"
_Age of Bronze_, line 45--
"The new Sesostris, whose unharnessed kings.
_Age of Bronze_, line 45--
"The new Sesostris, whose unharnessed kings.
Byron
)
On his leaving England for the Continent, April 25, 1816, the fragment
was left behind. Most probably the MS. fell into his sister's hands, for
in October, 1821, it was not forthcoming when Byron gave directions that
Hobhouse should search for it "amongst my papers. " Ultimately it came
into the possession of the late Mr. Murray, and is now printed for the
first time in its entirety (_vide post_, pp. 453-466: selections were
given in the _Nineteenth Century_, August, 1899). It should be borne in
mind that this unprinted first act of _Werner_, which synchronizes with
the _Siege of Corinth_ and _Parisina_, was written when Byron was a
member of the sub-committee of management of Drury Lane Theatre, and, as
the numerous stage directions testify, with a view to
stage-representation. The MS. is scored with corrections, and betrays an
unusual elaboration, and, perhaps, some difficulty and hesitation in the
choice of words and the construction of sentences. In the opening scene
the situation is not caught and gripped, while the melancholy squalor of
the original narrative is only too faithfully reproduced. The _Werner_
of 1821, with all its shortcomings, is the production of a playwright.
The _Werner_ of 1815 is the attempt of a highly gifted amateur.
When Byron once more bethought himself of his old subject, he not only
sent for the MS. of the first act, but desired Murray "to cut out Sophia
Lee's" (_vide post_, p. 337) "_German's Tale_ from the _Canterbury
Tales_, and send it in a letter" (_Letters_, 1901, v. 390). He seems to
have intended from the first to construct a drama out of the story, and,
no doubt, to acknowledge the source of his inspiration. On the whole, he
carried out his intention, taking places, characters, and incidents as
he found them, but recasting the materials and turning prose into metre.
But here and there, to save himself trouble, he "stole his brooms ready
made," and, as he acknowledges in the Preface, "adopted even the
language of the story. " Act ii. sc. 2, lines 87-172; act iii. sc. 4; and
act v. sc. 1, lines 94-479, are, more or less, faithful and exact
reproductions of pp. 203-206, 228-232, and 252-271 of the novel (see
_Canterbury Tales_, ed. 1832, vol. ii. ). On the other hand, in the
remaining three-fourths of the play, the language is not Miss Lee's, but
Byron's, and the "conveyance" of incidents occasional and insignificant.
Much, too, was imported into the play (_e. g. _ almost the whole of the
fourth act), of which there is neither hint nor suggestion in the story.
Maginn's categorical statement (see "O'Doherty on _Werner_,"
_Miscellanies_, 1885, i. 189) that "here Lord Byron has _invented_
nothing--absolutely, positively, undeniably NOTHING;" that "there is not
one incident in his play, not even the most trivial, that is not to be
found in the novel," etc. , is "positively and undeniably" a falsehood.
Maginn read _Werner_ for the purpose of attacking Byron, and, by
printing selected passages from the novel and the play, in parallel
columns, gives the reader to understand that he had made an exhaustive
analysis of the original and the copy. The review, which is quoted as an
authority in the editions of 1832 (xiv. pp. 113, 114) and 1837, etc. , p.
341, is disingenuous and misleading.
The original story may be briefly retold. The prodigal and outlawed son
of a Bohemian noble, Count Siegendorf, after various adventures,
marries, under the assumed name of Friedrich Kruitzner, the daughter of
an Italian scholar and man of science, of noble birth, but in narrow
circumstances. A son, Conrad, is born to him, who, at eight years of
age, is transferred to the charge of his grandfather. Twelve years go
by, and, when the fortunes of the younger Siegendorf are at their lowest
ebb, he learns, at the same moment, that his father is dead, and that a
distant kinsman, the Baron Stralenheim, is meditating an attack on his
person, with a view to claiming his inheritance. Of Conrad, who has
disappeared, he hears nothing.
