Enter Zastrow from the door, bearing Agnes, who is senseless, in his arms—he places her on a piece of broken rock near the wing.

Speak, Zastrow—is she condemn'd?

Zast. No. Charge following charge, her boasted firmness forsook her; and fainting, as supposed, from conscious guilt, she was dismissed; but soon her sentence will be known, and all foresee the vengeance that awaits the count Manfredi's daughter.

Ever. Manfredi's daughter!

Zast. Ay, that Italian traitor, who, on the Danube's banks destroyed the treasure he was bound to guard, and she (turning towards Agnes) imbibing the same kindred hate for those whom loyalty should make her love, late at the banquet of the baron Ravensburg, infus'd a poisonous mixture in the draught of our lov'd prince: but he detecting her intent, the death, thank heaven, she design'd for him, will soon recoil upon herself.

Ever. And he, the prince, is her accuser? Mark you that?

Zast. I do.

Ever. Then mark, (pointing to Agnes) is that the countenance of guilt?

Zast. How, Everard! when even Ravensburg, her benefactor's son, now loudly in the open court took part against her. (Everard shows emotion.) He did; and thereby so increased the prince's admiration——Look! he's here! Enter Ravensburg, hastily, in the dress of a free knight, with a paper in his hand, followed by two free knights.

Rav. Where is the traitress? Where the daughter of Manfredi?

Ag. (starting up.) That voice! still, still does it pursue me? My lord! (looking at him with a hope that he'll befriend her)

Rav. Stand off!

Ag. This! this from Ravensburg! (bursts into tears)

Rav. 'Tis past—it is pronounced! Read—read that awful warrant.

Ag. (taking it, but not looking at it.) 'Tis past indeed! but e'er I meet my death, I swear by Him who shall for ever live, that I would rather be the culprit thus condemn'd, than those who have condemn'd me: for they, not I, must answer for a life unjustly sacrificed? and when deprived of utterance and of sense, think not 'twas consciousness of guilt o'ercame me! No, 'twas to hear myself accused by him, who, still persisting in his cruelty——why—wherefore should I live! since he, since he is lost: I am most thankful for this final—(casting her eyes on the warrant.) Heavens! how! (reading it apart.) "Perceiving you were prejudged, I opposed, to save you. The free knight who conducts you to the solitary cell, from which 'tis meant that you should ne'er return, knows of a secret passage. Confide in him, and your devoted Ravensburg."

Rav. (fiercely.) Well! have you read?

Ag. (with stiffled feeling.) I have, and I repeat, I am most thankful, Sir.

Rav. (to Everard.) Conduct her to her cell—you know the rest—away, and quick return; for as his highness passes from the court, he must be told the traitress is secured.

Ever. He shall, my Lord.

Rav. Away! (Agnes is about to thank Ravensburg, by kneeling to him, when by action he recalls her recollection.) Away! (Everard and Agnes exeunt—Zastrow and other knights are following—Ravensburg stops them.) Let none follow; he is alone sufficient to secure a willing victim.

Zast. (observing.) Ha!

Enter prince and train through the doorway.

Prin. (looking earnestly around.) How! gone! 'tis well! for she recalls such dreadful scenes, that, coward-like, I sicken at her sight.—But whither gone? Who was her guard?

Rav. A loyal and a chosen knight; they know him well, and saw him lead her to her cell.

Zast. We did, my liege; but 'tis my duty to impart, as one of equal loyalty and honour——

Rav. (hastily interrupting him.) Peace! he returns!

Everard re-enters.

Prin. (to Everard.) Now, to your office, Sir! Speak, is the traitress safe?

Ever. Quite, quite safe, my liege.

[Looking at Ravensburg, who shows joy, aside.

Zast. (aside to the prince.) My liege, you are deceiv'd. Mark'd you their dark mysterious looks?

Prin. How!—more conspiracy? Can none, not e'en free knights be trusted? And I, who would avoid the hated sight—must I, myself—Well 'tis but one desperate effort more. Come, follow.

[Music. Agnes is seen escaping through the apertures: she makes signs to Ravensburg, who, unseen by the prince and train, returns them. Everard partakes in their joy. The prince commands all to march.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.—A wood.—Enter Falconers, severally.

1st. Falc. Where is my lord? Where is count Roland?

2d. Falc. Giving his orders for tomorrow's journey.

1st. Falc. What, our departure then is fixed?

2d. Falc. It is: tomorrow we set off for Corbey, thereto sojourn awhile with my lord's friend, Marquis Alberti.

Enter count Roland, followed by two falconers.

Count. Come, brother falconers, break up our rural camp, give the hawks wing, and let another day of pure exhilirating pastime crown those we have enjoyed.

SONG—count Roland.

I.

When the morning shines forth, and the zephyr's calm gale Carries fragrance and health over mountain and dale, Follow me, brother falconers, and share in those joys, Which envy disturbs not, nor grandeur destroys: Up hill, down the valley, all dangers we'll dare, While our coursers spurn earth, and our hawks sail in air. Dash on, my brave birds, Your quarry pursue; "Strike, strike!" be the words. Lalleugh! lalleugh!

II.

O'er plain, heath, and woodland, with rapture we roam, Yet, returning, still find the dear pleasure at home; Where inspiring good humour gives honesty grace And the heart speaks content in the smiles of the face. Dash on, &c.

Count. To day concludes our sylvan holiday. (going.) Why, who comes here? As I live, my merry falconer, Christopher! And I'm impatient to be told the issue of his curious enterprise. Ha, ha, ha! to know if he's related to the house of Roland—

Enter Christopher.

