Читать книгу The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition) - Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Страница 190
SCENE I
ОглавлениеA Mountainous Country. BATHORY’S Dwelling at the end of the Stage.
Enter LADY SAROLTA and GLYCINE.
Glycine. Well then! our round of charity is finished.
Rest, Madam! You breathe quick.
Sarolta. What, tired, Glycine?
No delicate court-dame, but a mountaineer
By choice no less than birth, I gladly use
The good strength Nature gave me.
Glycine. That last cottage 5
Is built as if an eagle or a raven
Had chosen it for her nest.
Sarolta. So many are
The sufferings which no human aid can reach,
It needs must be a duty doubly sweet
To heal the few we can. Well! let us rest. 10
Glycine. There? [Pointing to BATHORY’S dwelling.
Sarolta. Here! For on this spot Lord Casimir
Took his last leave. On yonder mountain-ridge
I lost the misty image which so long
Lingered, or seemed at least to linger on it.
Glycine. And what if even now, on that same ridge, 15
A speck should rise, and still enlarging, lengthening,
As it clomb downwards, shape itself at last
To a numerous cavalcade, and spurring foremost,
Who but Sarolta’s own dear lord returned
From his high embassy?
Sarolta. Thou hast hit my thought! 20
All the long day, from yestermorn to evening,
The restless hope fluttered about my heart.
Oh we are querulous creatures! Little less
Than all things can suffice to make us happy;
And little more than nothing is enough 25
To discontent us. — Were he come, then should I
Repine he had not arrived just one day earlier
To keep his birthday here, in his own birthplace.
Glycine. But our best sports belike, and gay processions
Would to my lord have seemed but work-day sights 30
Compared with those the royal court affords.
Sarolta. I have small wish to see them. A spring morning
With its wild gladsome minstrelsy of birds
And its bright jewelry of flowers and dewdrops
(Each orbéd drop an orb of glory in it) 35
Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement
Lord Casimir’s wish alone would have made sacred:
But, in good truth, his loving jealousy
Did but command, what I had else entreated.
Glycine. And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta, 40
Been wedded to the noblest of the realm,
So beautiful besides, and yet so stately ——
Sarolta. Hush! Innocent flatterer!
Glycine. Nay! to my poor fancy
The royal court would seem an earthly heaven,
Made for such stars to shine in, and be gracious. 45
Sarolta. So doth the ignorant distance still delude us!
Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee,
In its mere self cold, drear, colourless void,
Seen from below and in the large, becomes
The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods! 50
Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance?
And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed?
Glycine. Yes, madam! he was there. So was the maypole,
For we danced round it.
Sarolta. Ah, Glycine! why,
Why did you then betroth yourself?
Glycine. Because 55
My own dear lady wished it! ‘twas you asked me!
Sarolta. Yes, at my lord’s request, but never wished,
My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched.
Thou knowest not yet the duties of a wife.
Glycine. Oh, yes! It is a wife’s chief duty, madam! 60
To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him,
And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska
But I shall tremble.
Sarolta. Not with fear, I think,
For you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage.
[Exit GLYCINE into the cottage, SAROLTA continues her
speech looking after her.
Something above thy rank there hangs about thee, 65
And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion,
Yea, e’en in thy simplicity, Glycine,
A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel
More as a mother than a mistress to thee!
Thou art a soldier’s orphan! that — the courage, 70
Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to give
A new soul to its gentleness, doth prove thee!
Thou art sprung too of no ignoble blood,
Or there’s no faith in instinct!
[Angry voices and clamour within.
Re-enter GLYCINE.
Glycine. Oh, madam! there’s a party of your servants, 75
And my lord’s steward, Laska, at their head,
Have come to search for old Bathory’s son,
Bethlen, that brave young man! ‘twas he, my lady,
That took our parts, and beat off the intruders,
And in mere spite and malice, now they charge him 80
With bad words of Lord Casimir and the king.
Pray don’t believe them, madam! This way! This way!
Lady Sarolta’s here. — [Calling without.
Sarolta. Be calm, Glycine.
Enter LASKA and Servants with OLD BATHORY.
Laska (to Bathory). We have no concern with you! What needs your
presence?
Old Bathory. What! Do you think I’ll suffer my brave boy 85
To be slandered by a set of coward-ruffians,
And leave it to their malice, — yes, mere malice! —
To tell its own tale?
[LASKA and Servants bow to Lady SAROLTA.
Sarolta. Laska! What may this mean?
