Act III…

Act III

SCENE I. The end of the Yew-tree Avenue under MILDRED'S window. A light seen through a central red pane.

Enter TRESHAM through the trees.

Tresh. Again here! But I cannot lose myself. The heath--the orchard--I have traversed glades And dells and bosky paths which used to lead Into green wild-wood depths, bewildering My boy's adventurous step. And now they tend Hither or soon or late; the blackest shade Breaks up, the thronged trunks of the trees ope wide, And the dim turret I have fled from, fronts Again my step; the very river put Its arm about me and conducted me To this detested spot. Why then, I'll shun Their will no longer: do your will with me! Oh, bitter! To have reared a towering scheme Of happiness, and to behold it razed, Were nothing; all men hope, and see their hopes Frustrate, and grieve awhile, and hope anew. But I ... to hope that from a line like ours No horrid prodigy like this would spring, Were just as though I hoped that from these old Confederates against the sovereign day, Children of older and yet older sires, Whose living coral berries dropped, as now On me, on many a baron's surcoat once, On many a beauty's wimple--would proceed No poison-tree, to thrust, from hell its root, Hither and thither its strange snaky arms. Why came I here? What must I do? [A bell strikes.] A bell? Midnight! and 'tis at midnight ... Ah, I catch --Woods, river, plains, I catch your meaning now. And I obey you! Hist! This tree will serve.

[He retires behind one of the trees. After a pause, enter MERTOUN cloaked as before.

Mer. Not time! Beat out thy last voluptuous beat Of hope and fear, my heart! I thought the clock I' the chapel struck as I was pushing through The ferns. And so I shall no more see rise My love-star! Oh, no matter for the past! So much the more delicious task to watch Mildred revive: to pluck out, thorn by thorn, All traces of the rough forbidden path My rash love lured her to! Each day must see Some fear of hers effaced, some hope renewed: Then there will be surprises, unforeseen Delights in store. I'll not regret the past. [The light is placed above in the purple pane. And see, my signal rises, Mildred's star! I never saw it lovelier than now It rises for the last time. If it sets, 'Tis that the reassuring sun may dawn. [As he prepares to ascend the lust tree of the avenue, TRESHAM arrests his arm. Unhand me--peasant, by your grasp! Here's gold. 'Twas a mad freak of mine. I said I'd pluck A branch from the white-blossomed shrub beneath The casement there. Take this, and hold your peace.

Tresh. Into the moonlight yonder, come with me! Out of the shadow.

Mer. I am armed, fool!

Tresh. Yes, Or no? You'll come into the light, or no? My hand is on your throat--refuse!--

Mer. That voice! Where have I heard ... no--that was mild and slow. I'll come with you. [They advance.

Tresh. You're armed: that's well. Declare Your name: who are you?

Mer. (Tresham!--she is lost!)

Tresh. Oh, silent? Do you know, you bear yourself Exactly as, in curious dreams I've had How felons, this wild earth is full of, look When they're detected, still your kind has looked! The bravo holds an assured countenance, The thief is voluble and plausible, But silently the slave of lust has crouched When I have fancied it before a man. Your name!

Mer. I do conjure Lord Tresham--ay, Kissing his foot, if so I might prevail-- That he for his own sake forbear to ask My name! As heaven's above, his future weal Or woe depends upon my silence! Vain! I read your white inexorable face. Know me, Lord Tresham! [He throws off his disguises.

Tresh. Mertoun! [After a pause.] Draw now!

Mer. Hear me But speak first!

Tresh. Not one least word on your life! Be sure that I will strangle in your throat The least word that informs me how you live And yet seem what you seem! No doubt 't was you Taught Mildred still to keep that face and sin. We should join hands in frantic sympathy If you once taught me the unteachable, Explained how you can live so, and so lie. With God's help I retain, despite my sense, The old belief--a life like yours is still Impossible. Now draw!

Mer. Not for my sake, Do I entreat a hearing--for your sake, And most, for her sake!

Tresh. Ha ha, what should I Know of your ways? A miscreant like yourself, How must one rouse his ire? A blow?--that's pride No doubt, to him! One spurns him, does one not? Or sets the foot upon his mouth, or spits Into his face! Come! Which, or all of these?

Mer. 'Twixt him and me and Mildred. Heaven be judge! Can I avoid this? Have your will, my lord! [He draws and, after a few passes, falls.

Tresh. You are not hurt?

Mer. You'll hear me now!

Tresh. But rise!

Mer. Ah, Tresham, say I not "you'll hear me now!" And what procures a man the right to speak In his defence before his fellow man, But--I suppose--the thought that presently He may have leave to speak before his God His whole defence?

Tresh. Not hurt? It cannot be! You made no effort to resist me. Where Did my sword reach you? Why not have returned My thrusts? Hurt where?

Mer. My lord--

Tresh. How young he is!

Mer. Lord Tresham, I am very young, and yet I have entangled other lives with mine. Do let me speak, and do believe my speech! That when I die before you presently,--

Tresh. Can you stay here till I return with help?

Mer. Oh, stay by me! When I was less than boy I did you grievous wrong and knew it not-- Upon my honor, knew it not! Once known, I could not find what seemed a better way To right you than I took: my life--you feel How less than nothing were the giving you The life you've taken! But I thought my way The better--only for your sake and hers: And as you have decided otherwise, Would I had an infinity of lives To offer you! Now say--instruct me--think! Can you, from the brief minutes I have left, Eke out my reparation? Oh think--think! For I must wring a partial--dare I say, Forgiveness from you, ere I die?

Tresh. I do Forgive you.

Mer. Wait and ponder that great word! Because, if you forgive me, I shall hope To speak to you of--Mildred!

Tresh. Mertoun, haste And anger have undone us. 'Tis not you Should tell me for a novelty you're young, Thoughtless, unable to recall the past. Be but your pardon ample as my own!

Mer. Ah, Tresham, that a sword-stroke and a drop Of blood or two, should bring all this about! Why, 'twas my very fear of you, my love Of you--(what passion like a boy's for one Like you?)--that ruined me! I dreamed of you-- You, all accomplished, courted everywhere, The scholar and the gentleman. I burned To knit myself to you: but I was young, And your surpassing reputation kept me So far aloof! Oh, wherefore all that love? With less of love, my glorious yesterday Of praise and gentlest words and kindest looks, Had taken place perchance six months ago. Even now, how happy we had been! And yet I know the thought of this escaped you, Tresham! Let me look up into your face; I feel 'Tis changed above me: yet my eyes are glazed. Where? where? [As he endeavors to raise himself his eye catches the lamp. Ah, Mildred! What will Mildred do? Tresham, her life is bound up in the life That's bleeding fast away! I'll live--must live, There, if you'll only turn me I shall live And save her! Tresham--oh, had you but heard! Had you but heard! What right was yours to set The thoughtless foot upon her life and mine, And then say, as we perish, "Had I thought, All had gone otherwise"? We've sinned and die: Never you sin, Lord Tresham! for you'll die, And God will judge you.

Tresh. Yes, be satisfied! That process is begun.

Mer. And she sits there Waiting for me! Now, say you this to her-- You, not another--say, I saw him die As he breathed this, "I love her"--you don't know What those three small words mean! Say, loving her Lowers me down the bloody slope to death With memories ... I speak to her, not you, Who had no pity, will have no remorse, Perchance intend her ... Die along with me, Dear Mildred! 'tis so easy, and you'll 'scape So much unkindness! Can I lie at rest, With rude speech spoken to you, ruder deeds Done to you?--heartless men shall have my heart, And I tied down with grave-clothes and the worm, Aware, perhaps, of every blow--oh God!-- Upon those lips--yet of no power to tear The felon stripe by stripe! Die, Mildred! Leave Their honorable world to them! For God We're good enough, though the world casts us out. [A whistle is heard.

Tresh. Ho, Gerard!

(Enter GERARD, AUSTIN and GWENDOLEN, with lights.)

No one speak! You see what's done. I cannot bear another voice.

Mer. There's light-- Light all about me, and I move to it. Tresham, did I not tell you--did you not Just promise to deliver words of mine To Mildred?

Tresh. I will bear those words to her.

Mer. Now?

Tresh. Now. Lift you the body, and leave me The head. [As they have half raised MERTOUN, he turns suddenly.

Mer. I knew they turned me: turn me not from her! There! stay you! there! [Dies.

Guen. [After a pause.] Austin, remain you here With Thorold until Gerard comes with help: Then lead him to his chamber. I must go To Mildred.

Tresh. Guendolen, I hear each word You utter. Did you hear him bid me give His message? Did you hear my promise? I, And only I, see Mildred.

Guen. She will die.

Tresh. Oh no, she will not die! I dare not hope She'll die. What ground have you to think she'll die? Why, Austin's with you!

Aus. Had we but arrived Before you fought!

Tresh. There was no fight at all. He let me slaughter him--the boy! I'll trust The body there to you and Gerard--thus! Now bear him on before me.

Aus. Whither bear him?

Tresh. Oh, to my chamber! When we meet there next, We shall be friends. [They bear out the body of MERTOUN. Will she die, Guendolen?

Guen. Where are you taking me?

Tresh. He fell just here. Now answer me. Shall you in your whole life --You who have naught to do with Mertoun's fate, Now you have seen his breast upon the turf, Shall you e'er walk this way if you can help? When you and Austin wander arm-in-arm Through our ancestral grounds, will not a shade Be ever on the meadow and the waste-- Another kind of shade than when the night Shuts the woodside with all its whispers up? But will you ever so forget his breast As carelessly to cross this bloody turf Under the black yew avenue? That's well! You turn your head: and I then?--

Guen. What is done Is done. My care is for the living. Thorold, Bear up against this burden: more remains To set the neck to!

Tresh. Dear and ancient trees My fathers planted, and I loved so well! What have I done that, like some fabled crime Of yore, lets loose a Fury leading thus Her miserable dance amidst you all? Oh, never more for me shall winds intone With all your tops a vast antiphony, Demanding and responding in God's praise! Hers ye are now, not mine! Farewell--farewell!

Act III, Scene II — MILDRED'S Chamber. MILDRED alone

Mil. He comes not! I have heard of those who seemed Resourceless in prosperity,--you thought Sorrow might slay them when she listed; yet Did they so gather up their diffused strength At her first menace, that they bade her strike, And stood and laughed her subtlest skill to scorn. Oh, 'tis not so with me! The first woe fell, And the rest fall upon it, not on me: Else should I hear that Henry comes not?--fails Just this first night out of so many nights? Loving is done with. Were he sitting now, As so few hours since, on that seat, we'd love No more--contrive no thousand happy ways To hide love from the loveless, any more. I think I might have urged some little point In my defence, to Thorold; he was breathless For the least hint of a defence: but no, The first shame over, all that would might fall. No Henry! Yet I merely sit and think The morn's deed o'er and o'er. I must have crept Out of myself. A Mildred that has lost Her lover--oh, I dare not look upon Such woe! I crouch away from it! 'Tis she, Mildred, will break her heart, not I! The world Forsakes me: only Henry's left me--left? When I have lost him, for he does not come, And I sit stupidly ... Oh Heaven, break up This worse than anguish, this mad apathy, By any means or any messenger!

