Begin to muster in the listening skies;
In all the shining circuits you have gone
About this theatre of human woe,
What greater sorrow have you gazed upon
Than down this narrow chink you witness still;
And which, did you yourselves not fore-devise,
You registered for others to fulfil!
FIFE. This is some Laureate at a birthday ode;
No wonder we went rhyming.
ROSAURA. Hush! And now
See, starting to his feet, he strides about
Far as his tether'd steps—
SEGISMUND. And if the chain
You help'd to rivet round me did contract
Since guiltless infancy from guilt in act;
Of what in aspiration or in thought
Guilty, but in resentment of the wrong
That wreaks revenge on wrong I never wrought
By excommunication from the free
Inheritance that all created life,
Beside myself, is born to—from the wings
That range your own immeasurable blue,
Down to the poor, mute, scale-imprison'd things,
That yet are free to wander, glide, and pass
About that under-sapphire, whereinto
Yourselves transfusing you yourselves englass!
ROSAURA. What mystery is this?
FIFE. Why, the man's mad:
That's all the mystery. That's why he's chain'd—
And why—
SEGISMUND. Nor Nature's guiltless life alone—
But that which lives on blood and rapine; nay,
Charter'd with larger liberty to slay
Their guiltless kind, the tyrants of the air
Soar zenith-upward with their screaming prey,
Making pure heaven drop blood upon the stage
Of under earth, where lion, wolf, and bear,
And they that on their treacherous velvet wear
Figure and constellation like your own[2],
With their still living slaughter bound away
Over the barriers of the mountain cage,
Against which one, blood-guiltless, and endued
With aspiration and with aptitude
Transcending other creatures, day by day
Beats himself mad with unavailing rage!
FIFE. Why, that must be the meaning of my mule's
Rebellion—
ROSAURA. Hush!
SEGISMUND. But then if murder be
The law by which not only conscience-blind
Creatures, but man too prospers with his kind;
Who leaving all his guilty fellows free,
Under your fatal auspice and divine
Compulsion, leagued in some mysterious ban
Against one innocent and helpless man,
Abuse their liberty to murder mine:
And sworn to silence, like their masters mute
In heaven, and like them twirling through the mask
Of darkness, answering to all I ask,
Point up to them whose work they execute!
ROSAURA. Ev'n as I thought, some poor unhappy wretch,
By man wrong'd, wretched, unrevenged, as I!
Nay, so much worse than I, as by those chains
Clipt of the means of self-revenge on those
Who lay on him what they deserve. And I,
Who taunted Heaven a little while ago
With pouring all its wrath upon my head—
Alas! like him who caught the cast-off husk
Of what another bragg'd of feeding on,
Here's one that from the refuse of my sorrows
Could gather all the banquet he desires!
Poor soul, poor soul!
FIFE. Speak lower—he will hear you.
ROSAURA. And if he should, what then? Why, if he would,
He could not harm me—Nay, and if he could,
Methinks I'd venture something of a life
I care so little for—
SEGISMUND. Who's that? Clotaldo? Who are you, I say,
That, venturing in these forbidden rocks,
Have lighted on my miserable life,
And your own death?
ROSAURA. You would not hurt me, surely?
SEGISMUND. Not I; but those that, iron as the chain
In which they slay me with a lingering death,
Will slay you with a sudden—Who are you?
ROSAURA. A stranger from across the mountain there,
Who, having lost his way in this strange land
And coming night, drew hither to what seem'd
A human dwelling hidden in these rocks,
And where the voice of human sorrow soon
Told him it was so.
SEGISMUND. Ay? But nearer—nearer—
That by this smoky supplement of day
But for a moment I may see who speaks
So pitifully sweet.
FIFE. Take care! take care!
ROSAURA. Alas, poor man, that I, myself so helpless,
Could better help you than by barren pity,
And my poor presence—
SEGISMUND. Oh, might that be all!
But that—a few poor moments—and, alas!
