University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Feast of the Vintage near the Rhine. A Gay Evening. Scene of a Vineyard, with a Rustic Festival. Baskets of Grapes, &c.
Rudolf, Herman, Conrad, Beatrice, Male and Female Vintagers. A Dance as the Drop-Scene draws up.
Rud.
Thanks, pretty maids!

Con.
Nay, keep the mirth astir.
Another measure, girls!

Rud.
Rather a song,
A merry song, to crown the vintage. Conrad,
Thou hast a jovial strain. The chorus of't
Begins “Hail to the purple”—Pshaw! that's wrong!
“Hail”—Why, the words fly from me! One that trips
Merrily o'er the tongue; and makes a quaint
And pleasant roundelay of jingling sounds,
Of “vine,” and “wine,” and “Rhine,” enough to furnish
A travelling minstrel or gay troubadour
With rhymes for life. “Hail to the”—Fie! fie! fie!
My memory's older than I thought.

Con.
I know
The strain thou mean'st.

Bea.
Thou hast a newer.

Rud.
Ha!
My pretty damsel, the new strain for thee,
As the new garment or new lover.

Bea.
Sing
The old strain, Conrad.

Song—Conrad.

[Ida enters during the Song, and seats herself at the side of the Stage.
Rud.
Thanks, Conrad.

Con.
Why the song hath saddened thee!

Rud.
Dark thoughts came with it. 'Tis some threescore years
Since I, a gay youth then, first heard that strain
Hard by the towers of Wittelsbach; and now
Those princely towers are fallen.

Con.
Ay, with the dust
Their pride is levelled. The foul murderer's curse
Rests on the land.

Rud.
There was I born, there wedded,
There my fair children round the household hearth
Sported, ay, and my children's children. There
My youngest-born, my fair-haired Agnes, nursed,
Herself a youthful mother, the sweet babe
Ida of Wittelsbach. I dare to speak,
In this black hour of fate, of them I served
In the bright sunshine of their days. Count Otto—

Con.
Why name the traitor?

Rud.
He was my liege lord,
And he is dead.

Bea.
Dead!

Con.
Ay, the deep Rhine covers
The regicide.

Bea.
Alas!

Rud.
The better, child!
The better! Who would wish him live?

Vintager.
Is't sure
That he is dead?

Con.
His cloak was washed ashore,
And his plumed casque and well-worn shield lay idly
Within a foundered boat. He's drowned.

Rud.
The better.

Female Vint.
And the young Countess Ida?

Bea.
Welladay,
For her, poor lady! Would that she were here,
That I might tend upon her!

Rud.
Rather wish
She were at rest. My pretty Beatrice,
Thou hast a kindly heart. An old man's blessing
Rest on thy head.

Bea.
What maid is this that seems
So weary? Take these grapes.

Rud.
She hath a look—

Bea.
This is the riper bunch.

Ida.
I thank thy pity.

Rud.
The tone, too! Pshaw! 'tis fancy.

Female Vint.
Beatrice,
We've far to go.

Bea.
Ay, and to pass beneath
The Outlaw's Rock, where Alice vows she heard
Unearthly voices, and saw ghastly shapes.

Ida.
The Outlaw's Rock! What mean ye?

Rud.
'Tis a cliff,
A ledge of cliffs a bow-shot from the Rhine.
A lofty rock, without a sheer descent,
Hollow within, and broken into caves,
A natural fortress, where 'tis said a murderer
Once kept his foes at bay the live-long year.
'Tis a wild legend.

Bea.
Nay, but Alice vows—

Rud.
Tush! tush! there's nearer danger! Herman saw—
Beatrice, thou'lt believe what Herman says,
Albeit my grandson—Herman saw to-day,
Not two leagues off, a band of archers, headed
By some great chief.

Ida.
By whom? by whom?

Rud.
Nay that
I know not. But one bold and lawless soldier
Were, to a fair young maiden, a worse peril
Than twenty phantasms.

Con.
Come! I'll see ye past
This dreaded cliff.

[Conrad, Beatrice, and the Vintagers go off. Rudolf is following them, but is stopped by Ida.
Rud.
What seek'st thou?

Ida.
But to change
A few sad words with thee. Thou know'st me, Rudolf,
The wretched maid that was so happy once,
Thy Herman's foster-sister. Oh, the comfort
To meet again a kindly look, to hear
A kindly voice! When yonder gentle girl
Spake in her gentleness, I thought this heart,
Which, 'mid oppression and revenge, seemed turned
To very marble, would have burst at the touch
Of her sweet pity! Bless ye! Bless ye!

