University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A wild Forest Scene: Fredolfo's Castle and St. Gothard in the back ground. Time, evening. Fredolfo enters, lost in meditation; he is silent for some time, then starts on looking round him and discovering where he is.
Fred.
Where am I now?—Where have my wanderings led me?
It is the scene!—that bare and blasted pine—
It is the hour!—that pale and stormy twilight—
It is the spot!—I yet could count the blood-drops.—
(Staggering with horror, as he traces every distinct spot.)
Here long he strove,—and still I grappled with him,—
And here I fell with him,—in horror roll'd;—
Here his strong foot-stamps tore the bloody earth up!
Here the trail'd corse track'd every step with gore,—
The demon, Berthold, grinning at his burden!
And here—Hark! hark!—a voice—a step—a spy!—

Waldo enters, and Fredolfo turns on him very sternly.
Fred.
“What makes thee wandering here so late?

Wal.
“I sought you.

Fred.
“Sought me, and wherefore, sir? am I that thing
“My slaves must watch, and say ‘'tis vesper time,
“And you must hie you home?’—what is't to thee
“If here I linger'd seeking home no more?—

Wal.
“Oh quit, my lord, this lonely fearful place!

Fred.
(Starting.)
“What is there in its gloom of loneliness,
“That should suggest that wish?

Wal.
“I know not, sir!

Fred.
“Nor I,—begone!

Wal.
“These lone and nightly walks
“Do much impair your strength.

Fred.
(with gloomy carelessness.)
“It is no matter.

Wal.
“Count Wallenberg—

Fred.
“Begone, or I shall hate thee; name his name,
“And the loud echo of these pines shall curse thee,
Being of mountains born—away, begone!—
Let the dew fall, or let the tempest rave,
To me it recks not. Slave! must I bid twice?

Fred.
(Alone, looking after Waldo.)
He knows it—yes, he knows it!—'tis no matter—
The world must know it.—Berthold—ay—his image
Darts like an adder in my mental path,
Where'er I turn my thoughts.—Years, years, have fleeted,—
The deed is dead—the slumbering world forgets—
The tide of time sweeps by, and in its murmurs
Has drown'd suspicion's whisper.—All is safe—
But Berthold lives in vivid consciousness,
The wakeful demon of the buried secret,
Watching the hour when vengeance reads the spell:
He lives—he knows—he hates—and he betrays!
“Fiend form'd in wrath to urge and lash the crime!
“I saw the burning malice of thy glance,
“I saw the hellish menace of thy scowl,
“I felt the thunder of thy parting tread,
“That parting told of meeting soon—and terrible!”
(Pausing and looking round. A burst of military music.)
(With great horror.)
Wherefore is this? if it be Wallenberg—
If?—if?—there is nor doubt, nor hope—'tis he!

Enter Berthold.
Bert.
(Sneeringly.)
Hail, noble sir!—my lord, Count Wallenberg,
Would crave a moment's audience of your leisure,
On matters that concern the state's behoof.

Fred.
(Beginning the speech with assumed dignity, and then losing all self-command.)
Say to your lord—no matter—go, thou wretch!
I can bear aught but thy abhorred sight!

Enter Wallenberg, Knights, and military Attendants.
Wall.
(with irony throughout.)
Once more a late and uninvited guest,
I press upon Fredolfo's privacy;—
In faith, my lord, your ample, noble usage
Shames a way-worn and humble traveller;—
You scorn above your guests to spread a canopy
Less spacious than the heavens, or yield them hangings
Less richly wrought than those pine-skirted rocks.—
Berthold, thou know'st his mood—I pray thee, tell him
That wandering knights his mountain-palace seek
All in the twilight pale, and pray him dear,
For knighthood's sake, to do them courtesy.

[A look of triumphant consciousness to pass between Wallenberg and Berthold.
Bert.
(Approaching Fredolfo.)
My lord Fredolfo, you have heard my message;—
Throw wide your ample halls; within their range
There are strange objects of peculiar interest,
Which sure yon noble traveller fain would see!

Fred.
(Turning on him.)
Sir—to your lord I answer:—Wallenberg,
Your arm, last night, was raised against my life;
If through yon gates, unshrinking, you can pass—
If on my halls unblushing you can tread,
Enter;—but, to your proud luxurious train
My mountain-hut will prove a homely hostel.

Wall.
We will not trespass on your bounty yet;—
I would inhale this free and mountain air,
Whose impulse to the soaring soul doth lend
Pure inspiration,—'mid whose holy waftings
To breathe is to be virtuous!—O, my lord,
How sweet, while wandering 'mid these solemn shades,
To commune with your clear and lofty spirit,—
What recollections follow you—

Fred.
(Starting.)
My lord!—

Wall.
What high associations!—doubtless, here,
From every pine a kindred spirit whispers,
And every turf you tread thrills as you touch it
With grateful memory of some glorious action.