The very bliss of having, and the dread
Of losing, under such a penalty
As every moment's having runs more near,
Stifles the very utterance and resource
They cry for quickest; till from sheer despair
Of holding thee, methinks myself would tear
To pieces—
FIFE. There, his word's enough for it.
SEGISMUND. Oh, think, if you who move about at will,
And live in sweet communion with your kind,
After an hour lost in these lonely rocks
Hunger and thirst after some human voice
To drink, and human face to feed upon;
What must one do where all is mute, or harsh,
And ev'n the naked face of cruelty
Were better than the mask it works beneath?—
Across the mountain then! Across the mountain!
What if the next world which they tell one of
Be only next across the mountain then,
Though I must never see it till I die,
And you one of its angels?
ROSAURA. Alas; alas!
No angel! And the face you think so fair,
'Tis but the dismal frame-work of these rocks
That makes it seem so; and the world I come from—
Alas, alas, too many faces there
Are but fair vizors to black hearts below,
Or only serve to bring the wearer woe!
But to yourself—If haply the redress
That I am here upon may help to yours.
I heard you tax the heavens with ordering,
And men for executing, what, alas!
I now behold. But why, and who they are
Who do, and you who suffer—
SEGISMUND. (pointing upwards). Ask of them,
Whom, as to-night, I have so often ask'd,
And ask'd in vain.
ROSAURA. But surely, surely—
SEGISMUND. Hark!
The trumpet of the watch to shut us in.
Oh, should they find you!—Quick! Behind the rocks!
To-morrow—if to-morrow—
ROSAURA. (flinging her sword toward him). Take my sword!
[ROSAURA and FIFE hide in the rocks; Enter CLOTALDO.]
CLOTALDO. These stormy days you like to see the last of
Are but ill opiates, Segismund, I think,
For night to follow: and to-night you seem
More than your wont disorder'd. What! A sword?
Within there!
[Enter SOLDIERS with black visors and torches.]
FIFE. Here's a pleasant masquerade!
CLOTALDO. Whosever watch this was
Will have to pay head-reckoning
. Meanwhile,
This weapon had a wearer. Bring him here,
Alive or dead.
SEGISMUND. Clotaldo! good Clotaldo!—
CLOTALDO. (to Soldiers who enclose Segismund; others searching the rocks). You know your duty.
SOLDIERS (bringing in Rosaura and Fife). Here are two of them,
Whoever more to follow—
CLOTALDO. Who are you,
That in defiance of known proclamation
Are found, at night-fall too, about this place?
FIFE. Oh, my Lord, she—I mean he—
ROSAURA. Silence, Fife,
And let me speak for both.—Two foreign men,
To whom your country and its proclamations
Are equally unknown; and had we known,
Ourselves not masters of our lawless beasts
That, terrified by the storm among your rocks,
Flung us upon them to our cost.
FIFE. My mule—
CLOTALDO. Foreigners? Of what country?
ROSAURA. Muscovy.
CLOTALDO. And whither bound?
ROSAURA. Hither—if this be Poland;
But with no ill design on her, and therefore
Taking it ill that we should thus be stopt
Upon her threshold so uncivilly.
CLOTALDO. Whither in Poland?
ROSAURA. To the capital.
CLOTALDO. And on what errand?
ROSAURA. Set me on the road,
And you shall be the nearer to my answer.
CLOTALDO. (aside). So resolute and ready to reply,
And yet so young—and—(Aloud.) Well,—
Your business was not surely with the man
We found you with?
ROSAURA. He was the first we saw,—
And strangers and benighted, as we were,
As you too would have done in a like case,
Accosted him at once.
CLOTALDO. Ay, but this sword?
ROSAURA. I flung it toward him.
CLOTALDO. Well, and why?
ROSAURA. And why?
But to revenge himself on those who thus
Injuriously misuse him.
CLOTALDO. So—so—so!
'Tis well such resolution wants a beard
And, I suppose, is never to attain one.
Well, I must take you both, you and your sword,
Prisoners.
