No More Learning

_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.