Laska. Madam! and may it please your ladyship!
This old man’s son, by name Bethlen Bathory, 90
Stands charged, on weighty evidence, that he,
On yester-eve, being his lordship’s birthday,
Did traitorously defame Lord Casimir:
The lord high steward of the realm, moreover ——
Sarolta. Be brief! We know his titles!
Laska. And moreover 95
Raved like a traitor at our liege King Emerick.
And furthermore, said witnesses make oath,
Led on the assault upon his lordship’s servants;
Yea, insolently tore, from this, your huntsman,
His badge of livery of your noble house, 100
And trampled it in scorn.
Sarolta (to the Servants who offer to speak). You have had your
spokesman!
Where is the young man thus accused?
Old Bathory. I know not:
But if no ill betide him on the mountains,
He will not long be absent!
Sarolta. Thou art his father? 105
Old Bathory. None ever with more reason prized a son;
Yet I hate falsehood more than I love him.
But more than one, now in my lady’s presence,
Witnessed the affray, besides these men of malice;
And if I swerve from truth ——
Glycine. Yes! good old man! 110
My lady! pray believe him!
Sarolta. Hush, Glycine
Be silent, I command you. [Then to BATHORY.
Speak! we hear you!
Old Bathory. My tale is brief. During our festive dance,
Your servants, the accusers of my son,
Offered gross insults, in unmanly sort, 115
To our village maidens. He (could he do less?)
Rose in defence of outraged modesty,
And so persuasive did his cudgel prove,
(Your hectoring sparks so over-brave to women
Are always cowards) that they soon took flight, 120
And now in mere revenge, like baffled boasters,
Have framed this tale, out of some hasty words
Which their own threats provoked.
Sarolta. Old man! you talk
Too bluntly! Did your son owe no respect
To the livery of our house?
Old Bathory. Even such respect 125
As the sheep’s skin should gain for the hot wolf
That hath begun to worry the poor lambs!
Laska. Old insolent ruffian!
Glycine. Pardon! pardon, madam!
I saw the whole affray. The good old man
Means no offence, sweet lady! — You, yourself, 130
Laska! know well, that these men were the ruffians!
Shame on you!
Sarolta. What! Glycine? Go, retire! [Exit GLYCINE.
Be it then that these men faulted. Yet yourself,
Or better still belike the maidens’ parents,
Might have complained to us. Was ever access 135
Denied you? Or free audience? Or are we
Weak and unfit to punish our own servants?
Old Bathory. So then! So then! Heaven grant an old man patience!
And must the gardener leave his seedling plants,
Leave his young roses to the rooting swine 140
While he goes ask their master, if perchance
His leisure serve to scourge them from their ravage?
Laska. Ho! Take the rude clown from your lady’s presence!
I will report her further will!
Sarolta. Wait then,
Till thou hast learnt it! Fervent good old man! 145
Forgive me that, to try thee, I put on
A face of sternness, alien to my meaning!
[Then speaks to the Servants.
Hence! leave my presence! and you, Laska! mark me!
Those rioters are no longer of my household!
If we but shake a dewdrop from a rose 150
In vain would we replace it, and as vainly
Restore the tear of wounded modesty
To a maiden’s eye familiarized to licence. —
But these men, Laska —
Laska (aside). Yes, now ‘tis coming.
Sarolta. Brutal aggressors first, then baffled dastards, 155
That they have sought to piece out their revenge
With a tale of words lured from the lips of anger
Stamps them most dangerous; and till I want
Fit means for wicked ends, we shall not need
Their services. Discharge them! You, Bathory! 160
Are henceforth of my household! I shall place you
Near my own person. When your son returns,
Present him to us!
Old Bathory. Ha! what strangers here!Your goodness, lady — and it came so sudden — 165
I can not — must not — let you be deceived.
I have yet another tale, but — [Then to SAROLTA aside.
not for all ears!
Sarolta. I oft have passed your cottage, and still praised
Its beauty, and that trim orchard-plot, whose blossoms
The gusts of April showered aslant its thatch. 170
Come, you shall show it me! And, while you bid it
Farewell, be not ashamed that I should witness
The oil of gladness glittering on the water
Of an ebbing grief. [BATHORY shows her into his cottage.
Laska (alone). Vexation! baffled! school’d!
Ho! Laska! wake! why? what can all this mean? 175
She sent away that cockatrice in anger!
Oh the false witch! It is too plain, she loves him.
And now, the old man near my lady’s person,
She’ll see this Bethlen hourly!
