Take the following parallels:—

Werner, act i. sc. 1, lines 693, 694—

"... as parchment on a drum, Like Ziska's skin."

Age of Bronze, lines 133, 134—

"The time may come, His name shall beat the alarm like Ziska's drum."

Werner, act ii. sc. 2, lines 177, 178—

"... save your throat From the Raven-stone."

Manfred, act iii. (original version)—

"The raven sits On the Raven-stone."

Werner, act ii. sc. 2, line 279—

"Things which had made this silkworm cast his skin."

Marino Faliero, act ii. sc. 2, line 115—

"... these swoln silkworms masters."

("Silkworm," as a term of contempt, is an Italianism.)

Werner, act iii. sc. 1, lines 288, 289—

"I fear that men must draw their chariots, as They say kings did Sesostris'."

Age of Bronze, line 45—

"The new Sesostris, whose unharnessed kings."

Werner, act iii. sc. 3, lines 10, 11—

"... while the knoll Of long-lived parents."

Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza xcvi. lines 5, 6—

"... is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless."

(Byron is the authority for the use of "knoll" as a substantive.)

Or, compare the statement (see act i. sc. 1, line 213, sq.) that "A great personage ... is drowned below the ford, with five post-horses, A monkey and a mastiff—and a valet," with the corresponding passage in Kruitzner and in Byron's unfinished fragment; and note that "the monkey, the mastiff, and the valet," which formed part of Byron's retinue in 1821, are conspicuous by their absence from Miss Lee's story and the fragment.

Space precludes the quotation of further parallels, and for specimens of a score of passages which proclaim their author the following lines must suffice:—

Act i. sc. 1, lines 163-165—

"... although then My passions were all living serpents, and Twined like the Gorgon's round me."

Act iii. sc. 1, lines 264-268—

"... sound him with the gem; 'Twill sink into his venal soul like lead Into the deep, and bring up slime and mud. And ooze, too, from the bottom, as the lead doth With its greased understratum."

Did Byron write Werner, or was it the Duchess of Devonshire?

(For a correspondence on the subject, see Literature, August 12, 19, 26, September 9, 1899.)



TO

THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE

BY ONE OF HIS HUMBLEST ADMIRERS,

THIS TRAGEDY

IS DEDICATED.



PREFACE

The following drama is taken entirely from the German's Tale, Kruitzner, published many years ago in "Lee's Canterbury Tales" written (I believe) by two sisters, of whom one furnished only this story and another, both of which are considered superior to the remainder of the collection.[159] I have adopted the characters, plan, and even the language of many parts of this story. Some of the characters are modified or altered, a few of the names changed, and one character (Ida of Stralenheim) added by myself: but in the rest the original is chiefly followed. When I was young (about fourteen, I think,) I first read this tale, which made a deep impression upon me; and may, indeed, be said to contain the germ of much that I have since written. I am not sure that it ever was very popular; or, at any rate, its popularity has since been eclipsed by that of other great writers in the same department. But I have generally found that those who had read it, agreed with me in their estimate of the singular power of mind and conception which it developes. I should also add conception, rather than execution; for the story might, perhaps, have been developed with greater advantage. Amongst those whose opinions agreed with mine upon this story, I could mention some very high names: but it is not necessary, nor indeed of any use; for every one must judge according to his own feelings. I merely refer the reader to the original story, that he may see to what extent I have borrowed from it; and am not unwilling that he should find much greater pleasure in perusing it than the drama which is founded upon its contents.

I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as 1815, (the first I ever attempted, except one at thirteen years old, called "Ulric and Ilvina," which I had sense enough to burn,) and had nearly completed an act, when I was interrupted by circumstances. This is somewhere amongst my papers in England; but as it has not been found, I have re-written the first, and added the subsequent acts.

The whole is neither intended, nor in any shape adapted, for the stage[cm].



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

WERNER. ULRIC. STRALENHEIM. IDENSTEIN. GABOR. FRITZ. HENRICK. ERIC. ARNHEIM. MEISTER. RODOLPH. LUDWIG.

WOMEN.

JOSEPHINE. IDA STRALENHEIM.

SCENE—Partly on the Frontier of Silesia, and partly in Siegendorf Castle, near Prague.

Time—The Close of the Thirty Years' War[160].



WERNER; OR, THE INHERITANCE.



ACT I.

SCENE I.—The Hall of a decayed Palace near a small Town on the Northern Frontier of Silesia—the Night tempestuous.

WERNER and JOSEPHINE, his Wife.

Jos. My love, be calmer!

Wer. I am calm.

Jos. To me— Yes, but not to thyself: thy pace is hurried, And no one walks a chamber like to ours, With steps like thine, when his heart is at rest. Were it a garden, I should deem thee happy, And stepping with the bee from flower to flower; But here!

Wer. 'Tis chill; the tapestry lets through The wind to which it waves: my blood is frozen.

Jos. Ah, no!

Wer. (smiling). Why! wouldst thou have it so?

Jos. I would Have it a healthful current.

Wer. Let it flow 10 Until 'tis spilt or checked—how soon, I care not.

Jos. And am I nothing in thy heart?

Wer. All—all.

Jos. Then canst thou wish for that which must break mine?

Wer. (approaching her slowly). But for thee I had been—no matter what— But much of good and evil; what I am, Thou knowest; what I might or should have been, Thou knowest not: but still I love thee, nor Shall aught divide us. [WERNER walks on abruptly, and then approaches JOSEPHINE. The storm of the night, Perhaps affects me; I'm a thing of feelings, And have of late been sickly, as, alas! 20 Thou know'st by sufferings more than mine, my Love! In watching me.

Jos. To see thee well is much— To see thee happy——

Wer. Where hast thou seen such? Let me be wretched with the rest!

Jos. But think How many in this hour of tempest shiver Beneath the biting wind and heavy rain, Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth, Which hath no chamber for them save beneath Her surface.

Wer. And that's not the worst: who cares For chambers? rest is all. The wretches whom 30 Thou namest—aye, the wind howls round them, and The dull and dropping rain saps in their bones The creeping marrow. I have been a soldier, A hunter, and a traveller, and am A beggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of.

Jos. And art thou not now sheltered from them all? Wer. Yes. And from these alone.

Jos. And that is something.

Wer. True—to a peasant.[cn]

Jos. Should the nobly born Be thankless for that refuge which their habits Of early delicacy render more 40 Needful than to the peasant, when the ebb Of fortune leaves them on the shoals of life?

Wer. It is not that, thou know'st it is not: we Have borne all this, I'll not say patiently, Except in thee—but we have borne it.

Jos. Well?

Wer. Something beyond our outward sufferings (though These were enough to gnaw into our souls) Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now. When, but for this untoward sickness, which Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and 50 Hath wasted, not alone my strength, but means, And leaves us—no! this is beyond me!—but For this I had been happy—thou been happy— The splendour of my rank sustained—my name— My father's name—been still upheld; and, more Than those——

Jos. (abruptly). My son—our son—our Ulric, Been clasped again in these long-empty arms, And all a mother's hunger satisfied. Twelve years! he was but eight then:—beautiful He was, and beautiful he must be now, 60 My Ulric! my adored!

Wer. I have been full oft The chase of Fortune; now she hath o'ertaken My spirit where it cannot turn at bay,— Sick, poor, and lonely.

Jos. Lonely! my dear husband?

Wer. Or worse—involving all I love, in this Far worse than solitude. Alone, I had died, And all been over in a nameless grave.

Jos. And I had not outlived thee; but pray take Comfort! We have struggled long; and they who strive With Fortune win or weary her at last, 70 So that they find the goal or cease to feel Further. Take comfort,—we shall find our boy.

Wer. We were in sight of him, of every thing Which could bring compensation for past sorrow— And to be baffled thus!

Jos. We are not baffled.

Wer. Are we not penniless?

Jos. We ne'er were wealthy.

Wer. But I was born to wealth, and rank, and power; Enjoyed them, loved them, and, alas! abused them, And forfeited them by my father's wrath, In my o'er-fervent youth: but for the abuse 80 Long-sufferings have atoned. My father's death Left the path open, yet not without snares. This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long Kept his eye on me, as the snake upon The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me, Become the master of my rights, and lord Of that which lifts him up to princes in Dominion and domain.

Jos. Who knows? our son May have returned back to his grandsire, and Even now uphold thy rights for thee?

Wer. 'Tis hopeless. 90 Since his strange disappearance from my father's, Entailing, as it were, my sins upon Himself, no tidings have revealed his course. I parted with him to his grandsire, on The promise that his anger would stop short Of the third generation; but Heaven seems To claim her stern prerogative, and visit Upon my boy his father's faults and follies.

Jos. I must hope better still,—at least we have yet Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. 100

Wer. We should have done, but for this fatal sickness;— More fatal than a mortal malady, Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace: Even now I feel my spirit girt about By the snares of this avaricious fiend:— How do I know he hath not tracked us here?

Jos. He does not know thy person; and his spies, Who so long watched thee, have been left at Hamburgh. Our unexpected journey, and this change Of name, leaves all discovery far behind: 110 None hold us here for aught save what we seem.

Wer. Save what we seem! save what we are—sick beggars, Even to our very hopes.—Ha! ha!

Jos. Alas! That bitter laugh!

Wer. Who would read in this form The high soul of the son of a long line? Who, in this garb, the heir of princely lands? Who, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride Of rank and ancestry? In this worn cheek And famine-hollowed brow, the Lord of halls Which daily feast a thousand vassals?

Jos. You 120 Pondered not thus upon these worldly things, My Werner! when you deigned to choose for bride The foreign daughter of a wandering exile.

Wer. An exile's daughter with an outcast son, Were a fit marriage: but I still had hopes To lift thee to the state we both were born for. Your father's house was noble, though decayed; And worthy by its birth to match with ours.

Jos. Your father did not think so, though 'twas noble; But had my birth been all my claim to match 130 With thee, I should have deemed it what it is.

Wer. And what is that in thine eyes?

Jos. All which it Has done in our behalf,—nothing.

Wer. How,—nothing?

Jos. Or worse; for it has been a canker in Thy heart from the beginning: but for this, We had not felt our poverty but as Millions of myriads feel it—cheerfully; But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers, Thou mightst have earned thy bread, as thousands earn it; Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce, 140 Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes.

Wer. (ironically). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent!

Jos. Whate'er thou mightest have been, to me thou art What no state high or low can ever change, My heart's first choice;—which chose thee, knowing neither Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy sorrows: While they last, let me comfort or divide them: When they end—let mine end with them, or thee!

