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FATE; 
 
 OB- 
 
 THE FROFHECY 
 
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 PMUVTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 136 NASSAU STREET. 
 
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 t^^ 185G. 
 
iraniatis ^c^rranniB. 
 
 Duke ok Ai,TKNDUKfi. 
 RuPEKT, his son. 
 aIaurick, fiiiMiil to Rupert. 
 Walnon. 
 Bernap.d. 
 
 DAliriERllK. ' - 
 
 Maximiman. 
 
 COUXT OF El.DORF. 
 
 Aymai!. 
 
 ADOLPur. 
 
 Lady Catiiekimc. 
 
 CoRiNXA, ward to the Dukk. 
 
 Marie. 
 
 Pages, Lndics in Waiting, Lords, Attendants, &c., &c. 
 
 Scene — Altcnburg in the early Feudal time.?. 
 
 EsT-vr-ED ncronlbg u> Act of Congress, iu thi> yi-ar Vm, by OLlVliR BUNCR, 
 
 In '.ho CIcrli't Ofllcd of thi' Pistriot Court of the Uaitc-l Ela'.os for 'iii bo;iC:i«.ni Diolrict "f 
 
 Vcn Vorl;. 
 
 » • \ 
 
 TMP92-009356 
 
FATE : OR THE PROPHECY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Hall in the Castle of AUenhurg. 
 Enter Bernard and Dampierre. 
 
 Ber. Oh, close the scabbard of thy tongue, and peace. 
 Have mercy as thou lovest me. 
 
 Damp. No, not 
 A scruple. Thou, Count Bernard, love — 
 
 Ber. Why not ? 
 Wherefore should I not love as well as other men ? 
 I've wit, good graces, and good parts. 
 
 Damp. Aye, sir. 
 But love a woman such as thou hast chosen. 
 
 Ber. Is she not excellent, good, virtuous, 
 And gentle ? 
 
 Damp, Gentle ! Mild as winter blasts, 
 Soft as the wooing equinox, as full 
 Of smiles as blustering March ! Gentle ? Why, grim 
 December is a May morning to her ! 
 
 Ber. Wouldst have me wed a thing of smoothness S 
 She's grand, and that I love. With what an air 
 She moves ! How waves her hand ! How lifts her head ! 
 And on her brow there sits imperial power, 
 More full of awe than flashinof coronet. 
 
6 fate; ok, the prothecy. 
 
 Her frown's a queenly frown : I love to see 
 Her frown. 
 
 Damp. She has a far ambition, 
 A will as sovereign, absolute and fixed 
 As stars, o'erswayiug- fate itself. Iler brain 
 Plots subtle, selfish ends ; her blood runs dark 
 With passion. Where'er she moves she rules — 
 Not love to grant, but service to exact. 
 Beware, I urge you, sir. 
 
 Enter Wallon and Maximilian. 
 
 Damp. W'e give you greeting, friends. 
 
 Wall. Exchanged, we hope. Ah, Count Bernard, 
 hast naught 
 To rail on now, or have thy wits misused, 
 In anger fled ? 
 
 Damp. Fled hopelessly, my lord, 
 For he's turned wooer. 
 
 Wall. A wooer ! Now by the young 
 God's calendar of fools, I never thought 
 Sir Bernard here Avould waste himself upon 
 A sigh. Ilow foundest time bjetween thy cups 
 To see a grace, or note an ankle ? 
 Who is the maid? 
 
 Damp. The lady Catherine. 
 
 Wall. The lady Catherine ! Impossible 1 
 I'd nestle in a cloud surcharged 
 With sulphurous bolts ; seek out the wilds 
 Where tigers prowl, and kiss their bloody chops; 
 Leap to the arms of a death-hugging bear ; 
 Do these, than live an hour in the embrace 
 Of this imperious Catherine. Thou'rt mad ! 
 
 Ber. Laugh, gentlemen, laugh on. I know a cause 
 That prospers while it may. But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter ^Iaurice. 
 Mau. AVith such becomiiio- deference 
 
FATE ; Oil TUB PROPHECY. 7 
 
 As warrants me, I beg to know with whom 
 I speak. 
 
 Ber. With several titles 
 I'm severally known. Mad Bernard o'er 
 The wine-cup, Count Bernard at your service. 
 
 Mau. 1 am in search of one whose nearness to 
 The duke could gain me hearing of his Grace. 
 "When gives he audience ? 
 
 Ber. To-day, and here. 
 Count Wallon, sir, will speak in your behalf. 
 
 Wall. So I do know the matter. 
 
 Mau. Matter, sir, 
 Concerning Rupert. 
 
 Wall. What, come you from him 1 
 
 Mau. No, sir, nor of his knowledge, yet 
 In his behalf. 
 
 Wall. Abides he near this place ? 
 
 Mau. I may not tell, nor must I speak to car 
 Of any but the Duke, the import which 
 I bring. 
 
 Wall. Stand by awliile, we here attend 
 The Duke. 
 
 Enter Page, announcing 
 
 His Highness the Duke. 
 
 Enter the Duke, assisted by Corinna ; Lords, Pages, <S^c. 
 Is led to the Ducal Chair. 
 
 Duke. My gentle ward, support like thine makes ago 
 A joy, and blesses e'en infirmity. 
 
 Cor. My dear lord. 
 
 Duke. Gentlemen, we greet you all. 
 We trust your fortunes and your healths are still 
 Your friends. 
 
 Wall. We trust so too. How is your Grace ? 
 We sorrow, sire, to see no brighter glow 
 Upon your cheek. 
 
8 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Duke. The shadow of the time 
 To come. For age is on us now, which knows 
 No summer's glow, nor autumn's ripen'd richness. 
 Decay must end and blot the fruit. Well, sirs, 
 Have any special business ? 
 
 Wall. Your Grace, here waits a messenger to hold 
 Some speech with you on Rupert. 
 
 Duke. Rupert ! IIow ! 
 
 Mau. My liege, 'tis of my lord — your son. 
 
 Duke. Who bade 
 Thee call him son of mine ? IIow comes it, sirs, 
 This man knows not his duty ? Son ! It is 
 A name these halls have not re-echoed to 
 In many months. "Wake not their silence, sir. 
 Call him some other name. 
 
 Mau. Of Rupert, then. 
 
 Duke. Breathes Rupert Saxon air ? 
 
 Mau. He does, your Highness. 
 
 Duke. And seeks through you a pardon. So we think 
 Your mission aims. Speak, if it be not so — 
 Yet heed — No mercy can he lippe until 
 He kneels contrite ami penitent. 
 
 Mau. Rupert is ignorant that I am here 
 In his behalf, and you. Sire, know his heart 
 Too well to think he'd sue for pardon 
 Offered only to his humility. 
 
 Duke. What means this, sir ? 
 
 Mau. I do not come, your Highness, 
 To beg a pardon, but to crave a justice. 
 I fain would say some things to mitigate 
 Your judgment, lay before you truths whose tongues 
 Would plead most elo(pieiitly Rupert's cause. 
 But, Sire, I represent a gentleman 
 Who would not yield prerogatives of rank 
 And birth — 
 
 Duke. No rank nor birth. He hath disclaimed 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PKOrHECY. 9 
 
 Them both, and as a beggar only shall 
 He be received. 
 
 Mau. 'Tis for your son. 
 No beggar that I plead, 
 
 Duke IIow now I 
 
 Mau. My lord 
 Far better were my tongue forever dumb 
 Than I should speak the things I'm here to speak. 
 And only find response in scorn. 
 Be merciful, my lord. Exact not more 
 Than justice. Hear me, and if what I'd say 
 Proves not your son unjustly cursed with your 
 Displeasure, send me hence a proven liar, 
 A branded braggart and a slave. 
 
 Duke. When he 
 Repents we'll hear his vindication. 
 
 Mau. Proud hearts will not repent upon compulsion. 
 
 Duke. Proud hearts must bend to lawful power. 
 
 Mau. Wilt hear 
 Me speak of him ? 
 
 Duke. When at our feet. ' 
 
 Till then be silent 
 
 Mau. Shades the blacker now 
 Will rest on thee, ray friend. Ah, royal Sire, 
 I could speak truths of him to draw a sad 
 And wat'ry tribute from a wolfish heart. 
 And make all inharnionious Nature one 
 Concord of sadness at his woes. Farewell ! 
 
 CoR. Stay ! stay ! My lord, my dear lord, hear him speak. 
 Of Rupert. 
 
 Duke. Away ! It shall not be. 
 
 Mau. Why then farewell. I thank my star I have 
 No father, none whose love I'd fear to lose, 
 * hatred dread to gain. 
 
 [jExit. 
 
 )amp. {Jsule to BcDianl) The Duke is chafed. 
 
10 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Duke. How now, girl ! Pale, and tears ! What, weep- 
 est thou 
 For this ungrateful bov ? 
 
 CoR. My lord ! 
 
 Duke. Thou hast 
 A tell-tale face, transparent, shows each thought, 
 And motion of your soul. Good gentlemen. 
 Your leaves. Enjoy your leisure hence awhile. 
 
 Wall. We bow to your Grace's will. 
 
 l^Excunt all but DiiJce and Corinna, and pages, who 
 withdratv iq?, 
 
 Duke. You've seen Rupert, 
 You've entertained his presence by your pity, 
 And showing him a martyr, made yourself 
 A love. 
 
 CoR. Dear sire. 
 
 Duke. I tell you there shall be 
 No loving 'twixt you. He is degraded from 
 His rank and birth, and now so far beneath 
 Your merit as to only move your scorn. 
 
 CoR. Oh ! say not this, my liege. 
 
 Duke. Love ! Tears 
 To foster, sighs to grow it in. O shame ! 
 But you have met in secrecy ! 
 
 Cor. Not since 
 His sad departure from these halls have I 
 Been blessed with such a joy as seeing him. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis well. And girl, remember this — ^he is 
 A beggar, driven from my heart — 
 
 Cor. My lord, my lord, you know not what you say. 
 Ah, he is loyal, good, and ready to 
 Atone his fiiult, but that high pride which waits 
 On greatest souls doth hold him back. 
 I know his noble nature — know that depth 
 Of gentleness which lieth near 
 His inner heart, and how in secret he 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECy. 11 
 
 Must bleed and weep because of this 
 Estrangement. And still another sorrow palls 
 His soul, and clouds it in a melancholy 
 So sad, as might win tears from earth, and melt 
 The coldest star that reigned upon his birth, 
 Could they but know his evil. 
 
 DcKE. His ofience 
 Won tears of sorrow from a father's eye. 
 Who knew his evil. Dost thou know the wrong ? 
 Before the gathered lords I chid him once 
 xVs negligent of his courtly duties, when, 
 All hot and swelling grew his breath, 
 And sudden leapt his passion at my words. 
 With angry oaths he vowed that Wallon put 
 Me to the charge, that Wallon falsely swore 
 Against his peace, and's if he would divest 
 His hatred, poured on him the bent and sway 
 Of his unbridled fury. Wallon, stirred 
 To rage, at Rupert flung some fierce reply ; 
 An instant sword crossed sword ; a dozen blades 
 Exampling them, ranked side 'gainst side. I rushed 
 Between, beat down the bristling s'eel, to all 
 Commanded peace, on Rupert charged the cause. 
 He hotly made reply. Enraged, I struck 
 Him in the breast, when he, as stirred by some 
 Damned devil, grew so black and swollen as 
 To burst with passion, di-agged his dagger forth, 
 Which flashing o'er his head, he sprang 
 Upon his fother. Wallon, so I think, or else 
 Some other's friendly hand, struck from his grasp 
 The impious blade. 
 
 CoR. grievous fault ! and yet 
 [ think it was not Wallon's, but his own 
 Relenting hand which cast the dagger at 
 Your feet. 
 
 Duke. Apari'icide ! O God ! that I 
 
12 fate; or, the prophecy. 
 
 Should say it, yet I feel it so. Convulsed 
 With rage, I took a vow he ne'er should step 
 Within these halls again. 
 
 Cor. Sire, sire, revoke 
 The oath — 
 
 Duke. It must not be. I warn thee girl 
 Beware his love. When from thy father I 
 Received thee, bade thee call me father, then 
 I breathed a hope to see thee Rupert's bride. 
 But now the pledge I gave thy dying sire 
 Forbids the thought. Corinna, thou must wed 
 In high estate. We'll find a lover for 
 Thee — Wallon ? noble, rich, young ! What would more ? 
 Well, well, we'll talk of this anon. But mark, 
 Beware of Rupert. Heaven's heavy hand 
 Is on him. Bew^are ! 
 
 \^Exit Dukc^ followed by pages. 
 
 Cor. How chill the omen sounds ! 
 Benignant powers, restore this erring son 
 Unto the self-willed father ! Oh, could tears 
 Like these I shed, reach up to heaven, thence 
 Rained down in peace upon their heads, I'd wear 
 My cheeks in furrows. Rupert, thou are still 
 The worship of my heart. To thee I kneel 
 In light or darkness — clouded, clouded now ! 
 All storm and not a star ! 
 
 SCENE \l.— Another 2)ar I of the Castle. 
 
 Enter Catherine and Bernard. 
 
 Cath. a messenger from Rupert ? Saw you him ? 
 Ber. I did, my lady. 
 Cath. Whence came he ? Is he still 
 About the court? 
 
 Beu. I dare be sworn he is. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 13 
 
 Cath. To liim at once, and bid hira seek me here. 
 
 Ber. I %, my dear — my own — 
 
 Cath. No fondness, sir! 
 