FIFE. (offering a cudgel). Pray take mine, and welcome, sir;
I'm sure I gave it to that mule of mine
To mighty little purpose.
ROSAURA. Mine you have;
And may it win us some more kindliness
Than we have met with yet.
CLOTALDO (examining the sword). More mystery!
How came you by this weapon?
ROSAURA. From my father.
CLOTALDO. And do you know whence he?
ROSAURA. Oh, very well:
From one of this same Polish realm of yours,
Who promised a return, should come the chance,
Of courtesies that he received himself
In Muscovy, and left this pledge of it—
Not likely yet, it seems, to be redeem'd.
CLOTALDO. (aside). Oh, wondrous chance—or wondrous Providence!
The sword that I myself in Muscovy,
When these white hairs were black, for keepsake left
Of obligation for a like return
To him who saved me wounded as I lay
Fighting against his country; took me home;
Tended me like a brother till recover'd,
Perchance to fight against him once again
And now my sword put back into my hand
By his—if not his son—still, as so seeming,
By me, as first devoir of gratitude,
To seem believing, till the wearer's self
See fit to drop the ill-dissembling mask.
(Aloud.) Well, a strange turn of fortune has arrested
The sharp and sudden penalty that else
Had visited your rashness or mischance:
In part, your tender youth too—pardon me,
And touch not where your sword is not to answer—
Commends you to my care; not your life only,
Else by this misadventure forfeited;
But ev'n your errand, which, by happy chance,
Chimes with the very business I am on,
And calls me to the very point you aim at.
ROSAURA. The capital?
CLOTALDO. Ay, the capital; and ev'n
That capital of capitals, the Court:
Where you may plead, and, I may promise, win
Pardon for this, you say unwilling, trespass,
And prosecute what else you have at heart,
With me to help you forward all I can;
Provided all in loyalty to those
To whom by natural allegiance
I first am bound to.
ROSAURA. As you make, I take
Your offer: with like promise on my side
Of loyalty to you and those you serve,
Under like reservation for regards
Nearer and dearer still.
CLOTALDO. Enough, enough;
Your hand; a bargain on both sides. Meanwhile,
Here shall you rest to-night. The break of day
Shall see us both together on the way.
ROSAURA. Thus then what I for misadventure blamed,
Directly draws me where my wishes aim'd. [Exeunt.]
SCENE II.—The Palace at Warsaw
[Enter on one side ASTOLFO, Duke of Muscovy, with his train: and, on the other, the PRINCESS ESTRELLA, with hers.]
ASTOLFO. My royal cousin, if so near in blood,
Till this auspicious meeting scarcely known,
Till all that beauty promised in the bud
Is now to its consummate blossom blown,
Well met at last; and may—
ESTRELLA. Enough, my Lord,
Of compliment devised for you by some
Court tailor, and, believe me, still too short
To cover the designful heart below.
ASTOLFO. Nay, but indeed, fair cousin—
ESTRELLA. Ay, let Deed
Measure your words, indeed your flowers of speech
Ill with your iron equipage atone;
Irony indeed, and wordy compliment.
ASTOLFO. Indeed, indeed, you wrong me, royal cousin,
And fair as royal, misinterpreting
What, even for the end you think I aim at,
If false to you, were fatal to myself.
ESTRELLA. Why, what else means the glittering steel, my Lord,
That bristles in the rear of these fine words?
What can it mean, but, failing to cajole,
To fight or force me from my just pretension?
ASTOLFO. Nay, might I not ask ev'n the same of you,
The nodding helmets of whose men-at-arms
Out-crest the plumage of your lady court?
ESTRELLA. But to defend what yours would force from me.
ASTOLFO. Might not I, lady, say the same of mine?
But not to come to battle, ev'n of words,
With a fair lady, and my kinswoman;
And as averse to stand before your face,
Defenceless, and condemn'd in your disgrace,
Till the good king be here to clear it all—
Will you vouchsafe to hear me?
ESTRELLA. As you will.
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