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 LORD BYRON. 
 
 ■ 
 
 H1XADELPHI \ 
 
 i ! I \ - ;; r STREET 
 
 . gS.. 16^, BUOADVAT, SEW T>3 
 
>? 
 
 A TRAGEDY, 
 
 BY LORD BYRON, 
 
 PHILADELHIA: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY H. C. CAREY AND I. LEA, 
 
 1823. 
 
B^nWB 
 
 TO 
 
 THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE, 
 
 BY ONE OF HIS HUMBLEST ADMIBEBS, 
 
 THIS TRAGEDY 
 
 19 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. 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 con- 
 tain the germ of much that I have since writ- 
 ten. 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 sjn- 
 a2 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 gular power of mind and conception which it 
 developes. I should also add conception, 
 rather than execution ; for the story might, 
 perhaps, have been more 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 their 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 un- 
 willing that he should find much greater plea- 
 sure 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, ex- 
 cept 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, 
 
 Feb. 1822. 
 
WERNER. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 Werner. 
 
 Ulric. 
 
 Stralenheim. 
 
 Idenstein. 
 
 Gabor. 
 
 Fritz. 
 
 Hen rick. 
 
 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. 
 
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 Might 
 tempestuous. 
 
 Werner and Josephine his wife. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 My love, be calmer ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I am calm. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Tome- 
 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 J 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 *Tis chill ; the tapestry lets through 
 The wind to which it waves : my blood is frozen. 
 
10 WERNER, act i. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Ah, no ! 
 
 Werner (smiling) 
 Why \ wouldst thou have it so ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 I would 
 Have it a healthful current. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Let it flow 
 Until 'tis spilt or check'd — how soon, I care not. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 And am I nothing in thy heart ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 All— all. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Then canst thou wish for that which must break 
 
 mine ? 
 
 werner {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 approach- 
 es Josephine. 
 
 The storm of the night, 
 Perhaps, affects me ; I'm a thing of feelings, 
 And have of late been sickly, as, alas ! 
 Thou know' st by sufferings more than mine, 
 
 my love ! 
 In watching me. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 To see thee well is much — 
 To see thee happy 
 
sc. I. A TRAGEDY. 1 1 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Where hast thou seen such ? 
 Let me be wretched with the rest ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 But think 
 How many in this hour of tempest shiver 
 ~f 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. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 And that's not the worst : who cares 
 For chambers ? rest is all. The wretches whom 
 Thou namest — ay, the wind howls round them, 
 and 
 1 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. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 And art thou not now shelter'd from them all ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Yes. And from these alone. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 And that is something. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 True — to a peasant. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Should the nobly bom 
 Be thankless for that refuge which their habits 
 Of early delicacy render more 
 Needful than to the peasant, when the ebb 
 ( Of fortune leaves them on the shoals of life I 
 
12 WERNER, act r. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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 bome it. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Well? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Something beyond our outward sufferings (tho' 
 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 
 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 sustain'd — my name — 
 My father's name — been still upheld ; and, more 
 
 Than those 
 
 Josephine (abruptly}. 
 
 My son — our son— our Ulric, 
 Been clasp'd again in these long empty arms, 
 And all a mother's hunger satisfied. 
 Twelve years ! he was but eight then :— .beauti- 
 
 ful 
 He was, and beautiful he must be now. 
 My Ulric ! my adored ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I have been full oft 
 The chace of fortune ; now she hath o'ertaken 
 My spirit where it cannot turn at bay, 
 Sick, poor, and lonely. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Lonely ! my dear husband ? 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 13 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Or worse— involving all I love, in this 
 
 Far worse than solitude. Alone, I had died, 
 
 And all been over in a nameless grave. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 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, 
 So that they find the goal, or cease to feel 
 ■ Further. Take comfort, — we shall find our boy. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 We were in sight of him, of every thing 
 Which could bring compensation for past sor= 
 
 row — 
 And to be baffled thus ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 We are not baffled. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Are we not pennyless ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 We ne'er were wealthy • 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 ; 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 
 Long sufferings have atoned. My father's death 
 Left the path open, yet not without snares, 
 -f 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 j * 
 
14 WERNER, act i. 
 
 Of that which lifts him up to princes in 
 Dominion and domain. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Who knows ? our son 
 May have return'd back to his grandsire, and 
 Even now uphold thy rights for thee ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 'Tis hopeless. 
 Since his strange disappearance from my fa- 
 ther's, 
 Entailing, as it were, my sins upon 
 Himself, no tidings have reveal'd his course. 
 
 f*"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. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 I must hope better still, — at least we have yet 
 Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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 track'd us here ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 He does not know thy person ; and his spies, 
 Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at 
 
 Hamburgh. 
 Our unexpected journey, and this change 
 Of name, leaves all discovery far behind : 
 None hold us here for aught save what we seem. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 15 
 
 WKRNER. 
 
 Save what we seem ! save what we are— sick 
 
 beggars, 
 Even to our very hopes. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Alas! 
 That bitter laugh ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Who would read in this form 
 "4- 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-hollow'd brow, the lord of halls, 
 Which daily feast a thousand vassals ? 4. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 You 
 (Ponder'd not thus upon these worldly things,} 
 My Werner ! ! when you deign'd to choose for 
 
 bride 
 The foreign daughter of a wandering exile» 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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 decay'd; 
 And worthy by its birth to match with ours.] 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Your father did not think so, though 'twas noble ; 
 But had my birth been all my claim to match 
 With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 And what is that in thine eyes ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE.^ 
 
 All which it 
 
16 WERNER. act i. 
 
 Has done in our behalf, — nothing. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 How, — nothing ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 ■* Or worse ; for it has been a canker in 
 Thy heart from the beginning :* but for this, 
 
 , We had not felt our poverty, but as 
 Millions of myriads feel it, cheerfully ; 
 But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers, 
 Thou might'st have earn'd thy bread, as thou- 
 sands earn it ; 
 Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce, 
 
 ./ Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes. , 
 werner [ironically). 
 And been an Hanseatic burgher ? Excellent I 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 ■* Whate'er thou might'st have been, to me thou 
 art, 
 What no state high or low can ever change, 
 • My heart's first choice ; — which chose thee, 
 
 knowing neither 
 \ Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride ; nought, save 
 
 thy sorrows : 
 " While they last, let me comfort or divide them ; 
 When they end, let mine end with them, or thee I 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 My better angel ! such I have ever found thee;} 
 This rashness, or this weakness of my temper, 
 .Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine. 1 } 
 Thou didst not mar my fortunes : my own nature 
 In youth was such as to unmake an empire, 
 Had such been my inheritance ; but now, 
 Chasten'd, subdued, out-worn, and taught to 
 
 know 
 Myself, — to lose this for our son and thee ! 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 17 
 
 Trust me, when, in my two-and-twentieth spring 
 My father barr'd me from my father's house, 
 The last sole scion of a thousand sires, 
 ' (For I was then the last,) it hurt me less 
 I Than to behold my boy and my boy's mother 
 Excluded in their innocence from what 
 My faults deserved exclusion ; although then 
 My passions were all living serpents, and 
 Twined like the gorgon's round me. 
 
 \_A knocking is heard. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Hark ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 A knocking ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Who can it be at this lone hour ? we have 
 Few visitors. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 And poverty hath none, 
 Save those who come to make it poorer still. 
 Well, I am prepared. 
 
 ^Werner puts his hand into his bosom as if 
 to search for some weapon. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Oh ! do not look so. I 
 Will to the door, it cannot be of import 
 vln this lone spot of wintry desolation—) 
 \ The very desert saves man from mankind. 
 
 \J$he goes to the door. 
 
 Enter Idenstein. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 A fair good evening to my fairer hostess 
 
 And worthy what's your name, my friend ? 
 
 b 2 
 
18 WERNER, act i. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Are you 
 Not afraid to demand it ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Not afraid ? 
 Egad ! I am afraid. You look as if 
 I ask'd for something better than your name, 
 By the face you put on it. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Better, sir ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Better or worse, like matrimony, what 
 
 Shall I say more ? You have been a guest this 
 
 month 
 Here in the prince's palace — (to be sure, 
 His highness had resign'd it to the ghosts 
 And rats these twelve years — but 'tis still a 
 
 palace)— 
 I say you have been our lodger, and as yet 
 We do not know your name. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 My name is Werner. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 A goodly name, a very worthy name 
 As e'er was gilt upon a trader's board ; 
 I have a cousin in the lazaretto 
 Of Hamburgh, who has got a wife who bore 
 The same. He is an officer of trust, 
 Surgeon's assistant (hoping to be surgeon), 
 And has done miracles i' the way of business. 
 Perhaps you are related to my relative ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 To yours ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Oh, yes ; we are, but distantly. 
 
 [Aside to Werner. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 19 
 
 Cannot you humour the dull gossip till 
 We learn his purpose ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Well, I'm glad of that ; 
 I thought so all along ;|.such natural yearnings 
 Play'd round my heart—blood is not water, 
 
 cousin ; 
 And so let's have some wine, and drink unto 
 Our better acquaintance : relatives should be 
 Friends.}' 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You appear to have drank enough already, 
 And if you had not, I've no wine to offer, 
 Else it were yours ; but this you know, or should 
 
 know : 
 You see I am poor, and sick, and will not see 
 That I would be alone ; but to your business ! 
 What brings you here ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Why, what should bring me here ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I know not, though I think that I could guess 
 That which will send you hence. 
 josephine (aside). 
 
 Patience, dear Werner S 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 You don't know what has happen'd, then ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 How should we ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 The river has o'erflow'd. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Alas ! we have known 
 That to our sorrow, for these five days ; since 
 It keeps us here. 
 
20 WERNER, act i. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 But what you don't know is, 
 That a great personage, who fain would cross 
 Against the stream, and three postillions' wishes, 
 Is drown'd below the ford, with five post-horses, 
 A monkey, and a mastiff, and a valet. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Poor creatures ! are you sure ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Yes, of the monkey, 
 And the valet, and the cattle ; but as yet 
 We know not if his excellency's dead 
 Or no ; your noblemen are hard to drown, 
 
 | As it is fit that men in office should be ; 
 
 /But, what is certain is, that he has swallow'd 
 Enough of the Oder to have burst two peasants ; 
 And now a Saxon and Hungarian traveller, 
 Who, at their proper peril, snatch'd him from 
 The whirling river, have sent on to crave 
 A lodging, or a grave, according as 
 
 , It may turn out with the live or dead body. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 And where will you receive him ? here, I hope. 
 If we can be of service — say the word. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Here ? no ; but in the prince's own apartment, 
 As fits a noble guest : — 'tis damp, no doubt, 
 Not having been inhabited these twelve years ; 
 But then he comes from a much clamper place, 
 So scarcely will catch cold in't, if he be 
 Still liable to cold— and if not, why 
 He'll be worse lodged to-morrow : ne'ertheless, 
 I have order'd fire and all appliances 
 To be got ready for the worst— that is, 
 In case he should survive. 
 
so.i. A TRAGEDY. 21 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Poor gentleman ! 
 I hope he will with all my heart. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Intendant, 
 Have you not learn'd his name ? My Josephine, 
 
 [aside to his wife. 
 Retire, I'll sift this fool. [exit Josephine, 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 His name ? oh Lord ! 
 Who knows if he hath now a name or no j 
 'Tis time enough to ask it when he's able 
 To give an answer, or if not, to put 
 His heir's upon his epitaph. Methought 
 Just now you chid me for demanding names ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 True, true, I did so ; you say well and wisely. 
 enter Gabor. 
 
 GAB OR. 
 
 If I intrude, I crave 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Oh, no intrusion 1 
 This is the palace ; this a stranger like 
 Yourself; I pray you make yourself at home : 
 But where's his excellency, and how fares he ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Wetly and wearily, but out of peril ; 
 
 He paused to change his garments in a cottage, 
 
 (Where I doff'd mine for these, and came on 
 
 hither,) 
 And has almost recover'd from his drenching. 
 He will be here anon. 
 
22 WERNER, Act i. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 What ho, there ! bustle ! 
 Without there, Herman, Weilburg, Peter, Con- 
 rad ! 
 [gives directions to different servants who enter. 
 A nobleman sleeps here to-night — see that 
 All is in order in the damask chamber — 
 Keep up the stove— I will myself to the cellar — 
 And Madam Idenstein (my consort, stranger,) 
 Shall furnish forth the bed apparel ; for 
 To say the truth, they are marvellous scant of 
 
 this 
 Within the palace precincts, since his highness 
 Left it some dozen years ago. And then 
 His excellency will sup, doubtless ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Faith ! 
 I cannot tell ; but I should think the pillow 
 Would please him better than the table after 
 His soaking in your river : but for fear 
 Your viands should be thrown away, I mean 
 To sup myself, and have a friend without 
 Who will do honour to your good cheer with 
 A traveller's appetite. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 But are you sure 
 His excellency but his name, what is it ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I do not know. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 And yet you saved his life. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I help'd my friend to do so. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Well that's strange, 
 
sc.i. A TRAGEDY. 23 
 
 To save a man's life whom you do not know. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Not so ; for there are some I know so well, 
 I scarce should give myself the trouble. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Pray, 
 Good friend, and who may you be ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 By my family, 
 Hungarian. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Which is call'd ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 It matters little. 
 idenstein. (aside} 
 . I think that all the world are grown anonymous, <* 
 V Since no one cares to tell me what he's call'd ? ^ 
 Pray, has his excellency a large suite ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Sufficient. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 How many ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I did not count them. 
 We came up by mere accident, and just 
 In time to drag him through his carriage win- 
 dow. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Well, what would I give to save a great man ! 
 No doubt you'll have a swinging sum as re- 
 compense. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Perhaps. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. r 
 
 Now, how much do you reckon on ? 
 
24 WERNER, act i. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I have not yet put up myself to sale : 
 In the mean time, (my best reward would be 
 A glass of your Hockcheimer, a green glass, 
 Wreath'd with rich grapes and Bacchanal de- 
 vices, 
 H 4-O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage; <jf! 
 For which I promise you, in case you e'er 
 Run hazard of being drown'd, (although I own 
 It seems, of all deaths, the least likely for you,) 
 I'll pull you out for nothing. Quick, my friend, 
 And think, for every bumper I shall quaff, 
 A wave the less may roll above your head. 
 
 idenstein (aside.) 
 I don't much like this fellow — close and dry 
 He seems, two things which suit me not ; how- 
 ever, 
 Wine he shall have ; if that unlocks him not, 
 I shall not sleep to-night for curiosity. [Exit. 
 
 gabor (to Werner.) 
 This master of the ceremonies is 
 The intendant of the palace, I presume ; 
 'Tis a fine building, but decay'd. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 The apartment 
 Design'd for him you rescued will be found 
 In fitter order for a sickly guest. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I wonder then you occupied it not, 
 For you seem delicate in health. 
 WERNER (quickly. J 
 
 Sir! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Pray 
 Excuse me : have I said ought to offend you ? 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 25 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Nothing : but we are strangers to each other. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 And that's the reason I would have us less so : 
 I thought our bustling guest without had said 
 You were a chance and passing guest, the coun- 
 terpart 
 Of me and my companions. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Very true. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Then, as we never met before, and never, 
 It may be, may again encounter, why, 
 I thought to cheer up this old dungeon here, 
 (At least to me,) by asking you to share 
 The fare of my companions and myself. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Pray, pardon me ; my health 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Even as you please, 
 I have been a soldier, and perhaps am blunt -, 
 In bearing. \ 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I have also served, and can 
 Requite a soldier's greeting. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 In what service ? 
 The imperial ? 
 werner (quickly j and then interrufiting himself.} 
 
 I commanded — no — I mean 
 I served ; but it is many years ago, 
 When first Bohemia raised her banner 'gainst 
 The Austrian. 
 