Well, Christopher, am I to call you cousin?

Chris. You are, my Lord; and with your leave I sha'n't copy our aunt the countess's example, and not notice those beneath us. No. How d'ye do, my fine fellows—how d'ye do?

Bowing foppishly to the falconers.

Count. Aunt!—ridiculous! My uncle had no wife. I've heard indeed, he had a consequential housekeeper, whose niece, Ulrica, I once saw.

Chris. What, you've seen Ulrica? So have I, my Lord: and though it's bold work, life's so short, and love's so ridgety, mayn't I——mayn't I see her again, my lord?

Count. What, you'd return? (Christopher nods assent.) Then go—go, and announce to marquis Alberti, that I shall visit him tonight. Mind, tonight! I will hear more of this new aunt of mine.

Chris. (with great glee.) Tonight, my lord? And you, and you—— [To the falconers.

Count. And all. And therefore, till we meet at Corbey Abbey, adieu, most noble cousin Christopher!

1st. and 2d. Falc. (bowing with ironical respect.) Adieu most noble nephew of the countess Roland!

Chris. Noble indeed! and give me money and a wife, see if I don't support nobility—I'll give such splendid entertainments——

Count. What, and like town-bred, ostentatious nobles; only to splendid company?

Chris. Certainly not, my lord; for your splendid company seldom invite again; and therefore I'll stick more to the trading line, where 'tis not giving dinners, but lending them, to be repaid at high bill of fare interest; and so, till we meet at Corbey, adieu, most noble cousin! [Exit.

Count. Now for our sport, which ends not in the field.

GLEE.

I.

When Phoebus' rays no more appear, And falc'ners further sport decline; When ploughmen from their fields repair, And mournful night-birds rend the air, Then give me wine: And at home the chase shall reign, For in wine it lives again.

II.

When loud the chilling tempest blows, And winter makes all Nature pine; When lowing herds, and rooks, and crows Do droop and moan at frost and snows, Then give me wine, &c.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—The garden of Corbey abbey, with practicable gates, over which is a projecting tablet, with an inscription nearly effaced. In the back, an ascending avenue through pine trees: in the centre a statue of Charlemagne; on the base of which is written, "Charlemagne grants the power of sanctuary and of pardon to the abbots of Corbey forever."

Enter Bernardo and St. Clair from the abbey.

St. Clair. Nay, brother, you're to blame. The church, the court, all Germany, applaud the proud election of the monk Bellarmin; for Corbey abbey was too long disgraced by our late worldly abbot's vices.

Bern. And our new abbot will retrieve its fame. The monk Bellarmin has no worldly vice. Speak, for I know him not.

St. Clair. Not know Bellarmin!

Bern. I know some fourteen years are past, since, in the dead of night, a stranger, faint with terror and distress, implor'd assistance at our abbey-gate, and, in return for our protecting care, since join'd our order. I know, beside, that stranger is Bellarmin. But for the rest, what means that pallid cheek, the hollow eye, and those stern gloomy looks, repelling sympathy, creating strong disgust.

St. Clair. Peace, peace, Bernardo!—he may have suffered wrongs, but never has committed them; and firm in conscious dignity and honour, Bellarmin may have spirit to revive what former abbots, truckling to authority; what servile priesthood, dreading lordly power, so long has suffer'd to lie dormant—the edict of our mighty founder, the edict of immortal Charlemagne! [Pointing to the tablet.

Bern. He, our new abbot! he restore our abbey's ancient and peculiar charter! (pointing to the tablet.) St. Clair, he dare not, for guilt and courage ne'er had joint abode.

St. Clair. Guilt!

Bern. Ay; why ever, else, on naming the return of our brave warriors from the holy land, does he betray such latent anger? And, when, last night, 'twas thought their presence would increase the glory of his installation, why such avowed and rancorous opposition? He bears about him hidden discontent, and I will fathom to the lowest depth this most mysterious being! Mark! he comes! observe! observe! [They retire up the stage.

Enter Abbot, through the avenue.

Abbot. Oh thou! who know'st my undivulged thoughts! who know'st how long and fervently I've prayed to root from memory all suffering past, and dwell with gratitude on present blessings, let me but practise what I daily preach, thy brightest attribute forgiveness, and wrong'd Bellarmin shall convince the world, that though their censure stung him to the heart, he feels their kindness with redoubled warmth! He does! the gnawing viper is, at last, extinct! and this auspicious day is herald of his future calm repose!

St. Clair. Now, now, Bernardo, where's the discontent? (advancing towards the abbot.) My lord, well met! and whilst all bless the hour the emperor ratified our choice, we much rejoice your honours cease not with your late election—Today installs you in your envied seat; tomorrow shall behold you still more grac'd; for the free knights shall then elect you to the highest rank in their exalted council!

Bern. Ay; in that sacred council which our holy brotherhood so reverence, and so dread.

Abbot. 'Tis well—'tis well—thus chosen abbot of your own free will, not by my seeking, as ye all can witness; for this, and greater favours past, I'm bound forever to obey, and serve ye! Today, I'll welcome these, our sacred rites; tomorrow, far more awful ceremony! I will descend to the mysterious knights, and prove to those, who vest me with authority, no selfish passion lurks within my breast! 'Tis past! it is subdued! and whilst life lasts, I will devote that life to ever crushing my own narrowed wishes, and courting the superior joy of aiding and promoting general welfare.

