The laws (if e'er
Laws reached this village) are all in abeyance
With the late general war of thirty years,
Or crushed, or rising slowly from the dust,
To which the march of armies trampled them.
Laws reached this village) are all in abeyance
With the late general war of thirty years,
Or crushed, or rising slowly from the dust,
To which the march of armies trampled them.
Byron
And wherefore fear?
_Stral. _ I know not why, and therefore do fear more,
Because an undescribable----but 'tis
All folly. Were the locks as I desired
Changed, to-day, of this chamber? for last night's
Adventure makes it needful.
_Fritz_. Certainly,
According to your order, and beneath
The inspection of myself and the young Saxon
Who saved your life. I think they call him "Ulric. "
_Stral. _ You _think! _ you supercilious slave! what right 20
Have you to _tax your_ memory, which should be
Quick, proud, and happy to retain the _name_
Of him who saved your master, as a litany
Whose daily repetition marks your duty. --
Get hence; "_You think_" indeed! you, who stood still
Howling and dripping on the bank, whilst I
Lay dying, and the stranger dashed aside
The roaring torrent, and restored me to
Thank him--and despise you. "_You think! _" and scarce
Can recollect his name! I will not waste 30
More words on you. Call me betimes.
_Fritz_. Good night!
I trust to-morrow will restore your Lordship
To renovated strength and temper. [_The scene closes_.
SCENE III. --_The secret Passage_.
_Gab. _ (_solus_). Four--
Five--six hours have I counted, like the guard
Of outposts, on the never-merry clock,
That hollow tongue[190] of time, which, even when
It sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment
With every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell,
Though for a marriage-feast it rings: each stroke
Peals for a hope the less; the funeral note
Of Love deep-buried, without resurrection,
In the grave of Possession; while the knoll[191] 10
Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo
To triple time in the son's ear.
I'm cold--
I'm dark;--I've blown my fingers--numbered o'er
And o'er my steps--and knocked my head against
Some fifty buttresses--and roused the rats
And bats in general insurrection, till
Their cursed pattering feet and whirling wings
Leave me scarce hearing for another sound.
A light! It is at distance (if I can
Measure in darkness distance): but it blinks 20
As through a crevice or a key-hole, in
The inhibited direction: I must on,
Nevertheless, from curiosity.
A distant lamp-light is an incident
In such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead me
To nothing that may tempt me! Else--Heaven aid me
To obtain or to escape it! Shining still!
Were it the star of Lucifer himself,
Or he himself girt with its beams, I could
Contain no longer. Softly: mighty well! 30
That corner's turned--so--ah! no;--right! it draws
Nearer. Here is a darksome angle--so,
That's weathered. --Let me pause. --Suppose it leads
Into some greater danger than that which
I have escaped--no matter, 'tis a new one;
And novel perils, like fresh mistresses,
Wear more magnetic aspects:--I will on,
And be it where it may--I have my dagger
Which may protect me at a pinch. --Burn still,
Thou little light! Thou art my _ignis fatuus! _ 40
My stationary Will-o'-the-wisp! [192]--So! so!
He hears my invocation, and fails not. [_The scene closes_.
SCENE IV. --_A Garden_.
_Enter_ WERNER.
_Wer. _ I could not sleep--and now the hour's at hand!
All's ready. Idenstein has kept his word;
And stationed in the outskirts of the town,
Upon the forest's edge, the vehicle
Awaits us. Now the dwindling stars begin
To pale in heaven; and for the last time I
Look on these horrible walls. Oh! never, never
Shall I forget them. Here I came most poor,
But not dishonoured: and I leave them with
A stain,--if not upon my name, yet in 10
My heart! --a never-dying canker-worm,
Which all the coming splendour of the lands,
And rights, and sovereignty of Siegendorf
Can scarcely lull a moment. I must find
Some means of restitution, which would ease
My soul in part: but how, without discovery? --
It must be done, however; and I'll pause
Upon the method the first hour of safety.
The madness of my misery led to this
Base infamy; repentance must retrieve it: 20
I will have nought of Stralenheim's upon
My spirit, though he would grasp all of mine;
Lands, freedom, life,--and yet he sleeps as soundly
Perhaps, as infancy[193], with gorgeous curtains
Spread for his canopy, o'er silken pillows,
Such as when----Hark! what noise is that? Again!
The branches shake; and some loose stones have fallen
From yonder terrace.
[ULRIC _leaps down from the terrace_.
Ulric! ever welcome!
Thrice welcome now! this filial----
_Ulr. _ Stop! before
We approach, tell me----
_Wer. _ Why look you so?
_Ulr. _ Do I 30
Behold my father, or----
_Wer. _ What?
_Ulr. _ An assassin?
_Wer. _ Insane or insolent!
_Ulr. _ Reply, sir, as
You prize your life, or mine!