 [Mvit Bernard. 
 Enter Wallon. 
 
 Cath. Ah, V/allon, know you aught of Rupert i 
 
 Wall. This person's message was to none made known. 
 He did solicit of the Duke some speech, 
 Which was, as I think, rightfully denied. 
 
 Cath. Thou think'st so ! And why, Count Walion, why ? 
 Wouldst bar access of blood to blood. 
 Dissever roughly all close links of kin ? 
 Thou art a wise man, one severely schooled 
 In nature ; thou dost know the human heart — 
 Canst tliou read mine ? 
 
 Wall. I'm dumb to understand 
 Your ladyship, 
 
 Cath. I thought as much. 
 Yet I have scanned and studied yours, 
 And seen the motive lying deepest at 
 The core. I know the hope you cherish — where 
 You aim. You dream, aspire, in secret hug 
 Ambition. I have watched you — :ead your soul. 
 I know who 'twas who set the Duke against 
 His son — who fed the father's hate — who schemed 
 With Judas sublety to cool theii- loves. 
 Inventing faults, misstating facts, 
 And puffing up each idle breath of scandal 
 To gales of calumny. 
 
 Wall. AVhy, lady— 
 
 Cath. Rupert is banished ! Are you not the Duke's 
 Adviser — his nearest friend — would not a word 
 From vou bring back the heir — the heir, whose place 
 You poise to spring upon ? 
 
 Wall. I cannot follow you — see not your aim. 
 'Twere treachery — 
 
14 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis treachery ! 
 
 Wal. To serve 
 My master simply to liis good ? It is 
 A kind of treachery tlie Duke applauds, 
 Rupert is mad — 
 
 Catii. Ah, there's thy source of hope — 
 On that thou feedest. 
 
 Enler Beunard and Maurice. 
 
 I'll confer with thee anon. \ Aside to Wall. 
 
 Count Wallon, I have business with 
 
 This gentleman alone. I pray your leaves. 
 
 [^Exeunt Bernard and Wallon. 
 Yoii come from Rupert I Where abides he, sir ? 
 
 Mau. I cannot answer till I know his good 
 Or ill, the knowledge bodes. 
 
 Catii. His good. 
 
 Mau. I think 
 You mean him well. 
 
 Catii. I swear it. Holds 
 He easy reach 'I 
 
 Mau. a two hours ride. 
 
 Catii. In which 
 Direction must I bend ? 
 
 Mau. The road 
 Winch southern leads, and short from this within 
 A forest's murky shade is buried. There, 
 Alone and silent paces he the turf, 
 Feeding melancholy with dark thoughts 
 And woeful meditation. 
 
 Cath. Couldst not lead 
 Mq to him ? 
 
 Mau. Yes, 
 
 Catii. Why then to horse with speed. [Exeunt. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE rROPHECY. 16 
 
 SCENE III.— .1 Wood. 
 Sinter Eupert and Adolphe. 
 
 Rup. Why do you follow me f I liave a love 
 Of solitude — the presence of aught 
 Annoys me. 
 
 Ado. Solitude, sire, feeds despair. 
 
 Rup. And should do so till it to bursting grows. 
 
 Ado. But — 
 
 Rl'p. I must, sir, be obeyed. [^Bxii Adolphe. 
 
 I eoidd 
 Not have a human thing to stand between 
 My soul and the majestic solemnity 
 Of this pervading solitude. Oh, when 
 My heail was young — old now in weariness — 
 I often v.andered here, amidst these trees, 
 Hoary in age, that grandly interlace 
 Their lofty tops, and hang their mossy banners 
 Fondant to the breeze. Oh, could I re-act 
 Those days ! These trunks were my companions then — 
 I loved their shades. How often have I heard 
 Them fretted into fitful music by 
 The passing gale ! how often seen them bowed 
 l^>y wild tornado's breath ! and then how leapt 
 My eager blood in the fierce charm 
 Of warring elements ; how flushed my brow 
 And blazed my eye, as round 
 In thund'ring echoes fell the forest sires, 
 Or gleamed the lightning's flash thro' vista'd darkness ! 
 Oh, scene of grandeur — Maurice! What is this? 
 
 Miter Maurice and Catherine. 
 Cath. Why, Cousin Rupert ! 
 
 Rup. Lady Catherine. [JS.vit Maurice 
 
 Catii. Nay, do not start. 1 came t<) do no wrong. 
 
16 FATE ; OR, THE PKOPHECV. 
 
 Rup. I crave your pardon, but you're kinswoman 
 To my father. 
 
 Cat. Does that a wrong 
 Necessitate ? 
 
 Rup. Oh, likely ! It's a taint 
 Of blood. This Saxon air breeds it. 
 
 Oath. You do 
 Injustice, Rupert, both to me and yourself. 
 
 Rup. That's what I inherit. If I were not unjiist 
 The world would justly think me bastard. 
 But pardon me. I'll not disturb your walk. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Catii. Rupert, come back. Is this the best 
 Of greeting you can give me ? 
 
 Rup. Art my friend ? 
 
 Oath. Sincerely so. 
 
 Rup. How prove it ? 
 
 Oath. Prove it, Rupert ? 
 By bringing back your youth to x\ltenburg. 
 
 Rup. What would my fiither say to that — what thoso 
 Who fat on my disgrace ? 
 You mock me, lady. 
 
 Oath. I do not, Rupert ; I fain would see thy rights 
 Restored, and if by me thou wilt be guided, 
 They shall be so. 
 
 Rup. What would you have me do? 
 
 Catii. Seek out occasion, stand before your sirCj 
 Excuse the fault of which you stand approved, 
 And to the throat demand the proof of those 
 Invented lies, so closely breathed about 
 The court. Do this, and justice shalt thou win. 
 
 Rup. I do not wish to force myself into 
 My rights. I have a weariness of storm 
 And struggle ill comporting such an aim. 
 
 Catii. O, sick despair I Are you so weak in this 
 Despondency ? Lies there no greater strength 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECr. 17 
 
 Beneatli your gloom ? Brace up your soul with your 
 
 Adversity, and gather up a rage 
 
 To top these fell-created bars against 
 
 Your peace. Strong will, my cousin, raonarchs all ; 
 
 'Tis more than gates, or walls. AVho has it, he 
 
 Is master, Tiiou art such a one. 'Tis wed 
 
 To thee, but lies unlaced and housed. Arouse, 
 
 And Fate itself shall come sit on your shoulders. 
 
 Rup. There is a something here I would not stir 
 To gain the sovereignty of worlds. While yet 
 In peace it lies a dormant blackness, 
 If ruffled by a breath, I raise a storm 
 Of terror to myself. 
 
 Cath. I understand 
 Not this. 
 
 Eup. A shadow crammed with horrors, destiny 
 Foreshown more terrible than death or hell — 
 A spirit lying darkly watchful. 
 Which springing unaware would shut out heaven 
 Forever more. Know'st thou how died my mother ? 
 
 Catii. I've heard 'twas strange and unaccountable. 
 
 Rup. I have unveiled the mystery. She died 
 A maniac. 
 
 Catii. And dost thou then conclude — 
 
 Rup. xVye, that which stood beside her dying bed 
 Peers ever o'er my shouldei", shadows all 
 My days, and palls my soul in beamless night. 
 It is a spectre, hovering before, 
 With noiseless pace forever at my side, 
 Or stealthily treading in my steps behind, 
 Pursuing, pointing, chattering 
 With horrid glee. 
 
 Catii. Oh, dotage in sadness ! 
 I thought you, coz, of better stuff. Your high 
 Promise of youth is slipped into a dream — 
 fou beggar spirit but to throttle this 
 
18 fate; or, the puoriiECY. 
 
 Fantastic humor. Out upon thee, Coz, 
 For trembling at a thing- intangible. 
 
 Rup. Upon this very spot, three years ago, 
 1 met a sibyl, aged and wise, who knew 
 My mother. She prophetic spoke what my 
 [nspired heart already knew, for there 
 Had been wild stirrings in my breast 
 And sudden motions of my blood to rage 
 And terror, nnaccounted, causeless and 
 Beyond control. But when this fear became 
 Confirmed, when prophecy gave form to what 
 Was only vague and shadowy before — 
 Oh God, I pray thou'lt never know an hour 
 Like that ! I clasped my hands upon my brow 
 And frantic fled, I knew not Avhere — to dark 
 Untrodden solitudes, where to the aii 
 
 1 poured my grief in passionate words. 
 C^\Tii. Cousin ! Bupert ! 
 Rur. Oh go, I pray thee go. 
 These thoughts will frenzy me. Yet stay, upon 
 
 One matter let me question thee. 
 
 How" fares my father's ward, Corinna ? 
 Cath. Corinna ! 
 Rup. I fain would see her, Catherine. 
 
 Wilt thou convey as much 'i To-morrow, here 
 
 I'll wait. She knows the spot. It's by the oak 
 
 Where often wc have prattled low talk. 
 
 Its huge limbs shooting low, enclose a shade 
 
 Sacred to love. Farewell, and serve me thus. 
 
 [JSxit Rupert 
 Catii. Corinna ! Corinna I s})okc he of her ? 
 
 It cannot be — he loves not her, and yet 
 
 He coupled love with her. If so, why she 
 
 Would prosper with him back to court — not I ! 
 
 Then let him famish here in banislmicnt ! 
 
 Tlio smooth. li))-\vliinino-, ineok-mouthod girl ! 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 19 
 
 Can Rupert love a thing like this — a thing 
 Like this cross me in that I pant to reach ? 
 By will, high purpose, wit of woman, no ! 
 This fancy well possesses him. His wit 
 Is weak — I could remove his fear — it shall 
 Blow on, and top, and top, a frowning crest 
 Between their love, which neither dares to scale. 
 Their love ! Not ambition onl}^ pricks me on — 
 My heart surrendered worship to the fire 
 Which blazed Promethean in his eye, when first 
 We met — two children then. He seemed a god. 
 All struck, I crawled abashed and kissed his hand. 
 Since then I have upreached. Ambition — love — 
 Two passions fuse within my breast, by which 
 I will attain 
 The bright and glorious height I've sworn to gain. 
 
 END OF ACT. I. 
 
20 FATE ; OR, THE rROPHECT. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCENE l.~A Boom in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Couinna and Maurice. 
 
 Cor. Condemn uiy idle questions not. I am 
 Not wise to speak so freely of my lord, 
 But I would learn e'en by the figure of 
 Your sj^eech, bis portraiture, and trace in words 
 His sad, low-seeking eye, bis sorrowed brow, 
 And lip of woe. 
 
 Mau. Wouldst read ibe open page, 
 And not decipher figures, merely ? 
 
 Gou. You, 
 Sir, speak in characters now. 
 
 Mau. AVhat ! has not 
 The lady Catherine conveyed to you 
 His message ? 
 
 CoR. No! 
 
 Mau. This answers then the cause 
 Of your not coming, which to Rupert seemed 
 A grievous fault. 
 
 Cor. I knew not be was near. 
 
 .Mau. Within the wood, and by the very spot 
 Where last you met, for now two days, from dawn's 
 Refulgent glow till niglit's enclosing shade, 
 llatb he impatient waited thee. 
 
 Cor. Oh, fly, 
 And say I'll mcc; him ere another morn 
 Can blush for my delay ! 
 
 Mau. I go, sweet lady. 
 Fail not, for he hath passionate yearning 
 Once more to see thee. [^Exit Maurice. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 21 
 
 Cor. Shall I see my lord 
 So soon ? My joy o'er-guslies into words ; 
 I feel the rapturous music of his voice 
 Upon my heart ; his eyes to which I own 
 A worship like unto the stars, are fixed 
 On me ; his smile, the rainbow of his love, 
 That promiseth devotion, beams upon 
 Me now as oft it hatli. 
 
 Enter Lady Catherine. 
 
 Cath. Corinna, was't 
 Not Maurice that I met from you returning? 
 
 Cor. 'Twas indeed. Oh, lady, thou so oft 
 Hath proved my friend, help me to joy, for I 
 Have heard a music tone seraphic choirs 
 Could never catch. 
 
 Cath. Came it from Rupert ] 
 
 Cor. Yes, 
 Oh, Yes ! 
 
 Cath. Corinna, how is't thou hast not 
 In our conferring ever said the heir 
 Of Altenburg did lift his eyes to thee ? 
 
 Cor. I scarcely know, unless his name so much 
 The treasure of my heart, I did not dare 
 Unfold its richness. 
 
 Cath. So you love the Prince. 
 Your climbing fancy reaches to the crown. 
 
 CoR. Lady ! 
 
 Cath. Oh, have done with innocence, and all 
 Its tricks, and starts, and looks of injured trust; 
 They're stale — played out. 
 
 CoR. Sweet lady ! 
 
 Cath. The Duke 
 Will thank your fine humility. His ward — 
 His beggar ward, aspires to Rupert — to 
 The crown ! 
 
22 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Cor. Aspire ? His love uplifted me. 
 I shunned the light ; he bade me raise my eyes. 
 
 Catii. To worship, not to love. Thou may'st not wed 
 To greatness such as his. Shall his high soul. 
 Ordained to soar where lofty aspiration 
 Grasps at wonder-living fame, 
 Bear on its course the fledglet that could ne'er 
 The bracing air of loftiness respire .• 
 A soul of Rupert's grandeur must not link 
 Itself to one in poverty of spirit. 
 
 CoR. What means my friend ? 
 
 Cath. In winning Rupert's love 
 Thou win'st my hate. 
 