Voice (without.) Help! for mercy! help!

Abbot. The voice of one distressed! Unbar the gates—give them free entrance.

[St. Clair opens the gate—Agnes rushes in.

Agnes (falling at the abbot's feet.) Protect me! save me! I'm pursued, o'ertaken;

Bern. (suddenly.) Pursued!—

Ag. No—not pursued—I scarce know what I utter—my friend, my kind protecting friend! who was conducting me through yonder forest, compell'd to leave me by strong urgent circumstance, bade me seek shelter in this holy pile, till one he named could hasten to my relief—and you'll consent! You pious men must feel, that virtue never seems more lovely, than when her arm is stretched to raise the helpless and unfortunate.

Ab. (raising her.) Rise; and, till your friend arrive, confide in one, who train'd in dire misfortune's school, can keenly feel for others.

Bern. My lord, reflect. She own'd she was pursued, and in these perilous, these disastrous times, shall strangers be thus welcom'd? I would hear further.

Ab. What further would you hear? Sorrow in any shape, should meet with pity; but when it supplicates in female form, we dry its tears, nor wait to ask what caus'd them! Unknown! unquestion'd, I found welcome here, and none yet know the story of my wrongs; why, therefore pry into her hidden grief? 'tis harsh, it is unmanly! come. [Trumpet, sounds without.

Bern. Now, who was harsh in forewarning? Know ye that awful sound? Know ye the free knight's summons? (goes to the abbey gate.) Come forth, and vindicate the cause of those who justify the Christian faith. (Monks enter from the abbey.) Lo! the accused! [Pointing to Agnes.

Ag. (to the abbot.) Do not desert me! On my soul I'm innocent.

Ab. (who has turn'd from her.) Away! you have profaned our hallow'd ground! And thus, pursued by those, whose mandates all submissive sanction, I am no more your friend. Begone!

Ag. (clinging to him.) Is mine the age for plotting death by subtle poison? Is mine the sex for treason and conspiracy? And if I am the daughter of the count Manfredi, am I to answer for my wretched father's crimes.

Ab. Manfredi's daughter.

[Turning towards her with emotion.

Bern. (opening the garden gate.) Behold! read there! (pointing to the banner, and reading.) "Condemn'd traitress! Agnes Manfredi appear!"

Ab. Manfredi had no daughter! Speak, e'er my brain burst! his name—the name of your accuser?

Ag. I dread to utter it, for all approve what the prince Palatine affirms.

Ab. (apart.) I thought it was subdued—I said the gnawing viper was extinct; but since it cross my path again, may the fulfillment of this new atrocious act be most important to his purpose! For let the vassal world bow down to his imperious will, alone I'll blast the deadly scorpion's wiles, and snatch one victim from his fiend-like fury! Manfredi's daughter! False! false as your accuser's heart! and knowing that, 'tis joy, 'tis transport to protect you.

[Taking Agnes's hand.

St. Clair. Horror! Protect her.

Bern. All gracious powers! thus in defiance of our sacred champions.

Ab. Hear me. If the tribunal be composed of high, unblemished, and enlightened minds, who meet to render free impartial justice, however ungracious be their forms, those forms 'twere idle to oppose; but if they thus condemn—if private malice beat down public good—if made a vehicle to gratify tyrannic power, they prove a midnight sanguinary band; I, sacred champion of the Christian cause, will give a bright example of its justice, by baffling those who prostitute its name.

Bern. This is Bellarmin! this the pious monk! who boasted of promoting general welfare, and now commences his career by plunging us in ruin. But shall we patiently submit to be involved in his most impious rashness? or shall we instantly dismiss the culprit? and, as we ought, give the free knights the quickest means of vengeance?

St. Clair. For this ingratitude, all join Bernardo.

Bern. (seeing that all take part with him.) All!

Abbot. Hold! I implore ye! My motives known, no censure will await me! But, till they are, confide in one who, if before he felt unceasing gratitude for all your kindness, what must he now? when, like yourselves, he can exalt his abbey's fame, by once more sheltering in its holy walls, a wrong'd unhappy, persecuted being!

Ag. (appealing to the monks.) Unhappy! most unhappy!

Bern. In vain, in vain; for every where the free knights see; and seeing, every where approach, and oft by such mysterious paths, that magic-like, they flash on the pursued. Hark! behold! (a party of free knights are seen descending the avenue of pine trees.) Guard well the gate! for all who seek not to secure the culprit, partake the crime, and share in the destruction.

[Zastrow advancing, his vizor half up: the other knights remaining behind the trees.

Zast. Behold! the traitress!

Ab. (coming between Zastrow and Agnes.) On one false charge condemn'd, I trust, I'm confident of all she's innocent. (Zastrow still advancing.) Nay, ye, who boast yourselves avenging knights, recall these chivalrous heroic times, when knighthood's lance aveng'd a better cause, and flew to guard, and not destroy, such helplessness! Reflect, beside, that love for what's divine (pointing to heaven) inspires the soul with love for what is human! and whilst religion, with the brightening sun, shines forth to gladden and improve, dark superstition, like the cankering blight, infects and withers every social hope! You pass not further; on my life you pass not!

Zast. Advance! (free knights rush forward and seize Agnes) and as ye are commanded (pointing to the banner) strike!