Wer. My better angel! Such I have ever found thee; This rashness, or this weakness of my temper, 150 Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine. Thou didst not mar my fortunes: my own nature In youth was such as to unmake an empire, Had such been my inheritance; but now, Chastened, subdued, out-worn, and taught to know Myself,—to lose this for our son and thee! Trust me, when, in my two-and-twentieth spring, My father barred me from my father's house, The last sole scion of a thousand sires (For I was then the last), it hurt me less 160 Than to behold my boy and my boy's mother Excluded in their innocence from what My faults deserved-exclusion; although then My passions were all living serpents,[161] and Twined like the Gorgon's round me. [A loud knocking is heard.

Jos. Hark!

Wer. A knocking!

Jos. Who can it be at this lone hour? We have Few visitors.

Wer. And poverty hath none, Save those who come to make it poorer still. Well—I am prepared.

[WERNER puts his hand into his bosom, as if to search for some weapon.

Jos. Oh! do not look so. I Will to the door. It cannot be of import 170 In this lone spot of wintry desolation:— The very desert saves man from mankind. [She goes to the door.

Enter IDENSTEIN.

Iden. A fair good evening to my fair hostess And worthy——What's your name, my friend?

Wer. Are you Not afraid to demand it?

Iden. Not afraid? Egad! I am afraid. You look as if I asked for something better than your name, By the face you put on it.

Wer. Better, sir!

Iden. Better or worse, like matrimony: what Shall I say more? You have been a guest this month 180 Here in the prince's palace—(to be sure, His Highness had resigned it to the ghosts And rats these twelve years—but 'tis still a palace)— I say you have been our lodger, and as yet We do not know your name.

Wer. My name is Werner[162].

Iden. A goodly name, a very worthy name, As e'er was gilt upon a trader's board: I have a cousin in the lazaretto Of Hamburgh, who has got a wife who bore The same. He is an officer of trust, 190 Surgeon's assistant (hoping to be surgeon), And has done miracles i' the way of business. Perhaps you are related to my relative?

Wer. To yours?

Jos. Oh, yes; we are, but distantly. (Aside to WERNER.) Cannot you humour the dull gossip till We learn his purpose?

Iden. Well, I'm glad of that; I thought so all along, such natural yearnings Played round my heart:—blood is not water, cousin; And so let's have some wine, and drink unto Our better acquaintance: relatives should be 200 Friends.

Wer. You appear to have drunk enough already; And if you have not, I've no wine to offer, Else it were yours: but this you know, or should know: You see I am poor, and sick, and will not see That I would be alone; but to your business! What brings you here?

Iden. Why, what should bring me here?

Wer. I know not, though I think that I could guess That which will send you hence.

Jos. (aside). Patience, dear Werner!

Iden. You don't know what has happened, then?

Jos. How should we?

Iden. The river has o'erflowed.

Jos. Alas! we have known 210 That to our sorrow for these five days; since It keeps us here.

Iden. But what you don't know is, That a great personage, who fain would cross Against the stream and three postilions' wishes, Is drowned below the ford, with five post-horses, A monkey, and a mastiff—and a valet[163].

Jos. Poor creatures! are you sure?

Iden. Yes, of the monkey, And the valet, and the cattle; but as yet We know not if his Excellency's dead Or no; your noblemen are hard to drown, 220 As it is fit that men in office should be; But what is certain is, that he has swallowed Enough of the Oder[164] to have burst two peasants; And now a Saxon and Hungarian traveller, Who, at their proper peril, snatched him from The whirling river, have sent on to crave A lodging, or a grave, according as It may turn out with the live or dead body.

Jos. And where will you receive him? here, I hope, If we can be of service—say the word. 230

Iden. Here? no; but in the Prince's own apartment, As fits a noble guest:—'tis damp, no doubt, Not having been inhabited these twelve years; But then he comes from a much damper place, So scarcely will catch cold in't, if he be Still liable to cold—and if not, why He'll be worse lodged to-morrow: ne'ertheless, I have ordered fire and all appliances To be got ready for the worst—that is, In case he should survive.

Jos. Poor gentleman! 240 I hope he will, with all my heart.

Wer. Intendant, Have you not learned his name? (Aside to his wife.) My Josephine, Retire: I'll sift this fool. [Exit JOSEPHINE.

Iden. His name? oh Lord! Who knows if he hath now a name or no? 'Tis time enough to ask it when he's able To give an answer; or if not, to put His heir's upon his epitaph. Methought Just now you chid me for demanding names?

Wer. True, true, I did so: you say well and wisely.

Enter GABOR.[165]

Gab. If I intrude, I crave——

Iden. Oh, no intrusion! 250 This is the palace; this a stranger like Yourself; I pray you make yourself at home: But where's his Excellency? and how fares he?

Gab. Wetly and wearily, but out of peril: He paused to change his garments in a cottage (Where I doffed mine for these, and came on hither), And has almost recovered from his drenching. He will be here anon.

Iden. What ho, there! bustle! Without there, Herman, Weilburg, Peter, Conrad! [Gives directions to different servants who enter. A nobleman sleeps here to-night—see that 260 All is in order in the damask chamber— Keep up the stove—I will myself to the cellar— And Madame Idenstein (my consort, stranger,) Shall furnish forth the bed-apparel; for, To say the truth, they are marvellous scant of this Within the palace precincts, since his Highness Left it some dozen years ago. And then His Excellency will sup, doubtless?

Gab. Faith! I cannot tell; but I should think the pillow Would please him better than the table, after 270 His soaking in your river: but for fear Your viands should be thrown away, I mean To sup myself, and have a friend without Who will do honour to your good cheer with A traveller's appetite.

Iden. But are you sure His Excellency——But his name: what is it?

Gab. I do not know.

Iden. And yet you saved his life.

Gab. I helped my friend to do so.

Iden. Well, that's strange, To save a man's life whom you do not know.

Gab. Not so; for there are some I know so well, 280 I scarce should give myself the trouble.

Iden. Pray, Good friend, and who may you be?

Gab. By my family, Hungarian.

Iden. Which is called?

Gab. It matters little.

Iden. (aside). I think that all the world are grown anonymous, Since no one cares to tell me what he's called! Pray, has his Excellency a large suite?

Gab. Sufficient.

Iden. How many?

Gab. I did not count them. We came up by mere accident, and just In time to drag him through his carriage window.

Iden. Well, what would I give to save a great man! 290 No doubt you'll have a swingeing sum as recompense.

Gab. Perhaps.

Iden. Now, how much do you reckon on?

Gab. I have not yet put up myself to sale: In the mean time, my best reward would be A glass of your[166] Hockcheimer—a green glass, Wreathed with rich grapes and Bacchanal devices, O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage: For which I promise you, in case you e'er Run hazard of being drowned, (although I own It seems, of all deaths, the least likely for you,) 300 I'll pull you out for nothing. Quick, my friend, And think, for every bumper I shall quaff, A wave the less may roll above your head.

Iden. (aside). I don't much like this fellow—close and dry He seems,—two things which suit me not; however, Wine he shall have; if that unlocks him not, I shall not sleep to-night for curiosity. [Exit IDENSTEIN.

Gab. (to WERNER). This master of the ceremonies is The intendant of the palace, I presume: 'Tis a fine building, but decayed.

Wer. The apartment 310 Designed for him you rescued will be found In fitter order for a sickly guest.

Gab. I wonder then you occupied it not, For you seem delicate in health.

Wer. (quickly). Sir!

Gab. Pray Excuse me: have I said aught to offend you?

Wer. Nothing: but we are strangers to each other.

Gab. And that's the reason I would have us less so: I thought our bustling guest without had said You were a chance and passing guest, the counterpart Of me and my companions.

Wer. Very true. 320

Gab. Then, as we never met before, and never, It may be, may again encounter, why, I thought to cheer up this old dungeon here (At least to me) by asking you to share The fare of my companions and myself.

Wer. Pray, pardon me; my health——

Gab. Even as you please. I have been a soldier, and perhaps am blunt In bearing.

Wer. I have also served, and can Requite a soldier's greeting.

Gab. In what service? The Imperial?

Wer. (quickly, and then interrupting himself). I commanded—no—I mean 330 I served; but it is many years ago, When first Bohemia[167] raised her banner 'gainst The Austrian.

Gab. Well, that's over now, and peace Has turned some thousand gallant hearts adrift To live as they best may: and, to say truth, Some take the shortest.

Wer. What is that?

Gab. Whate'er They lay their hands on. All Silesia and Lusatia's woods are tenanted by bands Of the late troops, who levy on the country Their maintenance: the Chatelains must keep 340 Their castle walls—beyond them 'tis but doubtful Travel for your rich Count or full-blown Baron. My comfort is that, wander where I may, I've little left to lose now.

Wer. And I—nothing.

Gab. That's harder still. You say you were a soldier.

Wer. I was.

Gab. You look one still. All soldiers are Or should be comrades, even though enemies. Our swords when drawn must cross, our engines aim (While levelled) at each other's hearts; but when A truce, a peace, or what you will, remits 350 The steel into its scabbard, and lets sleep The spark which lights the matchlock, we are brethren. You are poor and sickly—I am not rich, but healthy; I want for nothing which I cannot want; You seem devoid of this—wilt share it? [GABOR pulls out his purse.

Wer. Who Told you I was a beggar?

Gab. You yourself, In saying you were a soldier during peace-time.

Wer. (looking at him with suspicion). You know me not.

Gab. I know no man, not even Myself: how should I then know one I ne'er Beheld till half an hour since?

Wer. Sir, I thank you. 360 Your offer's noble were it to a friend, And not unkind as to an unknown stranger, Though scarcely prudent; but no less I thank you. I am a beggar in all save his trade; And when I beg of any one, it shall be Of him who was the first to offer what Few can obtain by asking. Pardon me. [Exit WERNER.

Gab. (solus). A goodly fellow by his looks, though worn As most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure, Which tear life out of us before our time; 370 I scarce know which most quickly: but he seems To have seen better days, as who has not Who has seen yesterday?—But here approaches Our sage intendant, with the wine: however, For the cup's sake I'll bear the cupbearer.

Enter IDENSTEIN.

Iden. 'Tis here! the supernaculum![168] twenty years Of age, if 'tis a day.

Gab. Which epoch makes Young women and old wine; and 'tis great pity, Of two such excellent things, increase of years, Which still improves the one, should spoil the other. 380 Fill full—Here's to our hostess!—your fair wife! [Takes the glass.

Iden. Fair!—Well, I trust your taste in wine is equal To that you show for beauty; but I pledge you Nevertheless.

