University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

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
To wish my spirit slower. I'll not vex
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!

Ul.
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
Anon I pr'ythee.

[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.

Otto.
'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
My dagger on the social hearth! Boy! boy!
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.

SCENE II.

A Street in Spires. The Houses decorated with Boughs and Garlands; Tapestry, &c., hanging from the Casements. Ringing of Bells continued during the whole Scene, and Music heard during the Procession, and more faintly before and after.
Alf, and several Citizens.
First Cit.
Alf, thou art brave to-day! Hast cast aside
Thy scrip?

Alf.
Thanks to the good Count Palatine,
I've left the beggar's wretched trade. But ye
Are decked as for a holiday; the streets, too,
Are rife with gay and busy folk; proud steeds,
Held by fair pages, prancing at each door;
The casements all alive with simpering maids;
The houses covered with rich cloth of gold,
Or richer tapestry; o'er every porch
Garlands, and boughs, and streamers. What hath chanced?

Sec. Cit.
Small need to ask! Do not the merry bells
Ring in thine ears the tidings? The loud peal
Of trump and cornet, tell they not a tale
Of royal nuptials? The fair Adela—

Alf.
Weds not to-day. The Count of Wittelsbach
Is at his Castle.

First Cit.
The Saints keep him there,
Or storms will cloud this sunshine. 'Tis Duke Leopold
Who weds the Princess.

Alf.
Leopold! Tush! tush!
Why, she's affianced to Count Otto. Be they
Turned fools as well as traitors? Leave a friend,
And such a friend, for such an enemy!
The victor for the vanquished! Tush!

First Cit.
They come:
Mark thou who leads the bride.

[A Splendid Procession, consisting of Philip, Leopold, Ardenberg, Hugo, Adela, Helen, Knights, Pages, Ladies, Guards, &c., passes over the Stage to the sound of Music, and ringing of Bells.—The Citizens toss up their caps.
Sec. Cit.
Now, Alf, were we not right?

Alf.
The whole world's wrong,
From Emperor to beggar, treacherous, false,
Ungrateful, cowardly! Ye, who stood there
Tossing your caps in air,—the cornets drowned
Your slavish voices,—in the selfsame place,
Two days agone, ye flung those very caps
Aloft, and rent the skies with deafening shouts,
In honour of Count Otto!

First Cit.
A braver chief
Ne'er breathed than the Count Palatine. So far
I grant thee. But we homely citizens
Were best not meddle with these great ones. She
Was sad and shivering.

Sec. Cit.
Ay, a pallid bride!

Alf.
She loves him still.

Enter Otto and Isidore.
Otto.
Alf! Why, thou look'st once more
A goodly host; we'll find thee speedily
A goodly hostel, man. Meanwhile, go buy
A steed, and follow us, not to the wars,
But home to Wittelsbach. Cheer up! Cheer up!
I will not have thee sad. What music's that?
The far-off music, faintlier heard and faintlier,
Dying away even as I speak! And what
Those bells that louder peal and louder? What
May those sounds mean?

Alf.
My lord—I cannot say it—
I cannot frame my speech to tell their treachery—

Otto.
Wilt thou not answer?

Alf.
'Tis the bridal, Sir,
Of Leopold and Adela.

Otto.
Thou liest!
By Heaven, I'd not believe my father's spirit,
Though he came from the grave to tell me that base tale!

Isi.
Poor Alf's no liar. See how thou hast grieved
The faithful wretch.

Otto.
Nay vex not, man! We know
Thy truth. But there's a lie, a cankered lie,
A rancorous, poisonous lie, that taints the air
We breathe, floating around us. Thou hast inhaled
The venom. Wed my Adela! Thou knewst not—
How shouldst thou know?—the royal maids. Young Helen,
She is the bride! I'd wager my broad lands
Against yon withered leaf,—They who strew roses
May look to find the thorns! I'd wager, Sir,
The County Palatine, if bride there be
'Tis Helen. Adela! My Adela!
They could not, would not, durst not. 'Tis young Helen.
But I'll be there.

Alf.
And I.

[Exeunt.

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.