Abbot. And as ye are commanded (pointing to the inscription on the statute of Charlemagne) spare!—you know my power!—(to the monks)—you know the edict of our mighty founder, victorious Charlemagne! who, in return for laurels won upon this spot, first raised our abbey, to commemorate conquest; and soon endowing it with right of sanctuary, next gave the abbot the more blest prerogative of granting pardon, where he saw just cause! I see it now! I claim my abbey's privilege! I stand upon my founder's edict! and kings! laws! armies! must support the man, who, struggling for a sacred right, asserts mankind's and heaven's inspiring cause! (the free knights unloose their hold of Agnes, who crosses to the abbot; and the monks, by their manner evince conviction.) No more I sue for your support—(to the monks)—now I command it!—And ye, fam'd foes to sacreligious outrage!—(to the free knights)—proclaim that this, my post assigned to me by providence, I will maintain or perish in the conflict! Lead to the sanctuary—away!

[Music.—Agnes thanks the Abbot, who cheers and encourages her. Free knights ascend the avenue, and disappear. Monks exeunt into the abbey. Abbot following with Agnes.

End of Act II.



ACT III

SCENE I.—View of corbey abbey, open country and chateau.

Enter countess Roland and attendants.

Count. How fortunate! how very fortunate! Whilst I was in pursuit of that low wretch, call'd Christopher, I call'd in at the marquis Alberti's, and heard the welcome news, that my nephew, count Roland, and his falconers were almost instantly expected! Charming! delightful! tho' I didn't see him when he visited Roland castle—though this will be our first, I trust it won't be our last meeting; for, in my mind, his real motive is not to see the good old marquis, but a young fair one, called Ulrica. Oh! if it prove as I suspect, I'll match these hesitating Ravensburgs!

[Going into the chateau.

Oliver enters from it.

Ol. Oh, madam, I'm so glad you're come, for what with the prince, and the baron being absent, and my poor Agnes not yet return'd and the poor lock'd up lady Ulrica yonder (pointing to a window in the chateau) sighing for her cousin Christopher! I was just saying, anybody's company would be better than nobody's.

Count. Cousin Christopher, the unknown impostor I'm in search of. And after I have so convinced the baron!—

Ol. I know—I know you have convinced the baron, that you've no poor Franconia relations; but I do say, as the lady Ulrica has no objection, I wish this Christopher were her husband, (countess frowns.) I do; for in that case, she not being able to marry my young master, and my young master being able to marry Agnes, I should see what I hav'n't seen since I lost my sweet Seraphina! a real happy handsome couple.

Count. Show me in, Sir; and instead of chattering about my pretended nephew Christopher, talk of my real nephew, count Roland! who, though to me a stranger, is none to the lady Ulrica, as you call her. (Horns without.) Hark! he comes! count Roland comes! and, as I thought—see! towards Ulrica's residence! to sigh and moan under his true-love's window!—Now for it. I'll just step in, and give further orders for pursuing this sham nephew, Christopher; and then, if I don't match old baron Ravensburg, and his capricious son, say I'm no match-maker.

Exit into the chateau, preceded by Oliver.

Enter count Roland and 1st Falconer.

Count. Behold the beauties of this far-fam'd spot, and foremost to delight the traveller's eye, yon venerable Abbey! founded by him whose laurels shall for ever bloom.

1st. Falc. And see, my lord, yonder is the marquis Alberti's chateau.

Count. Happy Alberti! who having brav'd the perils of the ocean, now finds a haven in his faithful Ella's love. Oh! I shall ne'er forget the day they parted, nor that tempestuous night, when many a shipwreck'd mariner was lost.

SONG—Count.

I.

Says Ella to her love, "remember Though doom'd to part, you constant view That moon, which rises in such splendour, I too, will look, and think of you. Anxious Ella shall not sleep Whilst her sailor braves the deep."

II.

But tempestuous is the weather, And lovely Ella's wish is crost, Vain her watching nights together, Successive moons in clouds are lost. Stormy winds the forests sweep, Whilst her sailor braves the deep.

III.

Swift to the shore she flies, complaining; The tempest to her pray'r is deaf; When lo! that orb she's so arraigning, Shines forth, and shows her lover safe. Now no more shall Ella weep, For her sailor's brav'd the deep.

Enter all the Falconers.

Count. Now for my friend Alberti's, and there learn more of this same countess Roland.

Enter Christopher.

Chris. My lord, I have announced your coming, and the marquis is all impatience. But what do you think? When I sent up your lordship's message, who should be of the party but my aunt, the countess? And one of the marquis's retinue wanted me to take courage, and go up to her—"for," says he, "if she has'n't seen you since you were a boy, and she took up your cousin, Ulrica, on account of her uncommon beauty, who knows, if she once saw you——" You understand, my lord—I'm certainly improved.

(Pulling up his collar.)

Count. Improv'd! So much, that at first sight, my life on't, you'll charm the countess.

Chris. His words! his very words! and I certainly charmed Ulrica! But then—psha! ridiculous!—you all flatter!—and aunt's there!—(pointing to the chateau)—and Ulrica's there!—and tonight makes her wife to that old pedigreed—(here the countess appears at the door of the chateau unobserved, looks out, and listens.) So go all of ye—go to the marquis Alberti's, and leave me to sob and sigh—Oh, sweet Ulrica!—Oh! h! ha!

Count. Well, as it suits—and so good night, most noble love-sick swain.

Falc. Good night, most noble nephew of the countess Roland.

[Bowing as before, and with count exeunt falconers. Christopher with his back to the countess, bows in return—She advances from chateau all joy and triumph, and exultingly goes towards him—countess advancing from the house.

