_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 vehicle
Awaits us. Now the dwindling stars begin
To pale in heaven; and for the last time I
Look on these horrible walls. Oh! never, never
Shall I forget them. Here I came most poor,
But not dishonoured: and I leave them with
A stain,--if not upon my name, yet in 10
My heart!--a never-dying canker-worm,
Which all the coming splendour of the lands,
And rights, and sovereignty of Siegendorf
Can scarcely lull a moment. I must find
Some means of restitution, which would ease
My soul in part: but how, without discovery?--
It must be done, however; and I'll pause
Upon the method the first hour of safety.
The madness of my misery led to this
Base infamy; repentance must retrieve it: 20
I will have nought of Stralenheim's upon
My spirit, though he would grasp all of mine;
Lands, freedom, life,--and yet he sleeps as soundly
Perhaps, as infancy[193], with gorgeous curtains
Spread for his canopy, o'er silken pillows,
Such as when----Hark! what noise is that? Again!
The branches shake; and some loose stones have fallen
From yonder terrace.
[ULRIC _leaps down from the terrace_.
Ulric! ever welcome!
Thrice welcome now! this filial----
_Ulr._ Stop! before
We approach, tell me----
_Wer._ Why look you so?
_Ulr._ Do I 30
Behold my father, or----
_Wer._ What?
_Ulr._ An assassin?
_Wer._ Insane or insolent!
_Ulr._ Reply, sir, as
You prize your life, or mine!
_Wer._ To what must I
Answer?
_Ulr._ Are you or are you not the assassin
Of Stralenheim?
_Wer._ I never was as yet
The murderer of any man. What mean you?
_Ulr._ Did not you _this_ night (as the night before)
Retrace the secret passage? Did you not
_Again_ revisit Stralenheim's chamber? and----
[ULRIC _pauses_.
_Wer._ Proceed.
_Ulr._ _Died_ he not by your hand?
_Wer._ Great God! 40
_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 hell
Such thoughts--if e'er they glared a moment through
The 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!-- 50
But what have I to do with this?
_Ulr._ No bolt
Is forced; no violence can be detected,
Save on his body. Part of his own household
Have been alarmed; but as the Intendant is
Absent, I took upon myself the care
Of mustering the police. His chamber has,
Past doubt, been entered secretly. Excuse me,
If nature----
_Wer._ Oh, my boy! what unknown woes
Of dark fatality, like clouds, are gathering
Above our house!
_Ulr._ My father! I acquit you! 60
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._ Yet
You had _no_ guests--_no_ visitors--no life
Breathing around you, save my mother's?
_Wer._ Ah!
The Hungarian?
_Ulr._ He is gone! he disappeared
Ere sunset.
_Wer._ No; I hid him in that very
Concealed and fatal gallery.
_Ulr._ _There_ I'll find him.
[ULRIC _is going_.
_Wer._ It is too late: he had left the palace ere
I quitted it. I found the secret panel 70
Open, and the doors which lead from that hall
Which masks it: I but thought he had snatched the silent
And favourable moment to escape
The myrmidons of Idenstein, who were
Dogging him yester-even.
_Ulr._ You reclosed
The panel?
_Wer._ Yes; and not without reproach
(And inner trembling for the avoided peril)
At his dull heedlessness, in leaving thus
His shelterer's asylum to the risk
Of a discovery.
_Ulr._ You are sure you closed it? 80
_Wer._ Certain.
_Ulr._ That's well; but had been better, if
You 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; disgraced
For my own crime: a victim to _my_ safety,
Imploring a few hours' concealment from 90
The very wretch who was the cause he needed
Such refuge. Had he been a wolf, I could not
Have in such circumstances thrust him forth.
_Ulr._ And like the wolf he hath repaid you. But
It is too late to ponder thus:--you must
Set out ere dawn. I will remain here to
Trace the murderer, if 'tis possible.
_Wer._ But this my sudden flight will give the Moloch
Suspicion: two new victims in the lieu
Of one, if I remain. The fled Hungarian, 100
Who seems the culprit, and----
_Ulr._ Who _seems?_ _Who_ else
Can be so?
_Wer._ Not _I_, though just now you doubted--
You, my _son!_--doubted----
_Ulr._ And do you doubt of him
The fugitive?
_Wer._ Boy! since I fell into
The 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 heart
Is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse
Appearances; and views a criminal
In Innocence's shadow, it may be, 110
Because 'tis dusky.
_Ulr._ And if I do so,
What will mankind, who know you not, or knew
But to oppress? You must not stand the hazard.
Away!--I'll make all easy. Idenstein
Will for his own sake and his jewel's hold
His peace--he also is a partner in
Your flight--moreover----
_Wer._ Fly! and leave my name
Linked with the Hungarian's, or, preferred as poorest,
To bear the brand of bloodshed?
_Ulr._ Pshaw! leave any thing
Except our fathers' sovereignty and castles, 120
For which you have so long panted, and in vain!
What _name?_ You have _no name_, since that you bear
Is feigned.
_Wer._ Most true: but still I would not have it
Engraved in crimson in men's memories,
Though in this most obscure abode of men----
Besides, the search----
_Ulr._ I will provide against
Aught that can touch you. No one knows you here
As heir of Siegendorf: if Idenstein
Suspects, 'tis _but suspicion_, and he is
A fool: his folly shall have such employment, 130
Too, that the unknown Werner shall give way
To nearer thoughts of self. The laws (if e'er
Laws reached this village) are all in abeyance
With 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 unheeded
_Here_, save as _such_--without lands, influence,
Save what hath perished with him. Few prolong
A week beyond their funeral rites their sway 140
O'er men, unless by relatives, whose interest
Is roused: such is not here the case; he died
Alone, unknown,--a solitary grave,
Obscure as his deserts, without a scutcheon,
Is all he'll have, or wants. If _I_ discover
The assassin, 'twill be well--if not, believe me,
None else; though all the full-fed train of menials
May howl above his ashes (as they did
Around him in his danger on the Oder),
Will no more stir a finger _now_ than _then_. 150
Hence! hence! I must not hear your answer.--Look!
The stars are almost faded, and the grey
Begins to grizzle the black hair of night.
You shall not answer:--Pardon me that I
Am peremptory: 'tis your son that speaks,
Your long-lost, late-found son.--Let's call my mother!
Softly and swiftly step, and leave the rest
To me: I'll answer for the event as far
As regards _you_, and that is the chief point,
As my first duty, which shall be observed. 160
We'll meet in Castle Siegendorf--once more
Our banners shall be glorious! Think of that
Alone, and leave all other thoughts to me,
Whose youth may better battle with them--Hence!
And may your age be happy!--I will kiss
My 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 these
Old walls new masters and high wassail--both
A 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 maintained
His feudal hospitality as high
As e'er another Prince of the empire.
_Eric_. Why
For the mere cup and trencher, we no doubt
Fared passing well; but as for merriment 10
And sport, without which salt and sauces season
The cheer but scantily, our sizings were
Even of the narrowest.
_Hen._ The old count loved not
The 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 yet
Hardly a year o'erpast its honeymoon,
And the first year of sovereigns is bridal:
Anon, we shall perceive his real sway
And moods of mind.
_Eric_. Pray Heaven he keep the present! 20
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._ But
Perhaps a true one.
_Eric_. Pity, as I said,
The wars are over: in the hall, who like
Count Ulric for a well-supported pride,
Which awes, but yet offends not? in the field,
Who like him with his spear in hand, when gnashing 30
His 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 wears
A sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier?
_Hen._ No one's, I grant you. Do not fear, if war
Be long in coming, he is of that kind
Will make it for himself, if he hath not
Already done as much.
_Eric_. What do you mean?
_Hen._ You can't deny his train of followers
(But few our native fellow-vassals born 40
On the domain) are such a sort of knaves
As---- [_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[194]--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) 50
Is over-run with--God knows who: they fly
By night, and disappear with sunrise; but
Leave 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 fond
Of war, why makes he it not on those marauders?
_Eric_. You'd better ask himself.
_Hen._ I would as soon
Ask the lion why he laps not milk.
_Eric_. And here he comes!
_Hen._ The devil! you'll hold your tongue? 60
_Eric_. Why do you turn so pale?