An accident compels the count and the baron to occupy adjoining quarters
in a small town on the northern frontier of Silesia; and, again, another
accident places the usurping and intriguing baron at the mercy of his
poverty-stricken and exiled kinsman. Stralenheim has fallen asleep near
the fire in his easy-chair. Papers and several rouleaux of gold are
ranged on a cabinet beside the bed. Kruitzner, who is armed with "a
large and sharp knife," is suddenly confronted with his unarmed and
slumbering foe, and though habit and conscience conspire to make murder
impossible, he yields to a sudden and irresistible impulse, and snatches
up "the portion of gold which is nearest. " He has no sooner returned to
his wife and confessed his deed, than Conrad suddenly appears on the
scene, and at the very moment of an unexpected and joyous reunion with
his parents, learns that his father is a thief. Kruitzner pleads "guilty
with extenuating circumstances," and Conrad, who either is or pretends
to be disgusted at his father's sophistries, makes the best of a bad
business, and undertakes to conceal his father's dishonour and rescue
him from the power of Stralenheim. The plot hinges on the unlooked-for
and unsuspected action of Conrad. Unlike his father, he is not the man
to let "I dare not wait upon I would," but murders Stralenheim in cold
blood, and, at the same time, diverts suspicion from his father and
himself to the person of his comrade, a Hungarian soldier of fortune,
who is already supposed to be the thief, and who had sought and obtained
shelter in the apartments of the conscience-stricken Kruitzner.
The scene changes to Prague. Siegendorf, no longer Kruitzner, has
regained his inheritance, and is once more at the height of splendour
and prosperity. A service of thanksgiving is being held in the cathedral
to commemorate the signature of the Treaty of Prague (1635), and the
count is present in state. Suddenly he catches sight of the Hungarian,
and, "like a flash of lightning" feels and remembers that he _is_ a
thief, and that he might, however unjustly, be suspected if not accused
of the murder of Stralenheim. The service is over, and the count is
recrossing "Muldau's Bridge," when he hears the fatal word _Kruitzner_,
"the seal of his shame," spoken in his ear. He returns to his castle,
and issues orders that the Hungarian should be arrested and
interrogated. An interview takes place, at which the Hungarian denounces
Conrad as the murderer of Stralenheim. The son acknowledges the deed,
and upbraids the father for his weakness and credulity in supposing that
his escape from Stralenheim's machinations could have been effected by
any other means. If, he argues, circumstances can palliate dishonesty,
they can compel and justify murder. Common sense even now demands the
immediate slaughter of the Hungarian, as it compelled and sanctioned the
effectual silencing of Stralenheim. But Siegendorf knows not "thorough,"
and shrinks at assassination. He repudiates and denounces his son, and
connives at the escape of the Hungarian. Conrad, who is banished from
Prague, rejoins his former associates, the "black bands," which were the
scandal and terror of the neighbouring provinces, and is killed in a
skirmish with the regular troops. Siegendorf dies of a broken heart.
The conception of _The German's Tale_, as Byron perceived, is superior
to the execution. The style is laboured and involved, and the narrative
long-winded and tiresome. It is, perhaps, an adaptation, though not a
literal translation, of a German historical romance. But the _motif_--a
son predestined to evil by the weakness and sensuality of his father, a
father punished for his want of rectitude by the passionate criminality
of his son, is the very key-note of tragedy.
If from haste or indolence Byron scamped his task, and cut up whole
cantles of the novel into nerveless and pointless blank verse, here and
there throughout the play, in scattered lines and passages, he outdoes
himself. The inspiration is fitful, but supreme.
_Werner_ was reviewed in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, December,
1822, vol. xii. pp. 710-719 (republished in _Miscellanies_ of W. Maginn,
1885, i. 189); in the _Scots Magazine_, December, 1822, N. S. vol. xi.
pp. 688-694; the _European Magazine_, January, 1823, vol. 83, pp. 73-76;
and in the _Eclectic Review_, February, 1823, N. S. vol. xix. pp.