Count. (aside and unseen by Christopher.) So, most noble nephew of the countess Roland.

Chris. Oh, sweet Ulrica! Oh, most savage—(turns, and comes against countess.) Mercy! do I see right?

Count. You see your aunt, the countess Roland, who regrets extremely she didn't see you on your last visit—but you saw Ulrica; and if, as I presume, you come once more to see her—(Christopher more and more frightened.) You do; your looks, your fears, your agitation proves it; and to end at once yours, hers, and my anxiety—Ulrica!

Chris. Don't—don't alarm the family! Upon my honour. (appealing.)

Count. When I selected the son of baron Ravensburg, I hadn't the honor of knowing my charming nephew. (curtsying very low, Christopher staring, and beginning to brighten up.) But now I do know him! lest the baron should return and spoil the present glorious opportunity—Ulrica! (Ulrica appears at the window.) Look, who's here—and at first sight, he has so won my favour; and so excells these paltry Ravensburgs, that, if you choose to be released, and instantly receive my dear lov'd nephew's suit——

Ul. I'll try, aunt.

Count. And you! (to Christopher.)

Chris. I'll try, aunt.

Count. (hastily going to the door of the chateau.) Oliver! the priest has long been waiting. (to Christopher.)

Chris. (going to the door and calling loudly.) Oliver!

Enter Oliver

Show in the nephew of the countess Roland. (Oliver shows astonishment, and looks at the countess, who nods assent.) You see! Conduct me to my lov'd betrothed Ulrica. (countess nods assent, and gives Christopher the key of Ulrica's apartment.) You see! Lead on, my little twaddling old butler. Lol de rol, lel lol! (exit, kissing his hand to countess and Ulrica, and making Oliver go in before him.)

Count. There! There's match-making, and here——

Enter baron Ravensburg and attendants.

So, sir—have you found your runaway son?

Bar. I have, countess—I've trac'd him to Corbey abbey, and he's so closely pursued, that I shall soon employ the priest now, and make amends for my low suspicions about that rascally impostor! that fellow, with his Franconian express! I know, except your niece——

Count. (haughtily.) I have a nephew, Sir, a nephew now in the chateau, whose name you may have heard. Count Roland, sir.

Bar. In my—in my chateau? I've seen—I know count Roland—and such a guest I so rejoice to welcome. (going hastily towards the door; Oliver re-enters meeting him.)

Ol. And I rejoice! and my lady, my young master, and Agnes may rejoice! for the priest, quite worn out with waiting for one couple, is now marrying another—is marrying the lady Ulrica to your nephew! He! he! he!

Bar. (to countess.) Marrying Ulrica to your nephew.

Count. To my nephew, sir—to a man as far above the Ravensburgs in rank, as in accomplishments!

Ul. (throwing open the window) aunt! we're married aunt!

Count. Transporting sight! There! (to the baron.) Married to her cousin, great count Roland!

Chris. (putting his head out of the window.) No, to me! to cousin Christopher! who said, all along, that aunt would be as kind to poor, as rich relations! and who on the baron's giving him his choice, this morning walked out of the chateau; but, now, having sent the promised express, and expecting all his Franconia cousins, says, "in," till the honey-moon's over!

[Shutting the window immediately, and he and Ulrica disappear.

Bar. There he is again! there's the nephew of the countess Roland!

Count. 'Tis false! and I'll be instantly reveng'd!

Bar. And so will I?

[As they are going into the chateau.

QUINTETTO.

Bar. Rage inspires me.

Count. Madness fires me.

Both. I'll the slave to pieces tear!

Enter Oliver from the house.

Ol. Sorrow banish, Anger vanish, Come and bless the wedded pair!

Count. Plague,

Bar. Confound,

Both. The wedded pair!

Enter Ulrica from the house.

Ul. As late I travers'd yonder plain, I heard a pilgrim worn with pain, A trav'ller thus addressing: "What can't be cur'd Must be endur'd, But pray, kind friend, your blessing."

Chris. at } "What can't be cur'd the window. } Must be endur'd, } But pray, kind friend, your blessing."

Ul. You hear (to baron)—and you (to countess.)

Bar. } We do! we do! Count. }

Ul. And you agree! (coaxing them.) I see—I see! We've liberty!

All. Love, true love is crown'd with glory! Viva—viva con amore!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The interior of the abbey.

Enter the abbot and Agnes.

Ab. An unknown orphan, named Agnes Lindorf, by him, your benefactor!

Ag. By baron Ravensburg, whose son has so befriended me. But I detain you from most urgent duty. The great, the good, all, all advance to grace your installation.

Ab. They do. But he, this baron, you suspect may know the motive for your accusation? (Agnes accords.) Oh that I knew! for I would court each, the most trifling circumstance, still further to destroy your fell accuser's hopes. Well, well, they are destroyed! Long ere this dark tribunal had a name, ages had sanction'd our monastic rights. And let but your protecting friend arrive, you may pass free from this devoted land, to one where unmask'd justice sits in open day, and prince and peasant meet with equal hearing.

Ag. We may, we may—and live to recompense thy matchless kindness. But still these awful these enrag'd avengers! Why, why does he delay?

Enter St. Clair.

St. Clair. My lord, a stranger!

Ag. (looking out.) 'Tis he! 'tis Ravensburg!

[Exit St. Clair.

Enter Ravensburg.