_Hen._ 'Tis nothing--but
Be silent.
_Eric_. I will, upon what you have said.
_Hen._ I assure you I meant nothing,--a mere sport
Of words, no more; besides, had it been otherwise,
He is to espouse the gentle Baroness
Ida of Stralenheim, the late Baron's heiress;
And she, no doubt, will soften whatsoever
Of fierceness the late long intestine wars
Have given all natures, and most unto those
Who were born in them, and bred up upon 70
The knees of Homicide; sprinkled, as it were,
With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peace
On all that I have said!
_Enter_ ULRIC _and_ RODOLPH.
Good morrow, count.
_Ulr._ Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, is
All ready for the chase?
_Eric_. The dogs are ordered
Down to the forest, and the vassals out
To 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 recovered 80
The 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 many
Of your immediate retainers shall
Escort you?
_Ulr._ I leave that to Weilburgh, our
Master of the horse. [_Exit_ ERIC.
Rodolph!
_Rod._ My Lord!
_Ulr._ The news
Is awkward from the---- [RODOLPH _points to_ HENRICK.
How now, Henrick? why
Loiter you here?
_Hen._ For your commands, my Lord. 90
_Ulr._ Go to my father, and present my duty,
And learn if he would aught with me before
I mount. [_Exit_ HENRICK.
Rodolph, our friends have had a check
Upon the frontiers of Franconia[195], and
'Tis rumoured that the column sent against them
Is 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 well
Have fallen out at a time more opposite
To all my plans.
_Rod._ It will be difficult 100
To excuse your absence to the Count your father.
_Ulr._ Yes, but the unsettled state of our domain
In high Silesia will permit and cover
My journey. In the mean time, when we are
Engaged in the chase, draw off the eighty men
Whom Wolffe leads--keep the forests on your route:
You know it well?
_Rod._ As well as on that night
When we----
_Ulr._ We will not speak of that until
We can repeat the same with like success:
And when you have joined, give Rosenberg this letter. 110
[_Gives a letter_.
Add further, that I have sent this slight addition
To our force with you and Wolffe, as herald of
My coming, though I could but spare them ill
At this time, as my father loves to keep
Full 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 that
I would bind in my youth and glorious years, 120
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 love
Nought else.--But I have not the time to pause
Upon these gewgaws of the heart. Great things
We have to do ere long. Speed! speed! good Rodolph!
_Rod._ On my return, however, I shall find
The Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf?
_Ulr._ Perhaps: my father wishes it, and, sooth, 130
'Tis no bad policy: this union with
The last bud of the rival branch at once
Unites the future and destroys the past.
_Rod._ Adieu.
_Ulr._ Yet hold--we had better keep together
Until the chase begins; then draw thou off,
And do as I have said.
_Rod._ I will. But to
Return--'twas a most kind act in the count
Your father to send up to Konigsberg
For this fair orphan of the Baron, and
To hail her as his daughter.
_Ulr._ Wondrous kind! 140
Especially as little kindness till
Then grew between them.
_Rod._ The late Baron died
Of a fever, did he not?
_Ulr._ How should I know?
_Rod._ I have heard it whispered there was something strange
About his death--and even the place of it
Is scarcely known.
_Ulr._ Some obscure village on
The Saxon or Silesian frontier.
_Rod._ He
Has left no testament--no farewell words?
_Ulr._ I am neither confessor nor notary,
So cannot say.
_Rod._ Ah! here's the lady Ida. 150
_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; methinks
It sounds so cold, as if you thought upon
Our 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 torrent
Even to your brow again.
_Ulr._ (_recovering himself_). And if it fled,
It only was because your presence sent it 160
Back 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'er
Been 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 be
Sister, or cousin, what you will, so that
I still to you am something.
_Ulr._ You shall be 170
All--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 wish
My 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 spirit
Proud (as is birth's prerogative); but under 180
This 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 soothe
His last and lonely moments.
_Ulr._ Who says _that?_
_Ida._ What?
_Ulr._ That he _died alone_.
_Ida._ The general rumour,
And disappearance of his servants, who
Have ne'er returned: that fever was most deadly
Which 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, 190
When the dim eye rolls vainly round for what
It 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 as
I see you.
_Ulr._ _Where?_
_Ida._ In sleep--I see him lie
Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knife
Beside 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 weakness 200
Infects me, to my shame: but as all feelings
Of yours are common to me, it affects me.
Prithee, sweet child, change----
_Ida._ Child, indeed! I have
Full 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 it
Without your echo?
_Rod._ Pardon me, fair Baroness!
_Ida._ I will not pardon you, unless you earn it
By aiding me in my dissuasion of
Count Ulric from the chase to-day.
_Rod._ You will not,
Lady, need aid of mine.
_Ulr._ I must not now 210
Forgo it.
_Ida._ But you shall!
_Ulr._ _Shall!_
_Ida._ Yes, or be
No true knight.--Come, dear Ulric! yield to me
In 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 hour
You have changed more than e'er I saw you change
In years.
_Ulr._ 'Tis nothing; but if 'twere, the air
Would soon restore me. I'm the true cameleon,
And live but on the atmosphere;[196] your feasts 220
In castle halls, and social banquets, nurse not
My spirit--I'm a forester and breather
Of the steep mountain-tops,[197] where I love all
The eagle loves.
_Ida._ Except his prey, I hope.
_Ulr._ Sweet Ida, wish me a fair chase, and I
Will 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 scarcely
Will make a soldier's wife.
_Ida._ I do not wish
To be so; for I trust these wars are over, 230
And you will live in peace on your domains.
_Enter_ WERNER _as_ COUNT SIEGENDORF.
_Ulr._ My father, I salute you, and it grieves me
With such brief greeting.--You have heard our bugle;
The vassals wait.
_Sieg._ So let them.--You forget
To-morrow is the appointed festival
In Prague[198] for peace restored. You are apt to follow
The chase with such an ardour as will scarce
Permit you to return to-day, or if
Returned, too much fatigued to join to-morrow
The nobles in our marshalled ranks.
_Ulr._ You, Count, 240
Will well supply the place of both--I am not
A lover of these pageantries.
_Sieg._ No, Ulric;
It were not well that you alone of all
Our young nobility----
_Ida._ And far the noblest
In 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 wanting 250
At such a time and place. Besides, the Heaven
Which gave us back our own, in the same moment
It spread its peace o'er all, hath double claims
On 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 so
You yield, at once, to him what I for hours
Might supplicate in vain.
_Sieg._ (_smiling_). You are not jealous
Of me, I trust, my pretty rebel! who 260
Would sanction disobedience against all
Except thyself? But fear not; thou shalt rule him
Hereafter 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 with
The Countess in her chamber. She complains
That 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; 270
Then pray you be as punctual to its notes:
I'll play you King Gustavus' march.
_Ulr._ And why not
Old Tilly's?
_Ida._ Not that monster's! I should think
My 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 do
As I directed: and by his best speed
And readiest means let Rosenberg reply. 280
_Rod._ Count Siegendorf, command you aught? I am bound
Upon a journey past the frontier.
_Sieg._ (_starts_). Ah!--
Where? on _what_ frontier?
_Rod._ The Silesian, on
My way--(_Aside to_ ULRIC.)--_Where_ shall I say?
_Ulr._ (_aside to_ RODOLPH). To Hamburgh.
(_Aside to himself_). That
Word will, I think, put a firm padlock on
His further inquisition.
_Rod._ Count, to Hamburgh.
_Sieg._ (_agitated_). Hamburgh! No, I have nought to do there, nor
Am aught connected with that city. Then
God speed you!
_Rod._ Fare ye well, Count Siegendorf!
[_Exit_ RODOLPH.
_Sieg._ Ulric, this man, who has just departed, is 290
One of those strange companions whom I fain
Would reason with you on.
_Ulr._ My Lord, he is
Noble by birth, of one of the first houses
In 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 monarch
Is not fenced from his chamberlain's slander, or
The sneer of the last courtier whom he has made
Great and ungrateful.
_Sieg._ If I must be plain,
The world speaks more than lightly of this Rodolph: 300
They say he is leagued with the "black bands" who still
Ravage the frontier.
_Ulr._ And will you believe
The world?
