 | Otto of Wittelsbach |  |
SCENE I.
A Park or Chase in front of the Castle of Wittelsbach. Drawbridge, Porcullis, &c. Evening.Otto, Ulric, and Ida.
Otto.
And so I scared thee yestereve. No dove,
Brooding upon her nest, when her nice instinct
Warns her that 'tis the hawk her enemy
That hovers in mid-air, was e'er more startled
Than thou at sight of me. Poor chuck! poor chuck!
Ida.
Thou art so sudden, father. The keen lance
Hurled by the tawny warriors of the East;
Or arrow twanging from our northern bow;
Or swifter elements; the light; the wind;
Brisk meteors shooting o'er the autumnal heaven;
Stars that in winter fall, or seem to fall;
Quick summer lightning; shardly match thy speed!
Here, there, and back again, ere we can say
He's gone! And hadst thou in good sooth, dear father,
Been at the Imperial Court?
Otto.
Seek of them there.
I' faith there be some birds, not doves, mine Ida,
In that great gilded cage, who have fair cause
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My happy home with thought of the foul brood.
How fares the loom, my pretty broideress? How
The bow, my little man-at-arms? I found ye
Busied as though some fay had wrought strange change
Of sex and mood; thou, Ulric, gently tending
A gentle bird—
Ida.
His peacock! thine own gift!
Why, belted knights swear by the peacock, father!
Otto.
Ay, 'tis a princely bird! the very type
Of lofty chivalry! But thou, fair maid,
Of thine own shadow fearful, what mad'st thou,
I' th' midst of the court, caressing with bold hand
A fiery war-horse, patting his arched neck,
And playing with his streaming mane? Was that
For love of me, fair daughter? The good steed
Was none of mine, I trow.
Ul.
'Twas Lancelot,
Isidore's steed! the good steed Lancelot—
Look how she blushes!—hurt in the great fight,
And left behind for cure. Look! look! Her cheeks
Wax red as ever rose.
Otto.
An imp like thee
To scan a lady's blushes! She asked nought
Of Isidore. Suppose I told her, Ulric,
Of a new wooer, in whose cause the Emperor
Himself vouchsafed to plead? A wealthy suitor,
And noble, forasmuch as long descent
And kingly grants may make man noble.
Ul.
Well?
Thou saidst him No, dear father, didst thou not?
Thou didst. Sir Isidore is a brave knight,
And Ida loves him. I am sure he said
The Emperor No, sweet sister!
Ida.
Precious child!
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Tell her thou didst, dear father. I'm to be
The page of bold Sir Isidore, so soon
As I can rein his good steed Lancelot
And wield my grandsire's brand. As for the bow—
Look at the top of yonder oak: thou seest
A raven's nest, and—No! come nearer here!
Yon bough is in the way; and thou'rt so tall!
So! So!—A nest with a broad arrow through it!
Dost see the shaft?
Otto.
The nest, but not the shaft.
The sun is in mine eyes. Yes, now I see
The arrow. Well?
Ul.
I lodged that arrow there
From Rudiger's cross-bow; the bow he gave me
At parting.
Otto.
Thou!
Ida.
In very truth he did.
Otto.
Thou bend that stiff cross-bow! and to such height
Whirl thy true bolt! Go fetch the bow. I'll see thee
Shoot on the instant.
Enter Isidore.
Isidore, thy name
Was on these children's lips and in their hearts.
One boldly spake of thee; and one looked down,
And sighed, and smiled, and listened blushingly.
I did say No to that same suit thou wotst of,
Mine Ida. Bless ye all. What brings thee hither?
Isi.
Thy gracious welcome, and thee mute assent
Of these sweet conscious blushes, good my lord,
Might bring a man from Africk. But I come
On a strange message.
Ida.
We'll go fetch thy bow.
Sir Isidore shall see thee shoot.
Isi.
Return
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[Exeunt Ida and Ulric.
Otto.
Now, thine errand?
Isi.
