SCENE—A Farm-house on the Rhine (About a mile from the Convent).HUGO in chamber alone. Enter ERIC.
Eric:What, Hugo, still at the Rhine! I thoughtYou were home. You have travell'd by stages short.Hugo (with hesitation):Our homeward march was labour in vain,We had to retrace our steps again;It was here or hereabouts that I lostSome papers of value; at any costI must find them; and which way lies your course?Eric:I go to recruit Prince Otto's force.I cannot study as you do; IAm wearied with inactivity;So I carry a blade engrim'd with rust(That a hand sloth-slacken'd has, I trust,Not quite forgotten the way to wield),To strike once more on the tented field.Hugo:Fighting is all a mistake, friend Eric,And has been so since the age Homeric,When Greece was shaken and Troy undone,Ten thousand lives for a worthless one.Yet I blame you not; you might well do worse;Better fight and perish than live to curseThe day you were born; and such has beenThe lot of many, and shall, I ween,Be the lot of more. If Thurston choosesHe may go with you. The blockhead abusesMe and the life I lead.Enter ORION.Orion: Great news!The Englemehr monks will shake in their shoes;In the soles of their callous feet will shakeThe barefooted friars. The nuns will quake.Hugo: Wherefore?Orion: The outlaw of RothensteinHas come with his soldiers to the Rhine,Back'd by those hardy adventurersFrom the northern forests of pines and firs,And Dagobert's horse. They march as straightAs the eagle swoops to the convent gate.Hugo:We must do something to save the place.Orion:They are sure to take it in any case,Unless the sum that they ask is paid.Eric:Some effort on our part must be made.Hugo:'Tis not so much for the monks I care.Eric:Nor I; but the Abbess and nuns are there.Orion:'Tis not our business; what can we do?They are too many, and we are too few;And yet, I suppose, you will save, if you can,That lady, your ward, or your kinswoman.Hugo:She is no kinswoman of mine;How far is Otto's camp from the Rhine?Orion:Too far for help in such time of needTo be brought, though you used your utmost speed.Eric:Nay, that I doubt.Hugo: And how many menHave they?Orion: To your one they could muster ten.Eric:I know Count Rudolph, and terms may be madeWith him, I fancy; for though his tradeIs a rough one now, gainsay it who can,He was once a knight and a gentleman.And Dagobert, the chief of the Huns,Bad as he is, will spare the nuns;Though neither he nor the Count could checkThose lawless men, should they storm and sackThe convent. Jarl Osric, too, I know;He is rather a formidable foe,And will likely enough be troublesome;But the others, I trust, to terms will come.Hugo:Eric, how many men have you?I can count a score.Eric: I have only two.Hugo:At every hazard we must try to saveThe nuns.Eric: Count Rudolph shall think we haveA force that almost equals his own,If I can confer with him alone.Orion:He is close at hand; by this time he waitsThe Abbot's reply at the convent gates.Hugo:We had better send him a herald.Eric: Nay,I will go myself. [Eric goes out.]Hugo: Orion, stay!So this is the reed on which I've leaned,These are the hopes thou hast fostered, theseThe flames thou hast fanned. Oh, lying fiend!Is it thus thou dost keep thy promises?Orion:Strong language, Hugo, and most unjust;You will cry out before you are hurt—You will live to recall your words, I trust.Fear nothing from Osric or Dagobert,These are your friends, if you only knew it,And would take the advice of a friend sincere;Neglect his counsels and you must rue it,For I know by a sign the crisis is near.Accept the terms of these outlaws all,And be thankful that things have fallen outExactly as you would have had them fall—You may save the one that you care about;Otherwise, how did you hope to gainAccess to her—on what pretence?What were the schemes that worried your brainTo tempt her there or to lure her thence?You must have bungled, and raised a scandalAbout your ears, that might well have shamedThe rudest Hun, the veriest Vandal,Long or ever the bird was tamed.Hugo:The convent is scarce surrounded yet,We might reach and hold it against their forceTill another sun has risen and set;And should I despatch my fleetest horseTo Otto——Orion: For Abbot, or Monk, or Friar,Between ourselves, 'tis little you careIf their halls are harried by steel and fire:Their avarice left your heritage bare.Forsake them! Mitres, and cowls, and hoodsWill cover vices while earth endures;Through the green and gold of the summer woodsRide out with that pretty bird of yours.If again you fail to improve your chance,Why, then, my friend, I can only sayYou are duller far than the dullest lanceThat rides in Dagobert's troop this day."Faemina semper", frown not thus,The girl was always giddy and wild,Vain, and foolish, and frivolous,Since she fled from her father's halls, a child.I sought to initiate you onceIn the mystic lore of the old Chaldean;But I found you far too stubborn a dunce,And your tastes are coarser and more plebeian.Yet mark my words, for I read the stars,And trace the future in yonder sky;To the right are wars and rumours of wars,To the left are peace and prosperity.Fear naught. The world shall never detectThe cloven hoof, so carefully hidBy the scholar so staid and circumspect,So wise for once to do as he's bid.Remember what pangs come year by yearFor opportunity that has fled;And Thora in ignorance.Hugo: Name not her!I am sorely tempted to strike thee dead!Orion:Nay, I hardly think you will take my life,The angel Michael was once my foe;He had a little the best of our strife,Yet he never could deal so stark a blow.