 OoR. 'Tis sure no crime to love 
 Where we adore. 
 
 Cath. Thy adoration ! He 
 Could pluck down worship from the stars, and wreathe 
 The sunlight to a halo for his head ! 
 Thy adoration ! Lowly things adore 
 By instinct — love by presumption. 
 
 OoR. I know not why you task me that I lore. 
 If what I spoke ofYends, I sorrow that 
 I spoke, but breathed upon the widest air, 
 Or whispered only in low pi-ayers, 
 That love is still my hope — it's very strength 
 Drawn from the weakness that you scorn. 
 
 Cath. Do you 
 Confess this love ? 
 
 CoR. You drew it forth. My words 
 Do not belie my heart. 
 
 Cath. They do. Thou love — 
 By all a woman's rage thou shalt not love 1 
 
 CoR. He bade me love. To wed, I have not dared 
 To hope — to love, that is my own ; it grew 
 A part of me ; my heart and love became 
 Inseparate ; they live and (lie together — it may be 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPIIECT. 23 
 
 Unblessed, still richly treasured. Throned within, 
 No human will can reft my love away. 
 
 Cath. The will to do whate'er my heart doth prompt, 
 The firm, unmoved, o'eri'uling will, that Avould 
 Not own the sway of stars, nor yield unto 
 .V ])ower though backed by dark 
 And magic mystery, why such a will 
 Shall bar thee from his arras foi'ever. Earth 
 Up piled upon thy breast the sooner shall 
 Enfold thee in an everlasting sleep, 
 Than thou live but an hour with Rupert. 
 
 CoR. Ah me, how quick the gushings of my heart 
 Are frozen up ! Dost thou love Rupert ? 
 
 Cath. T — (a jmhsc.) I am his cousin — 
 My hopes aspire for him — would see 
 Him nobly mated. Bernard here ! 
 
 £nfer Bernard. 
 
 Ber. Dear lady, look more kindly. Love — 
 
 Cath. Canst thou 
 Xot see my humor ? I'm not })leased. 
 
 Ber. In truth 
 You rarely are. 
 
 CoR. (aside.) This latest fear doth urge 
 Me to my lord. Til haste to Rupert's side, 
 And from his vows new learn my faith in him. 
 
 l^Exit Corinna. 
 
 Cath. The wench ! 1 was a fool. 1 said too much. 
 
 Ber. Why love, but little hast tliou said. 
 
 Cath. She will unfold what I have said. The wench. 
 The puny wench ! To shade the sun from me — 
 < ) fool, why do you follow me ? I'm vexed. 
 
 Ber. Give me to know the cause and I'll revenge 
 Thy wrongs. 
 
 Cath. Why thou'rt the causo. Thou dost not please. 
 The uiHU I entertain, must suit his toniiue. 
 
24 FATE ; OH, '1 HK I'KOniECV. 
 
 Presence, and tone, unto my humor ; wait 
 Demure upon my fancy ; lly, when I 
 Command, and breathless back again to learn 
 Tlis fui ther service ; clip his speech to joy 
 Or sadness as I please. If I extend 
 My lingers, think their kissing were a boon — 
 Nay, catch the crumbs of fondness T may sliake 
 To him, and thank his fortune for as much. 
 
 Ber. And so do I, divinest creature. 
 Catii. [quickly.) Wilt 
 Thou serve me as 1 wish t 
 
 Enter, behind, Wallon, Dami-ikuiik and Maximilian. 
 
 Ber. Hero let me swear. 
 All fire is ice, all suns are lim})id shades. 
 To that fierce heat with which my heart doth burn. — 
 
 Catii. Rehearse thy speech alone. If it be learned 
 I'll hear thee speak it o'er another time. 
 
 [Kelt Catherine. 
 
 Ber. Vv^hatgone! Alone! 
 
 Wallon, Damjncrre and Maximilian advancing laughinff. 
 
 Dam. Oho, my gentle love. 
 
 Max. Why thou Lazaius, feeding upon the crumbs of 
 fondness. 
 
 Damp. Go send your beard to the charge of a barber, 
 jukI hang yourself in petticoats, 
 
 Max. " All fire is ice, all suns are shades." Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Dami'. You lackey of Cupid, trencher-Cupid. 
 
 Max. Hath he not a poodle look ? 
 
 Damp. Oh, born for a pink ribbon. 
 
 Max. Come, my valiant lover, speak your speech, or else 
 your gentle maid returning, finding you not delivered, your 
 ears will sufter, i' faith they will. 
 
 Damp. Ought not Apollo grow asses' ears from his 
 brow, like another Midas? They would grace liira raarvel- 
 louslv. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 25 
 
 Wall. An ass in love ! I wouldn't have Cupid enter 
 into an ass's gravity for he would starve on such feeding. 
 
 Max. But here Cupid entered into a wit and the issue 
 V)'as an ass. I believe his love is a bastard love. It never 
 was begotten of Cupid. 
 
 T3er. B_y heaven, gentlemen, your swords, (draws.) Let 
 us see if they be as keen as your tongues. 
 
 Wall. For shame Bernard ! Put up your blade, and wear 
 your bravery where it behoves you. Do not bluster before 
 us while you show a soul so full of cravenness to your 
 mistress. 
 
 Damp. If you can sit like a bird on your mistress's 
 finger and hop only so far as her cord will let you, go perch 
 there again, break your sword, and bury your spurs. 
 
 Ber. By Jupiter you're right ! I have been an ass 
 indeed. I will no more of it. She shall not serve me so 
 henceforth. Til put on authority. She shall see I'm not 
 the patient fool she takes me for. 
 
 Wall. Here comes the lady returning. 
 
 Damp. Now man assume thy rights — put oft" livery. 
 
 Ber. (looking off) Think you she looks not frowningly ? 
 I'm bold 
 To meet her now, but yet methiuks 'twere wise 
 And merciful to take her when she's in 
 A milder vein. I'll brave her when she is 
 Alone. Trust me, I will, i'faith I will. 
 
 Damp. Where goest thou noble Bernard ? Dost 
 Not see thy love ? Salute her I 
 
 Ber. No, not for 
 The world. And I indignant and salute ? 
 Not for the world. [Keif Bernard. All laughing. 
 
 Enter Catherine. 
 
 Cath. Good gentlemen — 
 
 Wall. A pardon from your ladyship. Our rude 
 Behavior is put on from merriment. 
 And bears no mnlice. 
 
26 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Cath. Gentlemen, I trust 
 You'll pardon me, but I have business 
 With Count Wallon. 
 
 Dami'. Adieu, my lady. 
 
 [Uxit Danipierre and Maximilian. 
 
 Cath. My lord, I once confessed to you I knew 
 Your aim — 
 
 Wall. Madam, you do. 
 
 Cath. Oh, pray, sir Count, 
 Put oft" this seeming good. I know your hope ; 
 The coronet, which may from Rupert's head 
 Be easily secured, thou'dst have to grace 
 Thine own. Lend me your aid in that I wish — 
 It shall be yours. 
 
 Wall. What good to thee enforced 
 Shall bring this consummation? 
 
 Cath. I wish revenge. 
 Why, do not ask ! I have been wronged ; let that 
 Suffice. Help me to that revenge, and I 
 Will aid thee to the crown. 
 
 Wall. That way, I do 
 Confess, my hopes have looked. Young Rupert's mad. 
 Or hovers on the verge of madness. He 
 Must never rule. Thei'e's not a sword which would 
 Not leap to bar succession 'gainst a soul 
 So stamped and cursed as his. The Duke 
 Is dying fast, and yet named no successor. 
 If that successorship fall but to me. 
 Or still the nomination be, as now. 
 Unfilled, on either chance my hope is good. 
 
 Cath. Most good, and if the Duke so dies, intestate, 
 And thou adventure for the crown, thou hast 
 My aid. My voice with many gentlemen 
 Would gain thee champions, and my brother Eldorf 
 With liberal force should take the field with thee. 
 But, Wallon, mark ; the Duke does think on the 
 
fate; or, tiik propiiecv. 21 
 
 Succession. He bath a ward, Corinna ; 
 
 He loves her much, and holds thee closely to 
 
 His heart. Corinna's husband, would — dost mark? 
 
 Would stand in estimation of his love 
 
 Almost a son. Dost understand ? 
 
 Wall. You mean — 
 
 Cath. Marry Corinna — claim her hand. 
 'Twould be the nearest road to that you wish. 
 
 Wall. By Jove ! 'tis likely. 
 
 Cath. Day succeeding night 
 Is not more sure, and chance plays wanton to 
 Your purpose. She in the forest to-night 
 Encounters Rupert secretly. 
 
 Wall. So near ? 
 
 Cath. There is a puny, sickly flame between 
 Them which I would extinguish. Strategy 
 Or force — some cunning needs to wait upon 
 Your plans. Tear them apart. The moon will veil 
 Her face to shut their dalliance out, but you. 
 With clamor of your tongue, shall fright them from 
 Their hot embraces. Let them never meet 
 Again. 'Tis thus thou givest rne revenge. 
 
 Wall. Does Rupert love — 
 
 Cath. What matters? He's disgraced — 
 The Duke himself would reft the girl from him. 
 There is an abbey near, deserted, save by one 
 Old priest. Convey Corinna there. The Duke 
 Will rave to learn that she clandestinely 
 Saw Rupert, will desire to cleanse the stain. 
 And gladly marry her. With his consent 
 Go armed to her. She may resist. The night 
 And secrecy will hide what force you use. 
 Meanwhile I'll whisper in the Ducal ear 
 Thy name as his successor. 
 If given, well; if not, thj marriage to 
 Corinna, kin to his blood, would 
 
28 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECT. 
 
 Give color to thy aim. And tliis, besides, 
 I promise thee a thousand knights, with thrice 
 That number followers, to join 
 Thy banner when unfurled. 
 
 Wall. It shall be done. 
 This night shall separate the girl from him 
 Forever. 
 
 Cath. So lives my revenge. Do this. 
 And let thy dreams aspire. [Exeunt separately. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ loood. Moonlight. 
 Enter Rupert and Maurice. 
 
 Rup. She docs not come. There was a little joy 
 Within my heart, but this forsaking now 
 Hath pierced it quite. The worship of 
 My love had reared an idol where I knelt, 
 But now, alas ! this stern iconoclast. 
 My destiny, hath broken up the image. 
 She too is nothing. 
 
 Mau. Sir, you do her wrong. 
 I marked a paleness and a sadness on 
 Iler brow, and unaware a sigh, 
 As from a heart o'erladen, broke with low 
 And tearful lamentation from her lips ; 
 And when I spake of you, as through a dark 
 And rifted cloud the sun will break, so lit 
 With sudden light her drooping eye, and o'er 
 The paleness of her cheek there came and went 
 Quick orient flushes, such as those we see 
 Dappling a summer morn. 
 
 Rup. Pale, say you, pale ? 
 She once was rich in blooming rosiness, 
 Dewey like flowers at the matin hour, 
 Full to the brim with exulting life, 
 Ao'low with nectar'd health. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 20 
 
 Enter Corinna, hurriedly. 
 
 Cor. My lord, 
 Oh, Rupert — 
 
 Rup. Corinna ! 
 
 Cor. Rupert, dear tny lord, 
 I am pursued. 
 
 Rup. Pursued ! What means this fear ? 
 
 Cor. I heard the distant tramp of armed men, 
 And torches through the forest gleamed afar, 
 While figures moved between the lights and me. 
 Some mischief's planned against thy peace. 
 
 Rup. Good Maurice, look to this. Set watch. There is 
 
 \Exit Maurice. 
 No danger, love. Oh, heaven, do I fold 
 Thee to my breast again ! Forever live 
 Upon my heart, and stay its breaking. 
 Close, close, for peace is on me now. 
 
 Cor. Rupert ! 
 
 Rup. Corinna, let me look on thee, for this 
 Doth seem a blessing that e'en with the gaze 
 Must all away again. Oh, I have lono-ed 
 To know this hour. 
 
 CoR. Thou'rt sadly altered, love. 
 The moon's pale light reveals thy cheek's wan shade ; 
 Thy tones are very sad ; thine eye looks full 
 Of soundless woe. Rupert, thou hast suifered much. 
 
 Rup. Corinna, oh, Corinna ! [Weeps. 
 
 CoR. Rupert ! 
 
 Rup. I never wept before. 
 
 CoR. This grief of thine 
 Possesses me. But oh, cast off the shade ; 
 It is but fancy which thy banishment 
 And gloomy solitude create. 
 
 Rup. Think not 
 
30 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 So mucli of it. Thy presence mellowed this 
 Despair, and softened it to tears. 
 
 Cor. Dear Rupert, 
 My tears with thine will raove oar heaven's love 
 To pass this fate from theo. Be not cast down. 
 Oh, there is hope. 
 
