University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

The Interior of the Cathedral at Spires. The High Altar decorated in the Background. Priests, &c., ranged around it. The Stage nearly full of Nobles, Ladies, Pages, &c.
Philip, leading Adela, approaches from a Door at the side, followed by Leopold, Helen, Calheim, Ardenberg, Hugo, &c.
Philip.
Stand from before the altar, noble lords,
And high-born dames, and blooming damsels! Leave
Free passage for the bride. My Adela,
For the last time thy father calls thee his;
I yield thee to a tenderer duty now,
My duteous child. The princely Leopold,
Howbeit his wooing hath been brief, will prove
No less a noble husband. Thou wilt live
To bless the hour that rescued thy fresh youth
From a rough warrior, loud and turbulent,
And old as I myself, to match thee, sweet,
With one in the flush of manhood's blooming prime,
Who with calm sweetness tempers dignity.
Thou'lt live to bless this union.

Leo.
Good my liege,
To the fulfilment of that prophecy
My life shall be devoted. This fair hand
Trembles with modesty.

Ade.
Trembles with fear,
With sad reluctance, with deep dread of wrong,
With dark forebodings. Sir, this hand is pledged
To one as noble as thyself. I love him
With such a love as a chaste maiden owes
To her affianced lord. Wilt wed me now?
Oh no! Thou art too proud, too generous,
Too wise, to take a hand without a heart,
A cold, unwilling hand.

Philip.
Peace! Thou wast best.
Where got'st thou this strange stubbornness? Art frenetic?

Ade.
Father! thyself taught me to love Count Otto.
Fiery and rash! Why, 'tis the alloy of the gold
That fits the metal for its use. Thy foes
Have felt Count Otto's rashness, Rough and rude!
So be the gnarled oak, the towering elm,
Yet fearlessly the woodbine and the vine
Wreathe their light tendrils round each rugged trunk,
Supported and adorning.

Philip.
Peace! bold girl!
Duke Leopold!

Leo.
My liege, the general weal
No less than mine own fixed and rooted love
Demand this union. Sweet, if firmest faith
And fondest care and tenderest watchfulness
May win relenting smiles, I'll not despair.
I cannot yield thee, loveliest maid.

Philip.
Lead on
To the altar.

Enter Otto, followed by Isidore and Alf.
Otto.
By your leave, fair dames! What's here?
A bridal toward? Ay; the reverend fathers,
The simpering maidens, the pale trembling bride!
Tremble no longer; I am here to cheer
And guard thee, Adela! Duke Leopold!
Art thou to give the lady? I am ready.
Why hold ye back? Ye sent—albeit I missed
The messenger—ye sent to summon me;—
Did ye not send? or knew ye by sheer instinct,
The happy star, which still hath wafted me,
Unwitting how, to what I loved the best,
Feast, tourney, combat, victory? Trusted ye
To that fair star? or sent ye, Sirs? Speak! Speak!
Stand not thus mute, each gazing upon each!
Say, be ye met to celebrate my bridals?
Waited ye here for me the bridegroom? Speak!
Can they not utter Yes or No!

Philip.
Good Otto—

Otto.
Alf, thou wast right. I cry thee mercy, Isidore!

Philip.
Count Palatine—

Otto.
I know what thou wouldst say,
Ay, well I know the flimsy spider's web,
The thin, weak, flickering veil of gossamer,
Wherewith men shroud plain treachery.

Philip.
Speak'st thou, Sir,
To us thy Sovereign?

Otto.
Sovereign! That one word
Proclaims to earth and Heaven the mighty sum
Of thine ingratitude! Sovereign! Didst inherit
That title proud and resonant? Wast born
I' the purple? Swathed in ermine? Golden sceptres
Thy corals? Jewelled diadems the toys
Thy pampered childhood played withal? Hadst thou
The excuse that waits on princes, flattery-gorged
From the cradle upward? Wast thou such?

Philip.
Count Otto,
We bear too long thy rebel speech.

