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218
ACT V.
SCENE I.
—The Hall of the Castle.The Empress, Courtiers, Knights, Heralds, &c., prepared to proceed to the Tournament.
Enter Ulrick.
Emp.
[To Ulrick.]
Why wait we for the Countess? What delays her?
This day is dedicate to her; for her
We are convened; and comes she last of all?
Ulrick.
Madam, she craves your favour for this pause.
Believe 'tis not remissness, but mischance,
Retards her. Doubtless she will come, anon.
Emp.
Anon, my lord! Anon is not our time
For friends to greet us, when they summon us.
[Enter three Attendants, the first bearing a coronet on a cushion, the second a pile of parchments, the third followed by Vassals, carrying money-coffers; last of all, the Countess, plainly attired, followed by her Women, in costly dresses. She stops before the Empress.
Emp.
Why, lady! what is this?
Countess.
My liege, receive
This emblem of that pomp which I resign,
Because 'tis adjunct to conditions, such
As render it a burden to me, past
The faculty of sufferance to bear.
Emp.
Lady!
Countess.
So please you, madam, give me leave,
As joint executor with this worthy lord,
Into your hands I also yield all right
And title to this fair château, besides
The lands and forests, its appendages,
As well as vassals, natives of the soil.
Emp.
But, lady—
Countess.
Madam, suffer me conclude.
These are the coffers which my father left,
And, as he left them, render'd to your highness;
And with them all resign'd, save such endowment
As shall entitle me to that retreat,
Holy and calm, wherein I mean to pass,
I'll say, the remnant of my days, i' th' hope,
Though few are past, still fewer are to come—
Which option, as you know, my father's will
Has left to me.
Emp.
Then will you not abide
The cast of fate in the tournament? nor take
The husband she may send—nor yet select
Yourself?
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I cannot, madam.
Emp.
How?
Countess.
I am
Forestall'd.
Emp.
By whom?
Countess.
By you!
Emp.
Let every one
Repair to the tournament. Let it proceed,
As we ourself were there. And you, my lord,
[To Ulrick.
Preside for us. It is our will the lists
Be open'd straight. The Countess stays with me.
[All go out, except the Empress and Countess.
We are alone! Now, how am I a let
To such espousals as your choice would make?
Countess.
Do you not know?
Emp.
Girl, be direct with me;
Nor in the headlong passion of your soul,
That seems to joy in strife and wrack, forget
'Tis your liege lady that vouchsafes you audience!
Countess.
That I forget, and everything beside,
Except one thing, in still revolving which,
The earth hath shrunk in estimation
Into a grain—the sun into a spark!
Nought hath kept substance but my desolation,
Which seems to me to fill up space, itself,
Till nothing else hath room.
Emp.
Thy desolation? Who made it for thee?
Countess.
Thou!
Emp.
In what regard?
Countess.
In thy attractive favour shown to Huon!
Emp.
I made thy desolation? Thou thyself
Didst make it with thy pride, the greater, but
Worse portion of thee!
Countess.
By my pride?
Emp.
Thy pride!
Which, evil counsellor to thy love, advised it
To blush with shame at homage, from the which
It could not yet refrain, because 'twas due—
Tribute to such desert, as far behind
Left all desert beside, and might have won
The subject's heart—whose mistress's it won!—
Thy story—everything are known to me.
Countess.
Then thou confessest it!
Emp.
What?
Countess.
What?
Emp.
Beware!
I brook not such a tone from thee.
Countess.
The heart
Will speak, despite the checks of shows and forms,
Shadows compared to its realities!
Is it not so with thee?—e'er hast thou felt
A pang?—and if thou hast, where, then, thy palace?
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With all their proud appurtenances, and
No habitation left thee, but thy breast,
The only house of happiness or woe!
How shall it be with me then, with a heart,
Madden'd with torture? Shall I cast about
To furnish looks, and words, and tones for things,
I have no interest in, and thou, that hast,
In equal case wouldst give to disregard?
Emp.
Remember thou'rt a subject!
Countess.
So I will
While thou'rt the empress; but when thou becomest
A woman—a mere woman like myself—
Stepp'st from the eminence that lifts thee 'bove me—
Levell'st thee to me in one common nature—
I deal with thee as woman deals with woman!
I own thy power! I must and do! Thy breath
Can doom me exile, bondage, what it will!
There I submit! Thou art the empress there.