Tresh. [Without.] Mildred!

Mil. Come in! Heaven hears me!

[Enter TRESHAM.] You? alone? Oh, no more cursing!

Tresh. Mildred, I must sit. There--you sit!

Mil. Say it, Thorold--do not look The curse! deliver all you come to say! What must become of me? Oh, speak that thought Which makes your brow and cheeks so pale!

Tresh. My thought?

Mil. All of it!

Tresh. How we waded--years ago-- After those water-lilies, till the plash, I know not how, surprised us; and you dared Neither advance nor turn back: so, we stood Laughing and crying until Gerard came-- Once safe upon the turf, the loudest too, For once more reaching the relinquished prize! How idle thoughts are, some men's, dying men's! Mildred,--

Mil. You call me kindlier by my name Than even yesterday: what is in that?

Tresh. It weighs so much upon my mind that I This morning took an office not my own! I might ... of course, I must be glad or grieved, Content or not, at every little thing That touches you. I may with a wrung heart Even reprove you, Mildred; I did more: Will you forgive me?

Mil. Thorold? do you mock? Or no ... and yet you bid me ... say that word!

Tresh. Forgive me, Mildred!--are you silent, Sweet?

Mil. [Starting up.] Why does not Henry Mertoun come to-night? Are you, too, silent?

[_Dashing his mantle aside, and pointing to his scabbard, which is empty._ Ah, this speaks for you! You've murdered Henry Mertoun! Now proceed! What is it I must pardon? This and all? Well, I do pardon you--I think I do. Thorold, how very wretched you must be!

Tresh. He bade me tell you ...

Mil. What I do forbid Your utterance of! So much that you may tell And will not--how you murdered him ... but, no! You'll tell me that he loved me, never more Than bleeding out his life there: must I say "Indeed," to that? Enough! I pardon you.

Tresh. You cannot, Mildred! for the harsh words, yes: Of this last deed Another's judge: whose doom I wait in doubt, despondency and fear.

Mil. Oh, true! There's naught for me to pardon! True! You loose my soul of all its cares at once. Death makes me sure of him forever! You Tell me his last words? He shall tell me them, And take my answer--not in words, but reading Himself the heart I had to read him late, Which death ...

Tresh. Death? You are dying too? Well said Of Guendolen! I dared not hope you'd die: But she was sure of it.

Mil. Tell Guendolen I loved her, and tell Austin ...

Tresh. Him you loved: And me?

Mil. Ah, Thorold! Was't not rashly done To quench that blood, on fire with youth and hope And love of me--whom you loved too, and yet Suffered to sit here waiting his approach While you were slaying him? Oh, doubtlessly You let him speak his poor confused boy's-speech --Do his poor utmost to disarm your wrath And respite me!--you let him try to give The story of our love and ignorance, And the brief madness and the long despair-- You let him plead all this, because your code Of honor bids you hear before you strike: But at the end, as he looked up for life Into your eyes--you struck him down!

Tresh. No! No! Had I but heard him--had I let him speak Half the truth--less--had I looked long on him I had desisted! Why, as he lay there, The moon on his flushed cheek, I gathered all The story ere he told it: I saw through The troubled surface of his crime and yours A depth of purity immovable; Had I but glanced, where all seemed turbidest Had gleamed some inlet to the calm beneath; I would not glance: my punishment's at hand. There, Mildred, is the truth! and you--say on-- You curse me?

Mil. As I dare approach that Heaven Which has not bade a living thing despair, Which needs no code to keep its grace from stain, But bids the vilest worm that turns on it Desist and be forgiven,--I--forgive not, But bless you, Thorold, from my soul of souls! [Falls on his neck. There! Do not think too much upon the past! The cloud that's broke was all the same a cloud While it stood up between my friend and you; You hurt him 'neath its shadow: but is that So past retrieve? I have his heart, you know; I may dispose of it: I give it you! It loves you as mine loves! Confirm me, Henry! [Dies.

Tresh. I wish thee joy, Beloved! I am glad In thy full gladness!

Guen. [Without.] Mildred! Tresham! [Entering with AUSTIN.] Thorold, I could desist no longer. Ah, she swoons! That's well.

Tresh. Oh, better far than that!

Guen. She's dead! Let me unlock her arms!

Tresh. She threw them thus About my neck, and blessed me, and then died: You'll let them stay now, Guendolen!

Aus. Leave her And look to him! What ails you, Thorold?

Guen. White As she, and whiter! Austin! quick--this side!

Aus. A froth is oozing through his clenchèd teeth; Both lips, where they're not bitten through, are black: Speak, dearest Thorold!

Tresh. Something does weigh down My neck beside her weight: thanks: I should fall But for you, Austin, I believe!--there, there, 'T will pass away soon!--ah,--I had forgotten: I am dying.

Guen. Thorold--Thorold--why was this?

Tresh. I said, just as I drank the poison off, The earth would be no longer earth to me, The life out of all life was gone from me. There are blind ways provided, the foredone Heart-weary player in this pageant-world Drops out by, letting the main masque defile By the conspicuous portal: I am through-- Just through!

Guen. Don't leave him, Austin! Death is close.

Tresh. Already Mildred's face is peacefuller. I see you, Austin--feel you: here's my hand, Put yours in it--you, Guendolen, yours too! You 're lord and lady now--you're Treshams; name And fame are yours: you hold our 'scutcheon up. Austin, no blot on it! You see how blood Must wash one blot away: the first blot came And the first blood came. To the vain world's eye All's gules again: no care to the vain world, From whence the red was drawn!

Aus. No blot shall come!

Tresh. I said that: yet it did come. Should it come, Vengeance is God's, not man's. Remember me! [Dies.

Guen. [Letting fall the pulseless arm.] Ah, Thorold, we can but--remember you!

COLOMBE'S BIRTHDAY

A PLAY

"Ivy and violet, what do ye here With blossom and shoot in the warm spring-weather, Hiding the arms of Monchenci and Vere?" HANMER.

NO ONE LOVES AND HONORS BARRY CORNWALL MORE THAN DOES ROBERT BROWNING; WHO, HAVING NOTHING BETTER THAN THIS PLAY TO GIVE HIM IN PROOF OF IT, MUSY SAY SO.

Browning was stimulated by the enthusiastic reception of A Blot in the 'Scutcheon to write another play for the stage, but for some reason it was not performed for ten years or so. It was printed in 1844 as No. VI. of Bells and Pomegranates. Mr. Gosse in his Personalia says:--

"I have before me at the present moment a copy of the first edition, marked for acting by the author, who has written: 'I made the alterations in this copy to suit some--I forget what--projected stage representation; not that of Miss Faucit, which was carried into effect long afterward.' The stage directions are numerous and minute, showing the science which the dramatist had gained since he first essayed to put his creations on the boards.

"Some of the suggestions are characteristic enough. For instance: 'Unless a very good Valence is found, this extremely fine speech, [in Act IV. where Valence describes Berthold to Colombe], perhaps the jewel of the play, is to be left out.' In the present editions the verses run otherwise."

The play has recently [1895] been rearranged in three acts and brought again on the stage.

PERSONS

COLOMBE OF RAVESTEIN, Duchess of Juliers and Cleves. SABYNE, ADOLF, her Attendants. GUIBERT, GAUCELME, MAUFROY, CLUGNET, Courtiers. VALENCE, Advocate of Cleves. PRINCE BERTHOLD, Claimant of the Duchy. MELCHIOR, his Confidant.

PLACE, The Palace at Juliers.

TIME, 16--.

Act I

Morning. SCENE. A corridor leading to the Audience-chamber.

GAUCELME, CLUGNET, MAUFROY and other Courtiers, round GUIBERT who is silently reading a paper: as he drops it at the end--

Guibert. That this should be her birthday; and the day We all invested her, twelve months ago, As the late Duke's true heiress and our liege; And that this also must become the day ... Oh, miserable lady!

1st Courtier. Ay, indeed?

2d Court. Well, Guibert?

3d Court. But your news, my friend, your news! The sooner, friend, one learns Prince Berthold's pleasure, The better for us all: how writes the Prince? Give me! I'll read it for the common good.

Gui. In time, sir,--but till time comes, pardon me! Our old Duke just disclosed his child's retreat, Declared her true succession to his rule, And died: this birthday was the day, last year, We convoyed her from Castle Ravestein-- That sleeps out trustfully its extreme age On the Meuse' quiet bank, where she lived queen Over the water-buds,--to Juliers' court With joy and bustle. Here again we stand; Sir Gaucelme's buckle's constant to his cap: To-day's much such another sunny day!

Gaucelme. Come, Guibert, this outgrows a jest, I think! You're hardly such a novice as to need The lesson, you pretend.

Gui. What lesson, sir? That everybody, if he'd thrive at court, Should, first and last of all, look to himself? Why, no: and therefore with your good example, (--Ho, Master Adolf!)--to myself I'll look.

(Enter ADOLF.)

Gui. The Prince's letter; why, of all men else, Comes it to me?

Adolf. By virtue of your place, Sir Guibert! 'Twas the Prince's express charge, His envoy told us, that the missive there Should only reach our lady by the hand Of whosoever held your place.

Gui. Enough! [ADOLF retires. Then, gentles, who'll accept a certain poor Indifferently honorable place, My friends, I make no doubt, have gnashed their teeth At leisure minutes these half-dozen years, To find me never in the mood to quit? Who asks may have it, with my blessing, and-- This to present our lady. Who'll accept? You,--you,--you? There it lies, and may, for me!

Maufroy. [A youth, picking up the paper, reads aloud.] "Prince Berthold, proved by titles following Undoubted Lord of Juliers, comes this day To claim his own, with license from the Pope, The Emperor, the Kings of Spain and France" ...

Gau. Sufficient "titles following," I judge! Don't read another! Well,--"to claim his own?"

Mau. "--And take possession of the Duchy held Since twelve months, to the true heir's prejudice, By" ... Colombe, Juliers' mistress, so she thinks, And Ravestein's mere lady, as we find! Who wants the place and paper? Guibert's right. I hope to climb a little in the world,-- I'd push my fortunes,--but, no more than he, Could tell her on this happy day of days, That, save the nosegay in her hand, perhaps, There 's nothing left to call her own. Sir Clugnet, You famish for promotion; what say you?