Gab. Is not the lovely woman I met in the adjacent hall, who, with An air, and port, and eye, which would have better Beseemed this palace in its brightest days (Though in a garb adapted to its present Abandonment), returned my salutation— Is not the same your spouse?

Iden. I would she were! 390 But you're mistaken:—that's the stranger's wife.

Gab. And by her aspect she might be a Prince's; Though time hath touched her too, she still retains Much beauty, and more majesty.

Iden. And that Is more than I can say for Madame Idenstein, At least in beauty: as for majesty, She has some of its properties which might Be spared—but never mind!

Gab. I don't. But who May be this stranger? He too hath a bearing Above his outward fortunes.

Iden. There I differ. 400 He's poor as Job, and not so patient; but Who he may be, or what, or aught of him, Except his name (and that I only learned To-night), I know not.

Gab. But how came he here?

Iden. In a most miserable old caleche, About a month since, and immediately Fell sick, almost to death. He should have died.

Gab. Tender and true!—but why?

Iden. Why, what is life Without a living? He has not a stiver.[co]

Gab. In that case, I much wonder that a person 410 Of your apparent prudence should admit Guests so forlorn into this noble mansion.

Iden. That's true: but pity, as you know, does make One's heart commit these follies; and besides, They had some valuables left at that time, Which paid their way up to the present hour; And so I thought they might as well be lodged Here as at the small tavern, and I gave them The run of some of the oldest palace rooms. They served to air them, at the least as long 420 As they could pay for firewood.

Gab. Poor souls!

Iden. Aye, Exceeding poor.

Gab. And yet unused to poverty, If I mistake not. Whither were they going?

Iden. Oh! Heaven knows where, unless to Heaven itself. Some days ago that looked the likeliest journey For Werner.

Gab. Werner! I have heard the name. But it may be a feigned one.

Iden. Like enough! But hark! a noise of wheels and voices, and A blaze of torches from without. As sure As destiny, his Excellency's come. 430 I must be at my post; will you not join me, To help him from his carriage, and present Your humble duty at the door?

Gab. I dragged him From out that carriage when he would have given His barony or county to repel The rushing river from his gurgling throat. He has valets now enough: they stood aloof then, Shaking their dripping ears upon the shore, All roaring "Help!" but offering none; and as For duty (as you call it)—I did mine then, 440 Now do yours. Hence, and bow and cringe him here!

Iden. I cringe!—but I shall lose the opportunity— Plague take it! he'll be here, and I not there! [Exit IDENSTEIN hastily.

Re-enter WERNER.

Wer. (to himself). I heard a noise of wheels and voices. How All sounds now jar me! [Perceiving GABOR. Still here! Is he not A spy of my pursuer's? His frank offer So suddenly, and to a stranger, wore The aspect of a secret enemy; For friends are slow at such.

Gab. Sir, you seem rapt; And yet the time is not akin to thought. 450 These old walls will be noisy soon. The baron, Or count (or whatsoe'er this half drowned noble May be), for whom this desolate village and Its lone inhabitants show more respect Than did the elements, is come.

Iden. (without). This way— This way, your Excellency:—have a care, The staircase is a little gloomy, and Somewhat decayed; but if we had expected So high a guest—Pray take my arm, my Lord!

Enter STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, and Attendants—partly his own, and partly Retainers of the Domain of which IDENSTEIN is Intendant.

Stral. I'll rest here a moment.

Iden. (to the servants). Ho! a chair! 460 Instantly, knaves. [STRALENHEIM sits down.

Wer. (aside). Tis he!

Stral. I'm better now. Who are these strangers?

Iden. Please you, my good Lord, One says he is no stranger.

Wer. (aloud and hastily). Who says that? [They look at him with surprise.

Iden. Why, no one spoke of you, or to you!—but Here's one his Excellency may be pleased To recognise. [Pointing to GABOR.

Gab. I seek not to disturb His noble memory.

Stral. I apprehend This is one of the strangers to whose aid[cp] I owe my rescue. Is not that the other? [Pointing to WERNER. My state when I was succoured must excuse 470 My uncertainty to whom I owe so much.

Iden. He!—no, my Lord! he rather wants for rescue Than can afford it. 'Tis a poor sick man, Travel-tired, and lately risen from a bed From whence he never dreamed to rise.

Stral. Methought That there were two.

Gab. There were, in company; But, in the service rendered to your Lordship, I needs must say but one, and he is absent. The chief part of whatever aid was rendered Was his: it was his fortune to be first. 480 My will was not inferior, but his strength And youth outstripped me; therefore do not waste Your thanks on me. I was but a glad second Unto a nobler principal.

Stral. Where is he?

An Atten. My Lord, he tarried in the cottage where Your Excellency rested for an hour, And said he would be here to-morrow.

Stral. Till That hour arrives, I can but offer thanks, And then——

Gab. I seek no more, and scarce deserve So much. My comrade may speak for himself. 490

Stral. (fixing his eyes upon WERNER: then aside). It cannot be! and yet he must be looked to. 'Tis twenty years since I beheld him with These eyes; and, though my agents still have kept Theirs on him, policy has held aloof My own from his, not to alarm him into Suspicion of my plan. Why did I leave At Hamburgh those who would have made assurance If this be he or no? I thought, ere now, To have been lord of Siegendorf, and parted In haste, though even the elements appear 500 To fight against me, and this sudden flood May keep me prisoner here till—— [He pauses and looks at WERNER: then resumes. This man must Be watched. If it is he, he is so changed, His father, rising from his grave again, Would pass by him unknown. I must be wary: An error would spoil all.

Iden. Your Lordship seems Pensive. Will it not please you to pass on?

Stral. 'Tis past fatigue, which gives my weighed-down spirit An outward show of thought. I will to rest.

Iden. The Prince's chamber is prepared, with all 510 The very furniture the Prince used when Last here, in its full splendour. (Aside). Somewhat tattered, And devilish damp, but fine enough by torch-light; And that's enough for your right noble blood Of twenty quarterings upon a hatchment; So let their bearer sleep 'neath something like one Now, as he one day will for ever lie.

Stral. (rising and turning to GABOR). Good night, good people! Sir, I trust to-morrow Will find me apter to requite your service. In the meantime I crave your company 520 A moment in my chamber.

Gab. I attend you.

Stral, (after a few steps, pauses, and calls WERNER). Friend!

Wer. Sir!

Iden. Sir! Lord—oh Lord! Why don't you say His Lordship, or his Excellency? Pray, My Lord, excuse this poor man's want of breeding: He hath not been accustomed to admission To such a presence.

Stral. (to IDENSTEIN). Peace, intendant!

Iden. Oh! I am dumb.

Stral. (to WERNER). Have you been long here?

Wer. Long?

Stral. I sought An answer, not an echo.

Wer. You may seek Both from the walls. I am not used to answer Those whom I know not.

Stral. Indeed! Ne'er the less, 530 You might reply with courtesy to what Is asked in kindness.

Wer. When I know it such I will requite—that is, reply—in unison.

Stral. The intendant said, you had been detained by sickness— If I could aid you—journeying the same way?

Wer. (quickly). I am not journeying the same way!

Stral. How know ye That, ere you know my route?

Wer. Because there is But one way that the rich and poor must tread Together. You diverged from that dread path Some hours ago, and I some days: henceforth 540 Our roads must lie asunder, though they tend All to one home.

Stral. Your language is above Your station.

Wer. (bitterly). Is it?

Stral. Or, at least, beyond Your garb.

Wer. 'Tis well that it is not beneath it, As sometimes happens to the better clad. But, in a word, what would you with me?

Stral. (startled). I?

Wer. Yes—you! You know me not, and question me, And wonder that I answer not—not knowing My inquisitor. Explain what you would have, And then I'll satisfy yourself, or me. 550

Stral. I knew not that you had reasons for reserve.

Wer. Many have such:—Have you none?

Stral. None which can Interest a mere stranger.

Wer. Then forgive The same unknown and humble stranger, if He wishes to remain so to the man Who can have nought in common with him.

Stral. Sir, I will not balk your humour, though untoward: I only meant you service—but good night! Intendant, show the way! (To GABOR.) Sir, you will with me? [Exeunt STRALENHEIM and Attendants; IDENSTEIN and GABOR.

Wer. (solus). 'Tis he! I am taken in the toils. Before 560 I quitted Hamburg, Giulio, his late steward, Informed me, that he had obtained an order From Brandenburg's elector, for the arrest Of Kruitzner (such the name I then bore) when I came upon the frontier; the free city Alone preserved my freedom—till I left Its walls—fool that I was to quit them! But I deemed this humble garb, and route obscure, Had baffled the slow hounds in their pursuit. What's to be done? He knows me not by person; 570 Nor could aught, save the eye of apprehension, Have recognised him, after twenty years— We met so rarely and so coldly in Our youth. But those about him! Now I can Divine the frankness of the Hungarian, who No doubt is a mere tool and spy of Stralenheim's, To sound and to secure me. Without means! Sick, poor—begirt too with the flooding rivers, Impassable even to the wealthy, with All the appliances which purchase modes 580 Of overpowering peril, with men's lives,— How can I hope! An hour ago methought My state beyond despair; and now, 'tis such, The past seems paradise. Another day, And I'm detected,—on the very eve Of honours, rights, and my inheritance, When a few drops of gold might save me still In favouring an escape.

Enter IDENSTEIN and FRITZ in conversation.

Fritz. Immediately.

Iden. I tell you, 'tis impossible.

Fritz. It must Be tried, however; and if one express 590 Fail, you must send on others, till the answer Arrives from Frankfort, from the commandant.

Iden. I will do what I can.

Fritz. And recollect To spare no trouble; you will be repaid Tenfold.

Iden. The Baron is retired to rest?

Fritz. He hath thrown himself into an easy chair Beside the fire, and slumbers; and has ordered He may not be disturbed until eleven, When he will take himself to bed.

Iden. Before An hour is past I'll do my best to serve him. 600

Fritz. Remember! [Exit FRITZ.

Iden. The devil take these great men! they Think all things made for them. Now here must I Rouse up some half a dozen shivering vassals From their scant pallets, and, at peril of Their lives, despatch them o'er the river towards Frankfort. Methinks the Baron's own experience Some hours ago might teach him fellow-feeling: But no, "it must" and there's an end. How now? Are you there, Mynheer Werner?

Wer. You have left Your noble guest right quickly.

Iden. Yes—he's dozing, 610 And seems to like that none should sleep besides. Here is a packet for the Commandant Of Frankfort, at all risks and all expenses; But I must not lose time: Good night! [Exit IDEN.