[LASKA flings himself into the seat. GLYCINE peeps in.
Glycine. Laska! Laska!
Is my lady gone?
Laska. Gone.
Glycine. Have you yet seen him? 180
Is he returned? [LASKA starts up.
Has the seat stung you, Laska?
Laska. No, serpent! no; ‘tis you that sting me; you!
What! you would cling to him again?
Glycine. Whom?
Laska. Bethlen! Bethlen!
Yes; gaze as if your very eyes embraced him! 185
Ha! you forget the scene of yesterday!
Mute ere he came, but then — Out on your screams,
And your pretended fears!
Glycine. Your fears, at least,
Were real, Laska! or your trembling limbs
And white cheeks played the hypocrites most vilely! 190
Laska. I fear! whom? what?
Glycine. I know what I should fear,
Were I in Laska’s place.
Laska. What?
Glycine. My own conscience,
For having fed my jealousy and envy
With a plot, made out of other men’s revenges,
Against a brave and innocent young man’s life! 195
Yet, yet, pray tell me!
Laska. You will know too soon.
Glycine. Would I could find my lady! though she chid me —
Yet this suspense — [Going.
Laska. Stop! stop! one question only —
I am quite calm —
Glycine. Ay, as the old song says,
Calm as a tiger, valiant as a dove. 200
Nay now, I have marred the verse: well! this one question —
Laska. Are you not bound to me by your own promise?
And is it not as plain —
Glycine. Halt! that’s two questions.
Laska. Pshaw! Is it not as plain as impudence,
That you’re in love with this young swaggering beggar, 205
Bethlen Bathory? When he was accused,
Why pressed you forward? Why did you defend him?
Glycine. Question meet question: that’s a woman’s privilege,
Why, Laska, did you urge Lord Casimir
To make my lady force that promise from me? 210
Laska. So then, you say, Lady Sarolta, forced you?
Glycine. Could I look up to her dear countenance,
And say her nay? As far back as I wot of
All her commands were gracious, sweet requests.
How could it be then, but that her requests 215
Must needs have sounded to me as commands?
And as for love, had I a score of loves,
I’d keep them all for my dear, kind, good mistress.
Laska. Not one for Bethlen?
Glycine. Oh! that’s a different thing.
To be sure he’s brave, and handsome, and so pious 220
To his good old father. But for loving him —
Nay, there, indeed you are mistaken, Laska!
Poor youth! I rather think I grieve for him;
For I sigh so deeply when I think of him!
And if I see him, the tears come in my eyes, 225
And my heart beats; and all because I dreamt
That the war-wolf had gored him as he hunted
In the haunted forest!
Laska. You dare own all this?
Your lady will not warrant promise-breach.
Mine, pampered Miss! you shall be; and I’ll make you 230
Grieve for him with a vengeance. Odd’s, my fingers
Tingle already! [Makes threatening signs.
Glycine (aside). Ha! Bethlen coming this way!
[GLYCINE then cries out.
Oh, save me! save me! Pray don’t kill me, Laska!
Enter BETHLEN in a Hunting Dress.
Bethlen. What, beat a woman!
Laska (to Glycine). O you cockatrice!
Bethlen. Unmanly dastard, hold!
Laska. Do you chance to know 235
Who — I — am, Sir? — (‘Sdeath! how black he looks!)
Bethlen. I have started many strange beasts in my time,
But none less like a man, than this before me
That lifts his hand against a timid female.
Laska. Bold youth! she’s mine.
Glycine. No, not my master yet, 240
But only is to be; and all, because
Two years ago my lady asked me, and
I promised her, not him; and if she’ll let me,
I’ll hate you, my lord’s steward.
Bethlen. Hush, Glycine!
Glycine. Yes, I do, Bethlen; for he just now brought 245
False witnesses to swear away your life:
Your life, and old Bathory’s too.
Bethlen. Bathory’s!
Where is my father? Answer, or —— Ha! gone!
[LASKA during this time retires from the Stage.
Glycine. Oh, heed not him! I saw you pressing onward,
And did but feign alarm. Dear gallant youth, 250
It is your life they seek!
Bethlen. My life?
Glycine. Alas,
Lady Sarolta even —
Bethlen. She does not know me!
Glycine. Oh that she did! she could not then have spoken
With such stern countenance. But though she spurn me,
I will kneel, Bethlen —
Bethlen. Not for me, Glycine! 255
What have I done? or whom have I offended?