Clugnet. [An old man.] To give this letter were a sort, I take it, Of service: services ask recompense: What kind of corner may be Ravestein?

Gui. The castle? Oh, you'd share her fortunes? Good! Three walls stand upright, full as good as four, With no such bad remainder of a roof.

Clug. Oh,--but the town?

Gui. Five houses, fifteen huts; A church whereto was once a spire, 't is judged; And half a dyke, except in time of thaw.

Clug. Still there 's some revenue?

Gui. Else Heaven forfend! You hang a beacon out, should fogs increase; So, when the Autumn floats of pine-wood steer Safe 'mid the white confusion, thanks to you, Their grateful raftsman flings a guilder in; --That's if he mean to pass your way next time.

Clug. If not?

Gui. Hang guilders, then! he blesses you.

Clug. What man do you suppose me? Keep your paper! And, let me say, it shows no handsome spirit To dally with misfortune: keep your place!

Gau. Some one must tell her.

Gui. Some one may: you may!

Gau. Sir Guibert, 't is no trifle turns me sick Of court-hypocrisy at years like mine, But this goes near it. Where 's there news at all? Who'll have the face, for instance, to affirm He never heard, e'en while we crowned the girl, That Juliers' tenure was by Salic law; That one, confessed her father's cousin's child, And, she away, indisputable heir, Against our choice protesting and the Duke's, Claimed Juliers?--nor, as he preferred his claim, That first this, then another potentate, Inclined to its allowance?--I or you, Or any one except the lady's self? Oh, it had been the direst cruelty To break the business to her! Things might change: At all events, we 'd see next masque at end, Next mummery over first: and so the edge Was taken off sharp tidings as they came, Till here 's the Prince upon us, and there 's she --Wreathing her hair, a song between her lips, With just the faintest notion possible That some such claimant earns a livelihood About the world, by feigning grievances-- Few pay the story of, but grudge its price, And fewer listen to, a second time. Your method proves a failure; now try mine! And, since this must be carried ...

Gui. [Snatching the paper from him.] By your leave! Your zeal transports you! 'T will not serve the Prince So much as you expect, this course you 'd take. If she leaves quietly her palace,--well; But if she died upon its threshold,--no: He 'd have the trouble of removing her. Come, gentles, we 're all--what the devil knows! You, Gaucelme, won't lose character, beside-- You broke your father's heart superiorly To gather his succession--never blush! You 're from my province, and, be comforted, They tell of it with wonder to this day. You can afford to let your talent sleep. We 'll take the very worst supposed, as true: There, the old Duke knew, when he hid his child Among the river-flowers at Ravestein, With whom the right lay! Call the Prince our Duke! There, she 's no Duchess, she 's no anything More than a young maid with the bluest eyes: And now, sirs, we 'll not break this young maid's heart Coolly as Gaucelme could and would! No haste! His talent 's full-blown, ours but in the bud: We 'll not advance to his perfection yet-- Will we, Sir Maufroy? See, I've ruined Maufroy Forever as a courtier!

Gau. Here 's a coil! And, count us, will you? Count its residue, This boasted convoy, this day last year's crowd! A birthday, too, a gratulation day! I'm dumb: bid that keep silence!

Mau. and others. Eh, Sir Guibert? He 's right: that does say something: that 's bare truth. Ten--twelve, I make: a perilous dropping off!

Gui. Pooh--is it audience hour? The vestibule Swarms too, I wager, with the common sort That want our privilege of entry here.

Gau. Adolf! [Re-enter ADOLF.] Who 's outside?

Gui. Oh, your looks suffice! Nobody waiting?

Mau. [Looking through the door-folds.] Scarce our number!

Gui. 'Sdeath! Nothing to beg for, to complain about? It can't be! Ill news spreads, but not so fast As thus to frighten all the world!

Gau. The world Lives out of doors, sir--not with you and me By presence-chamber porches, state-room stairs, Wherever warmth 's perpetual: outside 's free To every wind from every compass-point And who may get nipped needs be weatherwise. The Prince comes and the lady's People go; The snow-goose settles down, the swallows flee-- Why should they wait for winter-time? 'T is instinct: Don't you feel somewhat chilly?

Gui. That 's their craft? And last year's crowders-round and criers-forth That strewed the garlands, overarched the roads, Lighted the bonfires, sang the loyal songs! Well 't is my comfort, you could never call me The People's Friend! The People keep their word-- I keep my place: don't doubt I'll entertain The People when the Prince comes, and the People Are talked of! Then, their speeches--no one tongue Found respite, not a pen had holiday --For they wrote, too, as well as spoke, these knaves! Now see: we tax and tithe them, pill and poll, They wince and fret enough, but pay they must --We manage that,--so, pay with a good grace They might as well, it costs so little more. But when we 've done with taxes, meet folk next Outside the toll-booth and the rating-place, In public--there they have us if they will, We 're at their mercy after that, you see! For one tax not ten devils could extort-- Over and above necessity, a grace; This prompt disbosoming of love, to wit-- Their vine-leaf wrappage of our tribute penny, And crowning attestation, all works well. Yet this precisely do they thrust on us! These cappings quick, these crook-and-cringings low, Hand to the heart, and forehead to the knee, With grin that shuts the eyes and opes the mouth-- So tender they their love; and, tender made, Go home to curse us, the first doit we ask. As if their souls were any longer theirs! As if they had not given ample warrant To who should clap a collar on their neck, Rings in their nose, a goad to either flank, And take them for the brute they boast themselves! Stay--there's a bustle at the outer door-- And somebody entreating ... that's my name! Adolf,--I heard my name!

Adolf. 'T was probably The suitor.

Gui. Oh, there is one?

Adolf. With a suit He 'd fain enforce in person.

Gui. The good heart --And the great fool! Just ope the mid-door's fold! Is that a lappet of his cloak, I see?

Adolf. If it bear plenteous sign of travel ... ay, The very cloak my comrades tore!

Gui. Why tore?

Adolf. He seeks the Duchess' presence in that trim: Since daybreak, was he posted hereabouts Lest he should miss the moment.

Gui. Where 's he now?

Adolf. Gone for a minute possibly, not more: They have ado enough to thrust him back.

Gui. Ay--but my name, I caught?

Adolf. Oh, sir--he said --What was it?--You had known him formerly, And, he believed, would help him did you guess He waited now; you promised him as much: The old plea! 'Faith, he 's back,--renews the charge! [Speaking at the door.] So long as the man parleys, peace outside-- Nor be too ready with your halberts, there!

Gau. My horse bespattered, as he blocked the path A thin sour man, not unlike somebody.

Adolf. He holds a paper in his breast, whereon He glances when his cheeks flush and his brow At each repulse--

Gau. I noticed he 'd a brow.

Adolf. So glancing, he grows calmer, leans awhile Over the balustrade, adjusts his dress, And presently turns round, quiet again, With some new pretext for admittance.--Back! [To GUIBERT.]--Sir, he has seen you! Now cross halberts! Ha-- Pascal is prostrate--there lies Fabian too! No passage! Whither would the madman press? Close the doors quick on me!

Gui. Too late! He's here.

(Enter, hastily and with discomposed dress, VALENCE.)

Valence. Sir Guibert, will you help me?--Me, that come Charged by your townsmen, all who starve at Cleves, To represent their heights and depths of woe Before our Duchess and obtain relief! Such errands barricade such doors, it seems: But not a common hindrance drives me back On all the sad yet hopeful faces, lit With hope for the first time, which sent me forth. Cleves, speak for me! Cleves' men and women, speak! Who followed me--your strongest--many a mile That I might go the fresher from their ranks, --Who sit--your weakest--by the city gates, To take me fuller of what news I bring As I return--for I must needs return! --Can I? 'T were hard, no listener for their wrongs, To turn them back upon the old despair-- Harder, Sir Guibert, than imploring thus-- So, I do--any way you please--implore! If you ... but how should you remember Cleves? Yet they of Cleves remember you so well! Ay, comment on each trait of you they keep, Your words and deeds caught up at second hand,-- Proud, I believe, at bottom of their hearts, O' the very levity and recklessness Which only prove that you forget their wrongs, Cleves, the grand town, whose men and women starve, Is Cleves forgotten? Then, remember me! You promised me that you would help me once For other purpose: will you keep your word?

Gui. And who may you be, friend?

Val. Valence of Cleves.

Gui. Valence of ... not the advocate of Cleves, I owed my whole estate to, three years back? Ay, well may you keep silence! Why, my lords, You 've heard, I'm sure, how, Pentecost three years, I was so nearly ousted of my land By some knave's-pretext--(eh? when you refused me Your ugly daughter, Clugnet!)--and you've heard How I recovered it by miracle --(When I refused her!) Here's the very friend, --Valence of Cleves, all parties have to thank! Nay, Valence, this procedure's vile in you! I'm no more grateful than a courtier should, But politic am I--I bear a brain, Can cast about a little, might require Your services a second time. I tried To tempt you with advancement here to court --"No!"--well, for curiosity at least To view our life here--"No!"--our Duchess, then,-- A pretty woman's worth some pains to see, Nor is she spoiled, I take it, if a crown Complete the forehead pale and tresses pure ...

Val. Our city trusted me its miseries, And I am come.

Gui. So much for taste! But "come,"-- So may you be, for anything I know, To beg the Pope's cross, or Sir Clugnet's daughter, And with an equal chance you get all three! If it was ever worth your while to come, Was not the proper way worth finding too?

Val. Straight to the palace-portal, sir, I came--

Gui. --And said?--

Val. --That I had brought the miseries Of a whole city to relieve.

Gui. --Which saying Won your admittance? You saw me, indeed, And here, no doubt, you stand: as certainly, My intervention, I shall not dispute, Procures you audience; which, if I procure,-- That paper's closely written--by Saint Paul, Here flock the Wrongs, follow the Remedies, Chapter and verse, One, Two, A, B and C! Perhaps you'd enter, make a reverence, And launch these "miseries" from first to last?

Val. How should they let me pause or turn aside?

Gau. [To VALENCE.] My worthy sir, one question! You've come straight From Cleves, you tell us: heard you any talk At Cleves about our lady?

Val. Much.

Gau. And what?

Val. Her wish was to redress all wrongs she knew.

Gau. That, you believed?

Val. You see me, sir!

Gau. --Nor stopped Upon the road from Cleves to Juliers here, For any--rumors you might find afloat?

Val. I had my townsmen's wrongs to busy me.

Gau. This is the lady's birthday, do you know? --Her day of pleasure?

Val. --That the great, I know, For pleasure born, should still be on the watch To exclude pleasure when a duty offers: Even as, for duty born, the lowly too May ever snatch a pleasure if in reach: Both will have plenty of their birthright, sir!