Sir,
I am sent to bid thee hasten with thy power
To the Bohemian frontier, where, they say,
The foe is gathering fast.
Otto.
The foe! what foe?
Not the Bohemian! I would pledge my faith
For his; and Brunswick treats with them even now.
What mean they by the foe? Why, Ardenberg
Knows that Bohemia, granting she were false,
As I believe her true, could never fight us.
Treasure she lacks and men.
Isi.
Dost thou not trace
Count Calheim's subtle dealing in this missive?
Otto.
Small trust put I in him. Were not their force
Utterly broke and scattered o'er the land,
So that they cannot make a head again,
I might, like thee, suspect it was an engine
To rid them of our armies.
Isi.
Not our armies,
But their great leader; 'tis of him they seek
To rid themselves. I am not of their counsel,
Their dark and crooked counsel, but men say
That Calheim for his master seeks a bride
At Philip's Court; fair Adela.
Otto.
My Adela!
Tush! She's betrothed to me! They dare not, Sir;
No, nor they would not.
Isi.
They may proffer thee
Young Helen.
Otto.
Why, her hand is promised too,
To Lewis of Bavaria.
Isi.
They'll not grudge
A double treachery.
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'Twould avail them nought.
Sir Isidore, I'm past the age when boys
Pine, sigh, and languish for a fair maid's love;
Yet not so old but I may exercise
Man's proud prerogative, to choose his mate.
And Adela—I tell thee that my tongue
Stumbles at every sound save Adela.
Her name to me is as a household word,
Mixed with the dear, familiar thoughts of home,
Of my fair Ida, of my little Ulric,
Of my old faithful squire. She'd love them all,
Even my rude warlike castle. There's a panel
Vacant in the great gallery, close beside
My noble mother's picture: I have thought
A thousand times how fitly Adela
Would fill that honoured place.
Isi.
Yet Helen's eye
Is bright as Adela's, her cheek as fair.
Otto.
Mark me, young Sir: To me that cheek is fair
Whose blushes own my presence; bright to me
The eye whose modest glances frankly meet
And interchange with mine. I am no braggart,
To boast of ladies' favours, yet I've seen
When Adela hath dropped her golden thread
In fixed attention to some warlike tale
From these rude lips; have felt the tremulous touch
Of her slight hand thrill through my gauntlet mail
When she hath given the tourney prize. No more!
Thou'lt think me next as vain a popinjay
As yonder thing of silk. Besides, I'd wager
My life on Philip's truth.
Isi.
Yet arm thyself
With caution.
Otto.
Arm myself against my friend!
Sit clothed in mail at the banquet! Wear unsheathed
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I'd rather die, here as I stand, Faith's martyr,
Than live to the age of man the jealous slave
Of base suspicion. Hearken, Isidore!
I know thou mean'st me kindly; 'tis thy care,
And love for me, that make thee somewhat wrong
Him to whom both owe fealty. I'll prove,
Not in doubt, mark me, but in loyal trust,
How vain and false thy fears. The sun is low,
But we have rid together many a night
Through foaming flood and trackless snow. We'll straight
To Spires. I'll wed the gentle Adela
Ere noon to-morrow.
Isi.
So she be not wedded
To Brunswick's Duke already.
Otto.
Pshaw! 'Twill save
A world of idle pomp and dull delay,
Nor waste an instant should this nameless foe,
Threaten our frontier. Ere my bands, dispersed
Since Kanau's field, can gather round the banner,
The lion banner which their lion hearts
Bear on to victory, I shall be here
To head them.
Re-enter Ida and Ulric, with Bow and Arrows.
Ah! not now, dear boy! not now!
We must away to Spires. Ida can tell thee
If Lancelot be fit to bear thee, Isidore,
She hath been his faithful nurse. When next ye hear
The horn that startled ye, 'twill herald, dear ones,
Me and my gentle bride. To horse! to horse.
[Exeunt.
| Otto of Wittelsbach | |