148-155.
NOTE TO THE INTRODUCTION TO _WERNER_.
In an article entitled, "Did Byron write _Werner_? " which appeared in
the _Nineteenth Century_ (August, 1899, vol. 46, pp. 243-250), the Hon.
F. Leveson Gower undertakes to prove that _Werner_ was not written by
Lord Byron, but by Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire (born June 9, 1757,
died March 30, 1806). He adduces, in support of this claim, (1) a
statement made to him by his sister, the late Lady Georgiana Fullerton,
to the effect that their grandmother, the duchess, "wrote the poem and
gave the MS. to her niece, Lady Caroline Ponsonby (better known as Lady
Caroline Lamb), and that she, some years later, handed it over to Lord
Byron, who, in 1822, published it in his own name;" (2) a letter written
in 1822 by his mother, Lady Granville, to her sister, Lady Carlisle,
which asserts that their mother, the duchess, "wrote an entire tragedy
from Miss Lee's _Kreutzner the Hungarian_ (_sic_)," and that the MS. had
been sent to her by Lady Caroline's brother, Mr. William Ponsonby, and
was in her possession; (3) another letter of Lady Granville's, dated
December 3, 1822, in which she informs her sister that her husband, Lord
Granville, had promised to read _Werner_ aloud to her (i. e. Byron's
_Werner_, published November 23, 1822), a promise which, if fulfilled,
must have revealed one of two things--the existence of two dramas based
on Miss Lee's _Kruitzner_, or the identity of Byron's version with that
of the duchess. Now, argues Mr. Leveson Gower, if Lady Granville had
known that two dramas were in existence, she would not have allowed her
daughter, Lady Georgiana Fullerton, to believe "that the duchess was the
author of the published poem. "
I will deal with the external evidence first. Practically it amounts to
this: (1) that Lady Granville knew that her mother, the Duchess of
Devonshire, dramatized Miss Lee's _Kruitzner_; and (2) that Lady
Georgiana Fullerton believed that the duchess gave the MS. of her play
to Lady Caroline Ponsonby, and that, many years after, Lady Caroline
handed it over to Byron.
The external evidence establishes the fact that the Duchess of
Devonshire dramatized _Kruitzner_, but it does not prove that Byron
purloined her adaptation. It records an unverified impression on the
part of the duchess's granddaughter, that the MS. of a play written
between the years 1801-1806, passed into Byron's hands about the year
1813; that he took a copy of the MS. ; and that in 1821-22 he caused his
copy to be retranscribed and published under his own name.
But Mr. Leveson Gower appeals to internal as well as external evidence,
(1) He regards the great inferiority of _Werner_ to Byron's published
plays, and to the genuine (hitherto) unpublished first act, together
with the wholesale plagiarisms from Miss Lee's story, as an additional
proof that the work was none of his. (2) He notes, as a suspicious
circumstance, that "while the rough copies of his other poems have been
preserved, no rough copy of _Werner_ is to be found. "
In conclusion, he deals with two possible objections which may be
brought against his theory: (1) that Byron would not have incurred the
risk of detection at the hands of the owners of the duchess's MS. ; and
(2) that a great poet of assured fame and reputation could have had no
possible motive for perpetrating a literary fraud. The first objection
he answers by assuming that Byron would have counted on the reluctance
of the "Ponsonby family and the daughters of the Duchess" to rake up the
ashes of old scandals; the second, by pointing out that, in 1822, he was
making "frantic endeavours to obtain money, not for himself, but to help
the cause of Greece. "
(1) With regard to the marked inferiority of _Werner_ to Byron's other
plays, and the relative proportion of adapted to original matter, Mr.