SCENE—A Chamber in the Nuns' Apartments of the Convent.AGATHA and URSULA.
Agatha:My sire in my childhood pledged my handTo Hugo—I know not why—They were comrades then, 'neath the Duke's command,In the wars of Lombardy.I thought, ere my summers had turned sixteen,That mine was a grievous case;Save once, for an hour, I had never seenMy intended bridegroom's face;And maidens vows of their own will plight.Unknown to my kinsfolk allMy love was vowed to a Danish knight,A guest in my father's hall.His foot fell lightest in merry dance,His shaft never missed the deer;He could fly a hawk, he could wield a lance,Our wildest colt he could steer.His deep voice ringing through hall or glenHad never its match in song;And little was known of his past life then,Or of Dorothea's wrong.I loved him—Lady Abbess, I knowThat my love was foolish now;I was but a child five years ago,And thoughtless as bird on bough.One evening Hugo the Norman came,And, to shorten a weary tale,I fled that night (let me bear the blame)With Harold by down and dale.He had mounted me on a dappled steed,And another of coal-black hueHe rode himself; and away at speedWe fled through mist and dew.Of miles we had ridden some half a score,We had halted beside a spring,When the breeze to our ears through the still night boreA distant trample and ring;We listen'd one breathing space, and caughtThe clatter of mounted men,With vigour renewed by their respite shortOur horses dash'd through the glen.Another league, and we listen'd in vain;The breeze to our ears came mute;But we heard them again on the spacious plain,Faint tidings of hot pursuit.In the misty light of a moon half hidBy the dark or fleecy rack,Our shadows over the moorland slid,Still listening and looking back.So we fled (with a cheering word to sayAt times as we hurried on),From sounds that at intervals died away,And at intervals came anon.Another league, and my lips grew dumb,And I felt my spirit quailing,For closer those sounds began to come,And the speed of my horse was failing."The grey is weary and lame to boot,"Quoth Harold; "the black is strong,And their steeds are blown with their fierce pursuit,What wonder! our start was long.Now, lady, behind me mount the black,The double load he can bear;We are safe when we reach the forest track,Fresh horses and friends wait there."Then I sat behind him and held his waist,And faster we seemed to goBy moss and moor; but for all our hasteCame the tramp of the nearing foe.A dyke through the mist before us hover'd,And, quicken'd by voice and heel,The black overleap'd it, stagger'd, recover'd;Still nearer that muffled peal.And louder on sward the hoof-strokes grew,And duller, though not less nigh,On deader sand; and a dark speck drewOn my vision suddenly,And a single horseman in fleet career,Like a shadow appear'd to glideTo within six lances' lengths of our rear,And there for a space to bide.Quoth Harold, "Speak, has the moon reveal'dHis face?" I replied, "Not so!Yet 'tis none of my kinsfolk." Then he wheel'dIn the saddle and scanned the foe,And mutter'd, still gazing in our wake,"'Tis he; now I will not fightThe brother again, for the sister's sake,While I can escape by flight.""Who, Harold?" I asked; but he never spoke.By the cry of the bittern harsh,And the bull-frog's dull, discordant croak,I guess'd that we near'd the marsh;And the moonbeam flash'd on watery sedgeAs it broke from a strip of cloud,Ragged and jagged about the edge,And shaped like a dead man's shroud.And flagg'd and falter'd our gallant steed,'Neath the weight of his double burden,As we splash'd through water and crash'd through reed;Then the soil began to harden,And again we gain'd, or we seem'd to gain,With our foe in the deep morass;But those fleet hoofs thunder'd, and gain'd again,When they trampled the firmer grass,And I cried, and Harold again look'd back,And bade me fasten mine eyes onThe forest, that loom'd like a patch of blackStanding out from the faint horizon."Courage, sweetheart! we are saved," he said;"With the moorland our danger ends,And close to the borders of yonder gladeThey tarry, our trusty friends."Where the mossy uplands rise and dipOn the edge of the leafy dell,With a lurch, like the lurch of a sinking ship,The black horse toppled and fell.Unharm'd we lit on the velvet sward,And even as I lit I lay,But Harold uprose, unsheath'd his sword,And toss'd the scabbard away.And spake through his teeth, "Good brother-in-law,Forbearance, at last, is spent;The strife that thy soul hath lusted forThou shalt have to thy soul's content!"While he spoke, our pursuer past us swept,Ere he rein'd his war-horse proud,To his haunches flung, then to the earth he leapt,And my lover's voice rang loud:"Thrice welcome! Hugo of Normandy,Thou