_Sieg._ In this case--yes.
_Ulr._ In _any_ case,
I thought you knew it better than to take
An accusation for a sentence.
_Sieg._ Son!
I understand you: you refer to----but
My destiny has so involved about me
Her spider web, that I can only flutter
Like the poor fly, but break it not. Take heed,
Ulric; you have seen to what the passions led me: 310
Twenty long years of misery and famine
Quenched them not--twenty thousand more, perchance,
Hereafter (or even here in _moments_ which
Might date for years, did Anguish make the dial),
May not obliterate or expiate
The madness and dishonour of an instant.
Ulric, be warned by a father!--I was not
By mine, and you behold me!
_Ulr._ I behold
The prosperous and beloved Siegendorf,
Lord of a Prince's appanage, and honoured 320
By those he rules and those he ranks with.
_Sieg._ Ah!
Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear
For thee? Beloved, 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--keener
Than would your adversary, who dared say so,
Your sabre in his heart! But mine survives
The wound.
_Ulr._ You err. My nature is not given
To outward fondling: how should it be so, 330
After twelve years' divorcement from my parents?
_Sieg._ And did not _I_ too pass those twelve torn years
In 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 consider
That these young violent nobles of high name,
But dark deeds (aye, the darkest, if all Rumour
Reports be true), with whom thou consortest,
Will lead thee----
_Ulr._ (_impatiently_). I'll be _led_ by no man.
_Sieg._ Nor
Be leader of such, I would hope: at once 340
To wean thee from the perils of thy youth
And haughty spirit, I have thought it well
That thou shouldst wed the lady Ida--more
As thou appear'st to love her.
_Ulr._ I have said
I will obey your orders, were they to
Unite with Hecate--can a son say more?
_Sieg._ He says too much in saying this. It is not
The nature of thine age, nor of thy blood,
Nor of thy temperament, to talk so coolly,
Or act so carelessly, in that which is 350
The bloom or blight of all men's happiness,
(For Glory's pillow is but restless, if
Love lay not down his cheek there): some strong bias,
Some master fiend is in thy service, to
Misrule the mortal who believes him slave,
And makes his every thought subservient; else
Thou'dst say at once--"I love young Ida, and
Will wed her;" or, "I love her not, and all
The powers on earth shall never make me."--So
Would _I_ have answered.
_Ulr._ Sir, _you_ wed for love. 360
_Sieg._ I did, and it has been my only refuge
In many miseries.
_Ulr._ Which miseries
Had never been but for this love-match.
_Sieg._ Still
Against your age and nature! Who at twenty
E'er answered thus till now?
_Ulr._ Did you not warn me
Against your own example?
_Sieg._ Boyish sophist!
In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida?
_Ulr._ What matters it, if I am ready to
Obey you in espousing her?
_Sieg._ As far
As you feel, nothing--but all life for her. 370
She's young--all-beautiful--adores you--is
Endowed with qualities to give happiness,
Such as rounds common life into a dream
Of 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, deserves
A little in return. I would not have her
Break her heart with a man who has none to break!
Or wither on her stalk like some pale rose 380
Deserted by the bird she thought a nightingale,
According to the Orient tale.[199] 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 transported
In 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 time
He should begin, and take the bandage from
His eyes, and look before he leaps; till now 390
He 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 _I_
For any woman: and as what I fix,
I fain would see unshaken, when she gives
Her answer, I'll give mine.
_Sieg._ But 'tis your office
To 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, 400
With whom, you know, the lady Ida is.--
What would you have? You have forbid my stirring
For 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 into
The eyes of feminine, as though they were
The stars receding early to our wish
Upon the dawn of a world-winning battle-- 410
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 not
Fulfil a parent's duties by his side
Till now; but love he owes me, for my thoughts
Ne'er left him, nor my eyes longed without tears
To see my child again,--and now I have found him!
But how! obedient, but with coldness; duteous
In my sight, but with carelessness; mysterious-- 420
Abstracted--distant--much given to long absence,
And where--none know--in league with the most riotous
Of 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 not
Unravel. They look up to him--consult him--
Throng round him as a leader: but with me
He hath no confidence! Ah! can I hope it
After--what! doth my father's curse descend
Even to my child? Or is the Hungarian near 430
To shed more blood? or--Oh! if it should be!
Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these walls
To wither him and his--who, though they slew not,
Unlatched the door of Death for thee? 'Twas not
Our fault, nor is our sin: thou wert our foe,
And yet I spared thee when my own destruction
Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening!
And only took--Accursed gold! thou liest
Like poison in my hands; I dare not use thee,
Nor part from thee; thou camest in such a guise, 440
Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands
Like 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 much
As if he were my brother! I have ta'en
His orphan Ida--cherished her as one
Who will be mine.
_Enter an_ ATTENDANT.
_Atten._ The abbot, if it please
Your Excellency, whom you sent for, waits
Upon you. [_Exit_ ATTENDANT.
_Enter the_ PRIOR ALBERT.
_Prior_. Peace be with these walls, and all
Within them!
_Sieg._ Welcome, welcome, holy father! 450
And may thy prayer be heard!--all men have need
Of such, and I----
_Prior_. Have the first claim to all
The prayers of our community. Our convent,
Erected by your ancestors, is still
Protected by their children.
_Sieg._ Yes, good father;
Continue daily orisons for us
In these dim days of heresies and blood,
Though the schismatic Swede, Gustavus, is
Gone home.
_Prior_. To the endless home of unbelievers,
Where there is everlasting wail and woe, 460
Gnashing of teeth, and tears of blood, and fire
Eternal 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 donation
In masses for his spirit.
[SIEGENDORF _offers the gold which he had taken from_ STRALENHEIM.
_Prior_. Count, if I
Receive it, 'tis because I know too well
Refusal would offend you. Be assured 470
The 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 you
And 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 not
To pry into your secret. We will pray
For one unknown, the same as for the proudest. 480
_Sieg._ Secret! I have none: but, father, he who's gone
Might _have_ one; or, in short, he did bequeath--
No, not bequeath--but I bestow this sum
For pious purposes.
_Prior_. A proper deed
In 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 souls
Of our dead enemies is worthy those
Who can forgive them living.
_Sieg._ But I did not 490
Forgive 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--with
Your 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 he
Who owned it never more will need it, save
In that which it may purchase from your altars: 500
'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._ He
Died, I scarce know--but--he was stabbed i' the dark,
And now you have it--perished on his pillow
By a cut-throat!--Aye!--you may look upon me! 510
_I_ am _not_ the man. I'll meet your eye on that point,
As I can one day God's.
_Prior_. Nor did he die
By means, or men, or instrument of yours?
_Sieg._ No! by the God who sees and strikes!
_Prior_. Nor know you
Who 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 spoken 520
The truth, and nought but truth, if _not_ the _whole_;
Yet say I am _not_ guilty! for the blood
Of 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 might
And _could_--aye, perhaps, _should_ (if our self-safety
Be e'er excusable in such defences
Against 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 should
Be calm as innocence.
_Sieg._ But calmness is not
Always 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 thanks
For bloodshed stopt, let blood you shed not rise,
A cloud, upon your thoughts. This were to be
Too sensitive. Take comfort, and forget
Such things, and leave remorse unto the guilty. [_Exeunt_.
ACT V.
SCENE I.--_A large and magnificent Gothic Hall in the
Castle 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 ladies
Already are at the portal. Have you sent
The 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 could
By your description track him. The devil take
These 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 rather 10
Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade,
Than follow in the train of a great man,
In these dull pageantries.
_Arn._ Begone! and rail
Within. [_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 dreamt
Of 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 sun
Streaming through the stained windows, even the _tombs_, 20
Which looked so calm, and the celestial hymns,
Which seemed as if they rather came from Heaven
Than mounted there--the bursting organ's peal
Rolling on high like an harmonious thunder;
The white robes and the lifted eyes; the world
At peace! and all at peace with one another!
Oh, my sweet mother! [_Embracing_ JOSEPHINE.
_Jos._ My beloved 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 throb 30
With aught more bitter.
_Ida._ Never shall it do so!
How should it? What should make us grieve? I hate
To 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 sense
Of the universal vice, if one vice be
More general than another.