Glycine. Rash words, ‘tis said, and treasonous of the king.
[BETHLEN mutters to himself.
Glycine (aside). So looks the statue, in our hall, o’ the god,
The shaft just flown that killed the serpent!
Bethlen. King!
Glycine. Ah, often have I wished you were a king. 260
You would protect the helpless every where,
As you did us. And I, too, should not then
Grieve for you, Bethlen, as I do; nor have
The tears come in my eyes; nor dream bad dreams
That you were killed in the forest; and then Laska 265
Would have no right to rail at me, nor say
(Yes, the base man, he says,) that I — I love you.
Bethlen. Pretty Glycine! wert thou not betrothed —
But in good truth I know not what I speak.
This luckless morning I have been so haunted 270
With my own fancies, starting up like omens,
That I feel like one, who waking from a dream
Both asks and answers wildly. — But Bathory?
Glycine. Hist! ‘tis my lady’s step! She must not see you!
[BETHLEN retires.
Enter from the Cottage SAROLTA and BATHORY.
Sarolta. Go, seek your son! I need not add, be speedy — 275
You here, Glycine? [Exit BATHORY.
Glycine. Pardon, pardon, Madam!
If you but saw the old man’s son, you would not,
You could not have him harmed.
Sarolta. Be calm, Glycine!
Glycine. No, I shall break my heart.
Sarolta. Ha! is it so?
O strange and hidden power of sympathy, 280
That of — like fates, though all unknown to each,
Dost make blind instincts, orphan’s heart to orphan’s
Drawing by dim disquiet!
Glycine. Old Bathory —
Sarolta. Seeks his brave son. Come, wipe away thy tears.
Yes, in good truth, Glycine, this same Bethlen 285
Seems a most noble and deserving youth.
Glycine. My lady does not mock me?
Sarolta. Where is Laska?
Has he not told thee?
Glycine. Nothing. In his fear —
Anger, I mean — stole off — I am so fluttered —
Left me abruptly —
Sarolta. His shame excuses him! 290
He is somewhat hardly tasked; and in discharging
His own tools, cons a lesson for himself.
Bathory and the youth henceforward live
Safe in my lord’s protection.
Glycine. The saints bless you!
Shame on my graceless heart! How dared I fear, 295
Lady Sarolta could be cruel?
Sarolta. Come,
Be yourself, girl!
Glycine. O, ‘tis so full here!
And now it can not harm him if I tell you,
That the old man’s son —
Sarolta. Is not that old man’s son!
A destiny, not unlike thine own, is his. 300
For all I know of thee is, that thou art
A soldier’s orphan: left when rage intestine
Shook and engulphed the pillars of Illyria.
This other fragment, thrown back by that same earthquake,
This, so mysteriously inscribed by nature, 305
Perchance may piece out and interpret thine.
Command thyself! Be secret! His true father ——
Hear’st thou?
Glycine. O tell —
Bethlen (rushing out). Yes, tell me, Shape from heaven!
Who is my father?
Sarolta (gazing with surprise). Thine? Thy father? Rise!
Glycine. Alas! He hath alarmed you, my dear lady! 310
Sarolta. His countenance, not his act!
Glycine. Rise, Bethlen! Rise!
Bethlen. No; kneel thou too! and with thy orphan’s tongue
Plead for me! I am rooted to the earth
And have no power to rise! Give me a father!
There is a prayer in those uplifted eyes 315
That seeks high Heaven! But I will overtake it,
And bring it back, and make it plead for me
In thine own heart! Speak! Speak! Restore to me
A name in the world!
Sarolta. By that blest Heaven I gazed at,
I know not who thou art. And if I knew, 320
Dared I — But rise!
Bethlen. Blest spirits of my parents,
Ye hover o’er me now! Ye shine upon me!
And like a flower that coils forth from a ruin,
I feel and seek the light I can not see!
Sarolta. Thou see’st yon dim spot on the mountain’s ridge, 325
But what it is thou know’st not. Even such
Is all I know of thee — haply, brave youth,
Is all Fate makes it safe for thee to know!
Bethlen. Safe? Safe? O let me then inherit danger,
And it shall be my birthright!
Sarolta (aside). That look again! — 330
The wood which first incloses, and then skirts
The highest track that leads across the mountains —
Thou know’st it, Bethlen?