hast come at our time of need,This lady will thank thee, and so will I,For the loan of thy sorrel steed!"And never a word Lord Hugo said,They clos'd 'twixt the wood and the wold,And the white steel flickered over my headIn the moonlight calm and cold;'Mid the feathery grasses crouching low,With face bow'd down to the dust,I heard the clash of each warded blow,The click of each parried thrust,And the shuffling feet that bruis'd the lawn,As they traversed here and there,And the breath through the clench'd teeth heavily drawnWhen breath there was none to spare;Sharp ringing sword play, dull, trampling heel,Short pause, spent force to regain,Quick muffled footfall, harsh grating steel,Sharp ringing rally again;They seem'd long hours, those moments fleet,As I counted them one by one,Till a dead weight toppled across my feet,And I knew that the strife was done.When I looked up, after a little space,As though from a fearful dream,The moon was flinging on Harold's faceA white and a weird-like gleam;And I felt mine ankles moist and warmWith the blood that trickled slowFrom a spot on the doublet beneath his arm,From a ghastly gash on his brow;I heard the tread of the sorrel's hoofAs he bore his lord away;They passed me slowly, keeping aloof,Like spectres, misty and grey.I thought Lord Hugo had left me thereTo die, but it was not so;Yet then for death I had little care,My soul seem'd numb'd by the blow;A faintness follow'd, a sickly swoon,A long and a dreamless sleep,And I woke to the light of a sultry noonIn my father's castled keep.And thus, Lady Abbess, it came to passThat my father vow'd his vow;Must his daughter espouse the Church? Alas!Is she better or wiser now?For some are feeble and others strong,And feeble am I and frail.Mother! 'tis not that I love the wrong,'Tis not that I loathe the veil,But with heart still ready to go astray,If assail'd by a fresh temptation,I could sin again as I sinned that day,For a girl's infatuation.See! Harold, the Dane, thou say'st is dead,Yet I weep NOT BITTERLY;As I fled with the Dane, so I might have fledWith Hugo of Normandy.Ursula:My child, I advise no hasty vows,Yet I pray that in life's brief spanThou may'st learn that our Church is a fairer spouseThan fickle and erring man;Though fenced for a time by the Church's pale,When that time expires thou'rt free;And we cannot force thee to take the veil,Nay, we scarce can counsel thee.Enter the ABBOT hastily.Basil (the Abbot):I am sorely stricken with shame and grief,It has come by the self-same sign,A summons brief from the outlaw'd chief,Count Rudolph of Rothenstein.Lady Abbess, ere worse things come to pass,I would speak with thee alone;Alack and alas! for by the rood and massI fear we are all undone.
SCENE—A Farm-house Near the Convent.A Chamber furnished with writing materials. HUGO, ERIC, and THURSTONon one side; on the other OSRIC, RUDOLPH, and DAGOBERT.
Osric:We have granted too much, ye ask for more;I am not skill'd in your clerkly lore,I scorn your logic; I had rather dieThan live like Hugo of Normandy:I am a Norseman, frank and plain;Ye must read the parchment over again.Eric:Jarl Osric, twice we have read this scroll.Osric:Thou hast read a part.Eric: I have read the whole.Osric:Aye, since I attached my signature!Eric:Before and since!Rudolph: Nay, of this be sure,Thou hast signed; in fairness now let it rest.Osric:I had rather have sign'd upon Hugo's crest;He has argued the question mouth to mouthWith the wordy lore of the subtle south;Let him or any one of his bandCome and argue the question hand to hand.With the aid of my battle-axe I will showThat a score of words are not worth one blow.Thurston:To the devil with thee and thy battle-axe;I would send the pair of ye back in your tracks,With an answer that even to thy boorish brainWould scarce need repetition again.Osric:Thou Saxon slave to a milksop knight,I will give thy body to raven and kite.Thurston:Thou liest; I am a freeborn man,And thy huge carcase—in cubit and spanLike the giant's of Gath—'neath Saxon steel,Shall furnish the kites with a fatter meal.Osric:Now, by Odin!Rudolph: Jarl Osric, curb thy wrath;Our names are sign'd, our words have gone forth.Hugo:I blame thee, Thurston.Thurston: And I, too, blameMyself, since I follow a knight so tame![Thurston goes out.]Osric:The Saxon hound, he said I lied!Rudolph:I pray thee, good Viking, be pacified.Osric:Why do we grant the terms they ask?To crush them all were an easy task.Dagobert:That know'st thou not; if it come to war,They are stronger, perhaps, than we bargain for.Eric:Jarl Osric, thou may'st recall thy words—Should we meet again.Osric: Should we meet with swords,Thou, too, may'st recall them to thy sorrow.Hugo:Eric! we dally. Sir Count, good-morrow.