 GABOR. r 
 
 Well, that's over now, and peace 
 C 
 
26 WERNER, act i. 
 
 Has turn'd some thousand gallant hearts adrift 
 To live as they best may ; and, to say truth, 
 Some take the shortest. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 What is that ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Whate'er 
 They lay their hands on. Ail Silesia and 
 Lusatia's woods are tenanted by bands 
 Of the late troops, who levy on the country 
 Their maintenance : the Chatelains must keep 
 Their castle walls, beyond them 'tis but doubtful 
 Travel for your rich count or full-blown baron. 
 My comfort is that, wander where I may, 
 I've little left to lose now. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 And I — nothing. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 That's harder still. You say you were a soldier. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I was. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You look one still. All soldiers are 
 Or should be comrades, even though enemies. 
 Our swords when drawn must cross, our en- 
 gines aim 
 (While levell'd) at each other's hearts; but when 
 A truce, a peace, or what you will, remits 
 The steel into its scabbard, and lets sleep 
 The spark which lights the matchlock, we are 
 
 brethren. 
 You are poor and sickly — I am not rich but 
 
 healthy ; 
 I want for nothing which I cannot want ; 
 You seem devoid of this — wilt share it ? 
 
 [ Gabor pulls out his purse, 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 27 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Who 
 Told you I was a beggar ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You yourself 
 ^In saying you were a soldier during peace-time,' 
 
 werner (looking at him with suspicion.) 
 You know me not ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I know no man, not even 
 Myself : how should I then know one I ne'er 
 Beheld till half an hour since ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Sir, I thank you. 
 Your offer's noble were it to a friend, 
 And not unkind as to an unknown stranger, 
 Though scarcely prudent ; but no less I thank 
 
 you. 
 I am a beggar in all save his trade, ) 
 And when I beg of any one it shall be 
 Of him who, was the first to offer what 
 Few can obtain by asking. ) Pardon me. \_Exit. 
 
 GABOR (solus). 
 
 A goodly fellow by his looks, ^though worn, 
 As most good fellows are/' by pain or pleasure, 
 Which tear life out of us before our time : 
 
 » I scarce know which most quickly ; but he 
 
 seems 
 To have seen better days, as who has not c 
 
 , Who has seen yesterday?— But here approaches 
 Our sage intendant, with the wine ; however, 
 For the cup's sake, I'll bear the cup-bearer. 
 
28 WERNER, act i. 
 
 Enter Idenstein. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 'Tis here ! the supernaculum ! twenty years 
 Of age, if 'tis a day. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Which epoch makes 
 ( Young women and old wine, and 'tis great pity 
 Of two such excellent things, increase of years,) 
 Which still improves the one, should spoil the 
 
 other. 
 Fill full— Here's to our hostess— your fair wife. 
 
 \Takes the glass. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Fair ! — Well, I trust your taste in wine is equal 
 To that you show for beauty ; but I pledge you 
 Nevertheless. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Is not the lovely woman 
 I met in the adjacent hall, who, with 
 An air, and port, and eye, which would have 
 
 better 
 Beseem'd this palace in its brightest days, 
 (Though in a garb adapted to its present 
 Abandonment), return'd my salutation — 
 Is not the same your spouse ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I would she were ! 
 But you're mistaken — that's the stranger's wife. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 And by her aspect she might be a prince's : 
 i Though time hath touch'd her too, she still re- 
 tains 
 Much beauty, and more majesty. J 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 And that 
 
so. r. A TRAGEDY. 29 
 
 Is more than I can say for Madame Idenstein, 
 At least in beauty : as for majesty, 
 She has some of its properties which might 
 Be spared — but never mind ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I don't. But who 
 May be this stranger ? He too hath a bearing 
 Above his outward fortunes. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 There I differ. 
 He's poor as Job, and not so patient ; but 
 Who he may be, or what, or aught of him, 
 Except his name, (and that I only learn'd 
 To-night,) I know not. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 But how came he here ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 In a most miserable old caleche, 
 
 About a month since, and immediately 
 
 Fell sick, almost to death. He should have died. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Tender and true !— but why ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 ( Why, what is life 
 Without a living I He has not a stiver. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 In that case, I much wonder that a person 
 Of your apparent prudence should admit 
 Guests so forlorn into this noble mansion. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 That's true ; but pity, as you know, does make 
 One's heart commit these follies ; and besides, 
 They had some valuables left at that time, 
 Which paid their way up to the pi*esent hour, 
 And so I thought they might as well be lodged 
 
 c 2 
 
30 WERNER, act i. 
 
 Here as at the small tavern, and I gave them 
 The run of some of the oldest palace rooms. 
 They served to air them, at the least as long 
 As long as they could pay for firewood. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Poor souls ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Ay, 
 
 Exceeding poor. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 And yet unused to poverty, 
 If I mistake not. Whither were they going ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Oh ! heaven knows where, unless to heaven it- 
 self. 
 Some days ago that look'd the likeliest journey 
 For Werner. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Werner ! I have heard the name, 
 But it may be a feign'd one. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Like enough ! 
 But hark ! a noise of wheels and voices, and 
 A blaze of torches from without. As sure 
 As destiny, his excellency's come. 
 I must be at my post : will you not join me, 
 To help him from his carriage, and present 
 Your humble duty at the door i 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I dragg'd him 
 From out that carriage when he would have 
 
 given 
 His barony or county to repel 
 The rushing river from his gurgling throat. 
 He has valets now enough : they stood aloof 
 
 then, 
 
so.i. A TRAGEDY. 31 
 
 Shaking their dripping ears upon the shore, 
 All roaring, " Help !" but offering none ; and as 
 For duty (as you call it) I did mine then, 
 Now do yours. Hence, and bow and cringe him 
 here ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I cringe ! — but I shall lose the opportunity — 
 Plague take it! he'll be here and I not there ! 
 \_Exit Idenstein hastily. 
 
 Re-enter Werner. 
 
 Werner [to himself). 
 I heard a noise of wheels and voices. How 
 All sounds now jar me ! 
 (Perceiving gabor.) Still here ! Is he not 
 A spy of my pursuer's ? His frank offer, 
 So suddenly, and to a stranger, wore 
 The aspect of a secret enemy ; 
 For friends are slow at such. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Sir, you seem rapt, 
 And yet the time is not akin to thought. 
 These old walls will be noisy soon. The baron, 
 Or count, (or whatsoe'er this half-drown'd noble 
 May be,) for whom this desolate village, and 
 Its lone inhabitants, show more respect 
 Than did the elements, is come. 
 * idenstein (without). 
 
 This way 
 This way, your excellency : have a care, 
 The staircase is a little gloomy, and 
 Somewhat decay'd ; but if we had expected 
 So high a guest — pray take nfy arm, my lord ! 
 
32 WERNER, act i. 
 
 Enter Stralenheim, Idenstein, and attendants, 
 partly his own, and partly retainers of the do- 
 main, of which Idenstein is Intendant. 
 
 stralenheim. 
 I'll rest me here a moment. 
 
 idenstein (to the servants'). 
 
 Ho ! a chair ! 
 Instantly, knaves ! [Stralenheim sits down. 
 werner (aside). 
 'Tis he ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I'm better now. 
 Who are these strangers ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Please you, my good lord, 
 One says he is no stranger. 
 
 Werner (aloud and hastily). 
 
 Who says that ? 
 \They look at him with surprise. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Why, no one spoke of you, or to you ! but 
 
 Here's one his excellency may be pleased 
 
 To recognise. [Pointing to Gabor. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I seek not to disturb 
 His noble memory. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I apprehend 
 This is one of the strangers to whose aid 
 I owe my rescue. Is not that the other ? 
 
 [Pointing to Werner. 
 My state, when I was succour'd must excuse 
 My uncertainty to whom I owe so much. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 33 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 He ! — no, my lord ! he rather wants for rescue 
 Than can afford it. 'Tis a poor sick man, 
 Travel-tired, and lately risen from a bed, 
 From whence he never dream'd to rise. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Methought 
 That there were two. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 There were, in company ; 
 But, in the service render'd to your lordship, 
 I needs must say but one, and he is absent. 
 The chief part of whatever aid was render'd, 
 Was his : it was his fortune to be first. 
 My will was not inferior, but his strength 
 And youth outstripp'd me; therefore do not 
 
 waste 
 Your thanks on me. I was but a glad second 
 Unto a nobler principal. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Where is he ? 
 
 AN ATTENDANT 
 
 My lord, he tarried in the cottage, where 
 Your excellency rested for an hour, 
 And said he would be here to-morrow. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Till 
 That hour arrives, I can but offer thanks, 
 And then 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I seek no more, and scarce deserve 
 So much. My comrade may speak for himself. 
 stralenheim {fixing his eyes ufion Werner, then 
 
 aside) 
 It cannot be ! and vet he must be look'd to. • 
 
34 WERNER, act i. 
 
 'Tis twenty years since I beheld him with 
 These eyes ; and, though my agents still have 
 
 kept 
 Theirs on him, policy has held aloof 
 My own from his, not to alarm him into 
 Suspicion of my plan. Why did I leave 
 At Hamburgh those who would have made as- 
 surance 
 If this be he or no ? I thought, ere now, 
 To have been lord of Siegendorf, and parted 
 In haste, though even the elements appear 
 To fight against me, and this sudden flood 
 
 May keep me prisoner here till 
 
 \JEIe fiauses, and looks at Werner ; then resumes. 
 
 This man must 
 Be watch'd. If it is he, he is so changed, 
 His father, rising from his grave again, 
 Would pass him by unknown. I must be wary ; 
 An error would spoil all. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Your lordship seems 
 Pensive. Will it not please you to pass on ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 { 'Tis past fatigue which gives my weigh 'd-down 
 spirit 
 An outward show of thought. I will to rest. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 The prince's chamber is prepared, with all 
 The very furniture the prince used when 
 Last here, in its full splendour. 
 
 (aside) Somewhat tatter'd, 
 And devilish damp, but fine enough by torch- 
 light; 
 And that's enough for your right noble blood 
 Of twenty quarterings upon a hatchment j 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. S5 
 
 So let theirbearer sleep 'neath something like one 
 Now, as he one day will for ever lie. 
 
 stralenheim (rising, and turning to Gabor). 
 Good night, good people ! Sir, I trust to-morrow 
 Will find me apter to requite your service. 
 In the mean time, I crave your company 
 A moment in my chamber. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I attend you 
 stralenheim (after a few stefis,fiauses, and calls 
 
 Werner) 
 Friend I 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Sir! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Sir ! Lord — oh, Lord ! Why don't you say 
 His lordship, or his excellency ? Pray, 
 My lord, excuse this poor man's want of breed- 
 ing: 
 He hath not been accustom'd to admission 
 To such a presence. 
 
 stralenheim (to Idenstein). 
 
 Peace, intendant ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Oh! 
 
 I am dumb. 
 
 stralenheim (to Werner.) 
 
 Have you been long here ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Long? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I sought 
 An answer, not an echo. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You may seek 
 Both from the walls. I am not used to answer 
 
36 WERNER, act i. 
 
 Those whom I know not. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Indeed ! Ne'er the less, 
 You might reply with courtesy, to what 
 Is ask'd in kindness. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 When I know it such, 
 I will requite — that is, refily — in unison. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 The intendant said, you had been detain'd by 
 
 sickness — 
 If I could aid you — journeying the same way ? 
 
 WERNER (quickly). 
 I am not journeying the same way ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 How know ye 
 That, ere you know my route ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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 
 Our roads must lie asunder, though they tend 
 All to one home. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Your language is above 
 
 Your station. 
 
 ■f Your garb. 
 
 werner (bitterly). 
 Is it? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Or, at least, beyond 4 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 'Tis well that it is not beneath it, 
 As sometimes happens to the better clad. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 37 
 
 But, in a word, what would you with me ? 
 stralenheim {star tied.) 
 
 I? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I knew not that you had reasons for reserve, a 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Many have such : — Have you none ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 None which can 
 Interest a mere stranger. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Then forgive 
 The same unknown and humble stranger, if 
 He wishes to remain so to £he man 
 Who can have nought in common with him. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 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. 
 
 WERNER (solus). 
 
 'Tis he. I am taken in the toils. Before 
 I quitted Hamburgh, Giulio, his late steward, 
 Inform'd me, that he had obtain'd an order 
 From Brandenburgh's elector, for the arrest 
 Of Kruitzner (such the name I then bore,} when 
 I came upon the frontier ; the free citv 
 D 
 
38 WERNER, act i. 
 
 Alone preserved my freedom— till I left 
 Its walls— fool that I was to "quit them ! But 
 I deem'd this humble garb, and route obscure, 
 Had baffled the. slow hounds in their pursuit. 
 What's to be done ? He knows me not by per- 
 son; 
 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 Stralen- 
 
 heim's, 
 To sound and to secure me. Without means ! 
 Sick, poor-4-begirt too with the flooding rivers, 
 Impassable even to the wealthy, with 
 All the appliances which purchase modes 
 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. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I tell you, 'tis impossible. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 It must 
 Be tried, however ; and if one express 
 Fail, you must send on others, till the answer 
 
so. i. A TRAGEDY. 39 
 
 Arrives from Frankfort, from the commandant. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I will do what I can. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 And recollect 
 To spare no trouble ; you will be repaid 
 Tenfold. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 The baron is retired to rest ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 He hath thrown himself into an easy chair 
 Beside the fire, and slumbers ; and has order'd 
 He may not be disturb'd until eleven, 
 When he will take himself to bed. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Before 
 An hour is past I'll do my best to serve him. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Remember ! [Exit Fritz 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You have left 
 Your noble guest right quickly. 
 
40 WERNER, act f. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 i Yes — he's dozing, 
 
 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 Idenstein. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 " To Frankfort !" 
 So, so, it thickens. Ay, " 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 
 This-i— 
 
 [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 Stra- 
 
 lenheim 
 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 
 Still further on these obscure petty burghers 
 Than they could do elsewhere, ^ark ! nearer 
 
 still! 
 I'll' to the secret passage, which communicates 
 With the No ; all is silent — 'twas my fancy. 
 
so. i. A TRAGEDY. 41 
 
 Still as the breathless interval between 
 i 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. 
 
 « 
 f Werner draws afiannel, and exit, closing it after 
 him. 
 
 Enter Gabor and Josephine. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Where is your husband ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 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. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 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. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Alas! 
 What can there be in common with the proud 
 And wealthy baron and the unknown Werner ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 That you know best. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Or, if it were so, how 
 Come you to stir yourself in his behalf, 
 Rather than that of him whoseiife you saved ? ' 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I help'd to save him, as. in peril ; but 
 D 2 
 
42 WERNER, act x. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 It would be 
 Not easy to persuade my consort of 
 Your good intentions. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Is he so suspicious ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 He was not once; but time and troubles have 
 Made him what you beheld. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I'm sorry for it. 
 
 Suspicion is a heavy armour, and 
 
 With its own weight impedes more than pro- 
 tects. 
 
 Good night. I trust to meet with him at day- 
 break. [Exit Gabor. 
 
 Re-enter Idenstein and some Peasants. Jose- y 
 fihine retires up the Hall. 
 
 FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 But if I'm drown'd ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Why, you will be well paid for't, 
 And have risk'd more than drowning for as 
 
 much, 
 I doubt not. 
 
 SECOND PEASANT. 
 
 But our wives and families ? 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 43 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Cannot be worse off than they are, and may 
 Be better. 
 
 THIRD PEASANT. 
 
 I have neither, and will venture. 
 
 ID EN STEIN. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Si Out upon your avarice I 
 Can that low vice alloy so much ambition ? j 
 I tell thee, fellow, that two thalers in 
 Small change will subdivide into a treasure. 
 Do not five hundred thousand heroes daily * 
 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. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Have you forgot 
 Whose vassal you were born, knave ? 
 
 THIRD PEASANT. 
 
 No— the prince's, 
 And not the stranger's. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Sirrah, in the prince's 
 Absence, I'm sovereign ; and the baron is 
 My intimate connexion : — " Cousin Idenstein, 
 (Quoth he) you'll order out a dozen villains.'* 
 
44 WERNER, act i. 
 
 And so, you villains ! troop — march — march, I 
 
 say: 
 And if a single dog's ear of this packet 
 Be sprinkled by the Oder—look to it ! 
 For every page of paper, shall a hide 
 Of yours be stretch'd as parchment on a drum, 
 
 -» Like Ziska's skin, to beat alarm to all 
 Refractory vassals, who can not effect 
 Impossibilities — Away, ye earth-worms ! 
 