Gau. [Aside to GUIBERT.] Sir Guibert, here's your man! No scruples now-- You'll never find his like! Time presses hard, I've seen your drift and Adolf's too, this while, But you can't keep the hour of audience back Much longer, and at noon the Prince arrives. [Pointing to VALENCE.] Entrust him with it--fool no chance away!

Gui. Him?

Gau. --With the missive! What's the man to her?

Gui. No bad thought!--Yet, 't is yours, who ever played The tempting serpent: else 't were no bad thought! I should--and do--mistrust it for your sake, Or else ...

(Enter an Official who communicates with ADOLF.)

Adolf. The Duchess will receive the court!

Gui. Give us a moment, Adolf! Valence, friend, I'll help you. We of the service, you're to mark, Have special entry, while the herd ... the folk Outside, get access through our help alone; --Well, it is so, was so, and I suppose So ever will be: your natural lot is, therefore, To wait your turn and opportunity, And probably miss both. Now, I engage To set you, here and in a minute's space, Before the lady, with full leave to plead Chapter and verse, and A, and B, and C, To heart's content.

Val. I grieve that I must ask,-- This being, yourself admit, the custom here,-- To what the price of such a favor mounts?

Gui. Just so! You're not without a courtier's tact. Little at court, as your quick instinct prompts, Do such as we without a recompense.

Val. Yours is?

Gui. A trifle: here 's a document 'T is some one's duty to present her Grace-- I say, not mine--these say, not theirs--such points Have weight at court. Will you relieve us all And take it? Just say, "I am bidden lay This paper at the Duchess' feet!"

Val. No more? I thank you, sir!

Adolf. Her Grace receives the court!

Gui. [Aside.] Now, sursum corda, quoth the mass-priest! Do-- Whoever's my kind saint, do let alone These pushings to and fro, and pullings back; Peaceably let me hang o' the devil's arm The downward path, if you can't pluck me off Completely! Let me live quite his, or yours! [The Courtiers _begin to range themselves, and move toward the door_. After me, Valence! So, our famous Cleves Lacks bread? Yet don't we gallants buy their lace? And dear enough--it beggars me, I know, To keep my very gloves fringed properly. This, Valence, is our Great State Hall you cross; Yon gray urn's veritable marcasite, The Pope's gift: and those salvers testify The Emperor. Presently you'll set your foot ... But you don't speak, friend Valence!

Val. I shall speak.

Gau. [Aside to GUIBERT.] Guibert--it were no such ungraceful thing If you and I, at first, seemed horror-struck With the bad news. Look here, what you shall do! Suppose you, first, clap hand to sword and cry "Yield strangers our allegiance? First I'll perish Beside your Grace!"--and so give me the cue To ...

Gui. --Clap your hand to note-book and jot down That to regale the Prince with? I conceive. [To VALENCE.] Do, Valence, speak, or I shall half suspect You're plotting to supplant us, me the first, I' the lady's favor! Is't the grand harangue You mean to make, that thus engrosses you? --Which of her virtues you'll apostrophize? Or is't the fashion you aspire to start, Of that close-curled, not unbecoming hair? Or what else ponder you?

Val. My townsmen's wrongs.

Act II

Noon. SCENE. The Presence-chamber.

The DUCHESS and SABYNE.

Duchess. Announce that I am ready for the court!

Sabyne. 'T is scarcely audience-hour, I think; your Grace May best consult your own relief, no doubt, And shun the crowd: but few can have arrived.

Duch. Let those not yet arrived, then, keep away! 'T was me, this day last year at Ravestein, You hurried. It has been full time, beside, This half-hour. Do you hesitate?

Sab. Forgive me!

Duch. Stay, Sabyne; let me hasten to make sure Of one true thanker: here with you begins My audience, claim you first its privilege! It is my birth's event they celebrate: You need not wish me more such happy days, But--ask some favor! Have you none to ask? Has Adolf none, then? this was far from least Of much I waited for impatiently, Assure yourself! It seemed so natural Your gift, beside this bunch of river-bells, Should be the power and leave of doing good To you, and greater pleasure to myself. You ask my leave to-day to marry Adolf? The rest is my concern.

Sab. Your Grace is ever Our lady of dear Ravestein,--but, for Adolf ...

Duch. "But"? You have not, sure, changed in your regard And purpose towards him?

Sab. We change?

Duch. Well then? Well?

Sab. How could we two be happy, and, most like, Leave Juliers, when--when ... but 't is audience-time!

Duch. "When, if you left me, I were left indeed!" Would you subjoin that? Bid the court approach! --Why should we play thus with each other, Sabyne? Do I not know, if courtiers prove remiss, If friends detain me, and get blame for it, There is a cause? Of last year's fervid throng Scarce one half comes now.

Sab. [Aside.] One half? No, alas!

Duch. So can the mere suspicion of a cloud Over my fortunes, strike each loyal heart. They've heard of this Prince Berthold; and, forsooth, Some foolish arrogant pretence he makes, May grow more foolish and more arrogant, They please to apprehend! I thank their love. Admit them!

Sab. [Aside.] How much has she really learned?

Duch. Surely, whoever's absent, Tristan waits? --Or at least Romuald, whom my father raised From nothing--come, he's faithful to me, come! (Sabyne, I should but be the prouder--yes, The fitter to comport myself aright) Not Romuald? Xavier--what said he to that? For Xavier hates a parasite, I know! [SABYNE goes out.

Duch. Well, sunshine's everywhere, and summer too. Next year 'tis the old place again, perhaps-- The water-breeze again, the birds again. --It cannot be! It is too late to be! What part had I, or choice in all of it? Hither they brought me; I had not to think Nor care, concern myself with doing good Or ill, my task was just--to live,--to live, And, answering ends there was no need explain, To render Juliers happy--so they said. All could not have been falsehood: some was love, And wonder and obedience. I did all They looked for: why then cease to do it now? Yet this is to be calmly set aside, And--ere next birthday's dawn, for aught I know, Things change, a claimant may arrive, and I ... It cannot nor it shall not be! His right? Well then, he has the right, and I have not, --But who bade all of you surround my life And close its growth up with your ducal crown Which, plucked off rudely, leaves me perishing? I could have been like one of you,--loved, hoped, Feared, lived and died like one of you--but you Would take that life away and give me this, And I will keep this! I will face you! Come!

(Enter the Courtiers and VALENCE.)

The Courtiers. Many such happy mornings to your Grace!

Duch. [Aside, as they pay their devoir.] The same words, the same faces,--the same love! I have been overfearful. These are few; But these, at least, stand firmly: these are mine. As many come as may; and if no more, 'T is that these few suffice--they do suffice! What succor may not next year bring me? Plainly, I feared too soon. [To the Courtiers.] I thank you, sirs: all thanks!

Val. [Aside, as the DUCHESS _passes from one group to another, conversing_.] 'T is she--the vision this day last year brought, When, for a golden moment at our Cleves, She tarried in her progress hither. Cleves Chose me to speak its welcome, and I spoke --Not that she could have noted the recluse --Ungainly, old before his time--who gazed. Well, Heaven's gifts are not wasted, and that gaze Kept, and shall keep me to the end, her own! She was above it--but so would not sink My gaze to earth! The People caught it, hers-- Thenceforward, mine; but thus entirely mine, Who shall affirm, had she not raised my soul Ere she retired and left me--them? She turns-- There 's all her wondrous face at once! The ground Reels and ... [Suddenly occupying himself with his paper.] These wrongs of theirs I have to plead!

Duch. [To the Courtiers.] Nay, compliment enough! and kindness' self Should pause before it wish me more such years. 'T was fortunate that thus, ere youth escaped, I tasted life's pure pleasure--one such, pure, Is worth a thousand, mixed--and youth 's for pleasure: Mine is received; let my age pay for it.

Gau. So, pay, and pleasure paid for, thinks your Grace, Should never go together?

Gui. How, Sir Gaucelme? Hurry one's feast down unenjoyingly At the snatched breathing-intervals of work? As good you saved it till the dull day's-end When, stiff and sleepy, appetite is gone. Eat first, then work upon the strength of food!

Duch. True: you enable me to risk my future, By giving me a past beyond recall. I lived, a girl, one happy leisure year: Let me endeavor to be the Duchess now! And so,--what news, Sir Guibert, spoke you of? [As they advance a little, and GUIBERT speaks-- --That gentleman?

Val. [Aside.] I feel her eyes on me.

Gui. [To VALENCE.] The Duchess, sir, inclines to hear your suit. Advance! He is from Cleves.

Val. [Coming forward.] [Aside.] Their wrongs--their wrongs!

Duch. And you, sir, are from Cleves? How fresh in mind, The hour or two I passed at queenly Cleves! She entertained me bravely, but the best Of her good pageant seemed its standers-by With insuppressive joy on every face! What says my ancient famous happy Cleves?

Val. Take the truth, lady--you are made for truth! So think my friends: nor do they less deserve The having you to take it, you shall think, When you know all--nay, when you only know How, on that day you recollect at Cleves, When the poor acquiescing multitude Who thrust themselves with all their woes apart Into unnoticed corners, that the few, Their means sufficed to muster trappings for, Might fill the foreground, occupy your sight With joyous faces fit to bear away And boast of as a sample of all Cleves --How, when to daylight these crept out once more, Clutching, unconscious, each his empty rags Whence the scant coin, which had not half bought bread, That morn he shook forth, counted piece by piece, And, well-advisedly, on perfumes spent them To burn, or flowers to strew, before your path --How, when the golden flood of music and bliss Ebbed, as their moon retreated, and again Left the sharp black-point rocks of misery bare --Then I, their friend, had only to suggest "Saw she the horror as she saw the pomp!" And as one man they cried, "He speaks the truth: Show her the horror! Take from our own mouths Our wrongs and show them, she will see them too!" This they cried, lady! I have brought the wrongs.

Duch. Wrongs? Cleves has wrongs--apparent now and thus? I thank you! In that paper? Give it me!

Val. (There, Cleves!) In this! (What did I promise, Cleves?) Our weavers, clothiers, spinners are reduced Since ... Oh, I crave your pardon! I forget I buy the privilege of this approach, And promptly would discharge my debt. I lay This paper humbly at the Duchess' feet. [Presenting GUIBERT'S paper.

Gui. Stay! for the present ...