SCENE—The Guest Chamber of the Convent.HUGO, ERIC, and ORION.
Eric:Hugo, their siege we might have tried;This place would be easier fortifiedThan I thought at first; it is now too late,They have cut off our access to the gate.Hugo:I have weigh'd the chances and counted the cost,And I know by the stars that all is lostIf we take up this quarrel.Eric: So let it be!I yield to one who is wiser than me. (Aside.)Nevertheless, I have seen the dayWhen the stars would scarcely have bade us stay.Enter the ABBOT, CYRIL, and other Monks.Hugo:Lord Abbot, we greet thee. Good fathers all,We bring you greeting.Orion (aside): And comfort small.Abbot:God's benediction on you, my sons.Hugo:May He save you, too, from Norsemen and Huns!Since the gates are beleaguer'd and walls begirtBy the forces of Osric and Dagobert;'Tis a heavy price that the knaves demand.Abbot:Were we to mortgage the Church's landWe never could raise what they would extort.Orion (aside):The price is too long and the notice too short.Eric:And you know the stern alternative.Abbot:If we die we die, if we live we live;God's will be done; and our trust is sureIn Him, though His chast'nings we endure.Two messengers rode from here last night,To Otto they carry news of our plight;On my swiftest horses I saw them go.Orion (aside):Then his swiftest horses are wondrous slow.Eric:One of these is captive and badly hurt;By the reckless riders of DagobertHe was overtaken and well-nigh slain,Not a league from here on the open plain.Abbot:But the other escap'd.Eric: It may be so;We had no word of him, but we knowThat unless you can keep these walls for a dayAt least, the Prince is too far awayTo afford relief.Abbot: Then a hopeless caseIs ours, and with death we are face to face.Eric:You have arm'd retainers.Cyril (a Monk): Aye, some half score;And some few of the brethren, less or more,Have in youth the brunt of the battle bided,Yet our armoury is but ill provided.Hugo:We have terms of truce from the robbers in chief,Though the terms are partial, the truce but brief;To Abbess, to nuns, and novices all,And to every woman within your wall,We can offer escort, and they shall rideFrom hence in safety whate'er betide.Abbot:What escort, Hugo, canst thou afford?Hugo:Some score of riders who call me lordBide at the farm not a mile from here,Till we rejoin them they will not stir;My page and armourer wait below,And all our movements are watch'd by the foe.Strict stipulation was made, of course,That, except ourselves, neither man nor horseShould enter your gates—they were keen to shunThe chance of increasing your garrison.Eric:I hold safe conduct here in my hand,Signed by the chiefs of that lawless band;See Rudolph's name, no disgrace to a clerk,And Dagobert's scrawl, and Osric's mark;Jarl signed sorely against his will,With a scratch like the print of a raven's bill;But the foe have muster'd in sight of the gate.For another hour they will scarcely wait;Bid Abbess and dame prepare with haste.Hugo:Lord Abbot, I tell thee candidlyThere is no great love between thou and I,As well thou know'st; but, nevertheless,I would we were more, or thy foes were less.Abbot:I will summon the Lady Abbess straight.[The Abbot and Monks go out.]Eric:'Tis hard to leave these men to their fate,Norsemen and Hun will never relent;Their day of grace upon earth is spent.[Hugo goes out, followed by Orion.]
SCENE—The Corridor Outside the Guest Chamber.HUGO pacing up and down. ORION leaning against the wall.
