Werner; or, The Inheritance
ACT I.
SCENE I.--The Hall of a decayed Palace near a smallTown on the Northern Frontier of Silesia--the Nighttempestuous.
WERNER and JOSEPHINE, his Wife.
Jos. My love, be calmer!
Wer. I am calm.
Jos. To me--Yes, but not to thyself: thy pace is hurried,And no one walks a chamber like to ours,With steps like thine, when his heart is at rest.Were it a garden, I should deem thee happy,And stepping with the bee from flower to flower;But here!
Wer. 'Tis chill; the tapestry lets throughThe wind to which it waves: my blood is frozen.
Jos. Ah, no!
Wer. (smiling). Why! wouldst thou have it so?
Jos. I wouldHave it a healthful current.
Wer. Let it flowUntil 'tis spilt or checked--how soon, I care not.
Jos. And am I nothing in thy heart?
Wer. All--all.
Jos. Then canst thou wish for that which must break mine?
Wer. (approaching her slowly).But for thee I had been--no matter what--But much of good and evil; what I am,Thou knowest; what I might or should have been,Thou knowest not: but still I love thee, norShall aught divide us.[WERNER walks on abruptly, and then approaches JOSEPHINE.The storm of the night,Perhaps affects me; I'm a thing of feelings,And have of late been sickly, as, alas!Thou know'st by sufferings more than mine, my Love!In watching me.
Jos. To see thee well is much--To see thee happy----
Wer. Where hast thou seen such?Let me be wretched with the rest!
Jos. But thinkHow many in this hour of tempest shiverBeneath the biting wind and heavy rain,Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth,Which hath no chamber for them save beneathHer surface.
Wer. And that's not the worst: who caresFor chambers? rest is all. The wretches whomThou namest--aye, the wind howls round them, andThe dull and dropping rain saps in their bonesThe creeping marrow. I have been a soldier,A hunter, and a traveller, and amA beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of.
Jos. And art thou not now sheltered from them all?Wer. Yes. And from these alone.
Jos. And that is something.
Wer. True--to a peasant.
Jos. Should the nobly bornBe thankless for that refuge which their habitsOf early delicacy render moreNeedful than to the peasant, when the ebbOf fortune leaves them on the shoals of life?
Wer. It is not that, thou know'st it is not: weHave borne all this, I'll not say patiently,Except in thee--but we have borne it.
Jos. Well?
Wer. Something beyond our outward sufferings (thoughThese were enough to gnaw into our souls)Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now.When, but for this untoward sickness, whichSeized me upon this desolate frontier, andHath wasted, not alone my strength, but means,And leaves us--no! this is beyond me!--butFor this I had been happy--thou been happy--The splendour of my rank sustained--my name--My father's name--been still upheld; and, moreThan those----
Jos. (abruptly). My son--our son--our Ulric,Been clasped again in these long-empty arms,And all a mother's hunger satisfied.Twelve years! he was but eight then:--beautifulHe was, and beautiful he must be now,My Ulric! my adored!
Wer. I have been full oftThe chase of Fortune; now she hath o'ertakenMy spirit where it cannot turn at bay,--Sick, poor, and lonely.
Jos. Lonely! my dear husband?
Wer. Or worse--involving all I love, in thisFar worse than solitude. Alone, I had died,And all been over in a nameless grave.
Jos. And I had not outlived thee; but pray takeComfort! We have struggled long; and they who striveWith Fortune win or weary her at last,So that they find the goal or cease to feelFurther. Take comfort,--we shall find our boy.
Wer. We were in sight of him, of every thingWhich could bring compensation for past sorrow--And to be baffled thus!
Jos. We are not baffled.
Wer. Are we not penniless?
Jos. We ne'er were wealthy.
Wer. But I was born to wealth, and rank, and power;Enjoyed them, loved them, and, alas! abused them,And forfeited them by my father's wrath,In my o'er-fervent youth: but for the abuseLong-sufferings have atoned. My father's deathLeft the path open, yet not without snares.This cold and creeping kinsman, who so longKept his eye on me, as the snake uponThe fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me,Become the master of my rights, and lordOf that which lifts him up to princes inDominion and domain.
Jos. Who knows? our sonMay have returned back to his grandsire, andEven now uphold thy rights for thee?
Wer. 'Tis hopeless.Since his strange disappearance from my father's,Entailing, as it were, my sins uponHimself, no tidings have revealed his course.I parted with him to his grandsire, onThe promise that his anger would stop shortOf the third generation; but Heaven seemsTo claim her stern prerogative, and visitUpon my boy his father's faults and follies.
Jos. I must hope better still,--at least we have yetBaffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim.
Wer. We should have done, but for this fatal sickness;--More fatal than a mortal malady,Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace:Even now I feel my spirit girt aboutBy the snares of this avaricious fiend:--How do I know he hath not tracked us here?
Jos. He does not know thy person; and his spies,Who so long watched thee, have been left at Hamburgh.Our unexpected journey, and this changeOf name, leaves all discovery far behind:None hold us here for aught save what we seem.
Wer. Save what we seem! save what we are--sick beggars,Even to our very hopes.--Ha! ha!
Jos. Alas!That bitter laugh!
Wer. Who would read in this formThe high soul of the son of a long line?Who, in this garb, the heir of princely lands?Who, in this sunken, sickly eye, the prideOf rank and ancestry? In this worn cheekAnd famine-hollowed brow, the Lord of hallsWhich daily feast a thousand vassals?
Jos. YouPondered not thus upon these worldly things,My Werner! when you deigned to choose for brideThe foreign daughter of a wandering exile.
Wer. An exile's daughter with an outcast son,Were a fit marriage: but I still had hopesTo lift thee to the state we both were born for.Your father's house was noble, though decayed;And worthy by its birth to match with ours.
Jos. Your father did not think so, though 'twas noble;But had my birth been all my claim to matchWith thee, I should have deemed it what it is.
Wer. And what is that in thine eyes?
Jos. All which itHas done in our behalf,--nothing.
Wer. How,--nothing?
Jos. Or worse; for it has been a canker inThy heart from the beginning: but for this,We had not felt our poverty but asMillions of myriads feel it--cheerfully;But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers,Thou mightst have earned thy bread, as thousands earn it;Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce,Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes.
Wer. (ironically). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent!
Jos. Whate'er thou mightest have been, to me thou artWhat no state high or low can ever change,My heart's first choice;--which chose thee, knowing neitherThy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy sorrows:While they last, let me comfort or divide them:When they end--let mine end with them, or thee!
Wer. My better angel! Such I have ever found thee;This rashness, or this weakness of my temper,Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine.Thou didst not mar my fortunes: my own natureIn youth was such as to unmake an empire,Had such been my inheritance; but now,Chastened, subdued, out-worn, and taught to knowMyself,--to lose this for our son and thee!Trust me, when, in my two-and-twentieth spring,My father barred me from my father's house,The last sole scion of a thousand sires(For I was then the last), it hurt me lessThan to behold my boy and my boy's motherExcluded in their innocence from whatMy faults deserved-exclusion; although thenMy passions were all living serpents, andTwined like the Gorgon's round me.[A loud knocking is heard.
Jos. Hark!
Wer. A knocking!
Jos. Who can it be at this lone hour? We haveFew visitors.
Wer. And poverty hath none,Save those who come to make it poorer still.Well--I am prepared.
[WERNER puts his hand into his bosom, as ifto search for some weapon.
Jos. Oh! do not look so. IWill to the door. It cannot be of importIn this lone spot of wintry desolation:--The very desert saves man from mankind.[She goes to the door.
Enter IDENSTEIN.
Iden. A fair good evening to my fair hostessAnd worthy----What's your name, my friend?
Wer. Are youNot afraid to demand it?
Iden. Not afraid?Egad! I am afraid. You look as ifI asked for something better than your name,By the face you put on it.
Wer. Better, sir!
Iden. Better or worse, like matrimony: whatShall I say more? You have been a guest this monthHere in the prince's palace--(to be sure,His Highness had resigned it to the ghostsAnd rats these twelve years--but 'tis still a palace)--I say you have been our lodger, and as yetWe do not know your name.
Wer. My name is Werner.
Iden. A goodly name, a very worthy name,As e'er was gilt upon a trader's board:I have a cousin in the lazarettoOf Hamburgh, who has got a wife who boreThe same. He is an officer of trust,Surgeon's assistant (hoping to be surgeon),And has done miracles i' the way of business.Perhaps you are related to my relative?
Wer. To yours?
Jos. Oh, yes; we are, but distantly.(Aside to WERNER.) Cannot you humour the dull gossip tillWe learn his purpose?
Iden. Well, I'm glad of that;I thought so all along, such natural yearningsPlayed round my heart:--blood is not water, cousin;And so let's have some wine, and drink untoOur better acquaintance: relatives should beFriends.
Wer. You appear to have drunk enough already;And if you have not, I've no wine to offer,Else it were yours: but this you know, or should know:You see I am poor, and sick, and will not seeThat I would be alone; but to your business!What brings you here?
Iden. Why, what should bring me here?
Wer. I know not, though I think that I could guessThat which will send you hence.
Jos. (aside). Patience, dear Werner!
Iden. You don't know what has happened, then?
Jos. How should we?
Iden. The river has o'erflowed.
Jos. Alas! we have knownThat to our sorrow for these five days; sinceIt keeps us here.
Iden. But what you don't know is,That a great personage, who fain would crossAgainst the stream and three postilions' wishes,Is drowned below the ford, with five post-horses,A monkey, and a mastiff--and a valet.
Jos. Poor creatures! are you sure?
Iden. Yes, of the monkey,And the valet, and the cattle; but as yetWe know not if his Excellency's deadOr no; your noblemen are hard to drown,As it is fit that men in office should be;But what is certain is, that he has swallowedEnough of the Oder to have burst two peasants;And now a Saxon and Hungarian traveller,Who, at their proper peril, snatched him fromThe whirling river, have sent on to craveA lodging, or a grave, according asIt may turn out with the live or dead body.
Jos. And where will you receive him? here, I hope,If we can be of service--say the word.
Iden. Here? no; but in the Prince's own apartment,As fits a noble guest:--'tis damp, no doubt,Not having been inhabited these twelve years;But then he comes from a much damper place,So scarcely will catch cold in't, if he beStill liable to cold--and if not, whyHe'll be worse lodged to-morrow: ne'ertheless,I have ordered fire and all appliancesTo be got ready for the worst--that is,In case he should survive.
Jos. Poor gentleman!I hope he will, with all my heart.
Wer. Intendant,Have you not learned his name? (Aside to his wife.) My Josephine,Retire: I'll sift this fool. [Exit JOSEPHINE.
Iden. His name? oh Lord!Who knows if he hath now a name or no?'Tis time enough to ask it when he's ableTo give an answer; or if not, to putHis heir's upon his epitaph. MethoughtJust now you chid me for demanding names?
Wer. True, true, I did so: you say well and wisely.
Enter GABOR.
Gab. If I intrude, I crave----
Iden. Oh, no intrusion!This is the palace; this a stranger likeYourself; I pray you make yourself at home:But where's his Excellency? and how fares he?
Gab. Wetly and wearily, but out of peril:He paused to change his garments in a cottage(Where I doffed mine for these, and came on hither),And has almost recovered from his drenching.He will be here anon.
Iden. What ho, there! bustle!Without there, Herman, Weilburg, Peter, Conrad![Gives directions to different servants who enter.A nobleman sleeps here to-night--see thatAll is in order in the damask chamber--Keep up the stove--I will myself to the cellar--And Madame Idenstein (my consort, stranger,)Shall furnish forth the bed-apparel; for,To say the truth, they are marvellous scant of thisWithin the palace precincts, since his HighnessLeft it some dozen years ago. And thenHis Excellency will sup, doubtless?
Gab. Faith!I cannot tell; but I should think the pillowWould please him better than the table, afterHis soaking in your river: but for fearYour viands should be thrown away, I meanTo sup myself, and have a friend withoutWho will do honour to your good cheer withA traveller's appetite.
Iden. But are you sureHis Excellency----But his name: what is it?
Gab. I do not know.
Iden. And yet you saved his life.
Gab. I helped my friend to do so.
Iden. Well, that's strange,To save a man's life whom you do not know.
Gab. Not so; for there are some I know so well,I scarce should give myself the trouble.
Iden. Pray,Good friend, and who may you be?
Gab. By my family,Hungarian.
Iden. Which is called?
Gab. It matters little.
Iden. (aside). I think that all the world are grown anonymous,Since no one cares to tell me what he's called!Pray, has his Excellency a large suite?
Gab. Sufficient.
Iden. How many?
Gab. I did not count them.We came up by mere accident, and justIn time to drag him through his carriage window.
Iden. Well, what would I give to save a great man!No doubt you'll have a swingeing sum as recompense.
Gab. Perhaps.
Iden. Now, how much do you reckon on?
Gab. I have not yet put up myself to sale:In the mean time, my best reward would beA glass of your Hockcheimer--a green glass,Wreathed with rich grapes and Bacchanal devices,O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage:For which I promise you, in case you e'erRun hazard of being drowned, (although I ownIt seems, of all deaths, the least likely for you,)I'll pull you out for nothing. Quick, my friend,And think, for every bumper I shall quaff,A wave the less may roll above your head.
Iden. (aside). I don't much like this fellow--close and dryHe seems,--two things which suit me not; however,Wine he shall have; if that unlocks him not,I shall not sleep to-night for curiosity. [Exit IDENSTEIN.
Gab. (to WERNER). This master of the ceremonies isThe intendant of the palace, I presume:'Tis a fine building, but decayed.
Wer. The apartmentDesigned for him you rescued will be foundIn fitter order for a sickly guest.
Gab. I wonder then you occupied it not,For you seem delicate in health.
Wer. (quickly). Sir!
Gab. PrayExcuse me: have I said aught to offend you?
Wer. Nothing: but we are strangers to each other.
Gab. And that's the reason I would have us less so:I thought our bustling guest without had saidYou were a chance and passing guest, the counterpartOf me and my companions.
Wer. Very true.
Gab. Then, as we never met before, and never,It may be, may again encounter, why,I thought to cheer up this old dungeon here(At least to me) by asking you to shareThe fare of my companions and myself.
Wer. Pray, pardon me; my health----
Gab. Even as you please.I have been a soldier, and perhaps am bluntIn bearing.
Wer. I have also served, and canRequite a soldier's greeting.
Gab. In what service?The Imperial?
Wer. (quickly, and then interrupting himself).I commanded--no--I meanI served; but it is many years ago,When first Bohemia raised her banner 'gainstThe Austrian.
Gab. Well, that's over now, and peaceHas turned some thousand gallant hearts adriftTo live as they best may: and, to say truth,Some take the shortest.
Wer. What is that?
Gab. Whate'erThey lay their hands on. All Silesia andLusatia's woods are tenanted by bandsOf the late troops, who levy on the countryTheir maintenance: the Chatelains must keepTheir castle walls--beyond them 'tis but doubtfulTravel for your rich Count or full-blown Baron.My comfort is that, wander where I may,I've little left to lose now.
Wer. And I--nothing.
Gab. That's harder still. You say you were a soldier.
Wer. I was.
Gab. You look one still. All soldiers areOr should be comrades, even though enemies.Our swords when drawn must cross, our engines aim(While levelled) at each other's hearts; but whenA truce, a peace, or what you will, remitsThe steel into its scabbard, and lets sleepThe spark which lights the matchlock, we are brethren.You are poor and sickly--I am not rich, but healthy;I want for nothing which I cannot want;You seem devoid of this--wilt share it?[GABOR pulls out his purse.
Wer. WhoTold you I was a beggar?
Gab. You yourself,In saying you were a soldier during peace-time.
Wer. (looking at him with suspicion). You know me not.
Gab. I know no man, not evenMyself: how should I then know one I ne'erBeheld till half an hour since?
Wer. Sir, I thank you.Your offer's noble were it to a friend,And not unkind as to an unknown stranger,Though scarcely prudent; but no less I thank you.I am a beggar in all save his trade;And when I beg of any one, it shall beOf him who was the first to offer whatFew can obtain by asking. Pardon me. [Exit WERNER.
Gab. (solus). A goodly fellow by his looks, though wornAs most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure,Which tear life out of us before our time;I scarce know which most quickly: but he seemsTo have seen better days, as who has notWho has seen yesterday?--But here approachesOur sage intendant, with the wine: however,For the cup's sake I'll bear the cupbearer.
Enter IDENSTEIN.
Iden. 'Tis here! the supernaculum! twenty yearsOf age, if 'tis a day.
Gab. Which epoch makesYoung women and old wine; and 'tis great pity,Of two such excellent things, increase of years,Which still improves the one, should spoil the other.Fill full--Here's to our hostess!--your fair wife![Takes the glass.
Iden. Fair!--Well, I trust your taste in wine is equalTo that you show for beauty; but I pledge youNevertheless.
Gab. Is not the lovely womanI met in the adjacent hall, who, withAn air, and port, and eye, which would have betterBeseemed this palace in its brightest days(Though in a garb adapted to its presentAbandonment), returned my salutation--Is not the same your spouse?
Iden. I would she were!But you're mistaken:--that's the stranger's wife.
Gab. And by her aspect she might be a Prince's;Though time hath touched her too, she still retainsMuch beauty, and more majesty.
Iden. And thatIs more than I can say for Madame Idenstein,At least in beauty: as for majesty,She has some of its properties which mightBe spared--but never mind!
Gab. I don't. But whoMay be this stranger? He too hath a bearingAbove his outward fortunes.
Iden. There I differ.He's poor as Job, and not so patient; butWho he may be, or what, or aught of him,Except his name (and that I only learnedTo-night), I know not.
Gab. But how came he here?
Iden. In a most miserable old caleche,About a month since, and immediatelyFell sick, almost to death. He should have died.
Gab. Tender and true!--but why?
Iden. Why, what is lifeWithout a living? He has not a stiver.
Gab. In that case, I much wonder that a personOf your apparent prudence should admitGuests so forlorn into this noble mansion.
Iden. That's true: but pity, as you know, does makeOne's heart commit these follies; and besides,They had some valuables left at that time,Which paid their way up to the present hour;And so I thought they might as well be lodgedHere as at the small tavern, and I gave themThe run of some of the oldest palace rooms.They served to air them, at the least as longAs they could pay for firewood.