 Rup. Thy smile is now its dawn ! 
 But ah, you do not know how sterile, wild 
 And desert-like hath been my heart, to which 
 No thing in nature bears a seeming. I 
 Remember .standing once upon a heath 
 Where not a living thing abided ; rocks 
 Whose barren sides no mossy softness bore ; 
 No nature's velvet on the sodden turf; 
 No flowers exhaling sweetness on the air ; 
 Extending waste and deathful gloom alone ; 
 Some blasted, riven trees stood here and there — 
 Gaunt, withered shafts that whitened with decay, 
 With but a branch or two still clinging to 
 Their ravaged sides, whose tortured shapes did seem 
 Grim spirits of Desolation watching o'er 
 Their wild domain. 'Twas night and deep black clo,uds 
 Lay piled in masses o'er the sky, save where 
 A star or two looked out to show the scene. 
 As T amidst this wildness stood, my brow 
 Unto the heavens bared, I thanked my fsite 
 There was one spot to which my soul 
 In sympathy could cling But suddenly, 
 Through blackened rents and ragged drifts of clouds 
 The moon broke forth, and laid hor soothing hand 
 Upon the wilderness, and lo ! 'twas bright 
 And fair — Then, then T fled, for Nature in 
 ]Ier darkest mood w;issiill beneath the smile 
 Of Heaven — / alone ivas not / 
 
 CoR. You think. 
 Of this too deeply, love. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PKOPHECT. 31 
 
 Enter Maurice. 
 
 Rup. Maurice ! 
 
 Matj. Away ! 
 An armed body bend their steps to this. 
 
 Rup. Their purpose ? Can you tell ? 
 
 Mau. I know not sure, 
 But once [ drew so near I caught some hint 
 As to their aim, which was upon this lady. 
 
 Cor. On me ? 
 
 Mau. They come, sir, rapidly. Withdraw, 
 Dear Prince, thy safety only is in flight. 
 
 Rup. Is Wallon there? 
 
 Mau. I think he leads. 
 
 Rup. There is 
 Some plan in this to do me wrong, but which 
 I do not clearly see. 
 
 Mau. Dear sir, away. 
 
 Rup. I must confront this man. 
 
 Mau. To do it now 
 Were madness. Sir, remember, if he aims 
 Upon this maid all time could not repair 
 The wounds this night iiitiicLs. Corinna is 
 In danger. Save her. 
 
 CoR. Rupert, love, be ruled 
 By him. 
 
 Rup. Thy safety, love, is all the worlo. 
 I will avoid him now, and yet I pant 
 To bare my blade against his breast. But come, 
 Corinna, come. [Exeunt Rupert and Corinna. 
 
 Mau. a little braving now 
 To give them time. 
 
 Enter Wallon foUoived by Soldiers, Retainers, with 
 torches, d-c. 
 
 Wall. What's this ? Oho, our man 
 Of eloquence ! Where's thy master ? 
 
32 FATE ; OR^ THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Mau. If 
 You mean your young Prince Rupert, lie's not here. 
 
 Wall. Look you, give not your tongue to sauciness, 
 Or I will carve it with my sword. Aside, 
 That we may pass to hunt the forest farther. 
 
 Mau. I like this spot, I do not care to move. 
 
 Wall. By Jove, I'll cut a channel through thy flesh 
 If for a moment thou dost bar my course. 
 
 Mau. I lean against this tree. It rests me well ; 
 Pass on above, below, on either side — 
 Here, gentlemen, I choose to stand. 
 
 Wall. Upon 
 Thee then. I'll carve a way. 
 
 [^Passes at Maurice, who suddenly draws and 
 after a j)ass w two disarms him. 
 
 Mau. First learn some better fence. You all, 
 Who stand there staring by like women, I 
 Will try your mettle — Come at once. 
 
 Wall. Upon 
 Him. Cut him down. 
 
 {They rush upon Maurice, who retreats off 
 the stage, defending himself followed by all. 
 Re-enter Maurice. 
 
 Mau. Poor fools, pursue the shadows ; they will lead 
 A glorious chase. Thy torches light 
 Thy folly, not thine enemy. But I 
 Must follow closely on their track lest they 
 O'ertake the birds they liunt. 
 
 Enter Rupert, hurriedly. 
 
 Rup. Maurice ! Maurice ! 
 
 Mau. My Prince ! where is Corinna ? 
 
 Rup. Dragged — O God 
 That it should be — dragged from my side. Call help ! 
 Arouse the country ! Rescue, Maurice, rescue ! 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 33 
 
 Divided parties rear and front, each one 
 
 Of twenty blades did suddenly enclose 
 
 Our patli. Their swords clashed thickly round, they 
 
 pressed 
 On ev'ry side. I clove tbeni down ; my sword 
 Ran dripping with their blood. ]3ut suddenly 
 Corinna's hold was loosened from my hand; 
 A dozen foes came in between us ; wild 
 With rage I threw my weight upon them — they 
 Gave way ; but like a gleam I saw 
 Corinna vanish in the darkness ; then 
 I was alone. Each figure glided off. 
 And left me only impotent dismay. 
 
 Mau. I held at bay one group, another fell 
 On you. What can we do ? — 
 
 Rup. What do ? But this ! 
 Unto the castle — brave them there. I've borne 
 Enough of evil, now for .some revenge. 
 Each drop of blood is fiery spur to action ! 
 I'll f;ice my father, dare the most his spite 
 Can do, and either gain redress or death. 
 
 Mau. Alas ! a storm is gath'ring round. 
 
 Rup. I'll top 
 The billow though it roll to heaven ! To 
 The castle ! Come. 
 
 END OF ACT 11. 
 
u 
 
 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 ACT m. 
 
 SCENE I.— An Ante-chamher. 
 
 Enter Bernard. 
 
 Ber. There never was a woman like to her. 
 She doth out-parallel her riddle sex ; 
 I never met with such a thing as she. 
 There was no use in my passion, for 
 She only laughed to hear me rail. I swore I should 
 Be master of herself, and not her slave, 
 I vowed I would be stern, severe, and to 
 This end did purse my brows and bend my mien 
 To a most savage fierceness, and the more 
 To quick aftVight her, bared my sword. But no, 
 Nor frowns, nor thund'ring words, nor naked steel 
 Did start her from her fixed soul, nor move 
 The ruddy color of her cheek. Indeed, 
 A marv'lous woman. 
 
 Enter Wallon and ^Maximilian. 
 
 Max. How now, Bernard ! Hast 
 Thou tamed this fiery dragon ? 
 
 Ber. Look 
 I not a victor 1 
 
 Wall. Wonderfully, sir. 
 And so she quits her lofty flight ? 
 
 Rup. Be sure 
 She does. She kisses like a maiden green 
 In love, and when I ask her name the hour 
 To consummate our happiness, she folds 
 Her arms, demurely, saying, ' As you please.' 
 I shall acquaint you both, sirs, of the day. 
 Adieu. \Exit Bernard. 
 
fate; or, the prophecy. 35 
 
 Max. a merry gentleman, 
 Until this love did turn his brain. 
 
 Wall. In all 
 Things else a lively sense, in this alone 
 A very ass. 
 
 Max. How is the Duke to-day ? 
 
 Wall. He hourly fails. 
 
 Max. Who hath he named successor ? 
 
 Wall. None. Rupert must not reign, who then ? 
 He'll doubtless seize the sceptre, but his 
 Infirmity will cause it wither in 
 His powerless grasp — 
 
 Enter Lady Catherine. 
 
 Cath. What do you here ? The Duke 
 Is needing counsel in his last estate. 
 
 Wall. {To Max) To him, my friend, and say I'll shortly 
 pay 
 My duty to his Grace. [Exit Maximilian. 
 
 Cath. He cannot live 
 Beyond the day. Are you prepared to act 
 As circumstances need ? 
 
 Wall. I am. 
 
 Cath. Have you 
 His sanction to your marriage with Corinna ? 
 
 Wall. When he was told Corinna's flight to Rupert, 
 He wept with childish tears ; " My son," he cried, 
 "My only blood turned wolfishly against 
 " Its source, and fed with hatred where it once 
 " Drew love, and now my daughter, she alone 
 " My heart enfolded fondly to itself, 
 " Proves traitor too !" I then related him 
 The circumstance of last night's work, and asked 
 Her hand. He eagerly consented. Nay, 
 Declared it was his very purpose. 
 
36 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Cath. What then remains but you to marry her ? 
 
 "Wall. Corinna is a fond, romantic chit, 
 Crammed high with silly virtues which belong- 
 To heaven, not to earth. 'Twere fitter they 
 Should stay in heaven. There's a subtle strength 
 Inlying in her nature, which 
 I cannot break. But let me whisper love, 
 A thousand scorns shoot arrows from her eyes 
 And lips. 
 
 Cath. Intrigue must do what force cannot. 
 Do thou let her receive a letter — forged — 
 From Rupert, setting forth why they should marry — 
 Appointing hour — enjoining secrecy ; 
 Suborn the priest, and then at midnight, thou. 
 Mantled and masked, the tapers dim, the hour 
 Secure, with many shows of secret haste 
 And danger, breathing low the hurried vows, 
 Couldbt marry her, she thinking thee lier Rupert. 
 
 Wall. Well planned. It shall be done. Bnt T must to 
 The Duke. We'll speak of this again. 
 
 Cath. To-night, 
 Be sure and consummate the act to-night ; 
 Delay is dangerous ! \JSxcunt separately. 
 
 SCENE \\.~The Hall of Audience. The Dpke seated. 
 Wallon, Dampierre, Maximilia.x, Bernard, Lady 
 Catherine, Lords, Ladies, Pages, dec, Ac. 
 
 Wall. Your Grace, this place is not the one to suit 
 Thy heavy breath ; some room, dear Sire, whose air 
 Is purer, where no rude disturbing sounds 
 Destroy thy peace, would better suit thy pain. 
 A.nd oh ! our griefs. Be pleased to move unto 
 Your chamber. 
 
 Duke. No ! My state upon my brow. 
 My lords in counsel thus around me, T 
 
fate; or, the prophecy. 37 
 
 Await the coming of this mystery. 
 
 Corinna, Wallon, where is she ? I loved 
 
 The maid. Her voice should soothe my parting hour. 
 
 Ah, she was very gentle, fair, most fixir. 
 
 Enter Rupert suddenly. 
 
 All. Rupert ! 
 
 Rup. Why pale your cheeks and start 
 You so ? Why rest your hands upon your hilts. 
 And gleam your eyes as tho' your felchions burned 
 To bristle 'gainst my breast Nay, be it so. 
 And we shall see whose blood will spirt the highest ! 
 
 Wall. My Lord — 
 
 Rup. Count Wallon, I'll not hear you speak. 
 
 Duke. Audacious boy ! How dar'st thou here ? 
 
 Rup. I'm here 
 For justice, justice to myself and for 
 My enemies. I have been wronged, dark wrongs 
 That date far back — but, oh, last night the top 
 Of wrongs. Corinna, Sire — 
 
 AVall. My lord, you heard 
 Your father's word, the which I am empowered 
 To see enforced. You are exiled, and by 
 This coming here defy the law 
 And scorn authority. Ly such an act 
 You have cast off his clemency, and may 
 Be made to suffer. There's a way to save 
 The sternest course — depart at once. 
 
 Rup. I'm here 
 As rock invulnerable, fixed and firm. 
 And none shall stir me hence. Do not attempt 
 The act, for by all sacred things, I swear 
 I'll dye my sword's point in his blood who moves 
 To check my will. I have a stern despair 
 .Vnd fierce vindictiveness which scorn the end — 
 
38 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Indifferent to tlie death I give or may 
 Receive. ^Iciest me not, I charge you, sirs. 
 
 Duke. What would you, boy ? 
 
 Rup. I must have audience of 
 Your Grace alone. 
 
 Wall. Alone ? 
 
 Rup. Alone, Count Wallon 1 
 And look you, sir, prevent it not. There's much 
 Between us, things the sword must yet decide ; 
 Come not athwart my purpose now, for I've 
 The will to strike you dead. 
 
 Duke. GJive him his way. 
 These moments are my last, what boots it then 
 If this unnatural, disloyal boy 
 Hastens the few remaining sands to their end. 
 He shall be heard. Go, gentlemen, yield his wish 
 So clamorously urged. No ill can come, 
 For death will twin both good and ill in one 
 Oblivious end. 
 
 Wall. Your Grace shall be obeyed. 
 
 Catii. {Aside to Wallon.) Fear not this storm, 'twill 
 blow success. 
 
 \_Exeunt all but the Duke and Rupert. 
 
 Duke. And now be brief — your business ? 
 
 Rup. Am I 
 No more than this ? The lowest serf might claim 
 As much. 
 
 Duke. And traitors less. 
 
 Rup. I understand, 
 But I am past the wounding. Name 
 iSIe as you will. But oh ! when age 
 Consents with death to mine the ripened form, 
 And doom-like shadows darken o'er thy brow, 
 At such a time let angry words be spared. 
 
 Duke. Dost come then to repent I 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECT. 39 
 
 Rup. For what I did 
 In rage, a keen remorse hath ever filled 
 My heart ; but I have been too foully wronged 
 To beg a pardon where I have some claim 
 To find redress. 
 
 Duke. How now I Art here for this ? 
 
 Rup. Father, I pray you spare hot words. I'm not 
 Possessed with all the coolness I should have 
 To stand before you, I have memories 
 That prick me ever with a fiery spur. 
 Oh, rouse them not ! 1 am prepared to yield 
 All things a man may yield, and win your love 
 Again ; so let not discord separate 
 Us now. 
 
 Duke. I will not — 
 
 Rup. Hear me yet. There is 
 In me that hot impetuousnass which 
 You bear, and which I did receive from you. 
 My passions, will and humor, all unswayed 
 By discipline, have grown 
 Too fondly seated in their waywardness 
 To brook controlment now. From childhood all 
 The passions of my heart were left to bloom 
 And harvest to their full, until I bore ' 
 A wilderness which ran to rot and seed ; 
 Luxuriant, but poisonous plants, choking out 
 All goodly growths and blasting wholesome roots. 
 You know my evil, stir it not. 
 