_Ida._ I'll not hear
A word against a world which still contains 40
You and my Ulric. Did you ever see
Aught 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 trod
I dare be sworn that they grow still, nor e'er
Will 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 never 50
Shape 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 think
Of 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 withdrew
His eyes from yours to-day.
_Ida._ I did not see him, 60
But Ulric. Did you not see at the moment
When 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 not
See aught save Heaven, to which my eyes were raised,
Together with the people's.
_Ida._ I thought too
Of Heaven, although I looked on Ulric.
_Jos._ Come,
Let us retire! they will be here anon,
Expectant of the banquet. We will lay
Aside these nodding plumes and dragging trains. 70
_Ida._ And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels,
Which make my head and heart ache, as both throb
Beneath their glitter o'er my brow and zone.
Dear mother, I am with you.
_Enter_ COUNT SIEGENDORF, _in full dress, from the
solemnity_, and LUDWIG.
_Sieg._ Is he not found?
_Lud._ Strict search is making every where; and if
The man be in Prague, be sure he will be found.
_Sieg._ Where's Ulric?
_Lud._ He rode round the other way
With some young nobles; but he left them soon;
And, if I err not, not a minute since
I heard his Excellency, with his train, 80
Gallop o'er the west drawbridge.
_Enter ULRIC, splendidly dressed_.
_Sieg._ (_to_ LUDWIG). See they cease not
Their 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 so
No more: forget it.
_Sieg._ Never! never! all
My destinies were woven in that name: 90
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 than
From 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 down
Along the lines of lifted faces,--from
Our bannered and escutcheoned gallery, I 100
Saw, like a flash of lightning (for I saw
A moment and no more), what struck me sightless
To all else--the Hungarian's face! I grew
Sick; and when I recovered from the mist
Which curled about my senses, and again
Looked down, I saw him not. The thanksgiving
Was over, and we marched back in procession.
_Ulr._ Continue.
_Sieg._ When we reached the Muldau's bridge,
The joyous crowd above, the numberless
Barks manned with revellers in their best garbs, 110
Which shot along the glancing tide below,
The decorated street, the long array,
The clashing music, and the thundering
Of far artillery, which seemed to bid
A 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 not
Chase this man from my mind, although my senses
No longer held him palpable.
_Ulr._ You saw him
No more, then?
_Sieg._ I looked, as a dying soldier 120
Looks 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 fell
Upon 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 I
Had almost then forgot him in my son;
When just as the artillery ceased, and paused 130
The music, and the crowd embraced in lieu
Of shouting, I heard in a deep, low voice,
Distinct and keener far upon my ear
Than 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 care
Of 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) 140
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 rest
Till he is found. His fate, and Stralenheim's,
And ours, seem intertwisted! nor can be
Unravelled, till----
_Enter an_ ATTENDANT.
_Atten._ A stranger to wait on
Your 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!_ 150
_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 such
A crime as---- [_He pauses_.
_Gab._ Give it utterance, and then
I'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-- 160
And every speck of circumstance unite
To 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 breathe
Thou 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! 170
_Sieg._ Who says so?
_Gab._ I.
_Sieg._ And how disprove it?
_Gab._ By
The presence of the murderer.
_Sieg._ Name him.
_Gab._ He
May have more names than one. Your Lordship had so
Once on a time.
_Sieg._ If you mean me, I dare
Your 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, 180
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 hither
Not seeking you, but sought. When I knelt down
Amidst the people in the church, I dreamed not
To find the beggared Werner in the seat
Of Senators and Princes; but you have called me, 190
And we have met.
_Sieg._ Go on, sir.
_Gab._ Ere I do so,
Allow me to inquire, who profited
By Stralenheim's death? Was't I--as poor as ever;
And poorer by suspicion on my name!
The Baron lost in that last outrage neither
Jewels nor gold; his life alone was sought.--
A life which stood between the claims of others
To honours and estates scarce less than princely.
_Sieg._ These hints, as vague as vain, attach no less
To me than to my son.
_Gab._ I can't help that. 200
But let the consequence alight on him
Who feels himself the guilty one amongst us.
I speak to you, Count Siegendorf, because
I 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 at_
ULRIC, _who has unbuckled his sabre, and is drawing
lines 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 down
His sabre.
_Ulr._ (_offers it to him contemptuously_). Take it.
_Gab._ No, sir, 'tis enough
That we are both unarmed--I would not choose
To wear a steel which may be stained with more 210
Blood than came there in battle.
_Ulr._ (_casts the sabre from him in contempt_). It--or some
Such other weapon in my hand--spared yours
Once, when disarmed and at my mercy.
_Gab._ True--
I have not forgotten it: you spared me for
Your own especial purpose--to sustain
An 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 not
Of yours--but I have promised this man patience; 220
Let him continue.
_Gab._ I will not detain you,
By speaking of myself much: I began
Life early--and am what the world has made me.
At Frankfort on the Oder, where I passed
A winter in obscurity, it was
My chance at several places of resort
(Which I frequented sometimes, but not often)
To hear related a strange circumstance
In February last. A martial force,
Sent by the state, had, after strong resistance, 230
Secured a band of desperate men, supposed
Marauders from the hostile camp.--They proved,
However, not to be so--but banditti,
Whom either accident or enterprise
Had carried from their usual haunt--the forests
Which skirt Bohemia--even into Lusatia.
Many amongst them were reported of
High rank--and martial law slept for a time.
At last they were escorted o'er the frontiers,
And placed beneath the civil jurisdiction 240
Of the free town of Frankfort. Of _their_ fate
I know no more.
_Sieg._ And what is this to Ulric?
_Gab._ Amongst them there was said to be one man
Of wonderful endowments:--birth and fortune,
Youth, strength, and beauty, almost superhuman,
And courage as unrivalled, were proclaimed
His by the public rumour; and his sway,
Not only over his associates, but
His judges, was attributed to witchcraft,
Such was his influence:--I have no great faith 250
In any magic save that of the mine--
I therefore deemed him wealthy.--But my soul
Was roused with various feelings to seek out
This prodigy, if only to behold him.
_Sieg._ And did you so?
_Gab._ You'll hear. Chance favoured me:
A popular affray in the public square
Drew crowds together--it was one of those
Occasions 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, 260
"This is the man!" though he was then, as since,
With the nobles of the city. I felt sure
I 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 eye
And gladiator's heart.
_Ulr._ (_smiling_). The tale sounds well.
_Gab._ And may sound better.--He appeared to me
One of those beings to whom Fortune bends, 270
As she doth to the daring--and on whom
The fates of others oft depend; besides,
An indescribable sensation drew me
Near to this man, as if my point of fortune
Was 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 intention
To leave the city privately--we left it
Together--and together we arrived 280
In the poor town where Werner was concealed,
And Stralenheim was succoured----Now we are on
The verge--_dare_ you hear further?
_Sieg._ I must do so--
Or I have heard too much.
_Gab._ I saw in you
A man above his station--and if not
So high, as now I find you, in my then
Conceptions, 'twas that I had rarely seen
Men such as you appeared in height of mind,
In the most high of worldly rank; you were
Poor, even to all save rags: I would have shared 290
My 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 slaves
Of Stralenheim pursued me on the grounds
That _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: 300
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 rest
With 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 dubious
Of tracing back my way, I saw a glimmer,
Through distant crannies, of a twinkling light:
I followed it, and reached a door--a secret 310
Portal--which opened to the chamber, where,
With cautious hand and slow, having first undone
As much as made a crevice of the fastening,
I looked through and beheld a purple bed,
And on it Stralenheim!--
_Sieg._ Asleep! And yet
You slew him!--Wretch!
_Gab._ He was already slain,
And bleeding like a sacrifice. My own
Blood 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 I 320
Scarce dare to recollect, was not then in
The chamber.
_Sieg._ (_to_ ULRIC). Then, my boy! thou art guiltless still--
Thou bad'st me say _I_ was so once.--Oh! now
Do thou as much.
_Gab._ Be patient! I can _not_
Recede now, though it shake the very walls
Which frown above us. You remember,--or
If not, your son does,--that the locks were changed
Beneath _his_ chief inspection on the morn
Which led to this same night: how he had entered
He best knows--but within an antechamber, 330
The door of which was half ajar, I saw
A man who washed his bloody hands, and oft
With stern and anxious glance gazed back upon--
The bleeding body--but it moved no more.