Fred.
Sir—of your praise I reck not—my fallen country,
Amid her ruins, may remember one
Whose single arm upheld the pile, and last,
Amid its shivering fragments, rear'd its strength,
Till nought was left to save!—Of your wild words,
Or of their unsought meaning, sir, I am
Unheeding as unconscious!

Wall.
Be not chafed!
Treat not thus roughly guests, who, all for love,
Through the dim, perilous, and stormy eve,
Have breathless spurred to bear you joyful tidings.

Fred.
Tidings, my lord?

Wall.
Yes,—tidings, honoured sir!
And glorious tidings for the patriot's ear,
When lurking crime is dragg'd from its foul hold!
There are tidings, sir, in Altdorf—the proud city
Is full of busy murmurs;—in her streets,
Men grasp each other's hands, as each had found
Their heart's best wishes,—joying that the search
Hath ceased—the man of blood at last is found!

Fred.
(Trembling.)
The man of blood is found!—

Wall.
My father's murderer,
Thou knowest, hath through long years been vainly sought.

Fred.
(Much agitated.)
I must—I do remember very well—

Wall.
The murderer of Wallenberg is traced—
[Pauses long, fixing his eye on Fredolfo, whose emotion is visible.
The murderer of Wallenberg is known—
[Again.
The murderer of Wallenberg is seized!—
[Rushes on him.
Here, take him, guards, and drag him to your dungeons!

[Giving him to the guards.
Fred.
(Struggling.)
This unsupported charge—this lawless outrage—
Off, slaves!—Proud Austrian, at your peril be it—
This matchless insult!—have I then no friend?
No brand of follower raised in my defence?
Beneath the shade of mine own native towers,
Like gyved felon, am I helpless dragg'd,
No arm to aid, no voice to plead for me?—

Bert.
Let not my lord thus call for hopeless aid,
While Berthold's zealous duty waits unclaim'd!
Mine be the voice whose sounds shall whisper peace,—
Mine be the arm whose help is sure and speedy.

Wall.
Away, thou gibing fiend, with thy vile mockery,
Crush not the fallen victim.—Murderer,
We bind the chain around thy doomed body,
And summon thee to meet thy mortal judgment!

Urilda rushes in.
Uril.
(Shrieking.)
Hold, hold, for mercy! 'tis his daughter kneels,
O, ye are human, though ye look not so!—
Wallenberg—and my father!—fetters! guards!
What is this fearful dream?

Wall.
It is no dream—
Wake from thy trance of pride, vain girl, and know
I grasp the chain that drags him to the scaffold!

Fred.
Why art thou here?

Uril.
Dark men look sternly on thee,
Thy hands are bound—and dost thou ask thy child,
‘Why art thou here!’

Wall.
'Twere well, fair maid, to spare
This lavish luxury of sorrowing beauty.—
Wring thy white hands before the judgment seat;
Spread thy bright locks like hovering angel's plumes
When the axe trembles o'er thy father's head;—
Perchance the hoary Syndics then may weep;—
Perchance the headsman's quivering hand may pause
Ere the blow falls upon that murderer's neck.—

Uril.
Murderer!—my father!—
Villain! and liar!—O! I feel unsex'd!
O, that this hand were in a gauntlet mail'd,
And I would fearless down thy slanderous throat
Dash the foul falsehood.—Speak, my father, speak!
O, the bright energy of conscious truth,
The pure clear light of thy most cloudless soul,
Will sink these baffled slaves to earth before thee,
And turn this shame to worship.—Father, speak!

Wall.
Ay! let him speak!

[They all gather round him—He stands paralyzed with horror among them.
Bert.
Speak, noble, injured lord,
And dart conviction on our dazzled souls!

Uril.
Away! ye harass him—he'll list to me—
He doth not know your voices.—Father! Father!
One word,—those chains from your freed hands shall fall,—
One word,—these slaves are prostrate at your feet.
Speak! Speak! (shrieking with agony.)


Fred.
Lead on!

[Falls senseless in the arms of the Guard.
Uril.
(struggling.)
Ye shall not tear him from me!—
Stay!—he will speak anon—he is overpower'd!
[She kneels between Wallenberg and Berthold, supplicating them alternately, with desperate and hopeless eagerness.
Berthold! thou wast his vassal—plead for me!
Wallenberg!—thou didst woo me;—look on me!
None, none will hear me!—he, even he is deaf!
A dungeon—God! my father in a dungeon!
Drag—drag him there—but I must follow him!

[She is dragged off, clinging to Fredolfo, who remains senseless.