Rud.
Lady,
Be comforted. Can thy old vassal aid thee?

Ida.
Not me, but him.

Rud.
He lives then?

Ida.
'Twas a feint
Of one who loves him to elude pursuit.
He lives. He bade me meet him in the cliffs,
Betwixt your cottage and the Rhine. But I've
Been watched, and tracked, and forced to linger long
Upon my weary way.

Ruo.
Thou cam'st alone?

Ida.
Ay; Isidore beside the Princess waits,
That ere she take the cloister vow, one prayer
For pardon and for mercy she may pour
Before an earthly throne. Alone I come;
And wearily must they, if still they linger
Within yon steep and barren cliffs, await
My tardy steps.

Enter Herman.
Rud.
Herman!

Ida.
Whence com'st thou? How
Got'st thou that purse?

Her.
The Countess Ida!

Ida.
Nay,
I'll answer thee anon. I ask thee now,
As thou didst cherish that sweet, gentle mother
Who nursed us both; as thou dost sacred hold
Pity and charity, and natural love,
How cam'st thou by that toy?

Her.
A little hand,
A thin, small, trembling hand, dropt it but now
From off the Outlaw's Rock.

Ida.
They're safe! They're there!
'Tis Ulric's. Canst thou guide me?

Rud.
Ay, he knows
Each track of the wild cliff.

Ida.
We'll go at once.
They're safe! They're found! Wilt thou go with me, Herman?

Her.
Ay, to the death.

Ida.
And wilt thou give me food
And wine?

Rud.
All that I have.

Ida.
Now blessings on ye!
We'll save them yet.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Valley amongst Wild Rocks, Bare and Barren.
Otto, alone.
Otto.
Still succour comes not. Once again the sun,
Whose fervid brightness pouring blessings down
O'er all the land, hardening to golden grain
The milky seed of the harvest, mellowing
The luscious juices of the pulpy grape
Till it burst of over-fullness; that bright sun,
Whose glories mock our miseries, once again
Sinks in the west. I will but wait for darkness,
Then from this bare rock, where the parching beam
Hath drunk the runlets dry, I'll sweep at once
On man, his homes, his vineyards. Oh, to watch
As I have watched my brave boy, hour by hour,
Fading beside me, famishing, perishing!—
I will not see him perish! No, by Heaven!
They mated us with vultures and with wolves,
Like them we were to die. Do wolves and vultures
Behold their younglings starve afore their eyes,
And leave untouched the folds?
Enter Ulric.
Ulric, my child,
Thou hast been from me long. Hast thou again
Been visiting the spring whose gentle fount
This hot and merciless sun hath dried? My boy,
How joyfully I'd give my blood for water
To cool those poor parched lips! my flesh for food
To nourish thee!

Ul.
I've seen what's dearer, father,
Than water to parched lips—a friend.

Otto.
What friend?
Isidore? Ida?

Ul.
Ida's foster-brother,
Old Rudolf's grandson, Herman. I saw him,
And he saw me. I had been to the spring—
Nay, I'm not now athirst, that grief is past;
But if the fount had welled again, I thought
To have brought a draught for thee.

Otto.
Thou break'st my heart
With thy brave patience. Oh, that he may bring
Succour! He saw thee?

Ul.
Yes, I flung the purse
With my name wrought on't that poor Ida gave me.
He'll come.

Otto.
Then cheer thee, boy! Take hope! take heart!
We'll to the Holy Land, and win once more
Name, fame, and honour. Cheer thee.

Ul.
I am cheery.
I have good cause to be so. Tell me, father,
They that have never sinned, other than all
Sin in the sight of angels; they who die
Too young for mortal crime to tarnish quite
The innocence that's born with them; they'll go
To heaven?

Otto.
Yes, yes.

Ul.
And they that having sinned
Repent?

Otto.
They also.

Ul.
Well, is that no hope
For me, for thee?

Otto.
O God! O God!

Ul.
Have patience
Thou that for thine own suffering takest no heed.
Grieve not for mine. Hunger and thirst are dead
Within me now. I have no pain. I'm light
And strong.

Otto.
Ay, as the momentary flash
Of the expiring lamp; the strength that grapples
With Death a breathing space, then drops.

Ul.
Good father,
When Herman comes, we'll home to Wittelsbach.
I know its towers are fallen, but the trees,
The running waters, and the pleasant lawns
Be there. The home where we have lived in peace
And love, oh! that's the holiest land! We'll find
Shelter amid the ruined halls.