Gab. Poor souls!
Iden. Aye,Exceeding poor.
Gab. And yet unused to poverty,If I mistake not. Whither were they going?
Iden. Oh! Heaven knows where, unless to Heaven itself.Some days ago that looked the likeliest journeyFor Werner.
Gab. Werner! I have heard the name.But it may be a feigned one.
Iden. Like enough!But hark! a noise of wheels and voices, andA blaze of torches from without. As sureAs destiny, his Excellency's come.I must be at my post; will you not join me,To help him from his carriage, and presentYour humble duty at the door?
Gab. I dragged himFrom out that carriage when he would have givenHis barony or county to repelThe rushing river from his gurgling throat.He has valets now enough: they stood aloof then,Shaking their dripping ears upon the shore,All roaring "Help!" but offering none; and asFor duty (as you call it)--I did mine then,Now do yours. Hence, and bow and cringe him here!
Iden. I cringe!--but I shall lose the opportunity--Plague take it! he'll be here, and I not there![Exit IDENSTEIN hastily.
Re-enter WERNER.
Wer. (to himself). I heard a noise of wheels and voices. HowAll sounds now jar me! [Perceiving GABOR.Still here! Is he notA spy of my pursuer's? His frank offerSo suddenly, and to a stranger, woreThe aspect of a secret enemy;For friends are slow at such.
Gab. Sir, you seem rapt;And yet the time is not akin to thought.These old walls will be noisy soon. The baron,Or count (or whatsoe'er this half drowned nobleMay be), for whom this desolate village andIts lone inhabitants show more respectThan did the elements, is come.
Iden. (without). This way--This way, your Excellency:--have a care,The staircase is a little gloomy, andSomewhat decayed; but if we had expectedSo high a guest--Pray take my arm, my Lord!
Enter STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, and Attendants--partlyhis own, and partly Retainers of the Domain of whichIDENSTEIN is Intendant.
Stral. I'll rest here a moment.
Iden. (to the servants). Ho! a chair!Instantly, knaves. [STRALENHEIM sits down.
Wer. (aside). Tis he!
Stral. I'm better now.Who are these strangers?
Iden. Please you, my good Lord,One says he is no stranger.
Wer. (aloud and hastily). Who says that?[They look at him with surprise.
Iden. Why, no one spoke of you, or to you!--butHere's one his Excellency may be pleasedTo recognise. [Pointing to GABOR.
Gab. I seek not to disturbHis noble memory.
Stral. I apprehendThis is one of the strangers to whose aidI owe my rescue. Is not that the other?[Pointing to WERNER.My state when I was succoured must excuseMy uncertainty to whom I owe so much.
Iden. He!--no, my Lord! he rather wants for rescueThan can afford it. 'Tis a poor sick man,Travel-tired, and lately risen from a bedFrom whence he never dreamed to rise.
Stral. MethoughtThat there were two.
Gab. There were, in company;But, in the service rendered to your Lordship,I needs must say but one, and he is absent.The chief part of whatever aid was renderedWas his: it was his fortune to be first.My will was not inferior, but his strengthAnd youth outstripped me; therefore do not wasteYour thanks on me. I was but a glad secondUnto a nobler principal.
Stral. Where is he?
An Atten. My Lord, he tarried in the cottage whereYour Excellency rested for an hour,And said he would be here to-morrow.
Stral. TillThat hour arrives, I can but offer thanks,And then----
Gab. I seek no more, and scarce deserveSo much. My comrade may speak for himself.
Stral. (fixing his eyes upon WERNER: then aside).It cannot be! and yet he must be looked to.'Tis twenty years since I beheld him withThese eyes; and, though my agents still have keptTheirs on him, policy has held aloofMy own from his, not to alarm him intoSuspicion of my plan. Why did I leaveAt Hamburgh those who would have made assuranceIf this be he or no? I thought, ere now,To have been lord of Siegendorf, and partedIn haste, though even the elements appearTo fight against me, and this sudden floodMay keep me prisoner here till----[He pauses and looks at WERNER: then resumes.This man mustBe watched. If it is he, he is so changed,His father, rising from his grave again,Would pass by him unknown. I must be wary:An error would spoil all.
Iden. Your Lordship seemsPensive. Will it not please you to pass on?
Stral. 'Tis past fatigue, which gives my weighed-down spiritAn outward show of thought. I will to rest.
Iden. The Prince's chamber is prepared, with allThe very furniture the Prince used whenLast here, in its full splendour.(Aside). Somewhat tattered,And devilish damp, but fine enough by torch-light;And that's enough for your right noble bloodOf twenty quarterings upon a hatchment;So let their bearer sleep 'neath something like oneNow, as he one day will for ever lie.
Stral. (rising and turning to GABOR).Good night, good people! Sir, I trust to-morrowWill find me apter to requite your service.In the meantime I crave your companyA moment in my chamber.
Gab. I attend you.
Stral, (after a few steps, pauses, and calls WERNER).Friend!
Wer. Sir!
Iden. Sir! Lord--oh Lord! Why don't you sayHis Lordship, or his Excellency? Pray,My Lord, excuse this poor man's want of breeding:He hath not been accustomed to admissionTo such a presence.
Stral. (to IDENSTEIN). Peace, intendant!
Iden. Oh!I am dumb.
Stral. (to WERNER). Have you been long here?
Wer. Long?
Stral. I soughtAn answer, not an echo.
Wer. You may seekBoth from the walls. I am not used to answerThose whom I know not.
Stral. Indeed! Ne'er the less,You might reply with courtesy to whatIs asked in kindness.
Wer. When I know it suchI will requite--that is, reply--in unison.
Stral. The intendant said, you had been detained by sickness--If I could aid you--journeying the same way?
Wer. (quickly). I am not journeying the same way!
Stral. How know yeThat, ere you know my route?
Wer. Because there isBut one way that the rich and poor must treadTogether. You diverged from that dread pathSome hours ago, and I some days: henceforthOur roads must lie asunder, though they tendAll to one home.
Stral. Your language is aboveYour station.
Wer. (bitterly). Is it?
Stral. Or, at least, beyondYour garb.
Wer. 'Tis well that it is not beneath it,As sometimes happens to the better clad.But, in a word, what would you with me?
Stral. (startled). I?
Wer. Yes--you! You know me not, and question me,And wonder that I answer not--not knowingMy inquisitor. Explain what you would have,And then I'll satisfy yourself, or me.
Stral. I knew not that you had reasons for reserve.
Wer. Many have such:--Have you none?
Stral. None which canInterest a mere stranger.
Wer. Then forgiveThe same unknown and humble stranger, ifHe wishes to remain so to the manWho can have nought in common with him.
Stral. Sir,I will not balk your humour, though untoward:I only meant you service--but good night!Intendant, show the way! (To GABOR.) Sir, you will with me?[Exeunt STRALENHEIM and Attendants; IDENSTEIN and GABOR.
Wer. (solus). 'Tis he! I am taken in the toils. BeforeI quitted Hamburg, Giulio, his late steward,Informed me, that he had obtained an orderFrom Brandenburg's elector, for the arrestOf Kruitzner (such the name I then bore) whenI came upon the frontier; the free cityAlone preserved my freedom--till I leftIts walls--fool that I was to quit them! ButI deemed this humble garb, and route obscure,Had baffled the slow hounds in their pursuit.What's to be done? He knows me not by person;Nor could aught, save the eye of apprehension,Have recognised him, after twenty years--We met so rarely and so coldly inOur youth. But those about him! Now I canDivine the frankness of the Hungarian, whoNo doubt is a mere tool and spy of Stralenheim's,To sound and to secure me. Without means!Sick, poor--begirt too with the flooding rivers,Impassable even to the wealthy, withAll the appliances which purchase modesOf overpowering peril, with men's lives,--How can I hope! An hour ago methoughtMy state beyond despair; and now, 'tis such,The past seems paradise. Another day,And I'm detected,--on the very eveOf honours, rights, and my inheritance,When a few drops of gold might save me stillIn favouring an escape.
Enter IDENSTEIN and FRITZ in conversation.
Fritz. Immediately.
Iden. I tell you, 'tis impossible.
Fritz. It mustBe tried, however; and if one expressFail, you must send on others, till the answerArrives from Frankfort, from the commandant.
Iden. I will do what I can.
Fritz. And recollectTo spare no trouble; you will be repaidTenfold.
Iden. The Baron is retired to rest?
Fritz. He hath thrown himself into an easy chairBeside the fire, and slumbers; and has orderedHe may not be disturbed until eleven,When he will take himself to bed.
Iden. BeforeAn hour is past I'll do my best to serve him.
Fritz. Remember! [Exit FRITZ.
Iden. The devil take these great men! theyThink all things made for them. Now here must IRouse up some half a dozen shivering vassalsFrom their scant pallets, and, at peril ofTheir lives, despatch them o'er the river towardsFrankfort. Methinks the Baron's own experienceSome hours ago might teach him fellow-feeling:But no, "it must" and there's an end. How now?Are you there, Mynheer Werner?
Wer. You have leftYour noble guest right quickly.
Iden. Yes--he's dozing,And seems to like that none should sleep besides.Here is a packet for the CommandantOf Frankfort, at all risks and all expenses;But I must not lose time: Good night! [Exit IDEN.
Wer. "To Frankfort!"So, so, it thickens! Aye, "the Commandant!"This tallies well with all the prior stepsOf this cool, calculating fiend, who walksBetween me and my father's house. No doubtHe writes for a detachment to convey meInto some secret fortress.--Sooner thanThis----[WERNER looks around, and snatches up a knife lyingon a table in a recess.Now I am master of myself at least.Hark,--footsteps! How do I know that StralenheimWill wait for even the show of that authorityWhich is to overshadow usurpation?That he suspects me 's certain. I'm alone--He with a numerous train: I weak--he strongIn gold, in numbers, rank, authority.I nameless, or involving in my nameDestruction, till I reach my own domain;He full-blown with his titles, which imposeStill further on these obscure petty burghersThan they could do elsewhere. Hark! nearer still!I'll to the secret passage, which communicatesWith the----No! all is silent--'twas my fancy!--Still as the breathless interval betweenThe flash and thunder:--I must hush my soulAmidst its perils. Yet I will retire,To see if still be unexplored the passageI wot of: it will serve me as a denOf secrecy for some hours, at the worst.[WERNER draws a panel, and exit, closing it after him.
Enter GABOR and JOSEPHINE.
Gab. Where is your husband?
Jos. Here, I thought: I left himNot long since in his chamber. But these roomsHave many outlets, and he may be goneTo accompany the Intendant.
Gab. Baron StralenheimPut many questions to the Intendant onThe subject of your lord, and, to be plain,I have my doubts if he means well.
Jos. Alas!What can there be in common with the proudAnd wealthy Baron, and the unknown Werner?
Gab. That you know best.
Jos. Or, if it were so, howCome you to stir yourself in his behalf,Rather than that of him whose life you saved?
Gab. I helped to save him, as in peril; butI did not pledge myself to serve him inOppression. I know well these nobles, andTheir thousand modes of trampling on the poor.I have proved them; and my spirit boils up whenI find them practising against the weak:--This is my only motive.
Jos. It would beNot easy to persuade my consort ofYour good intentions.
Gab. Is he so suspicious?
Jos. He was not once; but time and troubles haveMade him what you beheld.
Gab. I'm sorry for it.Suspicion is a heavy armour, andWith its own weight impedes more than protects.Good night! I trust to meet with him at day-break.[Exit GABOR.
Re-enter IDENSTEIN and some Peasants.JOSEPHINE retires up the Hall.
First Peasant. But if I'm drowned?
Iden. Why, you will be well paid for 't,And have risked more than drowning for as much,I doubt not.
Second Peasant. But our wives and families?
Iden. Cannot be worse off than they are, and mayBe better.
Third Peasant. I have neither, and will venture.
Iden. That's right. A gallant carle, and fit to beA soldier. I'll promote you to the ranksIn the Prince's body-guard--if you succeed:And you shall have besides, in sparkling coin,Two thalers.
Third Peasant. No more!
Iden. Out upon your avarice!Can that low vice alloy so much ambition?I tell thee, fellow, that two thalers inSmall change will subdivide into a treasure.Do not five hundred thousand heroes dailyRisk lives and souls for the tithe of one thaler?When had you half the sum?
Third Peasant. Never--but ne'erThe less I must have three.
Iden. Have you forgotWhose vassal you were born, knave?
Third Peasant. No--the Prince's,And not the stranger's.
Iden. Sirrah! in the Prince'sAbsence, I am sovereign; and the Baron isMy intimate connection;--"Cousin Idenstein!(Quoth he) you'll order out a dozen villains."And so, you villains! troop--march--march, I say;And if a single dog's ear of this packetBe sprinkled by the Oder--look to it!For every page of paper, shall a hideOf yours be stretched as parchment on a drum,Like Ziska's skin, to beat alarm to allRefractory vassals, who can not effectImpossibilities.--Away, ye earth-worms![Exit, driving them out.
Jos. (coming forward).I fain would shun these scenes, too oft repeated,Of feudal tyranny o'er petty victims;I cannot aid, and will not witness such.Even here, in this remote, unnamed, dull spot,The dimmest in the district's map, existThe insolence of wealth in povertyO'er something poorer still--the pride of rankIn servitude, o'er something still more servile;And vice in misery affecting stillA tattered splendour. What a state of being!In Tuscany, my own dear sunny land,Our nobles were but citizens and merchants,Like Cosmo. We had evils, but not suchAs these; and our all-ripe and gushing valleysMade poverty more cheerful, where each herbWas in itself a meal, and every vineRained, as it were, the beverage which makes gladThe heart of man; and the ne'er unfelt sun(But rarely clouded, and when clouded, leavingHis warmth behind in memory of his beams)Makes the worn mantle, and the thin robe, lessOppressive than an emperor's jewelled purple.But, here! the despots of the north appearTo imitate the ice-wind of their clime,Searching the shivering vassal through his rags,To wring his soul--as the bleak elementsHis form. And 'tis to be amongst these sovereignsMy husband pants! and such his pride of birth--That twenty years of usage, such as noFather born in a humble state could nerveHis soul to persecute a son withal,Hath changed no atom of his early nature;But I, born nobly also, from my father'sKindness was taught a different lesson. Father!May thy long-tried and now rewarded spiritLook down on us and our so long desiredUlric! I love my son, as thou didst me!What's that? Thou, Werner! can it be? and thus?
Enter WERNER hastily, with the knife in his hand,by the secret panel, which he closes hurriedly after him.
Wer. (not at first recognising her).Discovered! then I'll stab--(recognising her). Ah! JosephineWhy art thou not at rest?
Jos. What rest? My God!What doth this mean?
Wer. (showing a rouleau).Here's gold--gold, Josephine,Will rescue us from this detested dungeon.
Jos. And how obtained?--that knife!
Wer. 'Tis bloodless--yet.Away--we must to our chamber.
Jos. But whence comest thou?
Wer. Ask not! but let us think where we shall go--This--this will make us way--(showing the gold)--I'll fit them now.
Jos. I dare not think thee guilty of dishonour.
Wer. Dishonour!
Jos. I have said it.
Wer. Let us hence:'Tis the last night, I trust, that we need pass here.
Jos. And not the worst, I hope.
Wer. Hope! I make sure.But let us to our chamber.
Jos. Yet one question--What hast thou done?
Wer. (fiercely). Left one thing undone, whichHad made all well: let me not think of it!Away!
Jos. Alas that I should doubt of thee![Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--A Hall in the same Palace.
Enter IDENSTEIN and Others.
Iden. Fine doings! goodly doings! honest doings!A Baron pillaged in a Prince's palace!Where, till this hour, such a sin ne'er was heard of.
Fritz. It hardly could, unless the rats despoiledThe mice of a few shreds of tapestry.
Iden. Oh! that I e'er should live to see this day!The honour of our city's gone for ever.
Fritz. Well, but now to discover the delinquent:The Baron is determined not to loseThis sum without a search.
Iden. And so am I.
Fritz. But whom do you suspect?
Iden. Suspect! all peopleWithout--within--above--below--Heaven help me!
Fritz. Is there no other entrance to the chamber?
Iden. None whatsoever.
Fritz. Are you sure of that?
Iden. Certain. I have lived and served here since my birth,And if there were such, must have heard of such,Or seen it.
Fritz. Then it must be some one whoHad access to the antechamber.
Iden. Doubtless.
Fritz. The man called Werner's poor!
Iden. Poor as a miser.But lodged so far off, in the other wing,By which there's no communication withThe baron's chamber, that it can't be he.Besides, I bade him "good night" in the hall,Almost a mile off, and which only leadsTo his own apartment, about the same timeWhen this burglarious, larcenous felonyAppears to have been committed.
Fritz. There's another,The stranger----
Iden. The Hungarian?
Fritz. He who helpedTo fish the baron from the Oder.
Iden. NotUnlikely. But, hold--might it not have beenOne of the suite?
Fritz. How? We, sir!
Iden. No--not you,But some of the inferior knaves. You sayThe Baron was asleep in the great chair--The velvet chair--in his embroidered night-gown;His toilet spread before him, and upon itA cabinet with letters, papers, andSeveral rouleaux of gold; of which one onlyHas disappeared:--the door unbolted, withNo difficult access to any.
Fritz. Good sir,Be not so quick; the honour of the corpsWhich forms the Baron's household's unimpeachedFrom steward to scullion, save in the fair wayOf peculation; such as in accompts,Weights, measures, larder, cellar, buttery,Where all men take their prey; as also inPostage of letters, gathering of rents,Purveying feasts, and understanding withThe honest trades who furnish noble masters;But for your petty, picking, downright thievery,We scorn it as we do board wages. ThenHad one of our folks done it, he would notHave been so poor a spirit as to hazardHis neck for one rouleau, but have swooped all;Also the cabinet, if portable.
Iden. There is some sense in that----
Fritz. No, Sir, be sure'Twas none of our corps; but some petty, trivialPicker and stealer, without art or genius.The only question is--Who else could haveAccess, save the Hungarian and yourself?
Iden. You don't mean me?
Fritz. No, sir; I honour moreYour talents----
Iden. And my principles, I hope.
Fritz. Of course. But to the point: What's to be done?