_Wer. _ To what must I
Answer?
_Ulr. _ Are you or are you not the assassin
Of Stralenheim?
_Wer. _ I never was as yet
The murderer of any man. What mean you?
_Ulr. _ Did not you _this_ night (as the night before)
Retrace the secret passage? Did you not
_Again_ revisit Stralenheim's chamber? and----
[ULRIC _pauses_.
_Wer. _ Proceed.
_Ulr. _ _Died_ he not by your hand?
_Wer. _ Great God! 40
_Ulr. _ You are innocent, then! my father's innocent!
Embrace me! Yes,--your tone--your look--yes, yes,--
Yet _say_ so.
_Wer. _ If I e'er, in heart or mind,
Conceived deliberately such a thought,
But rather strove to trample back to hell
Such thoughts--if e'er they glared a moment through
The irritation of my oppressed spirit--
May Heaven be shut for ever from my hopes,
As from mine eyes!
_Ulr. _ But Stralenheim is dead.
_Wer. _ 'Tis horrible! 'tis hideous, as 'tis hateful! -- 50
But what have I to do with this?
_Ulr. _ No bolt
Is forced; no violence can be detected,
Save on his body. Part of his own household
Have been alarmed; but as the Intendant is
Absent, I took upon myself the care
Of mustering the police. His chamber has,
Past doubt, been entered secretly. Excuse me,
If nature----
_Wer. _ Oh, my boy! what unknown woes
Of dark fatality, like clouds, are gathering
Above our house!
_Ulr. _ My father! I acquit you! 60
But will the world do so? will even the judge,
If--but you must away this instant.
_Wer. _ No!
I'll face it. Who shall dare suspect me?
_Ulr. _ Yet
You had _no_ guests--_no_ visitors--no life
Breathing around you, save my mother's?
_Wer. _ Ah!
The Hungarian?
_Ulr. _ He is gone! he disappeared
Ere sunset.
_Wer. _ No; I hid him in that very
Concealed and fatal gallery.
_Ulr. _ _There_ I'll find him.
[ULRIC _is going_.
_Wer. _ It is too late: he had left the palace ere
I quitted it. I found the secret panel 70
Open, and the doors which lead from that hall
Which masks it: I but thought he had snatched the silent
And favourable moment to escape
The myrmidons of Idenstein, who were
Dogging him yester-even.
_Ulr. _ You reclosed
The panel?
_Wer. _ Yes; and not without reproach
(And inner trembling for the avoided peril)
At his dull heedlessness, in leaving thus
His shelterer's asylum to the risk
Of a discovery.
_Ulr. _ You are sure you closed it? 80
_Wer. _ Certain.
_Ulr. _ That's well; but had been better, if
You ne'er had turned it to a den for---- [_He pauses_.
_Wer. _ Thieves!
Thou wouldst say: I must bear it, and deserve it;
But not----
_Ulr. _ No, father; do not speak of this:
This is no hour to think of petty crimes,
But to prevent the consequence of great ones.
Why would you shelter this man?
_Wer. _ Could I shun it?
A man pursued by my chief foe; disgraced
For my own crime: a victim to _my_ safety,
Imploring a few hours' concealment from 90
The very wretch who was the cause he needed
Such refuge. Had he been a wolf, I could not
Have in such circumstances thrust him forth.
_Ulr. _ And like the wolf he hath repaid you. But
It is too late to ponder thus:--you must
Set out ere dawn. I will remain here to
Trace the murderer, if 'tis possible.
_Wer. _ But this my sudden flight will give the Moloch
Suspicion: two new victims in the lieu
Of one, if I remain. The fled Hungarian, 100
Who seems the culprit, and----
_Ulr. _ Who _seems? _ _Who_ else
Can be so?
_Wer. _ Not _I_, though just now you doubted--
You, my _son! _--doubted----
_Ulr. _ And do you doubt of him
The fugitive?
_Wer. _ Boy! since I fell into
The abyss of crime (though not of _such_ crime), I,
Having seen the innocent oppressed for me,
May doubt even of the guilty's guilt. Your heart
Is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse
Appearances; and views a criminal
In Innocence's shadow, it may be, 110
Because 'tis dusky.
_Ulr. _ And if I do so,
What will mankind, who know you not, or knew
But to oppress? You must not stand the hazard.
Away! --I'll make all easy. Idenstein
Will for his own sake and his jewel's hold
His peace--he also is a partner in
Your flight--moreover----
_Wer. _ Fly! and leave my name
Linked with the Hungarian's, or, preferred as poorest,
To bear the brand of bloodshed?
_Ulr. _ Pshaw! leave any thing
Except our fathers' sovereignty and castles, 120
For which you have so long panted, and in vain!
What _name? _ You have _no name_, since that you bear
Is feigned.
