Scene
A Farm-house on the Rhine (About a mile from the Convent)
HUGO in chamber alone. Enter ERIC.
Eric:What, Hugo, still at the Rhine! I thoughtYou were home. You have travell’d by stages short.
Hugo (with hesitation):Our homeward march was labour in vain,We had to retrace our steps again;It was here or hereabouts that I lostSome papers of value; at any costI must find them; and which way lies your course?
Eric:I go to recruit Prince Otto’s force.I cannot study as you do; IAm wearied with inactivity;So I carry a blade engrim’d with rust(That a hand sloth-slacken’d has, I trust,Not quite forgotten the way to wield),To strike once more on the tented field.
Hugo:Fighting is all a mistake, friend Eric,And has been so since the age Homeric,When Greece was shaken and Troy undone,Ten thousand lives for a worthless one.Yet I blame you not; you might well do worse;Better fight and perish than live to curseThe day you were born; and such has beenThe lot of many, and shall, I ween,Be the lot of more. If Thurston choosesHe may go with you. The blockhead abusesMe and the life I lead.
Enter ORION.
Orion: Great news!The Englemehr monks will shake in their shoes;In the soles of their callous feet will shakeThe barefooted friars. The nuns will quake.
Hugo: Wherefore?
Orion: The outlaw of RothensteinHas come with his soldiers to the Rhine,Back’d by those hardy adventurersFrom the northern forests of pines and firs,And Dagobert’s horse. They march as straightAs the eagle swoops to the convent gate.
Hugo:We must do something to save the place.
Orion:They are sure to take it in any case,Unless the sum that they ask is paid.
Eric:Some effort on our part must be made.
Hugo: ’Tis not so much for the monks I care.
Eric:Nor I; but the Abbess and nuns are there.
Orion:’Tis not our business; what can we do?They are too many, and we are too few;And yet, I suppose, you will save, if you can,That lady, your ward, or your kinswoman.
Hugo:She is no kinswoman of mine;How far is Otto’s camp from the Rhine?
Orion:Too far for help in such time of needTo be brought, though you used your utmost speed.
Eric:Nay, that I doubt.
Hugo: And how many menHave they?
Orion: To your one they could muster ten.
Eric:I know Count Rudolph, and terms may be madeWith him, I fancy; for though his tradeIs a rough one now, gainsay it who can,He was once a knight and a gentleman.And Dagobert, the chief of the Huns,Bad as he is, will spare the nuns;Though neither he nor the Count could checkThose lawless men, should they storm and sackThe convent. Jarl Osric, too, I know;He is rather a formidable foe,And will likely enough be troublesome;But the others, I trust, to terms will come.
Hugo:Eric, how many men have you?I can count a score.
Eric: I have only two.
Hugo:At every hazard we must try to saveThe nuns.
Eric: Count Rudolph shall think we haveA force that almost equals his own,If I can confer with him alone.
Orion:He is close at hand; by this time he waitsThe Abbot’s reply at the convent gates.
Hugo:We had better send him a herald.
Eric: Nay,I will go myself. [Eric goes out.]
Hugo: Orion, stay!So this is the reed on which I’ve leaned,These are the hopes thou hast fostered, theseThe flames thou hast fanned. Oh, lying fiend!Is it thus thou dost keep thy promises?
Orion:Strong language, Hugo, and most unjust;You will cry out before you are hurt—You will live to recall your words, I trust.Fear nothing from Osric or Dagobert,These are your friends, if you only knew it,And would take the advice of a friend sincere;Neglect his counsels and you must rue it,For I know by a sign the crisis is near.Accept the terms of these outlaws all,And be thankful that things have fallen outExactly as you would have had them fall—You may save the one that you care about;Otherwise, how did you hope to gainAccess to her—on what pretence?What were the schemes that worried your brainTo tempt her there or to lure her thence?You must have bungled, and raised a scandalAbout your ears, that might well have shamedThe rudest Hun, the veriest Vandal,Long or ever the bird was tamed.
Hugo:The convent is scarce surrounded yet,We might reach and hold it against their forceTill another sun has risen and set;And should I despatch my fleetest horseTo Otto—
Orion: For Abbot, or Monk, or Friar,Between ourselves, ’tis little you careIf their halls are harried by steel and fire:Their avarice left your heritage bare.Forsake them! Mitres, and cowls, and hoodsWill cover vices while earth endures;Through the green and gold of the summer woodsRide out with that pretty bird of yours.If again you fail to improve your chance,Why, then, my friend, I can only sayYou are duller far than the dullest lanceThat rides in Dagobert’s troop this day.“Faemina semper”, frown not thus,The girl was always giddy and wild,Vain, and foolish, and frivolous,Since she fled from her father’s halls, a child.I sought to initiate you onceIn the mystic lore of the old Chaldean;But I found you far too stubborn a dunce,And your tastes are coarser and more plebeian.Yet mark my words, for I read the stars,And trace the future in yonder sky;To the right are wars and rumours of wars,To the left are peace and prosperity.Fear naught. The world shall never detectThe cloven hoof, so carefully hidBy the scholar so staid and circumspect,So wise for once to do as he’s bid.Remember what pangs come year by yearFor opportunity that has fled;And Thora in ignorance.
Hugo: Name not her!I am sorely tempted to strike thee dead!
Orion:Nay, I hardly think you will take my life,The angel Michael was once my foe;He had a little the best of our strife,Yet he never could deal so stark a blow.