Wer. "To Frankfort!" So, so, it thickens! Aye, "the Commandant!" This tallies well with all the prior steps Of this cool, calculating fiend, who walks Between me and my father's house. No doubt He writes for a detachment to convey me Into some secret fortress.—Sooner than 620 This—— [WERNER looks around, and snatches up a knife lying on a table in a recess. Now I am master of myself at least. Hark,—footsteps! How do I know that Stralenheim Will wait for even the show of that authority Which is to overshadow usurpation? That he suspects me 's certain. I'm alone— He with a numerous train: I weak—he strong In gold, in numbers, rank, authority. I nameless, or involving in my name Destruction, till I reach my own domain; He full-blown with his titles, which impose 630 Still further on these obscure petty burghers Than they could do elsewhere. Hark! nearer still! I'll to the secret passage, which communicates With the——No! all is silent—'twas my fancy!— Still as the breathless interval between The flash and thunder:—I must hush my soul Amidst its perils. Yet I will retire, To see if still be unexplored the passage I wot of: it will serve me as a den Of secrecy for some hours, at the worst. 640 [WERNER draws a panel, and exit, closing it after him.

Enter GABOR and JOSEPHINE.

Gab. Where is your husband?

Jos. Here, I thought: I left him Not long since in his chamber. But these rooms Have many outlets, and he may be gone To accompany the Intendant.

Gab. Baron Stralenheim Put many questions to the Intendant on The subject of your lord, and, to be plain, I have my doubts if he means well.

Jos. Alas! What can there be in common with the proud And wealthy Baron, and the unknown Werner?

Gab. That you know best.

Jos. Or, if it were so, how 650 Come you to stir yourself in his behalf, Rather than that of him whose life you saved?

Gab. I helped to save him, as in peril; but I did not pledge myself to serve him in Oppression. I know well these nobles, and Their thousand modes of trampling on the poor. I have proved them; and my spirit boils up when I find them practising against the weak:— This is my only motive.

Jos. It would be Not easy to persuade my consort of 660 Your good intentions.

Gab. Is he so suspicious?

Jos. He was not once; but time and troubles have Made him what you beheld.

Gab. I'm sorry for it. Suspicion is a heavy armour, and With its own weight impedes more than protects. Good night! I trust to meet with him at day-break. [Exit GABOR.

Re-enter IDENSTEIN and some Peasants. JOSEPHINE retires up the Hall.

First Peasant. But if I'm drowned?

Iden. Why, you will be well paid for 't, And have risked more than drowning for as much, I doubt not.

Second Peasant. But our wives and families?

Iden. Cannot be worse off than they are, and may 670 Be better.

Third Peasant. I have neither, and will venture.

Iden. That's right. A gallant carle, and fit to be A soldier. I'll promote you to the ranks In the Prince's body-guard—if you succeed: And you shall have besides, in sparkling coin, Two thalers.

Third Peasant. No more!

Iden. Out upon your avarice! Can that low vice alloy so much ambition? I tell thee, fellow, that two thalers in Small change will subdivide into a treasure. Do not five hundred thousand heroes daily 680 Risk lives and souls for the tithe of one thaler? When had you half the sum?

Third Peasant. Never—but ne'er The less I must have three.

Iden. Have you forgot Whose vassal you were born, knave?

Third Peasant. No—the Prince's, And not the stranger's.

Iden. Sirrah! in the Prince's Absence, I am sovereign; and the Baron is My intimate connection;—"Cousin Idenstein! (Quoth he) you'll order out a dozen villains." And so, you villains! troop—march—march, I say; And if a single dog's ear of this packet 690 Be sprinkled by the Oder—look to it! For every page of paper, shall a hide Of yours be stretched as parchment on a drum, Like Ziska's skin,[169] to beat alarm to all Refractory vassals, who can not effect Impossibilities.—Away, ye earth-worms! [Exit, driving them out.

Jos. (coming forward). I fain would shun these scenes, too oft repeated, Of feudal tyranny o'er petty victims; I cannot aid, and will not witness such. Even here, in this remote, unnamed, dull spot, 700 The dimmest in the district's map, exist The insolence of wealth in poverty O'er something poorer still—the pride of rank In servitude, o'er something still more servile; And vice in misery affecting still A tattered splendour. What a state of being! In Tuscany, my own dear sunny land, Our nobles were but citizens and merchants,[170] Like Cosmo. We had evils, but not such As these; and our all-ripe and gushing valleys 710 Made poverty more cheerful, where each herb Was in itself a meal, and every vine Rained, as it were, the beverage which makes glad The heart of man; and the ne'er unfelt sun (But rarely clouded, and when clouded, leaving His warmth behind in memory of his beams) Makes the worn mantle, and the thin robe, less Oppressive than an emperor's jewelled purple. But, here! the despots of the north appear To imitate the ice-wind of their clime, 720 Searching the shivering vassal through his rags, To wring his soul—as the bleak elements His form. And 'tis to be amongst these sovereigns My husband pants! and such his pride of birth— That twenty years of usage, such as no Father born in a humble state could nerve His soul to persecute a son withal, Hath changed no atom of his early nature; But I, born nobly also, from my father's Kindness was taught a different lesson. Father! 730 May thy long-tried and now rewarded spirit Look down on us and our so long desired Ulric! I love my son, as thou didst me! What's that? Thou, Werner! can it be? and thus?

Enter WERNER hastily, with the knife in his hand, by the secret panel, which he closes hurriedly after him.

Wer. (not at first recognising her). Discovered! then I'll stab—(recognising her). Ah! Josephine Why art thou not at rest?

Jos. What rest? My God! What doth this mean?

Wer. (showing a rouleau). Here's gold—gold, Josephine, Will rescue us from this detested dungeon.

Jos. And how obtained?—that knife!

Wer. 'Tis bloodless—yet. Away—we must to our chamber.

Jos. But whence comest thou? 740

Wer. Ask not! but let us think where we shall go— This—this will make us way—(showing the gold)—I'll fit them now.

Jos. I dare not think thee guilty of dishonour.

Wer. Dishonour!

Jos. I have said it.

Wer. Let us hence: 'Tis the last night, I trust, that we need pass here.

Jos. And not the worst, I hope.

Wer. Hope! I make sure. But let us to our chamber.

Jos. Yet one question— What hast thou done?

Wer. (fiercely). Left one thing undone, which Had made all well: let me not think of it! Away!

Jos. Alas that I should doubt of thee! 750 [Exeunt.



ACT II.

SCENE I.—A Hall in the same Palace.

Enter IDENSTEIN and Others.

Iden. Fine doings! goodly doings! honest doings! A Baron pillaged in a Prince's palace! Where, till this hour, such a sin ne'er was heard of.

Fritz. It hardly could, unless the rats despoiled The mice of a few shreds of tapestry.

Iden. Oh! that I e'er should live to see this day! The honour of our city's gone for ever.

Fritz. Well, but now to discover the delinquent: The Baron is determined not to lose This sum without a search.

Iden. And so am I. 10

Fritz. But whom do you suspect?

Iden. Suspect! all people Without—within—above—below—Heaven help me!

Fritz. Is there no other entrance to the chamber?

Iden. None whatsoever.

Fritz. Are you sure of that?

Iden. Certain. I have lived and served here since my birth, And if there were such, must have heard of such, Or seen it.

Fritz. Then it must be some one who Had access to the antechamber.

Iden. Doubtless.

Fritz. The man called Werner's poor!

Iden. Poor as a miser[171]. But lodged so far off, in the other wing, 20 By which there's no communication with The baron's chamber, that it can't be he. Besides, I bade him "good night" in the hall, Almost a mile off, and which only leads To his own apartment, about the same time When this burglarious, larcenous felony Appears to have been committed.

Fritz. There's another, The stranger——

Iden. The Hungarian?

Fritz. He who helped To fish the baron from the Oder.

Iden. Not Unlikely. But, hold—might it not have been 30 One of the suite?

Fritz. How? We, sir!

Iden. No—not you, But some of the inferior knaves. You say The Baron was asleep in the great chair— The velvet chair—in his embroidered night-gown; His toilet spread before him, and upon it A cabinet with letters, papers, and Several rouleaux of gold; of which one only Has disappeared:—the door unbolted, with No difficult access to any.

Fritz. Good sir, Be not so quick; the honour of the corps 40 Which forms the Baron's household's unimpeached From steward to scullion, save in the fair way Of peculation; such as in accompts, Weights, measures, larder, cellar, buttery, Where all men take their prey; as also in Postage of letters, gathering of rents, Purveying feasts, and understanding with The honest trades who furnish noble masters[cq]; But for your petty, picking, downright thievery, We scorn it as we do board wages. Then 50 Had one of our folks done it, he would not Have been so poor a spirit as to hazard His neck for one rouleau, but have swooped all; Also the cabinet, if portable.

Iden. There is some sense in that——

Fritz. No, Sir, be sure 'Twas none of our corps; but some petty, trivial Picker and stealer, without art or genius. The only question is—Who else could have Access, save the Hungarian and yourself?

Iden. You don't mean me?

Fritz. No, sir; I honour more 60 Your talents——

Iden. And my principles, I hope.

Fritz. Of course. But to the point: What's to be done?

Iden. Nothing—but there's a good deal to be said. We'll offer a reward; move heaven and earth, And the police (though there's none nearer than Frankfort); post notices in manuscript (For we've no printer); and set by my clerk To read them (for few can, save he and I). We'll send out villains to strip beggars, and Search empty pockets; also, to arrest 70 All gipsies, and ill-clothed and sallow people. Prisoners we'll have at least, if not the culprit; And for the Baron's gold—if 'tis not found, At least he shall have the full satisfaction Of melting twice its substance in the raising The ghost of this rouleau. Here's alchemy For your Lord's losses!

Fritz. He hath found a better.

Iden. Where?

Fritz. In a most immense inheritance. The late Count Siegendorf, his distant kinsman, Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my Lord 80 Is on his way to take possession.

Iden. Was there No heir?

Fritz. Oh, yes; but he has disappeared Long from the world's eye, and, perhaps, the world. A prodigal son, beneath his father's ban For the last twenty years; for whom his sire Refused to kill the fatted calf; and, therefore, If living, he must chew the husks still. But The Baron would find means to silence him, Were he to re-appear: he's politic, And has much influence with a certain court. 90

Iden. He's fortunate.

Fritz. 'Tis true, there is a grandson, Whom the late Count reclaimed from his son's hands, And educated as his heir; but, then, His birth is doubtful.