_Wer. _ Most true: but still I would not have it
Engraved in crimson in men's memories,
Though in this most obscure abode of men----
Besides, the search----
_Ulr. _ I will provide against
Aught that can touch you. No one knows you here
As heir of Siegendorf: if Idenstein
Suspects, 'tis _but suspicion_, and he is
A fool: his folly shall have such employment, 130
Too, that the unknown Werner shall give way
To nearer thoughts of self.
The laws (if e'er
Laws reached this village) are all in abeyance
With the late general war of thirty years,
Or crushed, or rising slowly from the dust,
To which the march of armies trampled them.
Stralenheim, although noble, is unheeded
_Here_, save as _such_--without lands, influence,
Save what hath perished with him. Few prolong
A week beyond their funeral rites their sway 140
O'er men, unless by relatives, whose interest
Is roused: such is not here the case; he died
Alone, unknown,--a solitary grave,
Obscure as his deserts, without a scutcheon,
Is all he'll have, or wants. If _I_ discover
The assassin, 'twill be well--if not, believe me,
None else; though all the full-fed train of menials
May howl above his ashes (as they did
Around him in his danger on the Oder),
Will no more stir a finger _now_ than _then_. 150
Hence! hence! I must not hear your answer. --Look!
The stars are almost faded, and the grey
Begins to grizzle the black hair of night.
You shall not answer:--Pardon me that I
Am peremptory: 'tis your son that speaks,
Your long-lost, late-found son. --Let's call my mother!
Softly and swiftly step, and leave the rest
To me: I'll answer for the event as far
As regards _you_, and that is the chief point,
As my first duty, which shall be observed. 160
We'll meet in Castle Siegendorf--once more
Our banners shall be glorious! Think of that
Alone, and leave all other thoughts to me,
Whose youth may better battle with them--Hence!
And may your age be happy! --I will kiss
My mother once more, then Heaven's speed be with you!
_Wer. _ This counsel's safe--but is it honourable?
_Ulr. _ To save a father is a child's chief honour.
[_Exeunt_.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. --_A Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, near Prague_.
_Enter_ ERIC _and_ HENRICK, _Retainers of the Count_.
_Eric_. So, better times are come at last; to these
Old walls new masters and high wassail--both
A long desideratum.
_Hen. _ Yes, for _masters_,
It might be unto those who long for novelty,
Though made by a new grave: but, as for wassail,
Methinks the old Count Siegendorf maintained
His feudal hospitality as high
As e'er another Prince of the empire.
_Eric_. Why
For the mere cup and trencher, we no doubt
Fared passing well; but as for merriment 10
And sport, without which salt and sauces season
The cheer but scantily, our sizings were
Even of the narrowest.
_Hen. _ The old count loved not
The roar of revel; are you sure that _this_ does?
_Eric_. As yet he hath been courteous as he's bounteous,
And we all love him.
_Hen. _ His reign is as yet
Hardly a year o'erpast its honeymoon,
And the first year of sovereigns is bridal:
Anon, we shall perceive his real sway
And moods of mind.
_Eric_. Pray Heaven he keep the present! 20
Then his brave son, Count Ulric--there's a knight!
Pity the wars are o'er!
_Hen. _ Why so?
_Eric_. Look on him!
And answer that yourself.
_Hen. _ He's very youthful,
And strong and beautiful as a young tiger.
_Eric_. That's not a faithful vassal's likeness.
_Hen. _ But
Perhaps a true one.
_Eric_. Pity, as I said,
The wars are over: in the hall, who like
Count Ulric for a well-supported pride,
Which awes, but yet offends not? in the field,
Who like him with his spear in hand, when gnashing 30
His tusks, and ripping up, from right to left,
The howling hounds, the boar makes for the thicket?
Who backs a horse, or bears a hawk, or wears
A sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier?
_Hen. _ No one's, I grant you. Do not fear, if war
Be long in coming, he is of that kind
Will make it for himself, if he hath not
Already done as much.
_Eric_. What do you mean?
_Hen. _ You can't deny his train of followers
(But few our native fellow-vassals born 40
On the domain) are such a sort of knaves
As---- [_Pauses_.
_Eric_. What?
_Hen. _ The war (you love so much) leaves living.
Like other parents, she spoils her worst children.
_Eric_. Nonsense! they are all brave iron-visaged fellows,
Such as old Tilly loved.
_Hen. _ And who loved Tilly?
Ask that at Magdebourg[194]--or, for that matter,
Wallenstein either;--they are gone to----
_Eric_. Rest!
But what beyond 'tis not ours to pronounce.
_Hen. _ I wish they had left us something of their rest:
The country (nominally now at peace) 50
Is over-run with--God knows who: they fly
By night, and disappear with sunrise; but
Leave us no less desolation, nay, even more,
Than the most open warfare.
_Eric_. But Count Ulric--
What has all this to do with him?
_Hen. _ With him!