 [Exit, driving them out. 
 Josephine {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, 
 The dimmest in the district's map, exist 
 The insolence of wealth in poverty 
 O'er something poorer still — the pride of rank 
 
 m In servitude, o'er something still more servile f\ 
 And vice in misery affecting still 
 A tatter'd splendour. What a state of being ! 
 { In Tuscany, my own dear sunny land, 
 Our nobles were but citizens and merchants, 
 Like Cosmo. We had evils, but not such . 
 As these; and our all-ripe and gushing valleys 
 Made poverty more cheerful, where each herb 
 Was in itself a meal, and every vine 
 Rain'd, as it were, the beverage, which makes 
 
 glad 
 The heart of man j 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 
 
 A Oppressive than an emperor's jewell'd purple 
 But, here ! .the despots of the north appear 
 
SC. I. 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 45 
 
 To imitate the ice-wind of their clime, 
 Searching the shivering vassal through his rags, 
 To wring his soul — as the bleak elements 
 His form.j And 'tis to be amongst these sove- 
 reigns 
 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 ; 
 
 ,f But I, born nobly also, from my father's 
 Kindness was taught a different lesson.- Father! 
 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 flannel, which he closes 
 • hurriedly after him. 
 
 werner (not at first recognizing her). 
 
 Discovered ! then I'll stab (recognising her), 
 
 Ah ! Josephine, 
 Why art thou not at rest ? . 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 What rest ? My God, 
 What doth this mean ? 
 
 werner (showing a rouleau). 
 
 Here's gold — gold, Josephine, 
 Will rescue us from this detested dungeon. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. r 
 
 And how obtain'd ? — that knife ! •* 
 
 1 
 
46 WERNER, act i. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 'Tis bloodless— yet. 
 Away— we must to our chamber. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 But whence com'st thou ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Ask not ! but let us think where we shall go— 
 This — this will make us way— 
 
 {showing the gold) 
 I'll fit them now. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 I dare not think thee guilty of dishonour. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Dishonour ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 I have said it. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Let us hence : 
 'Tis the last night, I trust, that we need pass 
 here. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 And not the worst, I hope. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Hope ! I make sure. 
 But let us to our chamber. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Yet one question — 
 What hast thou done ? 
 
 werner (fiercely). 
 
 Left one thing undone, which 
 Had made all well : let me not think of it I 
 Away ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Alas, that I should doubt of thee ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
so. i. A TRAGEDY. 4? 
 
 ACT II.— SCENE L 
 
 A Hall in the same Palace. 
 Enter Idenstein, and Others. 
 
 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 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 despoil'd 
 The mice of a few shreds of tapestry. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Oh ! that I ere 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. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 And so am I. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 But whom do you suspect ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Suspect ! all people 
 Without— —within— — above— -below— -Heaven 
 help me ! 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Is there no other entrance to the chamber ? 
 
48 WERNER, acti. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 None whatsoever. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Are you sure of that ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Doubtless. 
 
 FRITZ.* 
 
 The man call'd Werner's poor ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Poor as a miser, 
 But lodged so far off, in the other wing, 
 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 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 The Hungarian ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 He who help'd 
 To fish the baron from the Oder. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 49 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Not 
 
 Unlikely. But, hold — might it not have been 
 One of the suite ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 How ? We, sir ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 No — not youj 
 But some of the inferior knaves. You say 
 The baron was asleep in the great chair— 
 The velvet chair — in his embroider'd 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 disappear'd : — the door unbolted, with 
 No difficult access to any. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Good Sir, 
 Be not so quick; the honour of the corps, 
 Which forms, the baron's household, 's unim- 
 
 peach'd 
 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 ; 
 But for your petty, picking, downright thievery, 
 We scorn it as we do board-wages : then 
 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 swoop 'd all; 
 Also the cabinet, if portable. 
 E 
 
50 WERNER, act ii, 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 There is some sense in that 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 No, sir ; be sure 
 J 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 ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 You don't mean me ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 No, Sir ; I honour more 
 Your talents 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 And my principles, I hope. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Of course. But to the point : What's to be 
 done ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 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 
 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 alchymy 
 For your lord's losses ! 
 
sc.i. A TRAGEDY. 51 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 He hath found a better, 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Where ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 In a most immense inheritance. 
 The late Count Siegendorf, his distant kinsman, 
 Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my lord 
 Is on his way to take possession. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Was there 
 No heir ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Oh, yes ; but he has disappear'd 
 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. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 He's fortunate. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 'Tis true, there is a grandson, 
 Whom the late count reclaim'd from his son's 
 
 hands, 
 And educated as his heir ; but then 
 His birth is doubtful. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 How so ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 His sire made 
 
52 WERNER, act ii. 
 
 { 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. 
 
 IDEN STEIN. 
 
 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 disappear'd 
 Some months ago. 
 
 IDEN STEIN. 
 
 The devil he did ! 
 fritz. 
 
 Why, yes : 
 It must have been at his suggestion, at 
 An hour so critical as was the eve 
 Of the old man's death, whose heart was bro- 
 ken by it. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Was there no cause assign'd ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Plenty, no doubt, 
 And none perhaps the true one. Some averr'd 
 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) ; 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 53 
 
 A third believed he wish'd to serve in war, 
 But peace being made soon after his departure, 
 He might have since return'd, were that the 
 
 motive ; 
 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 join'd the black bands, 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. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 That cannot be, 
 A young heir, bred to wealth and luxury, 
 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 enterprize, 
 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 Wei- 
 mar, 
 Were but the same thing upon a grand scale ; 
 And now that they are gone, and peace pro- 
 claimed, 
 They who would follow the same pastime must 
 E 2 
 
54 WERNER. act ii. 
 
 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. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Since you have refused 
 All compensation, gentle stranger, save 
 Inadequate thanks, you almost check even them, 
 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. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I pray you press the theme no further. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 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, 
 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; 
 
K i. A TRAGEDY. • 55 
 
 And, after thirty years of conflict, peace 
 
 Is but a petty war, as the times show us 
 
 In every forest, or a mere arm'd truce. 
 
 War will reclaim his own ; and, in the mean 
 
 time, 
 
 You might obtain a post, which would ensure 
 A higher soon, and, by my influence, fail not 
 To rise. I speak of Brandenburg, wherein 
 I stand well with the elector; in Bohemia, 
 Like you, I am a stranger, and we are now 
 Upon its frontier. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You perceive my garb 
 Is Saxon, and of course my service due 
 To my own sovereign. If I must decline 
 Your offer, 'tis with the same feeling which 
 Induced it. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 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. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You shall say so when 
 I claim the payment. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Well, Sir, since you will not — < 
 You are nobly born ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I've heard my kinsmen say so. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Your actions show it. Might I ask your name ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Ulric. 
 
56 WERNER, act ii. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Your house's ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 When I'm worthy of it, 
 I'll answer you. 
 
 stralenheim {aside) 
 
 Most probably an Austrian, 
 Whom these unsettled times forbid to boast 
 His lineage on these wild and dangerous fron- 
 tiers, 
 Where the name of his country is abhorr'd. 
 
 \Aloud to fritz and idenstein. 
 So, Sirs ! how have ye sped in your researches I 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Indifferently well, your excellency. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Then 
 I am to deem the plunderer is caught I 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Humph ! — not exactly. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Or at least suspected ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Oh ! for that matter very much suspected. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Who may he be ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Why, don't you know, my lord ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 How should I ? I was fast asleep. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 And so 
 Was I, and that's the cause I know no more 
 Than does your excellency. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Dolt! 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 57 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Why, if 
 
 Your lordship, being robb'd, don't recognise 
 The rogue; how should I, not being robb'd, 
 
 identify 
 The thief among so many ? In the crowd, 
 May it please your excellency, your thief looks 
 Exactly like the rest, or rather better : 
 £ 'Tis only at the bar and in the dungeon 
 ^That wise men know your felon by his features ; 
 But I'll engage, that if seen there but once, 
 Whether he be found criminal or no, 
 His face shall be so. 
 
 STRALENHEIM (to FRITz). 
 
 Prithee, Fritz, inform me 
 What hath been done to trace the fellow ? 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Faith ! 
 My lord, not much as yet, except conjecture. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Besides the loss, (which, I must own, affects me 
 Just now materially), I needs would find 
 The villain out of public motives ; for 
 So dexterous a spoiler, who could creep 
 Through my attendants, and so many peopled 
 And lighted chambers on my rest, and snatch 
 The gold before my scarce closed eyes, would 
 
 soon 
 Leave bare your borough, Sir Intendant ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 True; 
 If there were aught to carry off, my lord. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What is all this ? - ... . 
 
58 WERNER, act ii. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 You join'd us but this morning, 
 And have not heard that I was robb'd last night. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Some rumour of it reach'd me as I pass'd 
 The outer chambers of the palace, but 
 I know no further. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 It is a strange business : 
 The intendant can inform you of the facts. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Most willingly. You see 
 
 stralenheim (impatiently). 
 
 Defer your tale, 
 Till certain of the hearer's patience. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 That 
 Can only be approved by proofs. You see 
 stralenheim {again interrupting him^ and 
 addressing ulric). 
 In short, I was asleep upon a chair, 
 My cabinet before me, with some gold 
 Upon it, (more than I much like to lose, 
 Though in part only) : some ingenious person 
 Contrived to glide through all my own atten- 
 dants, 
 Besides those of the place, and bore away 
 An hundred golden ducats, which to find 
 I would be fain, and there's an end ; perhaps 
 You (as I still am rather faint), would add 
 To yesterday's great obligation, this, 
 Though slighter, yet not slight, to aid these 
 
 men 
 (Who seem but lukewarm) in recovering it ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Most willingly, and without loss of time— 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 59 
 
 ( To idenstein.) Come hither, Mynheer ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 But so much haste bodes 
 Right little speed, and 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Standing motionless 
 None ; so let's march, we'll talk as we go on. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 But 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Show the spot, and then I'll answer you. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 I will, Sir, with his excellency's leave. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Do so, and take yon old ass with you. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 Hence ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Come on, old oracle, expound thy riddle ! 
 
 \exit with idenstein and fritz. 
 
 STRALENHEIM (solus). 
 
 A stalwart, active, soldier-looking stripling, 
 lHandsome as Hercules ere his first labour, 
 And with a brow of thought beyond his years 
 When in repose, till his eye kindles up -f 
 In answering yours. I wish I could engage him : 
 I have need of some such spirits near me now, 
 For this inheritance is worth a struggle. 
 And though I am not the man to yield without 
 
 one, 
 Neither are they who now rise up between me 
 And my desire. The boy, they say, 's a bold 
 
 one ; 
 But he hath play'd the truant in some hour 
 Of freakish folly, leaving fortune to 
 
60- WERNER, act it. 
 
 Champion his claims ; that's well. The father, 
 
 whom 
 For years I've track'd, as does the blood-hound, 
 
 never 
 In sight, but constantly in scent, had put me 
 To fault, but here I have him, and that's better. 
 It must be he I All circumstance proclaims it ; 
 And careless voices, knowing not the cause 
 Of my inquiries, still confirm it — Yes ! 
 The man, his bearing, and the mystery 
 Of his arrival, and the time ; the account, too, 
 The intendant gave (for I have not beheld her) 
 Of his wife's dignified but foreign aspect ; 
 Besides the antipathy with which we met, 
 As snakes and lions shrink back from each other 
 By secret instinct that both must be foes 
 Deadly, without being natural prey to either ; 
 All — all — confirm it to my mind ; however, 
 We'll grapple, ne'ertheless. In a few hours 
 The order comes from Frankfort, if these waters 
 Rise not the higher, (and the weather favours 
 Their quick abatement), and I'll have him safe 
 Within a dungeon, where he may avouch 
 His real estate and name ; and there's no harm 
 
 done, 
 Should he prove other than I deem. This rob- 
 bery, 
 (Save for the actual loss), is lucky also : 
 He's poor, and that's suspicious — he's unknown, 
 And that's defenceless,— -true, we have no proofs 
 Of guilt,. but what hath he of innocence ? 
 Were he a man indifferent to my prospects, 
 In other bearings, I should rather lay 
 
sc.i. A TRAGEDY. 61 
 
 The inculpation on the Hungarian, who 
 Hath something which I like not ; and alone 
 Of all around, except the intendant, and 
 The prince's household and my own, had ingress 
 Familiar to the chamber. 
 
 Enter Gabor. 
 
 Friend, how fare you ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 As those who fare well every where, when they 
 Have supt and slumber'd, no great matter how — 
 And you, my lord ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Better in rest than purse : 
 Mine inn is like to cost me dear. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I heard 
 Of your late loss ; but 'tis a trifle to 
 One of your order. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 You would hardly think so. 
 Were the loss yours. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I never had so much 
 (At once) in my whole life, and therefore am not 
 Fit to decide. But I came here to seek you. 
 Your couriers are turn'd back — I have outstript 
 
 them, 
 In my return. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 You !— -Why ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I went at day-break, 
 To watch for the abatement of the river, 
 F 
 
62 WERNER, act ii. 
 
 As being anxious to resume my journey. 
 Your messengers were all check'd like myself; 
 And, seeing the case hopeless, I await 
 The current's pleasure. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Would the dogs were in it ! 
 Why did they not, at least, attempt the passage I 
 I order'd this at all risks. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Could you order 
 The Oder to divide, as Moses did 
 The Red Sea (scarcely, redder than the flood 
 Of the swoln stream), and be obey'd, perhaps 
 They might have ventured. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I must see to it : 
 The knaves ! the slaves ! — but they shall smart 
 for this. [Exit Stralenhevn. 
 
 gabor (solus). 
 There goes my noble, feudal, self-will'd baron ! 
 Epitome of what brave chivalry 
 The preux chevaliers of the good old times 
 - Have left us. Yesterday he would have given 
 His lands (if he hath any), and, still dearer, 
 His sixteen quarterings, for as much fresh air 
 As would have filled a bladder, while he lay 
 Gurgling and foaming half way through the 
 
 window 
 Of his'o'erset and water-logg'd conveyance, 
 And now he storms at half a dozen wretches 
 Because they love their lives too ! Yet he's 
 
 right : 
 'Tis strange they should, when such as he may 
 put them 
 ^ To hazard at his pleasure. Oh ! thou world ! 
 Thou art indeed a melancholy jest ! [Exit Gabor. 
 
so. ii. A TRAGEDY. 63 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Ap.artw.ent of Werner, in the Palace, 
 Enter Josephine and Ulric. 
 
 « JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Stand back, and let me look on thee again ! 
 My Ulric !— my beloved ! — can it be — 
 After twelve years ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My dearest mother ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE, 
 
 Yes! 
 My dream is realized—how beautiful- 
 How more than all I sigh'd for ! Heaven receive 
 A mother's thanks !— a mother's tears of joy ! 
 This is indeed thy work ! — At such an hour, too, 
 He comes not only as a son but saviour. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 If such a joy await me, it must double 
 What I now feel, and lighten, from my heart, 
 A part of the long debt of duty, not 
 Of love, (for that was ne'er withheld)— forgive 
 
 me ! 
 This long delay was not my fault. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 I know it, 
 But cannot think of sorrow now, and doubt 
 If I e'er felt it, 'tis so dazzled from 
 My memory, by this oblivious transport '.— 
 My son ! 
 
64 WERNER, act n. 
 
 Enter Werner. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 What have we here, more strangers ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 No! 
 Look upon him ! What do you see ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 A stripling, 
 
 For the first time 
 
 ulric {kneeling). 
 For twelve long years, my father 1 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Oh, God ! 
 
 .JOSEPHINE. 
 
 He faints ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 No — I am better now— 
 Ulric ! {Embraces him). 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My father, Siegendorf ! 
 werner {starting). 
 
 Hush ! boy— 
 The walls may hear that name ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What then ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Why, then — 
 But we will talk of that anon. Remember, 
 I must be known here but as Werner. Come ! 
 Come to my arms again ! Why, thou look'st all 
 I should have been, and was not. Josephine ! 
 Sure 'tis no father's fondness dazzles me ; 
 But had I seen that form amid ten thousand 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 65 
 
 Youth of the choicest, my heart would have 
 
 chosen 
 This for my son ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And yet you knew me not ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Alas ! I have had that upon my soul 
 Which makes me look on all men with an eye 
 That only knows the evil at first glance. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My memory served me far more fondly : I 
 Have not forgotten aught ; and ofttimes in 
 The proud and princely halls of — (I'll not name 
 
 them, 
 As you say that 'tis perilous,) but i' the pomp 
 Of your sire's feudal mansion, I look'd back 
 To the Bohemian mountains many a sunset, 
 And wept to see another day go down 
 O'er thee and me, with those huge hills between 
 
 us. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 They shall not part us more. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I know not that. 
 Are you aware my father is no more ? 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 Oh heavens ! I left him in a green old age, 
 And looking like the oak, worn, but still steady 
 Amidst the elements, whilst younger trees 
 Fell fast around him. 'Twas scarce three months 
 since. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Why did you leave him? 
 