Otto.
Accurst
For ever be the moody, wild despair
Which drove me from those walls in cowardly flight!
We should have held out 'gainst a legion, fought
Till none was left to slay, till not a stone
Of that vast pile but tottered. Then 't had fallen
Graced with a hecatomb of friends and foes,
Fit grave of our great race. A sepulchre
So stern and warlike 't had outvied the tombs
Of Eastern monarchs by the slimy Nile,
And made the huge and mystic Pyramids
Seem slight and trivial toys. Now—Yes, 'tis meet
We go there. So the hunted stag returns
To his old lair to die.

SCENE III.

Enter Ida and Herman, from above, to Otto and Ulric among the Rocks.
Otto.
Ida! my child! What means this breathless speed?
What ails thee, youth?

Her.
My lord, we are pursued;
Ye are discovered. A foe climbs even now
The rock's steep side.

Ida.
Alas! sweet brother!

Otto.
Peace!
Is that foe near?

Her.
Midway the winding-path.

Otto.
Alone?

Her.
Alone.

Otto.
Alone! what fear'st thou, then?
Be we not warned? And is not this the sword
That oft for life, or fame, or loyalty,
Hath swept the battle-field? Say, what were life?
A breath;—or fame? a bubble;—matched with ye,
My dear ones!—my thrice dear ones!

Ul.
Ida, sister,
Thou art too fearful. Some poor peasant swain
Wandering among the rocks—

Her.
My lord, 'tis one
Of Calheim's archers, whose main band is now
Dispersed about the plain. I've known him long—
A neighbour's son, bold, crafty, covetous,
From his youth up. Show him but gold, and Caspar
Will neither blench at peril nor at sin.
He hath heard tell of voices and dim shapes
Around the Outlaw's Rock, and comes alone
To seize or mark the prey.

Otto.
Why, let him come.
Deem they my right arm palsied, that a churl,
A serf, should breast Count Otto? Why didst not
Shoot him at once?

Her.
My lord, I raised my bow,
But soon as he espied it, he, too, raised—

Ul.
His bow?

Her.
A fearfuller weapon. To his lips
A horn he lifted; that once winded—Please thee
Retire into the cave with Lady Ida;
I'll watch him from above; and if he come,
Spring thou at once upon him.

Otto.
I to hide
In dens and caves!

Ida.
Oh, father!

Otto.
Get thee in,
Poor child! I will but place her safely, then
Return to share thy watch.

[Otto and Ida retire into the Cave. Herman mounts the Rock, followed by Ulric.
Ul.
Is Caspar clad
In armour?

Her.
No. His garb is slight as mine,
Fit to ascend the toilsome path.

Ul.
(Playing with Herman's Bow and Arrows.)
This bow
Is trim and light. Let's see the arrows. So!
They're deftly feathered. I have bent a bow
At Wittelsbach.

Her.
And shalt again.

Ul.
(Looking off the Stage.)
Will Caspar
Come by this track?

Her.
He must.

Ul.
And fix his eyes
Upon the path?

Her.
Sooth, he were best, who treads
A road so perilous.

Ul.
He cannot come
Upon us from behind?

Her.
No. Wherefore ask'st thou?
Dost fear?

Ul.
Fear! Nay, good Herman, I meant not
Reproach. I'm but a poor weak boy, half dead
Of grief and famine. What have I to fear?
(To himself mutteringly.)
A man is bigger than a raven's nest,
A nearer mark, too! (Aloud.)
Thou art sure he comes
This way?

Her.
Full certain. Thou may'st wander there
In safety, pretty child.

Enter Otto from the Cave.
Otto.
Dost see him, Herman?
Comes he? To bide within there, as a hind,
Chased by the hunters, couches in the covert—
I, an old warrior! Oh, the iron presses
Into my soul! Or viler still than that
Vile cowardice, to lurk within my den,
Stealthy and crouching, as the spotted pard
Or streaked tiger, and so spring unseen
On the defenceless wretch! One man! I'll front him
At once, and boldly,

Her.
Now he comes. He sees us—
The horn is at his lips!

Ul.
(Shooting off the Stage.)
Die!

Her.
Look, he reels!
He falls from rock to rock! He's dead! 'Twas sure
An arrow from above.

Ul.
I shot him, father!

Otto.
My boy! Mine own brave boy!
Enter Ida.
'Tis he has saved us.

Ida.
See how he droops his head upon my breast—
Feel how that bold heart pants. Rouse thee, sweet brother!

Otto.
This deed hath shaken in his glass of life
The sands that ran so low. My child! my child!
My valiant child!

Ida.
He speaks; he fain would rise.
What wouldst thou, Ulric? Home? We have no home!

Ul.
To Wittelsbach.

Otto.
A fitting palace that
For Famine and her bridegroom Death.