Iden. Nothing--but there's a good deal to be said.We'll offer a reward; move heaven and earth,And the police (though there's none nearer thanFrankfort); post notices in manuscript(For we've no printer); and set by my clerkTo read them (for few can, save he and I).We'll send out villains to strip beggars, andSearch empty pockets; also, to arrestAll gipsies, and ill-clothed and sallow people.Prisoners we'll have at least, if not the culprit;And for the Baron's gold--if 'tis not found,At least he shall have the full satisfactionOf melting twice its substance in the raisingThe ghost of this rouleau. Here's alchemyFor your Lord's losses!
Fritz. He hath found a better.
Iden. Where?
Fritz. In a most immense inheritance.The late Count Siegendorf, his distant kinsman,Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my LordIs on his way to take possession.
Iden. Was thereNo heir?
Fritz. Oh, yes; but he has disappearedLong from the world's eye, and, perhaps, the world.A prodigal son, beneath his father's banFor the last twenty years; for whom his sireRefused to kill the fatted calf; and, therefore,If living, he must chew the husks still. ButThe Baron would find means to silence him,Were he to re-appear: he's politic,And has much influence with a certain court.
Iden. He's fortunate.
Fritz. 'Tis true, there is a grandson,Whom the late Count reclaimed from his son's hands,And educated as his heir; but, then,His birth is doubtful.
Iden. How so?
Fritz. His sire madeA left-hand, love, imprudent sort of marriage,With an Italian exile's dark-eyed daughter:Noble, they say, too; but no match for suchA house as Siegendorf's. The grandsire illCould brook the alliance; and could ne'er be broughtTo see the parents, though he took the son.
Iden. If he's a lad of mettle, he may yetDispute your claim, and weave a web that mayPuzzle your Baron to unravel.
Fritz. Why,For mettle, he has quite enough: they say,He forms a happy mixture of his sireAnd grandsire's qualities,--impetuous asThe former, and deep as the latter; butThe strangest is, that he too disappearedSome months ago.
Iden. The devil he did!
Fritz. Why, yes:It must have been at his suggestion, atAn hour so critical as was the eveOf the old man's death, whose heart was broken by it.
Iden. Was there no cause assigned?
Fritz. Plenty, no doubt,And none, perhaps, the true one. Some averredIt was to seek his parents; some becauseThe old man held his spirit in so strictly(But that could scarce be, for he doted on him);A third believed he wished to serve in war,But, peace being made soon after his departure,He might have since returned, were that the motive;A fourth set charitably have surmised,As there was something strange and mystic in him,That in the wild exuberance of his natureHe had joined the black bands, who lay waste Lusatia,The mountains of Bohemia and Silesia,Since the last years of war had dwindled intoA kind of general condottiero systemOf bandit-warfare; each troop with its chief,And all against mankind.
Iden. That cannot be.A young heir, bred to wealth and luxury,To risk his life and honours with disbandedSoldiers and desperadoes!
Fritz. Heaven best knows!But there are human natures so alliedUnto the savage love of enterprise,That they will seek for peril as a pleasure.I've heard that nothing can reclaim your Indian,Or tame the tiger, though their infancyWere fed on milk and honey. After all,Your Wallenstein, your Tilly and Gustavus,Your Bannier, and your Torstenson and Weimar,Were but the same thing upon a grand scale;And now that they are gone, and peace proclaimed,They who would follow the same pastime mustPursue it on their own account. Here comesThe Baron, and the Saxon stranger, whoWas his chief aid in yesterday's escape,But did not leave the cottage by the OderUntil this morning.
Enter STRALENHEIM and ULRIC.
Stral. Since you have refusedAll compensation, gentle stranger, saveInadequate thanks, you almost check even them,Making me feel the worthlessness of words,And blush at my own barren gratitude,They seem so niggardly, compared with whatYour courteous courage did in my behalf----
Ulr. I pray you press the theme no further.
Stral. ButCan I not serve you? You are young, and ofThat mould which throws out heroes; fair in favour;Brave, I know, by my living now to say so;And, doubtlessly, with such a form and heart,Would look into the fiery eyes of War,As ardently for glory as you daredAn obscure death to save an unknown stranger,In an as perilous, but opposite, element.You are made for the service: I have served;Have rank by birth and soldiership, and friends,Who shall be yours. 'Tis true this pause of peaceFavours such views at present scantily;But 'twill not last, men's spirits are too stirring;And, after thirty years of conflict, peaceIs but a petty war, as the time shows usIn every forest, or a mere armed truce.War will reclaim his own; and, in the meantime,You might obtain a post, which would ensureA higher soon, and, by my influence, fail notTo rise. I speak of Brandenburgh, whereinI stand well with the Elector; in Bohemia,Like you, I am a stranger, and we are nowUpon its frontier.
Ulr. You perceive my garbIs Saxon, and, of course, my service dueTo my own Sovereign. If I must declineYour offer, 'tis with the same feeling whichInduced it.
Stral. Why, this is mere usury!I owe my life to you, and you refuseThe acquittance of the interest of the debt,To heap more obligations on me, tillI bow beneath them.
Ulr. You shall say so whenI claim the payment.
Stral. Well, sir, since you will not--You are nobly born?
Ulr. I have heard my kinsmen say so.
Stral. Your actions show it. Might I ask your name?
Ulr. Ulric.
Stral. Your house's?
Ulr. When I'm worthy of it,I'll answer you.
Stral. (aside). Most probably an Austrian,Whom these unsettled times forbid to boastHis lineage on these wild and dangerous frontiers,Where the name of his country is abhorred.[Aloud to FRITZ and IDENSTEIN.So, sirs! how have ye sped in your researches?
Iden. Indifferent well, your Excellency.
Stral. ThenI am to deem the plunderer is caught?
Iden. Humph!--not exactly.
Stral. Or, at least, suspected?
Iden. Oh! for that matter, very much suspected.
Stral. Who may he be?
Iden. Why, don't you know, my Lord?
Stral. How should I? I was fast asleep.
Iden. And soWas I--and that's the cause I know no moreThan does your Excellency.
Stral. Dolt!
Iden. Why, ifYour Lordship, being robbed, don't recogniseThe rogue; how should I, not being robbed, identifyThe thief among so many? In the crowd,May it please your Excellency, your thief looksExactly like the rest, or rather better:'Tis only at the bar and in the dungeon,That wise men know your felon by his features;But I'll engage, that if seen there but once,Whether he be found criminal or no,His face shall be so.
Stral. (to FRITZ). Prithee, Fritz, inform meWhat hath been done to trace the fellow?
Fritz. Faith!My Lord, not much as yet, except conjecture.
Stral. Besides the loss (which, I must own, affects meJust now materially), I needs would findThe villain out of public motives; forSo dexterous a spoiler, who could creepThrough my attendants, and so many peopledAnd lighted chambers, on my rest, and snatchThe gold before my scarce-closed eyes, would soonLeave bare your borough, Sir Intendant!
Iden. True;If there were aught to carry off, my Lord.
Ulr. What is all this?
Stral. You joined us but this morning,And have not heard that I was robbed last night.
Ulr. Some rumour of it reached me as I passedThe outer chambers of the palace, butI know no further.
Stral. It is a strange business:The Intendant can inform you of the facts.
Iden. Most willingly. You see----
Stral. (impatiently). Defer your tale,Till certain of the hearer's patience.
Iden. ThatCan only be approved by proofs. You see----
Stral. (again interrupting him, and addressing ULRIC).In short, I was asleep upon my chair,My cabinet before me, with some goldUpon it (more than I much like to lose,Though in part only): some ingenious personContrived to glide through all my own attendants,Besides those of the place, and bore awayA hundred golden ducats, which to findI would be fain, and there's an end. PerhapsYou (as I still am rather faint) would addTo yesterday's great obligation, this,Though slighter, yet not slight, to aid these men(Who seem but lukewarm) in recovering it?
Ulr. Most willingly, and without loss of time--(To IDENSTEIN.) Come hither, mynheer!
Iden. But so much haste bodesRight little speed, and----
Ulr. Standing motionlessNone; so let's march: we'll talk as we go on.
Iden. But----
Ulr. Show the spot, and then I'll answer you.
Fritz. I will, sir, with his Excellency's leave.
Stral. Do so, and take yon old ass with you.
Fritz. Hence!
Ulr. Come on, old oracle, expound thy riddle![Exit with IDENSTEIN and FRITZ.
Stral. (solus). A stalwart, active, soldier-looking stripling,Handsome as Hercules ere his first labour,And with a brow of thought beyond his yearsWhen in repose, till his eye kindles upIn answering yours. I wish I could engage him:I have need of some such spirits near me now,For this inheritance is worth a struggle.And though I am not the man to yield without one,Neither are they who now rise up between meAnd my desire. The boy, they say, 's a bold one;But he hath played the truant in some hourOf freakish folly, leaving fortune toChampion his claims. That's well. The father, whomFor years I've tracked, as does the blood-hound, neverIn sight, but constantly in scent, had put meTo fault; but here I have him, and that's better.It must be he! All circumstance proclaims it;And careless voices, knowing not the causeOf my enquiries, still confirm it.--Yes!The man, his bearing, and the mysteryOf his arrival, and the time; the account, too,The Intendant gave (for I have not beheld her)Of his wife's dignified but foreign aspect;Besides the antipathy with which we met,As snakes and lions shrink back from each otherBy secret instinct that both must be foesDeadly, without being natural prey to either;All--all--confirm it to my mind. However,We'll grapple, ne'ertheless. In a few hoursThe order comes from Frankfort, if these watersRise not the higher (and the weather favoursTheir quick abatement), and I'll have him safeWithin a dungeon, where he may avouchHis real estate and name; and there's no harm done,Should he prove other than I deem. This robbery(Save for the actual loss) is lucky also;He's poor, and that's suspicious--he's unknown,And that's defenceless.--True, we have no proofsOf guilt--but what hath he of innocence?Were he a man indifferent to my prospects,In other bearings, I should rather layThe inculpation on the Hungarian, whoHath something which I like not; and aloneOf all around, except the Intendant, andThe Prince's household and my own, had ingressFamiliar to the chamber.
Enter GABOR.
Friend, how fare you?
Gab. As those who fare well everywhere, when theyHave supped and slumbered, no great matter how--And you, my Lord?
Stral. Better in rest than purse:Mine inn is like to cost me dear.
Gab. I heardOf your late loss; but 'tis a trifle toOne of your order.
Stral. You would hardly think so,Were the loss yours.
Gab. I never had so much(At once) in my whole life, and therefore am notFit to decide. But I came here to seek you.Your couriers are turned back--I have outstripped them,In my return.
Stral. You!--Why?
Gab. I went at daybreak,To watch for the abatement of the river,As being anxious to resume my journey.Your messengers were all checked like myself;And, seeing the case hopeless, I awaitThe current's pleasure.
Stral. Would the dogs were in it!Why did they not, at least, attempt the passage?I ordered this at all risks.
Gab. Could you orderThe Oder to divide, as Moses didThe Red Sea (scarcely redder than the floodOf the swoln stream), and be obeyed, perhapsThey might have ventured.
Stral. I must see to it:The knaves! the slaves!--but they shall smart for this.[Exit STRALENHEIM.
Gab. (solus). There goes my noble, feudal, self-willed Baron!Epitome of what brave chivalryThe preux Chevaliers of the good old timesHave left us. Yesterday he would have givenHis lands (if he hath any), and, still dearer,His sixteen quarterings, for as much fresh airAs would have filled a bladder, while he layGurgling and foaming half way through the windowOf his o'erset and water-logged conveyance;And now he storms at half a dozen wretchesBecause they love their lives too! Yet, he's right:'Tis strange they should, when such as he may put themTo hazard at his pleasure. Oh, thou world!Thou art indeed a melancholy jest! [Exit GABOR.
SCENE II.--The Apartment of WERNER, in the Palace.
Enter JOSEPHINE and ULRIC.
Jos. Stand back, and let me look on thee again!My Ulric!--my belovéd!--can it be--After twelve years?
Ulr. My dearest mother!
Jos. Yes!My dream is realised--how beautiful!--How more than all I sighed for! Heaven receiveA mother's thanks! a mother's tears of joy!This is indeed thy work!--At such an hour, too,He comes not only as a son, but saviour.
Ulr. If such a joy await me, it must doubleWhat I now feel, and lighten from my heartA part of the long debt of duty, notOf love (for that was ne'er withheld)--forgive me!This long delay was not my fault.
Jos. I know it,But cannot think of sorrow now, and doubtIf I e'er felt it, 'tis so dazzled fromMy memory by this oblivious transport!--My son!
Enter WERNER.
Wer. What have we here,--more strangers?--
Jos. No!Look upon him! What do you see?
Wer. A stripling,For the first time--
Ulr. (kneeling). For twelve long years, my father!
Wer. Oh, God!
Jos. He faints!
Wer. No--I am better now--Ulric! (Embraces him.)
Ulr. My father, Siegendorf!
Wer. (starting). Hush! boy--The walls may hear that name!
Ulr. What then?
Wer. Why, then--But we will talk of that anon. Remember,I must be known here but as Werner. Come!Come to my arms again! Why, thou look'st allI should have been, and was not. Josephine!Sure 'tis no father's fondness dazzles me;But, had I seen that form amid ten thousandYouth of the choicest, my heart would have chosenThis for my son!
Ulr. And yet you knew me not!
Wer. Alas! I have had that upon my soulWhich makes me look on all men with an eyeThat only knows the evil at first glance.
Ulr. My memory served me far more fondly: IHave not forgotten aught; and oft-times inThe proud and princely halls of--(I'll not name them,As you say that 'tis perilous)--but i' the pompOf your sire's feudal mansion, I looked backTo the Bohemian mountains many a sunset,And wept to see another day go downO'er thee and me, with those huge hills between us.They shall not part us more.
Wer. I know not that.Are you aware my father is no more?
Ulr. Oh, Heavens! I left him in a green old age,And looking like the oak, worn, but still steadyAmidst the elements, whilst younger treesFell fast around him. 'Twas scarce three months since.
Wer. Why did you leave him?
Jos. (embracing ULRIC). Can you ask that question?Is he not here?
Wer. True; he hath sought his parents,And found them; but, oh! how, and in what state!
Ulr. All shall be bettered. What we have to doIs to proceed, and to assert our rights,Or rather yours; for I waive all, unlessYour father has disposed in such a sortOf his broad lands as to make mine the foremost,So that I must prefer my claim for form:But I trust better, and that all is yours.
Wer. Have you not heard of Stralenheim?
Ulr. I savedHis life but yesterday: he's here.
Wer. You savedThe serpent who will sting us all!
Ulr. You speakRiddles: what is this Stralenheim to us?
Wer. Every thing. One who claims our father's lands:Our distant kinsman, and our nearest foe.
Ulr. I never heard his name till now. The Count,Indeed, spoke sometimes of a kinsman, who,If his own line should fail, might be remotelyInvolved in the succession; but his titlesWere never named before me--and what then?His right must yield to ours.
Wer. Aye, if at Prague:But here he is all-powerful; and has spreadSnares for thy father, which, if hithertoHe hath escaped them, is by fortune, notBy favour.
Ulr. Doth he personally know you?
Wer. No; but he guesses shrewdly at my person,As he betrayed last night; and I, perhaps,But owe my temporary libertyTo his uncertainty.
Ulr. I think you wrong him(Excuse me for the phrase); but StralenheimIs not what you prejudge him, or, if so,He owes me something both for past and present.I saved his life, he therefore trusts in me.He hath been plundered too, since he came hither:Is sick, a stranger, and as such not nowAble to trace the villain who hath robbed him:I have pledged myself to do so; and the businessWhich brought me here was chiefly that: but IHave found, in searching for another's dross,My own whole treasure--you, my parents!
Wer. (agitatedly). WhoTaught you to mouth that name of "villain?"
Ulr. WhatMore noble name belongs to common thieves?
Wer. Who taught you thus to brand an unknown beingWith an infernal stigma?
Ulr. My own feelingsTaught me to name a ruffian from his deeds.
Wer. Who taught you, long-sought and ill-found boy! thatIt would be safe for my own son to insult me?
Ulr. I named a villain. What is there in commonWith such a being and my father?
Wer. Every thing!That ruffian is thy father!
Jos. Oh, my son!Believe him not--and yet!--(her voice falters.)
Ulr. (starts, looks earnestly at WERNERand then says slowly) And you avow it?
Wer. Ulric, before you dare despise your father,Learn to divine and judge his actions. Young,Rash, new to life, and reared in Luxury's lap,Is it for you to measure Passion's force,Or Misery's temptation? Wait--(not long,It cometh like the night, and quickly)--Wait!--Wait till, like me, your hopes are blighted tillSorrow and Shame are handmaids of your cabin--Famine and Poverty your guests at table;Despair your bed-fellow--then rise, but notFrom sleep, and judge! Should that day e'er arrive--Should you see then the Serpent, who hath coiledHimself around all that is dear and nobleOf you and yours, lie slumbering in your path,With but his folds between your steps and happiness,When he, who lives but to tear from you name,Lands, life itself, lies at your mercy, withChance your conductor--midnight for your mantle--The bare knife in your hand, and earth asleep,Even to your deadliest foe; and he as 'twereInviting death, by looking like it, whileHis death alone can save you:--Thank your God!If then, like me, content with petty plunder,You turn aside----I did so.
Ulr. But----
Wer. (abruptly). Hear me!I will not brook a human voice--scarce dareListen to my own (if that be human still)--Hear me! you do not know this man--I do.He's mean, deceitful, avaricious. YouDeem yourself safe, as young and brave; but learnNone are secure from desperation, fewFrom subtilty. My worst foe, Stralenheim,Housed in a Prince's palace, couched withinA Prince's chamber, lay below my knife!An instant--a mere motion--the least impulse--Had swept him and all fears of mine from earth.He was within my power--my knife was raised--Withdrawn--and I'm in his:--are you not so?Who tells you that he knows you not? Who saysHe hath not lured you here to end you? orTo plunge you, with your parents, in a dungeon?[He pauses.
Ulr. Proceed--proceed!
