huon?
Language that turn'd thy lightest words to oaths,
Vouching the burden of a love-fraught soul!
Telling a tale which my young nature caught
With interest so deep, 'twas conn'd by heart
Before I knew the fatal argument!
Huon, I charge thee quit the service of
The Empress!

Huon.
'Twere against all honour.

Countess.
No!
Give up her service!

Huon.
'Twere ingratitude.

Countess.
Ingratitude for what!

Huon.
She has advanced me
Past my deserts.

Countess.
No, I deny it! No!
Not equal to them! No! Thy golden deeds
She has repaid with tinsel!

Ulrick.
[Entering.]
Please you, sir,
The Empress summons you.

Countess.
You are not going?

Huon.
My presence is commanded.

Countess.
Are you going?

Ulrick.
My lord!

Huon.
I come.

Countess.
You are going, then?

Huon.
I must go.

Countess.
You must? Then go! Go, and farewell for ever!

[They go out.