 Josephine (embracing Ulric). 
 
 Can you ask that question.? 
 Is he not here ? 
 
 f2 
 
66 WERNER, act ir. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 True ; he hath sought his parents, 
 And found them ; but, oh ! how, and in what 
 state ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 All shall be better'd. What we have to do 
 
 Is to proceed, and to assert our rights, 
 
 Or rather yours ; for I waive all, unless 
 
 Your father has disposed in such a sort 
 
 Of his broad lands as to make mine the foremost, 
 
 So that I must prefer my claim for form : 
 
 But I trust better, and that all is yours. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Have you not heard of Stralenheim ? 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 His life but yesterday: he's here. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I saved 
 You saved 
 
 The serpent who will sting us all ! 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 You speak 
 Riddles : what is this Stralenheim to us ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Every thing. One who claims our fathers' lands : 
 Our distant kinsman, and our nearest foe. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 I never heard his name till now. The count, 
 Indeed, spoke sometimes of a kinsman, who, 
 If his own line should fail, might be remotely 
 Involved in the succession ; but his titles 
 Were never named before me — and what then ? 
 His right must yield to ours. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Ay, if at Prague ; 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 67 
 
 But here he is all powerful ; and has spread 
 Snares for thy father, which, if hitherto 
 He hath escaped them, is by fortune, not 
 By favour. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Doth he personally know you ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 No ; but he guesses shrewdly at my person, 
 As he betray'd last night ; and I, perhaps, 
 But owe my temporary liberty 
 To his uncertainty. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I think you wrong him, 
 (Excuse me for the phrase) ; but Stralenheim 
 Is not what you prejudge him, or, if so, 
 He owes me something both for past and present: 
 I saved his life, he therefore trusts in me ; 
 He hath been plunder'd too, since he came 
 
 hither ; 
 Is sick ; a stranger ; and as such not now 
 Able to trace the villain who hath robb'd him : 
 I have pledged myself to do so ; and the business 
 Which brought me here was chiefly that : but I 
 \ Have found in searching for another's dross, 
 My own whole treasure — you, my parents ! i 
 werner (agitatedly). 
 
 Who 
 Taught you to mouth that name of " villain ?" 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What 
 More noble name belongs to common thieves ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Who taught you thus to brand an unknown being 
 With an infernal stigma ? 
 
68 WERNER, act «2 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My own feelings 
 Taught me to name a ruffian from his deeds. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Who taught you, long-sought, and ill-found 
 
 boy ! that 
 It would be safe for my own son to insult me ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I named a villain. What is there in common 
 With such a being and my father ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Every thing I 
 That ruffian is thy father ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Oh, my son ! 
 
 Believe him not — and yet ! {her -voice falters) 
 
 ulric {starts, looks earnestly at Werner, and then 
 says slowly). 
 
 And you avow it ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Ulric, before you dare despise your father, 
 Learn to divine and judge his actions. Young, 
 Rash, new to life, and rear'd in luxury's lap, 
 
 ( Is it for you to measure passion's force, 
 Or misery's temptation ? Wait — (not long, 
 It cometh like the Night, and quickly) — Wait !— . 
 Wait till, like me, your hopes are blighted — till 
 Soitow and shame are handmaids of your cabin ; 
 
 i Famine and poverty your guests at table ; 
 Despair your bed-fellow— -then rise, but not 
 From sleep, and judge ! Should that day e'er 
 arrive— 
 
 ' Should you see then the serpent, who hath coil'd 
 Himself around all that is dear and noble 
 
sc. ir. A TRAGEDY. 69 
 
 Of you and yours, lie slumbering in your path, 
 With but his folds between your steps and hap- 
 piness, 
 When he, who lives but to tear from you name, 
 Lands, life itself, lies at your mercy, with 
 Chance your conductor ; midnight for your man- 
 tle ; 
 The bare knife in your hand, and earth asleep,' 
 Even to your deadliest foe ; and he as 'twere 
 Inviting death, by looking like it, while 
 His death alone can save you : — Thank your 
 
 God, 
 If then, like me, content with petty plunder, 
 You turn aside 1 did so. 
 
 ULRI.C. 
 
 But 
 
 werner (abrufitly). 
 
 Hear me ! 
 I will not brook a human voice — scarce dare 
 Listen to my own (if that be human still)— 
 Hear me ! you do not know this man — I do. 
 He's mean, deceitful, avaricious. You 
 Deem yourself safe, as young and brave ; but 
 
 learn 
 None are secure from desperation, few 
 From subtilty. My worst foe, Stralenheim, 
 Housed in a prince's palace, couch'd within 
 A prince's chamber, lay below my knife ! 
 An instant— a mere motion— the least impulse- 
 Had swept him and all fears of mine from 
 
 earth. 
 He was within my power — my knife was raised- 
 Withdrawn— -and I'm in in his : — are you not so ? 
 Who tells you that he knows you not ? Who 
 says 
 
76 WERNER, act h. 
 
 He hath not lured you here to end you ? or 
 To plunge you, with your parents, in a dungeon ? 
 
 [He pauses. 
 
 UfiRIC. 
 
 Proceed — proceed ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Me he hath ever known, 
 And hunted through each change of time- 
 name— fortune— • 
 And why not you ? Are you more versed in men ? 
 |He wound snares round me ; flung along my 
 
 path 
 Reptiles, whom, in my youth, I would have 
 
 spurn'd 
 Even from my presence ; but, in spurning now, 
 Fill only with fresh venom. Will you be 
 
 More patient ? Ulric ! Ulric ! jthere are 
 
 crimes 
 Made venial by the occasion, and temptations 
 Which nature cannot master or forbear.^ 
 ulric {looks first at him, and then at Josephine}. 
 My mother ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Ay ! I thought so : you have now 
 Only one parent. I have lost alike 
 Father and son, and stand alone. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 But stay ! 
 [ Werner rushes out of the chamber. 
 Josephine (to Ulric). 
 Follow him not, until this storm of passion 
 Abates. Think'st thou that were it well for him 
 I had not follow'd ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I obey you, mother, 
 
sc. ft. A TRAGEDY. 71 
 
 Although reluctantly. My first act shall not 
 Be one of disobedience. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 ^ . Oh ! he is good ! 
 Condemn him not from his own mouth, but trust 
 To me, who have borne so much with him, and 
 for him, 
 ! That this is but the surface of his soul, 
 And that the depth is rich in better things. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 These then are but my father's principles ? 
 My mother thinks not with him ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 * . Nor doth he 
 'Think as he speaks. Alas ! long years of grief 
 Have made him sometimes thus. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Explain to me 
 More clearly, then, these claims of Stralenheim, 
 That, when I see the subject in its bearings, 
 I may prepare to face him, or at least 
 To extricate you from your present perils. 
 I pledge myself to accomplish this— but would 
 I had arrived a few hours sooner ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Ay! 
 
 Hadst thou but done so ! 
 
72 WERNER, act n. 
 
 Enter Gabor and Idenstein, with Attendants. 
 
 gabor {to Ulric). 
 
 I have sought you, comrade. 
 So this is my reward ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 'Sdeath ! have I lived to these years, and for this ! 
 (7b Idenstein) But for your age and folly, I 
 would 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Help! 
 Hands off ! Touch an intendant ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Do not think 
 I'll honour you so much as save your throat 
 From the Ravenstone,* by choking you myself. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I thank you for the respite ; but there are 
 Those who have greater need of it than me. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 Unriddle this vile wrangling, or 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 At once, then, 
 . The baron has been robb'd, and upon me 
 This worthy personage has deign'd to fix 
 His kind suspicions— me ! whom he ne'er saw 
 Till yester' evening. 
 
 * The Ravenstone, " Ravenstein," is the stone gibbet 
 of Germany, and so called from the ravens perching on it. 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 
 
 73 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Wouldst thou have me suspect 
 My own acquaintances ? You have to learn 
 That I keep better company. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You shall 
 Keep the best shortly, and the last for all men, 
 The worms ! you hound of malice ! 
 
 [Gabor seizes on him. 
 ulric (interfering.') 
 
 a , ., ,, , Na 7> no violence: 
 
 tie s old, unarm 'd — be temperate, Gabor ! 
 gabor (letting go idenstein.) 
 
 True : 
 am a fool to lose myself because 
 ? ools deem me knave : it is their homage. 
 
 ULRIC (to IDENSTEIN.) 
 
 How 
 ' are you ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Help! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I have help'd you. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 ,„ Kill him ! then 
 
 11 say so. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I am calm— live on ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 That 's more 
 han you shall do, if there be judge or judgment 
 1 Germany. The baron shall decide ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 oes he abet you in your accusation ? 
 
 G 
 

 74 WERNER, act n. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Does he not ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Then next time let him go sink 
 Ere I go hang for snatching him from drowning. 
 But here he comes ! 
 
 Enter Stralenheim. 
 gabor (goes ufi to him.) 
 
 My noble lord, I 'm here ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Well, Sir ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Have you aught with me ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 What should I 
 Have with you ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You know best, if yesterday's 
 Flood has not wash'd away your memory ; 
 But that's a trifle. I stand here accused, 
 In phrases not equivocal, by yon 
 Intendant, of the pillage of your person, 
 Or chamber — is the charge your own, or his ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I accuse no man. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Then you acquit me, baron ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I know not whom to accuse, or to acquit, 
 Or scarcely to suspect. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 But you at least 
 Should know whom not to suspect. I am insulted— 
 Oppress'd here by these menials, and I look 
 To you for remedy — teach them their duty ! 
 
sc. n. A TRAGEDY. 75 
 
 To look for thieves at home were part of it, 
 If duly taught ; but, in one word, if I 
 Have an accuser, let it be a man 
 Worthy to be so of a man like me. 
 I am your equal. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 You! 
 
 GABOR 
 
 Ay, Sir; and, for 
 Aught that you know, superior ; but proceed— 
 I do not ask for hints, and surmises, 
 And circumstance, and proofs ; I know enough 
 Of what I have done for you, and what you owe me. 
 To have at least waited your payment rather 
 Than paid myself, had I been eager of 
 Your gold. I also know that were I even 
 The villain I am deem'd, the service render'd 
 So recently would not permit you to 
 Pursue me to the death, except through shame, 
 Such as would leave your scutcheon but a blank. 
 But this is nothing ; I demand of you 
 Justice upon your unjust servants, and 
 From your own lips a disavowal of 
 All sanction of their insolence : thus much 
 You owe to the unknown, who asks no more, 
 And never thought to have ask'd so much. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 This tone 
 May be of innocence. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 'Sdeath ! who dare doubt it, 
 Except such villains as ne'er had -it ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 You 
 Are hot, Sir. 
 
76 WERNER, act nJ 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 • Must I turn an icicle 
 Before the breath of menials, and their master ? 
 
 STKALENHEIM. 
 
 Ulric ! you know this man ; I found him in 
 Your company. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 We found you in the Oder : 
 Would we had left you there ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I give you thanks, Sir. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I've earn'd them; but might have earn'd more 
 
 from others, 
 Perchance, if I had left you to your fate. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Ulric ! you know this man ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 No more than you do, 
 If he avouches not my honour. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I 
 
 Can vouch your courage, and, as far as my 
 Own brief connexion led me, honour. 
 
 ' STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Then 
 
 I 'm satisfied. 
 
 gabor (ironically.) 
 Right easily, methinks. 
 What is the spell in his asseveration 
 More than in mine ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I merely said, that J 
 Was satisfied — not that you were absolved, 
 
ic. ii. A TRAGEDY, 77 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Again ! Am I accused or no ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Goto! 
 foil wax too insolent : if circumstance 
 And general suspicion be against you, -> 
 [s the fault mine ? Is 't not enough that I 
 Decline all question of your guilt or innocence ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Vly lord, my lord, this is mere cozenage, 
 
 \. vile equivocation :/you well know 
 
 four doubts are certainties to all around you— 
 
 four looks a voice— your frowns a sentence) you 
 
 \.re practising your power on me — because* 
 
 fou have it ; but beware, you know not whom 
 
 fou strive to tread on.v 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Threat'st thou ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Not so much 
 ks you accuse. You hint the basest injury, 
 l.nd I retort it with an open warning. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 ls you have said, 'tis true I owe you something, 
 'or which you seem disposed to pay yourself. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 lot with your gold. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 With bootless insolence. 
 \_To his attendants and Idenstein, 
 ou need not further to molest this man, 
 ait let him go his way. Ulric, good morrow ! 
 Exit Stralenheim, Idenstein, and attendants* 
 gabor (following.') 
 
 '11 after him, and . 
 
 G 2 
 
78 • WERNER, aotii.: 
 
 ulric {stofifiing him.') 
 Not a step. 
 
 GABOK. 
 
 Who shall 
 Oppose me ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Your own reason, with a moment's 
 Thought. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Must I bear this ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Pshaw ! we all must bear 
 The arrogance of something higher than 
 Ourselves — >the highest cannot temper Satan, 
 Nor the lowest his vicegerents upon earth. 
 I've seen you brave the elements, and bear 
 Things which had made this silk-worm cast his 
 
 skin — 
 And shrink you from a few sharp sneers and 
 
 words ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Must I bear to be deem'd a thief? If 'twere 
 A bandit of the woods, I could have borne it — 
 There's something daring in it-«-but to steal 
 The monies of a slumbering man !•*- 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 It seems, then^ 
 You are not guilty ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Do I hear aright ? 
 You too ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I merely ask'd a simple question. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 If the judge ask'd me— I would answer " No" — 
 
so. ii. A TRAGEDY. 79 
 
 To you I answer thus. (He draws.) 
 ulric (drawing.) 
 
 With all my heart ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Without there! Ho! help! help !— Oh, God! 
 here's murder ! \_Exit Josephine, shrieking. 
 
 Gabor and Ulric fight. Gabor is disarmed 
 just as Stralenheim, Josephine, Idenstein, 
 tfc. re-enter. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Oh ! glorious Heaven ! He 's safe ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM (to JOSEPHINE.) 
 
 Who 's safe ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 My- 
 
 ulric (interrupting her with a stem look, and 
 turning afterwards to stralenheim.) 
 
 Both! 
 Here 's no great harm done. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 What hath caused all this ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You, Baron, I believe ; but as the effect 
 Is harmless, let it not disturb you. — Gabor ! 
 There is your sword ; and when you bare it next, 
 Let it not be against your friends. 
 
 £Ulric pronounces the last words slowly and 
 emphatically in a low voice to Gabor. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I thank you 
 Less for my life than for your counsel. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 These 
 Brawls must end here. 
 
80 WERNER, act ii. 
 
 gabor (taking his sword.') 
 They shall. You have wrong'd me, Ulric, 
 More with your unkind thoughts than sword; I 
 
 would 
 The last were in my bosom rather than 
 The first in yours. I could have borne yon noble's 
 Absurd insinuations-r-Ignorance 
 And dull suspicion are a part of his 
 Intail will last him longer than his lands.— 
 But I may fit him yet : — you have vanquish'd me. 
 I was the fool of passion to conceive 
 That I could cope with you whom I had seen 
 Already proved by greater perils than 
 Rest in this arm. We may meet by and by, 
 However — but in friendship. [Exit Gabor. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I will brook 
 No more ! This outrage following up his insults, 
 Perhaps his guilt, has cancell'd all the little 
 I owed him heretofore for the so vaunted 
 Aid which he added to your abler succour. 
 Ulric, you are not hurt ? — 
 
 ULRIO. 
 
 Not even by a scratch. 
 
 STRALENHEIM {to IDENSTEIN.) 
 