He----might prevent it. As you say he's fond
Of war, why makes he it not on those marauders?
_Eric_. You'd better ask himself.
_Hen. _ I would as soon
Ask the lion why he laps not milk.
_Eric_. And here he comes!
_Hen. _ The devil! you'll hold your tongue? 60
_Eric_. Why do you turn so pale?
_Hen. _ 'Tis nothing--but
Be silent.
_Eric_. I will, upon what you have said.
_Hen. _ I assure you I meant nothing,--a mere sport
Of words, no more; besides, had it been otherwise,
He is to espouse the gentle Baroness
Ida of Stralenheim, the late Baron's heiress;
And she, no doubt, will soften whatsoever
Of fierceness the late long intestine wars
Have given all natures, and most unto those
Who were born in them, and bred up upon 70
The knees of Homicide; sprinkled, as it were,
With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peace
On all that I have said!
_Enter_ ULRIC _and_ RODOLPH.
Good morrow, count.
_Ulr. _ Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, is
All ready for the chase?
_Eric_. The dogs are ordered
Down to the forest, and the vassals out
To beat the bushes, and the day looks promising.
Shall I call forth your Excellency's suite?
What courser will you please to mount?
_Ulr. _ The dun,
Walstein.
_Eric_. I fear he scarcely has recovered 80
The toils of Monday: 'twas a noble chase:
You speared _four_ with your own hand.
_Ulr. _ True, good Eric;
I had forgotten--let it be the grey, then,
Old Ziska: he has not been out this fortnight.
_Eric_. He shall be straight caparisoned. How many
Of your immediate retainers shall
Escort you?
_Ulr. _ I leave that to Weilburgh, our
Master of the horse. [_Exit_ ERIC.
Rodolph!
_Rod. _ My Lord!
_Ulr. _ The news
Is awkward from the---- [RODOLPH _points to_ HENRICK.
How now, Henrick? why
Loiter you here?
_Hen. _ For your commands, my Lord. 90
_Ulr. _ Go to my father, and present my duty,
And learn if he would aught with me before
I mount. [_Exit_ HENRICK.
Rodolph, our friends have had a check
Upon the frontiers of Franconia[195], and
'Tis rumoured that the column sent against them
Is to be strengthened. I must join them soon.
_Rod. _ Best wait for further and more sure advices.
_Ulr. _ I mean it--and indeed it could not well
Have fallen out at a time more opposite
To all my plans.
_Rod. _ It will be difficult 100
To excuse your absence to the Count your father.
_Ulr. _ Yes, but the unsettled state of our domain
In high Silesia will permit and cover
My journey. In the mean time, when we are
Engaged in the chase, draw off the eighty men
Whom Wolffe leads--keep the forests on your route:
You know it well?
_Rod. _ As well as on that night
When we----
_Ulr. _ We will not speak of that until
We can repeat the same with like success:
And when you have joined, give Rosenberg this letter. 110
[_Gives a letter_.
Add further, that I have sent this slight addition
To our force with you and Wolffe, as herald of
My coming, though I could but spare them ill
At this time, as my father loves to keep
Full numbers of retainers round the castle,
Until this marriage, and its feasts and fooleries,
Are rung out with its peal of nuptial nonsense.
_Rod. _ I thought you loved the lady Ida?
_Ulr. _ Why,
I do so--but it follows not from that
I would bind in my youth and glorious years, 120
So brief and burning, with a lady's zone,
Although 'twere that of Venus:--but I love her,
As woman should be loved--fairly and solely.
_Rod. _ And constantly?
_Ulr. _ I think so; for I love
Nought else. --But I have not the time to pause
Upon these gewgaws of the heart. Great things
We have to do ere long. Speed! speed! good Rodolph!
_Rod. _ On my return, however, I shall find
The Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf?
_Ulr. _ Perhaps: my father wishes it, and, sooth, 130
'Tis no bad policy: this union with
The last bud of the rival branch at once
Unites the future and destroys the past.
_Rod. _ Adieu.
_Ulr. _ Yet hold--we had better keep together
Until the chase begins; then draw thou off,
And do as I have said.
_Rod. _ I will. But to
Return--'twas a most kind act in the count
Your father to send up to Konigsberg
For this fair orphan of the Baron, and
To hail her as his daughter.
_Ulr. _ Wondrous kind! 140
Especially as little kindness till
Then grew between them.
_Rod. _ The late Baron died
Of a fever, did he not?
_Ulr. _ How should I know?
_Rod. _ I have heard it whispered there was something strange
About his death--and even the place of it
Is scarcely known.
_Ulr. _ Some obscure village on
The Saxon or Silesian frontier.
_Rod. _ He
Has left no testament--no farewell words?
_Ulr. _ I am neither confessor nor notary,
So cannot say.
_Rod. _ Ah! here's the lady Ida. 150
_Enter_ IDA STRALENHEIM.