Bethlen. Lady, ‘twas my wont
To roam there in my childhood oft alone
And mutter to myself the name of father. 335
For still Bathory (why, till now I guessed not)
Would never hear it from my lips, but sighing
Gazed upward. Yet of late an idle terror ——
Glycine. Madam, that wood is haunted by the war-wolves,
Vampires, and monstrous ——
Sarolta. Moon-calves, credulous girl! 340
Haply some o’ergrown savage of the forest
Hath his lair there, and fear hath framed the rest.
After that last great battle, (O young man!
Thou wakest anew my life’s sole anguish) that
Which fixed Lord Emerick on his throne, Bathory 345
Led by a cry, far inward from the track,
In the hollow of an oak, as in a nest,
Did find thee, Bethlen, then a helpless babe.
The robe that wrapt thee was a widow’s mantle.
Bethlen. An infant’s weakness doth relax my frame. 350
O say — I fear to ask ——
Sarolta. And I to tell thee.
Bethlen. Strike! O strike quickly! See, I do not shrink.
I am stone, cold stone.
Sarolta. Hid in a brake hard by,
Scarce by both palms supported from the earth,
A wounded lady lay, whose life fast waning 355
Seemed to survive itself in her fixt eyes,
That strained towards the babe. At length one arm
Painfully from her own weight disengaging,
She pointed first to heaven, then from her bosom
Drew forth a golden casket. Thus entreated 360
Thy foster-father took thee in his arms,
And kneeling spake: ‘If aught of this world’s comfort
Can reach thy heart, receive a poor man’s troth,
That at my life’s risk I will save thy child!’
Her countenance worked, as one that seemed preparing 365
A loud voice, but it died upon her lips
In a faint whisper, ‘Fly! Save him! Hide — hide all!’
Bethlen. And did he leave her? What! had I a mother?
And left her bleeding, dying? Bought I vile life
With the desertion of a dying mother? 370
Oh agony!
Glycine. Alas! thou art bewildered,
And dost forget thou wert a helpless infant!
Bethlen. What else can I remember, but a mother
Mangled and left to perish?
Sarolta. Hush, Glycine!
It is the ground-swell of a teeming instinct: 375
Let it but lift itself to air and sunshine,
And it will find a mirror in the waters
It now makes boil above it. Check him not!
Bethlen. O that I were diffused among the waters
That pierce into the secret depths of earth, 380
And find their way in darkness! Would that I
Could spread myself upon the homeless winds!
And I would seek her! for she is not dead!
She can not die! O pardon, gracious lady!
You were about to say, that he returned — 385
Sarolta. Deep Love, the godlike in us, still believes
Its objects as immortal as itself!
Bethlen. And found her still —
Sarolta. Alas! he did return,
He left no spot unsearched in all the forest,
But she (I trust me by some friendly hand) 390
Had been borne off.
Bethlen. O whither?
Glycine. Dearest Bethlen!
I would that you could weep like me! O do not
Gaze so upon the air!
Sarolta. While he was absent,
A friendly troop, ‘tis certain, scoured the wood,
Hotly pursued indeed by Emerick.
Bethlen. Emerick. 395
Oh hell!
Glycine. Bethlen!
Bethlen. Hist! I’ll curse him in a whisper!
This gracious lady must hear blessings only.
She hath not yet the glory round her head,
Nor those strong eagle wings, which make swift way
To that appointed place, which I must seek; 400
Or else she were my mother!
Sarolta. Noble youth!
From me fear nothing! Long time have I owed
Offerings of expiation for misdeeds
Long past that weigh me down, though innocent!
Thy foster-father hid the secret from thee, 405
For he perceived thy thoughts as they expanded,
Proud, restless, and ill-sorting with thy state!
Vain was his care! Thou’st made thyself suspected
E’en where suspicion reigns, and asks no proof
But its own fears! Great Nature hath endowed thee 410
With her best gifts! From me thou shalt receive
All honourable aidance! But haste hence!
Travel will ripen thee, and enterprise
Beseems thy years! Be thou henceforth my soldier!
And whatsoe’er betide thee, still believe 415
That in each noble deed, achieved or suffered,
Thou solvest best the riddle of thy birth!
And may the light that streams from thine own honour
Guide thee to that thou seekest!
Glycine. Must he leave us?
Bethlen. And for such goodness can I return nothing 420
But some hot tears that sting mine eyes? Some sighs
That if not breathed would swell my heart to stifling?
May heaven and thine own virtues, high-born lady,
Be as a shield of fire, far, far aloof
To scare all evil from thee! Yet, if fate 425
Hath destined thee one doubtful hour of danger,
From the uttermost region of the earth, methinks,
Swift as a spirit invoked, I should be with thee!
