University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Altdorf; Picturesque buildings in the Gothic style—The Prison in perspective—Austrian Guards, repelling the Swiss who fill the streets —Adelmar in disguise among them.
Swiss.
(To an Austrian, who is driving him back.)
I pray thee now, good ruffian, spurn me not!
I will stand here right patiently, to see
Mine ancient master to a prison borne,
And to mine home bear back a broken heart.

Adel.
Who art thou that speakest kindly of Fredolfo?

Swiss.
And who art thou, that of a free-born Swiss
Asks if he loves Fredolfo?

Adel.
Can ye love him,
And see him clutch'd in their foul, damned grasp?
The stones do heave and quiver at his tread,
Yet ye are mute and motionless!
The walls are trembling where the champion walks
His way to shame—yet ye no feeling have!
The very air seems tortured by the echo
That answers to his name of infamy!
Yet ye in silence hear the withering sound,
And gape with idiot stare upon the pageant.

Swiss.
What should we do?

Adel.
What should you do!—My voice is in my brand!

2d Swiss.
And who art thou, who 'mid the people that love him,
Forcest thyself, unknown, unsought, unsummon'd?

Adel.
I am a man Fredolfo hates;—a man
Fredolfo persecutes;—yet I am he,
Who with bare arm and single sword do press
Amid his native city's thronged streets,
Lifting my sole hand like a war-worn banner,
Which no band gathers round.

Swiss.
(shouting.)
It does! It does!

[They gather round him tumultuously.
Enter Fredolfo in chains, supported by Urilda— A mixed crowd of Soldiers, Peasantry, and Citizens follow tumultuously.
Uril.
(Triumphantly.)
See how they gather round thee—proudly gather,
As in the day of battle—how they hang
Upon thy looks, as in the hall of judgment,
When speech was eloquence, and judgment truth!
God bless you, brave and faithful hearts!—God bless you!

Fred.
(much agitated.)
And who are ye who proudly press around me?
“Bend ye those arms against the heart of justice
“Or against mine? if here, let them be buried:
“Perchance their aim is just. My countrymen,
“To the strong battle I have led you! baffled
“From its dread brunt have I e'er shrunk? Ye're silent!”
My countrymen! on your dear loves I call—
Not on your arms!—On the awful front of justice
Bend not thy hostile frown—I am a man—
Perchance an erring— (pauses)
Innocent, or guilty,
Heaven's arm alone can right me—Yours are nought!
Dash down those brands—then to your homes, my countrymen!
There fight with other weapons—kneel, and pray—
Pray that a sinful soul—all souls are sinful—
I will not burden ye—a pleading angel
Stands by my side, and soothes, and strengthens me!
I do not need your prayers.

[Sinks on Urilda.
Enter Wallenberg and Austrians, Guards, &c.
Wall.
What—lingering still? Away with him to the dungeon!
Dost thou take pride to tread these streets in shame,
A fetter'd felon, courting vile compassion—
Clanking thy chains to the accordant howl
Of wither'd beldams, and gross, gaping burghers?
Away with him!—And ye, coarse knaves, begone!
Your hero hath changed his temple for a dungeon!
By heaven, they loiter!

Fred.
Hence, depart, my friends!
I have no power—but I have still a voice—
“A voice that near your country's banner peal'd
“Like thunder round a spread and floating cloud.”
Hear its last cry:—depart—Fredolfo asks it!

(The crowd disperse.)
Wall.
And Wallenberg commands it! Drag him hence!
Hence! to the prison with him in their sight!

Uril.
Come then, to prison—though no breath of heaven
Shall fan our brows, their thrilling pores shall ne'er
Be damp, like thine, with horror's livid dews!
The stone must pillow us; but shriek like that
Which turns thy doom to fire shall ne'er assail us.
Fetters must bind those limbs that sanctify them—
Their iron shall not enter to the soul,
Like those a tyrant's crimes have forged for thee!
(To Fred.)
Why dost thou droop on those abhorred chains?
Cheerly, my noble father—heed it not—
It was a passing agony—'tis o'er!

[Struggling to dry her tears, and exit, leading out her father.
(Wallenberg stalks triumphantly across the stage, viewing them with scorn as they retire.)
Wall.
Oh! it will be a demon-luxury
To watch the throes of her expiring pride,
Beneath fear's mortal grasp—then, then, to see her—
Her tears, her tresses, white and clasped hands,
And heaving bosom, heaving at my knee,
In weeping beauty's bright profusion wild!
There's not a bloody page I will not turn
With burning study, so that I may wreak
Their full-collected pangs upon Fredolfo,
While that pale shrieking girl stands witness by!

Berthold rushes in.
Bert.
Waste not another moment,
'Twas he—'twas he—Urilda's dark-hair'd minion—
The youth for whom she spurns thee—'twas his voice,
Even now, that stirr'd the crowd to mutiny—
And he hath 'scaped us!

Wall.
'Scaped us? no, he must not,
Though he were borne beyond the reach of man,
I know a lure shall charm him to the snare,
Urilda's voice shall soothe, betray, and doom him!
When those we hate become our tools of vengeance,
Its work is perfect:—Proud and wretched girl,
When the strain'd balls of agony shall wander
From a sire's corse, and rest upon a lover's,—
Then, then, remember Wallenberg was scorn'd!

[Exeunt.