 Intendant ! take your measures to secure 
 Yon fellow : I revoke my former lenity. 
 He shall be sent to Frankfort with an escort 
 The instant that the waters have abated. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Secure him ! he hath got his sword again— *■ 
 And seems to know the use on't j 'tis his trade, 
 Belike :— I'm a civilian. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Fool ! are not 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 81 
 
 Yon score of vassals dogging at your heels 
 Enough to seize a dozen such ? Hence ! after him ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Baron, I do beseech you ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I must be 
 Obey'd. No words ! 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Well, if it must be so — 
 March, vassals ! I'm your leader — and will bring 
 The rear up : a wise general never should 
 Expose his precious life — on which all rests. 
 I like that article of war. 
 
 \_Exit Idenstein and attendants, 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Come hither, 
 Ulric :— what does that woman here ? Oh ! now 
 I recognise her, 'tis the stranger's wife 
 Whom they name " Werner." 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 'Tis his name. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Indeed ! 
 [s not your husband visible, fair dame ?— 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Who seeks him ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 No one — for the present : but 
 t fain would parley, Ulric, with yourself 
 Alone. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I will retire with you. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Not so. 
 You are the latest stranger, and command 
 
82 WERNER, act h.) 
 
 All places here. 
 
 {Aside to Ulric as she goes out.) Oh! Ulric,' 
 
 have a care — 
 Remember what depends on a rash word ! 
 ulric {to Josephine.) 
 
 Fear not ! — 
 [Exit Josephine. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Ulric, I think that I may trust you ? 
 
 You saved my life — and acts like these beget 
 
 Unbounded confidence. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Say on. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Mysterious 
 And long engender'd circumstances (not 
 To be now fully enter'd on) have made 
 This man obnoxious — perhaps fatal to me. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Who ? Gabor, the Hungarian ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 No — this « Werner" — 
 With the false name and habit. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 How can this be ? 
 He is the poorest of the poor— -and yellow 
 Sickness sits cavern'd in his hollow eye : J 
 The man is helpless. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 He is — 'tis no matter- 
 But if he be the man I deem (and that 
 He is so, all around us here — and much 
 That is not here — confirm my apprehension,) 
 He must be made secure, ere twelve hours further. 
 
sc. if. A TRAGEDY. 83 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And what have I to do with this ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I have sent 
 To Frankfort, to the governor, my friend — 
 (I have the authority to do so by 
 An order of the house of Brandenburgh) 
 For a fit escort — but this cursed flood 
 Bars all access, and may do for some hours, 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 It is abating. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 That is well. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 But how 
 
 Am I concern'd ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 As one who did so much 
 For me, you cannot be indifferent to 
 That which is of more import to me than 
 The life you rescued. — Keep your eye on him ! 
 The man avoids me, knows that I now know him. — > 
 Watch him ! — as you would watch the wild boar 
 
 when 
 (He makes against you in the hunter's gap- 
 Like him, he must be spear'd. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Why so ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 He stands 
 Between me and a brave inheritance ! 
 Oh ! could you see it ! But you^shall. 
 
 ULRIO, 
 
 I hope s&. 
 
•»»J 
 
 84 WERNER, act 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 It is the richest of the rich Bohemia, 
 Unscathed by scorching war. It lies so near 
 The strongest city, Prague, that fire and sword 
 Have skimm'd it lightly : *so that now, besides 
 Its own exuberance, it bears double value 
 Confronted with whole realms afar and near 
 Made deserts. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You describe it faithfully. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Ay — could you see it, you would say so— but, 
 As I have said, you shall. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I accept the omen. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Then claim a recompense from it and me, 
 Such as both may make worthy your acceptance 
 And services to me and mine for ever. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And this sole, sick, and miserable wretch— 
 This way-worn stranger — stands between you and 
 This Paradise ? — (As Adam did between 
 The devil and his.) — \_Aside.~\ 
 
 STRALENHEIM. * 
 
 He doth. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Hath he no right ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Right ! none. A disinherited prodigal, 
 Who for these twenty years disgraced his lineage 
 In all his acts — but chiefly by his marriage, 
 And living amidst commerce-fetching burghers, 
 And dabbling merchants, in a mart of Jews. 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 85 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 He has a wife, then ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 You'd be sorry to 
 Call such your mother. You have seen the woman 
 He calls his wife. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Is she not so ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 No more 
 
 Than he's your father :-4an Italian girl, 
 The daughter of a banish'd man, who lives 
 On love and poverty with this same Wernef.j 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 They are childless, then ? 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 There is or was a bastard, 
 Whom the old man— the grandsire (as old Age 
 s ever doting), took to warm his bosom, 
 \s it went chilly downward to the grave : 
 3ut the Imp stands not in my path— he has fled, 
 tfo one knows whither ; and if he had not, 
 lis claims alone were too contemptible 
 To stand Why do you smile ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 At your vain fears : 
 ^ poor man almost in his grasp — a child 
 3f doubtful birth — can startle a grandee ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Mi's to be fear'd, where all is to be gain'd. > 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 [rue ; and aught done to save or to obtain it. 
 
 S'iRALENHEIM. 
 
 Tou have harp'd the very string next to my heart.' 
 may depend upon you ? 
 
86 WERNER, act I 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 'Twere too late 
 To doubt it. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Let no foolish pity shake 
 Your bosom (for the appearance of the man 
 Is pitiful) — he is a wretch, as likely 
 To have robb'd me as the fellow more suspected, 
 Except that circumstance is less against him ; 
 He being lodged far off, and in a chamber 
 Without approach to mine ; and, to say truth, 
 I think too well of blood allied to mine, 
 . To deem he would descend to such an act ; 
 Besides, he was a soldier, and a brave one 
 Once — though too rash. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And they, my lord, we know 
 By our experience, never plunder till 
 They knock the brains out first — which makes 
 
 them heirs, 
 Not thieves. The dead, who feel nought, can lost 
 
 nothing, 
 
 Nor e'er be robb'd : their spoils are a bequest — 
 -No more. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 Go to ! you are a wag. But say 
 I may be sure you'll keep an eye on this man, 
 And let me know his slightest movement towards 
 Concealment or escape ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You may be sure 
 You yourself could not watch him more than I 
 Will be his sentinel. 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 By this, you make me 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 87 
 
 Yours, and for ever. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Such is my intention. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 A Hall in the same Palace, from whence the secret 
 Passage leads. 
 
 Enter Werner and Gabor. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Sir, I have told my tale : if it so please you 
 To give me refuge for a few hours, well— 
 [f not — I'll try my fortune elsewhere. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 How 
 
 Can I, so wretched, give to Misery 
 
 \ shelter ? — wanting such myself as much 
 
 A.s e'er the hunted deer a covert j 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Or 
 
 The wounded lion his cool cave. Methinks 
 iTou rather look like one would turn at bay, 
 \nd rip the hunter's entrails. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Ah? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I care not 
 [f it be so, being much disposed to do 
 The same myself; but will you shelter me? 
 I am oppress'd like you— and poor like you — 
 Disgraced 
 
88 WERNER, act in. 
 
 werner (abrufitly.) 
 Who told you that I was disgraced! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 No one; nor did I say you were so : with 
 Your poverty my likeness ended ; but 
 I said I was so — and would add, with truth. 
 As undeservedly as you. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Again ! 
 As J? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Or any other honest man. 
 What the devil would you have? You don't be- 
 lieve me 
 Guilty of this base theft ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 No, no — I cannot. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Why, that's my heart of honour ! yon young gal- 
 lant — 
 Your miserly intendant and dense noble — 
 All — all suspected me ; and why ? because 
 I am the worst-clothed, and least named amongsl 
 
 them, 
 Although, were Momus' lattice in our breasts, 
 My soul might brook to open it more widely 
 Than theirs ; but thus it is — you poor and help 
 
 less — 
 Both still more than myself. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 How know you that 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You're right ; I ask for shelter at the hand 
 Which I call helpless : if you now deny it, 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 89 
 
 I were well paid. But you, who seem to have 1 
 
 proved 
 The wholesome bitterness of life, know well, 
 By sympathy, that all the outspread gold 
 Of the New World, the Spaniard boasts about, 
 Could never tempt the man who knows its worth, 
 Weigh'd at its proper value in the balance, 
 Save in such guise (and there I grant its power, 
 Because I feel it) as may leave no night -mare 
 Upon his heart o'nights. *. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 GAB OR. 
 
 Just what I say : I thought my speech was plain: 
 You are no thief — nor I — and, as true men, 
 Should aid each other. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 It is a damned world, sir. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 So is the nearest of the two next, as 
 
 The priests say (and no doubt they should know 
 
 best,) 
 Therefore I'll stick by this — as being loth 
 To suffer martyrdom, at least with such 
 An epitaph as larceny upon my tomb. 
 It is but a night's lodging which I crave ; 
 To-morrow I will try the waters, as 
 The Dove did, trusting that they have abated. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Abated ? Is there hope of that ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 There was 
 At noontide. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Then we may be safe, 
 
 H 2 
 
90 WERNER, act nr. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Are you 
 In peril ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Poverty is ever so. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 That I know by long practice. Will you not 
 Promise to make mine less ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Your poverty ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 No — you don't look a leech for that disorder; 
 I meant my peril only ; you've a roof, 
 And I have none ; I merely seek a covert. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Rightly ; for how should such a wretch as I 
 Have gold ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Scarce honestly, to say the truth on't, 
 Although I almost wish you had the baron's. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Dare you insinuate ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 What ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Are you aware 
 To whom you speak ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 No ; and I am not used 
 Greatly to care. {A noise heard without.} But 
 hark ! they come ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Who come ? 
 
 GABOB. 
 
 The Intendant and his man-hounds after me : 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 91 
 
 I 'd face them— but it were in vain to expect 
 Justice at hands like theirs. Where shall I go ? 
 But show me any place. I do assure you, 
 If there be faith in man, I am most guiltless : 
 Think if it were your own case ! 
 werner (aside.) 
 
 | Oh, just God ! 
 Thy hell is not hereafter ! Am I dust still ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I see you 're moved ; and it shows well in you : 
 I may live to requite it. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Are you not 
 A spy of Stralenheim's ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Not I ! and if 
 I were, what is there to espy in you ? 
 Although I recollect his frequent question 
 About you and your spouse, might lead to some 
 Suspicion; but you best know — what — and why: 
 I am his deadliest foe. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 After such 
 A treatment for the service which in part 
 I render'd him-f-I am his enemy ; 
 If you are not his friend, you will assist me. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I will. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 But how ? 
 
 werner (showing the flannel.) 
 
 There is a secret spring ; 
 
92 WERNER, act nil 
 
 Remember, I discover'd it by chance, 
 And used it but for safety. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Open it, 
 And I will use it for the same. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I found it, 
 As I have said : it leads through winding walls, 
 (So thick as to bear paths within their ribs, 
 Yet lose no jot of strength or stateliness,) 
 And hollow cells, and obscure niches, to 
 I know not whither ; you must not advance : 
 Give me your word. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 It is unnecessary: 
 How should I make my way in darkness, through 
 A Gothic labyrinth of unknown windings ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Yes, but who knows to what place it may lead ? 
 I know not — (mark you !) — but who knows it 
 
 might not 
 Lead even into the chambers of your foe ? 
 So strangely were contrived these galleries 
 By our Teutonic fathers in old days, 
 When man built less against the elements 
 Than his next neighbour. > You must not advance 
 Beyond the two first windings ; if you do 
 (Albeit I never pass'd them,) I '11 not answer 
 For what you may be led to. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 But I will. 
 A thousand thanks ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You '11 find the spring more obvious 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 93 
 
 On the other side ; and, when you would return, 
 It yields to the least touch. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I 'II in — farewell ! 
 [Gabor goes in by the secret fianneL 
 
 WERNER (solllS.) 
 
 What have I done ? Alas ! what had I done 
 Before to make this fearful ? Let it be 
 Still some atonement that I save the man, 
 Whose sacrifice had saved perhaps my own — 
 They come ! to seek elsewhere Avhat is before 
 them ! 
 
 Enter Idenstein, and Others. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Is he not here ? He must have vanish'd then 
 Through the dim Gothic glass by pious aid 
 Of pictured saints, upon the red and yellow 
 Casements, through which the sunset streams like 
 
 sunrise 
 On long pearl-colour'd beads and crimson crosses, 
 And gilded crosiers, and cross'd arms, and cowls, 
 And helms, and twisted armour, and long swords, 
 All the fantastic furniture of windows, 
 Dim with brave knights and holy hermits, whose 
 Likeness and fame alike rest on some panes 
 Of crystal, which each rattling wind proclaims 
 As frail as any other life or glory. 
 He 's gone, however. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Whom do you seek ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 A villain » 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Why need you come so far, then ? 
 
94 WERNER, act iiiJ 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 In the search 
 Of him who robb'd the baron. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Are you sure 
 You have divined the man ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 As sure as you 
 Stand there ; but where 's he gone ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Who? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 He we sought. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You see he is not here. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 And yet we traced him 
 Up to this hall : are you accomplices, 
 Or deal you in the black art ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I deal plainly, 
 To many men the blackest. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 It may be 
 I have a question or two for yourself 
 Hereafter ; but we must continue how 
 Our search for t' other. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You had best begin 
 Your inquisition now ; I may not be 
 So patient always. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I should like to know, 
 In good sooth, if you really are the man 
 That Stralenheim 's in quest of? 
 
so. i. A TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Insolent ! 
 Said you not that he was not here ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Yes, one; 
 But there 's another whom he tracks more keenly, 
 And soon, it may be, with authority 
 Both paramount to his and mine. But, come ! 
 Bustle, my boys ! we are at fault. 
 
 \_Exit Idenstein, and attendants, 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 In what 
 A maze hath my dim destiny involved me ! 
 /And one base sin hath done me less ill than 
 The leaving undone one far greater. ■•- Down, 
 Thou busy devil ! rising in my heart ! 
 Thou art too late ! I '11 nought to do with blood. 
 Enter Ulric. 
 
 ULRIG. 
 
 I sought you, father. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Is 't not dangerous ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 No ; Stralenheim is ignorant of all 
 Or any of the ties between us : more- 
 He sends me here a spy upon your actions. 
 Deeming me wholly his. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I cannot think it : 
 | 'Tis but a snare he winds about us both, 
 i To swoop the sire and son at once. 
 
 UJLRIC. 
 
 I cannot 
 ; Pause in each petty fear, and stumble at 
 i .The doubts that rise like briars in our path, , 
 
96 WERNER, act in. 
 
 But must break through them, as an unarm'd carle 
 Would, though with naked limbs, were the wolf 
 
 rustling 
 In the same thicket where he hew'd for bread : 
 Nets are for thrushes, eagles are not caught so; 
 We '11 overfly, or rend them. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Show me how? 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 Can you not guess ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I cannot. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 That is strange. 
 Came the thought ne'er into your mind last night? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I understand you not. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Then we shall never 
 More understand each other. But to change 
 The topic 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You mean, to pursue it, as 
 5 Tis of our safety. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Right; I stand corrected. 
 I see the subject now more clearly, and 
 Our general situation in its bearings. 
 The waters are abating ; a few hours 
 Will bring his summon'd myrmidons from Frank- 
 fort, 
 When you will be a prisoner, perhaps worse, 
 And I an outcast, bastardized by practice 
 Of this same baron to make wav for him. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 97 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 And now your remedy ! I thought to escape 
 By means of this accursed gold, but now 
 I dare not use it, show it, scarce look on it. 
 Rethinks it wears upon its face my guilt) 
 For motto, not the mintage of the state ; 
 And, for the sovereign's head, my own begirt 
 With hissing snakes, which curl around my tem- 
 ples, 
 And cry to all beholders — lo ! a villain ! 
 
 ULRIC- 
 
 You must not use it, at least, now ; but take 
 This ring. \He gives Werner a jenveL 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 A gem ! It was my father's ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And 
 As such is now your own. With this you must 
 Bribe the Intendant for his old caleche 
 And horses to pursue your route at sunrise, 
 Together with my mother. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 And leave you, 
 So lately found, in peril too ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Fear nothing ! 
 The only fear were if we fled together, 
 For that would make our ties beyond all doubt. 
 The waters only lie in flood between 
 This burgh and Frankfort ; so far 's in our favour. 
 The route on to Bohemia, though encumber'd, 
 Is not impassable ; and when you gain 
 A few hours' start, the difficulties. will be 
 The same to your pursuers. Once beyond 
 The frontier, and you 're safe. 
 i 
 
?8 WERNER, act m, 
 
 WERNER.. 
 