But when thou thwart'st me in the interests
Which are the right, not more of one than all—
Trenchest upon my private peace—my love—
Thou dost me wrong for which I challenge thee,
As equal may an equal.
Emp.
Come! Thy challenge?
What dost allege against me?
Countess.
That thou lov'st him!
Emp.
Ay, by my troth, as much as thou didst scorn him!
Countess.
Was't he accused me to thee?
Emp.
Wayward woman,
He never spoke of thee except with love.
Countess.
How couldst thou love him then? How could thy greatness
Forget itself to try and steal a heart,
Thou knew'st to be another's?
Emp.
Steal!
Countess.
Ay, steal!
Must we coin terms for those that are above us,
To make offences gracious to their ears,
When they commit them—which, by us enacted,
They would blast with damning names!
Emp.
Thou hast a spirit!
Countess.
Thou knew'st he loved me, and didst covet him!
Covet a heart at second-hand—an empress!
Hear me that am a subject, and thy subject—
His heart was mine, until thou robb'dst me of it—
Not of it all, but of a part—though if
A part be gone, go all!—Well, as I said,
His heart was mine at first. 'Tis gone—My peace,
Hopes, everything, along with it! What then?
Would I have it back?—No!—I would sooner die!
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All's lost. Thou covetedst a faithless heart!
Emp.
Didst thou deserve that heart?
Countess.
[Weeping.]
I did!—I loved him
Better than thou couldst do!
Emp.
I' faith, thou'rt brave!
Thy love of him was persecution.
Countess.
[Weeping.]
Yet
I loved him!
Emp.
Loved him! It was tyranny,
Enforced without the mercy of a pause.
Countess.
[Weeping still, and more bitterly.]
The more I loved him!
Emp.
Loved him!—and constrainéd him
To nuptials he abhorr'd.
Countess.
I did—and then
[In an agony of tears.
I loved him most!
Emp.
How had it fared with him,
Hadst thou been I?
Countess.
Far differently.
Emp.
How?
Countess.
I then had been above rebuke or blame!
I would have given his merits their fair field,
Encouraged them to challenge their deserts,
Rewarded them till they had lifted him
So near equality to me, the seat
I fill'd, he might have shared along with me.
Emp.
That field he found himself, without my aid!
I saw him there, and challenged simple greatness,
In spite of its disguise; desired it doff
Its lowly suit and show the thing it was;
Nor stopp'd till, step by step, I saw it climb
To where it stands; nor mean I to stop there!
Countess.
How?
Emp.
I design him for the highest grace
I can bestow.
Countess.
The highest!
Emp.
Yes, beyond
His hopes, until to-day—Until to-day,
Never divulged to him.
Countess.
He knows it, then?
Emp.
He does; and, till my promise is fulfill'd,
With fears that shake him, spite of certainty
Of his immeasurable happiness—
For such he thinks it—wears a doubtful life.
Countess.
Thy hand!
Emp.
The hand of her, more proud to be
The empress of his heart than of my realm.
Countess.
He shall not take it!
Emp.
Not?
Countess.
Thy power is huge,
But there are bounds to it!
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What bounds?
Countess.
Right!—Law!—
Imperial foot stops there.—It dares not cross,
And if it dares, it shall not!
Emp.
Sooth, thou'rt brave!
Countess.
He shall not marry!
Emp.
No?
Countess.
No!
Emp.
She's a rock!
She echoes me!
Countess.
He shall not marry!
Emp.
What!
Again?
Countess.
Wast thou the empress of the world,
I'd say to thee again—He shall not marry!
Emp.
Thou know'st a let?
Countess.
I do!
Emp.
The troth he pledged
To Catherine—you see I am advised
Of all! The marriage is annull'd.
Countess.
It is?
Emp.
It is!
Countess.
How?
Emp.
By the Church!
Countess.
The Church? And yet
He shall not marry!
Emp.
What! Not marry thee?
Countess.
[Changing, and falling on her knees.]
Madam!
Emp.
The hand that I design for him—
Crown of my favour, his deserts—is thine,
Not mine, my girl—the guerdon fair for which
He would not take my empire in exchange—
Ay, with my hand, to boot!
Countess.
My liege, my empress!
Emp.
My fiery queen, and have I tamed you now?
Tamed you, so soon! I half repent me on't.