Iden. How so?

Fritz. His sire made A left-hand, love, imprudent sort of marriage, With an Italian exile's dark-eyed daughter: Noble, they say, too; but no match for such A house as Siegendorf's. The grandsire ill Could brook the alliance; and could ne'er be brought To see the parents, though he took the son. 100

Iden. If he's a lad of mettle, he may yet Dispute your claim, and weave a web that may Puzzle your Baron to unravel.

Fritz. Why, For mettle, he has quite enough: they say, He forms a happy mixture of his sire And grandsire's qualities,—impetuous as The former, and deep as the latter; but The strangest is, that he too disappeared Some months ago.

Iden. The devil he did!

Fritz. Why, yes: It must have been at his suggestion, at 110 An hour so critical as was the eve Of the old man's death, whose heart was broken by it.

Iden. Was there no cause assigned?

Fritz. Plenty, no doubt, And none, perhaps, the true one. Some averred It was to seek his parents; some because The old man held his spirit in so strictly (But that could scarce be, for he doted on him); A third believed he wished to serve in war, But, peace being made soon after his departure, He might have since returned, were that the motive; 120 A fourth set charitably have surmised, As there was something strange and mystic in him, That in the wild exuberance of his nature He had joined the black bands[172], who lay waste Lusatia, The mountains of Bohemia and Silesia, Since the last years of war had dwindled into A kind of general condottiero system Of bandit-warfare; each troop with its chief, And all against mankind.

Iden. That cannot be. A young heir, bred to wealth and luxury, 130 To risk his life and honours with disbanded Soldiers and desperadoes!

Fritz. Heaven best knows! But there are human natures so allied Unto the savage love of enterprise, That they will seek for peril as a pleasure. I've heard that nothing can reclaim your Indian, Or tame the tiger, though their infancy Were fed on milk and honey. After all, Your Wallenstein, your Tilly and Gustavus, Your Bannier, and your Torstenson and Weimar[173], 140 Were but the same thing upon a grand scale; And now that they are gone, and peace proclaimed, They who would follow the same pastime must Pursue it on their own account. Here comes The Baron, and the Saxon stranger, who Was his chief aid in yesterday's escape, But did not leave the cottage by the Oder Until this morning.

Enter STRALENHEIM and ULRIC.

Stral. Since you have refused All compensation, gentle stranger, save Inadequate thanks, you almost check even them, 150 Making me feel the worthlessness of words, And blush at my own barren gratitude, They seem so niggardly, compared with what Your courteous courage did in my behalf——

Ulr. I pray you press the theme no further.

Stral. But Can I not serve you? You are young, and of That mould which throws out heroes; fair in favour; Brave, I know, by my living now to say so; And, doubtlessly, with such a form and heart, Would look into the fiery eyes of War, 160 As ardently for glory as you dared An obscure death to save an unknown stranger, In an as perilous, but opposite, element. You are made for the service: I have served; Have rank by birth and soldiership, and friends, Who shall be yours. 'Tis true this pause of peace Favours such views at present scantily; But 'twill not last, men's spirits are too stirring; And, after thirty years of conflict, peace Is but a petty war, as the time shows us 170 In every forest, or a mere armed truce. War will reclaim his own; and, in the meantime, You might obtain a post, which would ensure A higher soon, and, by my influence, fail not To rise. I speak of Brandenburgh, wherein I stand well with the Elector[174]; in Bohemia, Like you, I am a stranger, and we are now Upon its frontier.

Ulr. You perceive my garb Is Saxon, and, of course, my service due To my own Sovereign. If I must decline 180 Your offer, 'tis with the same feeling which Induced it.

Stral. Why, this is mere usury! I owe my life to you, and you refuse The acquittance of the interest of the debt, To heap more obligations on me, till I bow beneath them.

Ulr. You shall say so when I claim the payment.

Stral. Well, sir, since you will not— You are nobly born?

Ulr. I have heard my kinsmen say so.

Stral. Your actions show it. Might I ask your name?

Ulr. Ulric.

Stral. Your house's?

Ulr. When I'm worthy of it, 190 I'll answer you.

Stral. (aside). Most probably an Austrian, Whom these unsettled times forbid to boast His lineage on these wild and dangerous frontiers, Where the name of his country is abhorred. [Aloud to FRITZ and IDENSTEIN. So, sirs! how have ye sped in your researches?

Iden. Indifferent well, your Excellency.

Stral. Then I am to deem the plunderer is caught?

Iden. Humph!—not exactly.

Stral. Or, at least, suspected?

Iden. Oh! for that matter, very much suspected.

Stral. Who may he be?

Iden. Why, don't you know, my Lord? 200

Stral. How should I? I was fast asleep.

Iden. And so Was I—and that's the cause I know no more Than does your Excellency.

Stral. Dolt!

Iden. Why, if Your Lordship, being robbed, don't recognise The rogue; how should I, not being robbed, identify The thief among so many? In the crowd, May it please your Excellency, your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better: 'Tis only at the bar and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features; 210 But I'll engage, that if seen there but once, Whether he be found criminal or no, His face shall be so.

Stral. (to FRITZ). Prithee, Fritz, inform me What hath been done to trace the fellow?

Fritz. Faith! My Lord, not much as yet, except conjecture.

Stral. Besides the loss (which, I must own, affects me Just now materially), I needs would find The villain out of public motives; for So dexterous a spoiler, who could creep Through my attendants, and so many peopled 220 And lighted chambers, on my rest, and snatch The gold before my scarce-closed eyes, would soon Leave bare your borough, Sir Intendant!

Iden. True; If there were aught to carry off, my Lord.

Ulr. What is all this?

Stral. You joined us but this morning, And have not heard that I was robbed last night.

Ulr. Some rumour of it reached me as I passed The outer chambers of the palace, but I know no further.

Stral. It is a strange business: The Intendant can inform you of the facts. 230

Iden. Most willingly. You see——

Stral. (impatiently). Defer your tale, Till certain of the hearer's patience.

Iden. That Can only be approved by proofs. You see——

Stral. (again interrupting him, and addressing ULRIC). In short, I was asleep upon my chair, My cabinet before me, with some gold Upon it (more than I much like to lose, Though in part only): some ingenious person Contrived to glide through all my own attendants, Besides those of the place, and bore away A hundred golden ducats, which to find 240 I would be fain, and there's an end. Perhaps You (as I still am rather faint) would add To yesterday's great obligation, this, Though slighter, yet not slight, to aid these men (Who seem but lukewarm) in recovering it?

Ulr. Most willingly, and without loss of time— (To IDENSTEIN.) Come hither, mynheer!

Iden. But so much haste bodes Right little speed, and——

Ulr. Standing motionless None; so let's march: we'll talk as we go on.

Iden. But——

Ulr. Show the spot, and then I'll answer you. 250

Fritz. I will, sir, with his Excellency's leave.

Stral. Do so, and take yon old ass with you.

Fritz. Hence!

Ulr. Come on, old oracle, expound thy riddle! [Exit with IDENSTEIN and FRITZ.

Stral. (solus). A stalwart, active, soldier-looking stripling, Handsome as Hercules ere his first labour, And with a brow of thought beyond his years When in repose, till his eye kindles up In answering yours. I wish I could engage him: I have need of some such spirits near me now, For this inheritance is worth a struggle. 260 And though I am not the man to yield without one, Neither are they who now rise up between me And my desire. The boy, they say, 's a bold one; But he hath played the truant in some hour Of freakish folly, leaving fortune to Champion his claims. That's well. The father, whom For years I've tracked, as does the blood-hound, never In sight, but constantly in scent, had put me To fault; but here I have him, and that's better. It must be he! All circumstance proclaims it; 270 And careless voices, knowing not the cause Of my enquiries, still confirm it.—Yes! The man, his bearing, and the mystery Of his arrival, and the time; the account, too, The Intendant gave (for I have not beheld her) Of his wife's dignified but foreign aspect; Besides the antipathy with which we met, As snakes and lions shrink back from each other By secret instinct that both must be foes Deadly, without being natural prey to either; 280 All—all—confirm it to my mind. However, We'll grapple, ne'ertheless. In a few hours The order comes from Frankfort, if these waters Rise not the higher (and the weather favours Their quick abatement), and I'll have him safe Within a dungeon, where he may avouch His real estate and name; and there's no harm done, Should he prove other than I deem. This robbery (Save for the actual loss) is lucky also; He's poor, and that's suspicious—he's unknown, 290 And that's defenceless.—True, we have no proofs Of guilt—but what hath he of innocence? Were he a man indifferent to my prospects, In other bearings, I should rather lay The inculpation on the Hungarian, who Hath something which I like not; and alone Of all around, except the Intendant, and The Prince's household and my own, had ingress Familiar to the chamber.

Enter GABOR.

Friend, how fare you?

Gab. As those who fare well everywhere, when they 300 Have supped and slumbered, no great matter how— And you, my Lord?

Stral. Better in rest than purse: Mine inn is like to cost me dear.

Gab. I heard Of your late loss; but 'tis a trifle to One of your order.

Stral. You would hardly think so, Were the loss yours.

Gab. I never had so much (At once) in my whole life, and therefore am not Fit to decide. But I came here to seek you. Your couriers are turned back—I have outstripped them, In my return.

Stral. You!—Why?

Gab. I went at daybreak, 310 To watch for the abatement of the river, As being anxious to resume my journey. Your messengers were all checked like myself; And, seeing the case hopeless, I await The current's pleasure.

Stral. Would the dogs were in it! Why did they not, at least, attempt the passage? I ordered this at all risks.

Gab. Could you order The Oder to divide, as Moses did The Red Sea (scarcely redder than the flood Of the swoln stream), and be obeyed, perhaps 320 They might have ventured.

Stral. I must see to it: The knaves! the slaves!—but they shall smart for this. [Exit STRALENHEIM.

Gab. (solus). There goes my noble, feudal, self-willed Baron! Epitome of what brave chivalry The preux Chevaliers of the good old times Have left us. Yesterday he would have given His lands[175] (if he hath any), and, still dearer, His sixteen quarterings, for as much fresh air As would have filled a bladder, while he lay Gurgling and foaming half way through the window 330 Of his o'erset and water-logged conveyance; And now he storms at half a dozen wretches Because they love their lives too! Yet, he's right: 'Tis strange they should, when such as he may put them To hazard at his pleasure. Oh, thou world! Thou art indeed a melancholy jest! [Exit GABOR.

SCENE II.—The Apartment of WERNER, in the Palace.