Duch. Stay, sir? I take aught That teaches me their wrongs with greater pride Than this your ducal circlet. Thank you, sir! [The DUCHESS reads hastily; then, turning to the Courtiers-- What have I done to you? Your deed or mine Was it, this crowning me? I gave myself No more a title to your homage, no, Than church-flowers, born this season, wrote the words In the saint's-book that sanctified them first. For such a flower, you plucked me; well, you erred-- Well, 't was a weed; remove the eye-sore quick! But should you not remember it has lain Steeped in the candles' glory, palely shrined, Nearer God's Mother than most earthly things? --That if 't be faded 't is with prayer's sole breath-- That the one day it boasted was God's day? Still, I do thank you! Had you used respect, Here might I dwindle to my last white leaf, Here lose life's latest freshness, which even yet May yield some wandering insect rest and food: So, fling me forth, and--all is best for all! [After a pause.] Prince Berthold, who art Juliers' Duke it seems-- The King's choice, and the Emperor's, and the Pope's-- Be mine, too! Take this People! Tell not me Of rescripts, precedents, authorities, --But take them, from a heart that yearns to give! Find out their love,--I could not; find their fear,-- I would not; find their like,--I never shall, Among the flowers! [Taking off her coronet. Colombe of Ravestein Thanks God she is no longer Duchess here!

Val. [Advancing to GUIBERT.] Sir Guibert, knight, they call you--this of mine Is the first step I ever set at court. You dared make me your instrument, I find; For that, so sure as you and I are men, We reckon to the utmost presently: But as you are a courtier and I none, Your knowledge may instruct me. I, already, Have too far outraged, by my ignorance Of courtier-ways, this lady, to proceed A second step and risk addressing her: --I am degraded--you let me address! Out of her presence, all is plain enough What I shall do--but in her presence, too, Surely there's something proper to be done. [To the others.] You, gentles, tell me if I guess aright-- May I not strike this man to earth?

The Courtiers. [As GUIBERT springs forward, withholding him.] Let go! --The clothiers' spokesman, Guibert? Grace a churl?

Duch. [To VALENCE.] Oh, be acquainted with your party, sir! He's of the oldest lineage Juliers boasts; A lion crests him for a cognizance; "Scorning to waver"--that 's his 'scutcheon's word; His office with the new Duke--probably The same in honor as with me; or more, By so much as this gallant turn deserves. He 's now, I dare say, of a thousand times The rank and influence that remain with her Whose part you take! So, lest for taking it You suffer ...

Val. I may strike him then to earth?

Gui. [Falling on his knee.] Great and dear lady, pardon me! Hear once! Believe me and be merciful--be just! I could not bring myself to give that paper Without a keener pang than I dared meet --And so felt Clugnet here, and Maufroy here --No one dared meet it. Protestation's cheap,-- But, if to die for you did any good, [To GAUCELME.] Would not I die, sir? Say your worst of me! But it does no good, that's the mournful truth. And since the hint of a resistance, even, Would just precipitate, on you the first, A speedier ruin--I shall not deny, Saving myself indubitable pain, I thought to give you pleasure (who might say?) By showing that your only subject found To carry the sad notice was the man Precisely ignorant of its contents; A nameless, mere provincial advocate; One whom 't was like you never saw before, Never would see again. All has gone wrong: But I meant right, God knows, and you, I trust!

Duch. A nameless advocate, this gentleman? --(I pardon you, Sir Guibert!)

Gui. [Rising, to VALENCE.] Sir, and you?

Val. --Rejoice that you are lightened of a load. Now, you have only me to reckon with.

Duch. One I have never seen, much less obliged?

Val. Dare I speak, lady?

Duch. Dare you! Heard you not I rule no longer?

Val. Lady, if your rule Were based alone on such a ground as these [Pointing to the Courtiers. Could furnish you,--abjure it! They have hidden A source of true dominion from your sight.

Duch. You hear them--no such source is left ...

Vol. Hear Cleves! Whose haggard craftsmen rose to starve this day, Starve now, and will lie down at night to starve, Sure of a like to-morrow--but as sure Of a most unlike morrow-after-that, Since end things must, end howsoe'er things may. What curbs the brute-force instinct in its hour? What makes--instead of rising, all as one, And teaching fingers, so expert to wield Their tool, the broadsword's play or carbine's trick, --What makes that there's an easier help, they think, For you, whose name so few of them can spell, Whose face scarce one in every hundred saw,-- You simply have to understand their wrongs, And wrongs will vanish--so, still trades are plied, And swords lie rusting, and myself stand here? There is a vision in the heart of each Of justice, mercy, wisdom, tenderness To wrong and pain, and knowledge of its cure: And these embodied in a woman's form That best transmits them, pure as first received, From God above her, to mankind below. Will you derive your rule from such a ground, Or rather hold it by the suffrage, say, Of this man--this--and this?

Duch. [After a pause.] You come from Cleves: How many are at Cleves of such a mind?

Val. [From his paper.] "We, all the manufacturers of Cleves--"

Duch. Or stay, sir--lest I seem too covetous-- Are you my subject? such as you describe, Am I to you, though to no other man?

Val. [From his paper.] --"Valence, ordained your Advocate at Cleves"--

Duch. [Replacing the coronet.] Then I remain Cleves' Duchess! Take you note, While Cleves but yields one subject of this stamp, I stand her lady till she waves me off! For her sake, all the Prince claims I withhold; Laugh at each menace; and, his power defying, Return his missive with its due contempt! [Casting it away.

Gui. [Picking it up.]--Which to the Prince I will deliver, lady, (Note it down, Gaucelme)--with your message too!

Duch. I think the office is a subject's, sir! --Either ... how style you him?--my special guarder The Marshal's--for who knows but violence May follow the delivery?--Or, perhaps, My Chancellor's--for law may be to urge On its receipt!--Or, even my Chamberlain's-- For I may violate established form! [To VALENCE.] Sir,--for the half-hour till this service ends, Will you become all these to me?

Val. [Falling on his knee.] My liege!

Duch. Give me! [The Courtiers present their badges of office. [Putting them by.] Whatever was their virtue once, They need new consecration. [Raising VALENCE.] Are you mine? I will be Duchess yet! [She retires.

The Courtiers. Our Duchess yet! A glorious lady! Worthy love and dread! I'll stand by her,--and I, whate'er betide!

Gui. [To VALENCE.] Well done, well done, sir! I care not who knows, You have done nobly and I envy you-- Though I am but unfairly used, I think: For when one gets a place like this I hold, One gets too the remark that its mere wages, The pay and the preferment, make our prize. Talk about zeal and faith apart from these, We 're laughed at--much would zeal and faith subsist Without these also! Yet, let these be stopped, Our wages discontinue,--then, indeed, Our zeal and faith, (we hear on every side,) Are not released--having been pledged away I wonder, for what zeal and faith in turn? Hard money purchased me my place! No, no-- I'm right, sir--but your wrong is better still, If I had time and skill to argue it. Therefore, I say, I 'll serve you, how you please-- If you like,--fight you, as you seem to wish-- (The kinder of me that, in sober truth, I never dreamed I did you any harm) ...

Gau. --Or, kinder still, you 'll introduce, no doubt, His merits to the Prince who 's just at hand, And let no hint drop he 's made Chancellor And Chamberlain and Heaven knows what beside!

Clug. [To VALENCE.] You stare, young sir, and threaten! Let me say, That at your age, when first I came to court, I was not much above a gentleman; While now ...

Val. --You are Head-Lackey? With your office I have not yet been graced, sir!

Other Courtiers. [To CLUGNET.] Let him talk! Fidelity, disinterestedness, Excuse so much! Men claim my worship ever Who staunchly and steadfastly ...

(Enter ADOLF.)

Adolf. The Prince arrives.

Courtiers. Ha? How?

Adolf. He leaves his guard a stage behind At Aix, and enters almost by himself.

1st Court. The Prince! This foolish business puts all out.

2d Court. Let Gaucelme speak first!

3d Court. Better I began About the state of Juliers: should one say All 's prosperous and inviting him?

4th Court. --Or rather, All 's prostrate and imploring him?

5th Court. That's best. Where 's the Cleves' paper, by the way?

4th Court. [To VALENCE.] Sir--sir-- If you'll but lend that paper--trust it me, I 'll warrant ...

5th Court. Softly, sir--the Marshal's duty!

Clug. Has not the Chamberlain a hearing first By virtue of his patent?

Gau. Patents?--Duties? All that, my masters, must begin again! One word composes the whole controversy: We're simply now--the Prince's!

The Others. Ay--the Prince's!

(Enter SABYNE.)

Sab. Adolf! Bid ... Oh, no time for ceremony! Where 's whom our lady calls her only subject? She needs him. Who is here the Duchess's?

Val. [Starting from his reverie.] Most gratefully I follow to her feet.

Act III

Afternoon. SCENE. The Vestibule.

Enter PRINCE BERTHOLD and MELCHIOR.

Berthold. A thriving little burgh this Juliers looks. [Half-apart.] Keep Juliers, and as good you kept Cologne: Better try Aix, though!--

Melchior. Please 't your Highness speak?

Berth. [As before.] Aix, Cologne, Frankfort,--Milan;--Rome!--

Mel. The Grave. More weary seems your Highness, I remark, Than sundry conquerors whose path I've watched Through fire and blood to any prize they gain. I could well wish you, for your proper sake, Had met some shade of opposition here --Found a blunt seneschal refuse unlock, Or a scared usher lead your steps astray. You must not look for next achievement's palm So easily: this will hurt your conquering.

Berth. My next? Ay, as you say, my next and next! Well, I am tired, that's truth, and moody too, This quiet entrance-morning: listen why! Our little burgh, now, Juliers--'t is indeed One link, however insignificant, Of the great chain by which I reach my hope, --A link I must secure; but otherwise, You 'd wonder I esteem it worth my grasp. Just see what life is, with its shifts and turns! It happens now--this very nook--to be A place that once ... not a long while since, neither-- When I lived an ambiguous hanger-on Of foreign courts, and bore my claims about, Discarded by one kinsman, and the other A poor priest merely,--then, I say, this place Shone my ambition's object; to be Duke-- Seemed then, what to be Emperor seems now. My rights were far from judged as plain and sure In those days as of late, I promise you: And 't was my day-dream, Lady Colombe here Might e'en compound the matter, pity me, Be struck, say, with my chivalry and grace (I was a boy!)--bestow her hand at length, And make me Duke, in her right if not mine. Here am I, Duke confessed, at Juliers now. Hearken: if ever I be Emperor, Remind me what I felt and said to-day!

Mel. All this consoles a bookish man like me. --And so will weariness cling to you. Wrong, Wrong! Had you sought the lady's court yourself,-- Faced the redoubtables composing it, Flattered this, threatened that man, bribed the other,-- Pleaded by writ and word and deed, your cause,-- Conquered a footing inch by painful inch,-- And, after long years' struggle, pounced at last On her for prize,--the right life had been lived, And justice done to divers faculties Shut in that brow. Yourself were visible As you stood victor, then; whom now--(your pardon!) I am forced narrowly to search and see, So are you hid by helps--this Pope, your uncle-- Your cousin, the other King! You are a mind,-- They, body: too much of mere legs-and-arms Obstructs the mind so! Match these with their like: Match mind with mind!