Hugo:My day of grace with theirs is past.I might have saved them; 'tis too late—Too late for both. The die is cast,And I resign me to my fate.God's vengeance I await.Orion:The boundary 'twixt right and wrongIs not so easy to discern;And man is weak, and fate is strong,And destiny man's hopes will spurn,Man's schemes will overturn.Hugo:Thou liest, thou fiend! Not unawaresThe sinner swallows Satan's bait,Nor pits conceal'd nor hidden snaresSeeks blindly; wherefore dost thou prateOf destiny and fate?Orion:Who first named fate? But never mind,Let that pass by—to Adam's fallAnd Adam's curse look back, and findIniquity the lot of all,And sin original.Hugo:But I have sinn'd, repented, sinn'd,Till seven times that sin may beBy seventy multiplied; the windIs constant when compared with me,And stable is the sea!My hopes are sacrificed, for what?For days of folly, less or more,For years to see those dead hopes rot,Like dead weeds scatter'd on the shore,Beyond the surfs that roar!Orion:The wiles of Eve are swift to smite;Aye, swift to smite and not to spare—Red lips and round limbs sweet and white,Dark eyes and sunny, silken hair,Thy betters may ensnare.Hugo:Not so; the strife 'twixt hell and heavenI felt last night, and well I knewThe crisis; but my aid was givenTo hell. Thou'st known the crisis too,For once thou'st spoken true.Having foretold it, there remainsFor grace no time, for hope no room;Even now I seem to feel the painsOf hell, that wait beyond the gloomOf my dishonour'd tomb.Thou who hast lived and died to save,Us sinners, Christ of Galilee!Thy great love pardon'd and forgaveThe dying thief upon the tree,Thou canst not pardon me!Dear Lord! hear Thou my latest prayer,For prayer must die since hope is dead;Thy Father's vengeance let me bear,Nor let my guilt be visitedUpon a guiltless head!Ah! God is just! Full sure I amHe never did predestinateOur souls to hell. Ourselves we damn—[To Orion, with sudden passion]Serpent! I know thee now, too late;Curse thee! Work out thy hate!Orion:I hate thee not; thy grievous plightWould move my pity, but I bearA curse to which thy curse seems light!Thy wrong is better than my right,My day is darker than thy night;Beside the whitest hope I shareHow white is thy despair!
SCENE—The Chapel of the Convent.URSULA, AGATHA, Nuns and Novices.
(Hymn of the Nuns):Jehovah! we bless Thee,All works of Thine handExtol Thee, confess Thee;By sea and by land,By mountain and river,By forest and glen,They praise Thee for ever!And ever! Amen!The heathen are ragingAgainst Thee, O Lord!The ungodly are wagingRash war against God!Arise, and deliverUs, sheep of Thy pen,Who praise Thee for ever!And ever! Amen!Thou Shepherd of Zion!Thy firstlings didst tearFrom jaws of the lion,From teeth of the bear;Thy strength to deliverIs strong now as then.We praise Thee for ever!And ever! Amen!Thine arm hath deliveredThy servants of old,Hath scatter'd and shiver'dThe spears of the bold,Hath emptied the quiverOf bloodthirsty men.We praise Thee for ever!And ever! Amen!Nathless shall Thy right handThose counsels fulfilMost wise in Thy sight, andWe bow to Thy will;Thy children quail neverFor dungeon or den,They praise Thee for ever!And ever! Amen!Though fierce tribulationEndure for a space,Yet God! our salvation!We gain by Thy grace,At end of life's fever,Bliss passing man's ken;There to praise Thee for ever!And ever! Amen!
SCENE—The Guest Room of the Convent.HUGO, ERIC, and ORION. Enter URSULA, AGATHA, and Nuns.