Leveson Gower appears to have been misled by the disingenuous criticism
of Maginn and other contemporary reviewers (_vide_ the Introduction,
etc. , p. 326). There is no such inferiority, and the plagiarisms, which
were duly acknowledged, are confined to certain limited portions of the
play. (2) There is nothing unusual in the fact that the rough draft of
_Werner_ cannot be found. In fact, but few of the early drafts of the
dramas and other poems written in the later Italian days ever reached
Murray's hands, or are still in existence. The fair copy for the printer
alone was sent home. The time had gone by when Byron's publisher, who
was also his friend, would stipulate that "all the original MSS. ,
copies and scraps" should fall to his share. But no argument can be
founded on so insignificant a circumstance.
Finally, the argument on which Mr. Leveson Gower dwells at some length,
that Byron's "motive" for perpetrating a literary fraud was the
necessity for raising money for the cause of Greek independence, is
refuted by the fact that _Werner_ was begun in December, 1821, and
finished in January, 1822, and that it was not till the spring of 1823
that he was elected a member of the Greek Committee, or had any occasion
to raise funds for the maintenance of troops or the general expenses of
the war. So far from attempting to raise money by _Werner_, in letters
to Murray, dated March 6, October 24, November 18, 1822, he emphatically
waives the question of "terms," and makes no demand or request for money
whatever. It was not till December 23, 1823 (_Letters_, 1901, vi. 287),
two years after the play had been written, that he speaks of applying
the two or three hundred pounds which the copyright of _Werner_ might be
worth, to the maintenance of armed men in the service of the
_Provisional Government_. He could not have "purloined" and palmed off
as his own the duchess's version of Miss Lee's story in order to raise
money for a purpose which had not arisen. He had no intention at first
or last of presenting the copyright of _Werner_ to Murray or Hunt, but
he was willing to wait for his money, and had no motive for raising
funds by an illegal and dishonourable trick.
That Byron did _not_ write _Werner_ is, surely, non-proven on the
external and internal evidence adduced by Mr. Leveson Gower. On the
other hand, there is abundant evidence, both external and internal,
that, apart from his acknowledged indebtedness to Miss Lee's story, he
did write _Werner_.
To take the external evidence first. On the first page of Mrs. Shelley's
transcript of _Werner_, Byron inserted the date, "Dec. 18, 1821," and on
the last he wrote "[The End] of fifth act of the Drama. B. P[isa]. Jy
21. 1822. "
Turning to the journal of Edward Williams (Shelley's _Prose Works_,
1880, iv. 318), I find the following entries:--
"December 21, 1821. Lord B. told me that he had commenced a tragedy from
Miss Lee's _German Tale_ ('_Werner_'), and had been fagging at it all
day. "
"January 8, 1822. Mary read us the first two acts of Lord B. 's
_Werner_. "
Again, in an unpublished diary of the same period it is recorded that
Mrs. Shelley was engaged in the task of copying on January 17, 1822, and
the eight following days, and that on January 25 she finished her
transcript.
Again, Medwin (_Conversations_, 1824, p. 409) records the fact that
Byron told him "that he had almost finished another play . . . called
_Werner_;" and (p. 412) "that _Werner_ was written in twenty-eight days,
and one entire act at a sitting. " It is almost incredible that Byron
should have recopied a copy of the duchess's play in order to impose on
Mrs. Shelley and Williams and Medwin; and it is quite incredible that
they were in the plot, and lent themselves to the deception. It is
certain that both Williams and Medwin believed that Byron was the author
of _Werner_, and it is certain that nothing would have induced Mrs.
Shelley to be _particeps criminis_--to copy a play which was not
Byron's, to be published as Byron's, and to suffer her copy to be
fraudulently endorsed by her guilty accomplice.
The internal evidence of the genuineness of _Werner_ is still more
convincing. In the first place, there are numerous "undesigned
coincidences," allusions, and phrases to be found in _Werner_ and
elsewhere in Byron's _Poetical Works_, which bear his sign-manual, and
cannot be attributed to another writer; and, secondly, scattered through
the play there are numerous lines, passages, allusions--"a cloud of
witnesses" to their Byronic inspiration and creation.
