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my mother. Is there not 85

       Chapel or oratory in this mansion?

      Old Bathory. Even so.

      Bethlen. From that place then am I to take

       A helm and breastplate, both inlaid with gold,

       And the good sword that once was Raab Kiuprili’s.

      Old Bathory. Those very arms this day Sarolta show’d me — 90

       With wistful look. I’m lost in wild conjectures!

      Bethlen. O tempt me not, e’en with a wandering guess,

       To break the first command a mother’s will

       Imposed, a mother’s voice made known to me!

       ‘Ask not, my son,’ said she, ‘our names or thine. 95

       The shadow of the eclipse is passing off

       The full orb of thy destiny! Already

       The victor Crescent glitters forth and sheds

       O’er the yet lingering haze a phantom light.

       Thou canst not hasten it! Leave then to Heaven 100

       The work of Heaven: and with a silent spirit

       Sympathize with the powers that work in silence!’

       Thus spake she, and she looked as she were then

       Fresh from some heavenly vision!

      [Re-enter LASKA, not perceiving them.

      Laska. All asleep!

      [Then observing BETHLEN, stands in idiot-affright.

      I must speak to it first — Put — put the question! 105

       I’ll confess all! [Stammering with fear.

      Old Bathory. Laska! what ails thee, man?

      Laska (pointing to Bethlen). There!

      Old Bathory. I see nothing! where?

      Laska. He does

       not see it!

       Bethlen, torment me not!

      Bethlen. Soft! Rouse him gently!

       He hath outwatched his hour, and half asleep,

       With eyes half open, mingles sight with dreams. 110

      Old Bathory. Ho! Laska! Don’t you know us! ‘tis Bathory

       And Bethlen!

      Laska. Good now! Ha! ha! An excellent trick.

       Afraid? Nay, no offence! But I must laugh.

       But are you sure now, that ‘tis you, yourself?

      Bethlen. Would’st be convinced?

      Laska. No nearer, pray! consider! 115

       If it should prove his ghost, the touch would freeze me

       To a tombstone. No nearer!

      Bethlen. The fool is drunk!

      Laska. Well now! I love a brave man to my heart.

       I myself braved the monster, and would fain

       Have saved the false one from the fate she tempted. 120

      Old Bathory. You, Laska?

      Bethlen (to Bathory). Mark! Heaven grant it may be so!

       Glycine?

      Laska. She! I traced her by the voice.

       You’ll scarce believe me, when I say I heard

       The close of a song: the poor wretch had been singing:

       As if she wished to compliment the war-wolf 125

       At once with music and a meal!

      Bethlen (to Bathory). Mark that!

      Laska. At the next moment I beheld her running,

       Wringing her hands with, ‘Bethlen! O poor Bethlen!’

       I almost fear, the sudden noise I made,

       Rushing impetuous through the brake, alarmed her. 130

       She stopt, then mad with fear, turned round and ran

       Into the monster’s gripe. One piteous scream

       I heard. There was no second — I —

      Bethlen. Stop there!

       We’ll spare your modesty! Who dares not honour

       Laska’s brave tongue, and high heroic fancy? 135

      Laska. You too, Sir Knight, have come back safe and sound!

       You played the hero at a cautious distance!

       Or was it that you sent the poor girl forward

       To stay the monster’s stomach? Dainties quickly

       Pall on the taste and cloy the appetite! 140

      Old Bathory. Laska, beware! Forget not what thou art!

       Should’st thou but dream thou’rt valiant, cross thyself!

       And ache all over at the dangerous fancy!

      Laska. What then! you swell upon my lady’s favour,

       High Lords and perilous of one day’s growth! 145

       But other judges now sit on the bench!

       And haply, Laska hath found audience there,

       Where to defend the treason of a son

       Might end in lifting up both son and father

       Still higher; to a height from which indeed 150

       You both may drop, but, spite of fate and fortune,

       Will be secured from falling to the ground.

       ‘Tis possible too, young man! that royal Emerick,

       At Laska’s rightful suit, may make inquiry

       By whom seduced, the maid so strangely missing — 155

      Bethlen. Soft! my good Laska! might it not suffice,

       If to yourself, being Lord Casimir’s steward,

       I should make record of Glycine’s fate?

      Laska. ‘Tis well! it shall content me! though your fear

       Has all the credit of these lowered tones. 160

       First we demand the manner of her death?

      Bethlen. Nay! that’s superfluous! Have you not just told us,

       That you yourself, led by impetuous valour,

       Witnessed the whole? My tale’s of later date.

       After the fate, from which your valour strove 165

       In vain to rescue the rash maid, I saw her!

      Laska. Glycine?

      Bethlen. Nay! Dare I accuse wise Laska,

       Whose words find access to a monarch’s ear,

       Of a base, braggart lie? It must have been

       Her spirit that appeared to me. But haply 170

       I come too late? It has itself delivered

       Its own commission to you?

      Old Bathory. ‘Tis most likely!

       And the ghost doubtless vanished, when we entered

       And found brave Laska staring wide — at nothing!

      Laska. ‘Tis well! You’ve ready wits! I shall report them, 175

       With all due honour, to his Majesty!

       Treasure them up, I pray! A certain person,

       Whom the king flatters with his confidence,

      

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