Mapping Keats’s Progress: Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts: Act I SCENE III

References to this poem

Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts: Act I SCENE III

The Country, with the Castle in the distance.

Enter LUDOLPH and SIGIFRED.

Ludolph. You have my secret; let it not be breath’d.
Sigifred. Still give me leave to wonder that my Prince
Ludolph, and the swift Arab are the same;
Still to rejoice that ’twas a German arm
Death doing in a turban’d masquerade.
Ludolph. The Emperor must not know it, Sigifred.
Sigifred. I prythee, why? what happier hour of time
Could thy pleas’d star point down upon from heaven
With silver index, bidding thee make peace?
Ludolph. Still it must not be known, good Sigifred;
The star may point oblique.
Sigifred. If Otho knew
His son to be that unknown Mussleman
After whose spurring heels he sent me forth,
With one of his well-pleas’d Olympian oaths,
The charters of man’s greatness, at this hour
He would be watching round the castle walls,
And, like an anxious warder, strain his sight
For the first glimpse of such a son return’d —
Ludolph, that blast of the Hungarians,
That Saracenic meteor of the fight,
That silent fury, whose fell scymitar
Kept danger all aloof from Otho’s head,
And left him space for wonder.
Ludolph. Say no more.
Not as a swordsman would I pardon claim,
But as a son. The bronzed centurion,
Long toil’d in foreign wars, and whose high deeds
Are shaded in a forest of tall spears,
Known only to his troop, hath greater plea
Of favour with my sire than I can have.
Sigifred. My lord, forgive me that I cannot see
How this proud temper with clear reason squares.
What made you then, with such an anxious love,
Hover around that life, whose bitter days
You vext with bad revolt? Was’t opium,
Or the mad-fumed wine? Nay, do not frown,
I rather would grieve with you than upbraid.
Ludolph. I do believe you. No, ’twas not to make
A father his son’s debtor, or to heal
His deep heart-sickness for a rebel child.
’Twas done in memory of my boyish days,
Poor cancel for his kindness to my youth,
For all his calming of my childish griefs,
And all his smiles upon my merriment.
No, not a thousand foughten fields could sponge
Those days paternal from my memory,
Though now upon my head he heaps disgrace.
Sigifred. My Prince, you think too harshly —
Ludolph. Can I so?
Hath he not gall’d my spirit to the quick?
And with a sullen rigour obstinate
Pour’d out a phial of wrath upon my faults?
Hunted me as a Tartar does the boar,
Driven me to the very edge of the world,
And almost put a price upon my head?
Sigifred. Remember how he spared the rebel-lords.
Ludolph. Yes, yes, I know he hath a noble nature
That cannot trample on the fall’n. But his
Is not the only proud heart in his realm.
He hath wrong’d me, and I have done him wrong;
He hath lov’d me, and I have shown him kindness;
We should be almost equal.
Sigifred. Yet, for all this,
I would you had appear’d among those lords,
And ta’en his favour.
Ludolph. Ha! till now I thought
My friend had held poor Ludolph’s honour dear.
What! would you have me sue before his throne
And kiss the courtier’s missal, its silk steps?
Or hug the golden housings of his steed,
Amid a camp, whose steeled swarms I dared
But yesterday? and, at the trumpet sound,
Bow like some unknown mercenary’s flag,
And lick the soiled grass? No, no, my friend,
I would not, I, be pardon’d in the heap,
And bless indemnity with all that scum, —
Those men I mean, who on my shoulders propp’d
Their weak rebellion, winning me with lies,
And pitying forsooth my many wrongs;
Poor self-deceived wretches, who must think
Each one himself a king in embryo,
Because some dozen vassals cry’d — my lord!
Cowards, who never knew their little hearts,
Till flurried danger held the mirror up,
And then they own’d themselves without a blush,
Curling, like spaniels, round my father’s feet.
Such things deserted me and are forgiven,
While I, least guilty, am an outcast still,
And will be, for I live such fair disgrace.
Sigifred. I know the clear truth; so would Otho see,
For he is just and noble. Fain would I
Be pleader for you —
Ludolph. He’ll hear none of it;
You know his temper, hot, proud, obstinate;
Endanger not yourself so uselessly.
I will encounter his thwart spleen myself,
To-day, at the Duke Conrad’s, where he keeps
His crowded state after the victory,
There will I be, a most unwelcome guest,
And parley with him, as a son should do,
Who doubly loathes a father’s tyranny;
Tell him how feeble is that tyranny;
How the relationship of father and son
Is no more valid than a silken leash
Where lions tug adverse, if love grow not
From interchanged love through many years.
Aye, and those turreted Franconian walls,
Like to a jealous casket, hold my pearl —
My fair Auranthe! Yes, I will be there.
Sigifred. Be not so rash; wait till his wrath shall pass,
Until his royal spirit softly ebbs
Self-influenced; then, in his morning dreams
He will forgive thee, and awake in grief
To have not thy good morrow.
Ludolph. Yes, to-day
I must be there, while her young pulses beat
Among the new-plum’d minions of the war.
Have you seen her of late? No? Auranthe,
Franconia’s fair Sister, ’tis I mean.
She should be paler for my troublous days —
And there it is — my father’s iron lips
Have sworn divorcement ’twixt me and my right.
Sigifred (aside). Auranthe! I had hoped this whim had pass’d.
Ludolph. And, Sigifred, with all his love of justice,
When will he take that grandchild in his arms,
That, by my love I swear, shall soon be his?
This reconcilement is impossible,
For see — But who are these?
Sigifred. They are messengers
From our great Emperor; to you I doubt not,
For couriers are abroad to seek you out.

Enter THEODORE and GONFRID.

Theodore. Seeing so many vigilant eyes explore
The province to invite your Highness back
To your high dignities, we are too happy.
Gonfrid. We have no eloquence to colour justly
The emperor’s anxious wishes —
Ludolph. Go. I follow you.
(Exeunt THEODORE and GONFRID.
I play the prude: it is but venturing —
Why should he be so earnest? Come, my friend,
Let us to Friedburg castle.

Mapping Keats’s Progress
A Critical Chronology

Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts: Act I SCENE III

MLA Style: Works Cited

Chicago Style: Note

Chicago Style: Bibliography

Mapping Keats’s ProgressA Critical Chronology

Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts: Act I SCENE III

MLA Style: Works Cited

Chicago Style: Note

Chicago Style: Bibliography

Mapping Keats’s Progress
A Critical Chronology