_Sieg._ Oh! God of fathers!
_Gab._ I beheld his features
As I see yours--but yours they were not, though
Resembling them--behold them in Count Ulric's!
Distinct as I beheld them, though the expression
Is not now what it then was!--but it was so
When I first charged him with the crime--so lately. 340
_Sieg._ This is so--
_Gab._ (_interrupting him_). Nay--but hear me to the end!
_Now_ you must do so.--I conceived myself
Betrayed by you and _him_ (for now I saw
There was some tie between you) into this
Pretended den of refuge, to become
The victim of your guilt; and my first thought
Was vengeance: but though armed with a short poniard
(Having left my sword without), I was no match
For him at any time, as had been proved
That morning--either in address or force. 350
I turned and fled--i' the dark: chance rather than
Skill made me gain the secret door of the hall,
And thence the chamber where you slept: if I
Had found you _waking_, Heaven alone can tell
What 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, 360
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 know
My secret, and may weigh its worth.
_Sieg._ (_after a pause_). Indeed!
_Gab._ Is it revenge or justice which inspires
Your meditation?
_Sieg._ Neither--I was weighing
The value of your secret.
_Gab._ You shall know it 370
At once:--When you were poor, and I, though poor,
Rich enough to relieve such poverty
As might have envied mine, I offered you
My purse--you would not share it:--I'll be franker
With you: you are wealthy, noble, trusted by
The imperial powers--you understand me?
_Sieg._ Yes.
_Gab._ Not quite. You think me venal, and scarce true:
'Tis no less true, however, that my fortunes
Have made me both at present. You shall aid me:
I would have aided you--and also have 380
Been somewhat damaged in my name to save
Yours 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 is
leaning against a pillar_). If I should do so?
_Sieg._ I pledge my life for yours. Withdraw into
This tower. [_Opens a turret-door_.
_Gab._ (_hesitatingly_). This is the second _safe_ asylum
You have offered me.
_Sieg._ And was not the first so?
_Gab._ I know not that even now--but will approve
The second. I have still a further shield.--
I did not enter Prague alone; and should I 390
Be put to rest with Stralenheim, there are
Some tongues without will wag in my behalf.
Be brief in your decision![200]
_Sieg._ I will be so.--
My word is sacred and irrevocable
Within _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 him
Distrustfully.
_Gab._ (_takes up the sabre_). I will; and so provide
To 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? 400
_Ulr._ His tale is true.
_Sieg._ True, monster!
_Ulr._ Most true, father!
And you did well to listen to it: what
We know, we can provide against. He must
Be silenced.
_Sieg._ Aye, with half of my domains;
And with the other half, could he and thou
Unsay this villany.
_Ulr._ It is no time
For trifling or dissembling. I have said
His story's true; and he too must be silenced.
_Sieg._ How so?
_Ulr._ As Stralenheim is. Are you so dull
As never to have hit on this before? 410
When we met in the garden, what except
Discovery in the act could make me know
His death? Or had the Prince's household been
Then summoned, would the cry for the police
Been left to such a stranger? Or should I
Have loitered on the way? Or could _you, Werner_,
The object of the Baron's hate and fears,
Have fled, unless by many an hour before
Suspicion woke? I sought and fathomed you,
Doubting if you were false or feeble: I 420
Perceived you were the latter: and yet so
Confiding have I found you, that I doubted
At times your weakness.
_Sieg._ Parricide! no less
Than common stabber! What deed of my life,
Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit
For your accomplice?
_Ulr._ Father, do not raise
The devil you cannot lay between us. This
Is time for union and for action, not
For family disputes. While _you_ were tortured,
Could _I_ be calm? Think you that I have heard 430
This fellow's tale without some feeling?--You
Have 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 easy
To 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 often 440
To listen to him! _Who_ proclaimed to me
That _there were crimes_ made venial by the occasion?
That passion was our nature? that the goods
Of Heaven waited on the goods of fortune?
_Who_ showed me his humanity secured
By his _nerves_ only? _Who_ deprived me of
All power to vindicate myself and race
In open day? By his disgrace which stamped
(It might be) bastardy on me, and on
Himself--a _felon's_ brand! The man who is 450
At once both warm and weak invites to deeds
He longs to do, but dare not. Is it strange
That I should _act_ what you could _think?_ We have done
With right and wrong; and now must only ponder
Upon effects, not causes. Stralenheim,
Whose life I saved from impulse, as _unknown_,
I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slew
_Known_ as our foe--but not from vengeance. He
Was a rock in our way which I cut through,
As doth the bolt, because it stood between us 460
And our true destination--but not idly.
As stranger I preserved him, and he _owed me_
His _life_: when due, I but resumed the debt.
He, you, and I stood o'er a gulf wherein
I have plunged our enemy. _You_ kindled first
The torch--_you_ showed the path; now trace me that
Of safety--or let me!
_Sieg._ I have done with life!
_Ulr._ Let us have done with that which cankers life--
Familiar feuds and vain recriminations
Of things which cannot be undone. We have 470
No 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 here
Will 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 ever 480
Abhorred both mystery and blood, and yet
Am 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 leads
Into the turret. Now then! or once more
To be the father of fresh crimes, no less
Than of the criminal! Ho! Gabor! Gabor! 490
[_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 thrusts
them into_ GABOR'S _hand_.
_Gab._ What am I to do
With 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._ And
Must thus redeem it. Fly! I am not master,
It seems, of my own castle--of my own
Retainers--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? 10
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 know
With 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 hear
The door sound loud behind him! He is safe!
Safe!--Oh, my father's spirit!--I am faint-- 20
[_He leans down upon a stone seat, near the wall of
the 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 father
Of 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: which
Are you in quest of?
_Ulr._ Let us hear no more
Of this: he must be found. You have not let him 30
Escape?
_Sieg._ He's gone.
_Ulr._ With your connivance?
_Sieg._ With
My 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 be
Denounced--dragged, it may be, in chains; and all
By your inherent weakness, half-humanity,
Selfish remorse, and temporizing pity,
That sacrifices your whole race to save
A wretch to profit by our ruin! No, Count,
Henceforth you have no son!
_Sieg._ I never had one; 40
And would you ne'er had borne the useless name!
Where will you go? I would not send you forth
Without protection.
_Ulr._ Leave that unto me.
I am not alone; nor merely the vain heir
Of your domains; a thousand, aye, ten thousand
Swords, 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 tell
Your Senators that they look well to Prague;
Their Feast of Peace was early for the times; 50
There are more spirits abroad than have been laid
With 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 more
Call me by that worst name of parent.
_Jos._ What
Means my good Lord?
_Sieg._ That you have given birth
To 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! 60
And I have loved this man!
[IDA _falls senseless_--JOSEPHINE _stands speechless with horror_.
_Sieg._ The wretch hath slain
Them both!--My Josephine! we are now alone!
Would we had ever been so!--All is over
For me!--Now open wide, my sire, thy grave;
Thy curse hath dug it deeper for thy son
In mine!--The race of Siegendorf is past.
The end of the fifth act and the Drama.
B. P. J^y 20, 1822.
FOOTNOTES:
[159] {337}[This is not correct. _The Young Lady's Tale, or the Two
Emilys_ and _The Clergyman's Tale, or Pembroke_, were contributed by
Sophia Lee. _Kruitzner, or The Germans Tale_, was written by Harriet Lee
(1757-1851), the younger of the sisters. Miss Lee began her literary
career as a dramatist. A comedy, _The New Peerage; or, Our Eyes may
deceive us_, was played at Drury Lane, November 10, 1787. In 1798 she
published _The Mysterious Marriage; or, The Heirship of Rosalva_. After
the publication of Byron's _Werner_, she wrote a dramatic version of
_The German's Tale_, under the title of _The Three Strangers_. It was
brought out at Covent Garden, December 10, 1825, and acted four times.