 Duke. Now hear 
 Me, sir. Your proud and wayward soul that first 
 Defied control and spurned at counsel, brought 
 On you your sufiering. Indignities 
 On me inflicted, on my councillors 
 And friends imperious will and fitful passion. 
 Your nature dead to love, you ceaseless hurled 
 The illness of your hate on all alike. 
 
40 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 I often heard the Avrongs you did, aud so 
 Resolved to punish. 
 
 Rup. Lies ! by policy 
 Invented — lies to do me wrong- and pierce 
 The centre of my hope — invented by 
 Your friends, those friends for -whose preferment you 
 Discarded me. 
 
 Duke. Wrong not my friends. 
 
 Rup. I do 
 Not wrong your friends. I know my nearness to 
 Your Grace pleads nothing in my cause ; that you 
 Believe instead these vile court cringers, who 
 Would raise their beards for you to spit upon, 
 Or lay their shoulders for a mounting block. 
 I tell you, sir, these friends are false to me 
 And you. 
 
 Duke. I will not hear them so proclaimed. 
 They are my truest friends, who all uphold 
 My dignity and do office to 
 
 My state — dear friends, who when my son upraised 
 His parricidal arm, did thwart him in 
 His hideous purpose. 
 
 Rup. Patience, burning heart ! 
 Oh, patience ! Father, as thou prayest to 
 Thy God for mercy, taunt me not like this. 
 I came to plead for peace. I may not be 
 As patient nor as gentle as I should ; 
 There's too much torment in my breaking heart, 
 I would forget and be forgiven, but 
 There is a leaping fmy in tny breast 
 Which oh ! for love of heaven, stir not so. 
 
 Duke. You must not wrong my friends. 
 
 Rup. They wronged me mucli, 
 They brought your son to this. 
 
 Duke. Not so ; your own 
 Disloyal self alone was guilty. 
 
fate; or, the prophecy. 41 
 
 Rup. Father ! I will be calm ! You call me guilty! 
 I was a fiery youth, proud, stern, and harsh 
 To those I knew not well, as closing- up 
 My gentler self, turned only to the world 
 My nightly side, the inner sun-lit nature 
 Revealed alone to those whose friendship wooed 
 The knowledge. Thus to many seeming cold, 
 And to these maggots breeding in the rays 
 Of favor, showing bitterness and scorn, 
 I won much hatred ; but, my father, if 
 Thou hadst but smiled, or cast upon my heart 
 A little of the love my yearning eyes 
 Watched day by day to gain, the frozen wax 
 Had melted, taking thy impress of love 
 And bearing it forever. But with hope 
 And dreams and secret aspirations, 
 And new found joy in love of fiiir Corinna, 
 There came a sudden blight that turned my heart 
 And all its secret wealth to ashes. 
 
 Duke. What was this ? 
 
 Rur. A revelation, coming like 
 A cloud, which blackened earth and heaven, ne'er 
 Again to lift its sable pall — a doom 
 Inwritten in my brain with dawn of iife, 
 Infused e'en with inception, permeating 
 Kach drop of blood flowing from my mothers veins 
 To those of mine. This knowledge newly broke 
 TTpon my soul — its horrors darkling o'er 
 My path — 'twas then thou drov'st me from thy presence. 
 A grief thou shouldst have soothed, an evil thou 
 Ik'stowed, itself and me were thrust away ! 
 < >h God ! that hour ! It seemed as though my brain 
 Would burst and scatter to the winds its weight 
 Of fire. Injustice heaping agony 
 Made up a sum of suffering beyond 
 Mv heart to measure or sustain. 
 
42 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 You banished me — two years I wandered forth 
 
 In desolation and dead desj^air. 
 
 But one fair star still showed me where was heaven ; 
 
 Corinna sweetened memory, made life 
 
 A thing to bear, and hope to soar with wings 
 
 Of love. 
 
 Duke. Corinna ! 
 
 Rup. But as if no-wrong 
 Could pass unthought, last night an army of 
 Thy satellites, led by the miscreant Wallon — 
 
 Duke. The miscreant Wallon ! Foul tongued boy ! 
 
 Rup. These ministers of thy revenging purpose, 
 Broke in upon my peace with clamor of 
 Pursuit, and dragged by crowd of numbers from 
 My very arms, the fair Corinna ! 
 The monsters were thy shadows, creatures who 
 Caught hints from thee and made them laws. They knew 
 Thy wish, though darkly uttered, knew thou didst 
 Pursue me with a hatred monstrous and 
 Unnatural — and so divining what 
 Thy wishes were, did act upon them. Thus 
 Upheaping wrongs, last night did reach the top 
 Beyond endurance. Where is Corinna ? 
 Thou shalt not rob me of my only joy. 
 
 Duke. Corinna, Wallon weds. I have so pledged. 
 Blaspheming boy, beware ! do not react 
 Thy former scene of crime. 
 
 Rup. To Wallon wed! 
 May universal death fall on our house 
 Ere such a thing can be. Thou dost refuse 
 Me peace — with unrelenting dagger pierceth 
 My dearest hope. Hear me ! Thou art no more 
 My fother, but my enemy. Look well 
 To know as I have known. Be venom stings 
 In thee as thou hast stung, and know^, oh know, 
 In thy last hour, the hopelessness of dark 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 43 
 
 Despair ; be serpents God of heaven ! I know 
 
 Not what I say — This spirit's on me now ! [Hushes off. 
 Duke. Rupert ! My son ! [Sinks hack into his chair. 
 His curses ring my knell ! 
 His words were as the wing of death. But I'll 
 Not yield unto the parricide. Within ! 
 Whatho ! My breath is ebbing ; this I feel 
 Is Death's ascendant hour. Still give me time 
 That he mav know my power. 
 
 Enter Catherine. 
 
 Cath. My liege, how ill 
 You look. May heaven spare your Grrace ! 
 
 Duke. The end 
 Hath come; this mortal life is rounding oft'. 
 Thou only, Catherine, art left to me — 
 The nearest to my blood. 
 
 Cath. Not so ; your son — 
 
 DuicE. Not him ! Not him ! How dark the shadow 
 grows ! 
 Air, air ! My son, in thee so sadly doomed, 
 Doth end our house. I will not think of him. 
 He is a viper eating to my heart ! 
 Hear me, Catherine— he must not reign, his woe 
 Unfits him — bid the lords attend — I've here 
 The paper nominating Wallon Duke — - 
 
 Cath. Sire, cast not oft' your son — 
 
 Duke. Infirm and weak 
 He should not reign. Disloyal, false, he shall 
 Not reign — 
 
 Cath. My gracious liege, ah, speak not thus! 
 Give me the document, in Wal Ion's hands 
 A solemn testament from thee [aside) the name 
 Is blank, not yet filled in — (aloud) Your Grace, it needs 
 Your signature. ♦ 
 
 Duke. Give me the pen — there is 
 
44 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 A mist before my gaze — come guide my liand. 
 
 \^Catherine assists him to sign the paper. 
 I trust in thee — my will proclaim — I die — ■ 
 Attendance bring. 0, life and world farewell ! 
 My state and sovereignty lie low ; power, 
 Thou art a mockery ! I cannot speak — 
 Some air. 
 
 Enter Pages and Attendants. 
 
 Cath. Unto his chamber lead him. — {Aside) He 
 Is speechless. Heaven lock his tongue forever ! 
 My fate hangs on a moment's fleeting course. 
 
 Duke. I die ! — Air ! Air ! 
 
 Cath. I pray the lords may hold 
 Away until 'tis past. (Aloud) Conduct him hence. 
 
 [i/e is led off. Exeunt all but Catherine. 
 Works fate so well ! This paper blank, the name 
 Unfilled, reposed in me unknown to others. 
 Not Wallon's but young Rupert's name shall know! 
 And secret held by me till time and place 
 Shall make it like an angel's tongue, so plead 
 My cause, success will sit upon it. Aye, 
 I see the way ! Oh, blessed page, fair sheet, 
 Thou art a Delphic scroll to me; my fate 
 Inwritten lies within thy charmed lines. 
 By thee he shall be mine — hiuiself, his state, 
 His all ! The future breaks — the upward course 
 I see ; my plans unfold, all things conspire 
 To aid where high ambition points the way. 
 Corinna hides the sun no more, this smooth 
 And cunning Wallon pliant to my will — 
 
 Enter Dampierre. 
 
 How is the Duke ? 
 
 Damp. His breath is short. The end 
 "Will come too soon. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECT. 45 
 
 Cath. He must not die and I 
 Away. 
 
 Enter "Wallon. 
 
 Alas ! my lord, your face looks like 
 A sorro^v. 
 
 Wall, Read it so. That royal soul 
 To whom we owed a love and reverence, 
 Is shrouded now in death's estate. 
 
 Cath. Oh, woe ! 
 (To Damp^ Good sir, unto the lords and bear this grief. 
 
 \Exit Dam'pierre. 
 (To Wallon) What is thy course ? 
 
 Wall. I will confront him with 
 A charge of his insanity, which by 
 All law deprives him of his will. 
 
 Cath. Confront 
 Him here, surrounded by his vassals and 
 Retainers, those in whom his blood and rank 
 Inspire a love and reverence, and thou 
 Art lost. Away and seek a foreign aid. 
 And back thee with the weight an army gives. 
 Those superstitious fears abroad, thou canst 
 So work, his friends will fall from him as one 
 Accursed, and with accord will follow thee, 
 Thundering to the sky thy name as Duke. 
 
 Wall. That Rupert's mad, and no succession named 
 Remains the rock on which I build my hopes. 
 
 Enter Rupert, speaking. 
 
 My father, father ! What, Count Wallon ! 
 I came to seek my father, why wilt thou 
 Still cross my path ? 
 
 Wall. Aye, seek and find him, sir. 
 
 Cath, x\las, my lord, thy sire is dead ! 
 
 Rup. No ! no ! 
 
46 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Thou canst not mean — Almighty heaven ! 
 He dead and all my curses un recalled, 
 He dead and I have no forgiveness ! dead ! 
 And still his hatred on my soul ! Oh grief ! 
 Oh woe ! 
 
 Cath. Thou art our sovereign now. 
 
 Wall. Not so ! Religion, justice, law essays 
 Against the act. Nay, frown not, lord. I will 
 Proclaim that thy infirmity doth bar 
 Succeeding to the crown. 
 
 Rup. What means this new 
 Framed insolence ? 
 
 Wall. The stings your soaring pride . 
 So oft unspai'ing thrust into my breast, 
 Prompts now redress. I'll fling abroad the charge 
 That thou wert near to the good Duke's death. 
 
 Rdp. How ! 
 
 Wall. Aye sir, a murderer ! An hour ago 
 You met, your sword without the scabbard, 
 And drawn upon the poor old man. We left 
 You thus, and when again we saw the Duke, 
 The damp of death was on his brow, his heart 
 By his ungrateful son so pierced and rent, 
 The life no longer courting of this world. 
 Did gladly 'scape fi-oui such remembrances. 
 
 Rup. Art mad ? I'll crush thee to the dust. 
 
 Wall. I will 
 Proclaim thy crime 1 What ho ! Come forth ! 
 Good lords and gentlemen, all loyal souls. 
 
 Enter Dampieurk, P>erna:!D, Maxlmilian, lords^ dec, all 
 cuter hurriedly 
 
 Come forth ! all you that grieve, behold 
 The cause! The murd'rerof tlie Duke! 
 
 All. Rupert ! 
 
 Wall. The ]);uTicide, whose words did wound our sire 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 47 
 
 To death. Shall he then rule in Altenburg ? 
 There is no man of you that loved his lord, 
 Who'll not defy the rule that plumes upon 
 A father's broken life ! 
 
 Rup. What thing is this ? 
 There is no tiuth in thee. 
 
 Wall. Dost thou recall 
 The sibyl's prophecy ? 
 
 Rup. {Starting back.) Oh God! I do 
 Remember ! How it comes upon me with 
 A breath that withers ! No ! The words were false 
 And meaningless. I shut them from my sense. 
 
 Wall. No ! let thein ever hiss upon thy brain — 
 " When Rupert stains his soul ivith kindred life, 
 " His brain shall be toith deepest madness rifey — 
 
 Rup. No more ! No more ! 
 
 Wall. " And look see the death iqion his brow, 
 " His dying words a murderer's soul avow:' 
 
 Rup. No more ! 
 
 £Jnter Maurice. 
 
 Mau. Thou traitor 1 Seize him, gentlemen I He hath 
 Pursued our Prince with traitorous designs, 
 And even now aspires to grasp the crown ! 
 Your blades flash upward, gentlemen, and shout 
 For Rupert, Duke ! 
 
 Wall. Then be it so ! 
 For Wallon, Duke ! To horse ! we'll try 
 The issue in the field ! To horse ! 
 
 Wallon and his folloioers arc about rushing forth, tvhen 
 suddenly the centre doors are thrown open, and a 2>rocession 
 of Priests, loith music approach, bearing to the cha-pel 
 the body of the Duke. The Procession moves down 
 between the contending factions luhile the combatants, with 
 lifted cap>s and sword points dropped, fall back in picture. 
 
 END OF act in. 
 
48 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECr 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I.— A Boom. 
 
 Enter Catherine and Dampierre. 
 
 Cath, My brother holds in readiness, you say ? 
 
 Damp. An hour would bring- him in the field. He waits 
 Impatiently the time. To Wallon still 
 He seems a friend — with promises doth hold 
 Him off — in private pleads his great desire 
 Your pledges of his service to redeem. Each day 
 Declares the next he shall to horse. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis well. 
 The other princes I have named — hast seen 
 Them all ? 
 