Ursula:Hugo, we reject thine offers,Not that we can buySafety from the Church's coffers,Neither can we fly.Far too great the price they seek is,Let their lawless throngCome, we wait their coming; weak isMan, but God is strong.Eric:Think again on our proposals:It will be too lateWhen the robbers hold carousalsOn this side the gate.Ursula:For myself I speak and othersWeak and frail as I;We will not desert our brothersIn adversity.Hugo (to the Nuns):Does the Abbess thus advance herWill before ye all?A Nun:We will stay.Hugo: Is this thine answer,Agatha? The wallIs a poor protection truly,And the gates are weak,And the Norsemen most unruly.Come, then.A Nun (to Agatha): Sister, speak!Orion (aside to Hugo):Press her! She her fears dissembling,Stands irresolute;She will yield—her limbs are trembling,Though her lips are mute.[A trumpet is heard without.]Eric:Hark! their savage war-horn blowingChafes at our delay.Hugo:Agatha, we must be going.Come, girl!Agatha (clinging to Ursula): Must I stay?Ursula:Nay, my child, thou shalt not make meJudge; I cannot giveOrders to a novice.Agatha: Take me,Hugo! Let me live!Eric (to Nuns):Foolish women! will ye tarry,Spite of all we say?Hugo:Must we use our strength and carryYou by force away?Ursula:Bad enough thou art, Sir Norman,Yet thou wilt not doThis thing. Shame!—on men make war, man,Not on women few.Eric:Heed her not—her life she barters,Of her free accord,For her faith; and, doubtless, martyrsHave their own reward.Ursula:In the Church's cause thy fatherNever grudged his blade—Hugo, did he rue it?Orion: Rather!He was poorly paid.Hugo:Abbess, this is not my doing;I have said my say;How can I avert the ruin,Even for a day,Since they count two hundred fairly,While we count a score;And thine own retainers barelyCount a dozen more?Agatha (kneeling to Ursula):Ah! forgive me, Lady Abbess,Bless me ere I go;She who under sod and slab isLying, cold and low,Scarce would turn away in angerFrom a child so frail;Not dear life, but deadly danger,Makes her daughter quail.Hugo:Eric, will those faces tearfulTo God's judgment seatHaunt us?Eric: Death is not so fearful.Hugo: No, but life is sweet—Sweet for once, to me, though sinful.Orion (to Hugo): Earth is scant of bliss;Wisest he who takes his skinfulWhen the chance is his.(To Ursula):Lady Abbess! stay and welcomeOsric's savage crew;Yet when pains of death and hell come,Thou thy choice may'st rue.Ursula (to Orion):What dost thou 'neath roof-trees sacred?Man or fiend, depart!Orion:Dame, thy tongue is sharp and acrid,Yet I bear the smart.Ursula (advancing and raising up a crucifix):I conjure thee by this symbolLeave us![Orion goes out hastily.]Hugo: Ha! the knave,He has made an exit nimble;Abbess! thou art brave.Yet once gone, we're past recalling,Let no blame be mine.See, thy sisters' tears are fallingFast, and so are thine.Ursula:Fare you well! The teardrop splashesVainly on the ice.Ye will sorrow o'er our ashesAnd your cowardice.Eric:Sorry am I, yet my sorrowCannot alter fate;Should Prince Otto come to-morrow,He will come too late.Hugo:Nay, old comrade, she hath spokenWords we must not hear;Shall we pause for sign or token—Taunted twice with fear?Yonder, hilt to hilt adjusted,Stand the swords in which we trustedYears ago. Their blades have rusted,So, perchance, have we.Ursula! thy words may shame us,Yet we once were counted famous,Morituri, salutamus,Aut victuri, te! [They go out.]
SCENE—The Outskirts of Rudolph's Camp.RUDOLPH, OSRIC, and DAGOBERT. HUGO.
Rudolph:Lord Hugo! thy speech is madness;Thou hast tax'd our patience too far;We offer'd thee peace—with gladness,We gladly accept thy war.Dagobert:And the clemency we extendedTo thee and thine we recall;And the treaty 'twixt us is ended—We are ready to storm the wall.Osric:Now tear yon parchment to tatters;Thou shalt make no further useOf our safeguard; the wind that scattersThe scroll shall scatter the truce.Hugo:Jarl Osric, to save the spillingOf blood, and the waste of life,I am willing, if thou art willing,With thee to decide this strife;Let thy comrades draw their force back;I defy thee to single fight,I will meet thee on foot or horseback,And God shall defend the right.Rudolph:No single combat shall settleThis strife; thou art overbold—Thou hast put us all on our mettle,Now the game in our hands we hold.Dagobert:Our lances round thee have hover'd,Have seen where thy fellows bide;Thy weakness we have discover'd,Thy nakedness we have spied.Osric:And hearken, knight, to my story—When sack'd are the convent shrines,When the convent thresholds are gory,And quaff'd are the convent wines:When our beasts with pillage are laden,And the clouds of our black smoke riseFrom yon tower, one fair-haired maidenIs singled as Osric's prize.I will fit her with chain and collarOf red gold, studded with pearls;With bracelet of gold, Sir Scholar,The queen of my captive girls.Hugo (savagely):May the Most High God of battlesThe Lord and Ruler of fights,Who breaketh the shield that rattles,Who snappeth the sword that smites,In whose hands are footmen and horsemen,At whose breath they conquer or flee,Never show me His mercy, Norseman!If I show mercy to thee.Osric:What, ho! art thou drunk, Sir Norman?Has the wine made thy pale cheek red?Now, I swear by Odin and Thor, man,Already I count thee dead.Rudolph:I crave thy pardon for baulkingThe flood of thine eloquence,But thou canst not scare us with talking,I therefore pray thee go hence.Osric:Though I may not take up thy gauntlet,Should we meet where the steel strikes fire,'Twixt thy casque and thy charger's frontletThe choice will perplex thy squire.Hugo:When the Norman rowels are goading,When glitters the Norman glaive,Thou shalt call upon Thor and Odin:They shall not hear thee nor save."Should we meet!" Aye, the chance may fall so,In the furious battle drive,So may God deal with me—more, also!If we separate, both alive!