Mine's the true spirit, namesake! It admires
To see itself in others. 'Faith, my glass
Never reflected me more honestly
Than thou didst, even now. Listen to me.
I am thy Huon's friend, and nothing more.
Rise! Now we'll talk as sister does with sister.
Hither thy Huon bears me company—
Unwarn'd to what intent, until to-day.
Until to-day, in darkness that the bar
The Church, with thy fair aid, 'twixt him and thee
Had set—the Church, at my persisting suit,
Has quite annull'd; and now he's in the lists
Striving to win thee! He that never yet,
In strait of life or death, much less a tilt,
Suffer'd defeat! [Trumpets.]
—That flourish is the close.
Smile at it, girl! It makes thee Huon's wife!
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Nor nobleman alone! This hour a prince,
For thy fair sake!
Countess
[dejectedly to herself].
Would he were still the serf.
Emp.
Dejected, girl!
Countess.
Madam.
Emp.
They come! Come hither!
Here take thy seat in the centre. Here thou art chief.
We are but second! Smile—Thy Huon comes!
[Music. Ulrick and the rest re-enter from the Tournament. The Empress anxiously surveys them. The Countess absent and dejected.
Where is he?
Countess.
Madam?
Emp.
Which is Huon?
[Aside to Countess.
Countess.
Which?
Emp.
[Aside to Countess.]
Methinks he is not here. Canst make him out?
Girl, tell me, is thy lover here or not?
He seems not here, and yet he must be here.
Herald.
Madam, the lists are closed. The victor waits
The prize which he has won. Shall he receive it?
Emp.
[Aside to Countess.]
Shall I say yes? I must say yes. Thou smilest.
I will say yes!—He shall receive the prize.
[Aloud.
Who is he that bows?
Herald.
The victor, madam.
Emp.
[To Countess.]
Ha!
Do you know him?
Countess.
Not with his visor; yet
Methinks I ought to know him, were it he.
Emp.
Sir Knight, so please you, raise your visor. 'Tis
The prince of Milan! Girl—what means thine eye
To blaze with joy? It looks on thy despair!
The prince of Milan 'tis that wins thy hand!
Hear'st thou me? Know'st thou what I say?
Countess.
I do!
Both hear and comprehend thee.
Emp.
Ay, and smile?
Countess.
And smile.
Emp.
Art thou thyself? Am I myself?
I think myself the same! Where is Huon?
Ulrick.
Gone
To take his armour off.
Emp.
How fared it with him?
Ulrick.
He enter'd first the lists, and one by one
O'erthrew all comers, till the prince of Milan
Unhorsed him.
Countess.
Is he hurt?
Ulrick.
No, madam.
224
[Starting up.]
Thanks!
My Lord, bring Huon hither! Hither! Hie!
Now all is as it should be.
Emp.
Should be, girl?
Say rather should not be. Thy lover's foil'd.
Where is the ashy cheek, that meets disaster,
The brow that's like the wrack? the gusty breath?
The quivering bloodless lip and quaking frame?
These should be, and they are not! Where are they?
Or rather, wherefore see I in their stead
Things 'twould become to wait on holidays
Rather than days of penance? Look not thus,
Else thou wilt make me hate thee!
Countess.
Madam, madam,
I tell thee, and believe me, all is well.
Emp.
[Indignantly.]
Then let the prince of Milan take his prize.
Fred.
I claim it on my knee!
[At the moment the Prince kneels, Huon led by Ulrick enters, and the Countess rushes towards him.
Countess.
How is it, Huon?
Thou look'st as hurt.
Huon.
Sped in the spirit, lady.
Forgetful of my charger, all unmindful,
He lack'd my argument to hearten him,
Bent on the most surpassing prize alone,
I did not think to change him, and he fail'd me!
Countess.
Fortune, farewell! and pride go with thee! Go!
Welcome adversity! Shake hands with me,
Thou tester of true hearts! whose homely fare
No flatterer sits down to—hollow friend—
Foe, masking thoughts of scorn with smiling face;—
But truth and honesty! affection stanch!
That grasps the hand before it scans the sleeve,
And greets the lowly portal with a grace
More winning far than his, who thanks the gate
That spreads with pride, to let a monarch in.
Emp.
Girl, I am loath to speak in terms of blame,
But thou hast much offended courtesy:
Not only slighting me, thy sov'reign lady,
But him to whom thy fate awards thee bride.
Countess.
A wife must be a widow, ere a bride.