Otto.
Or wast thou
Of the rarer race, whom patriot virtue lifts
To kingly heights, who lend an age its name,
A realm its glory? The great founders they
Of thrones Imperial. From their ashes bursts
The living fire, whose sacred halo plays
Round each heroic son's anointed brow,
To latest time. Giants who walk the earth
Rejoicing. Say, wast thou of them? or wast thou
That slightest, smallest of our pigmy race,
That dullest, commonest man, that poorest peer,
That weakliest tree of all our grove, whom I—
Fool, idiot, madman!—in disastrous hour
Bore on to Empire? Faugh! A puppet Emperor,
Hung upon wires! A king at chess, whose moves
Each subtle knave directs, each babbling jester
Scoffs at and scorns.

Cal.
The Emperor Philip, meanst thou?
That Emperor upon whose head thy hand
Planted the laurel of the Cæsars? Philip,
Whose name hath been thy battle-cry, for whom
Thou didst array one half of this fair realm
Against their fellows, father against son,
Brother 'gainst brother. Mark how he turns round
Upon his idol, as the savage wreaks
His wrath upon the image of his hand,
And dashes on the stones his god of clay.

Otto.
Count Calheim, spare thy taunts. Philip is weak,
Ingrateful, perjured, base. But what is he,
That perjury's base prompter, who, a prince,
A knight, a man, stole hither i' the dark—
A wolf to the fold! O stain on knighthood's shield,
On manhood's brow!

Isi:
Count Otto, calm thee.

Philip.
Ay,
Calm thee, Count Otto. I have borne thy scoffs,
Remembering all thou deem'dst I had forgot
Of love and service, thy rash angry mood
Remembering too. Respect my princely guest.
His coolness shames thy fire. Thou a brave warrior,
Railing like some vexed shrew!

Otto.
I am too loud,
Too rash, too fiery hot. Duke Leopold,
Thou art of a noble strain. We have fought as friends
Together, side by side; and late as foes
Met i' the front of battle gallantly.
And now I challenge thee, as knight, as man,
To a fresh trial of nobleness. Grasp not,
As she stands before the altar decked and wreathed,
A victim for a bride. Are we not vowed
Defenders of her gentle sex, protectors
Of helpless innocence? Abide her choice;
And thou, Imperial Philip, let thy will
Wait upon hers; then if by duty swayed,
Or thy fresh youth, the royal maid incline
To wed thee, I, with frankest benison,
Will give her hand to thine. I have sworn. Swear thou
Obedience to her mandate! Kiss the blade!
Swear, Duke of Brunswick! Swear! Thou wilt not? No?
Off to the greensward! Better likes me there
To win the dear one! Better loves my sword
To flash in the sun and air. To the greensward, ho!

Leo.
Right willingly.

Philip.
Sir Isidore, guard well
The gates. Close every entrance. Look that none
Pass forth.

Ade.
Nay, nay; I am no brawler's prize.
Count Palatine, a father's stern command
Parts us for ever. I'll not break my vow
To wed an earthly Prince. The spouse of God,
A dedicated maid apart and pure,
In the dim cloister's sad repose, I'll pray
For peace on all. Back to thy happy home;
Vex not this holy fane with strife; stain not
The consecrated floor.

Philip.
She shall be thine—
Take her.

Otto.
And wilt thou take her? Wilt thou seize
The victim, trusting to the sanctity
Of these old hallowed walls? Each place is holy
To the just purpose and the righteous cause.
Wilt yield her to me? to the cloister? No!
Saidst No? Off with ye! There must be but one
Survivor 'twixt us twain. I'll free thee, Sir,
From yonder coward's grasp. He'll not abide
The glance of my bright sword. Come on!

Philip.
(Rushing between them.)
Hold! hold!

Leo.
The Emperor is slain!

Ade.
Oh, father! father!

Isi.
(To Otto.)
Away! Off with him, Alf! He's as one stunned
And stupefied.
[Alf leads Otto off the stage.
(Advancing to the body.)
Art sure that he is dead?
Send for a leech.

Arden.
So, lift him up! So! so!

Cal.
Where is Count Otto? Where the murderer?

Hugo.
Gone.