_Ulr. _ You are early, my sweet cousin!
_Ida. _ Not _too_ early,
Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you.
Why do you call me "_Cousin? _"
_Ulr.
_Stral. _ I know not why, and therefore do fear more,
Because an undescribable----but 'tis
All folly. Were the locks as I desired
Changed, to-day, of this chamber? for last night's
Adventure makes it needful.
_Fritz_. Certainly,
According to your order, and beneath
The inspection of myself and the young Saxon
Who saved your life. I think they call him "Ulric. "
_Stral. _ You _think! _ you supercilious slave! what right 20
Have you to _tax your_ memory, which should be
Quick, proud, and happy to retain the _name_
Of him who saved your master, as a litany
Whose daily repetition marks your duty. --
Get hence; "_You think_" indeed! you, who stood still
Howling and dripping on the bank, whilst I
Lay dying, and the stranger dashed aside
The roaring torrent, and restored me to
Thank him--and despise you. "_You think! _" and scarce
Can recollect his name! I will not waste 30
More words on you. Call me betimes.
_Fritz_. Good night!
I trust to-morrow will restore your Lordship
To renovated strength and temper. [_The scene closes_.
SCENE III. --_The secret Passage_.
_Gab. _ (_solus_). Four--
Five--six hours have I counted, like the guard
Of outposts, on the never-merry clock,
That hollow tongue[190] of time, which, even when
It sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment
With every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell,
Though for a marriage-feast it rings: each stroke
Peals for a hope the less; the funeral note
Of Love deep-buried, without resurrection,
In the grave of Possession; while the knoll[191] 10
Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo
To triple time in the son's ear.
I'm cold--
I'm dark;--I've blown my fingers--numbered o'er
And o'er my steps--and knocked my head against
Some fifty buttresses--and roused the rats
And bats in general insurrection, till
Their cursed pattering feet and whirling wings
Leave me scarce hearing for another sound.
A light! It is at distance (if I can
Measure in darkness distance): but it blinks 20
As through a crevice or a key-hole, in
The inhibited direction: I must on,
Nevertheless, from curiosity.
A distant lamp-light is an incident
In such a den as this. Pray Heaven it lead me
To nothing that may tempt me! Else--Heaven aid me
To obtain or to escape it! Shining still!
Were it the star of Lucifer himself,
Or he himself girt with its beams, I could
Contain no longer. Softly: mighty well! 30
That corner's turned--so--ah! no;--right! it draws
Nearer. Here is a darksome angle--so,
That's weathered. --Let me pause. --Suppose it leads
Into some greater danger than that which
I have escaped--no matter, 'tis a new one;
And novel perils, like fresh mistresses,
Wear more magnetic aspects:--I will on,
And be it where it may--I have my dagger
Which may protect me at a pinch. --Burn still,
Thou little light! Thou art my _ignis fatuus! _ 40
My stationary Will-o'-the-wisp! [192]--So! so!
He hears my invocation, and fails not. [_The scene closes_.
SCENE IV. --_A Garden_.
_Enter_ WERNER.
_Wer. _ I could not sleep--and now the hour's at hand!
All's ready. Idenstein has kept his word;
And stationed in the outskirts of the town,
Upon the forest's edge, the vehicle
Awaits us. Now the dwindling stars begin
To pale in heaven; and for the last time I
Look on these horrible walls. Oh! never, never
Shall I forget them. Here I came most poor,
But not dishonoured: and I leave them with
A stain,--if not upon my name, yet in 10
My heart! --a never-dying canker-worm,
Which all the coming splendour of the lands,
And rights, and sovereignty of Siegendorf
Can scarcely lull a moment. I must find
Some means of restitution, which would ease
My soul in part: but how, without discovery? --
It must be done, however; and I'll pause
Upon the method the first hour of safety.
The madness of my misery led to this
Base infamy; repentance must retrieve it: 20
I will have nought of Stralenheim's upon
My spirit, though he would grasp all of mine;
Lands, freedom, life,--and yet he sleeps as soundly
Perhaps, as infancy[193], with gorgeous curtains
Spread for his canopy, o'er silken pillows,
Such as when----Hark! what noise is that? Again!
The branches shake; and some loose stones have fallen
From yonder terrace.
[ULRIC _leaps down from the terrace_.
Ulric! ever welcome!
Thrice welcome now! this filial----
_Ulr. _ Stop! before
We approach, tell me----
_Wer. _ Why look you so?
_Ulr. _ Do I 30
Behold my father, or----
_Wer. _ What?
_Ulr. _ An assassin?
_Wer. _ Insane or insolent!
_Ulr. _ Reply, sir, as
You prize your life, or mine!
_Wer. _ To what must I
Answer?
_Ulr. _ Are you or are you not the assassin
Of Stralenheim?
_Wer. _ I never was as yet
The murderer of any man. What mean you?