And then, perchance, I might have power to unbosom
These thanks that struggle here. Eyes fair as thine 430
Have gazed on me with tears of love and anguish,
Which these eyes saw not, or beheld unconscious;
And tones of anxious fondness, passionate prayers,
Have been talked to me! But this tongue ne’er soothed
A mother’s ear, lisping a mother’s name! 435
O, at how dear a price have I been loved
And no love could return! One boon then, lady!
Where’er thou bidd’st, I go thy faithful soldier,
But first must trace the spot, where she lay bleeding
Who gave me life. No more shall beast of ravine 440
Affront with baser spoil that sacred forest!
Or if avengers more than human haunt there,
Take they what shape they list, savage or heavenly,
They shall make answer to me, though my heart’s blood
Should be the spell to bind them. Blood calls for blood! 445
[Exit Bethlen.
Sarolta. Ah! it was this I feared. To ward off this
Did I withhold from him that old Bathory
Returning hid beneath the selfsame oak,
Where the babe lay, the mantle, and some jewel
Bound on his infant arm.
Glycine. Oh, let me fly 450
And stop him! Mangled limbs do there lie scattered
Till the lured eagle bears them to her nest.
And voices have been heard! And there the plant grows
That being eaten gives the inhuman wizard
Power to put on the fell hyæna’s shape. 455
Sarolta. What idle tongue hath bewitched thee, Glycine?
I hoped that thou had’st learnt a nobler faith.
Glycine. O chide me not, dear lady; question Laska,
Or the old man.
Sarolta. Forgive me, I spake harshly.
It is indeed a mighty sorcery 460
That doth enthral thy young heart, my poor girl,
And what hath Laska told thee?
Glycine. Three days past
A courier from the king did cross that wood;
A wilful man, that armed himself on purpose:
And never hath been heard of from that time! 465
[Sound of horns without.
Sarolta. Hark! dost thou hear it!
Glycine. ‘Tis the sound of horns!
Our huntsmen are not out!
Sarolta. Lord Casimir
Would not come thus! [Horns again.
Glycine. Still louder!
Sarolta. Haste we hence!
For I believe in part thy tale of terror!
But, trust me, ‘tis the inner man transformed: 470
Beasts in the shape of men are worse than war-wolves.
[SAROLTA and GLYCINE exeunt. Trumpets, &c. louder. Enter
EMERICK, LORD RUDOLPH, LASKA, and Huntsmen and
Attendants.
Rudolph. A gallant chase, sire.
Emerick. Aye, but this new quarry
That we last started seems worth all the rest.
[then to Laska.
And you — excuse me — what’s your name?
Laska. Whatever
Your majesty may please.
Emerick. Nay, that’s too late, man. 475
Say, what thy mother and thy godfather
Were pleased to call thee.
Laska. Laska, my liege sovereign.
Emerick. Well, my liege subject, Laska! And you are
Lord Casimir’s steward?
Laska. And your majesty’s creature.
Emerick. Two gentle dames made off at our approach. 480
Which was your lady?
Laska My liege lord, the taller.
The other, please your grace, is her poor handmaid,
Long since betrothed to me. But the maid’s froward —
Yet would your grace but speak —
Emerick. Hum, master steward!
I am honoured with this sudden confidence. 485
Lead on. [to Laska, then to Rudolph.
Lord Rudolph, you’ll announce our coming.
Greet fair Sarolta from me, and entreat her
To be our gentle hostess. Mark, you add
How much we grieve, that business of the state
Hath forced us to delay her lord’s return. 490
Lord Rudolph (aside). Lewd, ingrate tyrant! Yes, I will announce
thee.
Emerick. Now onward all. [Exeunt attendants.
A fair one, by my faith!
If her face rival but her gait and stature,
My good friend Casimir had his reasons too.
‘Her tender health, her vow of strict retirement, 495
Made early in the convent — His word pledged—’
All fictions, all! fictions of jealousy.
Well! If the mountain move not to the prophet,
The prophet must to the mountain! In this Laska
There’s somewhat of the knave mixed up with dolt. 500
Through the transparence of the fool, methought,
I saw (as I could lay my finger on it)
The crocodile’s eye, that peered up from the bottom.
This knave may do us service. Hot ambition
Won me the husband. Now let vanity 505
And the resentment for a forced seclusion
Decoy the wife! Let him be deemed the aggressor
Whose cunning and distrust began the game! [Exit.