 My noble boy I 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Hush I hush ! no transports : we '11 indulge in them 
 In Castle Siegendorf ! Display no gold : 
 Show Idenstein the gem (I know the man, 
 And have look'd through him :) it will answer thus 
 A double purpose. Stralenheim lost gold— 
 No jewel: therefore, it could not be his; 
 And then the man, who was possest of this, 
 Can hardly be suspected of abstracting 
 The baron's coin, when he could thus convert 
 This ring to more than Stralenheim has lost 
 By his last night's slumber. Be not over timid 
 In your address, nor yet too arrogant, 
 And Idenstein will serve you. 1 ^ 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I will follow 
 In all things your direction. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I would have 
 Spared you the trouble ; but had I appear'd 
 To take an interest in you, and still more 
 By dabbling with a jewel in your favour, 
 All had been known at once. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 My guardian angel '. 
 This overpays the past. But how wilt thou 
 Fare in our absence ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Stralenheim knows nothing 
 Of me as aught of kindred with yourself. 
 I will but wait a day or two with him 
 To lull all doubts, and then rejoin my father. 
 
so. i. A TRAGEDY. 99 
 
 "WERNER. 
 
 To part no more ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I know not that ; but at 
 The least we '11 meet again once more. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 My boy I 
 My friend— my only child, and sole preserver ! 
 Oh, do not hate me ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Hate my father I 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Ay, 
 My father hated me. Why not, my son I 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Your father knew you not as I do. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Scorpions 
 Are in thy words ! Thou know me ? In this guise 
 Thou canst not know me, I am not myself, 
 Yet (hate me not) I will be soon. 
 
 ULRIO. 
 
 I '11 wait! 
 In the mean time be sure that all a son 
 Can do for parents shall be done for mine. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I see it, and I feel it, yet I feel 
 Further — that yqu despise me. i 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Wherefore should I ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Must I repeat my humiliation ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 No! 
 I have fathom'd it and you. But let us talk 
 
1*00 WERNER, act in. 
 
 Of this no more. Or if it must be ever, 
 Not now;, your error has redoubled all 
 The present difficulties of our house 
 At secret war with that of Stralenheim ; 
 All we have now to think of, is to baffle 
 Him. I have shown one way. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 The only one, 
 And I embrace it, as I did my son, 
 Who show'd himself and father's safety in 
 One day. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You shall be safe : let that suffice. 
 Would Stralenheim's appearance in Bohemia 
 Disturb your right, or mine, if once we were 
 Admitted to our lands ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Assuredly, 
 Situate as we are now, although the first 
 Possessor might, as usual, prove the strongest, 
 Especially the next in blood. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Blood! 'tis 
 * A word of many meanings ; in the veins 
 And out of them, it is a different thing — 
 And so it should be, when the same in blood 
 (As it is call'd) are aliens to each other, 
 Like Theban brethren : "when a part is bad, 
 A few spilt ounces purify the rest. 4 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I do not apprehend you. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 That may be— 
 And should, perhaps, — and yet — but get ye ready ; 
 You and my mother must away to-night. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. lot 
 
 Here comes the Intendant; 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 ; but no less 
 Will serve to warn our vessels through these shoals. 
 The freight is rich, so heave the line in time ! 
 Farewell ! I scarce have time, but yet your hand, 
 My father ! - 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Let me embrace thee S 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 We may be 
 Observed : subdue your nature to the hour ! 
 Keep off from me as from your foe ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Accursed 
 Be he, who is the stifling cause, which smothers 
 The best and sweetest feeling of our hearts, 
 At such an hour too I 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Yes, curse— it will ease you ! 
 Here is the Intendant. 
 
 Enter Idenstein. 
 
 Master Idenstein, 
 How fare you in your purpose I Have you caught 
 The rogue ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 No, faith ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Well, there are plenty mores 
 You may have better luck another chase. 
 Where is the baron ? 
 i2 
 
102 WERNER, act iii.ll 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Gone back to his chamber : 
 And now I think on 't, asking after you 
 With nobly-born impatience. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Your great men 
 Must be answer' d on the instant, as the bound 
 Of the stung steed replies unto the spur: 
 s Tis well they have horses, too ; for if they had not, 
 ' I fear that men must draw their chariots, as 
 They say kings did Sesostris. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Who was he ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 An old Bohemian — an imperial gipsy. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 A gipsy or Bohemian, 'tis the same, 
 
 For they pass by both names. And was he one ? I 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 I 've heard so ; but I must take leave. Intendant, 
 Your servant ! — Werner, [to Werner slightly) if 
 
 that be your name, 
 Yours. [Exit Ulric. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 A well-spoken, pretty-faced young man ! 
 And prettily behaved ! He knows his station, 
 You see, sir : how he gave to each his due 
 Precedence ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I perceived it, and applaud 
 < His just discernment and your own. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 That 's well— - 
 That 's very well. You also know your place, too, 
 And yet I don't know that I know your place. I 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 106 
 
 Werner (showing the ring.') 
 Would this assist your knowledge ? 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 How !— What !— Eh ! 
 A jewel ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 'Tis your own on one condition. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Mine ! — Name it ! 
 
 P WERNER. 
 
 That hereafter you permit me t 
 At thrice its value to redeem it ; 'tis 
 A family ring. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 A family ! yours ! a gem ! 
 I'm breathless ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 You must also furnish me 
 An hour ere daybreak with all means to quit 
 This place. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 But is it real ? let me look on it ; 
 Diamond^ by all that's glorious ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Come, I'll trust you ; 
 Hfou have guess'd, no doubt, that I was born above 
 My present seeming. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I can't say I did, 
 • Though this looks like it ; this is the true breeding ■* 
 Of gentle blood 1) 
 
 WERNER. *■ 
 
 I have important reasons 
 For wishing to continue privily 
 My journey hence. 
 
104 WERNER, act in. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 So then you are the man 
 Whom Stralenheim 's in quest of? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I am not ; 
 
 But being taken for him might conduct 
 So much embarrassment to me just now, 
 And to the baron's self hereafter — 'tis 
 To spare both, that I would avoid all bustle. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Be you the man or no, 'tis not my business ; 
 
 Besides, fl never should obtain the half 
 
 From this proud, niggardly noble, who would raise 
 
 The country for some missing bits of coin, 
 
 And never offer a precise reward — 
 
 But this I another look ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Gaze on it freely ; 
 
 At day-dawn it is yours. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 Oh, thou sweet sparkler ! 
 Thou more than stone of the philosopher ! 
 Thou touchstone of Philosophy herself! 
 Thou bright eye of the Mine ! thou load-star of 
 The soul i the true magnetic Pole to which 
 All hearts point duly north, like trembling needles ! 
 Thou flaming Spirit of the Earth ! which sitting 
 High on the monarch's diadem, attractest 
 More worship than the Majesty who sweats 
 Beneath the crown which makes his head ache, like 
 Millions of hearts which bleed to lend it lustre ! 
 Shalt thou be mine ? I am, methinks, already 
 A little king, a lucky alchymist ! — 
 A wise magician, who has bound the devil 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 105 
 
 Without the forfeit of his soul. But come, j 
 Werner, or what else ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Call me Werner still, 
 You may yet know me by a loftier title. 
 
 IDENSTEIN. 
 
 I do believe in thee ! thou art the spirit 
 
 Of whom I long have dream'd, in a low garb. — 
 
 But come, I'll serve thee ; thou shalt be as free 
 
 As air, despite the waters ; |let us hence, 
 
 I'll show thee I am honest — (oh, thou jewel !) 
 
 Thou shalt be furnish'd, Werner, with such means 
 
 Of flight, that if thou wert a snail, not birds 
 
 Should overtake thee. — Let me gaze again ! 
 
 I have a foster-brother in the mart 
 
 Of Hamburgh, skill'd in precious stones — how 
 
 many 
 Carats may it weigh ? — Come, Werner, I will wing 
 
 thee. [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Stralenheim's Chamber. 
 Stralenheim and Fritz. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 All 's ready, my good lord ! 
 
 stralenheim. 
 
 I am not sleepy, 
 And yet I must to bed ; I fain would say 
 To rest, but something heavy on my spirit, 
 Too dull for wakefulness, too quick for slumber, 
 Sits on me as a cloud along the sky, 
 Which willjiot let the sunbeams through, nor yet 
 
106 WERNER, act in. 
 
 Descend in rain and end, but spreads itself 
 'Twixt earth and heaven, like envy between man 
 And man, an everlasting mist ; — I will 
 Unto my pillow. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 May you rest there well ! 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 I feel, and fear, I shall. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 And wherefore fear I 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 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." 
 
 STRALENHEIM. 
 
 You think ! you supercilious slave ! what right 
 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 dash'd aside 
 The roaring torrent, and restored me to 
 Thank him — and despise you. " You think /" and 
 
 scarce 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 107 
 
 Can recollect his name ! I will not waste 
 More words on you. Call me betimes. 
 
 FRITZ. 
 
 # Good night ! 
 
 [ trust to-morrow will restore your lordship 
 To renovated strength and temper. 
 
 [The scene closes.. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The secret Passage, 
 
 Gabor, solus. 
 
 Four — 
 Five — six hours have I counted, like the guard 
 3f outposts on the never-merry clock : 
 rhat hollow tongue of time, which, even when 
 t sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment 
 With every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell, 
 rhough for a marriage feast it rings : each stroke 
 J eals for a hope the less ; the funeral note 
 )f Love deep-buried without resurrection 
 n the grave of Possession ; while the knoll 
 )f long-lived parents finds a jovial echo 
 [Y> triple Time in the sons' ear. 
 
 I'm cold — 
 'm dark — I've blown my fingers — number'd o'er 
 \.nd o'er my steps — and knock'd my head against 
 iome fifty buttresses — and roused the rats 
 iihd bats in general insurrections/till 
 rheir cursed pattering feet and whirring wings 
 -.eave me scarce hearing for another sound. I 
 V. light ! It is at distance (if I can^ 
 deasure in darkness distance) : but it blinks 
 i>s through a crevice or a key-hole, in 
 
108 WERNER, act 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 ! 
 That corner's turn'd — So— Ah ! no ; — right ! it 
 
 draws 
 Nearer. Here is a darksome angle — so, 
 That's weather'd. — 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 ! 
 My stationary Will o' the wisp ! — So ! so ! 
 He hears my invocation, and fails not. 
 
 [ The scene closes, 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 A Garden. 
 
 Enter Werner. 
 
 I could not sleep — and now the hour's at hand ; 
 All's ready. Idenstein has kept his word ; 
 And, station'd in the outskirts of the town, 
 Upon the forest's edge, the vehicle 
 
sc. iv. A TRAGEDY. 109 
 
 ! Awaits us. I Now the dwindling stars begin 
 To pale in Heaven ; and for the last time I 
 
 I Look on these horrible walls. Oh ! never, never 
 
 I Shall I forget them. Hore I came most poor. 
 But not dishonour'd : and I leave them with 
 A stain,— if not upon my name, yet in 
 My heart ! A never-dying canker-worm, 
 Which all the coming splendour of the lands, 
 And rights, and sovereignty of Siegendorf, 
 £an 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 j. Repentance must retrieve it : 
 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 sound- 
 ly, 
 Perhaps, as infancy, 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 leafis down from the terrace, 
 Ulric ! ever welcome ! 
 Thrice welcome now i this filial—— 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Stop ! before 
 We approach, tell me 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Why look you so \ 
 
 K 
 
1 10 WERNER, act m 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Do I 
 Behold my father, or 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 What ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 An assassin I 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Insane or insolent ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Reply, sir, as 
 You prize your life, or mine ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 To what must 1 
 Answer ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Are you or are you not the assassin 
 Of Stralenheim ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 I never was as yet 
 The murderer of any man. What mean you ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Did you not this night (as the night before) 
 Retrace the secret passage ? Did you not 
 Again revisit Stralenheim's chamber? and 
 
 , [Ulric fiauses, 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Proceed. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Died he not by your hand ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Great God I 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You are innocent, then ! my father's innocent ! 
 Embrace me I Yes,— your tone — your look— yes 
 yesy— 
 
sc.iv. A TRAGEDY. Ill 
 
 Yet say so ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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 ! \ 
 
 P ULRIC. 
 
 But Str lenheim is dead. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 'Tis horrible ! 'tis hideous, as 'tis hateful !— - 
 But what have I to do wiih this? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 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 enter'd secretly. Excuse me, 
 If nature 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 f Oh, my boy ! what unknown woes 
 Of dark fatality, like clouds, are gathering 
 ', Above our house ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My father ! I acquit you ! 
 But will the world do so ? Will even the judge, 
 If but you must away this instant. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 No! 
 I'll face it. Who shall dare suspect me ? 
 
IIS WERNER, act in. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Yet 
 
 You had no guests — no visitors— no life 
 Breathing around you, save my mother's? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Ah! 
 The Hungarian ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 He is gone ! he disappear'd 
 Ere sunset. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 No ; I nid him in that very 
 Conceal'd and fatal gallery. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 There I'll find him. 
 [Ulric is going. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 It is too late : he had left the palace ere 
 
 I quitted it. I found the secret pannel 
 
 Open ; and the doors which lead from that hall 
 
 Which masks it : I but thought he had snatch'd 
 
 the silent 
 And favourable moment to escape 
 The myrmidons ot Idenstein, who were 
 Dogging him yester-even. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 You re-closed 
 The pannel ? 
 
 WERNER, 
 
 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. 
 
sc iv. a tragedy. 113 
 
 Certain. 
 
 4 ULRIC. 
 
 You are sure you closed it ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 That's well : bu aad been better, if 
 You ne'er had turn'd it to a den for ■ [.fife 
 pauses. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Thieves! 
 Thou wouldst say : I must bear it, and deserve it ; 
 But not 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 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 I 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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 
 rhe very^wfetch who was the causene needed 
 Such refuge. Had he been a wolf, I could not 
 Have, in such circumstances, thrust him forth. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 ^.nd like the wolf he hath repaid you. But 
 [t is too late to ponder this: you must 
 Set out ere dawn. I will remain here to 
 frace out the murderer, if 'tis possible. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 3ut this my sudden flight will give, the Mo'och 
 suspicion: two new victims, in the lieu 
 }f one, if I remain. The fled Hungarian, 
 Who seems the culprit, and — *— 
 k 2 
 
114 WERNER, act m. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Who seems ? Who else 
 Can be so? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Not 2, though just now you doubted — 
 You, my son !— doubted. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And do you doubt of him 
 The fugitive ? 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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. C Your heart 
 Is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse 
 Appearances ; and views a criminal 
 In Innocence's shadow, it may be, 
 Because 'tis dusky. 
 
 * ULRIC. 
 
 And if I do so, 
 What will mankind, who know you not, or knew 
 But to oppress ? You must not stand the hazard. 
 Away U-ril make all easy. Idenstien 
 Will for his own sake and his jewel's hold 
 His peace — he also is a partner in 
 Your flight— moreover 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 Fly ! and leave ray name 
 Link'd with the Hungarian's, or preferred as 
 
 poorest, 
 To bear the brand of bloodshed ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Pshaw ! leave any thing 
 Except our father's sovereignty and castles, 
 
sc. iv. A TRAGEDY. 115 
 
 For which you have so long panted and in vain ! 
 What name? You leave no name, since that you 
 
 bear 
 Is feign'd. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 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 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I will provide against 
 Aught that can touch you. No one knows you 
 
 here 
 As heir of Siegendorf : if Idenstein 
 Suspects, 'tis but susfiicion, and he is 
 A fool : his folly shall have such employment, 
 Too, that the unknown Werner shall give way 
 To nearer thoughts of self. The laws (if e'er 
 Laws reach'd this village) are all in abeyance 
 With the late general war of thirty years, 
 'Or crush'd, 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 perish'd with him ; few prolong 
 A week beyond their funeral rites their sway 
 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), 
 
116 WERNER, act in. 
 
 Will no more stir a finger now than then. 
 