 Damp. All ! Each but holds his sword at your 
 Command. Some swell the ranks of Wallon, but 
 To fall from him whene'er thy cause requires. 
 
 Cath. Be sure that loud report of Wallon's purpose 
 Be scattered through the land, and reach 
 In magnitude of danger Rupert's ears. 
 Be silent as a midnight sprite — thy plans 
 Securely hold, to none give ear nor tongue. 
 Watch close, work well, thy high reward shall jump 
 E'en with thy wishes. Leave me now. [Exit Dampierre. 
 
 I hold 
 The thread of every })lau. Count Wallon in 
 The field is backed by numbers large and growing, 
 While Rupert's friends, affrighted by the ill 
 Which on him sits, wax cold in service. When 
 Forsaken, plunged in poverty and loss, 
 Destruction on his path, dismay within 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 49 
 
 His heart, the tottering ruin of his state 
 O'erwhelming him, no star, nor hope, nor friend, 
 Then I shall ride the storm, and subtly turn 
 Its force to waft me into power. brain, 
 Thy cunning tissues weave ! I almost grasp 
 The great desire — I feel it nearly mine. 
 
 Enter Bernard. 
 What news ? 
 
 Ber. The strangest. Riding in the forest 
 This early morn I paused to wet my lips 
 At where a cot invited me. Within, 
 To my unspealdng wonder, there I saw 
 Corinna. 
 
 Cath. Corinna ! 
 
 Ber. Faint and sick 
 I gathered something of her story. 
 
 Cath. Well! 
 Thy dreams pursue thy waking hours. Go on. 
 Why pause ? Tell o'er thy story. 
 
 Ber. Thus it was. 
 Concealed by AVallon in the abbey near, 
 Corinna learned or caught a hint 
 Of some vile plan to force espousals with 
 Count Wallon. Flight by chance was offered her. 
 At night she clambered thro' a window, and 
 Into the forest fled with timid haste ; 
 There wandering helpless and alone till morn, 
 Some kindly woodmen found her lying on 
 The ground, exhausted, almost dying, 
 
 Cath. Not married then to Wallon ! (Aside.) I am 
 betrayed. 
 This doth endanger all. Some plan ! some plan ! 
 (Aloicd.) Count Bernard, serve me now, and thou shalt 
 
 crown 
 Thy highest wish with quick success. 
 
50 FATE ; OK, THE PROPHECr. 
 
 Ber. Thy love — 
 
 Cath. My love or else thou ciaim'st. 
 
 Ber. I'll serve thee if 
 It were a challenge to the tiend himself. 
 Thy love my goal, I'd battle Satau 
 To win it. Command me, lady. 
 
 Cath, I'll acquaint 
 Thee with the matter presently. Await 
 Me hence awhile. 
 
 Ber. Do not be long. l£!xit Bernard. 
 
 Cath. Yes, yes, 
 Concealed there, reported dead ! A well 
 Adjusted tale would pass suspicion. Aye, 
 'Twould serve. Reported dead ? If dead in truth — 
 No, no, I'm not so lost. No blood, no blood ! 
 Ambition, love and hatred, you that beck 
 Me on, lead not to that ! [JSxit. 
 
 SCENE II. — RcrpERT discovered as Duke, Maurice, Dam- 
 PIERRE and others. 
 
 Rup. (^Rising and coming doivn.) Go each the way his 
 
 pleasure leads him. T 
 Will walk alone. You, Maurice, stay. {Walks alone.) 
 
 Each breath 
 Of air doth seem the bursting of this fear, 
 And every sudden word the coming of 
 A retribution in madness. Alas ! 
 Why do I fear ? The thing itself knows 
 Nothinoj worse than this foreshowing. 
 But oh, how heavy sits my heart! Why must 
 T bear this woe '\ Come hither, Maurice. Thou, 
 Daar Maurice, friend, art now my only prop. 
 Thy loving service looks to heaven like 
 A glory. Ah, when other's fell from me 
 And my sad state, you joined your fortunes to 
 My love, and ventured happiness in the 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 51 
 
 Same stormy sea. But now I pray you, let 
 Not grief for me withdraw your purposes 
 From where your own excelling claims their close 
 Devotion. 
 
 Mau. You do me wrong to think I have 
 An aim which is not yours. My service to 
 Your love is my serenest hope. 
 
 Rup. Then serve 
 Me as you wish, and be the nearest to 
 My councils, closest to ray heart and sole 
 Usurper of my favor and my love. 
 
 Mau. My lord you move me nearly. 
 
 Rup. Say not so. 
 But tell me, Maurice, of Coriuna. 
 Hast aught been heard of her ? Oh ! there 
 I'm wounded past redress, past cure. Could I 
 But reach thee, "Wallon ! Fate ! reserve that boon 
 For me ! Let death not come till I revenge 
 This mighty wrong. 
 
 Mau. We find no trace nor clue. 
 The priest has fled. Abducted, so we think, 
 He's doubtless now in this arch -rebel's camp. 
 
 Rup. In ^Vallon's camp ? Perchance in AVallon's arms ! 
 Death ! Oh, that I could pull down ruin on him ! 
 Can we not rescue her ? Why stand we here ? 
 Let's fall upon this carrion bird who plumes 
 An eagle's flight, disperse his forces, beat 
 Him back to the eternal forests of 
 The cloud-wrapped North ! 
 
 Mau. Sire, by what means ? Your friends 
 Infected by some devilish cunning, fall 
 From you, and all are swallowed up in his 
 O'ergrowing force. He is but twenty leagues 
 Removed, and now with banners, music, gay 
 Discourse, and show of prosperous venture, 
 Approaches like a victor. We are hero ~. .. 
 
52 FATE ; OR, THE PKOPHECY. 
 
 Almost alone. A few heart-royal friends, 
 Enougli to fill a breach, but scarce enough 
 To guard the walls, which tottering stand 
 Ready to fall at a victor's blast. Ah, sire, 
 Our danger looks most large. 
 
 Rup. Are things so dark ? 
 My father's right and his ancestral name 
 I hold and will not yield ingloriously. 
 "We'll fight unto the last, and when we fall 
 Pull down these walls, a blazing sepulchre 
 Upon our heads. 
 
 Berxard. ( Withm.) 
 My Lord Duke, Duke Rupert ! 
 
 Enter Bsr.NAno, and Catiierixe behind. 
 
 Rup. Why what is this ? 
 
 Ber. Your Grace, I know not how 
 To speak the disniallest news that mortal ear 
 Could know. 
 
 Rup. Go on ; speak, sir. 
 
 Ber, Corinna — 
 
 Rup. Corinna ! Stop ! one moment pause. Now speak. 
 
 Ber. Corinna, sire, abducted by Count Wallou, 
 Was cari-ied hence some leagues and placed within 
 A convent. There he did intend to force 
 Her hand, but as I learn from a poor friar 
 I met this morning praying by 
 A road-side cross, her fear of W^allon so 
 Cast down her gentle nature, prayed upon 
 Iler virgin heart, wet with incessant tears 
 Her fading cheek, that wlien a sudden word 
 Of W^allon's coming fell upon her ears. 
 Her grief and terror snapt the ten<ler cord, 
 And death with sweet oblivion silenced all 
 Her fears. This learned I from the friar who now 
 Is wending back. Wallon holds her body. 
 
 [Bujicrt has [/raduall// sunk into a statue-like apathy. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PKOPHECr. 53 
 
 Ber. My dearest lord ! 
 
 Damp. Your Grace ! 
 
 Cath. {Approaching) What, not a word ! 
 I've seen the sculptor's marble look more living. 
 There's something terrible in woe so dull 
 And breathless. 
 
 Mau. Life comes slowly back. My Prince ! 
 
 Rup. Oh, better, better thus ! All human links 
 Are sundered now. My poor Corinna I \^Weeps. 
 
 Cath. Good gentlemen, withdraw awhile, until 
 His grief hath sway. 
 
 Mau. Come, let us grieve apart. 
 For she was fair and pure, and should win tears 
 From honesty. [JExeunt Maurice and Bernard. 
 
 Cath. My dearest cousin, take 
 This woe in lighter grief. 
 
 Rup. Her murderer I am, 
 And yet, alas ! not me, but fate, in whose 
 Disposal I am nothing. 
 
 Cath. Fate say you ? 
 
 Rup. 'Tis better thus. I am alone and can 
 Withstand what is to come with better grace. 
 If she had lived, she would have borne unto 
 The farther world a memory of me 
 As that which was a fear and terror. 
 Ah, cast from heaven's mercy I do know 
 No form of prayer — but then I know her good. 
 She needs them not. Sometimes I feel a want 
 Of prayer — it availeth not. 
 
 Cath. My cousin. 
 The ill you fear wants confirmation. What 
 The sibyl spake is not fulfilled. 
 
 Rup. 'Twill come, 
 
 Cath. And will you yield despairing and in fear ? 
 
 Rup. Confronting it as from the fiends of hell, 
 Defying to the last. No mortal hence 
 
54 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECT. 
 
 Shall read a shudder on my brow, or mark 
 
 A touch of tenderness upon my lips. 
 
 I tear off human sympathy, and with 
 
 My mantle wrapping- round me like 
 
 A Roman, striding darkly on and on, 
 
 Unbending sink into t!ie gulf upon 
 
 AVhose brink I stand. [^xU. 
 
 Cath. 'Tis well ! 'Tis very well. 
 The dawn begins to glow, and glorious hope 
 Is bursting forth effulgent like the day, 
 
 Enter Count Eldorf. 
 
 Ah ! Eldorf, brother ! this is excellent, 
 Most opportune. 
 
 Eld. I greet you, sister. 
 
 Cath. Come you backed with followers ? 
 
 Eld. They march with alow 
 And halting step toward this. I swiftly rode 
 Before, disguised you see, believing I 
 Should kneel to call thee, Queen. 
 
 Catii. It works ! it works ! 
 Come you to my closet, there T will explain 
 Thee much. Fate points the hour upon the dial, 
 We must outstretch our hands and grasp it now. 
 Or slipping by regain the moment never. [JSxeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Chapel. 
 Enter Bernard and Corinna. 
 
 Ber. The Duke is dead, and Rupert reigns, but reigns, 
 Sweet lady, on the brink of madness. 
 
 CoR. Strange 
 Events, thick coming, wonderfid ! But why 
 Am I forbid to see the Duke ? Methinks 
 That I could soothe his troubled soul. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PKOPIlECr. 55 
 
 Ber. a little time and it shall be so, lady. 
 Remained concealed until the raorrow here. 
 In yonder cloister there are rosary 
 And rood, where thou canst kneel and pray 
 For Rupert's good. Meanwhile, I'll slowly break 
 To him the news that thou art here. His mind 
 So tottering beneath the weight it bears, 
 Must cautiously receive that tlood of joy 
 Thy safety will create. Withdraw, sweet lady, 
 And keep thy silence there. 
 
 CoR. Oh, heaven speed 
 The morrow ! Rupert, may our God now grant 
 Thee peace ! [ Withdraios. 
 
 Ber. It was not safe to hold her in 
 The forest. Here I've secret brought her, where 
 No prying fool can scent or pry. To-night 
 She must in darkness be conveyed without 
 The bounds of Altenburg, or thrust in some 
 Dark convent's living grave, from which her voice 
 Can never lift to show our villainy. 
 I have a conscience pricking me for this. 
 Love was the pay — and yet I marvel why 
 My loving Catherine did wish it so. 
 'Tis strange ! Ah well ! Til drown the thought of it 
 In steeping wine, and dream of wedding days. 
 
 SCENE IV. — filter Rupert, lulth a 2mpcr in his hand^ 
 followed h'j Catherine. 
 
 Rup. My father's dying wish ! To join the state 
 With tliee — to marry thee. 
 
 Catii. If, Rupert, thou 
 Wast prosperous, secured in greatness, then 
 That paper I had never shown to thee — 
 I would have burned it. Rupert, when I was 
 A child thv vouUi was like a star to me; 
 
56 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 I knelt afar and bathed my soul within 
 
 Its light, and worshipped it. I thought if I 
 
 Were ever woman formed for love, how such 
 
 A youth should win that love. Thy state did seom 
 
 So high, yet not thy state but thy high nature, 
 
 I did not dare aspire, but secret fed 
 
 A silent passion, hopeless, but oh ! full 
 
 Of its own precious joy. 
 
 Eup. Can this be so ? 
 
 Cath. Still hear me Rupert. I was by thy father 
 In his last moments. He divined the hope 
 I bore, and thought to sanction it. Thou hast 
 The paper there. You loved your father, Rupert, 
 Would fain give some acceding to 
 His dying wish — 'tis there — precious to you 
 And me, but if thy heart cannot respond, 
 Oh, tear the words, and scatter them ; I would 
 Not murmur ; I would only shrink away 
 To solitudes where I might hide the thought 
 Which thy bereavement urged me on to speak. 
 I'm bold, but in thy grief and suifering, 
 My maiden modesty shall not put check 
 Upon ray speech. I love thee Rupert — 
 I ever did. 
 