_Ulr. _ Did not you _this_ night (as the night before)
Retrace the secret passage? Did you not
_Again_ revisit Stralenheim's chamber? and----
[ULRIC _pauses_.
_Wer. _ Proceed.
_Ulr. _ _Died_ he not by your hand?
_Wer. _ Great God! 40
_Ulr. _ You are innocent, then! my father's innocent!
Embrace me! Yes,--your tone--your look--yes, yes,--
Yet _say_ so.
_Wer. _ If I e'er, in heart or mind,
Conceived deliberately such a thought,
But rather strove to trample back to hell
Such thoughts--if e'er they glared a moment through
The irritation of my oppressed spirit--
May Heaven be shut for ever from my hopes,
As from mine eyes!
_Ulr. _ But Stralenheim is dead.
_Wer. _ 'Tis horrible! 'tis hideous, as 'tis hateful! -- 50
But what have I to do with this?
_Ulr. _ No bolt
Is forced; no violence can be detected,
Save on his body. Part of his own household
Have been alarmed; but as the Intendant is
Absent, I took upon myself the care
Of mustering the police. His chamber has,
Past doubt, been entered secretly. Excuse me,
If nature----
_Wer. _ Oh, my boy! what unknown woes
Of dark fatality, like clouds, are gathering
Above our house!
_Ulr. _ My father! I acquit you! 60
But will the world do so? will even the judge,
If--but you must away this instant.
_Wer. _ No!
I'll face it. Who shall dare suspect me?
_Ulr. _ Yet
You had _no_ guests--_no_ visitors--no life
Breathing around you, save my mother's?
_Wer. _ Ah!
The Hungarian?
_Ulr. _ He is gone! he disappeared
Ere sunset.
_Wer. _ No; I hid him in that very
Concealed and fatal gallery.
_Ulr. _ _There_ I'll find him.
[ULRIC _is going_.
_Wer. _ It is too late: he had left the palace ere
I quitted it. I found the secret panel 70
Open, and the doors which lead from that hall
Which masks it: I but thought he had snatched the silent
And favourable moment to escape
The myrmidons of Idenstein, who were
Dogging him yester-even.
_Ulr. _ You reclosed
The panel?
_Wer. _ Yes; and not without reproach
(And inner trembling for the avoided peril)
At his dull heedlessness, in leaving thus
His shelterer's asylum to the risk
Of a discovery.
_Ulr. _ You are sure you closed it? 80
_Wer. _ Certain.
_Ulr. _ That's well; but had been better, if
You ne'er had turned it to a den for---- [_He pauses_.
_Wer. _ Thieves!
Thou wouldst say: I must bear it, and deserve it;
But not----
_Ulr. _ No, father; do not speak of this:
This is no hour to think of petty crimes,
But to prevent the consequence of great ones.
Why would you shelter this man?
_Wer. _ Could I shun it?
A man pursued by my chief foe; disgraced
For my own crime: a victim to _my_ safety,
Imploring a few hours' concealment from 90
The very wretch who was the cause he needed
Such refuge. Had he been a wolf, I could not
Have in such circumstances thrust him forth.
_Ulr. _ And like the wolf he hath repaid you. But
It is too late to ponder thus:--you must
Set out ere dawn. I will remain here to
Trace the murderer, if 'tis possible.
_Wer. _ But this my sudden flight will give the Moloch
Suspicion: two new victims in the lieu
Of one, if I remain. The fled Hungarian, 100
Who seems the culprit, and----
_Ulr. _ Who _seems? _ _Who_ else
Can be so?
_Wer. _ Not _I_, though just now you doubted--
You, my _son! _--doubted----
_Ulr. _ And do you doubt of him
The fugitive?
_Wer. _ Boy! since I fell into
The abyss of crime (though not of _such_ crime), I,
Having seen the innocent oppressed for me,
May doubt even of the guilty's guilt. Your heart
Is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse
Appearances; and views a criminal
In Innocence's shadow, it may be, 110
Because 'tis dusky.
_Ulr. _ And if I do so,
What will mankind, who know you not, or knew
But to oppress? You must not stand the hazard.
Away! --I'll make all easy. Idenstein
Will for his own sake and his jewel's hold
His peace--he also is a partner in
Your flight--moreover----
_Wer. _ Fly! and leave my name
Linked with the Hungarian's, or, preferred as poorest,
To bear the brand of bloodshed?
_Ulr. _ Pshaw! leave any thing
Except our fathers' sovereignty and castles, 120
For which you have so long panted, and in vain!
What _name? _ You have _no name_, since that you bear
Is feigned.
_Wer. _ Most true: but still I would not have it
Engraved in crimson in men's memories,
Though in this most obscure abode of men----
Besides, the search----
_Ulr. _ I will provide against
Aught that can touch you. No one knows you here
As heir of Siegendorf: if Idenstein
Suspects, 'tis _but suspicion_, and he is
A fool: his folly shall have such employment, 130
Too, that the unknown Werner shall give way
To nearer thoughts of self.