The first volume of the _Canterbury Tales_, by Harriet Lee, was
published in 1797; the second volume, by Sophia Lee, in 1798 (a second
edition of these volumes was published in 1799); a third volume (second
edition), by Sophia and Harriet Lee, appeared in 1800; the fourth
volume, by Harriet Lee (which contains _The German's Tale_, pp. 3-368)
was published in 1801; and the fifth volume, by Harriet Lee, in 1805.
There can be little doubt that Byron's visit to Churchill's grave at
Dover, which took place April 25, 1816 (see _Poetical Works_, 1901, iv.
45), was suggested by a passage in the _Introduction_, pp. vii.-ix., to
the first volume (1797) of the _Canterbury Tales_. The author "wanders
forth to note the _memorabilia_ of Dover," is informed that "the
greatest curiosity in the place is the tomb of a poet," and hastens "to
a spot surrounded by ruined walls, in the midst of which stood the white
marble tablet marked with Churchill's name," etc.]
[cm] {338} [_Of England or any other country. It may seem unnecessary to
add this, but having seen a poem of mine never intended for
representation, dragged in spite of my remonstrance upon the theatres of
more than one nation, I trust it will not be deemed impertinent if I
once more repeat my protest against_ [_a gross_] _folly which may injure
me--and_ [_benefit_] _no one. If it be understood that_ all dramatic
_writing is generically intended for the stage, I deny it_[*]. _With the
exception of Shakespeare_ (_or Tate, Cibber, and Thompson under his
name_), _not one in fifty plays of our dramatists is ever acted, however
much they may be read. Only_ one _of Massinger--none of Ford--none of
Marlowe_, one _of Ben Jonson--none of Webster, none of Heywood: and,
even in Comedy, Congreve is rarely acted, and that in only one of his
plays. Neither is Joanna Baillie. I am far from attempting to raise
myself to a level with the least of these names--I only wish to be_
[_exempted_] _from a stage which is not theirs. Perhaps Mr. Lamb's essay
upon the effects of dramatic representation on the intelligent
auditor_[**]----_marks are just with regard to this--plays of Shakespeare
himself--the hundredfold to those of others_.--From a mutilated page of
MS. M.]
[*] [Byron is replying to Jeffrey (_Edinburgh Review_, February, 1822,
vol. 36, p. 422). "A drama is not merely a dialogue, but _an action_:
and necessarily supposes that something is to pass before the eyes of
assembled spectators.... If an author does not bear this continually in
his mind, and does not write in the ideal presence of an eager and
diversified assemblage, he may be a poet, perhaps, but assuredly he will
never be a dramatist."]
[**] ["It may seem a paradox, but I cannot help being of opinion that
the plays of Shakespeare are less calculated for performance on a stage
than those of almost any other dramatist whatever."--"On the Tragedies
of Shakespeare," _Complete Works of Charles Lamb_, 1875, p. 255. It was,
too, something of a paradox that Byron should be eager to shelter
himself under the aegis of Charles Lamb. But unpopularity, like poverty,
brings together strange bedfellows.]
[160] {340}[The Thirty Years' War dates from the capture of Pilsen by
Mansfeld, November 21, 1618, and did not end till the Peace of
Westphalia, October 24, 1648. The incident recorded in act v., a solemn
commemoration of the Treaty of Prague, must have taken place in 1635.
But in _Werner_ there is little or no attempt "to follow history."]
[cn] {342} _Yea--to a peasant_.--[MS. erased.]
[161] {346}[Compare--"And still my passions wake and war." Lines
"To----" [Lady Blessington], _Poetical Works_, 1901, iv. 564.]
[162] {347}[It has been surmised that Byron had some knowledge of the
early life and history of the dramatist Friedrich Ludwig Zacharias
Werner (1768-1823), and that a similarity of character and incident
suggested the renaming of Kruitzner. But the change of name was made in
1815, not in 1821, and it is far more probable that Byron called his
hero "Werner," because "Kruitzner" is unrhythmical, or simply because
"Werner," a common German surname, is not unlike "Werther," which was
"familiar as a household word."]
[163] {348}["Lord Byron's establishment at Pisa was, like everything
else about him, somewhat singular; it consisted of a monkey, a mastiff,
a bull-dog, two cats, ... several servants in livery, and the trusty
Fletcher as _Major Domo_, or superintendant of the _Menagerie_."--_Life,
Writings, Opinions, etc._, 1825, ii. 203, 204. See, too, Medwin,
_Conversations_, 1824, pp. 1, 2.]
[164] [The Oder crosses and re-crosses the northern frontier of
Silesia.]
[165] {349}[In Miss Lee's _Kruitzner_ Gabor is always spoken of as "The
Hungarian." He is no doubt named after Bethlen Gabor, Prince of
Transylvania, who was elected King of Hungary, August, 1620.]
[166] {351}[Compare--"And so--for God's sake--hock and soda-water."
Fragment written on MS. of Canto I. of _Don Juan_.]
[167] {352}[On the 18th of August, 1619, Bethlen Gabor threw in his lot
with the Bohemians, and "wrote the Directors at Prague that he would
march with his troops, and in September would, in their defence, enter
Moravia."--History of the Thirty Years War, by A. Gindely, 1885, i. 166.
_Vide ibid._, for portrait of "Gabriel Bethlem, D. G. Princeps
Transsylvaniae, etc., AEtatis suae 40, A^o Christi, 1620."]
[168] {354}[From _super_, and _nagel_, "a nail." To drink _supernaculum_
is to empty the cup so thoroughly that the last drop or "pearl," drained
on to the nail, retains its shape, and does not run. If "the pearl"
broke and began to slide, the drinker was "sconced." Hence, good liquor.
See Rabelais' _Life of Gargantua, etc._, Urquhart's Translation, 1863,
lib. i, ch. 5.]
[co] {355} _Without means and he has not a stiver left_.--[MS. erased.]
[cp] {357} _ This is one of those to whom I owe aid_.--[MS. erased.]
[169] {364}[Compare Age of Bronze, line 130, _vide post_, p. 549.]
[170] {365}[For the "merchant dukes" of Florence, see _Childe Harold_,
Canto IV. stanza lx. line 4. See, too, _ibid_., stanza xlviii. line 8,
_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 375, and 365, note 1.]
[171] {367}["Your printer has made one odd mistake:--'poor as a _Mouse_'
instead of 'poor as a _Miser_.' The expression may seem strange, but it
is only a translation of 'Semper avarus eget!'" (Hor., _Epist. I._ ii.
56).--Letter to Murray, May 29, 1822, _Letters_, 1901, vi. 75.]
[cq] {368} ----_who furnish our good masters_.--[MS. M.]
[172] {385}[The Swedish garrisons did not evacuate Bohemia till 1649,
and then, as their occupation was gone, with considerable reluctance.
"It need not, therefore, be a matter of wonder that from the discharged
soldiers numerous bands of robbers ['_bande nere_,' or 'black bands:'
see _Deformed Transformed_, Part II. sc. i. line 65] were formed; that
these pursued on their own account the trade that they had formerly
carried on under the cover of military law, and that commerce became
again unsafe on the highways."--_History of the Thirty Years' War_, by
A. Gindely, 1885, ii. 382, 383.]
[173] [Albrecht Wenceslaus Eusebius, Count of Waldstein, Duke of
Mecklenburg, quartermaster of the Imperial Army in the Thirty Years'
War, was born in Bohemia, September 15, 1583, and assassinated at Egra,
February 25, 1634.
Johann Tserclaes Count von Tilly, born 1559, defeated the Bohemians at
the battle of Prague, November 8, 1620, died April 30, 1632.
Gustavus Adolphus, the "Lion of the North," born December 9, 1594,
succeeded his father, Charles IX., King of Sweden, in 1611. As head of
the Protestant League, he invaded Germany, defeated the armies of Conti
and Schaumburg, June-December, 1630; defeated Tilly at Leipzig and
Breitenfeld, September 7, 1631; defeated Wallenstein at Lutzen; but was
killed in battle, November 16, 1632.
Johan Bannier, or Baner, Swedish general, born June 23, 1595, defeated
the Saxons near Chemnitz, April 4, 1639, died December, 1649.
Lennart Torstenson, Swedish general, born 1603, fought at the battle of
Leipzig, and was taken prisoner at Nuernburg. In 1641 he was appointed
General-in-Chief of the Swedes in Germany, and died at Stockholm, April,
1651.