Welcome! Oh welcome! Behold the man (pointing to the abbot) who scorning prejudic'd, corrupt compliance—(Ravensburg turns away, and hides his face.) Hah! that look! those tears!

Rav. For thee they fall, and for thy more than father! I've watch'd, I've hasten'd from my fell associates—(abbot starts)—Ay, I, by oath, am sworn to be the deadly foe of Agnes, and of all who give her aid. But when I know that she deserves that aid, and that this boasted institution's power is made subservient to such lawless crime, as ancient record of tyrannic guilt can give no proof of, I trust that he, who boldly shall retract such oath, is deem'd less guilty in the eye of Heaven, than he who cowardly fulfills it. This for myself—for you, who, singly, have oppos'd this hydra of rapacious power, and in a glorious cause, claim'd the just right of sanctuary and of pardon—how will you meet the tenfold horrors that will soon burst forth on till within these walls!

Ag. On all!

Ab. They cannot—dare not!

Rav. They dare! for her escape discover'd, they sent forth sanguinary knights, who soon return'd, and in full council stated, that one, most nobly acting on his founder's edict, defied their power, and pardon'd the condem'd! All murmur'd, and all menac'd! till I, declaiming on the glaring outrage of those, who call'd themselves a sacred band, disputing sacred rights, had gain'd some proselytes, when the prince Palatine appear'd, and, like the torrent from the mountain's brow, assailed each obstacle, and swept down all before him!

Ab. (after a struggle.) Well! the result?

Rav. Most savage, most inevitable! for while in force they come to claim their victim, you, and the brotherhood, are all proscribed for treason and for sacrilege!

Ag. And this! this havoc is my causing! mine! a poor orphan! whose death no kindred will deplore, whilst the whole world will mourn my kind defender's loss! My lord, 'tis past! lov'd friend, farewell! and if one victim will appease their rage, I'll hail the sacrifice, and die contented. [Going.

Ab. (stopping her.) Die first this hated despot! who, ever, fiend-like, strikes his envious fangs, where Heaven most loves, and man's most bound to guard! I pardon! I give sanctuary! and whilst one spark of ebbing life glows here, whilst one small fragment of these walls remain, that fragment may be stained with dire assassin's blood! but a poor orphan, who, I know is innocent, shall live to soar and triumph o'er her foes! Let them advance! ourselves, our abbey, can support some contest, and youn pright power! that watches o'er the virtuous, will combat in our cause!—(drums and trumpets heard at a short distance.) Hark! they come!

Ag. They do! they do! and see! the prince, in person, leads the furious band! Look! there! behold!

[Ravensburg looks out. Abbot turns away.

Ab. Not, not for worlds, lest, maddening at the sight, I lose all memory of holy function, and rush to strike the murderer of my peace dead in his army's presence! Villain! barbarian!——(weeps.) Oh! the day has been, when these, fair nature's brightest gems, hung on my cheek as emblems of pure sympathy! But now, like drops of fire, they serve to light the brand of discord and revenge!—come—to the sanctuary!

Rav. Unequall'd man! fit guardian of such rights—speak! can my arm—

Ab. (taking him aside.) Your father—mark—your father may have heard why she is called Manfredi's daughter. I would know this, and all that you can learn. Now, whilst there's hope, away—and this (giving him a key) secures your private entrance through the western gate upon the river's edge.

Rav. I'll seek my father, ascertain each fact, and, fear not, Agnes! the pangs of parting will be paid at meeting!

Ab. 'Twill do! 'twill prosper! And my great founder's edict thus revived—should they persist in prostituting justice's name, I will throw wide my abbey-gates, and pardoning all they dare proscribe, make it a bulwark 'gainst the common foe! Come—away! [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—a road near Corbey.

Enter Christopher.

Chris. So, this is the place of meeting—from hence we were to start for Franconia—and not here! Ulrica not yet come! Mighty well! our marriage but an hour old, and keep her husband waiting!

Enter Ulrica.

So, you begin, madam—you torment already.

Ul. Why, if I do torment, Christopher its only to please you the more—it is upon my honour.

Chris. Please by tormenting! how, madam?

Ul. Ay, ask the god of love, if it isn't—

Chris. Yes; but where am I to find him?

Ul. True—where is love to be found?

SONG—Ulrica.

I.

Where does the urchin love abide? Whence does he point his dart? Say, does he with the doves reside? Or dwells he in the heart?

II.

No fixt abode the traitor knows— On sportive wings he flies; Awhile he dallies with the rose, Then smiles in lovers' eyes.

Chris. He does—in mine; and now I'll tell you—'Tis all out, and I've within me the true, real Roland blood. It seems, the strange old count had privately made aunt his wife; but his estate descending with his title, she thought she might support her rank, by getting for her niece a famous husband—and she has got one, hasn't she, Ulrica?

Ul. She has—but, seriously, think not that I staid from idle motives. Poor Agnes has found shelter in Corbey abbey; but the prince and the avenging knights, march in full force to batter down its walls.

Chris. Indeed!

Ul. Now—now I heard it from the noble Ravensburg, who seeks his father, to hear the whole of Agnes's hapless story. And my aunt's influence no more prevailing, perhaps the baron will relent—at least, I hope so.

Chris. So do I—and we won't stir.

Ul. No, not while one glimmering hope remains of Agnes's safety and her foes' defeat.

Chris. No, that we won't—but go, and plead in her behalf. [Kissing Ulrica's hand.

Ul. That I will; and doubt not, Christopher—Heaven still will guard the unprotected orphan!

[Exit.