 Rup. To marry thee — 
 
 Cath. It was 
 My girlhood's young dream, Rupert. Once I ceased 
 To hope, but now in misery and woe 
 I see the idol of my young fancy 
 Cast down, in grief, despairing, sad. 
 And hope springs up again — not hope alone 
 To wed thee, Rupert, but hope that so wed 
 I could draw thee from the contemplation of 
 An evil more linked in thy fancy than 
 Borne out by reason. I do not believe. 
 Dear cousin, this strange story prophesied 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROrilECY. 57 
 
 Of thee. Thy gloomy spirit, pregnant with 
 Its own dark humors, colored earth and heaven 
 \yith hues reflected, fed itself and lived 
 On fears, prognostications, rage, and grief. 
 But once thy heart at peace — its weight of woe 
 Removed, thy spirit, like the sun, would hurst 
 The sable clouds which now obscure its light, 
 And shine resplendent through. 
 
 Rup. Corinna I 
 
 Cath. I speak, my cousin, by thy father's wish ; 
 But if I did not think to render thee 
 A good, I had forever held my peace. 
 I have a brother, Rupert — Eldorf ; he 
 To each request of mine to aid thee in 
 Thy cause hath still refused, replying thus : — 
 ''When thou art Duchess, then a thousand spears 
 Shall take the field for thee." Of others T 
 Have names a score who would their blades unsheath 
 To see us right ; and many, so I think. 
 Who now to Wallon hold, would join their swords 
 With yours, once knoving of this paper here, 
 Which so adjusts succession, treason would 
 Abate its point, if once proclaimed. The land 
 Contentious, bleeding, torn, demands some thought 
 For its distracted state, and those who are 
 The hehn should sternly guide to general good, 
 And not to selfish ends. Thou art the State, 
 x\bove thyself, and solemnly adjured 
 By righteous duties vested in thy sceptre. 
 The safety of thy fold to guard above, beyond 
 Consideration else. This may beseem 
 A pleading for my hope. Not so, dear cousin ; 
 I plead but for the state — if that demands 
 Fulfillment of thy father's wash, canst thou 
 Be silent, dumb ? 
 
 Rup. I reck but little what 
 
68 FATE ; OR, THE PROPUECY. 
 
 Is done. All things to me are mockeries. 
 It is my father's wish — the state's demand — 
 What can there be in marriage that I 
 Should shrink from thinking of it — marriage ! 
 Corinna ! thou, thou shouldst have been my bride ! 
 
 Enter Dampierre. 
 
 Your Grace's pardon — an urgent letter. 
 
 Eup. From Wallon ? — read it sir. 
 
 Damp. (Reads.) " Your Grace must be assured that the 
 force I have is ample for my purpose. I am supported by 
 the best Princes of the land, and note among my friends 
 your closest kindred. My aim is not levelled at your life, 
 nor furthered in your destruction ; resign, therefore, and, 
 you may depart peacefully — resist, and I shall soon thunder 
 at your gates and stand before your presence ; for we 
 those for whom I speak, are resolved never to acknowledge 
 as Duke, a man by the hand of heaven cursed. 
 
 " Wallon." 
 
 Enter Count Eldorf. 
 
 Catii. My brother — Eldorf! Rupert, wilt thou not 
 Adopt a means by which thou may'st ensure 
 The safety of the state, and punish Wallon ? 
 
 Hup. Punish Wallon ! There is no earthly good 
 I'd not forego to gain this single end. 
 Is not Corinna dead ? I'll marry thee 
 My cousin, so my father hath ordained — 
 I will obey. Count Eldorf, speak ! art thou 
 With me ? 
 
 El. I am. 
 
 Rup. Then let the chapel be 
 Prepared for instant ceremonial. 
 I'll marry thee to-night — the morrow may 
 Not come. And then to horse. Upon 
 The altar we will buckle on our spurs. 
 
fate; or, the prophecy. 59 
 
 And now come forth my sword ; thou breathest hope 
 
 That mid the battle's rage, as ring thy strokes 
 
 Ujion the mailed breasts of foes. 
 
 Thine owner's soul may cheat this destiny. 
 
 Come thou, Death ! amid the roar and strife, 
 
 The shock of spear and lance, whilst blood and wild 
 
 Excitement purges out this fear — 
 
 Come then, thou Death, when glorious honor is 
 
 In gory letters written on my blade, 
 
 And I'll embrace and bless thee as a thing 
 
 Of loveliness. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE 1.—A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Maurice and Dampierre. 
 
 Mau. Did you remark the bearing of tlie Duke ? 
 
 Damp, I did, and wondered. 
 
 Mau. It was very strange. 
 He seemed abstracted, careless as to what 
 "Was passing round, no eye, nor tongue for j^riest 
 Or bride. The ceremonial of the time, 
 Resounding music pealing through the dome, 
 Melodious chants, and loud-breathed plaudits, with 
 Bestowing of the bride, and bathing of 
 The waters sanctified, he noted not. 
 His eye was motionless, and in a kind 
 Of vacancy was fixed. He never spoke, 
 Nor smiled, nor answered with a look the cheers 
 And blessings that did follow him ; but once 
 I marked a shudder seemed thro' all his frame 
 To run, which ended in a sigh. 
 
 Damp. He seemed 
 Impatient for the ending of the scene. 
 I feared he would break thro' the merriment 
 With some ungoverned passion. (Music toithin.) Hark! 
 
 The sound 
 Of Music. Come, they leave the chapel ; let 
 Us meet them. {Exeunt. 
 
fate; or, the prophecy. .fii 
 
 Enter Bernard. 
 
 Ber. I marvel wliat I am. 
 An ass 'tis clear, but something worse if I 
 Do bear this usage tamely. I could beat 
 Myself for being so played upon — so used ! 
 Why, now mth oaths, love pledges, vows, sighs 
 Have I made protestations of my love 
 For six months' past, and she without a word 
 Or look bestows her hand upon another. 
 Indeed a mole-blind fool — an ass of asses ! 
 A very screen, she used my love to hide 
 Her aim on Rupert's hand. O fool ! fool ! 
 And then I played the villain, too, to win 
 Her smiles, and plied the Duke with lies of fair 
 Corinna's death ! In truth a villain ! Ha ! 
 Corinna's death ! By all good things ! I have 
 Her now. Corinna lies concealed within 
 The castle — wherefore not confront the Duke 
 With her pale presence ? show him with a look 
 The height and depth of his disgrace and wrong ? 
 Enraged to find himself so tricked and fooled 
 He would some fierce and sudden punishment 
 Inflict, and his revenge would still be mine. 
 I'm not so tame a fool but I can sting. 
 My lady ! Look to see how fools can pull 
 Down wisdom ! Aye, at once ! ere purpose cools, 
 I'll set this bridal tune to discord. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the Castle — Part darJc. 
 
 Enter Rupert, 
 
 Rup, I have escaped from them. Their plaudits 
 stabbed — 
 The air stifled me. I know not what I've done. 
 
62 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECT. 
 
 A groom ! The fiends possessed me when 'twas done— 
 My brow so burns — some air ! 
 
 [Throivs open the casement. 
 The night is calm, 
 
 The stars — I cannot look upon them now, 
 So sorrowfully they bend their gaze. 
 Eyes of Eternity, forever fixed 
 On mortal actions, by whose light records 
 Are made of us, 0, sorrow not on me ! 
 Each star upon the scroll doth seem possessed 
 With an intelligence which plucks from me 
 This knowledge, bearing it to sweet Corinna. 
 <Dh, thou my natal star, where lofty thou 
 Dost reign ! star of my birth 1 canst thou roll back 
 The pall, and show the doom to which I move ? 
 Unfold ! unfold ! It is the hour when I 
 Would pierce the veil ! 
 
 Enter Bernard and Corinna. 
 
 Cor. Of what you say I know not how to credit, 
 And yet would not do you injustice, sir. 
 
 Ber. 'Tis even so, dear lady. 
 
 Cor. Ah ! there is 
 A wicked magic in my senses, 
 Making me believe and hear, and think of things 
 That cannot be. 
 
 Rup. {Hot seeeing them.) A voice is floating on 
 The air as spirits were abroad. If from 
 The grave thou speakest, or art a tone from heaven — 
 
 Cor. Dear Rupert — Prince — 
 
 Rup. Ahnighty heaven ! Heart 
 Suspend not yet ! Speak, who art thou ? 
 
 Cor. Corinna ! 
 
 Rup. Hath madness come at last, and, oh ! is it 
 So sweet a thing? 
 
 Ber. Not so, your Highness. Here there stands, 
 
FATE ; OR, THE TROI'IIECY. 03 
 
 In life and health, Corinna. The story of 
 Her death invented \vn,s by Lady Catherine, 
 To further plans she held on you. 
 
 CoR. And are 
 You married, Rupert? 
 
 Rup. Dumbness strike me now ! 
 I know not what I am, nor yet what is — 
 Fool ! Fool ! fool ! I would I'd fallen 'neath 
 The recreant Wallou's sword, or turned against 
 My own disloyal breast my stained blade, 
 Ere I had cursed myself by being so false. 
 If earth hath vengeance, I will find it out! 
 I am not false to thee, Corinna ! Oh ! 
 I lovc'l thee with a heart unused to love. 
 That poured its might of passion all on one 
 Dear object. Let me fold thee to my heart 
 Again ! It cannot be that thou art lost 
 To me ! Fair, fair Corinna ! Once a hope 
 Did dawn upon me that thy love, so much 
 Of heaven in its pure, sweet depths, might be 
 The instrument of my redemption from 
 The curse I bear, it fell so softly on 
 My troubled soul ; thy smile alone could soothe. 
 O God, am I the sport of heaven ! 
 
 CoR. Dear Rupert ! We can meet no more. Farewell ! 
 Alas, how little kind of fate that gave 
 Not death in truth, but only death which made 
 My life a newer pang. 'Twas death of love, 
 Which has no grave, but cypress ever. Thou 
 Dost hold me in thy arms which are not thine — 
 Unclasp them, Rupert. Prince — thou hast a bride 
 Who waits thee ! 
 
 Rup. No, no ! let me hold thee still. 
 None other ever pillowed on my breast — 
 None shall. Lie here. Ah, God, if merciful. 
 
g4 FATE ; OB, THE PROPHKCY. 
 
 Now end at once ! This is my bride, come wed 
 Us unto death. 
 
 Ber. It was this Catherine, 
 My liege, who moved Count AVallon to his career, 
 And urged him to take the field ; who sent into 
 The forest those who dragged this lady from 
 Thy arms, designing AVallon for her groom 
 By forced espousal ; she with craft more like 
 A fiend's than woman's, when Corinna's flight 
 From Wallon's treachery so nearly crossed 
 Her aim, did plan the story of her death.^ 
 Ambition pushed her on to wrong and crime. 
 She thought to plunge thee in despair, to cast 
 Thee down to lielplessness and pending ruin, 
 From which her hand alone could lift thee up. 
 An army held in readiness ; her friends 
 In secret swelling Wallon's ranks. Ah, sire. 
 Her craft was far outreaching, subtle, strange. 
 
 Hup. hell of hate, hast thou no fury now ! 
 Corinna! Pale she looks! Corinna, we 
 Must part now. Ah ! these kisses are my last ! 
 Great God, she's dead! It is but faintness. Seo, 
 That curl is stranded on her lips. There is 
 No breath to move it. Lead her hence. Convey 
 Her to some chamber, lay her on a couch, 
 Where nauo-ht but heaven and her pillow 
 Mav know her tears. How beautiful ! She moves- 
 Quick, lead her home. Let her not wake to know 
 The agony of parting. [She is borne of by Bernard. 
 
 Am I not , . n 
 
 A dreamer! Mad! mad! mad! There is a fire 
 Or madness, something which to frenzy nears, 
 Now leaping with a fiery motion through 
 My veins. Ye fiends who trifled with this fire 
 Beware. It shall not come and I have not 
 
FATE ; OE, THE PROPHECY. 05 
 
 Revenge. Withhold ye ministers of Fate — 
 
 \Lookmg from the casement. 
 Almighty Providence ! the star beneath 
 "Whose sway my soul took birth hath plunged in the 
 Abyss, and blackness reigns alone where now 
 It radiated ! Terrible fears grow 
 Upon me, and I shudder at a.thought 
 Which is nameless, formless. Destiny, is this 
 Thine hour ? and is this divination of 
 My soul a truth ? My star forever sunk — 
 The prophecy, the proj)hecy ! its dark 
 Fulfillment breaks upon me now, and hers, 
 My bride's, the blood I was predestined in 
 My birth to shed. Then come thou Doom, I pull 
 This death on others as I fall. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Hall in the Castle. Catherine as 
 Duchess, Maurice, Bernard, and others. 
 
 Ducii. Why doth the Duke absent him from our side ? 
 Were we less happy in our new-made joy, 
 We'd find a care in this. 
 
 Enter Dampierre. 
 
 Damp. My lady Duchess, 
 Count Wallon's at the Eastern Gate, and not 
 A moment can elapse ere he will be 
 Within our walls. 
 
 DucH. And Eldorf, where is he ? 
 
 Damp. I see his dusky columns through the gloom 
 Of night, approaching from the west. 
 
 DucH. 'Tis well. 
 Throw ope the gates, and let Count Wallon in. 
 Send speedy horses to the west, and urge 
 My brother's swift approach. [Exit Dampierre. 
 
 Can any tell 
 
06 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Me where his Highness is ? 'Tis strange. 
 
 The State demands him here. I marvel why » 
 
 He hath forsaken us. 
 
 JEntev AVallon, Count of Aymar, Maximilian, and others. 
 
 Wall. Where is Rupert ? 
 He is my prisoner. His lands, his castles 
 By me possessed — • 
 
 DucH. Hold, Wallon. I am 
 The Duchess. 
 