Berth. And where's your mind to match? They show me legs-and-arms to cope withal! I'd subjugate this city--where's its mind?

(The Courtiers enter slowly.)

Mel. Got out of sight when you came troops and all! And in its stead, here greets you flesh-and-blood: A smug economy of both, this first! [As CLUGNET bows obsequiously. Well done, gout, all considered!--I may go?

Berth. Help me receive them!

Mel. Oh, they just will say What yesterday at Aix their fellows said,-- At Treves, the day before! Sir Prince, my friend, Why do you let your life slip thus?--Meantime, I have my little Juliers to achieve-- The understanding this tough Platonist, Your holy uncle disinterred, Amelius: Lend me a company of horse and foot, To help me through his tractate--gain my Duchy!

Berth. And Empire, after that is gained, will be--?

Mel. To help me through your uncle's comment, Prince! [Goes.

Berth. Ah? Well: he o'er-refines--the scholar's fault! How do I let my life slip? Say, this life, I lead now, differs from the common life Of other men in mere degree, not kind, Of joys and griefs,--still there is such degree Mere largeness in a life is something, sure,-- Enough to care about and struggle for, In this world: for this world, the size of things; The sort of things, for that to come, no doubt. A great is better than a little aim: And when I wooed Priscilla's rosy mouth And failed so, under that gray convent-wall, Was I more happy than I should be now [By this time, the Courtiers are ranged before him. If failing of my Empire? Not a whit. --Here comes the mind, it once had tasked me sore To baffle, but for my advantages! All's best as 'tis: these scholars talk and talk. [Seats himself.

The Courtiers. Welcome our Prince to Juliers!--to his heritage! Our dutifullest service proffer we!

Clug. I, please your Highness, having exercised The function of Grand Chamberlain at court, With much acceptance, as men testify ...

Berth. I cannot greatly thank you, gentlemen! The Pope declares my claim to the Duchy founded On strictest justice--you concede it, therefore, I do not wonder: and the kings my friends Protest they mean to see such claim enforced,-- You easily may offer to assist. But there's a slight discretionary power To serve me in the matter, you've had long, Though late you use it. This is well to say-- But could you not have said it months ago? I'm not denied my own Duke's truncheon, true-- 'T is flung me--I stoop down, and from the ground Pick it, with all you placid standers-by: And now I have it, gems and mire at once, Grace go with it to my soiled hands, you say!

Gui. (By Paul, the advocate our doughty friend Cuts the best figure!)

Gau. If our ignorance May have offended, sure our loyalty ...

Berth. Loyalty? Yours? Oh--of yourselves you speak! I mean the Duchess all this time, I hope! And since I have been forced repeat my claims As if they never had been urged before, As I began, so must I end, it seems. The formal answer to the grave demand! What says the lady?

Courtiers. [One to another.] 1st Court. Marshal! 2d Court. Orator!

Gui. A variation of our mistress' way! Wipe off his boots' dust, Clugnet!--that, he waits!

1st Court. Your place!

2d Court. Just now it was your own!

Gui. The devil's!

Berth. [To GUIBERT.] Come forward, friend--you with the paper, there! Is Juliers the first city I've obtained? By this time, I may boast proficiency In each decorum of the circumstance. Give it me as she gave it?--the petition, Demand, you style it! What 's required, in brief? What title's reservation, appanage's Allowance? I heard all at Treves, last week.

Gau. [To GUIBERT.] "Give it him as she gave it!"

Gui. And why not? [To BERTHOLD.] The lady crushed your summons thus together, And bade me, with the very greatest scorn So fair a frame could hold, inform you ...

Courtiers. Stop-- Idiot!

Gui. --Inform you she denied your claim, Defied yourself! (I tread upon his heel, The blustering advocate!)

Berth. By heaven and earth! Dare you jest, sir?

Gui. Did they at Treves, last week?

Berth. [Starting up.] Why then, I look much bolder than I knew, And you prove better actors than I thought: Since, as I live, I took you as you entered For just so many dearest friends of mine, Fled from the sinking to the rising power --The sneaking'st crew, in short, I e'er despised! Whereas, I am alone here for the moment, With every soldier left behind at Aix! Silence? That means the worst? I thought as much! What follows next?

Courtiers. Gracious Prince--he raves!

Gui. He asked the truth and why not get the truth?

Berth. Am I a prisoner? Speak, will somebody? --But why stand paltering with imbeciles? Let me see her, or ...

Gui. Her, without her leave, Shall no one see: she 's Duchess yet!

Courtiers. [Footsteps without, as they are disputing.] Good chance! She 's here--the Lady Colombe's self!

Berth. 'T is well! [Aside.] Array a handful thus against my world? Not ill done, truly! Were not this a mind To match one's mind with? Colombe! Let us wait! I failed so, under that gray convent wall! She comes.

Gui. The Duchess! Strangers, range yourselves!

[As the DUCHESS enters in conversation with VALENCE, BERTHOLD and the Courtiers fall back a little.

Duch. Presagefully it beats, presagefully, My heart: the right is Berthold's and not mine.

Val. Grant that he has the right, dare I mistrust Your power to acquiesce so patiently As you believe, in such a dream-like change Of fortune--change abrupt, profound, complete?

Duch. Ah, the first bitterness is over now! Bitter I may have felt it to confront The truth, and ascertain those natures' value I had so counted on; that was a pang: But I did bear it, and the worst is over. Let the Prince take them!

Val. And take Juliers too? --Your people without crosses, wands and chains-- Only with hearts?

Duch. There I feel guilty, sir! I cannot give up what I never had: For I ruled these, not them--these stood between. Shall I confess, sir? I have heard by stealth Of Berthold from the first; more news and more: Closer and closer swam the thunder cloud, But I was safely housed with these, I knew. At times when to the casement I would turn, At a bird's passage or a flower-trail's play, I caught the storm's red glimpses on its edge-- Yet I was sure some one of all these friends Would interpose: I followed the bird's flight Or plucked the flower--some one would interpose!

Val. Not one thought on the People--and Cleves there!

Duch. Now, sadly conscious my real sway was missed, Its shadow goes without so much regret: Else could I not again thus calmly bid you, Answer Prince Berthold!

Val. Then you acquiesce?

Duch. Remember over whom it was I ruled!

Gui. [Stepping forward.] Prince Berthold, yonder, craves an audience, lady!

Duch. [To VALENCE.] I only have to turn, and I shall face Prince Berthold! Oh, my very heart is sick! It is the daughter of a line of Dukes This scornful insolent adventurer Will bid depart from my dead father's halls! I shall not answer him--dispute with him-- But, as he bids, depart! Prevent it, sir! Sir--but a mere day's respite! Urge for me --What I shall call to mind I should have urged When time's gone by--'t will all be mine, you urge! A day--an hour--that I myself may lay My rule down! 'T is too sudden--must not be! The world's to hear of it! Once done--forever! How will it read, sir? How be sung about? Prevent it!

Berth. [Approaching.] Your frank indignation, lady, Cannot escape me. Overbold I seem; But somewhat should be pardoned my surprise At this reception,--this defiance, rather. And if, for their and your sake, I rejoice Your virtues could inspire a trusty few To make such gallant stand in your behalf, I cannot but be sorry, for my own, Your friends should force me to retrace my steps: Since I no longer am permitted speak After the pleasant peaceful course prescribed No less by courtesy than relationship-- Which I remember, if you once forgot. But never must attack pass unrepelled. Suffer that, through you, I demand of these, Who controverts my claim to Juliers?

Duch. --Me You say, you do not speak to--

Berth. Of your subjects I ask, then: whom do you accredit? Where Stand those should answer?

Val. [Advancing.] The lady is alone.

Berth. Alone, and thus? So weak and yet so bold?

Val. I said she was alone--

Berth. And weak, I said.

Val. When is man strong until he feels alone? It was some lonely strength at first, be sure, Created organs, such as those you seek, By which to give its varied purpose shape: And, naming the selected ministrants, Took sword, and shield, and sceptre,--each, a man! That strength performed its work and passed its way: You see our lady: there, the old shapes stand! --A Marshal, Chamberlain, and Chancellor-- "Be helped their way, into their death put life And find advantage!"--so you counsel us. But let strength feel alone, seek help itself,-- And, as the inland-hatched sea-creature hunts The sea's breast out,--as, littered 'mid the waves The desert-brute makes for the desert's joy, So turns our lady to her true resource, Passing o'er hollow fictions, worn-out types, --And I am first her instinct fastens on. And prompt I say, as clear as heart can speak, The People will not have you; nor shall have! It is not merely I shall go bring Cleves And fight you to the last,--though that does much, And men and children,--ay, and women too, Fighting for home, are rather to be feared Than mercenaries fighting for their pay-- But, say you beat us, since such things have been, And, where this Juliers laughed, you set your foot Upon a steaming bloody plash--what then? Stand you the more our lord that there you stand? Lord it o'er troops whose force you concentrate, A pillared flame whereto all ardors tend-- Lord it 'mid priests whose schemes you amplify, A cloud of smoke 'neath which all shadows brood-- But never, in this gentle spot of earth, Can you become our Colombe, our play-queen, For whom, to furnish lilies for her hair, We'd pour our veins forth to enrich the soil! --Our conqueror? Yes!--Our despot? Yes!--Our Duke? Know yourself, know us!

Berth. [Who has been in thought.] Know your lady, also! [Very deferentially.]--To whom I needs must exculpate myself For having made a rash demand, at least. Wherefore to you, sir, who appear to be Her chief adviser, I submit my claims, [Giving papers. But, this step taken, take no further step, Until the Duchess shall pronounce their worth. Here be our meeting-place; at night, its time: Till when I humbly take the lady's leave!

[He withdraws. As the DUCHESS turns to VALENCE, the Courtiers interchange glances and come forward a little.

1st Court. So, this was their device!

2d Court. No bad device!

3d Court. You'd say they love each other, Guibert's friend From Cleves, and she, the Duchess!

4th Court. --And moreover, That all Prince Berthold comes for, is to help Their loves!

5th Court. Pray, Guibert; what is next to do?

Gui. [Advancing.] I laid my office at the Duchess' foot--

Others. And I--and I--and I!

Duch. I took them, sirs.

Gui. [Apart to VALENCE.] And now, sir, I am simple knight again-- Guibert, of the great ancient house, as yet That never bore affront; whate'er your birth,-- As things stand now, I recognize yourself (If you'll accept experience of some date) As like to be the leading man o' the time, Therefore as much above me now, as I Seemed above you this morning. Then, I offered To fight you: will you be as generous And now fight me?

Val. Ask when my life is mine!

Gui. ('Tis hers now!)