Chris. Never—never was couple so match'd! so much alike in all that's amiable and lovely! Oh, when we arrive in Franconia! I know one of our neighbours, who will be all envy—baron Donderdronckdickdorff; for though his wife treats him with the most sovereign contempt, he is still obliged to look up to her.

SONG—Christopher.

I.

Baron Donderdronckdickdorff said, one summer's day, "Tho' wedlock's a word that revolts, Whatever our folks in Westphalia may say, I've a great mind to marry miss Quoltz. For of all the dear angels that live near the Weser, Miss Quoltz is the stoutest and tallest; Tho' of all German barons ambitious to please her, I know I'm the shortest and smallest." How I should like the marriage waltz To dance with thee, my lovely Quoltz!

II.

Poor Donderdronckdickdorff, with amorous phiz, On tiptoe imparted his flame, "Ah! baron!" she sigh'd, "what a pity it is, You are not half so long as your name!" "If names," said the baron, "were smaller or bigger, To suit ev'ry size at a pinch, Your name, dear miss Quoltz, to keep up to your figure, Wou'd measure six foot and an inch." How I should like, &c.

III.

The wedding-day fix'd, both the parties agreed, That the peasants should dance German waltzes, And drink to the future mix'd long-and-short breed Of the Donderdronckdickdorffs and Quoltzes. To the church, then, on foot, went the ace with his size— "What's this crowd for?" cries one of the people. "For a baron, who's taking," an arch wag replies, "A morning's walk under the steeple." How I should like, &c.

IV.

Before supper, one knight, ere the honey-moon fled, They so quarrell'd some wives wou'd have struck him; But the baroness took up the lord of her bed, And over the chimney-piece stuck him. As the servant came in, said the baron, "you clown, Not a word when the guests come to sup: I have only been giving my wife a set-down, And she giving me a set-up." How I should like, &c. [Exit.

SCENE IV.—The grand aisle of the abbey, in the upper part of the sanctuary.

Enter Bernardo, St. Clair, and two other monks.

[Flourish of drums and trumpets without.

Bern. You hear! Soon the victorious foe will force our walls; for, can they long sustain the shock of such an host? Or if they could—for what? for whom? Are we agreed?

St. Clair. We are: in a just cause we would uphold our abbot's rights; but when such judges have prounounc'd her traitress, and such brave warriors will support that judgment, shall we, upon the word of one who will adduce no proof of innocence—we, the calm advocates of peace, not war—shall we devote our abbey and ourselves to ruin most inevitable?

Bern. No, haughty prelate! we will teach you now, that those who raised you to your splendid height, have still the power to humble and to crush you. And they who this night come to grace your installation, shall view their idol's downfall. Unbar the gates! (the abbot appears in the aisle, unseen by the monks.) Give the prince palatine free entrance; and let the vengeance of the secret knights fall, as it ought, on those who have provoked it.

Ab. (advancing hastily from the aisle.) Who's he dare utter such profane commands?

Bern. Bellarmin! I!—Unbar the gates!

Ab. Forbear! And think not, brothers, that I court this contest, or willingly involve ye in hard office. But we, who vested with bright mercy's power, can feel the bliss of sparing the unfortunate; shall we, when barbarism, mask'd by pious, plausible pretext, strikes at the growth of every liberal feeling; shall we forego our edict, or uphold it? I say, uphold it! And chiefly on one proof—Manfredi had no daughter! That charge I know to be most groundless.

Bern. You knew Manfredi then! (abbot shows agitation.) He, our new oracle, proclaims he was no stranger to this murderer.

Ab. (with suppressed indignation.) Murderer!

Bern. The worst of murderers! False to the man who raised him from low fortune—false to his patron, the brave prince Palatine!

Ab. To him!

Bern. To him! Who on his brother's, the late prince's death, anxious to see and guard that brother's child, then some leagues distant from the court, despatched Manfredi, as his trustiest friend to be the princess's escort; when, on the way, most artfully dismissing all her train, and mov'd not by the smile of infant innocence, mixing ingratitude with traitorous cruelty, this foe to virtue, but Bellarmin's friend, plung'd his fell poniard in Theresa's heart, and fled, and died the victim of despair.

Ab. Wert thou a winged messenger from Heaven, my father's spirit, nay, e'en fate itself! I'd tell you, vile detractor, it is false! false as thy friend, the brave prince palatine! who fired by daring and ambitious views, besought Manfredi to remove the bar 'twixt him and sovereignty. Manfredi yielded to protect his charge, and artfully dismissed the princess's train to bear her to a friendly foreign court; when galling, dire reverse! in a dark covert on the Danube's banks, outlaws affected what her foes desired—Theresa fell—(speaking rapidly)—A prey to grief and disappointed hope, Manfredi fled—Yon fell usurper gained the wish'd-for seat!

Bern. Usurper!

Ab. Fiend! coward! traitor! Who, to destroy Manfredi's evidence, sought his destruction;—who, by false statement and concurring circumstance, secur'd his triumph—who still comes forth to immolate more innocence! and Corbey's abbot is to share in the new sacrifice! No, though our order teaches resignation—yet teaching fortitude and love of virtue, my founder's spirit shall inspire my soul, and once more Charlemagne shall vanquish here!

Bern. Audacious, impious slanderer! Compare ennobled and established worth with such confirm'd disgrace—(flourish of drums and trumpets, and noise of walls falling)—They force the outworks! Instant aid their entrance! and hail the downfall of such perjured arrogance!

