University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Diet of the Empire. A Splendid Hall; a Throne and a Table before it, with Chairs.
Leopold, Princes, Ardenberg, Hugo, Herald, and Guards. Leopold advances to the Throne during the first few lines, and seats himself upon it, whilst the Princes range themselves around the Table. Ardenberg sitting on a Stool near the Emperor, as Minister or Secretary. Hugo, Heralds, Guards, &c., attending.
Leo.
Summoned once more to Empire, not a voice
Mute or dissentient, I obey your call,
Electors, Princes, Peers, and mount the throne,
Vacant by foulest treason. Clouds and shadows
Encanopy that throne; the Imperial robes,
Gory and gashed, fold round me like a shroud;
The laurelled crown, to dismal cypress turned,
Weighs on my weary brow a funeral wreath;
Shrill wailings echo round us; even the walls
Of this old Palace seem to cry aloud
For vengeance on the murderer. Pass we, Sirs,
At once to our great duty. Have ye cited
The regicide at sound of trumpet?

Arden.
Sire,
Twice have the heralds, with hoarse loathing voice,
Proclaimed the name accurst. None answered.

Leo.
Know ye
If Calheim have won home from—
Enter Calheim.
Ha! Hast brought
The traitor? or with bold and stubborn will
Defends he his strong castle?

Cal.
Sire, we found
The drawbridge down; the gates unbarred; the grim
Portcullis raised; nor hand nor voice opposed
Our entrance. The old hoary Seneschal
Flung at our feet the keys; yet every court
Was filled with armed retainers, veterans
Who would have stood a six months' siege, and then
Vanquished an army. In stern silence they
Surveyed our power; rebellion in each look,
Treason in each fierce gesture.

Leo.
And their chief?

Cal.
Him found we not; nor the young boy his heir.
The Countess Ida, sole of that doomed House,
Lingered in Wittelsbach. I had ta'en order
To bring her in our ward; but, while we searched
From battlement to dungeon that huge pile,
The maiden fled.

Leo.
Sound for the last time, Herald,
The trumpet peal; then, for the last time, summon
The regicide.

Trumpets. During the Proclamation, enter Ida.
Herald.
Otto of Wittelsbach! Traitor! Murderer!
For the last time we summon thee. Appear
To answer thy foul deeds! Appear! appear!

Ida.
(Advancing.)
Hold! nor condemn unheard! Lo! I am here
To shield Count Otto's fame, to abide his doom.
Could he have heard that trumpet, his bold heart
Had sprung to meet the call.

Leo.
Retire! retire!
Even this stern law spares woman's gentleness.
Retire!

Ida.
I am his daughter. In my veins
Glows the high blood of Wittelsbach, his blood
Bravest of that brave race. Look ye to find
Meek fawns amid the lion's young, soft doves
Within the eagle's nest? Forgive these vaunts,
Misery's sad privilege. I do but claim
The holy right of nature, duty, love,
To fill his place, now at your judgment-seat,
To-morrow at the block. I know our doom.

Leo.
Not thine, young maid.

Ida.
Ye called him Murderer.

Cal.
Did he not kill at noontide, in the face
Of God and man, before our very eyes,
Philip his Emperor?

Ida.
Alas! he did.
But 'tis the intent that makes the crime; and he
No more designed to slay Imperial Philip
Than thou thyself; was of that fatal deed
Unconscious as his sword. The lightning flame,
When smiting prince or peasant, sentient man,
Or lifeless marble, knows as much as he
Whom it destroys. My liege, he thought to meet
An armèd foe in equal fight. His hand
Was raised to strike. Had I, his daughter, rushed
Between ye in that hour, deep in my breast
Had the keen blade been sheathed. Oh, that on me
The stroke had fallen! I had died blessing him.

Cal.
Ay, in wild passion's stormy gust he had spared
Nor sex nor kin; had slain the new-born babe,
The bed-rid grandame, his whole race; had done
A score of murders in one burst of wrath.

Ida.
Oh, who shall say to Passion's mountain wave,
“So far, no farther!” In this iron age,
Bold youth is trained to slaughter, fleshed in blood
As hawk or hound. As easy 'twere to stay
The falcon when she stoops upon the heron,
The gaze-hound with the stag in view, as man
With man, his prey, before him. War's your trade,
Glory your idol. Sword and spear are now
Your masters, not your slaves. Your very sports
Are combats. And Count Otto! He hath lived
I' the battle-field, hath passed from victory
To victory careering. His keen lance
Was diamond bright, bright as his fame; his shield
Stainless as his clear honour. Now—

Cal.
Ay, now?

Leo.
Pass we to judgment, lords!

Ida.
Thanks, bounteous Heaven,
That he is far away! that I am here
To appease the law that cries out blood for blood
And life for life! Pronounce your doom on me,
I'll bear it firmly.

Leo.
Lady, we war not
On women. Princes, we have heeded well
The daughter's plea. But at the altar's foot
The traitor raised his sacrilegious hand,
And Philip fell. The regicide escaped
Our archers; but the Ban—

Ida.
The Ban! Oh, mercy!

Arden.
Peace! Silence those wild screams!

Leo.
How say ye, lords?
What is your sentence?

An Elector.
Good my liege, the Ban!

Other Electors.
The Ban! The Ban!

Leo.
Hear, then, the doom
Of the foul murderer. Be his castles razed
To the earth with sword and fire; his wealth confiscate;
His lands and lordships forfeited; his name
Held infamous for ever. Outlaw he
And excommunicate; he and his race
Sons, brethren, kinsmen, free to shaft and spear
As the vulture and the wolf. Whoe'er shall yield them
Food, shelter, raiment, dies. So shall they perish
In woods and wilds, and their unhallowed bones
Bleach in the wind and sun.

Ida.
Sons! did he say?
Kindred!

Cal.
Not thou.

Ida.
I thought not of myself.
Sons! Must thou die, sweet brother!

Leo.
Good Sir Hugo,
Look that the sentence be proclaimed throughout
The Empire. Calheim, be the duty thine
Of levelling to the dust the lofty towers
Of Wittelsbach. That done, pursue with sword
And spear the regicide.

Ida.
Sons! Brethren! Kinsmen!
O cruel, cruel law! My pretty Ulric!
And they shall die who succour give, or food,
Or shelter! Saints and angels, hear my vow!
Weak, feeble, helpless though I be to tend thee
In thy sad wanderings; to follow thee
The wide world through in exile, penury, shame;
Cherish thee living, wait on thee in death;
Each thought of happier days, each dream of love,
Pure wedded love abandoning; throwing by,
As a silken robe, the high-born maiden's pride,
The timorous woman's fear.

Leo.
Electors! Princes!
Our grievous task is o'er. Break up the Diet.
Look to the lady!

Ida.
Ay, I'll follow them
To death. Avaunt, predestined murderer!
Bloodhound, avaunt! Thou art Fate's minister,
But I'm not yet thy quarry!