Wer. Me he hath ever known,And hunted through each change of time--name--fortune--And why not you? Are you more versed in men?He wound snares round me; flung along my pathReptiles, whom, in my youth, I would have spurnedEven from my presence; but, in spurning now,Fill only with fresh venom. Will you beMore patient? Ulric!--Ulric!--there are crimesMade venial by the occasion, and temptationsWhich nature cannot master or forbear.
Ulr. (who looks first at him and then at JOSEPHINE).My mother!
Wer. Ah! I thought so: you have nowOnly one parent. I have lost alikeFather and son, and stand alone.
Ulr. But stay![WERNER rushes out of the chamber.
Jos. (to ULRIC). Follow him not, until this storm of passionAbates. Think'st thou, that were it well for him,I had not followed?
Ulr. I obey you, mother,Although reluctantly. My first act shall notBe one of disobedience.
Jos. Oh! he is good!Condemn him not from his own mouth, but trustTo me, who have borne so much with him, and for him,That this is but the surface of his soul,And that the depth is rich in better things.
Ulr. These then are but my father's principles?My mother thinks not with him?
Jos. Nor doth heThink as he speaks. Alas! long years of griefHave made him sometimes thus.
Ulr. Explain to meMore clearly, then, these claims of Stralenheim,That, when I see the subject in its bearings,I may prepare to face him, or at leastTo extricate you from your present perils.I pledge myself to accomplish this--but wouldI had arrived a few hours sooner!
Jos. Aye!Hadst thou but done so!
Enter GABOR and IDENSTEIN, with Attendants.
Gab. (to ULRIC). I have sought you, comrade.So this is my reward!
Ulr. What do you mean?
Gab. 'Sdeath! have I lived to these years, and for this!(To IDENSTEIN.) But for your age and folly, I would----
Iden. Help!Hands off! Touch an Intendant!
Gab. Do not thinkI'll honour you so much as save your throatFrom the Ravenstone by choking you myself.
Iden. I thank you for the respite: but there areThose who have greater need of it than me.
Ulr. Unriddle this vile wrangling, or----
Gab. At once, then,The Baron has been robbed, and upon meThis worthy personage has deigned to fixHis kind suspicions--me! whom he ne'er sawTill yester evening.
Iden. Wouldst have me suspectMy own acquaintances? You have to learnThat I keep better company.
Gab. You shallKeep the best shortly, and the last for all men,The worms! You hound of malice![GABOR seizes on him.
Ulr. (interfering). Nay, no violence:He's old, unarmed--be temperate, Gabor!
Gab. (letting go IDENSTEIN). True:I am a fool to lose myself becauseFools deem me knave: it is their homage.
Ulr. (to IDENSTEIN). HowFare you?
Iden. Help!
Ulr. I have helped you.
Iden. Kill him! thenI'll say so.
Gab. I am calm--live on!
Iden. That's moreThan you shall do, if there be judge or judgmentIn Germany. The Baron shall decide!
Gab. Does he abet you in your accusation?
Iden. Does he not?
Gab. Then next time let him go sinkEre I go hang for snatching him from drowning.But here he comes!
Enter STRALENHEIM.
Gab. (goes up to him). My noble Lord, I'm here!
Stral. Well, sir!
Gab. Have you aught with me?
Stral. What should IHave with you?
Gab. You know best, if yesterday'sFlood has not washed away your memory;But that's a trifle. I stand here accused,In phrases not equivocal, by yonIntendant, of the pillage of your personOr chamber:--is the charge your own or his?
Stral. I accuse no man.
Gab. Then you acquit me, Baron?
Stral. I know not whom to accuse, or to acquit,Or scarcely to suspect.
Gab. But you at leastShould know whom not to suspect. I am insulted--Oppressed here by these menials, and I lookTo you for remedy--teach them their duty!To look for thieves at home were part of it,If duly taught; but, in one word, if IHave an accuser, let it be a manWorthy to be so of a man like me.I am your equal.
Stral. You!
Gab. Aye, sir; and, forAught that you know, superior; but proceed--I do not ask for hints, and surmises,And circumstance, and proof: I know enoughOf what I have done for you, and what you owe me,To have at least waited your payment ratherThan paid myself, had I been eager ofYour gold. I also know, that were I evenThe villain I am deemed, the service renderedSo recently would not permit you toPursue me to the death, except through shame,Such as would leave your scutcheon but a blank.But this is nothing: I demand of youJustice upon your unjust servants, andFrom your own lips a disavowal ofAll sanction of their insolence: thus muchYou owe to the unknown, who asks no more,And never thought to have asked so much.
Stral. This toneMay be of innocence.
Gab. 'Sdeath! who dare doubt it,Except such villains as ne'er had it?
Stral. YouAre hot, sir.
Gab. Must I turn an icicleBefore the breath of menials, and their master?
Stral. Ulric! you know this man; I found him inYour company.
Gab. We found you in the Oder;Would we had left you there!
Stral. I give you thanks, sir.
Gab. I've earned them; but might have earned more from others,Perchance, if I had left you to your fate.
Stral. Ulric! you know this man?
Gab. No more than you doIf he avouches not my honour.
Ulr. ICan vouch your courage, and, as far as myOwn brief connection led me, honour.
Stral. ThenI'm satisfied.
Gab. (ironically). Right easily, methinks.What is the spell in his asseverationMore than in mine?
Stral. I merely said that IWas satisfied--not that you are absolved.
Gab. Again! Am I accused or no?
Stral. Go to!You wax too insolent. If circumstanceAnd general suspicion be against you,Is the fault mine? Is't not enough that IDecline all question of your guilt or innocence?
Gab. My Lord, my Lord, this is mere cozenage,A vile equivocation; you well knowYour doubts are certainties to all around you--Your looks a voice--your frowns a sentence; youAre practising your power on me--becauseYou have it; but beware! you know not whomYou strive to tread on.
Stral. Threat'st thou?
Gab. Not so muchAs you accuse. You hint the basest injury,And I retort it with an open warning.
Stral. As you have said, 'tis true I owe you something,For which you seem disposed to pay yourself.
Gab. Not with your gold.
Stral. With bootless insolence.[To his Attendants and IDENSTEIN.You need not further to molest this man,But let him go his way. Ulric, good morrow![Exit STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, and Attendants.
Gab. (following). I'll after him and----
Ulr. (stopping him). Not a step.
Gab. Who shallOppose me?
Ulr. Your own reason, with a moment'sThought.
Gab. Must I bear this?
Ulr. Pshaw! we all must bearThe arrogance of something higher thanOurselves--the highest cannot temper Satan,Nor the lowest his vicegerents upon earth.I've seen you brave the elements, and bearThings which had made this silkworm cast his skin--And shrink you from a few sharp sneers and words?
Gab. Must I bear to be deemed a thief? If 'twereA bandit of the woods, I could have borne it--There's something daring in it:--but to stealThe moneys of a slumbering man!--
Ulr. It seems, then,You are not guilty.
Gab. Do I hear aright?You too!
Ulr. I merely asked a simple question.
Gab. If the judge asked me, I would answer "No"--To you I answer thus. [He draws.
Ulr. (drawing). With all my heart!
Jos. Without there! Ho! help! help!--Oh, God!here's murder! [Exit JOSEPHINE, shrieking.
GABOR and ULRIC fight. GABOR is disarmed just asSTRALENHEIM, JOSEPHINE, IDENSTEIN, etc., re-enter.
Jos. Oh! glorious Heaven! He's safe!
Stral. (to JOSEPHINE). Who's safe!
Jos. My----
Ulr. (interrupting her with a stern look, and turningafterwards to STRALENHEIM). Both!Here's no great harm done.
Stral. What hath caused all this?
Ulr. You, Baron, I believe; but as the effectIs harmless, let it not disturb you.--Gabor!There is your sword; and when you bare it next,Let it not be against your friends.
[ULRIC pronounces the last words slowly and emphaticallyin a low voice to GABOR.
Gab. I thank youLess for my life than for your counsel.
Stral. TheseBrawls must end here.
Gab. (taking his sword). They shall. You've wronged me, Ulric,More with your unkind thoughts than sword: I wouldThe last were in my bosom rather thanThe first in yours. I could have borne yon noble'sAbsurd insinuations--ignoranceAnd dull suspicion are a part of hisEntail will last him longer than his lands--But I may fit him yet:--you have vanquished me.I was the fool of passion to conceiveThat I could cope with you, whom I had seenAlready proved by greater perils thanRest in this arm. We may meet by and by,However--but in friendship. [Exit GABOR.
Stral. I will brookNo more! This outrage following upon his insults,Perhaps his guilt, has cancelled all the littleI owed him heretofore for the so-vauntedAid which he added to your abler succour.Ulric, you are not hurt?--
Ulr. Not even by a scratch.
Stral. (to IDENSTEIN). Intendant! take your measures to secureYon fellow: I revoke my former lenity.He shall be sent to Frankfort with an escort,The instant that the waters have abated.
Iden. Secure him! He hath got his sword again----And seems to know the use on't; 'tis his trade,Belike;--I'm a civilian.
Stral. Fool! are notYon score of vassals dogging at your heelsEnough to seize a dozen such? Hence! after him!
Ulr. Baron, I do beseech you!
Stral. I must beObeyed. No words!
Iden. Well, if it must be so--March, vassals! I'm your leader, and will bringThe rear up: a wise general never shouldExpose his precious life--on which all rests.I like that article of war.[Exit IDENSTEIN and Attendants.
Stral. Come hither,Ulric; what does that woman here? Oh! nowI recognise her, 'tis the stranger's wifeWhom they name "Werner."
Ulr. 'Tis his name.
Stral. Indeed!Is not your husband visible, fair dame?--
Jos. Who seeks him?
Stral. No one--for the present: butI fain would parley, Ulric, with yourselfAlone.
Ulr. I will retire with you.
Jos. Not so:You are the latest stranger, and commandAll places here.(Aside to ULRIC, as she goes out.) O Ulric! have a care--Remember what depends on a rash word!
Ulr. (to JOSEPHINE). Fear not!--[Exit JOSEPHINE.
Stral. Ulric, I think that I may trust you;You saved my life--and acts like these begetUnbounded confidence.
Ulr. Say on.
Stral. MysteriousAnd long-engendered circumstances (notTo be now fully entered on) have madeThis man obnoxious--perhaps fatal to me.
Ulr. Who? Gabor, the Hungarian?
Stral. No--this "Werner"--With the false name and habit.
Ulr. How can this be?He is the poorest of the poor--and yellowSickness sits caverned in his hollow eye:The man is helpless.
Stral. He is--'tis no matter;--But if he be the man I deem (and thatHe is so, all around us here--and muchThat is not here--confirm my apprehension)He must be made secure ere twelve hours further.
Ulr. And what have I to do with this?
Stral. I have sentTo Frankfort, to the Governor, my friend,(I have the authority to do so byAn order of the house of Brandenburgh),For a fit escort--but this curséd floodBars all access, and may do for some hours.
Ulr. It is abating.
Stral. That is well.
Ulr. But howAm I concerned?
Stral. As one who did so muchFor me, you cannot be indifferent toThat which is of more import to me thanThe life you rescued.--Keep your eye on him!The man avoids me, knows that I now know him.--Watch him!--as you would watch the wild boar whenHe makes against you in the hunter's gap--Like him he must be speared.
Ulr. Why so?
Stral. He standsBetween me and a brave inheritance!Oh! could you see it! But you shall.
Ulr. I hope so.
Stral. It is the richest of the rich Bohemia,Unscathed by scorching war. It lies so nearThe strongest city, Prague, that fire and swordHave skimmed it lightly: so that now, besidesIts own exuberance, it bears double valueConfronted with whole realms far and nearMade deserts.
Ulr. You describe it faithfully.
Stral. Aye--could you see it, you would say so--but,As I have said, you shall.
Ulr. I accept the omen.
Stral. Then claim a recompense from it and me,Such as both may make worthy your acceptanceAnd services to me and mine for ever.
Ulr. And this sole, sick, and miserable wretch--This way-worn stranger--stands between you andThis Paradise?--(As Adam did betweenThe devil and his)--.
Stral. He doth.
Ulr. Hath he no right?
Stral. Right! none. A disinherited prodigal,Who for these twenty years disgraced his lineageIn all his acts--but chiefly by his marriage,And living amidst commerce-fetching burghers,And dabbling merchants, in a mart of Jews.
Ulr. He has a wife, then?
Stral. You'd be sorry toCall such your mother. You have seen the womanHe calls his wife.
Ulr. Is she not so?
Stral. No moreThan he's your father:--an Italian girl,The daughter of a banished man, who livesOn love and poverty with this same Werner.
Ulr. They are childless, then?
Stral. There is or was a bastard,Whom the old man--the grandsire (as old ageIs ever doting) took to warm his bosom,As it went chilly downward to the grave:But the imp stands not in my path--he has fled,No one knows whither; and if he had not,His claims alone were too contemptibleTo stand.--Why do you smile?
Ulr. At your vain fears:A poor man almost in his grasp--a childOf doubtful birth--can startle a grandee!
Stral. All's to be feared, where all is to be gained.
Ulr. True; and aught done to save or to obtain it.
Stral. You have harped the very string next to my heart.I may depend upon you?
Ulr. 'Twere too lateTo doubt it.
Stral. Let no foolish pity shakeYour bosom (for the appearance of the manIs pitiful)--he is a wretch, as likelyTo have robbed me as the fellow more suspected,Except that circumstance is less against him;He being lodged far off, and in a chamberWithout approach to mine; and, to say truth,I think too well of blood allied to mine,To deem he would descend to such an act:Besides, he was a soldier, and a brave oneOnce--though too rash.
Ulr. And they, my Lord, we knowBy our experience, never plunder tillThey knock the brains out first--which makes them heirs,Not thieves. The dead, who feel nought, can lose nothing,Nor e'er be robbed: their spoils are a bequest--No more.
Stral. Go to! you are a wag. But sayI may be sure you'll keep an eye on this man,And let me know his slightest movement towardsConcealment or escape.
Ulr. You may be sureYou yourself could not watch him more than IWill be his sentinel.
Stral. By this you make meYours, and for ever.
Ulr. Such is my intention. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--A Hall in the same Palace, from whence thesecret Passage leads.
Enter WERNER and GABOR.
Gab. Sir, I have told my tale: if it so please youTo give me refuge for a few hours, well--If not, I'll try my fortune elsewhere.
Wer. HowCan I, so wretched, give to MiseryA shelter?--wanting such myself as muchAs e'er the hunted deer a covert----
Gab. OrThe wounded lion his cool cave. MethinksYou rather look like one would turn at bay,And rip the hunter's entrails.
Wer. Ah!
Gab. I care notIf it be so, being much disposed to doThe same myself. But will you shelter me?I am oppressed like you--and poor like you--Disgraced----
Wer. (abruptly). Who told you that I was disgraced?
Gab. No one; nor did I say you were so: withYour poverty my likeness ended; butI said I was so--and would add, with truth,As undeservedly as you.
Wer. Again!As I?
Gab. Or any other honest man.What the devil would you have? You don't believe meGuilty of this base theft?
Wer. No, no--I cannot.
Gab. Why that's my heart of honour! yon young gallant--Your miserly Intendant and dense noble--All--all suspected me; and why? becauseI am the worst clothed, and least named amongst them;Although, were Momus' lattice in your breasts,My soul might brook to open it more widelyThan theirs: but thus it is--you poor and helpless--Both still more than myself.
Wer. How know you that?
Gab. You're right: I ask for shelter at the handWhich I call helpless; if you now deny it,I were well paid. But you, who seem to have provedThe wholesome bitterness of life, know well,By sympathy, that all the outspread goldOf the New World the Spaniard boasts aboutCould never tempt the man who knows its worth,Weighed at its proper value in the balance,Save in such guise (and there I grant its power,Because I feel it,) as may leave no nightmareUpon his heart o' nights.
Wer. What do you mean?
Gab. Just what I say; I thought my speech was plain:You are no thief--nor I--and, as true men,Should aid each other.
Wer. It is a damned world, sir.
Gab. So is the nearest of the two next, asThe priests say (and no doubt they should know best),Therefore I'll stick by this--as being bothTo suffer martyrdom, at least with suchAn epitaph as larceny upon my tomb.It is but a night's lodging which I crave;To-morrow I will try the waters, asThe dove did--trusting that they have abated.
Wer. Abated? Is there hope of that?
Gab. There wasAt noontide.
Wer. Then we may be safe.
Gab. Are youIn peril?
Wer. Poverty is ever so.
Gab. That I know by long practice. Will you notPromise to make mine less?
Wer. Your poverty?
Gab. No--you don't look a leech for that disorder;I meant my peril only: you've a roof,And I have none; I merely seek a covert.
Wer. Rightly; for how should such a wretch as IHave gold?
Gab. Scarce honestly, to say the truth on't,Although I almost wish you had the Baron's.
Wer. Dare you insinuate?
Gab. What?
Wer. Are you awareTo whom you speak?
Gab. No; and I am not usedGreatly to care. (A noise heard without.) But hark! they come!
Wer. Who come?
Gab. The Intendant and his man-hounds after me:I'd face them--but it were in vain to expectJustice at hands like theirs. Where shall I go?But show me any place. I do assure you,If there be faith in man, I am most guiltless:Think if it were your own case!
Wer. (aside). Oh, just God!Thy hell is not hereafter! Am I dust still?
Gab. I see you're moved; and it shows well in you:I may live to requite it.
Wer. Are you notA spy of Stralenheim's?
Gab. Not I! and ifI were, what is there to espy in you?Although, I recollect, his frequent questionAbout you and your spouse might lead to someSuspicion; but you best know--what--and why.I am his deadliest foe.
Wer. You?
Gab. After suchA treatment for the service which in partI rendered him, I am his enemy:If you are not his friend you will assist me.
Wer. I will.
Gab. But how?
Wer. (showing the panel). There is a secret spring:Remember, I discovered it by chance,And used it but for safety.
Gab. Open it,And I will use it for the same.
Wer. I found it,As I have said: it leads through winding walls,(So thick as to bear paths within their ribs,Yet lose no jot of strength or stateliness,)And hollow cells, and obscure niches, toI know not whither; you must not advance:Give me your word.
Gab. It is unecessary:How should I make my way in darkness throughA Gothic labyrinth of unknown windings?