Enter JOSEPHINE and ULRIC.

Jos. Stand back, and let me look on thee again! My Ulric!—my beloved!—can it be— After twelve years?

Ulr. My dearest mother!

Jos. Yes! My dream is realised—how beautiful!— How more than all I sighed for! Heaven receive A mother's thanks! a mother's tears of joy! This is indeed thy work!—At such an hour, too, He comes not only as a son, but saviour.

Ulr. If such a joy await me, it must double What I now feel, and lighten from my heart 10 A part of the long debt of duty, not Of love (for that was ne'er withheld)—forgive me! This long delay was not my fault.

Jos. I know it, But cannot think of sorrow now, and doubt If I e'er felt it, 'tis so dazzled from My memory by this oblivious transport!— My son!

Enter WERNER.

Wer. What have we here,—more strangers?—

Jos. No! Look upon him! What do you see?

Wer. A stripling, For the first time—

Ulr. (kneeling). For twelve long years, my father!

Wer. Oh, God!

Jos. He faints!

Wer. No—I am better now— 20 Ulric! (Embraces him.)

Ulr. My father, Siegendorf!

Wer. (starting). Hush! boy— The walls may hear that name!

Ulr. What then?

Wer. Why, then— But we will talk of that anon. Remember, I must be known here but as Werner. Come! Come to my arms again! Why, thou look'st all I should have been, and was not. Josephine! Sure 'tis no father's fondness dazzles me; But, had I seen that form amid ten thousand Youth of the choicest, my heart would have chosen This for my son!

Ulr. And yet you knew me not! 30

Wer. Alas! I have had that upon my soul Which makes me look on all men with an eye That only knows the evil at first glance.

Ulr. My memory served me far more fondly: I Have not forgotten aught; and oft-times in The proud and princely halls of—(I'll not name them, As you say that 'tis perilous)—but i' the pomp Of your sire's feudal mansion, I looked back To the Bohemian mountains many a sunset, And wept to see another day go down 40 O'er thee and me, with those huge hills between us. They shall not part us more.

Wer. I know not that. Are you aware my father is no more?

Ulr. Oh, Heavens! I left him in a green old age, And looking like the oak, worn, but still steady Amidst the elements, whilst younger trees Fell fast around him. 'Twas scarce three months since.

Wer. Why did you leave him?

Jos. (embracing ULRIC). Can you ask that question? Is he not here?

Wer. True; he hath sought his parents, And found them; but, oh! how, and in what state! 50

Ulr. All shall be bettered. What we have to do Is to proceed, and to assert our rights, Or rather yours; for I waive all, unless Your father has disposed in such a sort Of his broad lands as to make mine the foremost, So that I must prefer my claim for form: But I trust better, and that all is yours.

Wer. Have you not heard of Stralenheim?

Ulr. I saved His life but yesterday: he's here.

Wer. You saved The serpent who will sting us all!

Ulr. You speak 60 Riddles: what is this Stralenheim to us?

Wer. Every thing. One who claims our father's lands: Our distant kinsman, and our nearest foe.

Ulr. I never heard his name till now. The Count, Indeed, spoke sometimes of a kinsman, who, If his own line should fail, might be remotely Involved in the succession; but his titles Were never named before me—and what then? His right must yield to ours.

Wer. Aye, if at Prague: But here he is all-powerful; and has spread 70 Snares for thy father, which, if hitherto He hath escaped them, is by fortune, not By favour.

Ulr. Doth he personally know you?

Wer. No; but he guesses shrewdly at my person, As he betrayed last night; and I, perhaps, But owe my temporary liberty To his uncertainty.

Ulr. I think you wrong him (Excuse me for the phrase); but Stralenheim Is not what you prejudge him, or, if so, He owes me something both for past and present. 80 I saved his life, he therefore trusts in me. He hath been plundered too, since he came hither: Is sick, a stranger, and as such not now Able to trace the villain who hath robbed him: I have pledged myself to do so; and the business Which brought me here was chiefly that:[176] but I Have found, in searching for another's dross, My own whole treasure—you, my parents!

Wer. (agitatedly). Who Taught you to mouth that name of "villain?"

Ulr. What More noble name belongs to common thieves? 90

Wer. Who taught you thus to brand an unknown being With an infernal stigma?

Ulr. My own feelings Taught me to name a ruffian from his deeds.

Wer. Who taught you, long-sought and ill-found boy! that It would be safe for my own son to insult me?

Ulr. I named a villain. What is there in common With such a being and my father?

Wer. Every thing! That ruffian is thy father![177]

Jos. Oh, my son! Believe him not—and yet!—(her voice falters.)

Ulr. (starts, looks earnestly at WERNER and then says slowly) And you avow it?

Wer. Ulric, before you dare despise your father, 100 Learn to divine and judge his actions. Young, Rash, new to life, and reared in Luxury's lap, Is it for you to measure Passion's force, Or Misery's temptation? Wait—(not long, It cometh like the night, and quickly)—Wait!— Wait till, like me, your hopes are blighted[178] till Sorrow and Shame are handmaids of your cabin— Famine and Poverty your guests at table; Despair your bed-fellow—then rise, but not From sleep, and judge! Should that day e'er arrive— 110 Should you see then the Serpent, who hath coiled Himself around all that is dear and noble Of you and yours, lie slumbering in your path, With but his folds between your steps and happiness, When he, who lives but to tear from you name, Lands, life itself, lies at your mercy, with Chance your conductor—midnight for your mantle— The bare knife in your hand, and earth asleep, Even to your deadliest foe; and he as 'twere Inviting death, by looking like it, while 120 His death alone can save you:—Thank your God! If then, like me, content with petty plunder, You turn aside——I did so.

Ulr. But——

Wer. (abruptly). Hear me! I will not brook a human voice—scarce dare Listen to my own (if that be human still)— Hear me! you do not know this man—I do.[179] He's mean, deceitful, avaricious. You Deem yourself safe, as young and brave; but learn None are secure from desperation, few From subtilty. My worst foe, Stralenheim, 130 Housed in a Prince's palace, couched within A Prince's chamber, lay below my knife! An instant—a mere motion—the least impulse— Had swept him and all fears of mine from earth. He was within my power—my knife was raised— Withdrawn—and I'm in his:—are you not so? Who tells you that he knows you not? Who says He hath not lured you here to end you? or To plunge you, with your parents, in a dungeon? [He pauses.

Ulr. Proceed—proceed!

Wer. Me he hath ever known, 140 And hunted through each change of time—name—fortune— And why not you? Are you more versed in men? He wound snares round me; flung along my path Reptiles, whom, in my youth, I would have spurned Even from my presence; but, in spurning now, Fill only with fresh venom. Will you be More patient? Ulric!—Ulric!—there are crimes Made venial by the occasion, and temptations Which nature cannot master or forbear.[180]

Ulr. (who looks first at him and then at JOSEPHINE). My mother!

Wer. Ah! I thought so: you have now 150 Only one parent. I have lost alike Father and son, and stand alone.

Ulr. But stay! [WERNER rushes out of the chamber.

Jos. (to ULRIC). Follow him not, until this storm of passion Abates. Think'st thou, that were it well for him, I had not followed?

Ulr. I obey you, mother, Although reluctantly. My first act shall not Be one of disobedience.

Jos. Oh! he is good! Condemn him not from his own mouth, but trust To me, who have borne so much with him, and for him, That this is but the surface of his soul, 160 And that the depth is rich in better things.

Ulr. These then are but my father's principles[181]? My mother thinks not with him?

Jos. Nor doth he Think as he speaks. Alas! long years of grief Have made him sometimes thus.

Ulr. Explain to me More clearly, then, these claims of Stralenheim, That, when I see the subject in its bearings, I may prepare to face him, or at least To extricate you from your present perils. I pledge myself to accomplish this—but would 170 I had arrived a few hours sooner!

Jos. Aye! Hadst thou but done so!

Enter GABOR and IDENSTEIN, with Attendants.

Gab. (to ULRIC). I have sought you, comrade. So this is my reward!

Ulr. What do you mean?

Gab. 'Sdeath! have I lived to these years, and for this! (To IDENSTEIN.) But for your age and folly, I would——

Iden. Help! Hands off! Touch an Intendant!

Gab. Do not think I'll honour you so much as save your throat From the Ravenstone[182] by choking you myself.

Iden. I thank you for the respite: but there are Those who have greater need of it than me. 180

Ulr. Unriddle this vile wrangling, or——

Gab. At once, then, The Baron has been robbed, and upon me This worthy personage has deigned to fix His kind suspicions—me! whom he ne'er saw Till yester evening.

Iden. Wouldst have me suspect My own acquaintances? You have to learn That I keep better company.

Gab. You shall Keep the best shortly, and the last for all men, The worms! You hound of malice! [GABOR seizes on him.

Ulr. (interfering). Nay, no violence: He's old, unarmed—be temperate, Gabor!

Gab. (letting go IDENSTEIN). True: 190 I am a fool to lose myself because Fools deem me knave: it is their homage.

Ulr. (to IDENSTEIN). How Fare you?

Iden. Help!

Ulr. I have helped you.

Iden. Kill him! then I'll say so.

Gab. I am calm—live on!

Iden. That's more Than you shall do, if there be judge or judgment In Germany. The Baron shall decide!

Gab. Does he abet you in your accusation?

Iden. Does he not?

Gab. Then next time let him go sink Ere I go hang for snatching him from drowning. But here he comes!

Enter STRALENHEIM.

Gab. (goes up to him). My noble Lord, I'm here! 200

Stral. Well, sir!

Gab. Have you aught with me?

Stral. What should I Have with you?

Gab. You know best, if yesterday's Flood has not washed away your memory; But that's a trifle. I stand here accused, In phrases not equivocal, by yon Intendant, of the pillage of your person Or chamber:—is the charge your own or his?

Stral. I accuse no man.

Gab. Then you acquit me, Baron?

Stral. I know not whom to accuse, or to acquit, Or scarcely to suspect.

Gab. But you at least 210 Should know whom not to suspect. I am insulted— Oppressed here by these menials, and I look To you for remedy—teach them their duty! To look for thieves at home were part of it, If duly taught; but, in one word, if I Have an accuser, let it be a man Worthy to be so of a man like me. I am your equal.

Stral. You!

