ZAPOLY A:

PART II.

THE SEQUEL, ENTITLED THE "USURPER'S FATE."

ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS.

OLD BATHORY, a Mountaineer.

BETHLEN BATHORY, The young Prince Andreas, supposed son of OLD Bathory. LORD RUDOLPH, a Courtier, but friend to the Queen's party.

LASKA, Steward to CASIMIR, betrothed to GLYCINE.

PESTALUTZ, an Assassin, in EMERICK'S employ.

LADY SAROLTA, Wife of LORD CASIMIR.

GLYCINE, Orphan Daughter of CHEF RAGOZZI.

Between the flight of the Queen, and the civil war which immediately followed, and in which Emerick remained the victor, a space of twenty years is sup posed to have elapsed.

USURPATION ENDED; OR, SHE COMES AGAIN.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—A Mountainous country. Bathory's dwelling at the end of the stage.

Enter Lady Sarolta and Glycine.

Gly. WELL then! our round of charity is finished.

Rest, Madam! You breathe quick.

Sar. What, tired, Glycine?

No delicate court-dame, but a mountaineer

By choice no less than birth, I gladly use

The good strength nature gave me.

Gly.

Is built as if an eagle or a raven
Had chosen it for her nest.

Sar.

That last cottage

So many are

The sufferings which no human aid can reach,
It needs must be a duty doubly sweet

To heal the few we can. Well let us rest.
Gly. There?

[Pointing to Bathory's dwelling.

Sar. Here! For on this spot Lord Casimir Took his last leave. On yonder mountain-ridge I lost the misty image which so long

Lingered, or seemed at least to linger on it.

Gly. And what if even now, on that same ridge,
A speck should rise, and still enlarging, lengthening,
As it clomb downwards, shape itself at last

To a numerous cavalcade, and spurring foremost,
Who but Sarolta's own dear lord returned

From his high embassy?

Sar.

Thou hast hit my thought!

All the long day, from yester-morn to evening,
The restless hope fluttered about my heart.
Oh we are querulous creatures! Little less
Than all things can suffice to make us happy;
And little more than nothing is enough

To discontent us.--Were he come, then should I
Repine he had not arrived just one day earlier
To keep his birth-day here, in his own birth-place.

Gly. But our best sports belike, and gay processions
Would to my lord have seemed but work-day sights
Compared with those the royal court affords.

Sar. I have small wish to see them. A spring morning With its wild gladsome minstrelsy of birds,

And its bright jewelry of flowers and dew-drops
(Each orbed drop an orb of glory in it)

Would put them all in eclipse. This sweet retirement.
Lord Casimir's wish alone would have made sacred:
But in good truth, his loving jealousy

Did but command, what I had else entreated.

Gly. And yet had I been born Lady Sarolta, Been wedded to the noblest of the realm,

So beautiful besides, and yet so stately

Sar. Hush! innocent flatterer!

Gly.

Nay to my poor fancy

The royal court would seem an earthly heaven,
Made for such stars to shine in, and be gracious.
Sar. So doth the ignorant distance still delude us!
Thy fancied heaven, dear girl, like that above thee,
In its mere self a cold, drear, colorless void,
Seen from below and in the large, becomes
The bright blue ether, and the seat of gods!

Well! but this broil that scared you from the dance?

And was not Laska there: he, your betrothed?

Gly. Yes, madam! he was there. So was the maypole. For we danced round it.

Sar.

Ah, Glycine! why, Why did you then betroth yourself?

Gly.

Because

My own dear lady wished it! 'twas you asked me!

Sar. Yes, at my lord's request, but never wished,

My poor affectionate girl, to see thee wretched.
Thou knowest not yet the duties of a wife.

Gly. Oh, yes! It is a wife's chief duty, madam!
To stand in awe of her husband, and obey him,
And, I am sure, I never shall see Laska

But I shall tremble.

For

Sar.

Not with fear, I think,

you still mock him. Bring a seat from the cottage.

[Exit Glycine into the cottage, Sarolta continues her speech
looking after her.

Something above thy rank there hangs about thee,
And in thy countenance, thy voice, and motion,
Yea, e'en in thy simplicity, Glycine,

A fine and feminine grace, that makes me feel
More as a mother than a mistress to thee!
Thou art a soldier's orphan! that-the courage,
Which rising in thine eye, seems oft to give
A new soul to its gentleness, doth prove thee!
Thou art sprung too of no ignoble blood,
Or there's no faith in instinct !

[angry voices and clamor within.

Re-enter Glycine.

Gly. Oh, madam! there's a party of your servants,
And my lord's steward, Laska, at their head,
Have come to search for old Bathory's son,
Bethlen, that brave young man! 'twas he, my lady,
That took our parts, and beat off the intruders,

And in mere spite and malice, now they charge him
With bad words of Lord Casimir and the king.

Pray don't believe them, madam! This way! This way!
Lady Sarolta's here-

Sar.

Be calm, Glycine.

[calling without

Enter Laska and Servants with Old Bathory.

Las. (to Bathory.) We have no concern with you! What needs your presence?

O. Bath. What! Do you think I'll suffer my brave boy

To be slandered by a set of coward ruffians,

And leave it to their malice,-yes, mere malice!-

To tell its own tale?

Sar.

[Laska and servants bow to Lady Sarolta.

Laska! What may this mean?