Wer. Yes, but who knows to what place it may lead?I know not--(mark you!)--but who knows it might notLead even into the chamber of your foe?So strangely were contrived these galleriesBy our Teutonic fathers in old days,When man built less against the elementsThan his next neighbour. You must not advanceBeyond the two first windings; if you do(Albeit I never passed them,) I'll not answerFor what you may be led to.
Gab. But I will.A thousand thanks!
Wer. You'll find the spring more obviousOn the other side; and, when you would return,It yields to the least touch.
Gab. I'll in--farewell![GABOR goes in by the secret panel.
Wer. (solus). What have I done? Alas! what had I doneBefore to make this fearful? Let it beStill some atonement that I save the man,Whose sacrifice had saved perhaps my own--They come! to seek elsewhere what is before them!
Enter IDENSTEIN and Others.
Iden. Is he not here? He must have vanished thenThrough the dim Gothic glass by pious aidOf pictured saints upon the red and yellowCasements, through which the sunset streams like sunriseOn long pearl-coloured beards and crimson crosses.And gilded crosiers, and crossed arms, and cowls,And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords,All the fantastic furniture of windowsDim with brave knights and holy hermits, whoseLikeness and fame alike rest in some panesOf crystal, which each rattling wind proclaimsAs frail as any other life or glory.He's gone, however.
Wer. Whom do you seek?
Iden. A villain.
Wer. Why need you come so far, then?
Iden. In the searchOf him who robbed the Baron.
Wer. Are you sureYou have divined the man?
Iden. As sure as youStand there: but where's he gone?
Wer. Who?
Iden. He we sought.
Wer. You see he is not here.
Iden. And yet we traced himUp to this hall. Are you accomplices?Or deal you in the black art?
Wer. I deal plainly,To many men the blackest.
Iden. It may beI have a question or two for yourselfHereafter; but we must continue nowOur search for t'other.
Wer. You had best beginYour inquisition now: I may not beSo patient always.
Iden. I should like to know,In good sooth, if you really are the manThat Stralenheim's in quest of.
Wer. Insolent!Said you not that he was not here?
Iden. Yes, one;But there's another whom he tracks more keenly,And soon, it may be, with authorityBoth paramount to his and mine. But come!Bustle, my boys! we are at fault.[Exit IDENSTEIN and Attendants.
Wer. In whatA maze hath my dim destiny involved me!And one base sin hath done me less ill thanThe leaving undone one far greater. Down,Thou busy devil, rising in my heart!Thou art too late! I'll nought to do with blood.
Enter ULRIC.
Ulr. I sought you, father.
Wer. Is't not dangerous?
Ulr. No; Stralenheim is ignorant of allOr any of the ties between us: more--He sends me here a spy upon your actions,Deeming me wholly his.
Wer. I cannot think it:'Tis but a snare he winds about us both,To swoop the sire and son at once.
Ulr. I cannotPause in each petty fear, and stumble atThe doubts that rise like briers in our path,But must break through them, as an unarmed carleWould, though with naked limbs, were the wolf rustlingIn the same thicket where he hewed for bread.Nets are for thrushes, eagles are not caught so:We'll overfly or rend them.
Wer. Show me how?
Ulr. Can you not guess?
Wer. I cannot.
Ulr. That is strange.Came the thought ne'er into your mind last night?
Wer. I understand you not.
Ulr. Then we shall neverMore understand each other. But to changeThe topic----
Wer. You mean to pursue it, as'Tis of our safety.
Ulr. Right; I stand corrected.I see the subject now more clearly, andOur general situation in its bearings.The waters are abating; a few hoursWill bring his summoned myrmidons from Frankfort,When you will be a prisoner, perhaps worse,And I an outcast, bastardised by practiceOf this same Baron to make way for him.
Wer. And now your remedy! I thought to escapeBy means of this accurséd gold; but nowI dare not use it, show it, scarce look on it.Methinks it wears upon its face my guiltFor motto, not the mintage of the state;And, for the sovereign's head, my own begirtWith hissing snakes, which curl around my temples,And cry to all beholders, Lo! a villain!
Ulr. You must not use it, at least now; but takeThis ring. [He gives WERNER a jewel.
Wer. A gem! It was my father's!
Ulr. AndAs such is now your own. With this you mustBribe the Intendant for his old calecheAnd horses to pursue your route at sunrise,Together with my mother.
Wer. And leave you,So lately found, in peril too?
Ulr. Fear nothing!The only fear were if we fled together,For that would make our ties beyond all doubt.The waters only lie in flood betweenThis burgh and Frankfort: so far's in our favourThe route on to Bohemia, though encumbered,Is not impassable; and when you gainA few hours' start, the difficulties will beThe same to your pursuers. Once beyondThe frontier, and you're safe.
Wer. My noble boy!
Ulr. Hush! hush! no transports: we'll indulge in themIn Castle Siegendorf! Display no gold:Show Idenstein the gem (I know the man,And have looked through him): it will answer thusA double purpose. Stralenheim lost gold--No jewel: therefore it could not be his;And then the man who was possest of thisCan hardly be suspected of abstractingThe Baron's coin, when he could thus convertThis ring to more than Stralenheim has lostBy his last night's slumber. Be not over timidIn your address, nor yet too arrogant,And Idenstein will serve you.
Wer. I will followIn all things your direction.
Ulr. I would haveSpared you the trouble; but had I appearedTo take an interest in you, and still moreBy dabbling with a jewel in your favour,All had been known at once.
Wer. My guardian angel!This overpays the past. But how wilt thouFare in our absence?
Ulr. Stralenheim knows nothingOf me as aught of kindred with yourself.I will but wait a day or two with himTo lull all doubts, and then rejoin my father.
Wer. To part no more!
Ulr. I know not that; but atThe least we'll meet again once more.
Wer. My boy!My friend! my only child, and sole preserver!Oh, do not hate me!
Ulr. Hate my father!
Wer. Aye,My father hated me. Why not my son?
Ulr. Your father knew you not as I do.
Wer. ScorpionsAre in thy words! Thou know me? in this guiseThou canst not know me, I am not myself;Yet (hate me not) I will be soon.
Ulr. I'll wait!In the mean time be sure that all a sonCan do for parents shall be done for mine.
Wer. I see it, and I feel it; yet I feelFurther--that you despise me.
Ulr. Wherefore should I?
Wer. Must I repeat my humiliation?
Ulr. No!I have fathomed it and you. But let us talkOf this no more. Or, if it must be ever,Not now. Your error has redoubled allThe present difficulties of our houseAt secret war with that of Stralenheim:All we have now to think of is to baffleHIM. I have shown one way.
Wer. The only one,And I embrace it, as I did my son,Who showed himself and father's safety inOne day.
Ulr. You shall be safe; let that suffice.Would Stralenheim's appearance in BohemiaDisturb your right, or mine, if once we wereAdmitted to our lands?
Wer. Assuredly,Situate as we are now; although the firstPossessor might, as usual, prove the strongest--Especially the next in blood.
Ulr. Blood! 'tisA word of many meanings; in the veins,And out of them, it is a different thing--And so it should be, when the same in blood(As it is called) are aliens to each other,Like Theban brethren: when a part is bad,A few spilt ounces purify the rest.
Wer. I do not apprehend you.
Ulr. That may be--And should, perhaps--and yet--but get ye ready;You and my mother must away to-night.Here comes the Intendant: sound him with the gem;'Twill sink into his venal soul like leadInto the deep, and bring up slime and mud,And ooze, too, from the bottom, as the lead dothWith its greased understratum; but no lessWill serve to warn our vessels through these shoals.The freight is rich, so heave the line in time!Farewell! I scarce have time, but yet your hand,My father!----
Wer. Let me embrace thee!
Ulr. We may beObserved: subdue your nature to the hour!Keep off from me as from your foe!
Wer. AccursedBe he who is the stifling cause which smothersThe best and sweetest feeling of our hearts;At such an hour too!
Ulr. Yes, curse--it will ease you!Here is the Intendant.
Enter IDENSTEIN.
Ulr. Master Idenstein,How fare you in your purpose? Have you caughtThe rogue?
Iden. No, faith!
Ulr. Well, there are plenty more:You may have better luck another chase.Where is the Baron?
Iden. Gone back to his chamber:And now I think on't, asking after youWith nobly-born impatience.
Ulr. Your great menMust be answered on the instant, as the boundOf the stung steed replies unto the spur:'Tis well they have horses, too; for if they had not,I fear that men must draw their chariots, asThey say kings did Sesostris.
Iden. Who was he?
Ulr. An old Bohemian--an imperial gipsy.
Iden. A gipsy or Bohemian, 'tis the same,For they pass by both names. And was he one?
Ulr. I've heard so; but I must take leave. Intendant,Your servant!--Werner (to WERNER slightly), if that be your name,Yours. [Exit ULRIC.
Iden. A well-spoken, pretty-faced young man!And prettily behaved! He knows his station,You see, sir: how he gave to each his duePrecedence!
Wer. I perceived it, and applaudHis just discernment and your own.
Iden. That's well--That's very well. You also know your place, too;And yet I don't know that I know your place.
Wer. (showing the ring).Would this assist your knowledge?
Iden. How!--What!--Eh!A jewel!
Wer. 'Tis your own on one condition.
Iden. Mine!--Name it!
Wer. That hereafter you permit meAt thrice its value to redeem it: 'tisA family ring.
Iden. A family!--yours!--a gem!I'm breathless!
Wer. You must also furnish me,An hour ere daybreak, with all means to quitThis place.
Iden. But is it real? Let me look on it:Diamond, by all that's glorious!
Wer. Come, I'll trust you:You have guessed, no doubt, that I was born aboveMy present seeming.
Iden. I can't say I did,Though this looks like it: this is the true breedingOf gentle blood!
Wer. I have important reasonsFor wishing to continue privilyMy journey hence.
Iden. So then you are the manWhom Stralenheim's in quest of?
Wer. I am not;But being taken for him might conductSo much embarrassment to me just now,And to the Baron's self hereafter--'tisTo spare both that I would avoid all bustle.
Iden. Be you the man or no, 'tis not my business;Besides, I never could obtain the halfFrom this proud, niggardly noble, who would raiseThe country for some missing bits of coin,And never offer a precise reward--But this!--another look!
Wer. Gaze on it freely;At day-dawn it is yours.
Iden. Oh, thou sweet sparkler!Thou more than stone of the philosopher!Thou touch-stone of Philosophy herself!Thou bright eye of the Mine! thou loadstar ofThe soul! the true magnetic Pole to whichAll hearts point duly north, like trembling needles!Thou flaming Spirit of the Earth! which, sittingHigh on the Monarch's Diadem, attractestMore worship than the majesty who sweatsBeneath the crown which makes his head ache, likeMillions of hearts which bleed to lend it lustre!Shalt thou be mine? I am, methinks, alreadyA little king, a lucky alchymist!--A wise magician, who has bound the devilWithout the forfeit of his soul. But come,Werner, or what else?
Wer. Call me Werner still;You may yet know me by a loftier title.
Iden. I do believe in thee! thou art the spiritOf whom I long have dreamed in a low garb.--But come, I'll serve thee; thou shalt be as freeAs air, despite the waters; let us hence:I'll show thee I am honest--(oh, thou jewel!)Thou shalt be furnished, Werner, with such meansOf flight, that if thou wert a snail, not birdsShould overtake thee.--Let me gaze again!I have a foster-brother in the martOf Hamburgh skilled in precious stones. How manyCarats may it weigh?--Come, Werner, I will wing thee.[Exeunt.
SCENE II.--STRALENHEIM'S Chamber.
STRALENHEIM and FRITZ.
Fritz. All's ready, my good Lord!
Stral. I am not sleepy,And yet I must to bed: I fain would sayTo rest, but something heavy on my spirit,Too dull for wakefulness, too quick for slumber,Sits on me as a cloud along the sky,Which will not let the sunbeams through, nor yetDescend in rain and end, but spreads itself'Twixt earth and heaven, like envy between manAnd man, an everlasting mist:--I willUnto my pillow.
Fritz. May you rest there well!
Stral. I feel, and fear, I shall.
Fritz. And wherefore fear?
Stral. I know not why, and therefore do fear more,Because an undescribable----but 'tisAll folly. Were the locks as I desiredChanged, to-day, of this chamber? for last night'sAdventure makes it needful.
Fritz. Certainly,According to your order, and beneathThe inspection of myself and the young SaxonWho saved your life. I think they call him "Ulric."
Stral. You think! you supercilious slave! what rightHave you to tax your memory, which should beQuick, proud, and happy to retain the nameOf him who saved your master, as a litanyWhose daily repetition marks your duty.--Get hence; "You think" indeed! you, who stood stillHowling and dripping on the bank, whilst ILay dying, and the stranger dashed asideThe roaring torrent, and restored me toThank him--and despise you. "You think!" and scarceCan recollect his name! I will not wasteMore words on you. Call me betimes.
Fritz. Good night!I trust to-morrow will restore your LordshipTo renovated strength and temper. [The scene closes.
SCENE III.--The secret Passage.
Gab. (solus). Four--Five--six hours have I counted, like the guardOf outposts, on the never-merry clock,That hollow tongue of time, which, even whenIt sounds for joy, takes something from enjoymentWith every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell,Though for a marriage-feast it rings: each strokePeals for a hope the less; the funeral noteOf Love deep-buried, without resurrection,In the grave of Possession; while the knollOf long-lived parents finds a jovial echoTo triple time in the son's ear.I'm cold--I'm dark;--I've blown my fingers--numbered o'erAnd o'er my steps--and knocked my head againstSome fifty buttresses--and roused the ratsAnd bats in general insurrection, tillTheir curséd pattering feet and whirling wingsLeave me scarce hearing for another sound.A light! It is at distance (if I canMeasure in darkness distance): but it blinksAs through a crevice or a key-hole, inThe inhibited direction: I must on,Nevertheless, from curiosity.A distant lamp-light is an incidentIn such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead meTo nothing that may tempt me! Else--Heaven aid meTo obtain or to escape it! Shining still!Were it the star of Lucifer himself,Or he himself girt with its beams, I couldContain no longer. Softly: mighty well!That corner's turned--so--ah! no;--right! it drawsNearer. Here is a darksome angle--so,That's weathered.--Let me pause.--Suppose it leadsInto some greater danger than that whichI have escaped--no matter, 'tis a new one;And novel perils, like fresh mistresses,Wear more magnetic aspects:--I will on,And be it where it may--I have my daggerWhich may protect me at a pinch.--Burn still,Thou little light! Thou art my ignis fatuus!My stationary Will-o'-the-wisp!--So! so!He hears my invocation, and fails not. [The scene closes.
SCENE IV.--A Garden.
Enter WERNER.
Wer. I could not sleep--and now the hour's at hand!All's ready. Idenstein has kept his word;And stationed in the outskirts of the town,Upon the forest's edge, the vehicleAwaits us. Now the dwindling stars beginTo pale in heaven; and for the last time ILook on these horrible walls. Oh! never, neverShall I forget them. Here I came most poor,But not dishonoured: and I leave them withA stain,--if not upon my name, yet inMy heart!--a never-dying canker-worm,Which all the coming splendour of the lands,And rights, and sovereignty of SiegendorfCan scarcely lull a moment. I must findSome means of restitution, which would easeMy soul in part: but how, without discovery?--It must be done, however; and I'll pauseUpon the method the first hour of safety.The madness of my misery led to thisBase infamy; repentance must retrieve it:I will have nought of Stralenheim's uponMy spirit, though he would grasp all of mine;Lands, freedom, life,--and yet he sleeps as soundlyPerhaps, as infancy, with gorgeous curtainsSpread for his canopy, o'er silken pillows,Such as when----Hark! what noise is that? Again!The branches shake; and some loose stones have fallenFrom yonder terrace.[ULRIC leaps down from the terrace.Ulric! ever welcome!Thrice welcome now! this filial----
Ulr. Stop! beforeWe approach, tell me----
Wer. Why look you so?
Ulr. Do IBehold my father, or----
Wer. What?
Ulr. An assassin?
Wer. Insane or insolent!
Ulr. Reply, sir, asYou prize your life, or mine!
Wer. To what must IAnswer?
Ulr. Are you or are you not the assassinOf Stralenheim?
Wer. I never was as yetThe murderer of any man. What mean you?
Ulr. Did not you this night (as the night before)Retrace the secret passage? Did you notAgain revisit Stralenheim's chamber? and----[ULRIC pauses.
Wer. Proceed.
Ulr. Died he not by your hand?
Wer. Great God!
Ulr. You are innocent, then! my father's innocent!Embrace me! Yes,--your tone--your look--yes, yes,--Yet say so.
Wer. If I e'er, in heart or mind,Conceived deliberately such a thought,But rather strove to trample back to hellSuch thoughts--if e'er they glared a moment throughThe irritation of my oppressed spirit--May Heaven be shut for ever from my hopes,As from mine eyes!
Ulr. But Stralenheim is dead.
Wer. 'Tis horrible! 'tis hideous, as 'tis hateful!--But what have I to do with this?
Ulr. No boltIs forced; no violence can be detected,Save on his body. Part of his own householdHave been alarmed; but as the Intendant isAbsent, I took upon myself the careOf mustering the police. His chamber has,Past doubt, been entered secretly. Excuse me,If nature----
Wer. Oh, my boy! what unknown woesOf dark fatality, like clouds, are gatheringAbove our house!
Ulr. My father! I acquit you!But will the world do so? will even the judge,If--but you must away this instant.
Wer. No!I'll face it. Who shall dare suspect me?
Ulr. YetYou had no guests--no visitors--no lifeBreathing around you, save my mother's?
Wer. Ah!The Hungarian?
Ulr. He is gone! he disappearedEre sunset.
Wer. No; I hid him in that veryConcealed and fatal gallery.
Ulr. There I'll find him.[ULRIC is going.
Wer. It is too late: he had left the palace ereI quitted it. I found the secret panelOpen, and the doors which lead from that hallWhich masks it: I but thought he had snatched the silentAnd favourable moment to escapeThe myrmidons of Idenstein, who wereDogging him yester-even.
Ulr. You reclosedThe panel?
Wer. Yes; and not without reproach(And inner trembling for the avoided peril)At his dull heedlessness, in leaving thusHis shelterer's asylum to the riskOf a discovery.
Ulr. You are sure you closed it?
Wer. Certain.