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.
On his leaving England for the Continent, April 25, 1816, the fragment
was left behind. Most probably the MS. fell into his sister's hands, for
in October, 1821, it was not forthcoming when Byron gave directions that
Hobhouse should search for it "amongst my papers. " Ultimately it came
into the possession of the late Mr. Murray, and is now printed for the
first time in its entirety (_vide post_, pp. 453-466: selections were
given in the _Nineteenth Century_, August, 1899). It should be borne in
mind that this unprinted first act of _Werner_, which synchronizes with
the _Siege of Corinth_ and _Parisina_, was written when Byron was a
member of the sub-committee of management of Drury Lane Theatre, and, as
the numerous stage directions testify, with a view to
stage-representation. The MS. is scored with corrections, and betrays an
unusual elaboration, and, perhaps, some difficulty and hesitation in the
choice of words and the construction of sentences. In the opening scene
the situation is not caught and gripped, while the melancholy squalor of
the original narrative is only too faithfully reproduced. The _Werner_
of 1821, with all its shortcomings, is the production of a playwright.
The _Werner_ of 1815 is the attempt of a highly gifted amateur.
When Byron once more bethought himself of his old subject, he not only
sent for the MS. of the first act, but desired Murray "to cut out Sophia
Lee's" (_vide post_, p. 337) "_German's Tale_ from the _Canterbury
Tales_, and send it in a letter" (_Letters_, 1901, v. 390). He seems to
have intended from the first to construct a drama out of the story, and,
no doubt, to acknowledge the source of his inspiration. On the whole, he
carried out his intention, taking places, characters, and incidents as
he found them, but recasting the materials and turning prose into metre.
But here and there, to save himself trouble, he "stole his brooms ready
made," and, as he acknowledges in the Preface, "adopted even the
language of the story. " Act ii. sc. 2, lines 87-172; act iii. sc. 4; and
act v. sc. 1, lines 94-479, are, more or less, faithful and exact
reproductions of pp. 203-206, 228-232, and 252-271 of the novel (see
_Canterbury Tales_, ed. 1832, vol. ii. ). On the other hand, in the
remaining three-fourths of the play, the language is not Miss Lee's, but
Byron's, and the "conveyance" of incidents occasional and insignificant.
Much, too, was imported into the play (_e. g. _ almost the whole of the
fourth act), of which there is neither hint nor suggestion in the story.
Maginn's categorical statement (see "O'Doherty on _Werner_,"
_Miscellanies_, 1885, i. 189) that "here Lord Byron has _invented_
nothing--absolutely, positively, undeniably NOTHING;" that "there is not
one incident in his play, not even the most trivial, that is not to be
found in the novel," etc. , is "positively and undeniably" a falsehood.
Maginn read _Werner_ for the purpose of attacking Byron, and, by
printing selected passages from the novel and the play, in parallel
columns, gives the reader to understand that he had made an exhaustive
analysis of the original and the copy. The review, which is quoted as an
authority in the editions of 1832 (xiv. pp. 113, 114) and 1837, etc. , p.
341, is disingenuous and misleading.
The original story may be briefly retold. The prodigal and outlawed son
of a Bohemian noble, Count Siegendorf, after various adventures,
marries, under the assumed name of Friedrich Kruitzner, the daughter of
an Italian scholar and man of science, of noble birth, but in narrow
circumstances. A son, Conrad, is born to him, who, at eight years of
age, is transferred to the charge of his grandfather. Twelve years go
by, and, when the fortunes of the younger Siegendorf are at their lowest
ebb, he learns, at the same moment, that his father is dead, and that a
distant kinsman, the Baron Stralenheim, is meditating an attack on his
person, with a view to claiming his inheritance. Of Conrad, who has
disappeared, he hears nothing.