SCENE—The Court-yard of the Old Farm.EUSTACE and other followers of HUGO and ERIC lounging about.Enter THURSTON hastily, with swords under his arm.
Thurston:Now saddle your horses and girth them tight,And see that your weapons are sharp and bright.Come, lads, get ready as fast as you can.Eustace:Why, what's this bustle about, old man?Thurston:Well, it seems Lord Hugo has changed his mind,As the weathercock veers with the shifting wind;He has gone in person to Osric's camp,To tell him to pack up his tents and tramp!But I guess he won't.Eustace: Then I hope he will,They are plenty to eat us, as well as to kill.Ralph:And I hope he won't—I begin to feelA longing to moisten my thirsty steel.[They begin to saddle and make preparationsfor a skirmish.]Thurston:I've a couple of blades to look to here.In their scabbards I scarcely could make them stirAt first, but I'll sharpen them both ere long.A Man-at-arms:Hurrah for a skirmish! Who'll give us a song?Thurston (sings, cleaning and sharpening):Hurrah! for the sword! I hold one here,And I scour at the rust and say,'Tis the umpire this, and the arbiter,That settles in the fairest way;For it stays false tongues and it cools hot blood,And it lowers the proud one's crest;And the law of the land is sometimes good,But the law of the sword is best.In all disputes 'tis the shortest plan,The surest and best appeal;—What else can decide between man and man?(Chorus of all):Hurrah! for the bright blue steel!Thurston (sings):Hurrah! for the sword of Hugo, our lord!'Tis a trusty friend and a true;It has held its own on a grassy sward,When its blade shone bright and blue,Though it never has stricken in anger hard,And has scarcely been cleansed from rust,Since the day when it broke through Harold's guardWith our favourite cut and thrust;Yet Osric's crown will look somewhat red,And his brain will be apt to reel,Should the trenchant blade come down on his head—(Chorus of all):Hurrah! for the bright blue steel!Thurston (sings):Hurrah! for the sword of our ally bold,It has done good service to him;It has held its own on an open wold,When its edge was in keener trim.It may baffle the plots of the wisest skull,It may slacken the strongest limb,Make the brains full of forethought void and null,And the eyes full of far-sight dim;And the hasty hands are content to wait,And the knees are compelled to kneel,Where it falls with the weight of a downstroke straight—(Chorus of all):Hurrah! for the bright blue steel!Thurston (sings):Hurrah! for the sword—I've one of my own;And I think I may safely say,Give my enemy his, let us stand alone,And our quarrel shall end one way;One way or the other—it matters not much,So the question be fairly tried.Oh! peacemaker good, bringing peace with a touch,Thy clients will be satisfied.As a judge, thou dost judge—as a witness, attest,And thou settest thy hand and seal,And the winner is blest, and the loser at rest—(Chorus of all):Hurrah! for the bright blue steel![Hugo and Eric enter during the last verseof the song.]Hugo:Boot and saddle, old friend,Their defiance they send;Time is short—make an endOf thy song.Let the sword in this fightStrike as hard for the rightAs it once struck for mightLeagued with wrong.Ha! Rollo, thou champestThy bridle and stampest,For the rush of the tempestDost long?Ho! the kites will grow fatterOn the corpses we scatter,In the paths where we shatterTheir throng.Where Osric, the craven,Hath reared the black raven'Gainst monks that are shavenAnd cowl'd:Where the Teuton and Hun sit,In the track of our onset,Will the wolves, ere the sunset,Have howl'd.Retribution is good,They have revell'd in blood,Like the wolves of the woodThey have prowl'd.Birds of prey they have been,And of carrion unclean,And their own nests (I ween)They have foul'd.Eric:Two messengers sinceYestermorn have gone hence,And ere long will the PrinceBring relief.Shall we pause?—they are tenTo our one, but their menAre ill-arm'd, and scarce kenTheir own chief;And for this we give thanks:Their disorderly ranks,If assail'd in the flanks,Will as liefRun as fight—loons and lords.Hugo:Mount your steeds! draw your swords!Take your places! My wordsShall be brief:Ride round by the valley,Through pass and gorge sally—The linden trees rallyBeneath.Then, Eric and Thurston,Their ranks while we burst on,Try which will be first onThe heath.(Aside)Look again, mother mine,Through the happy starshine,For my sins dost thou pine?With my breath,See! thy pangs are all done,For the life of thy son:Thou shalt never feel oneFor his death.[They all go out but Hugo, who lingers to tightenhis girths. Orion appears suddenly in the gateway.]Orion:Stay, friend! I keep guard onThy soul's gates; hold hard onThy horse. Hope of pardonHath fled!Bethink once, I crave thee,Can recklessness save thee?Hell sooner will have theeInstead.Hugo:Back! My soul, tempest-toss'd,Hath her Rubicon cross'd,She shall fly—saved or lost!Void of dread!Sharper pang than the steel,Thou, oh, serpent! shalt feel,Should I set the bruised heelOn thy head.[He rides out.]