Ulr. That's well; but had been better, ifYou ne'er had turned it to a den for---- [He pauses.
Wer. Thieves!Thou wouldst say: I must bear it, and deserve it;But not----
Ulr. No, father; do not speak of this:This is no hour to think of petty crimes,But to prevent the consequence of great ones.Why would you shelter this man?
Wer. Could I shun it?A man pursued by my chief foe; disgracedFor my own crime: a victim to my safety,Imploring a few hours' concealment fromThe very wretch who was the cause he neededSuch refuge. Had he been a wolf, I could notHave in such circumstances thrust him forth.
Ulr. And like the wolf he hath repaid you. ButIt is too late to ponder thus:--you mustSet out ere dawn. I will remain here toTrace the murderer, if 'tis possible.
Wer. But this my sudden flight will give the MolochSuspicion: two new victims in the lieuOf one, if I remain. The fled Hungarian,Who seems the culprit, and----
Ulr. Who seems? Who elseCan be so?
Wer. Not I, though just now you doubted--You, my son!--doubted----
Ulr. And do you doubt of himThe fugitive?
Wer. Boy! since I fell intoThe abyss of crime (though not of such crime), I,Having seen the innocent oppressed for me,May doubt even of the guilty's guilt. Your heartIs free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuseAppearances; and views a criminalIn Innocence's shadow, it may be,Because 'tis dusky.
Ulr. And if I do so,What will mankind, who know you not, or knewBut to oppress? You must not stand the hazard.Away!--I'll make all easy. IdensteinWill for his own sake and his jewel's holdHis peace--he also is a partner inYour flight--moreover----
Wer. Fly! and leave my nameLinked with the Hungarian's, or, preferred as poorest,To bear the brand of bloodshed?
Ulr. Pshaw! leave any thingExcept our fathers' sovereignty and castles,For which you have so long panted, and in vain!What name? You have no name, since that you bearIs feigned.
Wer. Most true: but still I would not have itEngraved in crimson in men's memories,Though in this most obscure abode of men----Besides, the search----
Ulr. I will provide againstAught that can touch you. No one knows you hereAs heir of Siegendorf: if IdensteinSuspects, 'tis but suspicion, and he isA fool: his folly shall have such employment,Too, that the unknown Werner shall give wayTo nearer thoughts of self. The laws (if e'erLaws reached this village) are all in abeyanceWith the late general war of thirty years,Or crushed, or rising slowly from the dust,To which the march of armies trampled them.Stralenheim, although noble, is unheededHere, save as such--without lands, influence,Save what hath perished with him. Few prolongA week beyond their funeral rites their swayO'er men, unless by relatives, whose interestIs roused: such is not here the case; he diedAlone, unknown,--a solitary grave,Obscure as his deserts, without a scutcheon,Is all he'll have, or wants. If I discoverThe assassin, 'twill be well--if not, believe me,None else; though all the full-fed train of menialsMay howl above his ashes (as they didAround him in his danger on the Oder),Will no more stir a finger now than then.Hence! hence! I must not hear your answer.--Look!The stars are almost faded, and the greyBegins to grizzle the black hair of night.You shall not answer:--Pardon me that IAm peremptory: 'tis your son that speaks,Your long-lost, late-found son.--Let's call my mother!Softly and swiftly step, and leave the restTo me: I'll answer for the event as farAs regards you, and that is the chief point,As my first duty, which shall be observed.We'll meet in Castle Siegendorf--once moreOur banners shall be glorious! Think of thatAlone, and leave all other thoughts to me,Whose youth may better battle with them--Hence!And may your age be happy!--I will kissMy mother once more, then Heaven's speed be with you!
Wer. This counsel's safe--but is it honourable?
Ulr. To save a father is a child's chief honour.[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.--A Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, near Prague.
Enter ERIC and HENRICK, Retainers of the Count.
Eric. So, better times are come at last; to theseOld walls new masters and high wassail--bothA long desideratum.
Hen. Yes, for masters,It might be unto those who long for novelty,Though made by a new grave: but, as for wassail,Methinks the old Count Siegendorf maintainedHis feudal hospitality as highAs e'er another Prince of the empire.
Eric. WhyFor the mere cup and trencher, we no doubtFared passing well; but as for merrimentAnd sport, without which salt and sauces seasonThe cheer but scantily, our sizings wereEven of the narrowest.
Hen. The old count loved notThe roar of revel; are you sure that this does?
Eric. As yet he hath been courteous as he's bounteous,And we all love him.
Hen. His reign is as yetHardly a year o'erpast its honeymoon,And the first year of sovereigns is bridal:Anon, we shall perceive his real swayAnd moods of mind.
Eric. Pray Heaven he keep the present!Then his brave son, Count Ulric--there's a knight!Pity the wars are o'er!
Hen. Why so?
Eric. Look on him!And answer that yourself.
Hen. He's very youthful,And strong and beautiful as a young tiger.
Eric. That's not a faithful vassal's likeness.
Hen. ButPerhaps a true one.
Eric. Pity, as I said,The wars are over: in the hall, who likeCount Ulric for a well-supported pride,Which awes, but yet offends not? in the field,Who like him with his spear in hand, when gnashingHis tusks, and ripping up, from right to left,The howling hounds, the boar makes for the thicket?Who backs a horse, or bears a hawk, or wearsA sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier?
Hen. No one's, I grant you. Do not fear, if warBe long in coming, he is of that kindWill make it for himself, if he hath notAlready done as much.
Eric. What do you mean?
Hen. You can't deny his train of followers(But few our native fellow-vassals bornOn the domain) are such a sort of knavesAs---- [Pauses.
Eric. What?
Hen. The war (you love so much) leaves living.Like other parents, she spoils her worst children.
Eric. Nonsense! they are all brave iron-visaged fellows,Such as old Tilly loved.
Hen. And who loved Tilly?Ask that at Magdebourg--or, for that matter,Wallenstein either;--they are gone to----
Eric. Rest!But what beyond 'tis not ours to pronounce.
Hen. I wish they had left us something of their rest:The country (nominally now at peace)Is over-run with--God knows who: they flyBy night, and disappear with sunrise; butLeave us no less desolation, nay, even more,Than the most open warfare.
Eric. But Count Ulric--What has all this to do with him?
Hen. With him!He----might prevent it. As you say he's fondOf war, why makes he it not on those marauders?
Eric. You'd better ask himself.
Hen. I would as soonAsk the lion why he laps not milk.
Eric. And here he comes!
Hen. The devil! you'll hold your tongue?
Eric. Why do you turn so pale?
Hen. 'Tis nothing--butBe silent.
Eric. I will, upon what you have said.
Hen. I assure you I meant nothing,--a mere sportOf words, no more; besides, had it been otherwise,He is to espouse the gentle BaronessIda of Stralenheim, the late Baron's heiress;And she, no doubt, will soften whatsoeverOf fierceness the late long intestine warsHave given all natures, and most unto thoseWho were born in them, and bred up uponThe knees of Homicide; sprinkled, as it were,With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peaceOn all that I have said!
Enter ULRIC and RODOLPH.
Good morrow, count.
Ulr. Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, isAll ready for the chase?
Eric. The dogs are orderedDown to the forest, and the vassals outTo beat the bushes, and the day looks promising.Shall I call forth your Excellency's suite?What courser will you please to mount?
Ulr. The dun,Walstein.
Eric. I fear he scarcely has recoveredThe toils of Monday: 'twas a noble chase:You speared four with your own hand.
Ulr. True, good Eric;I had forgotten--let it be the grey, then,Old Ziska: he has not been out this fortnight.
Eric. He shall be straight caparisoned. How manyOf your immediate retainers shallEscort you?
Ulr. I leave that to Weilburgh, ourMaster of the horse. [Exit ERIC.Rodolph!
Rod. My Lord!
Ulr. The newsIs awkward from the---- [RODOLPH points to HENRICK.How now, Henrick? whyLoiter you here?
Hen. For your commands, my Lord.
Ulr. Go to my father, and present my duty,And learn if he would aught with me beforeI mount. [Exit HENRICK.Rodolph, our friends have had a checkUpon the frontiers of Franconia, and'Tis rumoured that the column sent against themIs to be strengthened. I must join them soon.
Rod. Best wait for further and more sure advices.
Ulr. I mean it--and indeed it could not wellHave fallen out at a time more oppositeTo all my plans.
Rod. It will be difficultTo excuse your absence to the Count your father.
Ulr. Yes, but the unsettled state of our domainIn high Silesia will permit and coverMy journey. In the mean time, when we areEngaged in the chase, draw off the eighty menWhom Wolffe leads--keep the forests on your route:You know it well?
Rod. As well as on that nightWhen we----
Ulr. We will not speak of that untilWe can repeat the same with like success:And when you have joined, give Rosenberg this letter.[Gives a letter.Add further, that I have sent this slight additionTo our force with you and Wolffe, as herald ofMy coming, though I could but spare them illAt this time, as my father loves to keepFull numbers of retainers round the castle,Until this marriage, and its feasts and fooleries,Are rung out with its peal of nuptial nonsense.
Rod. I thought you loved the lady Ida?
Ulr. Why,I do so--but it follows not from thatI would bind in my youth and glorious years,So brief and burning, with a lady's zone,Although 'twere that of Venus:--but I love her,As woman should be loved--fairly and solely.
Rod. And constantly?
Ulr. I think so; for I loveNought else.--But I have not the time to pauseUpon these gewgaws of the heart. Great thingsWe have to do ere long. Speed! speed! good Rodolph!
Rod. On my return, however, I shall findThe Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf?
Ulr. Perhaps: my father wishes it, and, sooth,'Tis no bad policy: this union withThe last bud of the rival branch at onceUnites the future and destroys the past.
Rod. Adieu.
Ulr. Yet hold--we had better keep togetherUntil the chase begins; then draw thou off,And do as I have said.
Rod. I will. But toReturn--'twas a most kind act in the countYour father to send up to KonigsbergFor this fair orphan of the Baron, andTo hail her as his daughter.
Ulr. Wondrous kind!Especially as little kindness tillThen grew between them.
Rod. The late Baron diedOf a fever, did he not?
Ulr. How should I know?
Rod. I have heard it whispered there was something strangeAbout his death--and even the place of itIs scarcely known.
Ulr. Some obscure village onThe Saxon or Silesian frontier.
Rod. HeHas left no testament--no farewell words?
Ulr. I am neither confessor nor notary,So cannot say.
Rod. Ah! here's the lady Ida.
Enter IDA STRALENHEIM.
Ulr. You are early, my sweet cousin!
Ida. Not too early,Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you.Why do you call me "Cousin?"
Ulr. (smiling). Are we not so?
Ida. Yes, but I do not like the name; methinksIt sounds so cold, as if you thought uponOur pedigree, and only weighed our blood.
Ulr. (starting). Blood!
Ida. Why does yours start from your cheeks?
Ulr. Aye! doth it?
Ida. It doth--but no! it rushes like a torrentEven to your brow again.
Ulr. (recovering himself). And if it fled,It only was because your presence sent itBack to my heart, which beats for you, sweet Cousin!
Ida. "Cousin" again.
Ulr. Nay, then, I'll call you sister.
Ida. I like that name still worse.--Would we had ne'erBeen aught of kindred!
Ulr. (gloomily). Would we never had!
Ida. Oh, heavens! and can you wish that?
Ulr. Dearest Ida!Did I not echo your own wish?
Ida. Yes, Ulric,But then I wished it not with such a glance,And scarce knew what I said; but let me beSister, or cousin, what you will, so thatI still to you am something.
Ulr. You shall beAll--all----
Ida. And you to me are so already;But I can wait.
Ulr. Dear Ida!
Ida. Call me Ida,Your Ida, for I would be yours, none else's--Indeed I have none else left, since my poor father--[She pauses.
Ulr. You have mine--you have me.
Ida. Dear Ulric, how I wishMy father could but view my happiness,Which wants but this!
Ulr. Indeed!
Ida. You would have loved him,He you; for the brave ever love each other:His manner was a little cold, his spiritProud (as is birth's prerogative); but underThis grave exterior----Would you had known each other!Had such as you been near him on his journey,He had not died without a friend to sootheHis last and lonely moments.
Ulr. Who says that?
Ida. What?
Ulr. That he died alone.
Ida. The general rumour,And disappearance of his servants, whoHave ne'er returned: that fever was most deadlyWhich swept them all away.
Ulr. If they were near him,He could not die neglected or alone.
Ida. Alas! what is a menial to a death-bed,When the dim eye rolls vainly round for whatIt loves?--They say he died of a fever.
Ulr. Say!It was so.
Ida. I sometimes dream otherwise.
Ulr. All dreams are false.
Ida. And yet I see him asI see you.
Ulr. Where?
Ida. In sleep--I see him liePale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knifeBeside him.
Ulr. But you do not see his face?
Ida (looking at him). No! Oh, my God! do you?
Ulr. Why do you ask?
Ida. Because you look as if you saw a murderer!
Ulr. (agitatedly).Ida, this is mere childishness; your weaknessInfects me, to my shame: but as all feelingsOf yours are common to me, it affects me.Prithee, sweet child, change----
Ida. Child, indeed! I haveFull fifteen summers! [A bugle sounds.
Rod. Hark, my Lord, the bugle!
Ida (peevishly to RODOLPH).Why need you tell him that? Can he not hear itWithout your echo?
Rod. Pardon me, fair Baroness!
Ida. I will not pardon you, unless you earn itBy aiding me in my dissuasion ofCount Ulric from the chase to-day.
Rod. You will not,Lady, need aid of mine.
Ulr. I must not nowForgo it.
Ida. But you shall!
Ulr. Shall!
Ida. Yes, or beNo true knight.--Come, dear Ulric! yield to meIn this, for this one day: the day looks heavy,And you are turned so pale and ill.
Ulr. You jest.
Ida. Indeed I do not:--ask of Rodolph.
Rod. Truly,My Lord, within this quarter of an hourYou have changed more than e'er I saw you changeIn years.
Ulr. 'Tis nothing; but if 'twere, the airWould soon restore me. I'm the true cameleon,And live but on the atmosphere; your feastsIn castle halls, and social banquets, nurse notMy spirit--I'm a forester and breatherOf the steep mountain-tops, where I love allThe eagle loves.
Ida. Except his prey, I hope.
Ulr. Sweet Ida, wish me a fair chase, and IWill bring you six boars' heads for trophies home.
Ida. And will you not stay, then? You shall not go!Come! I will sing to you.
Ulr. Ida, you scarcelyWill make a soldier's wife.
Ida. I do not wishTo be so; for I trust these wars are over,And you will live in peace on your domains.
Enter WERNER as COUNT SIEGENDORF.
Ulr. My father, I salute you, and it grieves meWith such brief greeting.--You have heard our bugle;The vassals wait.
Sieg. So let them.--You forgetTo-morrow is the appointed festivalIn Prague for peace restored. You are apt to followThe chase with such an ardour as will scarcePermit you to return to-day, or ifReturned, too much fatigued to join to-morrowThe nobles in our marshalled ranks.
Ulr. You, Count,Will well supply the place of both--I am notA lover of these pageantries.
Sieg. No, Ulric;It were not well that you alone of allOur young nobility----
Ida. And far the noblestIn aspect and demeanour.
Sieg. (to IDA). True, dear child,Though somewhat frankly said for a fair damsel.--But, Ulric, recollect too our position,So lately reinstated in our honours.Believe me, 'twould be marked in any house,But most in ours, that ONE should be found wantingAt such a time and place. Besides, the HeavenWhich gave us back our own, in the same momentIt spread its peace o'er all, hath double claimsOn us for thanksgiving: first, for our country;And next, that we are here to share its blessings.
Ulr. (aside). Devout, too! Well, sir, I obey at once.(Then aloud to a servant.)Ludwig, dismiss the train without![Exit LUDWIG.Ida. And soYou yield, at once, to him what I for hoursMight supplicate in vain.
Sieg. (smiling). You are not jealousOf me, I trust, my pretty rebel! whoWould sanction disobedience against allExcept thyself? But fear not; thou shalt rule himHereafter with a fonder sway and firmer.
Ida. But I should like to govern now.
Sieg. You shall,Your harp, which by the way awaits you withThe Countess in her chamber. She complainsThat you are a sad truant to your music:She attends you.
Ida. Then good morrow, my kind kinsmen!Ulric, you'll come and hear me?
Ulr. By and by.
Ida. Be sure I'll sound it better than your bugles;Then pray you be as punctual to its notes:I'll play you King Gustavus' march.
Ulr. And why notOld Tilly's?
Ida. Not that monster's! I should thinkMy harp-strings rang with groans, and not with music,Could aught of his sound on it:--but come quickly;Your mother will be eager to receive you. [Exit IDA.
Sieg. Ulric, I wish to speak with you alone.
Ulr. My time's your vassal.--(Aside to RODOLPH.) Rodolph, hence! and doAs I directed: and by his best speedAnd readiest means let Rosenberg reply.
Rod. Count Siegendorf, command you aught? I am boundUpon a journey past the frontier.
Sieg. (starts). Ah!--Where? on what frontier?
Rod. The Silesian, onMy way--(Aside to ULRIC.)--Where shall I say?
Ulr. (aside to RODOLPH). To Hamburgh.(Aside to himself). ThatWord will, I think, put a firm padlock onHis further inquisition.
Rod. Count, to Hamburgh.
Sieg. (agitated). Hamburgh! No, I have nought to do there, norAm aught connected with that city. ThenGod speed you!
Rod. Fare ye well, Count Siegendorf![Exit RODOLPH.
Sieg. Ulric, this man, who has just departed, isOne of those strange companions whom I fainWould reason with you on.
Ulr. My Lord, he isNoble by birth, of one of the first housesIn Saxony.
Sieg. I talk not of his birth,But of his bearing. Men speak lightly of him.
Ulr. So they will do of most men. Even the monarchIs not fenced from his chamberlain's slander, orThe sneer of the last courtier whom he has madeGreat and ungrateful.
Sieg. If I must be plain,The world speaks more than lightly of this Rodolph:They say he is leagued with the "black bands" who stillRavage the frontier.
Ulr. And will you believeThe world?
Sieg. In this case--yes.
Ulr. In any case,I thought you knew it better than to takeAn accusation for a sentence.