 Hence ! hence ! I must not hear your answer — 
 
 look ! 
 The stars are almost faded, and the gray 
 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-losl, late-found son — Let's call my mo- 
 ther! 
 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. 
 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 ! 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 This counsel's safe— but is it honourable ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 To save a father is a child's chief honour. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
80,1. A TRAGEDY. 117 
 
 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 
 Oid walls new masters and high wassail, both 
 A long desideratum. 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 Yea, lor 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 maintain'd 
 His feudal hospitality as high 
 As e'er another prince of the empire. 
 
 ERIC 
 
 Why, 
 For the mere cup and trencher, we no aoubt 
 Fared passing weil j. but as for merriment 
 And sport, without which salt and sauces season ^ 
 The cheer but scantily, our sizings were 
 Even of the narrowest, j 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 T jid 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. 
 
118 WERNER, aotivi 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 His reign is as yet 
 Hardly a year o'erpast its honey-moon, 
 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 ! 
 Then his brave son, Count Ulric — there's a knight ! 
 Pity the wars are o'er ! 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 Why so ? 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 Look on him ! 
 And answer that yourself. 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 He's very youthful, 
 And strong and beautiful as a young tiger. 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 That's not a faithful vassal's likeness. 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 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 
 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 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 119 
 
 A sword like him ? Whose plume nods knightlier ? *. 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 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 f 
 Already done as much. ■* 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 What do you mean t 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 VTou can't deny his train of followers 
 (But few our fellow native vassals born 
 On the domain) are such a sort of knaves 
 As (Pauses) 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 What ? 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 rhe wars (you love so much) leaves living ; 
 
 Like other Parents, She spoils her worst children a 1 
 
 ERIC 
 
 Nonsense ! they are all brave iron-visaged fellows, 1 
 Such as old Tilly loved. 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 And who loved Tilly ? 
 ksk that at Magdebourgh — or for that matter 
 *Vallenstein either — they are gone to 
 
 ERIC 
 
 Rest ; 
 
 Jut what beyond 'tis not ours to pronounce. ^ 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 wish they had left us something of their rest : 
 The country (nominally now at peace ) 
 s overrun with — God knows who — they fly 
 5y night, and disappear with sunrise ; but 
 
 leave no less desolation, nay, even more 
 Than the most often warfare. 
 
120 WERNER. act iv. 
 
 ERIC 
 
 But Count Ulric— 
 What has all this to do with him ? 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 With him ! 
 
 H*' might prevent it. As you say he's fend 
 
 Of war, why makes he it not on those marauders? 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 You'd better ask himself. 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 I would as soon 
 Ask of the lion why he laps not milk. 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 And here he comes ! 
 
 HENBICK. 
 
 The devil ! you'll hold your tongue ? 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 Why do you turn so pale ? 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 'Tis nothing — but 
 Be silent! 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 I will upon what you have said. 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 I assure you I meant nothing, a mere sport 
 Of words, no more ; besides, had it been other- 
 wise, 
 He is to espouse the gentle B \roness 
 Ida of Stralenheim, the late Baron's heiress, 
 And she no doubt will soften wustsoever 
 O* fierceness the late long intestine wars 
 Have given all natures, ancl most un o those 
 Who were born in them, jaud bred up upon 
 The knees of Homicide ; sprinckled, as it were, 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 121 
 
 With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peace 
 On all that I have said ! 
 
 Enter Ulric and Rodolph. 
 
 Good morrow, Count ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, is 
 All ready foy the chase ? 
 
 ERIC. 
 
 The dogs are order'd 
 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? 
 
 ULRIO. 
 
 The dun, 
 Walstein. 
 
 eric. 
 I fear he scarcely has recover'd 
 The toils of Monday : 'twas a noble chase, 
 You spear'd four with your own hand. 
 
 ULRIO. 
 
 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 strait caparison'd. How many 
 Of your immediate retainers shall 
 Escort you ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I leave that to Weilburgh, our 
 Master of the horse. {Exit Eric* 
 
 Rodolph ! 
 
122 WERNER, a@t iv. : 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 My lord ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 The news 
 Is awkward from the — (Rodolph fioints to Hen- 
 rick) 
 
 How now, Henrick, why 
 Loiter you here ? 
 
 HENRICK. 
 
 For your commands, my lord. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 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, and 
 'Tis rumour'd that the column sent against them 
 Is to be strengthen'd. I must join them soon. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Best wait for further and more sure advices. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I mean it — and indeed it could not well 
 Have fallen out at a time more opposite 
 To all my plans. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 It will be difficult 
 To excuse your absence to the Count, your father. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 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 ? 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 123 
 
 When we- 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 As well as on that night 
 
 ulric. 
 We will not speak of that until 
 We can repeat the same with like success; 
 And when you have join'd, give Rosenberg this 
 letter. \_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, 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 I thought you loved the lady Ida ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Why, 
 I do so — but it follows not from that 
 I would bind in my youth and glorious years, 
 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. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 And constantly ? 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 I think so ; for I love 
 Nought else.-4But 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 ! 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 On my return, however, I shall find 
 
 The Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf ? 
 
124 Werner, ast iv. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Perhaps : my father wishes it, and sooth 
 'Tis no bad policy ;/'this union with 
 The last bud of the rival branch at once 
 Unites the future and destroys the past 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Adieu ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Yet hold — we had better keep together 
 Until the chase begins ; then draw thou off, 
 And do as I have said. 
 
 RODOLPH 
 
 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. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Wondrous kind ! 
 Especially as little kindness till 
 Then grew between them. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 The late baron died 
 Of a fever, did he not ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 How should I know ? 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 I have heard it whisper'd there was something 
 
 strange 
 Ahout his death— and even the place of it 
 Is scarcely known. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Some obscure village on 
 The Saxon or Silesian frontier. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 125 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 He 
 Has left no testament — no farewell words ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I am neither confessor nor notary, 
 So cannot say. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Ah! here's the lady Ida. 
 
 Enter Ida Stralenheim. 
 
 ulric. 
 You are early, my sweet cousin ! 
 
 . IDA. 
 
 Not too early, 
 Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you. 
 Why do you call me " Cousin ,?" 
 ulrio {smiling). 
 
 Are we not so ? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Yes, but I do not like the name ; methinks 
 It sounds too cold, as if you thought upon 
 Our pedigree, and only weigh'd our blood. 
 
 ulric (starting). 
 Blood ! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Why does yours start from your cheeks ? -\- 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Ay ! doth it ? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 [t doth— but no ! it rushes like a torrent i 
 Even to your brow again. 
 
 ulric {recovering himself). 
 And if it fled, 
 [t only was because your presence sent it 
 J. 2 
 
126 WERNER, act iv. 
 
 j Back to my heart, which beats for you, sweet cousin! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 " Cousin" again. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Nay, then I'll call you sister. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 I like that name still worse—would we had ne'er 
 Been aught of kindred ! 
 
 ulric (gloomily). 
 
 Would we never had ! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Oh heaven ! and can you wish that ? 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 Dearest Ida ! 
 Did I not echo your own wish ? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Yes, Ulric, 
 ( But then I wish'd it not with such a glance, 
 And scarce knew what I said ;, but let me be 
 Sister, or cousin, what you will, so that 
 I still to you am something. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 You shall be 
 All— all— 
 
 IDA. 
 
 And you to me are so already ; 
 But I can wait. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Dear Ida ! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Call me Ida, 
 Your Ida, for I would be yours, none else's — 
 Indeed I have none else left, since my poor fa- 
 ther — [She pauses. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 127 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 ou have mine— you hare me. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Dear Ulric, how I wish 
 My father could but view our happiness, 
 Which wants but this ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Indeed I 
 
 IDA. 
 
 You would have loved hhn,^ 
 He you ; for the brave ever love each other: ' 
 
 His manner was a little cold^his spirit 
 Proud (as is birth's prerogative), but under f 
 
 This grave exterior— would you had known 
 
 each other ! 
 Had such as you been near him on his journey, 
 He had not died without a friend to soothe 
 His last and lonely moments. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 Who says that? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 What? 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 That he died alone. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 The general rumour, 
 And disappearance of his servants, who 
 Have ne'er return'd t^that fever was most deadly „ -: 
 Which swept them all away. ) 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 If they were near him. 
 He could not die neglected or alone. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 (Alas ! what is a menial to a death-bed, 
 When the dim eye rolls vainly round for what j 
 
128 WERNER, act iv. 
 
 It loves ?— they say he died of a fever. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Say I 
 It ivas so. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 I sometimes dream otherwise, 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 All dreams are false. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 And yet I see him as 
 I see you. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Where ? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 In sleep — I see him lie 
 Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knife ) 
 Beside him. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 But you do not see his face ? 
 ida {looking at him). 
 No ! Oh, my God 1 do you ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Why do you ask ? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Because you look as if you saw a murderer ! vj 
 
 ulric (agitatedly). 
 Ida, this i,s mere childishness ; your weakness 
 Infects me, to my shame ;;but as all feelings 
 Of yours are common to me, it affects me. 
 Prithee, sweet child, change 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Child, indeed ! I have 
 Full fifteen summers ! [yi bugle sounds. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Hark) my lord, the bugle ! 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 129 
 
 IDA {peevishly to rodolph) 
 Why need you tell him that ? Can he not hear it 
 Without your echo ? 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Pardon me, fair baroness ! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 I will not pardon you, unless you earn it 
 By aiding me in my dissuasion of 
 Count Ulric from the chase to-day. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 You will not, 
 Lady, need aid of mine. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I must not now 
 Forego it. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 But you shall ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Shall ! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Yes, or be 
 No true knight. — Come, dear Ulric \ yield to me 
 In this, for this one day ;.the day looks heavy, 
 And you are turn'd so pale and ill. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 You jest. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Indeed I do not :— ask of Rodolph. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Truly, 
 My lord, within this quarter of an hour 7 
 You have changed more than I e'er saw you change • 
 In years. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 'Tis nothing ; but if 'twere, the air 
 
iso WERNER, act m 
 
 Would soon restore me. I'm the true cameleon, 
 And live but on the atmosphere ;fyour feasts 
 In castle halls, and social banquets, nurse not 
 My spirit— I'm a forester and breather 
 Of the steep mountain-tops, where I love all 
 The eagle loves* 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Except his prey, I hope. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Sweet Ida, wish me a fair chase, and I 
 
 Will bring you six boars' heads for trophies home, 
 
 IDA. 
 
 And will you not stay, then ? You shall not go! 
 Come ! I will sing to you. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Ida, you scarcely 
 Will ma ke a soldier's wife. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 I do not wish 
 To be so ; for I trust these wars are over, 
 And you will live in peace on your domains. 
 
 Enter Werner as Count Siegendorf. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My father, I salute you, and it grieves me 
 
 With such brief greeting. — You have heard out 
 
 bugle; 
 The vassals wait. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 So let them — You forget 
 To-morrow is the appointed festival 
 In Prague for peace restored. You are apt to 
 follow 
 
so. i. A TRAGEDY. 131 
 
 The chase with such an ardour as will scarce 
 Permit you to return to-day, or if 
 Return'd, too much fatigued to join to-morrow 
 The nobles in our marshall'd ranks. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You, Count, 
 
 Will well supply the place of both 1 am not 
 
 A. lover of these pageantries. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 No, Ulric ; 
 [t were not well that you alone of all 4 
 Dur young nobility 
 
 IDA. 
 
 And far the noblest - 
 [n aspect and demeanour. 
 
 SIEGENDORF {to IDA.) 
 
 True, dear child, 
 rhough somewhat frankly said for a fair damsel.—- 
 But, Ulric, recollect too our position, 
 50 lately re-instated in our honours. * 
 
 iielieve me, 'twould be mark'd in any house, 
 But most in ours, that one should be found' 
 
 wanting 
 \t such a time and place. Besides, the Heaven 
 Which gave us back our own, in the same 
 
 moment 
 [t spread its Peace o'er all, hath double claims 
 3n us for thanksgiving ; first, for our country, 
 !\nd next, that we are here to share its blessings. 
 ulric (aside.) *• 
 
 Devout, too ! Well, sir, I obey at once. 
 
 [Then aloud to a Servant.} 
 Uudwig, dismiss the train without 1 £ Exit Ludwigk 
 
132 WERNER, act iy. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 And so 
 You yield at once to him what I for hours 
 Might supplicate in vain. 
 
 siegendorf (smiling.) 
 
 You are not jealous 
 Gf me, I trust, my pretty Rebel ! who 
 Would sanction disobedience against all 
 Except thyself? But fear not, thou shalt rule him 
 Hereafter with a fonder sway and firmer. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 But I should like to govern now. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 You shall, 
 Your harfiy which by the way awaits you with 
 The Countess in her chamber. She complains 
 That you are a sad truant to your music : 
 She attends you. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Then good morrow, my kind kinsmen . 
 Ulric, you'll come and hear me ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 By and by. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Be sure I'll sound it better than your bugles j 
 Then pray you be as punctual to its notes : 
 I'll play you King Gustavus' march. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 And why not 
 Old Tilly's ? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Not that monster's ! I should think 
 My harp-strings rang with groans, and not with 
 music, 
 
 | Could aught of hit sound on it;— but come 
 quickly ; 
 
se. i. A TRAGEDY. 133 
 
 Your mother will be eager to receive you. 
 
 [Exit Ida. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Ulric, I wish to speak with you alone. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My Time's your Vassal — {Aside to Rodolph.) 
 
 Rodolph, hence ! and do 
 As I directed ; and by his best speed 
 And readiest means let Rosenberg reply. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Count Siegendorf, command you aught? I am bound 
 Upon a journey past the frontier. 
 
 SIEGENDORF {starts.) 
 
 Ah!— 
 Where ? on what frontier ? 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 The Silesian, on 
 My way — {Aside to Ulric.) Where shall I say ? 
 ulric {aside to rodolph.) 
 
 To Hamburgh. 
 {Aside to himself?) That 
 Word will I think put a firm padlock on 
 His further inquisition. 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Count, to Hamburgh. 
 siegendorf (agitated?) 
 Hamburgh ! no, I have nought to do there, nor 
 Am aught connected with that city. Then 
 God speed you ! 
 
 RODOLPH. 
 
 Fare ye well, Count Siegendorf 2 
 
 \Exit Rodolph. 
 siegendorf. 
 Ulric, this man, who has just departed, is 
 One of those strange companions, whom I fain 
 
 M 
 
134 WERNER, act iv. 
 
 Would reason with you on. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 My lord, he is 
 Noble by birth, of one of the first bouses 
 In Saxony. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I talk not of his birth, 
 But of his bearing. Men speak lightly of him. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 So they will do of most men. Even the Monarch 
 Is not fenced from his chamberlain's slander/ or 
 The sneer of the last courtier whom he has made 
 Great and ungrateful. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 If I must be plain, 
 The World speaks more than lightly of this 
 
 Rodolph ; 
 They say he is leagued with the " black bands" 
 
 who still 
 Ravage the frontier. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And will you believe 
 The world ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 In this cast— yes. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 In any case, 
 I thought you knew it better than to take 
 An accusation for a sentence. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Son! 
 I understand you : you refer to but 
 My Destiny has so involved about me 
 Her spider web, that I can only flutter 
 Like the poor fly, but break it not. Take heeel. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 135 
 
 Ulric ; you have seen to what the passions led 
 
 me; 
 Twenty long years of misery and famine 
 Quench'd them not — twenty thousand more, per- 
 
 chance, 
 Hereafter (or even here in moments which 
 Might date for years, did Anguish make the dial,) 
 May not obliterate or expiate 
 The madness and dishonour of an instant. 
 Ulric, be warn'd by a father ! — I was not> 
 By mine, and you behold me I 
 
 tJLRIC. 
 
 I behold 
 The prosperous and beloved Siegendorf, 
 Lord of a prince's appanage, and honour'd 
 By those he rules, and those he ranks with. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Ah! 
 Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear 
 For thee ? Beloved, when thou lovest me not 1 
 All hearts but one may beat in kindness for me — 
 But if my son's is cold ! 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Who dare say that ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 None else but I, who see \i—-feel it— keener 
 Than would your adversary, who dared say so, 
 Your sabre in his heart 1 But mine survives 
 The wound. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You err. / My nature is not given 
 To outward fondling ; how should it be so, 
 After twelve years' divorcement from my pa- 
 rents ? 
 