St. Clair. Come!

Ab. (getting between them and the gates.) St. Clair! Bernardo! who once call'd me friend! and who, on sudden impulse, have drawn forth what I so long and anxiously kept secret, will you desert me at this awful moment? or, to the last contending for our abbey's rights, implore these warriors from the holy land, not to take arms against a sacred cause! She's wrong'd, she's innocent.

Bern. 'Tis false—most false!

Enter Ravensburg.

Rav. My lord, all's lost! The savage and inveterate foe have storm'd the walls, and rush to glut their vengeance.

Ab. (to Ravensburg apart.) And from your father! None—no hope?

Rav. None! He merely states, that dreading he might lose her, who'd supply a daughter's loss; and fearing to increase an orphan's grief, he cautiously concealed, how, one autumnal night some fourteen years ago, he saw upon the Danube's banks, an infant seemingly expiring. He snatch'd it—sav'd it! and what the mystery might solve, if now such mystery were worth solving—this scarf (producing it) encircled her.—(Abbot takes the scarf with great eagerness.)—But all is past! and Agnes, dear lov'd Agnes, by the father saved, the son must instantly behold destroyed.

Ab. (after having gazed on the scarf with the greatest emotion.) Eternal Providence! Theresa! princess! Oh, great God of Nature!—(rushing into the sanctuary.)

Rav. Theresa!—Mighty heaven!

[Flourish. The gates are forced.

Enter the prince Palatine, free knights, Crusaders, and soldiers.

Prin. First seize yon renegade! (free knights seize Ravensburg) next force the sanctuary!—(free knights and soldiers enter the sanctuary by force) and then no more on others shall her fate depend. This arm——(knights and soldiers bring Agnes from the sanctuary to the front, all the characters following)—Now, while all thoughts are deadened in my heated brain, but those of fury and revenge—thus treason falls, and the vile traitress dies. [Seizing Agnes, and going to stab her with his sword.

Ab. (behind the crowd.) Forbear! she is your rightful princess!

Prin. Merciful powers! who dare e'n breathe—

Ab. (rushing through the crowd, and approaching the prince.) Here, in these hallowed aisles; here, in the face of Heaven, and of man, by all your hopes of future preservation, avow your treason, and your sovereign's wrongs, detested, treacherous, murderous villain!—(prince much agitated.) See, guilt is on him! Now, ye who had no faith (to the monks) and ye who trample upon sacred rights (to the free knights) behold how sacred justice is displayed! There's the usurper, sinking with remorse, and here Manfredi, shedding tears of joy at his regain'd, belov'd Theresa's feet! [The prince lets his sword fall, and reclines on the arm of Walbourg. Ravensburg flies to Agnes, and takes her from the free knights. Abbot kneels on one side of Agnes, Ravensburg on the other.

Rav. Manfredi! Sovereign!

Ab. He knows it—knows, on her suppos'd decease, this hand inform'd him of Manfredi's motives—and that, disgusted with a sickening world, in calm retirement, he should seek for peace. He sought it here—and in Bellarmin's name, was here most safely sheltered! When, soon, the daring calumny spread wide, of "traitor"—of "assassin"—and the sad narrative perverted, confirm'd the perjur'd statement. You'll say I should have answered this? No—aware such influence, and such arts, would, with such judges, beat down humble truth, I kept immur'd! and my reported death checking inquiry, whilst the loud world sung forth the slanderer's praise, I could look inward, and exclaim, better forever undeserved disgrace, than hear applause the heart can never sanction!

Ag. My lord, (to Ravensburg) though lost in wonder and in joy, and now most certain he proclaim'd me as Manfredi's daughter, to give a colour to each cruel charge! yet can I see a fellow creature, torn with such convulsive agony!—Go—speak—console him.

Ab. (to prince.) You hear!

Prin. I do! and if Manfredi had, like me, beheld her angel mother's form, the strong resemblance had betray'd the secret, and mad ambition had been sooner crush'd! I sue, I supplicate for death—life, life's the dreaded punishment for guilt like mine! Come—I implore ye!

Ab. 'Tis gone! 'tis vanished! and I, who hated and opposed, now feel my edict surpasses even royal rights! Monarchs may spare, yet also they must punish! By my prerogative, I can but pardon—be safe within these walls, till higher power determines on your fate. (the prince is led up the stage.) Now hope we to fulfill a far more welcome office, the union of two hearts, that beat in unison, and that, and our forth-coming installation, past—(music without)—Hark! they come—the warfare o'er, the sons of peace approach.

Rav. (looking out.) Oh! glorious, welcome sight! and let none say the days of darkness are returned, when such desert is crown'd with such reward. My lord, they enter—they expect you.

Ab. Why, ay; and if my princess will partake—She will, she will—and 'tis not there that I shall seek reward—'Tis here! 'tis here. (taking the princess's hand.)

Music. [Exeunt.

SCENES THE LAST.—The installation, &c. All the characters discovered.

CHORUS.

Hail, hour of glory! Hail, hour of glory! Long o'er our hearts may our abbot sway! Fam'd in story, Long live this hallow'd and this happy day!

Ab. Be ever chronicled this blest event! And now my princess shall with me unite to root out secret subterraneous justice, and fixing it in fair and open day, unmask free knights, and hail the dawn of genuine freedom, and enlightened truth.

FINALE.

Now your lofty paeans raise, To our youthful princess' praise. Ne'er may such bless'd rulers sever— May our princess live for ever!

THE END