The laws (if e'er
Laws reached this village) are all in abeyance
With the late general war of thirty years,
Or crushed, or rising slowly from the dust,
To which the march of armies trampled them.
Stralenheim, although noble, is unheeded
_Here_, save as _such_--without lands, influence,
Save what hath perished with him. Few prolong
A week beyond their funeral rites their sway 140
O'er men, unless by relatives, whose interest
Is roused: such is not here the case; he died
Alone, unknown,--a solitary grave,
Obscure as his deserts, without a scutcheon,
Is all he'll have, or wants. If _I_ discover
The assassin, 'twill be well--if not, believe me,
None else; though all the full-fed train of menials
May howl above his ashes (as they did
Around him in his danger on the Oder),
Will no more stir a finger _now_ than _then_. 150
Hence! hence! I must not hear your answer. --Look!
The stars are almost faded, and the grey
Begins to grizzle the black hair of night.
You shall not answer:--Pardon me that I
Am peremptory: 'tis your son that speaks,
Your long-lost, late-found son. --Let's call my mother!
Softly and swiftly step, and leave the rest
To me: I'll answer for the event as far
As regards _you_, and that is the chief point,
As my first duty, which shall be observed. 160
We'll meet in Castle Siegendorf--once more
Our banners shall be glorious! Think of that
Alone, and leave all other thoughts to me,
Whose youth may better battle with them--Hence!
And may your age be happy! --I will kiss
My mother once more, then Heaven's speed be with you!
_Wer. _ This counsel's safe--but is it honourable?
_Ulr. _ To save a father is a child's chief honour.
[_Exeunt_.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. --_A Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, near Prague_.
_Enter_ ERIC _and_ HENRICK, _Retainers of the Count_.
_Eric_. So, better times are come at last; to these
Old walls new masters and high wassail--both
A long desideratum.
_Hen. _ Yes, for _masters_,
It might be unto those who long for novelty,
Though made by a new grave: but, as for wassail,
Methinks the old Count Siegendorf maintained
His feudal hospitality as high
As e'er another Prince of the empire.
_Eric_. Why
For the mere cup and trencher, we no doubt
Fared passing well; but as for merriment 10
And sport, without which salt and sauces season
The cheer but scantily, our sizings were
Even of the narrowest.
_Hen. _ The old count loved not
The roar of revel; are you sure that _this_ does?
_Eric_. As yet he hath been courteous as he's bounteous,
And we all love him.
_Hen. _ His reign is as yet
Hardly a year o'erpast its honeymoon,
And the first year of sovereigns is bridal:
Anon, we shall perceive his real sway
And moods of mind.
_Eric_. Pray Heaven he keep the present! 20
Then his brave son, Count Ulric--there's a knight!
Pity the wars are o'er!
_Hen. _ Why so?
_Eric_. Look on him!
And answer that yourself.
_Hen. _ He's very youthful,
And strong and beautiful as a young tiger.
_Eric_. That's not a faithful vassal's likeness.
_Hen. _ But
Perhaps a true one.
_Eric_. Pity, as I said,
The wars are over: in the hall, who like
Count Ulric for a well-supported pride,
Which awes, but yet offends not? in the field,
Who like him with his spear in hand, when gnashing 30
His tusks, and ripping up, from right to left,
The howling hounds, the boar makes for the thicket?
Who backs a horse, or bears a hawk, or wears
A sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier?
_Hen. _ No one's, I grant you. Do not fear, if war
Be long in coming, he is of that kind
Will make it for himself, if he hath not
Already done as much.
_Eric_. What do you mean?
_Hen. _ You can't deny his train of followers
(But few our native fellow-vassals born 40
On the domain) are such a sort of knaves
As---- [_Pauses_.
_Eric_. What?
_Hen. _ The war (you love so much) leaves living.
Like other parents, she spoils her worst children.
_Eric_. Nonsense! they are all brave iron-visaged fellows,
Such as old Tilly loved.
_Hen. _ And who loved Tilly?
Ask that at Magdebourg[194]--or, for that matter,
Wallenstein either;--they are gone to----
_Eric_. Rest!
But what beyond 'tis not ours to pronounce.
_Hen. _ I wish they had left us something of their rest:
The country (nominally now at peace) 50
Is over-run with--God knows who: they fly
By night, and disappear with sunrise; but
Leave us no less desolation, nay, even more,
Than the most open warfare.
_Eric_. But Count Ulric--
What has all this to do with him?
_Hen. _ With him!
He----might prevent it. As you say he's fond
Of war, why makes he it not on those marauders?
_Eric_. You'd better ask himself.
_Hen. _ I would as soon
Ask the lion why he laps not milk.