Sieg. Son!I understand you: you refer to----butMy destiny has so involved about meHer spider web, that I can only flutterLike the poor fly, but break it not. Take heed,Ulric; you have seen to what the passions led me:Twenty long years of misery and famineQuenched them not--twenty thousand more, perchance,Hereafter (or even here in moments whichMight date for years, did Anguish make the dial),May not obliterate or expiateThe madness and dishonour of an instant.Ulric, be warned by a father!--I was notBy mine, and you behold me!
Ulr. I beholdThe prosperous and belovéd Siegendorf,Lord of a Prince's appanage, and honouredBy those he rules and those he ranks with.
Sieg. Ah!Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fearFor thee? Belovéd, when thou lovest me not!All hearts but one may beat in kindness for me--But if my son's is cold!----
Ulr. Who dare say that?
Sieg. None else but I, who see it--feel it--keenerThan would your adversary, who dared say so,Your sabre in his heart! But mine survivesThe wound.
Ulr. You err. My nature is not givenTo outward fondling: how should it be so,After twelve years' divorcement from my parents?
Sieg. And did not I too pass those twelve torn yearsIn a like absence? But 'tis vain to urge you--Nature was never called back by remonstrance.Let's change the theme. I wish you to considerThat these young violent nobles of high name,But dark deeds (aye, the darkest, if all RumourReports be true), with whom thou consortest,Will lead thee----
Ulr. (impatiently). I'll be led by no man.
Sieg. NorBe leader of such, I would hope: at onceTo wean thee from the perils of thy youthAnd haughty spirit, I have thought it wellThat thou shouldst wed the lady Ida--moreAs thou appear'st to love her.
Ulr. I have saidI will obey your orders, were they toUnite with Hecate--can a son say more?
Sieg. He says too much in saying this. It is notThe nature of thine age, nor of thy blood,Nor of thy temperament, to talk so coolly,Or act so carelessly, in that which isThe bloom or blight of all men's happiness,(For Glory's pillow is but restless, ifLove lay not down his cheek there): some strong bias,Some master fiend is in thy service, toMisrule the mortal who believes him slave,And makes his every thought subservient; elseThou'dst say at once--"I love young Ida, andWill wed her;" or, "I love her not, and allThe powers on earth shall never make me."--SoWould I have answered.
Ulr. Sir, you wed for love.
Sieg. I did, and it has been my only refugeIn many miseries.
Ulr. Which miseriesHad never been but for this love-match.
Sieg. StillAgainst your age and nature! Who at twentyE'er answered thus till now?
Ulr. Did you not warn meAgainst your own example?
Sieg. Boyish sophist!In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida?
Ulr. What matters it, if I am ready toObey you in espousing her?
Sieg. As farAs you feel, nothing--but all life for her.She's young--all-beautiful--adores you--isEndowed with qualities to give happiness,Such as rounds common life into a dreamOf something which your poets cannot paint,And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue),For which Philosophy might barter Wisdom;And giving so much happiness, deservesA little in return. I would not have herBreak her heart with a man who has none to break!Or wither on her stalk like some pale roseDeserted by the bird she thought a nightingale,According to the Orient tale. She is----
Ulr. The daughter of dead Stralenheim, your foe:I'll wed her, ne'ertheless; though, to say truth,Just now I am not violently transportedIn favour of such unions.
Sieg. But she loves you.
Ulr. And I love her, and therefore would think twice.
Sieg. Alas! Love never did so.
Ulr. Then 'tis timeHe should begin, and take the bandage fromHis eyes, and look before he leaps; till nowHe hath ta'en a jump i' the dark.
Sieg. But you consent?
Ulr. I did, and do.
Sieg. Then fix the day.
Ulr. Tis usual,And, certes, courteous, to leave that to the lady.
Sieg. I will engage for her.
Ulr. So will not IFor any woman: and as what I fix,I fain would see unshaken, when she givesHer answer, I'll give mine.
Sieg. But 'tis your officeTo woo.
Ulr. Count, 'tis a marriage of your making,So be it of your wooing; but to please you,I will now pay my duty to my mother,With whom, you know, the lady Ida is.--What would you have? You have forbid my stirringFor manly sports beyond the castle walls,And I obey; you bid me turn a chamberer,To pick up gloves, and fans, and knitting-needles,And list to songs and tunes, and watch for smiles,And smile at pretty prattle, and look intoThe eyes of feminine, as though they wereThe stars receding early to our wishUpon the dawn of a world-winning battle--What can a son or man do more? [Exit ULRIC.
Sieg. (solus). Too much!--Too much of duty, and too little love!He pays me in the coin he owes me not:For such hath been my wayward fate, I could notFulfil a parent's duties by his sideTill now; but love he owes me, for my thoughtsNe'er left him, nor my eyes longed without tearsTo see my child again,--and now I have found him!But how! obedient, but with coldness; duteousIn my sight, but with carelessness; mysterious--Abstracted--distant--much given to long absence,And where--none know--in league with the most riotousOf our young nobles; though, to do him justice,He never stoops down to their vulgar pleasures;Yet there's some tie between them which I can notUnravel. They look up to him--consult him--Throng round him as a leader: but with meHe hath no confidence! Ah! can I hope itAfter--what! doth my father's curse descendEven to my child? Or is the Hungarian nearTo shed more blood? or--Oh! if it should be!Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these wallsTo wither him and his--who, though they slew not,Unlatched the door of Death for thee? 'Twas notOur fault, nor is our sin: thou wert our foe,And yet I spared thee when my own destructionSlept with thee, to awake with thine awakening!And only took--Accurséd gold! thou liestLike poison in my hands; I dare not use thee,Nor part from thee; thou camest in such a guise,Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all handsLike mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee,Thou villanous gold! and thy dead master's doom,Though he died not by me or mine, as muchAs if he were my brother! I have ta'enHis orphan Ida--cherished her as oneWho will be mine.
Enter an ATTENDANT.
Atten. The abbot, if it pleaseYour Excellency, whom you sent for, waitsUpon you. [Exit ATTENDANT.
Enter the PRIOR ALBERT.
Prior. Peace be with these walls, and allWithin them!
Sieg. Welcome, welcome, holy father!And may thy prayer be heard!--all men have needOf such, and I----
Prior. Have the first claim to allThe prayers of our community. Our convent,Erected by your ancestors, is stillProtected by their children.
Sieg. Yes, good father;Continue daily orisons for usIn these dim days of heresies and blood,Though the schismatic Swede, Gustavus, isGone home.
Prior. To the endless home of unbelievers,Where there is everlasting wail and woe,Gnashing of teeth, and tears of blood, and fireEternal and the worm which dieth not!
Sieg. True, father: and to avert those pangs from one,Who, though of our most faultless holy Church,Yet died without its last and dearest offices,Which smooth the soul through purgatorial pains,I have to offer humbly this donationIn masses for his spirit.[SIEGENDORF offers the gold which he had taken from STRALENHEIM.
Prior. Count, if IReceive it, 'tis because I know too wellRefusal would offend you. Be assuredThe largess shall be only dealt in alms,And every mass no less sung for the dead.Our House needs no donations, thanks to yours,Which has of old endowed it; but from youAnd yours in all meet things 'tis fit we obey.For whom shall mass be said?
Sieg. (faltering). For--for--the dead.
Prior. His name?
Sieg. 'Tis from a soul, and not a name,I would avert perdition.
Prior. I meant notTo pry into your secret. We will prayFor one unknown, the same as for the proudest.
Sieg. Secret! I have none: but, father, he who's goneMight have one; or, in short, he did bequeath--No, not bequeath--but I bestow this sumFor pious purposes.
Prior. A proper deedIn the behalf of our departed friends.
Sieg. But he who's gone was not my friend, but foe,The deadliest and the stanchest.
Prior. Better still!To employ our means to obtain Heaven for the soulsOf our dead enemies is worthy thoseWho can forgive them living.
Sieg. But I did notForgive this man. I loathed him to the last,As he did me. I do not love him now,But----
Prior. Best of all! for this is pure religion!You fain would rescue him you hate from hell--An evangelical compassion--withYour own gold too!
Sieg. Father, 'tis not my gold.
Prior. Whose, then? You said it was no legacy.
Sieg. No matter whose--of this be sure, that heWho owned it never more will need it, saveIn that which it may purchase from your altars:'Tis yours, or theirs.
Prior. Is there no blood upon it?
Sieg. No; but there's worse than blood--eternal shame!
Prior. Did he who owned it die in his bed?
Sieg. Alas!He did.
Prior. Son! you relapse into revenge,If you regret your enemy's bloodless death.
Sieg. His death was fathomlessly deep in blood.
Prior. You said he died in his bed, not battle.
Sieg. HeDied, I scarce know--but--he was stabbed i' the dark,And now you have it--perished on his pillowBy a cut-throat!--Aye!--you may look upon me!I am not the man. I'll meet your eye on that point,As I can one day God's.
Prior. Nor did he dieBy means, or men, or instrument of yours?
Sieg. No! by the God who sees and strikes!
Prior. Nor know youWho slew him?
Sieg. I could only guess at one,And he to me a stranger, unconnected,As unemployed. Except by one day's knowledge,I never saw the man who was suspected.
Prior. Then you are free from guilt.
Sieg. (eagerly). Oh! am I?--say!
Prior. You have said so, and know best.
Sieg. Father! I have spokenThe truth, and nought but truth, if not the whole;Yet say I am not guilty! for the bloodOf this man weighs on me, as if I shed it,Though, by the Power who abhorreth human blood,I did not!--nay, once spared it, when I mightAnd could--aye, perhaps, should (if our self-safetyBe e'er excusable in such defencesAgainst the attacks of over-potent foes):But pray for him, for me, and all my house;For, as I said, though I be innocent,I know not why, a like remorse is on me,As if he had fallen by me or mine. Pray for me,Father! I have prayed myself in vain.
Prior. I will.Be comforted! You are innocent, and shouldBe calm as innocence.
Sieg. But calmness is notAlways the attribute of innocence.I feel it is not.
Prior. But it will be so,When the mind gathers up its truth within it.Remember the great festival to-morrow,In which you rank amidst our chiefest nobles,As well as your brave son; and smooth your aspect,Nor in the general orison of thanksFor bloodshed stopt, let blood you shed not rise,A cloud, upon your thoughts. This were to beToo sensitive. Take comfort, and forgetSuch things, and leave remorse unto the guilty. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.--A large and magnificent Gothic Hall in theCastle of Siegendorf, decorated with Trophies, Banners,and Arms of that Family.
Enter ARNHEIM and MEISTER, attendants of COUNT SIEGENDORF.
Arn. Be quick! the Count will soon return: the ladiesAlready are at the portal. Have you sentThe messengers in search of him he seeks for?
Meis. I have, in all directions, over Prague,As far as the man's dress and figure couldBy your description track him. The devil takeThese revels and processions! All the pleasure(If such there be) must fall to the spectators,--I'm sure none doth to us who make the show.
Arn. Go to! my Lady Countess comes.
Meis. I'd ratherRide a day's hunting on an outworn jade,Than follow in the train of a great man,In these dull pageantries.
Arn. Begone! and railWithin. [Exeunt.
Enter the COUNTESS JOSEPHINE SIEGENDORF and IDA STRALENHEIM.
Jos. Well, Heaven be praised! the show is over.
Ida. How can you say so? Never have I dreamtOf aught so beautiful. The flowers, the boughs,The banners, and the nobles, and the knights,The gems, the robes, the plumes, the happy faces,The coursers, and the incense, and the sunStreaming through the stained windows, even the tombs,Which looked so calm, and the celestial hymns,Which seemed as if they rather came from HeavenThan mounted there--the bursting organ's pealRolling on high like an harmonious thunder;The white robes and the lifted eyes; the worldAt peace! and all at peace with one another!Oh, my sweet mother! [Embracing JOSEPHINE.
Jos. My belovéd child!For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly.
Ida. Oh!I am so already. Feel how my heart beats!
Jos. It does, my love; and never may it throbWith aught more bitter.
Ida. Never shall it do so!How should it? What should make us grieve? I hateTo hear of sorrow: how can we be sad,Who love each other so entirely? You,The Count, and Ulric, and your daughter Ida.
Jos. Poor child!
Ida. Do you pity me?
Jos. No: I but envy,And that in sorrow, not in the world's senseOf the universal vice, if one vice beMore general than another.
Ida. I'll not hearA word against a world which still containsYou and my Ulric. Did you ever seeAught like him? How he towered amongst them all!How all eyes followed him! The flowers fell faster--Rained from each lattice at his feet, methought,Than before all the rest; and where he trodI dare be sworn that they grow still, nor e'erWill wither.
Jos. You will spoil him, little flatterer,If he should hear you.
Ida. But he never will.I dare not say so much to him--I fear him.
Jos. Why so? he loves you well.
Ida. But I can neverShape my thoughts of him into words to him:Besides, he sometimes frightens me.
Jos. How so?Ida. A cloud comes o'er his blue eyes suddenly,Yet he says nothing.
Jos. It is nothing: all men,Especially in these dark troublous times,Have much to think of.
Ida. But I cannot thinkOf aught save him.
Jos. Yet there are other men,In the world's eye, as goodly. There's, for instance,The young Count Waldorf, who scarce once withdrewHis eyes from yours to-day.
Ida. I did not see him,But Ulric. Did you not see at the momentWhen all knelt, and I wept? and yet, methought,Through my fast tears, though they were thick and warm,I saw him smiling on me.
Jos. I could notSee aught save Heaven, to which my eyes were raised,Together with the people's.
Ida. I thought tooOf Heaven, although I looked on Ulric.
Jos. Come,Let us retire! they will be here anon,Expectant of the banquet. We will layAside these nodding plumes and dragging trains.
Ida. And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels,Which make my head and heart ache, as both throbBeneath their glitter o'er my brow and zone.Dear mother, I am with you.
Enter COUNT SIEGENDORF, in full dress, from thesolemnity, and LUDWIG.
Sieg. Is he not found?
Lud. Strict search is making every where; and ifThe man be in Prague, be sure he will be found.
Sieg. Where's Ulric?
Lud. He rode round the other wayWith some young nobles; but he left them soon;And, if I err not, not a minute sinceI heard his Excellency, with his train,Gallop o'er the west drawbridge.
Enter ULRIC, splendidly dressed.
Sieg. (to LUDWIG). See they cease notTheir quest of him I have described. [Exit LUDWIG.Oh, Ulric!How have I longed for thee!
Ulr. Your wish is granted--Behold me!
Sieg. I have seen the murderer.
Ulr. Whom? Where?
Sieg. The Hungarian, who slew Stralenheim.
Ulr. You dream.
Sieg. I live! and as I live, I saw him--Heard him! he dared to utter even my name.
Ulr. What name?
Sieg. Werner! 'twas mine.
Ulr. It must be soNo more: forget it.
Sieg. Never! never! allMy destinies were woven in that name:It will not be engraved upon my tomb,But it may lead me there.
Ulr. To the point----the Hungarian?
Sieg. Listen!--The church was thronged: the hymn was raised;"Te Deum" pealed from nations rather thanFrom choirs, in one great cry of "God be praised"For one day's peace, after thrice ten dread years,Each bloodier than the former: I arose,With all the nobles, and as I looked downAlong the lines of lifted faces,--fromOur bannered and escutcheoned gallery, ISaw, like a flash of lightning (for I sawA moment and no more), what struck me sightlessTo all else--the Hungarian's face! I grewSick; and when I recovered from the mistWhich curled about my senses, and againLooked down, I saw him not. The thanksgivingWas over, and we marched back in procession.
Ulr. Continue.
Sieg. When we reached the Muldau's bridge,The joyous crowd above, the numberlessBarks manned with revellers in their best garbs,Which shot along the glancing tide below,The decorated street, the long array,The clashing music, and the thunderingOf far artillery, which seemed to bidA long and loud farewell to its great doings,The standards o'er me, and the tramplings round,The roar of rushing thousands,--all--all could notChase this man from my mind, although my sensesNo longer held him palpable.
Ulr. You saw himNo more, then?
Sieg. I looked, as a dying soldierLooks at a draught of water, for this man;But still I saw him not; but in his stead----
Ulr. What in his stead?
Sieg. My eye for ever fellUpon your dancing crest; the loftiest.As on the loftiest and the loveliest head,It rose the highest of the stream of plumes,Which overflowed the glittering streets of Prague.
Ulr. What's this to the Hungarian?
Sieg. Much! for IHad almost then forgot him in my son;When just as the artillery ceased, and pausedThe music, and the crowd embraced in lieuOf shouting, I heard in a deep, low voice,Distinct and keener far upon my earThan the late cannon's volume, this word--"Werner!"
Ulr. Uttered by----
Sieg. HIM! I turned--and saw--and fell.
Ulr. And wherefore? Were you seen?
Sieg. The officious careOf those around me dragged me from the spot,Seeing my faintness, ignorant of the cause:You, too, were too remote in the procession(The old nobles being divided from their children)To aid me.
Ulr. But I'll aid you now.
Sieg. In what?
Ulr. In searching for this man, or----When he's found,What shall we do with him?
Sieg. I know not that.
Ulr. Then wherefore seek?
Sieg. Because I cannot restTill he is found. His fate, and Stralenheim's,And ours, seem intertwisted! nor can beUnravelled, till----
Enter an ATTENDANT.
Atten. A stranger to wait onYour Excellency.
Sieg. Who?
Atten. He gave no name.
Sieg. Admit him, ne'ertheless.[The ATTENDANT introduces GABOR, and afterwards exit.Ah!
Gab. 'Tis then Werner!
Sieg. (haughtily).The same you knew, sir, by that name; and you!
Gab. (looking round).I recognise you both: father and son,It seems. Count, I have heard that you, or yours,Have lately been in search of me: I am here.
Sieg. I have sought you, and have found you: you are charged(Your own heart may inform you why) with suchA crime as---- [He pauses.
Gab. Give it utterance, and thenI'll meet the consequences.
Sieg. You shall do so--Unless----
Gab. First, who accuses me?
Sieg. All things,If not all men: the universal rumour--My own presence on the spot--the place--the time--And every speck of circumstance uniteTo fix the blot on you.
Gab. And on me only?Pause ere you answer: is no other name,Save mine, stained in this business?