Gab. Aye, sir; and, for Aught that you know, superior; but proceed— I do not ask for hints, and surmises, 220 And circumstance, and proof: I know enough Of what I have done for you, and what you owe me, To have at least waited your payment rather Than paid myself, had I been eager of Your gold. I also know, that were I even The villain I am deemed, the service rendered So recently would not permit you to Pursue me to the death, except through shame, Such as would leave your scutcheon but a blank. But this is nothing: I demand of you 230 Justice upon your unjust servants, and From your own lips a disavowal of All sanction of their insolence: thus much You owe to the unknown, who asks no more, And never thought to have asked so much.

Stral. This tone May be of innocence.

Gab. 'Sdeath! who dare doubt it, Except such villains as ne'er had it?

Stral. You Are hot, sir.

Gab. Must I turn an icicle Before the breath of menials, and their master[cr]?

Stral. Ulric! you know this man; I found him in 240 Your company.

Gab. We found you in the Oder; Would we had left you there!

Stral. I give you thanks, sir.

Gab. I've earned them; but might have earned more from others, Perchance, if I had left you to your fate.

Stral. Ulric! you know this man?

Gab. No more than you do If he avouches not my honour.

Ulr. I Can vouch your courage, and, as far as my Own brief connection led me, honour.

Stral. Then I'm satisfied.

Gab. (ironically). Right easily, methinks. What is the spell in his asseveration 250 More than in mine?

Stral. I merely said that I Was satisfied—not that you are absolved.

Gab. Again! Am I accused or no?

Stral. Go to! You wax too insolent. If circumstance And general suspicion be against you, Is the fault mine? Is't not enough that I Decline all question of your guilt or innocence?

Gab. My Lord, my Lord, this is mere cozenage[183], A vile equivocation; you well know Your doubts are certainties to all around you— 260 Your looks a voice—your frowns a sentence; you Are practising your power on me—because You have it; but beware! you know not whom You strive to tread on.

Stral. Threat'st thou?

Gab. Not so much As you accuse. You hint the basest injury, And I retort it with an open warning.

Stral. As you have said, 'tis true I owe you something, For which you seem disposed to pay yourself.

Gab. Not with your gold.

Stral. With bootless insolence. [To his Attendants and IDENSTEIN. You need not further to molest this man, 270 But let him go his way. Ulric, good morrow! [Exit STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, and Attendants.

Gab. (following). I'll after him and——

Ulr. (stopping him). Not a step.

Gab. Who shall Oppose me?

Ulr. Your own reason, with a moment's Thought.

Gab. Must I bear this?

Ulr. Pshaw! we all must bear The arrogance of something higher than Ourselves—the highest cannot temper Satan, Nor the lowest his vicegerents upon earth. I've seen you brave the elements, and bear Things which had made this silkworm[184] cast his skin— And shrink you from a few sharp sneers and words? 280

Gab. Must I bear to be deemed a thief? If 'twere A bandit of the woods, I could have borne it— There's something daring in it:—but to steal The moneys of a slumbering man!—

Ulr. It seems, then, You are not guilty.

Gab. Do I hear aright? You too!

Ulr. I merely asked a simple question.

Gab. If the judge asked me, I would answer "No"— To you I answer thus. [He draws.

Ulr. (drawing). With all my heart!

Jos. Without there! Ho! help! help!—Oh, God! here's murder! [Exit JOSEPHINE, shrieking.

GABOR and ULRIC fight. GABOR is disarmed just as STRALENHEIM, JOSEPHINE, IDENSTEIN, etc., re-enter.

Jos. Oh! glorious Heaven! He's safe!

Stral. (to JOSEPHINE). Who's safe!

Jos. My——

Ulr. (interrupting her with a stern look, and turning afterwards to STRALENHEIM). Both! 290 Here's no great harm done.

Stral. What hath caused all this?

Ulr. You, Baron, I believe; but as the effect Is harmless, let it not disturb you.—Gabor! There is your sword; and when you bare it next, Let it not be against your friends.

[ULRIC pronounces the last words slowly and emphatically in a low voice to GABOR.

Gab. I thank you Less for my life than for your counsel.

Stral. These Brawls must end here.

Gab. (taking his sword). They shall. You've wronged me, Ulric, More with your unkind thoughts than sword: I would The last were in my bosom rather than The first in yours. I could have borne yon noble's 300 Absurd insinuations—ignorance And dull suspicion are a part of his Entail will last him longer than his lands— But I may fit him yet:—you have vanquished me. I was the fool of passion to conceive That I could cope with you, whom I had seen Already proved by greater perils than Rest in this arm. We may meet by and by, However—but in friendship. [Exit GABOR.

Stral. I will brook No more! This outrage following upon his insults, 310 Perhaps his guilt, has cancelled all the little I owed him heretofore for the so-vaunted Aid which he added to your abler succour. Ulric, you are not hurt?—

Ulr. Not even by a scratch.

Stral. (to IDENSTEIN). Intendant! take your measures to secure Yon fellow: I revoke my former lenity. He shall be sent to Frankfort with an escort, The instant that the waters have abated.

Iden. Secure him! He hath got his sword again—— And seems to know the use on't; 'tis his trade, 320 Belike;—I'm a civilian.

Stral. Fool! are not Yon score of vassals dogging at your heels Enough to seize a dozen such? Hence! after him!

Ulr. Baron, I do beseech you!

Stral. I must be Obeyed. No words!

Iden. Well, if it must be so— March, vassals! I'm your leader, and will bring The rear up: a wise general never should Expose his precious life—on which all rests. I like that article of war. [Exit IDENSTEIN and Attendants.

Stral. Come hither, Ulric; what does that woman here? Oh! now 330 I recognise her, 'tis the stranger's wife Whom they name "Werner."

Ulr. 'Tis his name.

Stral. Indeed! Is not your husband visible, fair dame?—

Jos. Who seeks him?

Stral. No one—for the present: but I fain would parley, Ulric, with yourself Alone.

Ulr. I will retire with you.

Jos. Not so: You are the latest stranger, and command All places here. (Aside to ULRIC, as she goes out.) O Ulric! have a care— Remember what depends on a rash word!

Ulr. (to JOSEPHINE). Fear not!— [Exit JOSEPHINE.

Stral. Ulric, I think that I may trust you; 340 You saved my life—and acts like these beget Unbounded confidence.

Ulr. Say on.

Stral. Mysterious And long-engendered circumstances (not To be now fully entered on) have made This man obnoxious—perhaps fatal to me.

Ulr. Who? Gabor, the Hungarian?

Stral. No—this "Werner"— With the false name and habit.

Ulr. How can this be? He is the poorest of the poor—and yellow Sickness sits caverned in his hollow eye[cs]: The man is helpless.

Stral. He is—'tis no matter;— 350 But if he be the man I deem (and that He is so, all around us here—and much That is not here—confirm my apprehension) He must be made secure ere twelve hours further.

Ulr. And what have I to do with this?

Stral. I have sent To Frankfort, to the Governor, my friend, (I have the authority to do so by An order of the house of Brandenburgh), For a fit escort—but this cursed flood Bars all access, and may do for some hours. 360

Ulr. It is abating.

Stral. That is well.

Ulr. But how Am I concerned?

Stral. As one who did so much For me, you cannot be indifferent to That which is of more import to me than The life you rescued.—Keep your eye on him! The man avoids me, knows that I now know him.— Watch him!—as you would watch the wild boar when He makes against you in the hunter's gap— Like him he must be speared.

Ulr. Why so?

Stral. He stands Between me and a brave inheritance! 370 Oh! could you see it! But you shall.

Ulr. I hope so.

Stral. It is the richest of the rich Bohemia, Unscathed by scorching war. It lies so near The strongest city, Prague, that fire and sword Have skimmed it lightly: so that now, besides Its own exuberance, it bears double value Confronted with whole realms far and near Made deserts.

Ulr. You describe it faithfully.

Stral. Aye—could you see it, you would say so—but, As I have said, you shall.

Ulr. I accept the omen. 380

Stral. Then claim a recompense from it and me, Such as both may make worthy your acceptance And services to me and mine for ever.

Ulr. And this sole, sick, and miserable wretch— This way-worn stranger—stands between you and This Paradise?—(As Adam did between The devil and his)—[Aside].

Stral. He doth.

Ulr. Hath he no right?

Stral. Right! none. A disinherited prodigal, Who for these twenty years disgraced his lineage In all his acts—but chiefly by his marriage, 390 And living amidst commerce-fetching burghers, And dabbling merchants, in a mart of Jews.

Ulr. He has a wife, then?

Stral. You'd be sorry to Call such your mother. You have seen the woman He calls his wife.

Ulr. Is she not so?

Stral. No more Than he's your father:—an Italian girl, The daughter of a banished man, who lives On love and poverty with this same Werner.

Ulr. They are childless, then?

Stral. There is or was a bastard, Whom the old man—the grandsire (as old age 400 Is ever doting) took to warm his bosom, As it went chilly downward to the grave: But the imp stands not in my path—he has fled, No one knows whither; and if he had not, His claims alone were too contemptible To stand.—Why do you smile?

Ulr. At your vain fears: A poor man almost in his grasp—a child Of doubtful birth—can startle a grandee!

Stral. All's to be feared, where all is to be gained.

Ulr. True; and aught done to save or to obtain it. 410

Stral. You have harped the very string next to my heart[185]. I may depend upon you?

Ulr. 'Twere too late To doubt it.

Stral. Let no foolish pity shake Your bosom (for the appearance of the man Is pitiful)—he is a wretch, as likely To have robbed me as the fellow more suspected, Except that circumstance is less against him; He being lodged far off, and in a chamber Without approach to mine; and, to say truth, I think too well of blood allied to mine, 420 To deem he would descend to such an act: Besides, he was a soldier, and a brave one Once—though too rash.

Ulr. And they, my Lord, we know By our experience, never plunder till They knock the brains out first—which makes them heirs, Not thieves. The dead, who feel nought, can lose nothing, Nor e'er be robbed: their spoils are a bequest— No more.

Stral. Go to! you are a wag. But say I may be sure you'll keep an eye on this man, And let me know his slightest movement towards 430 Concealment or escape.

Ulr. You may be sure You yourself could not watch him more than I Will be his sentinel.

Stral. By this you make me Yours, and for ever.

Ulr. Such is my intention. [Exeunt.



ACT III.

SCENE I.—A Hall in the same Palace, from whence the secret Passage leads.

Enter WERNER and GABOR.

Gab. Sir, I have told my tale: if it so please you To give me refuge for a few hours, well— If not, I'll try my fortune elsewhere.

Wer. How Can I, so wretched, give to Misery A shelter?—wanting such myself as much As e'er the hunted deer a covert——

Gab. Or The wounded lion his cool cave. Methinks You rather look like one would turn at bay, And rip the hunter's entrails.