An accident compels the count and the baron to occupy adjoining quarters
in a small town on the northern frontier of Silesia; and, again, another
accident places the usurping and intriguing baron at the mercy of his
poverty-stricken and exiled kinsman. Stralenheim has fallen asleep near
the fire in his easy-chair. Papers and several rouleaux of gold are
ranged on a cabinet beside the bed. Kruitzner, who is armed with "a
large and sharp knife," is suddenly confronted with his unarmed and
slumbering foe, and though habit and conscience conspire to make murder
impossible, he yields to a sudden and irresistible impulse, and snatches
up "the portion of gold which is nearest. " He has no sooner returned to
his wife and confessed his deed, than Conrad suddenly appears on the
scene, and at the very moment of an unexpected and joyous reunion with
his parents, learns that his father is a thief. Kruitzner pleads "guilty
with extenuating circumstances," and Conrad, who either is or pretends
to be disgusted at his father's sophistries, makes the best of a bad
business, and undertakes to conceal his father's dishonour and rescue
him from the power of Stralenheim. The plot hinges on the unlooked-for
and unsuspected action of Conrad. Unlike his father, he is not the man
to let "I dare not wait upon I would," but murders Stralenheim in cold
blood, and, at the same time, diverts suspicion from his father and
himself to the person of his comrade, a Hungarian soldier of fortune,
who is already supposed to be the thief, and who had sought and obtained
shelter in the apartments of the conscience-stricken Kruitzner.
The scene changes to Prague. Siegendorf, no longer Kruitzner, has
regained his inheritance, and is once more at the height of splendour
and prosperity. A service of thanksgiving is being held in the cathedral
to commemorate the signature of the Treaty of Prague (1635), and the
count is present in state. Suddenly he catches sight of the Hungarian,
and, "like a flash of lightning" feels and remembers that he _is_ a
thief, and that he might, however unjustly, be suspected if not accused
of the murder of Stralenheim. The service is over, and the count is
recrossing "Muldau's Bridge," when he hears the fatal word _Kruitzner_,
"the seal of his shame," spoken in his ear. He returns to his castle,
and issues orders that the Hungarian should be arrested and
interrogated. An interview takes place, at which the Hungarian denounces
Conrad as the murderer of Stralenheim. The son acknowledges the deed,
and upbraids the father for his weakness and credulity in supposing that
his escape from Stralenheim's machinations could have been effected by
any other means. If, he argues, circumstances can palliate dishonesty,
they can compel and justify murder. Common sense even now demands the
immediate slaughter of the Hungarian, as it compelled and sanctioned the
effectual silencing of Stralenheim. But Siegendorf knows not "thorough,"
and shrinks at assassination. He repudiates and denounces his son, and
connives at the escape of the Hungarian. Conrad, who is banished from
Prague, rejoins his former associates, the "black bands," which were the
scandal and terror of the neighbouring provinces, and is killed in a
skirmish with the regular troops. Siegendorf dies of a broken heart.
The conception of _The German's Tale_, as Byron perceived, is superior
to the execution. The style is laboured and involved, and the narrative
long-winded and tiresome. It is, perhaps, an adaptation, though not a
literal translation, of a German historical romance. But the _motif_--a
son predestined to evil by the weakness and sensuality of his father, a
father punished for his want of rectitude by the passionate criminality
of his son, is the very key-note of tragedy.
If from haste or indolence Byron scamped his task, and cut up whole
cantles of the novel into nerveless and pointless blank verse, here and
there throughout the play, in scattered lines and passages, he outdoes
himself. The inspiration is fitful, but supreme.
_Werner_ was reviewed in _Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine_, December,
1822, vol. xii. pp. 710-719 (republished in _Miscellanies_ of W. Maginn,
1885, i. 189); in the _Scots Magazine_, December, 1822, N. S. vol. xi.
pp. 688-694; the _European Magazine_, January, 1823, vol. 83, pp. 73-76;
and in the _Eclectic Review_, February, 1823, N. S. vol. xix. pp.