 Wall. Duchess ? Thou ? I understand 
 Not this. 
 
 DucH. Attend, and let thy knee be bent 
 To us. To thee and to thy followers 
 T speak. By the late Duke's attesting voice, 
 I hold the nomination which enjoins 
 His son's succeeding, but conditioned thus — 
 His state and rank to share with me. This hath 
 Been done, and I am Duchess. Therefore let 
 Thy service bow to thy late sovereign's will. 
 The ill thou fear'st in Rupert's blood, at best 
 An idle fear, weighs not, when by his side 
 In equal rank is one of no such taint 
 Accused. Behold the Ducal seal (shoiviuff the paper) 
 
 Respect 
 It, sirs, I charge you, or as traitors shall 
 I brand you. 
 
 Wall. Thou hast done deep wrong to me — 
 Betrayed me. Now I see thy cunning, how 
 Thou usedst me to thy purpose. I'll not yield. i 
 
 This castle do I hold. Ten thousand tongues 
 Proclaim me Duke. I'll seize the state — 
 
 Enter Count Eldorf. 
 Eld. Not so, 
 Count Wallon. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. C)T 
 
 Wall. Thou my enemy — betrayed 
 On every hand ! 
 
 Eld. On ev'ry hand surrounded. 
 Count Aymar, there — 
 
 Aym. Our cause of grief removed, 
 Our Duke and Duchess reigning by command, 
 By heaven's countenance and blessing graced, 
 I sheathe my sword again and lay it at 
 My lady's feet. 
 
 Wall. Thou Aymar ! Oh, traitors all ! 
 
 Eld. My followers surround thee, Wallon. 
 Full half thy troops fling up their blades and cry 
 For Catherine, Duchess. 
 
 Wall. Then, my sword, be thou 
 My friend. I'll carve my way back to my troop 
 And there with bloody arm achieve a crown, 
 Or find a grave. 
 
 l^Riishes through the group and exit 
 
 DucH. Some follow and secure 
 Him. Prisoner to the state, respect 
 Him so. Withdraw the rest. Stay, Bernard. 
 [Exeunt all but Duchess, Bernard and tvomen in waiting. 
 
 Ber. I know your state forbids my tongue, but have 
 I not been cheated, tricked ? Thou art forsworn. 
 
 DucH. Have patience, Bernard. 
 (^sirfe.)This fellow knows 
 Too much ; he must be bought, or — [Aloud.) Bernard, 
 
 hear 
 Me speak. Thy rage is foolish. I am not 
 Forsworn to thee. 'Tis greatness that I wed. 
 Who'll check me where I'd love ? The bounty which 
 My passion gives is boundless; that my state 
 Bestows, unwilling sacrifice. How blind 
 Thou art ! Must priestly hands forever wait 
 On love, and passion which is freeborn 
 Be checked, bound by a ring, a toy like this ? 
 
68 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECr. 
 
 Ber. I'll not be cozzened more by thee. The Duke 
 Doth kaow Corinna lives — they've met. 
 
 DucH. Ah ! is 
 It so? 
 
 Ber. She bides within these halls, and he, 
 Enraged and frantic swears his vengeance. 
 
 DucH. What? 
 Corinna here ? Beneath this roof? You brought 
 Them then together. In the Castle ? Where ? 
 I charge you, where ? 
 
 Ber. Within a chamber lies, 
 Secure from thee. 
 
 Ducii. Which chamber ? Tell me, sir ; 
 The Eastern or the Western ? Red or Blue ? 
 The Blue, I see it in thine eye. Thou fool. 
 To play with me. Thy soul is glass. I read 
 It through. Dare bring Corinna here ! I'll have 
 Thee cut to pieces. I am Duchess, fear 
 My power. 
 
 Enter Dampierre. 
 
 Damp. Your Highness, save yourself, retire 
 And lock you in your chamber. Rupert, mad, 
 His dagger drawn, and frantic words uuon 
 His lips, is seeking you iu every spot. 
 Believe me there is danger. 
 
 Ducit. Am I not 
 The Duchess? Come to me with these reports? 
 Why, if our life be threatened, where's thy guai'd ? 
 
 Damp. We thought it policy that } ou avoid 
 This danger, seeming not to know it. 
 
 DucH. By locking iu our chamber ? Be it so. 
 I thank you for your caution and will be 
 Advised. 
 
 \^Exeunt Dampierre and Bernard. 
 A.nd roars the storm so hi<>:h ? This comes 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 69 
 
 Of weakness. Had I not assumed, but caused 
 Coi'inna's death. Corinna ? (Apaiise.) Corinna ! 
 Come hither, Marie. 
 
 Marie approaches. 
 
 To the Duke and say 
 
 His Duchess waits him in the Bhie-chaniber. 
 
 Marie. Not thine ? 
 
 DucH. Not mine upon thy life ! The Blue — 
 You mark, the Blue ! [Kvit, followed hy her women. 
 
 SCENE lY.— Another part of the Castle. 
 
 Eater Rupert. 
 
 Rup. Spirits are in the air and some do cry 
 Out murder — others retribution. Blood 
 Alone can damp this tire. Oh, cunning fiend ! 
 Oh, false-tongued, damned, damned wench I She shall 
 Not live to plume her glory from my ruin. 
 O, Doom, come not till I have struck this blow, 
 Then Death enshroud the world in endless night ! 
 
 Enter Marie. 
 
 My lady Duchess, sire, in the Blue-chamber 
 Awaits your Highness' pleasure. 
 
 Rup. a groom, 
 And bid to lovers' feasts ! These arms shall roba 
 Her delicately. A bridegroom decked 
 For love and dalliance, kisses on his lips. 
 And sighs within his breast, as hotly leaps 
 His eager blood to greet his maid's embrace ! 
 Look I not thus ] Go tell thy lady T 
 Am thus. Go. [Exit Marie. 
 
 Summoned to a bridal bed 
 And no Corinna there ! Oh, death to all 
 Its joy ! AVhy, Death, then end the damned scene. 
 
70 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 My steel shall pluck her kisses ; round the form 
 
 For Hymen's pleasures robed, let serpents wreathe 
 
 In Death's dark bridal sleep, and fatten on 
 
 The lips designed for me. My bride ! ray bride ! 
 
 Thy bridegroom. Death, doth come to hug thee in 
 
 His awful bed. [Uxit. 
 
 Enter Maurice and Dampierre. 
 
 Mau. How stand our matters now ? 
 Count Wallon reached his troops uidiurt, I bear. 
 
 Damp. The factions both lie on their arms until 
 The grey of dawn. Our gates are closed. The night 
 Will pass in quiet, but no sooner shall 
 The day come mounting up the eastern sky, 
 Than trump and charge will wake the silence. 
 
 Mau. There is an awful stillness hanging in 
 The air that fills me with a dread. My heart 
 Sinks low, foreboding terrible 
 Enactments. Rupert's star, which often he 
 Hath pointed me, is vanished from the sky. 
 What evil this can mean I dare not think. 
 Where is the Duke ? Was that a cry ? 
 
 Damp. I thought 
 It so. 
 
 Mau. Come follow me. Hark ! again ! This way. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE Y.—A Part of the Castle. Partially Dark. 
 Enter Catherine. 
 
 My steps instinctive follow his. Remorse doth shako 
 My nature. >S'/: / lies curtained in her chamber. 
 I crept and ]ist(Mied in the darkness, lie 
 Will strike, not knowing where his dagger falls, 
 And Murder, Happing its dai'k wing, will sit 
 
TATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 71 
 
 Upon my soul forever. God ! 
 
 [Riqiert bursts suddenly/ in, his manner greatly terrified, 
 and a bloody dagger in his hand. 
 
 Rup. The world 
 Falls from me. I am cleaving space. 
 
 Cath. Alas ! 
 
 Rcp. My senses, sight, heart, all are only blood. 
 It surges dark and heavily beneath 
 My hand, it bubbles up a hissing stream. 
 I struck a sleeping form, a voice did seem 
 To issue from the -wound that was not hers f 
 But like, ah, like Corinna's ! Then there burst 
 On my affrighted brain a thought so full 
 Of horror.— God ! O, God! 
 
 Cath. My soul is sick 
 With terror. Ah, my mad ambition raised 
 This storm. What fiend did urge me on to this ! 
 
 Unter Maurice a7id Dampierre. 
 
 Mau. That cry pealed from a terror-stricken heart. 
 Your Highness ! Heaven, what is this ? And you, 
 Our Lady, too. 
 
 Rup. (JVot seeing them.) Whose blood imbues my steel? 
 The air is full of barbed tongues ; around 
 A thousand demons shriek Corinna's name. 
 Mad ! mad ! 
 What devil crosses here ? [^Seeing the Duchess. 
 
 Mau. Oh! this 
 Is what we all have feared. He's mad ! Alas! 
 That I should live to see it, 
 
 Rup. Speak ! is this 
 A vision or reality ? If not 
 A fantasy, then earth and heaven cease. 
 Oh, tell me what I am \ What blood is on 
 My steel, and thou unhurt ! What murder on 
 My soul, and thou still living ? Oh, if what 
 
72 fate; or, the prophecy. 
 
 I fear be true, let good and evil each 
 
 Confound, the world suspend its course, the stars 
 
 In horror veil their faces, sun and moon 
 
 Refuse to shine. Speak, but to save or damn 
 
 Me ! Can I bear this fear ? Corinna ! 
 
 Corinna ! \^Ruskes off through centre way. 
 
 Mau. I do not understand all this. 
 
 Cath. The motion of my heart is checked. 
 
 Enter Bernard, hastily. 
 
 Ber. To arms ! 
 Count Wallon followed by a score of knights 
 Hath secret scaled the walls, and even now 
 Is in the castle. 
 
 Mau. Nothing now doth nerve 
 Us to defence. The Duke is mad. But this 
 Is Walton's last and desperate throw. You haste 
 And signal Eldorf from the walls. Meanwhile 
 We'll gather in some place of 'vantage, where 
 We'll hold him, point to point, till you come up. 
 
 [Exit Bernard, 
 
 Rup. ( Within.) Woe ! Woe ! 
 
 Enter Rupert hearing the body of Cop.inna. 
 
 Woe ! Woe ! All light to darkness turn and blot 
 From time the monstrous evil of the day, 
 For goodness ends in mortal clay, and here 
 Is all that's left of heaven. 
 
 Damp. I am dumb 
 With wonder. 
 
 Mau. Horror and amazen;ent check 
 My grief. The Duchess faints. 
 
 Ducn. My brain is seared. 
 Shut out the sight. I die, I die. (Faints.) 
 
 [Is home off by Dampierre. 
 
FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 73 
 
 Rup. Ob, have I lived 
 To pray to be the thing, so long my dread. 
 Come madness now ; strike ! strike me as I kneel ! 
 (Jh, dead ! Come close to my heart and I 
 Will pour my life in thee. My senses cheat 
 ^le with this tale, for death could have no hold 
 On thee. Cold ! cold ! I'll warm thee with this fire. 
 
 Mau. The fete ordained is now revealed. In this, 
 Alas ! we read the sibyl's prophecy. 
 
 Enter Wallon and followers. 
 
 Mau. Abate thy sword, Count Wallon. See ! Wert 
 thou 
 The cause of this mysterious crime. If so, 
 Why let it blast thee. 
 
 Wall. This is horrible. 
 
 Enter Dampierre. 
 
 Damp. O sire, our duchess, seized with mad despair. 
 Hath slain herself. Awakened from her trance, 
 She only raved and tore her flesh and hair. 
 Until with sudden motion snatched from me 
 A dagger, plunging it within her heart. 
 
 Mau. I have no power for further grief. All's strange 
 Beyond the grasp of thought. 
 
 Rup. Oh ! oh ! Can brain 
 And heart still bear so much ? They will 
 Not break. I would, but cannot join thee, sweet 
 Corinna ! Perished flower ! blasted love ! 
 Oh, can this thing bo true ! Thv murderer, ;- 
 
 Forever and forever must my soul ' 
 
 Still pant to clasp thee e'en as now it does ; 
 But never, never can I know thee more. 
 Thou art in heaven, I can only from 
 The depths of hell stretch up my arms to thee. 
 
74 FATE ; OR, THE PROPHECY. 
 
 Enter Eldorf and others. 
 
 Eld. Count Wallou, yield ! thou art surrounded. 
 
 Rup. [Starting tq).) Wallon ! Who speaks of Wallon ? 
 Let me look 
 Upon him. Oh, thou monstrous evil ! Has that sight 
 No power to send thee headlong down to hell ? 
 I've prayed to meet thee. I do know this hour 
 To be my last, for prophecy hath said 
 It, and my spirit weakens now, but though 
 Thou stood'st hemmed in by a thousand spears, 
 I'd have the strength to reach thee. Madness nerves 
 My arm. Thou art a fiend, and yet I think 
 A mortal one. Give way ! Give way ! 
 
 [^Bi-eaks down ike guard of those who intervene, strikes 
 
 Wallon dead, hut not before he receives a mortal wound 
 
 from him. Ruj^ert falls. 
 His sword 
 
 Hath reached me quite. It was a service, did 
 He think it. Maurice, I am dying. Reign 
 Thou Duke. Now destiny hath done its worst. 
 I follow thee, Corinna ! Death hath purged 
 This frenzy from my soul. Corinna ! Let 
 My clay with hers be buried. Fare thee well. 
 For this I thank thee, heaven. [Dies 
 
 THE END. 
 
016 1®3 ^^^