Clug. [Apart to VALENCE, as GUIBERT turns from him.] You, sir, have insulted me Grossly,--will grant me, too, the selfsame favor You 've granted him, just now, I make no question?

Val. I promise you, as him, sir.

Clug. Do you so? Handsomely said! I hold you to it, sir. You 'll get me reinstated in my office As you will Guibert!

Duch. I would be alone!

[They begin to retire slowly: as VALENCE is about to follow--

Alone, sir--only with my heart: you stay!

Gau. You hear that? Ah, light breaks upon me! Cleves-- It was at Cleves some man harangued us all-- With great effect,--so those who listened said, My thoughts being busy elsewhere: was this he? Guibert,--your strange, disinterested man! Your uncorrupted, if uncourtly friend! The modest worth you mean to patronize! He cares about no Duchesses, not he! His sole concern is with the wrongs of Cleves! What, Guibert? What, it breaks on you at last?

Gui. Would this hall's floor were a mine's roof! I'd back And in her very face ...

Gau. Apply the match That fired the train,--and where would you be, pray?

Gui. With him!

Gau. Stand, rather, safe outside with me! The mine 's charged: shall I furnish you the match And place you properly? To the antechamber!

Gui. Can you?

Gau. Try me! Your friend 's in fortune!

Gui. Quick-- To the antechamber! He is pale with bliss!

Gau. No wonder! Mark her eyes!

Gui. To the antechamber!

[The Courtiers retire.

Duch. Sir, could you know all you have done for me You were content! You spoke, and I am saved.

Val. Be not too sanguine, lady! Ere you dream, That transient flush of generosity Fades off, perchance! The man, beside, is gone,-- Him we might bend; but see, the papers here-- Inalterably his requirement stays, And cold hard words have we to deal with now. In that large eye there seemed a latent pride, To self-denial not incompetent, But very like to hold itself dispensed From such a grace: however, let us hope! He is a noble spirit in noble form. I wish he less had bent that brow to smile As with the fancy how he could subject Himself upon occasion to--himself! From rudeness, violence, you rest secure; But do not think your Duchy rescued yet!

Duch. You, who have opened a new world to me, Will never take the faded language up Of that I leave? My Duchy--keeping it, Or losing it--is that my sole world now?

Val. Ill have I spoken if you thence despise Juliers; although the lowest, on true grounds, Be worth more than the highest rule, on false: Aspire to rule, on the true grounds!

Duch. Nay, hear-- False, I will never--rash, I would not be! This is indeed my birthday--soul and body, Its hours have done on me the work of years. You hold the requisition: ponder it! If I have right, my duty's plain: if he-- Say so, nor ever change a tone of voice! At night you meet the Prince; meet me at eve! Till when, farewell! This discomposes you? Believe in your own nature, and its force Of renovating mine! I take my stand Only as under me the earth is firm: So, prove the first step stable, all will prove. That first, I choose--[Laying her hand on his]--the next to take, choose you! [She withdraws.

Val. [After a pause.] What drew down this on me?--on me, dead once, She thus bids live,--since all I hitherto Thought dead in me, youth's ardors and emprise, Burst into life before her, as she bids Who needs them. Whither will this reach, where end? Her hand's print burns on mine ... Yet she 's above-- So very far above me! All 's too plain: I served her when the others sank away, And she rewards me as such souls reward-- The changed voice, the suffusion of the cheek, The eye's acceptance, the expressive hand, --Reward, that 's little, in her generous thought, Though all to me ... I cannot so disclaim Heaven's gift, nor call it other than it is! She loves me! [Looking at the Prince's papers.]--Which love, these, perchance, forbid. Can I decide against myself--pronounce She is the Duchess and no mate for me? --Cleves, help me! Teach me,--every haggard face,-- To sorrow and endure! I will do right Whatever be the issue. Help me, Cleves!

Act IV

Evening. SCENE. An Antechamber.

Enter the Courtiers.

Mau. Now, then, that we may speak--how spring this mine?

Gau. Is Guibert ready for its match? He cools! Not so friend Valence with the Duchess there! "Stay, Valence! Are not you my better self?" And her cheek mantled--

Gui. Well, she loves him, sir; And more,--since you will have it I grow cool,-- She 's right: he 's worth it.

Gau. For his deeds to-day? Say so!

Gui. What should I say beside?

Gau. Not this-- For friendship's sake leave this for me to say-- That we 're the dupes of an egregious cheat! This plain unpractised suitor, who found way To the Duchess through the merest die's turn-up, A year ago had seen her and been seen, Loved and been loved.

Gui. Impossible!

Gau. --Nor say, How sly and exquisite a trick, moreover, Was this which--taking not their stand on facts Boldly, for that had been endurable, But worming on their way by craft, they choose Resort to, rather,--and which you and we, Sheep-like, assist them in the playing-off! The Duchess thus parades him as preferred, Not on the honest ground of preference, Seeing first, liking more, and there an end-- But as we all had started equally, And at the close of a fair race he proved The only valiant, sage and loyal man. Herself, too, with the pretty fits and starts,-- The careless, winning, candid ignorance Of what the Prince might challenge or forego-- She had a hero in reserve! What risk Ran she? This deferential easy Prince Who brings his claims for her to ratify --He 's just her puppet for the nonce! You'll see,-- Valence pronounces, as is equitable, Against him: off goes the confederate: As equitably, Valence takes her hand!

The Chancellor. You run too fast: her hand, no subject takes. Do not our archives hold her father's will? That will provides against such accident, And gives next heir, Prince Berthold, the reversion Of Juliers, which she forfeits, wedding so.

Gau. I know that, well as you,--but does the Prince? Knows Berthold, think you, that this plan, he helps, For Valence's ennoblement,--would end, If crowned with the success which seems its due, In making him the very thing he plays, The actual Duke of Juliers? All agree That Colombe's title waived or set aside, He is next heir.

The Chan. Incontrovertibly.

Gau. Guibert, your match, now, to the train!

Gui. Enough! I 'm with you: selfishness is best again. I thought of turning honest--what a dream! Let 's wake now!

Gau. Selfish, friend, you never were: 'T was but a series of revenges taken On your unselfishness for prospering ill. But now that you 're grown wiser, what 's our course?

Gui.--Wait, I suppose, till Valence weds our lady, And then, if we must needs revenge ourselves, Apprise the Prince.

Gau. --The Prince, ere then dismissed With thanks for playing his mock part so well? Tell the Prince now, sir! Ay, this very night, Ere he accepts his dole and goes his way, Explain how such a marriage makes him Duke, Then trust his gratitude for the surprise!

Gui.--Our lady wedding Valence all the same As if the penalty were undisclosed? Good! If she loves, she 'll not disown her love, Throw Valence up. I wonder you see that.

Gau. The shame of it--the suddenness and shame! Within her, the inclining heart--without, A terrible array of witnesses-- And Valence by, to keep her to her word, With Berthold's indignation or disgust! We 'll try it!--Not that we can venture much. Her confidence we've lost forever: Berthold's Is all to gain.

Gui. To-night, then, venture we! Yet--if lost confidence might be renewed?

Gau. Never in noble natures! With the base ones,-- Twist off the crab's claw, wait a smarting-while, And something grows and grows and gets to be A mimic of the lost joint, just so like As keeps in mind it never, never will Replace its predecessor! Crabs do that: But lop the lion's foot--and ...

Gui. To the Prince!

Gau. [Aside.] And come what will to the lion's foot, I pay you, My cat's paw, as I long have yearned to pay! [Aloud.] Footsteps! Himself! 'T is Valence breaks on us, Exulting that their scheme succeeds. We 'll hence-- And perfect ours! Consult the archives, first-- Then, fortified with knowledge, seek the Hall!

Clug. [To GAUCELME as they retire.] You have not smiled so since your father died!

(As they retire, enter VALENCE with papers.)

Val. So must it be! I have examined these With scarce a palpitating heart--so calm, Keeping her image almost wholly off. Setting upon myself determined watch, Repelling to the uttermost his claims: And the result is--all men would pronounce, And not I, only, the result to be-- Berthold is heir; she has no shade of right To the distinction which divided us, But, suffered to rule first, I know not why, Her rule connived at by those Kings and Popes, To serve some devil's-purpose,--now 't is gained, Whate'er it was, the rule expires as well. --Valence, this rapture ... selfish can it be? Eject it from your heart, her home!--It stays! Ah, the brave world that opens on us both! --Do my poor townsmen so esteem it? Cleves,-- I need not your pale faces! This, reward For service done to you? Too horrible! I never served you: 't was myself I served-- Nay, served not--rather saved from punishment Which, had I failed you then, would plague me now! My life continues yours, and your life, mine. But if, to take God's gift, I swerve no step-- Cleves! If I breathe no prayer for it--if she, [Footsteps without. Colombe, that comes now, freely gives herself-- Will Cleves require, that, turning thus to her, I ...

(Enter PRINCE BERTHOLD.)

Pardon, sir! I did not look for you Till night, i' the Hall; nor have as yet declared My judgment to the lady.

Berth. So I hoped.

Val. And yet I scarcely know why that should check The frank disclosure of it first to you-- What her right seems, and what, in consequence, She will decide on.

Berth. That I need not ask.

Val. You need not: I have proved the lady's mind: And, justice being to do, dare act for her.

Berth. Doubtless she has a very noble mind.

Val. Oh, never fear but she 'll in each conjuncture Bear herself bravely! She no whit depends On circumstance; as she adorns a throne, She had adorned ...

Berth. A cottage--in what book Have I read that, of every queen that lived? A throne! You have not been instructed, sure, To forestall my request?

Val. 'T is granted, sir! My heart instructs me. I have scrutinized Your claims ...

Berth. Ah--claims, you mean, at first preferred? I come, before the hour appointed me, To pray you let those claims at present rest, In favor of a new and stronger one.

Val. You shall not need a stronger: on the part O' the lady, all you offer I accept, Since one clear right suffices: yours is clear. Propose!

Berth. I offer her my hand.

Val. Your hand?

Berth. A Duke's, yourself say; and, at no far time, Something here whispers me--an Emperor's. The lady's mind is noble: which induced This seizure of occasion: ere my claims Were--settled, let us amicably say!

Val. Your hand!

Berth. (He will fall down and kiss it next!) Sir, this astonishment's too flattering, Nor must you hold your mistress' worth so cheap. Enhance it, rather,--urge that blood is blood-- The daughter of the Burgraves, Landgraves, Markgraves, Remains their daughter! I shall scarce gainsay. Elsewhere, or here, the lady needs must rule: Like the imperial crown's great chrysoprase, They talk of--somewhat out of keeping there, And yet no jewel for a meaner cap.

Val. You wed the Duchess?