Bernhard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar, born 1604, succeeded Gustavus Adolphus in
command in Germany, November 16, 1632; defeated the Imperialists at
Rheinfeld, 1638; died at Huningen, 1639.
Banier and Torstenson were living when the Peace of Westphalia was
proclaimed, November 3, 1648.]
[174] {373}[George William, Elector of Brandenburgh (1595-1640), was in
alliance with Gustavus Adolphus; John George, Elector of Saxony
(1585-1656) (_vide supra_, line 179), was on the side of the
Imperialists.]
[175] {377}[Compare _The Antiquary_, by Sir W. Scott, i. 366, chap. vii.
ed. 1851: "'Good man,' said Sir Arthur, 'can you think of nothing?--of
no help?--I'll make you rich--I'll give you a farm--I'll----' 'Our
riches will soon be equal,' said the beggar, looking upon the strife of
the waters. 'They are sae already; for I hae nae land, and you would give
your fair bounds and barony for a square yard of rock that would be dry
for twal hours.'"--_The Antiquary_ was published in 1816, six years
before the second version of _Werner_ was written, and ten years after
the death of the Duchess of Devonshire.]
[176] {381}[The following is the original passage in the
novel:--"'Stralenheim,' said Conrad, 'does not appear to me altogether
the man you take him for:--but were it even otherwise, he owes me
gratitude not only for the past, but for what he supposes to be my
present employment. I saved his life, and he therefore places confidence
in me. He has been robbed last night--is sick--a stranger--and in no
condition to discover the villain who has plundered him.... and the
business on which I sought the Intendant was chiefly
that.'"--_Canterbury Tales_, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii. 203,
204.]
[177] ["'And who,' said he, 'has entitled you to brand thus with
ignominious epithets a being you do not know? Who ... has taught you
that it would be safe even for my son to insult me?'--'It is not
necessary to know the person of a ruffian,' replied Conrad, indignantly,
'to give him the appellation he merits:--and what is there in common
between my father and such a character?'--'_Everything_,' said
Siegendorf, bitterly,--'for that ruffian was your father!'"--Ibid., p.
204.]
[178] {382}["'Conrad ... before you thus presume to chastise me with your
eye, learn to understand my actions! Young, and inexperienced in the
world--reposing hitherto in the bosom of indulgence and luxury, is it
for _you_ to judge of the impulse of the passions, or the temptations of
misery? Wait till, like me, you have blighted your fairest hopes--have
endured humiliation and sorrow--poverty and insult--before you pretend
to judge of their effect on you! Should that miserable day ever
arrive--should you see the being at your mercy who stands between you
and everything that is dear or noble in life!--who is ready to tear from
you your name--your inheritance--your very life itself--congratulate
your own heart, if, like me, you are content with petty plunder, and are
not tempted to exterminate a serpent, who now lives, perhaps to sting us
all.'"--_Canterbury Tales_, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii. 204,
205.]
[179] {383}["'You do not know this man,' continued he; 'I do!--I believe
him to be mean--sordid--deceitful! You will conceive yourself safe,
because you are young and brave! Learn, however, ... none are so secure
but desperation or subtilty may reach them! Stralenheim, in the palace
of a prince, was in my power! My knife was held over him--a single
moment would have swept him from the face of the earth, and with him all
my future fears:--I forbore--and I am now in his.--Are you certain that
you are not so too? Who assures you he does not know you?--who tells you
that he has not lured you into his society, either to rid himself of you
for ever, or to plunge you with your family into a
dungeon?'"--_Canterbury Tales_, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii. 205.
It should be noted that this and other passages from Miss Lee's story,
which have been selected for comparison with the text, are to be
regarded as representative parallels--samples of a far more extended
adaptation. _Vide ante_, "The Introduction to _Werner_," p. 326.]
[180] ["'Me ... he has known invariably through every change of fortune
or of name--and why not you?--_Me_ he has entrapped--are you more
discreet? He has wound the snares of Idenstein around me:--of a reptile,
whom, a few years ago, I would have spurned from my presence, and whom,
in spurning now, I have furnished with fresh venom:--will _you_ be more
patient?--Conrad, Conrad, there are crimes rendered venial by the
occasion, and temptations too exquisite for human fortitude to master or
endure.'"--_Canterbury Tales_, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii.
205.]
[181] {384}["'These are only the systems of my father ... My mother
thinks not with him?'"--Ibid., p. 206.]
[182] {385} The Ravenstone, "Rabenstein," is the _stone gibbet_ of
Germany, and so called from the ravens perching on it. [Compare
_Manfred_, act iii., First Version, _Poetical Works_, 1901, iv. 122.]
[cr] {387} ----_and a master_.--[MS. M.]
[183] {388}[Compare--"Cozenage, mere cozenage." _Merry Wives of
Windsor_, act iv. sc. 5, line 58.
If further proof were needed, the repetition or echo of Shakespearian
phrases, here and elsewhere in the play, would reveal Byron's
handiwork.]
[184] {389}[Compare _Marino Faliero_, act ii, sc. 2, line 115--"These
swoln silkworms masters."
Silkworm ("mal bigatto") is an Italianism. See _Poetical Works_, 1901,
iv. 386, note 4.]
[cs] {391}
----_and hollow_
_Sickness sits caverned in his yellow eye_.--[MS. M.]
[185] {393}["Thou hast harped my fear aright." _Macbeth_, act iv. sc. 1,
line 74.]
[186] {396}["Momus is the god of cruel mockery. He is said to have found
fault with the man formed by Hephaestus, because a little door had not
been left in his breast, so as to enable his fellows to look into his
secret thoughts." (See Lucian's _Hermotimus_, cap. xx.) There was a
proverb, [Greek: To~| Mo/mo| a)re/skein] _Momo santisfacere; vide
Adagia_ Variorum, 1643, p. 58. Byron describes Suwarrow as "Now Mars,
now Momus" (_Don Juan_, Canto VII. stanza lv. line 7).]
[187] {403}[For the "Theban brethren," Eteocles and Polynices, see the
_Septem c. Thebas_ of AEschylus. Byron had read and liked the "Seven
before Thebes."--_Letters_, 1900, iv. 174.]
[188] {404}[A cavity at the lower end of the lead attached to a
sounding-line is partially filled with an _arming_ (tallow), to which
the bottom, especially if it be sand, shells, or fine gravel,
adheres.--Knights's _American Mechanical Dictionary_, 1877, art.
"Sounding-Apparatus."]
[189] {405}[Compare _The Age of Bronze_, line 45, for the story of
Sesostris being drawn by kings. (See Diodorus Siculus, _Bibl. Hist._,
lib. i. p. 37, C., ed. 1604, p. 53.)]
[ct] {406} _And never offered aught as a reward_.--[MS. M. erased.]
[cu] {407} ----_that if thou wert a snail, none else_.--[MS. M.]
[190] {408}[Compare--"The iron tongue of midnight." _Midsummer Night's
Dream_, act v. sc. 1, line 352.]
[191] [Compare _Childe Harold_, Canto III. stanza xcvi. line 5,
_Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 275, note I.]
[192] {409}[Compare--"With your leave, I will call a will-o'-the-wisp."
Goethe's _Faust_.]
[193] {410}[Compare--"Sleep she as sound as careless infancy." _Merry
Wives of Windsor_, act v. sc. 5, line 50.]
[194] {416}[At the siege of Magdeburg, May 19, 1631, "soldiers and
citizens, with their wives, boys and girls, old and young, were all
mercilessly butchered." "The city was set fire to at more than twelve
points, and, except the cathedral and about fifty houses, sank into soot
and ashes. It was not Tilly and his men, but Magdeburg's own people, who
kindled the city to a conflagration."--_History of the Thirty Years'
War_, by Anton Gindely, 1885, ii. 65, 66.]
[195] {418}[In Miss Lee's _Kruitzner_, Conrad meets his death in a
skirmish on the frontiers of Franconia.]
[196] {423}[Compare "Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat
the air" (Hamlet, act iii. sc. 2, lines 88, 89).]
[197] [Compare--
"Had his free breathing been denied
The range of the steep mountain's side."
_Prisoner of Chillon_, lines 142, 143.]
