Sarolta. I have small wish to see them. A spring morning
With its wild gladsome minstrelsy of birds
And its bright jewelry of flowers and dewdrops
(Each orbéd drop an orb of glory in it) 35
Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement
Lord Casimir’s wish alone would have made sacred:
But, in good truth, his loving jealousy
Did but command, what I had else entreated.
Glycine. And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta, 40
Been wedded to the noblest of the realm,
So beautiful besides, and yet so stately ——
Sarolta. Hush! Innocent flatterer!
Glycine. Nay! to my poor fancy
The royal court would seem an earthly heaven,
Made for such stars to shine in, and be gracious. 45
Sarolta. So doth the ignorant distance still delude us!
Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee,
In its mere self cold, drear, colourless void,
Seen from below and in the large, becomes
The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods! 50
Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance?
And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed?
Glycine. Yes, madam! he was there. So was the maypole,
For we danced round it.
Sarolta. Ah, Glycine! why,
Why did you then betroth yourself?
Glycine. Because 55
My own dear lady wished it! ‘twas you asked me!
Sarolta. Yes, at my lord’s request, but never wished,
My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched.
Thou knowest not yet the duties of a wife.
Glycine. Oh, yes! It is a wife’s chief duty, madam! 60
To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him,
And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska
But I shall tremble.
Sarolta. Not with fear, I think,
For you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage.
[Exit GLYCINE into the cottage, SAROLTA continues her
speech looking after her.
Something above thy rank there hangs about thee, 65
And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion,
Yea, e’en in thy simplicity, Glycine,
A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel
More as a mother than a mistress to thee!
Thou art a soldier’s orphan! that — the courage, 70
Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to give
A new soul to its gentleness, doth prove thee!
Thou art sprung too of no ignoble blood,
Or there’s no faith in instinct!
[Angry voices and clamour within.
Re-enter GLYCINE.
Glycine. Oh, madam! there’s a party of your servants, 75
And my lord’s steward, Laska, at their head,
Have come to search for old Bathory’s son,
Bethlen, that brave young man! ‘twas he, my lady,
That took our parts, and beat off the intruders,
And in mere spite and malice, now they charge him 80
With bad words of Lord Casimir and the king.
Pray don’t believe them, madam! This way! This way!
Lady Sarolta’s here. — [Calling without.
Sarolta. Be calm, Glycine.
Enter LASKA and Servants with OLD BATHORY.
Laska (to Bathory). We have no concern with you! What needs your
presence?
Old Bathory. What! Do you think I’ll suffer my brave boy 85
To be slandered by a set of coward-ruffians,
And leave it to their malice, — yes, mere malice! —
To tell its own tale?
[LASKA and Servants bow to Lady SAROLTA.
Sarolta. Laska! What may this mean?
Laska. Madam! and may it please your ladyship!
This old man’s son, by name Bethlen Bathory, 90
Stands charged, on weighty evidence, that he,
On yester-eve, being his lordship’s birthday,
Did traitorously defame Lord Casimir:
The lord high steward of the realm, moreover ——
Sarolta. Be brief! We know his titles!
Laska. And moreover 95
Raved like a traitor at our liege King Emerick.
And furthermore, said witnesses make oath,
Led on the assault upon his lordship’s servants;
Yea, insolently tore, from this, your huntsman,
His badge of livery of your noble house, 100
And trampled it in scorn.
Sarolta (to the Servants who offer to speak). You have had your
spokesman!
Where is the young man thus accused?
Old Bathory. I know not:
But if no ill betide him on the mountains,
He will not long be absent!
Sarolta. Thou art his father? 105
Old Bathory. None ever with more reason prized a son;
Yet I hate falsehood more than I love him.
But more than one, now in my lady’s presence,
Witnessed the affray, besides these men of malice;
And if I swerve from truth ——
Glycine. Yes! good old man! 110
My lady! pray believe him!
Sarolta. Hush, Glycine
Be silent, I command you. [Then to BATHORY.
Speak! we hear you!
Old Bathory. My tale is brief. During our festive dance,
Your servants, the accusers of my son,
Offered gross insults, in unmanly sort, 115
To our village maidens. He (could he do less?)
Rose in defence of outraged modesty,
And so persuasive did his cudgel prove,
(Your hectoring sparks so over-brave to women
Are always cowards) that they soon took flight, 120
And now in mere revenge, like baffled boasters,
Have framed this tale, out of some hasty words
Which their own threats provoked.
Sarolta. Old man! you talk
Too