148-155.
NOTE TO THE INTRODUCTION TO _WERNER_.
In an article entitled, "Did Byron write _Werner_? " which appeared in
the _Nineteenth Century_ (August, 1899, vol. 46, pp. 243-250), the Hon.
F. Leveson Gower undertakes to prove that _Werner_ was not written by
Lord Byron, but by Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire (born June 9, 1757,
died March 30, 1806). He adduces, in support of this claim, (1) a
statement made to him by his sister, the late Lady Georgiana Fullerton,
to the effect that their grandmother, the duchess, "wrote the poem and
gave the MS. to her niece, Lady Caroline Ponsonby (better known as Lady
Caroline Lamb), and that she, some years later, handed it over to Lord
Byron, who, in 1822, published it in his own name;" (2) a letter written
in 1822 by his mother, Lady Granville, to her sister, Lady Carlisle,
which asserts that their mother, the duchess, "wrote an entire tragedy
from Miss Lee's _Kreutzner the Hungarian_ (_sic_)," and that the MS. had
been sent to her by Lady Caroline's brother, Mr. William Ponsonby, and
was in her possession; (3) another letter of Lady Granville's, dated
December 3, 1822, in which she informs her sister that her husband, Lord
Granville, had promised to read _Werner_ aloud to her (i. e. Byron's
_Werner_, published November 23, 1822), a promise which, if fulfilled,
must have revealed one of two things--the existence of two dramas based
on Miss Lee's _Kruitzner_, or the identity of Byron's version with that
of the duchess. Now, argues Mr. Leveson Gower, if Lady Granville had
known that two dramas were in existence, she would not have allowed her
daughter, Lady Georgiana Fullerton, to believe "that the duchess was the
author of the published poem. "
I will deal with the external evidence first. Practically it amounts to
this: (1) that Lady Granville knew that her mother, the Duchess of
Devonshire, dramatized Miss Lee's _Kruitzner_; and (2) that Lady
Georgiana Fullerton believed that the duchess gave the MS. of her play
to Lady Caroline Ponsonby, and that, many years after, Lady Caroline
handed it over to Byron.
The external evidence establishes the fact that the Duchess of
Devonshire dramatized _Kruitzner_, but it does not prove that Byron
purloined her adaptation. It records an unverified impression on the
part of the duchess's granddaughter, that the MS. of a play written
between the years 1801-1806, passed into Byron's hands about the year
1813; that he took a copy of the MS. ; and that in 1821-22 he caused his
copy to be retranscribed and published under his own name.
But Mr. Leveson Gower appeals to internal as well as external evidence,
(1) He regards the great inferiority of _Werner_ to Byron's published
plays, and to the genuine (hitherto) unpublished first act, together
with the wholesale plagiarisms from Miss Lee's story, as an additional
proof that the work was none of his. (2) He notes, as a suspicious
circumstance, that "while the rough copies of his other poems have been
preserved, no rough copy of _Werner_ is to be found. "
In conclusion, he deals with two possible objections which may be
brought against his theory: (1) that Byron would not have incurred the
risk of detection at the hands of the owners of the duchess's MS. ; and
(2) that a great poet of assured fame and reputation could have had no
possible motive for perpetrating a literary fraud. The first objection
he answers by assuming that Byron would have counted on the reluctance
of the "Ponsonby family and the daughters of the Duchess" to rake up the
ashes of old scandals; the second, by pointing out that, in 1822, he was
making "frantic endeavours to obtain money, not for himself, but to help
the cause of Greece. "
(1) With regard to the marked inferiority of _Werner_ to Byron's other
plays, and the relative proportion of adapted to original matter, Mr.