Sieg. Trifling villain!Who play'st with thine own guilt! Of all that breatheThou best dost know the innocence of him'Gainst whom thy breath would blow thy bloody slander.But I will talk no further with a wretch,Further than justice asks. Answer at once,And without quibbling, to my charge.
Gab. 'Tis false!
Sieg. Who says so?
Gab. I.
Sieg. And how disprove it?
Gab. ByThe presence of the murderer.
Sieg. Name him.
Gab. HeMay have more names than one. Your Lordship had soOnce on a time.
Sieg. If you mean me, I dareYour utmost.
Gab. You may do so, and in safety;I know the assassin.
Sieg. Where is he?
Gab. (pointing to ULRIC). Beside you![ULRIC rushes forward to attack GABOR; SIEGENDORF interposes.
Sieg. Liar and fiend! but you shall not be slain;These walls are mine, and you are safe within them.Ulric, repel this calumny, as I [He turns to ULRIC.Will do. I avow it is a growth so monstrous,I could not deem it earth-born: but be calm;It will refute itself. But touch him not.[ULRIC endeavours to compose himself.
Gab. Look at him, Count, and then hear me.
Sieg. (first to GABOR, and then looking at ULRIC).I hear thee.My God! you look----
Ulr. How?
Sieg. As on that dread night,When we met in the garden.
Ulr. (composing himself). It is nothing.
Gab. Count, you are bound to hear me. I came hitherNot seeking you, but sought. When I knelt downAmidst the people in the church, I dreamed notTo find the beggared Werner in the seatOf Senators and Princes; but you have called me,And we have met.
Sieg. Go on, sir.
Gab. Ere I do so,Allow me to inquire, who profitedBy Stralenheim's death? Was't I--as poor as ever;And poorer by suspicion on my name!The Baron lost in that last outrage neitherJewels nor gold; his life alone was sought.--A life which stood between the claims of othersTo honours and estates scarce less than princely.
Sieg. These hints, as vague as vain, attach no lessTo me than to my son.
Gab. I can't help that.But let the consequence alight on himWho feels himself the guilty one amongst us.I speak to you, Count Siegendorf, becauseI know you innocent, and deem you just.But ere I can proceed--dare you protect me?Dare you command me?
[SIEGENDORF first looks at the Hungarian, and then atULRIC, who has unbuckled his sabre, and is drawinglines with it on the floor--still in its sheath.
Ulr. (looks at his father, and says,) Let the man go on!
Gab. I am unarmed, Count, bid your son lay downHis sabre.
Ulr. (offers it to him contemptuously). Take it.
Gab. No, sir, 'tis enoughThat we are both unarmed--I would not chooseTo wear a steel which may be stained with moreBlood than came there in battle.
Ulr. (casts the sabre from him in contempt). It--or someSuch other weapon in my hand--spared yoursOnce, when disarmed and at my mercy.
Gab. True--I have not forgotten it: you spared me forYour own especial purpose--to sustainAn ignominy not my own.
Ulr. Proceed.The tale is doubtless worthy the relater.But is it of my father to hear further? [To SIEGENDORF.
Sieg. (takes his son by the hand).My son, I know my own innocence, and doubt notOf yours--but I have promised this man patience;Let him continue.
Gab. I will not detain you,By speaking of myself much: I beganLife early--and am what the world has made me.At Frankfort on the Oder, where I passedA winter in obscurity, it wasMy chance at several places of resort(Which I frequented sometimes, but not often)To hear related a strange circumstanceIn February last. A martial force,Sent by the state, had, after strong resistance,Secured a band of desperate men, supposedMarauders from the hostile camp.--They proved,However, not to be so--but banditti,Whom either accident or enterpriseHad carried from their usual haunt--the forestsWhich skirt Bohemia--even into Lusatia.Many amongst them were reported ofHigh rank--and martial law slept for a time.At last they were escorted o'er the frontiers,And placed beneath the civil jurisdictionOf the free town of Frankfort. Of their fateI know no more.
Sieg. And what is this to Ulric?
Gab. Amongst them there was said to be one manOf wonderful endowments:--birth and fortune,Youth, strength, and beauty, almost superhuman,And courage as unrivalled, were proclaimedHis by the public rumour; and his sway,Not only over his associates, butHis judges, was attributed to witchcraft,Such was his influence:--I have no great faithIn any magic save that of the mine--I therefore deemed him wealthy.--But my soulWas roused with various feelings to seek outThis prodigy, if only to behold him.
Sieg. And did you so?
Gab. You'll hear. Chance favoured me:A popular affray in the public squareDrew crowds together--it was one of thoseOccasions where men's souls look out of them,And show them as they are--even in their faces:The moment my eye met his, I exclaimed,"This is the man!" though he was then, as since,With the nobles of the city. I felt sureI had not erred, and watched him long and nearly;I noted down his form--his gesture--features,Stature, and bearing--and amidst them all,'Midst every natural and acquired distinction,I could discern, methought, the assassin's eyeAnd gladiator's heart.
Ulr. (smiling). The tale sounds well.
Gab. And may sound better.--He appeared to meOne of those beings to whom Fortune bends,As she doth to the daring--and on whomThe fates of others oft depend; besides,An indescribable sensation drew meNear to this man, as if my point of fortuneWas to be fixed by him.--There I was wrong.
Sieg. And may not be right now.
Gab. I followed him,Solicited his notice--and obtained it--Though not his friendship:--it was his intentionTo leave the city privately--we left itTogether--and together we arrivedIn the poor town where Werner was concealed,And Stralenheim was succoured----Now we are onThe verge--dare you hear further?
Sieg. I must do so--Or I have heard too much.
Gab. I saw in youA man above his station--and if notSo high, as now I find you, in my thenConceptions, 'twas that I had rarely seenMen such as you appeared in height of mind,In the most high of worldly rank; you werePoor, even to all save rags: I would have sharedMy purse, though slender, with you--you refused it.
Sieg. Doth my refusal make a debt to you,That thus you urge it?
Gab. Still you owe me something,Though not for that; and I owed you my safety,At least my seeming safety, when the slavesOf Stralenheim pursued me on the groundsThat I had robbed him.
Sieg. I concealed you--I,Whom and whose house you arraign, reviving viper!
Gab. I accuse no man--save in my defence.You, Count, have made yourself accuser--judge:Your hall's my court, your heart is my tribunal.Be just, and I'll be merciful!
Sieg. You merciful?--You! Base calumniator!
Gab. I. 'Twill restWith me at last to be so. You concealed me--In secret passages known to yourself,You said, and to none else. At dead of night,Weary with watching in the dark, and dubiousOf tracing back my way, I saw a glimmer,Through distant crannies, of a twinkling light:I followed it, and reached a door--a secretPortal--which opened to the chamber, where,With cautious hand and slow, having first undoneAs much as made a crevice of the fastening,I looked through and beheld a purple bed,And on it Stralenheim!--
Sieg. Asleep! And yetYou slew him!--Wretch!
Gab. He was already slain,And bleeding like a sacrifice. My ownBlood became ice.
Sieg. But he was all alone!You saw none else? You did not see the----[He pauses from agitation.
Gab. No,He, whom you dare not name, nor even IScarce dare to recollect, was not then inThe chamber.
Sieg. (to ULRIC). Then, my boy! thou art guiltless still--Thou bad'st me say I was so once.--Oh! nowDo thou as much.
Gab. Be patient! I can notRecede now, though it shake the very wallsWhich frown above us. You remember,--orIf not, your son does,--that the locks were changedBeneath his chief inspection on the mornWhich led to this same night: how he had enteredHe best knows--but within an antechamber,The door of which was half ajar, I sawA man who washed his bloody hands, and oftWith stern and anxious glance gazed back upon--The bleeding body--but it moved no more.
Sieg. Oh! God of fathers!
Gab. I beheld his featuresAs I see yours--but yours they were not, thoughResembling them--behold them in Count Ulric's!Distinct as I beheld them, though the expressionIs not now what it then was!--but it was soWhen I first charged him with the crime--so lately.
Sieg. This is so--
Gab. (interrupting him). Nay--but hear me to the end!Now you must do so.--I conceived myselfBetrayed by you and him (for now I sawThere was some tie between you) into thisPretended den of refuge, to becomeThe victim of your guilt; and my first thoughtWas vengeance: but though armed with a short poniard(Having left my sword without), I was no matchFor him at any time, as had been provedThat morning--either in address or force.I turned and fled--i' the dark: chance rather thanSkill made me gain the secret door of the hall,And thence the chamber where you slept: if IHad found you waking, Heaven alone can tellWhat vengeance and suspicion might have prompted;But ne'er slept guilt as Werner slept that night.
Sieg. And yet I had horrid dreams! and such brief sleep,The stars had not gone down when I awoke.Why didst thou spare me? I dreamt of my father--And now my dream is out!
Gab. 'Tis not my fault,If I have read it.--Well! I fled and hid me--Chance led me here after so many moons--And showed me Werner in Count Siegendorf!Werner, whom I had sought in huts in vain,Inhabited the palace of a sovereign!You sought me and have found me--now you knowMy secret, and may weigh its worth.
Sieg. (after a pause). Indeed!
Gab. Is it revenge or justice which inspiresYour meditation?
Sieg. Neither--I was weighingThe value of your secret.
Gab. You shall know itAt once:--When you were poor, and I, though poor,Rich enough to relieve such povertyAs might have envied mine, I offered youMy purse--you would not share it:--I'll be frankerWith you: you are wealthy, noble, trusted byThe imperial powers--you understand me?
Sieg. Yes.
Gab. Not quite. You think me venal, and scarce true:'Tis no less true, however, that my fortunesHave made me both at present. You shall aid me:I would have aided you--and also haveBeen somewhat damaged in my name to saveYours and your son's. Weigh well what I have said.
Sieg. Dare you await the event of a few minutes'Deliberation?
Gab. (casts his eyes on ULRIC, who isleaning against a pillar). If I should do so?
Sieg. I pledge my life for yours. Withdraw intoThis tower. [Opens a turret-door.
Gab. (hesitatingly). This is the second safe asylumYou have offered me.
Sieg. And was not the first so?
Gab. I know not that even now--but will approveThe second. I have still a further shield.--I did not enter Prague alone; and should IBe put to rest with Stralenheim, there areSome tongues without will wag in my behalf.Be brief in your decision!
Sieg. I will be so.--My word is sacred and irrevocableWithin these walls, but it extends no further.
Gab. I'll take it for so much.
Sieg. (points to ULRIC'S sabre, still upon the ground).Take also that--I saw you eye it eagerly, and himDistrustfully.
Gab. (takes up the sabre). I will; and so provideTo sell my life--not cheaply.[GABOR goes into the turret, which SIEGENDORF closes.
Sieg. (advances to ULRIC). Now, Count Ulric!For son I dare not call thee--What say'st thou?
Ulr. His tale is true.
Sieg. True, monster!
Ulr. Most true, father!And you did well to listen to it: whatWe know, we can provide against. He mustBe silenced.
Sieg. Aye, with half of my domains;And with the other half, could he and thouUnsay this villany.
Ulr. It is no timeFor trifling or dissembling. I have saidHis story's true; and he too must be silenced.
Sieg. How so?
Ulr. As Stralenheim is. Are you so dullAs never to have hit on this before?When we met in the garden, what exceptDiscovery in the act could make me knowHis death? Or had the Prince's household beenThen summoned, would the cry for the policeBeen left to such a stranger? Or should IHave loitered on the way? Or could you, Werner,The object of the Baron's hate and fears,Have fled, unless by many an hour beforeSuspicion woke? I sought and fathomed you,Doubting if you were false or feeble: IPerceived you were the latter: and yet soConfiding have I found you, that I doubtedAt times your weakness.
Sieg. Parricide! no lessThan common stabber! What deed of my life,Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fitFor your accomplice?
Ulr. Father, do not raiseThe devil you cannot lay between us. ThisIs time for union and for action, notFor family disputes. While you were tortured,Could I be calm? Think you that I have heardThis fellow's tale without some feeling?--YouHave taught me feeling for you and myself;For whom or what else did you ever teach it?
Sieg. Oh! my dead father's curse! 'tis working now.
Ulr. Let it work on! the grave will keep it down!Ashes are feeble foes: it is more easyTo baffle such, than countermine a mole,Which winds its blind but living path beneath you.Yet hear me still!--If you condemn me, yet,Remember who hath taught me once too oftenTo listen to him! Who proclaimed to meThat there were crimes made venial by the occasion?That passion was our nature? that the goodsOf Heaven waited on the goods of fortune?Who showed me his humanity securedBy his nerves only? Who deprived me ofAll power to vindicate myself and raceIn open day? By his disgrace which stamped(It might be) bastardy on me, and onHimself--a felon's brand! The man who isAt once both warm and weak invites to deedsHe longs to do, but dare not. Is it strangeThat I should act what you could think? We have doneWith right and wrong; and now must only ponderUpon effects, not causes. Stralenheim,Whose life I saved from impulse, as unknown,I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slewKnown as our foe--but not from vengeance. HeWas a rock in our way which I cut through,As doth the bolt, because it stood between usAnd our true destination--but not idly.As stranger I preserved him, and he owed meHis life: when due, I but resumed the debt.He, you, and I stood o'er a gulf whereinI have plunged our enemy. You kindled firstThe torch--you showed the path; now trace me thatOf safety--or let me!
Sieg. I have done with life!
Ulr. Let us have done with that which cankers life--Familiar feuds and vain recriminationsOf things which cannot be undone. We haveNo more to learn or hide: I know no fear,And have within these very walls men who(Although you know them not) dare venture all things.You stand high with the state; what passes hereWill not excite her too great curiosity:Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye,Stir not, and speak not;--leave the rest to me:We must have no third babblers thrust between us.[Exit ULRIC.
Sieg. (solus). Am I awake? are these my father's halls?And you--my son? My son! mine! I who have everAbhorred both mystery and blood, and yetAm plunged into the deepest hell of both!I must be speedy, or more will be shed--The Hungarian's!--Ulric--he hath partisans,It seems: I might have guessed as much. Oh fool!Wolves prowl in company. He hath the key(As I too) of the opposite door which leadsInto the turret. Now then! or once moreTo be the father of fresh crimes, no lessThan of the criminal! Ho! Gabor! Gabor![Exit into the turret, closing the door after him.
SCENE II.--The Interior of the Turret.
GABOR and SIEGENDORF.
Gab. Who calls?
Sieg. I--Siegendorf! Take these and fly!Lose not a moment!
[Tears off a diamond star and other jewels, and thruststhem into GABOR'S hand.
Gab. What am I to doWith these?
Sieg. Whate'er you will: sell them, or hoard,And prosper; but delay not, or you are lost!
Gab. You pledged your honour for my safety!
Sieg. AndMust thus redeem it. Fly! I am not master,It seems, of my own castle--of my ownRetainers--nay, even of these very walls,Or I would bid them fall and crush me! Fly!Or you will be slain by----
Gab. Is it even so?Farewell, then! Recollect, however, Count,You sought this fatal interview!
Sieg. I did:Let it not be more fatal still!--Begone!
Gab. By the same path I entered?
Sieg. Yes; that's safe still;But loiter not in Prague;--you do not knowWith whom you have to deal.
Gab. I know too well--And knew it ere yourself, unhappy Sire!Farewell! [Exit GABOR.
Sieg. (solus and listening).He hath cleared the staircase. Ah! I hearThe door sound loud behind him! He is safe!Safe!--Oh, my father's spirit!--I am faint--
[He leans down upon a stone seat, near the wall ofthe tower, in a drooping posture.
Enter ULRIC with others armed, and with weapons drawn.
Ulr. Despatch!--he's there!
Lud. The Count, my Lord!
Ulr. (recognizing SIEGENDORF). You here, sir!
Sieg. Yes: if you want another victim, strike!
Ulr. (seeing him stript of his jewels).Where is the ruffian who hath plundered you?Vassals, despatch in search of him! You see'Twas as I said--the wretch hath stript my fatherOf jewels which might form a Prince's heir-loom!Away! I'll follow you forthwith.[Exeunt all but SIEGENDORF and ULRIC.What's this?Where is the villain?
Sieg. There are two, sir: whichAre you in quest of?
Ulr. Let us hear no moreOf this: he must be found. You have not let himEscape?
Sieg. He's gone.
Ulr. With your connivance?
Sieg. WithMy fullest, freest aid.
Ulr. Then fare you well![ULRIC is going.
Sieg. Stop! I command--entreat--implore! Oh, Ulric!Will you then leave me?
Ulr. What! remain to beDenounced--dragged, it may be, in chains; and allBy your inherent weakness, half-humanity,Selfish remorse, and temporizing pity,That sacrifices your whole race to saveA wretch to profit by our ruin! No, Count,Henceforth you have no son!
Sieg. I never had one;And would you ne'er had borne the useless name!Where will you go? I would not send you forthWithout protection.
Ulr. Leave that unto me.I am not alone; nor merely the vain heirOf your domains; a thousand, aye, ten thousandSwords, hearts, and hands are mine.
Sieg. The foresters!With whom the Hungarian found you first at Frankfort!
Ulr. Yes--men--who are worthy of the name! Go tellYour Senators that they look well to Prague;Their Feast of Peace was early for the times;There are more spirits abroad than have been laidWith Wallenstein!
Enter JOSEPHINE and IDA.
Jos. What is't we hear? My Siegendorf!Thank Heaven, I see you safe!
Sieg. Safe!
Ida. Yes, dear father!
Sieg. No, no; I have no children: never moreCall me by that worst name of parent.
Jos. WhatMeans my good Lord?
Sieg. That you have given birthTo a demon!
Ida (taking ULRIC'S hand). Who shall dare say this of Ulric?
Sieg. Ida, beware! there's blood upon that hand.
Ida (stooping to kiss it).I'd kiss it off, though it were mine.
Sieg. It is so!
Ulr. Away! it is your father's! [Exit ULRIC.
Ida. Oh, great God!And I have loved this man![IDA falls senseless--JOSEPHINE stands speechless with horror.
Sieg. The wretch hath slainThem both!--My Josephine! we are now alone!Would we had ever been so!--All is overFor me!--Now open wide, my sire, thy grave;Thy curse hath dug it deeper for thy sonIn mine!--The race of Siegendorf is past.
The end of the fifth act and the Drama.
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