_Eric_. And here he comes!
_Hen. _ The devil! you'll hold your tongue? 60
_Eric_. Why do you turn so pale?
_Hen. _ 'Tis nothing--but
Be silent.
_Eric_. I will, upon what you have said.
_Hen. _ I assure you I meant nothing,--a mere sport
Of words, no more; besides, had it been otherwise,
He is to espouse the gentle Baroness
Ida of Stralenheim, the late Baron's heiress;
And she, no doubt, will soften whatsoever
Of fierceness the late long intestine wars
Have given all natures, and most unto those
Who were born in them, and bred up upon 70
The knees of Homicide; sprinkled, as it were,
With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peace
On all that I have said!
_Enter_ ULRIC _and_ RODOLPH.
Good morrow, count.
_Ulr. _ Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, is
All ready for the chase?
_Eric_. The dogs are ordered
Down to the forest, and the vassals out
To beat the bushes, and the day looks promising.
Shall I call forth your Excellency's suite?
What courser will you please to mount?
_Ulr. _ The dun,
Walstein.
_Eric_. I fear he scarcely has recovered 80
The toils of Monday: 'twas a noble chase:
You speared _four_ with your own hand.
_Ulr. _ True, good Eric;
I had forgotten--let it be the grey, then,
Old Ziska: he has not been out this fortnight.
_Eric_. He shall be straight caparisoned. How many
Of your immediate retainers shall
Escort you?
_Ulr. _ I leave that to Weilburgh, our
Master of the horse. [_Exit_ ERIC.
Rodolph!
_Rod. _ My Lord!
_Ulr. _ The news
Is awkward from the---- [RODOLPH _points to_ HENRICK.
How now, Henrick? why
Loiter you here?
_Hen. _ For your commands, my Lord. 90
_Ulr. _ Go to my father, and present my duty,
And learn if he would aught with me before
I mount. [_Exit_ HENRICK.
Rodolph, our friends have had a check
Upon the frontiers of Franconia[195], and
'Tis rumoured that the column sent against them
Is to be strengthened. I must join them soon.
_Rod. _ Best wait for further and more sure advices.
_Ulr. _ I mean it--and indeed it could not well
Have fallen out at a time more opposite
To all my plans.
_Rod. _ It will be difficult 100
To excuse your absence to the Count your father.
_Ulr. _ Yes, but the unsettled state of our domain
In high Silesia will permit and cover
My journey. In the mean time, when we are
Engaged in the chase, draw off the eighty men
Whom Wolffe leads--keep the forests on your route:
You know it well?
_Rod. _ As well as on that night
When we----
_Ulr. _ We will not speak of that until
We can repeat the same with like success:
And when you have joined, give Rosenberg this letter. 110
[_Gives a letter_.
Add further, that I have sent this slight addition
To our force with you and Wolffe, as herald of
My coming, though I could but spare them ill
At this time, as my father loves to keep
Full numbers of retainers round the castle,
Until this marriage, and its feasts and fooleries,
Are rung out with its peal of nuptial nonsense.
_Rod. _ I thought you loved the lady Ida?
_Ulr. _ Why,
I do so--but it follows not from that
I would bind in my youth and glorious years, 120
So brief and burning, with a lady's zone,
Although 'twere that of Venus:--but I love her,
As woman should be loved--fairly and solely.
_Rod. _ And constantly?
_Ulr. _ I think so; for I love
Nought else. --But I have not the time to pause
Upon these gewgaws of the heart. Great things
We have to do ere long. Speed! speed! good Rodolph!
_Rod. _ On my return, however, I shall find
The Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf?
_Ulr. _ Perhaps: my father wishes it, and, sooth, 130
'Tis no bad policy: this union with
The last bud of the rival branch at once
Unites the future and destroys the past.
_Rod. _ Adieu.
_Ulr. _ Yet hold--we had better keep together
Until the chase begins; then draw thou off,
And do as I have said.
_Rod. _ I will. But to
Return--'twas a most kind act in the count
Your father to send up to Konigsberg
For this fair orphan of the Baron, and
To hail her as his daughter.
_Ulr. _ Wondrous kind! 140
Especially as little kindness till
Then grew between them.
_Rod. _ The late Baron died
Of a fever, did he not?
_Ulr. _ How should I know?
_Rod. _ I have heard it whispered there was something strange
About his death--and even the place of it
Is scarcely known.
_Ulr. _ Some obscure village on
The Saxon or Silesian frontier.
_Rod. _ He
Has left no testament--no farewell words?
_Ulr. _ I am neither confessor nor notary,
So cannot say.
_Rod. _ Ah! here's the lady Ida. 150
_Enter_ IDA STRALENHEIM.
_Ulr. _ You are early, my sweet cousin!
_Ida. _ Not _too_ early,
Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you.
Why do you call me "_Cousin? _"
_Ulr.