SCENE—A Room in the Convent Tower Overlooking the Gate.URSULA at the window. AGATHA and Nuns crouching or kneeling in a corner.
Ursula:See, Ellinor! Agatha! Anna!While yet for the ladders they wait,Jarl Osric hath rear'd the black bannerWithin a few yards of the gate;It faces our window, the raven,The badge of the cruel sea-kings,That has carried to harbour and havenDestruction and death on its wings.Beneath us they throng, the fierce Norsemen,The pikemen of Rudolph behindAre mustered, and Dagobert's horsemenWith faces to rearward inclined;Come last, on their coursers broad-chested,Rough-coated, short-pastern'd and strong,Their casques with white plumes thickly crested,Their lances barb-headed and long:They come through the shades of the linden,Fleet riders and war-horses hot:The Normans, our friends—we have sinn'd inOur selfishness, sisters, I wot—They come to add slaughter to slaughter,Their handful can ne'er stem the tideOf our foes, and our fate were but shorterWithout them. How fiercely they ride!And "Hugo of Normandy!" "Hugo!""A rescue! a rescue!" rings loud,And right on the many the few go!A sway and a swerve of the crowd!A springing and sparkling of sword-blades!A crashing and 'countering of steeds!And the white feathers fly 'neath their broad bladesLike foam-flakes! the spear-shafts like reeds!A Nun (to Agatha):Pray, sister!Agatha: Alas! I have strivenTo pray, but the lips move in vainWhen the heart with such terror is riven.Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again!Ursula:As leaves fall by wintry gusts scatter'd,As fall by the sickle ripe ears,As the pines by the whirlwind fall shatter'd,As shatter'd by bolt fall the firs—To the right hand they fall, to the left handThey yield! They go down! they give back!And their ranks are divided and cleft, andDispers'd and destroy'd in the track!Where, stirrup to stirrup, and bridleTo bridle, down-trampling the slain!Our friends, wielding swords never idle,Hew bloody and desperate laneThrough pikemen, so crowded togetherThey scarce for their pikes can find room,Led by Hugo's gilt crest, the tall featherOf Thurston, and Eric's black plume!A Nun (to Agatha):Pray, sister!Agatha: First pray thou that heavenWill lift this dull weight from my brain,That crushes like crime unforgiven.Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again!Ursula:Close under the gates men are fightingOn foot where the raven is rear'd!'Neath that sword-stroke, through helm and skull smiting,Jarl Osric falls, cloven to the beard!And Hugo, the hilt firmly grasping,His heel on the throat of his foe,Wrenches back. I can hear the dull rasping,The steel through the bone grating low!And the raven rocks! Thurston has landedTwo strokes, well directed and hard,On the standard pole, wielding, two-handed,A blade crimson'd up to the guard.Like the mast cut in two by the lightning,The black banner topples and falls!Bewildering! back-scattering! affright'ning!It clears a wide space next the walls.A Nun (to Agatha):Pray, sister!Agatha: Does the sinner unshriven,With naught beyond this life to gain,Pray for mercy on earth or in heaven?Look again, Lady Abbess! Look again!Ursula:The gates are flung open, and straightway,By Ambrose and Cyril led on,Our own men rush out through the gateway;One charge, and the entrance is won!No! our foes block the gate and endeavourTo force their way in! Oath and yell,Shout and war-cry wax wilder than ever!Those children of Odin fight well;And my ears are confused by the crashing,The jarring, the discord, the din;And mine eyes are perplex'd by the flashingOf fierce lights that ceaselessly spin;So when thunder to thunder is calling,Quick flash follows flash in the shade,So leaping and flashing and falling,Blade flashes and follows on blade!While the sward, newly plough'd, freshly painted,Grows purple with blood of the slain,And slippery! Has Agatha fainted?Agatha:Not so, Lady Abbess! Look again!Ursula:No more from the window; in the old yearsI have look'd upon strife. Now I goTo the court-yard to rally our soldiersAs I may—face to face with the foe.[She goes out.]