[198] [The Treaty of Prague was signed May 30, 1635.]
[199] {428}[For "the attachment of the nightingale to the rose," see
_Giaour_ lines 21-31, _Poetical Works_, 1900, in. 86, note 1.]
[200] {446}["_Gab._ I have yet an additional security. I did not enter
Prague a solitary individual; and there are tongues without that will
speak for me, although I should even share the fate of Stralenheim! Let
your deliberation be short.--_Sieg._ My promise is
solemn--sacred--irrevocable: it extends not, however, beyond my own
walls."--_Canterbury Tales_, 1838, ii. 268; see, too, pp. 269, 270.]
WERNER
Nov. 1815.
[FIRST DRAFT.]
ACT I.
SCENE I.--_A ruinous chateau on the Silesian frontier of Bohemia_.
_Josepha_. THE storm is at it's height--how the wind howls,
Like an unearthly voice, through these lone chambers!
And the rain patters on the flapping casement
Which quivers in it's frame--the night is starless--
Yet cheerly Werner! still our hearts are warm:
The tempest is without, or should be so--
For we are sheltered here where Fortune's clouds
May roll all harmless o'er us as the wrath
Of these wild elements that menace now,
Yet do not reach us.
_Werner_ (_without attending, and walking disturbedly,
speaking to himself_). No--'Tis past--'tis blighted, 10
The last faint hope to which my withered fortune
Clung with a feeble and a fluttering grasp,
Yet clung convulsively--for twas the _last_--
Is broken with the rest: would that my heart were!
But there is pride, and passion's war within,
Which give my breast vitality to suffer,
As it hath suffered through long years till now.
My father's wrath extends beyond the grave,
And haunts me in the shape of Stralenheim!
He revels in my fathers palace--I-- 20
Exiled--disherited--a nameless outcast!
[_Werner pauses_.
My boy, too, where and what is he?--my father
Might well have limited his curse to me.
If that my heritage had passed to Ulric,
I had not mourned my own less happy lot.
No--No--all's past--all torn away.
_Josepha_. Dear Werner,
Oh banish these discomfortable thoughts
That thus contend within you: we are poor,
So we have ever been--but I remember
The time when thy Josepha's smile could turn 30
Thy heart to hers--despite of every ill.
So let it now--alas! you hear me not.
_Werner_. What said you?--let it pass--no matter what--
Think me not churlish, Sweet, I am not well.
My brain is hot and busy--long fatigue
And last night's watching have oppressed me much.
_Josepha_. Then get thee to thy couch. I do perceive
In thy pale cheek and in thy bloodshot eye
A strange distemperature--nay, as a boon,
I do entreat thee to thy rest.
_Werner_. My _rest!_ 40
Well--be it so--Good Night!
_Josepha_. Thy hand is burning;
I will prepare a potion:--peace be with thee--
Tomorrow's dawn I trust will find thee healthful;
And, then, our Ulric may perchance--
_Werner_. _Our_ Ulric--thine and mine--our only boy--
Curse on his father and his father's Sire!
(For, if it is so, I will render back
A curse that Heaven will hear as well as his),
Our Ulric by his father's fault or folly,
And by my father's unrelenting pride, 50
Is at this hour, perchance, undone. This night
That shelters us may shower it's wrath on him--
A homeless beggar for his parent's sin--
Thy sin and mine--Thy child and mine atones--
Our Ulric--Woman!--I'll to no bed to-night--
There is no pillow for my thoughts.
_Josepha_. What words,
What fearful words are these! what may they mean?
_Werner_. Look on me--thou hast known me, hitherto,
As an oppressed, but yet a humble creature;
By birth predestined to the yoke I've borne. 60
Till now I've borne it patiently, at least,
In bitter silence--but the hour is come,
That should and shall behold me as I was,
And ought again to be--
_Josepha_. I know not what
Thy mystery may tend to, but my fate--
My heart--my will--my love are linked with thine,
And I would share thy sorrow: lay it open.
_Werner_. Thou see'st the son of Count--but let it pass--
I forfeited the name in wedding thee:
That fault of many faults a father's pride 70
Proclaimed the last and worst--and, from that hour,
He disavowed, disherited, debased
A wayward son----tis a long tale--too long--
And I am heartsick of the heavy thought.
_Josepha_. Oh, I could weep--but that were little solace:
Yet tell the rest--or, if thou wilt not, say--
Yet say--why, through long years, from me withheld,
This fearful secret that hath gnawed thy soul?
_Werner_. Why? had it not been base to call on thee
For patience and for pity--to awake 80
The thirst of grandeur in thy gentle spirit--
To tell thee what thou shouldst have been--the wife
Of one, in power--birth--wealth, preeminent--
Then, sudden quailing in that lofty tone,
To bid thee soothe thy husband--peasant Werner?
_Josepha_. I would thou wert, indeed, the peasant Werner;
For then thy soul had been of calmer mould,
And suited to thy lot----
_Werner_. Was it not so?
Beneath a humble name and garb--the which
My youthful riot and a father's frown, 90
Too justly fixed upon me, had compelled
My bowed down spirit to assume too well--
Since it deceived the world, myself, and thee:
I linked my lot irrevocably with thine--
And I have loved thee deeply--long and dearly--
Even as I love thee still--but these late crosses,
And most of all the last,--have maddened me;
And I am wild and wayward as in youth,
Ere I beheld thee--
_Josepha_. Would thou never hadst!
Since I have been a blight upon thy hope, 100
And marred alike the present and the future.
_Werner_. Yet say not so--for all that I have known
Of true and calm content--of love--of peace--
Has been with thee and from thee: wert thou not,
I were a lonely and self-loathing thing.
Ulric has left us! all, save thou, have left me!
Father and son--Fortune--Fame--Power--Ambition--
The ties of being--the high soul of man--
All save the long remorse--the consciousness,
The curse of living on, regretting life 110
Mispent in miserably gazing upward,
While others soared--Away, I'll think no more.
_Josepha_. But Ulric--wherefore didst thou let him leave
His home and us? tis now three weary years.
_Werner_ (_interrupting her quickly_).
Since my hard father, half-relenting, sent
The offer of a scanty stipend which
I needs must earn by rendering up my son--
Fool that I was--I thought this quick compliance,
And never more assuming in myself
The haught name of my house would soften him-- 120
And for our child secure the heritage
Forfeit in me forever. Since that hour,
Till the last year, the wretched pittance came--
Then ceased with every tidings of my son
And Sire--till late I heard the last had ceased
To live--and unforgiving died--Oh God!
_Josepha_. Was it for this our Ulric left us so?
Thou dids't deceive me then--he went not forth
To join the legions of Count Tilly's war?
_Werner_. I know not--he had left my father's castle, 130
Some months before his death--but why?--but why?
Left it as I did ere his birth, perchance,
Like me an outcast. Old age had not made
My father meeker--and my son, Alas!
Too much his Sire resembled----
_Josepha_. Yet there's comfort.
Restrain thy wandering Spirit--Ulric cannot
Have left his native land--thou dost not know,
Though it looks strangely, thy Sire and he
In anger parted--Hope is left us still.
_Werner_. The best hope that I ever held in youth, 140
When every pulse was life, each thought a joy,
(Yet not irrationally sanguine, since
My birth bespoke high thoughts,) hath lured and left me.
I will not be a dreamer in mine age--
The hunter of a shadow--let _boys hope_:
Of Hope I now know nothing but the name--
And that's a sound which jars upon my heart.
I've wearied thee--Good night--my patient Love!
_Josepha_. I must not leave thee thus--my husband--friend--
My heart is rent in twain for thee--I scarce 150
Dare greet thee as I would, lest that my love
Should seem officious and ill timed:--'tis early--
Yet rest were as a healing balm to thee--
Then once again--Good night!
_Voice Without_. What Ho--lights ho!
SCENE II.
_Josepha_. What noise is that? 'tis nearer--hush! they knock.
[_A knocking heard at the gate_--WERNER _starts_.
_Werner_ (_aside_). It may be that the bloodhounds of the villain,
Who long has tracked me, have approached at last:
I'll not be taken tamely.
_Josepha_. 'Twas the voice,
The single voice of some lone traveller.
I'll to the door.