Emp.
A wife?—No wife art thou!
Countess.
I am a wife!
Before this goodly presence I proclaim it.
A wife by stealth, but still a wedded wife!
Wedded for love, as fervent, durable,
As ever led a woman to the altar!
Emp.
Where is thy husband? Hear'st thou—where is he?
Countess.
Where my remorse, contrition, deprecation,
Homage, and love, now throw me! I am kneeling
At his feet!
[Kneels to Huon
225
Thy husband, I?
Countess.
My husband, thou!
Huon.
Was I not wed to Catherine?
Countess.
Thou wast.
My name is Catherine, as thou shouldst know,
But, as thou knewest not, till now; the lips
Pronounced that name in wedding thee—the hand
Then given to thee—the troth then plighted thee—
Were mine as truly as the breath that now
Avows I am thy wife!—in debt to fate
For baffling thee; for now she owns thee lord
In thy adversity!
Huon.
Thou kneel'st to me!
In marvel of thy words!—I overlook'd thee,
Madam!—My wife, rise—pray you, rise!—my own,
My dear liege lady ever! I am feeble
In words; but oh! the strife is strong, within,
Of wonder, gratitude, humility,
Pride, honour, love, outdoing one another!
Enter Catherine, disguised.
Cath.
Fair Empress, justice! justice!
Emp.
What comes now?
Who asks for justice?
Cath.
One that is most wrong'd
In his honour; cheated by a craven knight,
Who promised him to give him meeting here;
But hath broken his word—no doubt, through cowardice.
Emp.
What is his name?
Cath.
Sir Rupert.
Sir Rup.
[Stepping forward.]
He speaks false!
I am here to my appointment.
Cath.
Are you so?
Have you not sprain'd your arm?
Sir Rup.
No!
Cath.
Nor your leg?
Sir Rup.
No!
Cath.
Nor your side, that you can't sit your horse?
Sir Rup.
No!
Cath.
Wonderful! Your spirit does not fail?
Sir Rup.
No!
Cath.
Yet more wonderful, you'll fight me?
Sir Rup.
Yes!
Cath.
You shall, but where I pray you are your friends?
Sir Otto and Sir Conrad.
[Coming forward.]
Here!
Cath.
Gentlemen, I am sorry for the fall
You got in tilting for the Countess; but
'Tis nothing to the one which he shall rue,
As you shall see. Down on your knees and beg
Your life.
Sir Rup.
And beg my life!
Cath.
Now what's the use
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Do I not know, sir, that you have borne cuffs
A thousand times, as well you know you have,
And know you not, a bold face never yet
Made a bold heart? Down on your knees at once!
Valour won't come for stamping, sir! Entreat
Your friends to hold you; that's a better way
To pass for a brave man.
Sir Rup.
I'll smite thee.
Cath.
Do!
If you dare!
[Throwing off cloak.
Ha! Have I brought you to thy knee at last, sir?
Said I not truly, that I would bring you there?
Beware I say not I shall keep you there!
Sir Rup.
What! Catherine?
Countess.
Yes, Catherine, Sir Rupert.
Sir Rup.
O happiness!
Countess.
Which thou hast well deserved.
Sir Rup.
Thou still wast gracious to me.
Countess.
For thy truth,
Attested by thy jealous poverty.
I saw thy honest love for Catherine,
In secret cherish'd, as thou thought'st—as one
Conceals a costly treasure he has found,
And rightfully may keep, but, being poor,
Fear to display it, through the world's charity.
Thy Catherine, whom before thou fear'dst to woo,
Now dares make suit to thee, and challenges thee,
To make her thine. So, take her, if thou wilt,
And with her honour, for thy honest love!
Cath.
O—
Countess.
Huon, my husband—Lord! canst thou forgive
The scornful maid, for the devoted wife,
Had cleaved to thee, though ne'er she own'd thee lord?
Huon.
I nothing see, except thy wondrous love.
Countess.
Madam, our happiness lifts up to thee
Its eyes in penitence and gratitude!
Thou, chief in station, first to give desert,
Despite its lowliness, its lofty due!
O, thou hast taught a lesson to all greatness,
Whether of rank or wealth, that 'tis the roof
Stately and broad which ne'er was meant to house
Equality alone—whose porch is never
So proud, as when it welcomes-in desert,
That comes in its own fair simplicity.
END OF LOVE.
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