Leveson Gower appears to have been misled by the disingenuous criticism
of Maginn and other contemporary reviewers (_vide_ the Introduction,
etc. , p. 326). There is no such inferiority, and the plagiarisms, which
were duly acknowledged, are confined to certain limited portions of the
play. (2) There is nothing unusual in the fact that the rough draft of
_Werner_ cannot be found. In fact, but few of the early drafts of the
dramas and other poems written in the later Italian days ever reached
Murray's hands, or are still in existence. The fair copy for the printer
alone was sent home. The time had gone by when Byron's publisher, who
was also his friend, would stipulate that "all the original MSS. ,
copies and scraps" should fall to his share. But no argument can be
founded on so insignificant a circumstance.
Finally, the argument on which Mr. Leveson Gower dwells at some length,
that Byron's "motive" for perpetrating a literary fraud was the
necessity for raising money for the cause of Greek independence, is
refuted by the fact that _Werner_ was begun in December, 1821, and
finished in January, 1822, and that it was not till the spring of 1823
that he was elected a member of the Greek Committee, or had any occasion
to raise funds for the maintenance of troops or the general expenses of
the war. So far from attempting to raise money by _Werner_, in letters
to Murray, dated March 6, October 24, November 18, 1822, he emphatically
waives the question of "terms," and makes no demand or request for money
whatever. It was not till December 23, 1823 (_Letters_, 1901, vi. 287),
two years after the play had been written, that he speaks of applying
the two or three hundred pounds which the copyright of _Werner_ might be
worth, to the maintenance of armed men in the service of the
_Provisional Government_. He could not have "purloined" and palmed off
as his own the duchess's version of Miss Lee's story in order to raise
money for a purpose which had not arisen. He had no intention at first
or last of presenting the copyright of _Werner_ to Murray or Hunt, but
he was willing to wait for his money, and had no motive for raising
funds by an illegal and dishonourable trick.
That Byron did _not_ write _Werner_ is, surely, non-proven on the
external and internal evidence adduced by Mr. Leveson Gower. On the
other hand, there is abundant evidence, both external and internal,
that, apart from his acknowledged indebtedness to Miss Lee's story, he
did write _Werner_.
To take the external evidence first. On the first page of Mrs. Shelley's
transcript of _Werner_, Byron inserted the date, "Dec. 18, 1821," and on
the last he wrote "[The End] of fifth act of the Drama. B. P[isa]. Jy
21. 1822. "
Turning to the journal of Edward Williams (Shelley's _Prose Works_,
1880, iv. 318), I find the following entries:--
"December 21, 1821. Lord B. told me that he had commenced a tragedy from
Miss Lee's _German Tale_ ('_Werner_'), and had been fagging at it all
day. "
"January 8, 1822. Mary read us the first two acts of Lord B. 's
_Werner_. "
Again, in an unpublished diary of the same period it is recorded that
Mrs. Shelley was engaged in the task of copying on January 17, 1822, and
the eight following days, and that on January 25 she finished her
transcript.
Again, Medwin (_Conversations_, 1824, p. 409) records the fact that
Byron told him "that he had almost finished another play . . . called
_Werner_;" and (p. 412) "that _Werner_ was written in twenty-eight days,
and one entire act at a sitting. " It is almost incredible that Byron
should have recopied a copy of the duchess's play in order to impose on
Mrs. Shelley and Williams and Medwin; and it is quite incredible that
they were in the plot, and lent themselves to the deception. It is
certain that both Williams and Medwin believed that Byron was the author
of _Werner_, and it is certain that nothing would have induced Mrs.
Shelley to be _particeps criminis_--to copy a play which was not
Byron's, to be published as Byron's, and to suffer her copy to be
fraudulently endorsed by her guilty accomplice.
The internal evidence of the genuineness of _Werner_ is still more
convincing. In the first place, there are numerous "undesigned
coincidences," allusions, and phrases to be found in _Werner_ and
elsewhere in Byron's _Poetical Works_, which bear his sign-manual, and
cannot be attributed to another writer; and, secondly, scattered through
the play there are numerous lines, passages, allusions--"a cloud of
witnesses" to their Byronic inspiration and creation.
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.