Wer. Ah!

Gab. I care not If it be so, being much disposed to do 10 The same myself. But will you shelter me? I am oppressed like you—and poor like you— Disgraced——

Wer. (abruptly). Who told you that I was disgraced?

Gab. No one; nor did I say you were so: with Your poverty my likeness ended; but I said I was so—and would add, with truth, As undeservedly as you.

Wer. Again! As I?

Gab. Or any other honest man. What the devil would you have? You don't believe me Guilty of this base theft?

Wer. No, no—I cannot. 20

Gab. Why that's my heart of honour! yon young gallant— Your miserly Intendant and dense noble— All—all suspected me; and why? because I am the worst clothed, and least named amongst them; Although, were Momus'[186] lattice in your breasts, My soul might brook to open it more widely Than theirs: but thus it is—you poor and helpless— Both still more than myself.

Wer. How know you that?

Gab. You're right: I ask for shelter at the hand Which I call helpless; if you now deny it, 30 I were well paid. But you, who seem to have proved The wholesome bitterness of life, know well, By sympathy, that all the outspread gold Of the New World the Spaniard boasts about Could never tempt the man who knows its worth, Weighed at its proper value in the balance, Save in such guise (and there I grant its power, Because I feel it,) as may leave no nightmare Upon his heart o' nights.

Wer. What do you mean?

Gab. Just what I say; I thought my speech was plain: 40 You are no thief—nor I—and, as true men, Should aid each other.

Wer. It is a damned world, sir.

Gab. So is the nearest of the two next, as The priests say (and no doubt they should know best), Therefore I'll stick by this—as being both To suffer martyrdom, at least with such An epitaph as larceny upon my tomb. It is but a night's lodging which I crave; To-morrow I will try the waters, as The dove did—trusting that they have abated. 50

Wer. Abated? Is there hope of that?

Gab. There was At noontide.

Wer. Then we may be safe.

Gab. Are you In peril?

Wer. Poverty is ever so.

Gab. That I know by long practice. Will you not Promise to make mine less?

Wer. Your poverty?

Gab. No—you don't look a leech for that disorder; I meant my peril only: you've a roof, And I have none; I merely seek a covert.

Wer. Rightly; for how should such a wretch as I Have gold?

Gab. Scarce honestly, to say the truth on't, 60 Although I almost wish you had the Baron's.

Wer. Dare you insinuate?

Gab. What?

Wer. Are you aware To whom you speak?

Gab. No; and I am not used Greatly to care. (A noise heard without.) But hark! they come!

Wer. Who come?

Gab. The Intendant and his man-hounds after me: I'd face them—but it were in vain to expect Justice at hands like theirs. Where shall I go? But show me any place. I do assure you, If there be faith in man, I am most guiltless: Think if it were your own case!

Wer. (aside). Oh, just God! 70 Thy hell is not hereafter! Am I dust still?

Gab. I see you're moved; and it shows well in you: I may live to requite it.

Wer. Are you not A spy of Stralenheim's?

Gab. Not I! and if I were, what is there to espy in you? Although, I recollect, his frequent question About you and your spouse might lead to some Suspicion; but you best know—what—and why. I am his deadliest foe.

Wer. You?

Gab. After such A treatment for the service which in part 80 I rendered him, I am his enemy: If you are not his friend you will assist me.

Wer. I will.

Gab. But how?

Wer. (showing the panel). There is a secret spring: Remember, I discovered it by chance, And used it but for safety.

Gab. Open it, And I will use it for the same.

Wer. I found it, As I have said: it leads through winding walls, (So thick as to bear paths within their ribs, Yet lose no jot of strength or stateliness,) And hollow cells, and obscure niches, to 90 I know not whither; you must not advance: Give me your word.

Gab. It is unecessary: How should I make my way in darkness through A Gothic labyrinth of unknown windings?

Wer. Yes, but who knows to what place it may lead? I know not—(mark you!)—but who knows it might not Lead even into the chamber of your foe? So strangely were contrived these galleries By our Teutonic fathers in old days, When man built less against the elements 100 Than his next neighbour. You must not advance Beyond the two first windings; if you do (Albeit I never passed them,) I'll not answer For what you may be led to.

Gab. But I will. A thousand thanks!

Wer. You'll find the spring more obvious On the other side; and, when you would return, It yields to the least touch.

Gab. I'll in—farewell! [GABOR goes in by the secret panel.

Wer. (solus). What have I done? Alas! what had I done Before to make this fearful? Let it be Still some atonement that I save the man, 110 Whose sacrifice had saved perhaps my own— They come! to seek elsewhere what is before them!

Enter IDENSTEIN and Others.

Iden. Is he not here? He must have vanished then Through the dim Gothic glass by pious aid Of pictured saints upon the red and yellow Casements, through which the sunset streams like sunrise On long pearl-coloured beards and crimson crosses. And gilded crosiers, and crossed arms, and cowls, And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords, All the fantastic furniture of windows 120 Dim with brave knights and holy hermits, whose Likeness and fame alike rest in some panes Of crystal, which each rattling wind proclaims As frail as any other life or glory. He's gone, however.

Wer. Whom do you seek?

Iden. A villain.

Wer. Why need you come so far, then?

Iden. In the search Of him who robbed the Baron.

Wer. Are you sure You have divined the man?

Iden. As sure as you Stand there: but where's he gone?

Wer. Who?

Iden. He we sought.

Wer. You see he is not here.

Iden. And yet we traced him 130 Up to this hall. Are you accomplices? Or deal you in the black art?

Wer. I deal plainly, To many men the blackest.

Iden. It may be I have a question or two for yourself Hereafter; but we must continue now Our search for t'other.

Wer. You had best begin Your inquisition now: I may not be So patient always.

Iden. I should like to know, In good sooth, if you really are the man That Stralenheim's in quest of.

Wer. Insolent! 140 Said you not that he was not here?

Iden. Yes, one; But there's another whom he tracks more keenly, And soon, it may be, with authority Both paramount to his and mine. But come! Bustle, my boys! we are at fault. [Exit IDENSTEIN and Attendants.

Wer. In what A maze hath my dim destiny involved me! And one base sin hath done me less ill than The leaving undone one far greater. Down, Thou busy devil, rising in my heart! Thou art too late! I'll nought to do with blood. 150

Enter ULRIC.

Ulr. I sought you, father.

Wer. Is't not dangerous?

Ulr. No; Stralenheim is ignorant of all Or any of the ties between us: more— He sends me here a spy upon your actions, Deeming me wholly his.

Wer. I cannot think it: 'Tis but a snare he winds about us both, To swoop the sire and son at once.

Ulr. I cannot Pause in each petty fear, and stumble at The doubts that rise like briers in our path, But must break through them, as an unarmed carle 160 Would, though with naked limbs, were the wolf rustling In the same thicket where he hewed for bread. Nets are for thrushes, eagles are not caught so: We'll overfly or rend them.

Wer. Show me how?

Ulr. Can you not guess?

Wer. I cannot.

Ulr. That is strange. Came the thought ne'er into your mind last night?

Wer. I understand you not.

Ulr. Then we shall never More understand each other. But to change The topic——

Wer. You mean to pursue it, as 'Tis of our safety.

Ulr. Right; I stand corrected. 170 I see the subject now more clearly, and Our general situation in its bearings. The waters are abating; a few hours Will bring his summoned myrmidons from Frankfort, When you will be a prisoner, perhaps worse, And I an outcast, bastardised by practice Of this same Baron to make way for him.

Wer. And now your remedy! I thought to escape By means of this accursed gold; but now I dare not use it, show it, scarce look on it. 180 Methinks it wears upon its face my guilt For motto, not the mintage of the state; And, for the sovereign's head, my own begirt With hissing snakes, which curl around my temples, And cry to all beholders, Lo! a villain!

Ulr. You must not use it, at least now; but take This ring. [He gives WERNER a jewel.

Wer. A gem! It was my father's!

Ulr. And As such is now your own. With this you must Bribe the Intendant for his old caleche And horses to pursue your route at sunrise, 190 Together with my mother.

Wer. And leave you, So lately found, in peril too?

Ulr. Fear nothing! The only fear were if we fled together, For that would make our ties beyond all doubt. The waters only lie in flood between This burgh and Frankfort: so far's in our favour The route on to Bohemia, though encumbered, Is not impassable; and when you gain A few hours' start, the difficulties will be The same to your pursuers. Once beyond 200 The frontier, and you're safe.

Wer. My noble boy!

Ulr. Hush! hush! no transports: we'll indulge in them In Castle Siegendorf! Display no gold: Show Idenstein the gem (I know the man, And have looked through him): it will answer thus A double purpose. Stralenheim lost gold— No jewel: therefore it could not be his; And then the man who was possest of this Can hardly be suspected of abstracting The Baron's coin, when he could thus convert 210 This ring to more than Stralenheim has lost By his last night's slumber. Be not over timid In your address, nor yet too arrogant, And Idenstein will serve you.

Wer. I will follow In all things your direction.

Ulr. I would have Spared you the trouble; but had I appeared To take an interest in you, and still more By dabbling with a jewel in your favour, All had been known at once.

Wer. My guardian angel! This overpays the past. But how wilt thou 220 Fare in our absence?

Ulr. Stralenheim knows nothing Of me as aught of kindred with yourself. I will but wait a day or two with him To lull all doubts, and then rejoin my father.

Wer. To part no more!

Ulr. I know not that; but at The least we'll meet again once more.

Wer. My boy! My friend! my only child, and sole preserver! Oh, do not hate me!

Ulr. Hate my father!

Wer. Aye, My father hated me. Why not my son?

Ulr. Your father knew you not as I do.

Wer. Scorpions 230 Are in thy words! Thou know me? in this guise Thou canst not know me, I am not myself; Yet (hate me not) I will be soon.

Ulr. I'll wait! In the mean time be sure that all a son Can do for parents shall be done for mine.

Wer. I see it, and I feel it; yet I feel Further—that you despise me.

Ulr. Wherefore should I?

Wer. Must I repeat my humiliation?

Ulr. No! I have fathomed it and you. But let us talk Of this no more. Or, if it must be ever, 240 Not now. Your error has redoubled all The present difficulties of our house At secret war with that of Stralenheim: All we have now to think of is to baffle HIM. I have shown one way.

Wer. The only one, And I embrace it, as I did my son, Who showed himself and father's safety in One day.

Ulr. You shall be safe; let that suffice. Would Stralenheim's appearance in Bohemia Disturb your right, or mine, if once we were 250 Admitted to our lands?