Berth. Cry you mercy, friend! Will the match also influence fortunes here? A natural solicitude enough. Be certain, no bad chance it proves for you! However high you take your present stand, There 's prospect of a higher still remove-- For Juliers will not be my resting-place, And, when I have to choose a substitute To rule the little burgh, I 'll think of you Who need not give your mates a character. And yet I doubt your fitness to supplant The gray smooth Chamberlain: he 'd hesitate A doubt his lady could demean herself So low as to accept me. Courage, sir! I like your method better: feeling's play Is franker much, and flatters me beside.

Val. I am to say, you love her?

Berth. Say that too! Love has no great concernment, thinks the world, With a Duke's marriage. How go precedents In Juliers' story--how use Juliers' Dukes? I see you have them here in goodly row; Yon must be Luitpold--ay, a stalwart sire! Say, I have been arrested suddenly In my ambition's course, its rocky course, By this sweet flower: I fain would gather it And then proceed: so say and speedily --(Nor stand there like Duke Luitpold's brazen self!) Enough, sir: you possess my mind, I think. This is my claim, the others being withdrawn, And to this be it that, i' the Hall to-night, Your lady's answer comes; till when, farewell! [He retires.

Val. [After a pause.] The heavens and earth stay as they were; my heart Beats as it beat: the truth remains the truth. What falls away, then, if not faith in her? Was it my faith, that she could estimate Love's value, and, such faith still guiding me, Dare I now test her? Or grew faith so strong Solely because no power of test was mine?

(Enter the DUCHESS.)

Duch. My fate, sir! Ah, you turn away. All 's over. But you are sorry for me? Be not so! What I might have become, and never was, Regret with me! What I have merely been, Rejoice I am no longer! What I seem Beginning now, in my new state, to be, Hope that I am!--for, once my rights proved void, This heavy roof seems easy to exchange For the blue sky outside--my lot henceforth.

Val. And what a lot is Berthold's!

Duch. How of him?

Val. He gathers earth's whole good into his arms; Standing, as man now, stately, strong and wise, Marching to fortune, not surprised by her. One great aim, like a guiding-star, above-- Which tasks strength, wisdom, stateliness, to lift His manhood to the height that takes the prize; A prize not near--lest overlooking earth He rashly spring to seize it--nor remote, So that he rest upon his path content: But day by day, while shimmering grows shine, And the faint circlet prophesies the orb, He sees so much as, just evolving these, The stateliness, the wisdom and the strength, To due completion, will suffice this life, And lead him at his grandest to the grave. After this star, out of a night he springs; A beggar's cradle for the throne of thrones He quits; so, mounting, feels each step he mounts, Nor, as from each to each exultingly He passes, overleaps one grade of joy. This, for his own good:--with the world, each gift Of God and man,--reality, tradition, Fancy and fact--so well environ him, That as a mystic panoply they serve-- Of force, untenanted, to awe mankind, And work his purpose out with half the world, While he, their master, dexterously slipt From such encumbrance, is meantime employed With his own prowess on the other half. Thus shall he prosper, every day's success Adding, to what is he, a solid strength-- An aëry might to what encircles him, Till at the last, so life's routine lends help, That as the Emperor only breathes and moves, His shadow shall be watched, his step or stalk Become a comfort or a portent, how He trails his ermine take significance,-- Till even his power shall cease to be most power, And men shall dread his weakness more, nor dare Peril their earth its bravest, first and best, Its typified invincibility. Thus shall he go on, greatening, till he ends-- The man of men, the spirit of all flesh, The fiery centre of an earthly world!

Duch. Some such a fortune I had dreamed should rise Out of my own--that is, above my power Seemed other, greater potencies to stretch--

Val. For you?

Duch. It was not I moved there, I think: But one I could,--though constantly beside, And aye approaching,--still keep distant from, And so adore. 'T was a man moved there.

Val. Who?

Duch. I felt the spirit, never saw the face.

Val. See it! 'T is Berthold's! He enables you To realize your vision.

Duch. Berthold?

Val. Duke-- Emperor to be: he proffers you his hand.

Duch. Generous and princely!

Val. He is all of this.

Duch. Thanks, Berthold, for my father's sake. No hand Degrades me!

Val. You accept the proffered hand?

Duch. That he should love me!

Val. "Loved" I did not say. Had that been--love might so incline the Prince To the world's good, the world that 's at his foot,-- I do not know, this moment, I should dare Desire that you refused the world--and Cleves-- The sacrifice he asks.

Duch. Not love me, sir?

Val. He scarce affirmed it.

Duch. May not deeds affirm?

Val. What does he? ... Yes, yes, very much he does! All the shame saved, he thinks, and sorrow saved-- Immitigable sorrow, so he thinks,-- Sorrow that 's deeper than we dream, perchance!

Duch. Is not this love?

Val. So very much he does! For look, you can descend now gracefully: All doubts are banished, that the world might have, Or worst, the doubts yourself, in after-time, May call up of your heart's sincereness now. To such, reply, "I could have kept my rule-- Increased it to the utmost of my dreams-- Yet I abjured it." This, he does for you: It is munificently much.

Duch. Still "much!" But why is it not love, sir? Answer me!

Val. Because not one of Berthold's words and looks Had gone with love's presentment of a flower To the beloved: because bold confidence, Open superiority, free pride-- Love owns not, yet were all that Berthold owned: Because where reason, even, finds no flaw, Unerringly a lover's instinct may.

Duch. You reason, then, and doubt?

Val. I love, and know.

Duch. You love? How strange! I never cast a thought On that! Just see our selfishness! You seemed So much my own ... I had no ground--and yet, I never dreamed another might divide My power with you, much less exceed it.

Val. Lady, I am yours wholly.

Duch. Oh, no, no, not mine! 'T is not the same now, never more can be. --Your first love, doubtless. Well, what's gone from me? What have I lost in you?

Val. My heart replies-- No loss there! So, to Berthold back again: This offer of his hand, he bids me make-- Its obvious magnitude is well to weigh.

Duch. She 's ... yes, she must be very fair for you!

Val. I am a simple advocate of Cleves.

Duch. You! With the heart and brain that so helped me, I fancied them exclusively my own, Yet find are subject to a stronger sway! She must be ... tell me, is she very fair?

Val. Most fair, beyond conception or belief.

Duch. Black eyes?--no matter! Colombe, the world leads Its life without you, whom your friends professed The only woman--see how true they spoke! One lived this while, who never saw your face, Nor heard your voice--unless ... Is she from Cleves?

Val. Cleves knows her well.

Duch. Ah--just a fancy, now! When you poured forth the wrongs of Cleves,--I said, --Thought, that is, afterward ...

Val. You thought of me?

Duch. Of whom else? Only such great cause, I thought, For such effect: see what true love can do! Cleves is his love. I almost fear to ask ... And will not. This is idling: to our work! Admit before the Prince, without reserve, My claims misgrounded; then may follow better ... When you poured out Cleves' wrongs impetuously, Was she in your mind?

Val. All done was done for her --To humble me!

Duch. She will be proud at least.

Val. She?

Duch. When you tell her.

Val. That will never be.

Duch. How--are there sweeter things you hope to tell? No, sir! You counselled me,--I counsel you In the one point I--any woman--can. Your worth, the first thing; let her own come next-- Say what you did through her, and she through you-- The praises of her beauty afterward! Will you?

Val. I dare not.

Duch. Dare not?

Val. She I love Suspects not such a love in me.

Duch. You jest.

Val. The lady is above me and away. Not only the brave form, and the bright mind, And the great heart, combine to press me low-- But all the world calls rank divides us.

Duch. Rank! Now grant me patience! Here 's a man declares Oracularly in another's case-- Sees the true value and the false, for them-- Nay, bids them see it, and they straight do see. You called my court's love worthless--so it turned: I threw away as dross my heap of wealth, And here you stickle for a piece or two! First--has she seen you?

Val. Yes.

Duch. She loves you, then.

Val. One flash of hope burst; then succeeded night: And all 's at darkest now. Impossible!

Duch. We 'll try: you are--so to speak--my subject yet?

Val. As ever--to the death.

Duch. Obey me, then!

Val. I must.

Duch. Approach her, and ... no! first of all Get more assurance. "My instructress," say, "Was great, descended from a line of kings, And even fair"--(wait why I say this folly)-- "She said, of all men, none for eloquence, Courage, and" (what cast even these to shade) "The heart they sprung from,--none deserved like him Who saved her at her need: if she said this, What should not one I love, say?"

Val. Heaven--this hope-- Oh, lady, you are filling me with fire!

Duch. Say this!--nor think I bid you cast aside One touch of all the awe and reverence; Nay, make her proud for once to heart's content That all this wealth of heart and soul's her own! Think you are all of this,--and, thinking it, ... (Obey!)

Val. I cannot choose.

Duch. Then, kneel to her! [VALENCE sinks on his knee. I dream!

Val. Have mercy! Yours, unto the death,-- I have obeyed. Despise, and let me die!

Duch. Alas, sir, is it to be ever thus? Even with you as with the world? I know This morning's service was no vulgar deed Whose motive, once it dares avow itself, Explains all done and infinitely more, So, takes the shelter of a nobler cause. Your service named its true source,--loyalty! The rest 's unsaid again. The Duchess bids you, Rise, sir! The Prince's words were in debate.

Val. [Rising.] Rise? Truth, as ever, lady, comes from you! I should rise--I who spoke for Cleves, can speak For Man--yet tremble now, who stood firm then. I laughed--for 't was past tears--that Cleves should starve With all hearts beating loud the infamy, And no tongue daring trust as much to air: Yet here, where all hearts speak, shall I be mute? Oh, lady, for your own sake look on me! On all I am, and have, and do--heart, brain, Body and soul,--this Valence and his gifts! I was proud once: I saw you, and they sank, So that each, magnified a thousand times, Were nothing to you--but such nothingness, Would a crown gild it, or a sceptre prop, A treasure speed, a laurel-wreath enhance? What is my own desert? But should your love Have ... there 's no language helps here ... singled me,-- Then--oh, that wild word "then!"--be just to love, In generosity its attribute! Love, since you pleased to love! All 's cleared--a stage For trial of the question kept so long: Judge you--Is love or vanity the best? You, solve it for the world's sake--you, speak first What all will shout one day--you, vindicate Our earth and be its angel! All is said. Lady, I offer nothing--I am yours: But, for the cause' sake, look on me and him, And speak!

Duch. I have received the Prince's message: Say, I prepare my answer!

Val. Take me, Cleves!

[He withdraws.

Duch. Mournful--that nothing 's what it calls itself! Devotion, zeal, faith, loyalty--mere love! And, love in question, what may Berthold's be? I did ill to mistrust the world so soon: Already was this Berthold at my side. The valley-level has its hawks, no doubt: May not the rock-top have its eagles, too? Yet Valence ... let me see his rival then!