136 WERNER, act t| 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And did not I too pass those twelve torn years 
 In a like absence ? [ But 'tis vain to urge you — 
 Nature was never call'd back by remonstrance. 
 Let's change the theme. ) I wish you to consider 
 That these young violent nobles of high name, 
 But dark deeds (ay, the darkest, if all Rumour 
 Reports be true), with whom thou consortest, 
 
 Will lead thee 
 
 ulric (imfiatiently). 
 
 I'll be led by no man. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Nor 
 Be leader of such, I would hope : at once 
 To wean thee from the perils of thy youth 
 And haughty spirit, I have thought it well 
 That thou should'st wed the lady Ida— more, 
 As thou appear' st to love her. 
 ulric. 
 
 I have said 
 I will obey your orders, were they to 
 Unite with Hecate— can a son say more ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 He says too much in saying this. It is not 
 
 The nature of thine age, nor of thy blood, 
 
 Nor of thy temperament, to talk so coolly, 
 
 Or act so carelessly, in that which is 
 
 The bloom or blight of all men's happiness, 
 
 (For Glory's pillow is but restless if 
 
 Love lay not down his cheek there) : some strong 
 
 bias, 
 Some master fiend is in thy service to 
 Misrule the mortal who believes him slave, 
 And makes his every thought subservient; else 
 Thoud'st say at once, " I love young Ida, and 
 Will wed her," or, " I love her not, and all 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. \37 
 
 The powers of earth shall never make me." — So 
 Would I have answer'd. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Sir, you wed for love. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 1 1 did, and it has been my only refuge 
 Hn many miseries. 
 
 ULKIC. 
 
 Which miseries 
 Had never been but for this love-match. * 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 (Still 
 Against your age and nature ! who at twenty 
 E'er answer'd thus till now ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Did you not warn me 
 Against your own example ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Boyish sophist ! 
 In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What matters it, if I am ready to 
 Obey you in espousing her ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 As far 
 As you feel, nothing, but all life for her. 
 She's young — all-beautiful — adores you— is 
 Endow'd with qualities to give happiness, 
 
 (Such as rounds common life into a dream 
 Of something which your poets cannot paint, j 
 
 \ And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue) 
 
 (For which Philosophy might barter Wisdom ; 
 
 • And giving so much happiness, deserves 
 A little in returny I would not have her 
 Break her heart for a man who has none to break} 
 m 2 
 
138 WERNER, act iv: 
 
 Or wither on her stalk like some pale rose 
 Deserted by the bird she thought a nightingale, 
 According to the Orient tale. She i s 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 The daughter of dead Stralenheim, your foe : 
 I'll wed her, ne'ertheless ; though, to say truth, 
 
 / Just now I am not violently transported 
 
 / In favour of such unions. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 But she loves you. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 , And I love her, and therefore would think twice. ^ 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Alas ! Love never did so. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 Then 'tis time 
 He should begin, and take the bandage from 
 -< His eyes, and look before he leaps : till now 
 He hath ta'en a jump i' the dark. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 But you consent ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 I did and do. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Then fix the day. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 'Tis usual, 
 And, certes, courteous, to leave that to the Lady. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I will engage for her. 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 So will not I 
 For any woman ; and as what I fix, 
 I fain would see unshaken, when she gives 
 Her answer, I'll give mine. 
 
so. i. A TRAGEDY. 139 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 But 'tis your office 
 To woo 
 
 ULRiC. 
 
 Count, 'tis a marriage of your making, 
 So be it of your wooing ; but to please you 
 I will now pay my duty to my mother, 
 With whom, you know, the lady Ida is— 
 What would you have? You have forbid my 
 
 stirring 
 For manly sports beyond the castle walls, 
 And I obey ; you bid me turn a chamberer, ^-f 
 To pick up gloves, and fans, and knitting-needles, 
 And list to songs and tunes, and watch for smiles, 
 And smile at pretty prattle, and look into 
 The eyes of feminie, as though they were 
 The stars receding early to our wish 
 Upon the dawn of a World-winning battle— 
 What can a son or man do more ? [Exit Ulric. 
 
 SIEGENDORF {solua). 
 
 Too much !— 
 Too much of duty and too little love ! 
 He pays me in the coin he owes me not : 
 For sueh hath been my wayward fate, I could not 
 Fulfil a parent's duties by his side 
 Till now ; but love he owes me, for my thoughts 
 Ne'er left him, nor my eyes long'd without tears 
 To see my child again, and now I have found him ! 
 But how ! obedient, but with coldness ; duteous 
 In my sight, but with carelessness; mysterious. 
 Abstracted — distant— much given to long absence, 
 And where— none know— in league with the most 
 
 riotous 
 Of our young nobles; though, to do him justice, 
 He never stoops down to their vulgar pleasures ; j 
 
140 WERNER, act iv., 
 
 Yet there's some tie between them which I cannot 
 Unravel. They look up to him — consult him— 
 Throng round him as a leader: but with me 
 He hath no confidence ! Ah ! can I hope it 
 After — what! doth my father's curse descend 
 Even to my child? Or is the Hungarian near 
 To shed more blood, or — oh ! if it should be ! 
 Spirit of Stralenheim, ciost thou walk these walls 
 To wither him and his — who, though they slew not, 
 v Unlatch'd the door of death for thee ? 'Twas not 
 Our fault, nor is our sin : thou wert our foe, 
 And yet I spared thee when my own Destruction 
 Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening ! 
 A v :d only took — accursed Gold ! thou liest 
 Like poison in my hands ; I dare not use thee, 
 Nor part from thee ; thou cam'st in such a guise, 
 Mi thinks thou wouldsr contaminate all hands 
 Like mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee, 
 Thou vilbnous Gold ! and thy dead master's doom, 
 Though he died not by me or mine, as much 
 As if he were my brother ! I have ta'en 
 His orphan Ida — cherish'd her as one 
 Who will be mine. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 The abbot, if it please 
 Your excellency, whom you sent for, waits 
 Upon you. [Exit Attendant. 
 
 Enter the Prior Albert. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Peace be with these walls, and all 
 
sc.i. A TRAGEDY 141 
 
 Within them ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Welcome, welcome, holy father ! 
 And may thy prayer be heard ! — all men have 
 
 need 
 Of such, and I 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Have the first claim to all 
 The prayers of our community. Our convent, 
 Erected by your ancestors, is still 
 Protected by their children. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Yes, good father'; 
 Continue daily orisons for us 
 In these dim days of heresies and blood, -I 
 Though the schismastic Swede, Gustavus, is 
 Gone home. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 To the endless home of unbelievers, 
 Where there is everlasting wail and woe, 
 Gnashing of teeth, and tears of blood, and fire 
 Eternal, and the worm which dieth not ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 True, father : and to avert those pangs from one, 
 Who, though of our most faultless, holy church, 
 Yet died without its last and dearest offices, 
 Which smooth the soul through purgatorial pains, 
 I have to offer humbly this donation 
 In masse* for his spirit. 
 
 [Siegendorf offers the gold which he had 
 taken from Stralenheim. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. r 
 
 Count, if I 
 Receive it, 'tis because I know too well 
 Refusal would offend you. Be assured 
 The largess shall be only dealt in alms, 
 
142 WERNER, act vi 
 
 And every mass no less sung for the dead. 
 Our house needs no donations, thanks to yours r 
 Which has of old endow'd it ; but from you 
 And yours in all meet things 'tis fit we obey ; 
 For whom shall mass be said ? 
 
 siegendorf (faltering) 
 
 For — for — the dead. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 His name ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 'Tis from a Soul, and not a Name, 
 ,. I would avert perdition. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 I meant not 
 To pry into your secret. We will pray 
 For one_ unknown, the same as for the proudest. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Secret ! I have none ; but, father, he who's gone 
 ; Mght have one; or, in short, he did bequeath- 
 No, not hequeatj — but I bestow this sum 
 For pious purposes. 
 
 PRI R ALBERT. 
 
 A proper deed 
 In the behalf of our departed friends. 
 
 SIEGENDORF 
 
 But he, who's gone, was, pot my friend, but Joe* 
 The deadliest and the staunches!. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Better still, 
 To employ our means to obtain heaven for the 
 
 souls 
 Of our dead enemies, is worthy those 
 Who can forgive them living. > 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 But I did not 
 
sc i. A TRAGEDY. 143 
 
 Forgive this man. I loath'd him to the last, 
 A.s he did me. I do not love him now. 
 But — - 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Best of all ! for this is pure religion I 
 
 iTou fain would rescue him you hate from hell 
 
 \n evangelical compassion ! — with 
 four own gold too ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Father, 'tis not my gold. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT 
 
 iVhose then ? you said it was no legacy. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 tfo matter whose — of this be sure, that he 
 Whoown'd it never more will need it, save 
 n that which it may purchase from your, altars : 
 Tis yours, or theirs. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 ,Is there no blood upon it ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. f 
 
 io ; but there's worse than blood — eternal shame ! 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 )id he who own'd it die in his bed ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Alas! 
 e did. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Son ! you relapse into revenge, 
 f you regret your enemy's bloodless death. * 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 lis death was fathomlessly deep in blood. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. '<r 
 
 fou said he died in his bed, not battle. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 He 
 
144 WERNER, act iv. 
 
 Died, I scarce know — but— -he was stabb'd i' the 
 
 dark, 
 And now you have it — perish'd on his pillow 
 By a cut-throat ! — ay ! — you may look upon me ! 
 I am not the man. I'll meet your eye on that 
 
 point, 
 As I can one day, God's. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Nor did he die 
 By means, or men, or instrument of yours ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 No i by the God who sees *nd strikes 1 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Nor know you 
 Who slew him ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I could only guess at one t 
 And he to me a stranger, unconnected, 
 As unemploy'd. Except by one da)'s knowledge, 
 I never saw the man who was suspected. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 Then you are free fiom guilt. 
 
 siegendorf (eagerly). 
 
 Oh ! am I ?— say ! 
 PRIOR albert. 
 You have said so, and know best. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Father ! I have spoken 
 The truth and nought but truth, if not the whole: 
 Yet say I am not guilty ! for the blood 
 Of this man weighs on me, as if I shed it, 
 Though by the Power who abhorreth human blood, 
 I did not J — nay, once spared it, when I might 
 And could*—- ay, perhaps, should, (if our Self Safety 
 
sc i. A TRAGEDY. 145 
 
 (Be e'er excusable in such defences 
 Against the attacks of over-potent foes ;) 
 ^ But pray for him, for me, and all my house ; 
 For, as I said, though I be innocent, 
 I know not why, a like remorse is on me, 
 As if he had fallen by me or mine. Pray for me, 
 Father !, I have pray'd myself in vain. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 I will. 
 Be comforted ! You are innocent, and should. 
 Be calm as Innocence. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 But calmness is not 
 Always the attribute of innocence : * 
 I feel it is not. 
 
 PRIOR ALBERT. 
 
 { But it will be so, 
 ( When the mind gathers up its truth within it. 
 Remember the great festival to-morrow, 
 In which you rank amidst our chiefest nobles. 
 As well as your brave son ; and smooth your 
 
 aspect ; 
 Nor in the general orison of thanks 
 For bloodshed stopt, let blood, you shed not, 
 
 rise 
 A cloud upon your thoughts. This were to be 
 Too sensitive. Take comfort, and forget 
 Such things, and leave remorse unto the guilty. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 N 
 
146 WERNER, act v, 
 
 ACT V.— SCENE I. 
 
 A large and magnificent Gothic Hall in the Castlt 
 of Siegendorf decorated with Trophies, Ban- 
 ners, and Arms of that Family. 
 
 Enter Arnheim and Meister, Attendants of 
 Count Siegendorf. 
 
 ARNHEIM. 
 
 Be quick ! the Count will soon return ; the 
 
 ladies 
 Already are at the portal ? Have you sent 
 The messengers in search of him he seeks for ? 
 
 MEISTER. 
 
 I have, in all directions, over Prague, 
 As far as the man's dress and figure could 
 By your description track him. The devil take 
 These revels and processions ! All the pleasure 
 (If such there be) must fall to the spectators. 
 I'm sure none doth to us who make the show. 
 
 ARNHEIM. 
 
 Go to ! my lady Countess comes. 
 
 MEISTER. 
 
 I'd rather 
 Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade, 
 ■t. Than follow in the train of a great man 
 In these dull pageantries. 
 
 ARNHEIM. 
 
 Begone ! and rail 
 Within. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter the Countess Josephine Siegendorf and 
 Ida Stralenheim. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 147 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Well, Heaven be praised, the show is over ! , 
 
 IDA. 
 
 How can you say so ! Never have I dreamt 
 Of aught so beautiful. The flowers, the boughs. 
 The banners, and the nobles, and the knights, 
 The gems, the robes, the plumes, the happy 
 
 faces, 
 The coursers, and the incense, and the sun 
 Streaming through the stain'd windows, even 
 
 the tombs. 
 Which look'd so calm, and the celestial hymns, 
 Which seemed as if they rather came from 
 
 heaven 
 Than mounted there. The bursting organ's peal 
 Rolling on high like an harmonious thunder ; 
 The white robes, and the lifted eyes ; the world 
 At peace ! and all at peace with one another ! 
 Oh, my sweet mother ! [Embracing Josefihine. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 My beloved child ! 
 For such, I trust thou shalt be shortly. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Oh! 
 I am so already. Feel how my heart beats ! 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 It does, my love ; and never may it throb 
 With aught more bitter I 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Never shall it do so ! 
 How should it ? What should make us grieve ? 
 
 I hate 
 To hear of sorrow : how can we be sad, 
 Who love each other so enticely ? You, 
 
148 WERNER, act v. 
 
 The count, and Ulric, and your daughter, Ida. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Poor child ! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Do you pity me ? 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 No ; I but envy, 
 And that in sorrow, not in the world's sense 
 Of the universal vice, if one vice be 
 More general than another. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 I'll not hear 
 A word against a world which still contains 
 You and my Ulric. Did you ever see 
 Aught like him ? How hetower'd amongst them 
 
 all! 
 How all eyes follow 'd him ! The flowers fell 
 
 faster — 
 Rain'd from each lattice at his feet methought, 
 Than before all the rest, and where he trod 
 I dare be sworn that they grow still, nor e'er 
 Will wither. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 You will spoil him, little flatterer, 
 If he should hear you. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 But he never will. 
 I dare not say so much to him — I fear him. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Why so ? he loves you well. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 But I can never 
 Shape my thoughts o/him into words to him. 
 . Besides, he sometimes frightens me. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 149 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 How so? 
 
 IDA. 
 
 A cloud comes o'er his blue eyes suddenly, 
 Yet he says nothing. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 It is nothing : all men, 
 Especially in these dark troublous times, 
 Have much to think of. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 But I cannot think 
 Of aught save him. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Yet there are other men 
 In the world's eye as goodly. There's, for in- 
 stance, 
 The young Count Waldorf, who scarce once 
 
 withdrew 
 His eyes from yours to-day. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 I did not see him, 
 But Ulric. Did you not see at the moment 
 When all knelt, and I wept ? and yet methought 
 Through my fast tears, though they were thick • 
 
 and warm, 
 I saw him smiling on me. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 I could not 
 See aught save heaven, to which my eyes were » 
 
 raised 
 Together with the people's. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 I thought too 
 Of Heaven, although I look'd on Ulric. 
 
 N 2 
 
150 WERNER, actv. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Come, 
 Let us retire ; they will be here anon 
 Expectant of the banquet. ( We will lay 
 Aside these nodding plumes and dragging trains. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 f And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels, 
 i Which make my head and heart ache, as both 
 throb 
 
 Beneath their glitter o'er my brow and zone. 
 
 Dear mother, I am with you. 
 
 Enter Count Siegendorf, in full dress, from the 
 solemnity, and Ludwig. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Is he not found ? 
 
 LUDWIG. 
 
 Strict search is making every where ; and if 
 The man be in Prague, be sure he will be found. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Where's Ulric ? 
 
 LUDWIG. 
 
 He rode round the other way 
 With some young nobles ; but he left them soon ; 
 And, if I err not, not a minute since 
 I heard his excellency, with his train, 
 Gallop o'er the west drawbridge. 
 
 Enter Ulric, splendidly dressed. 
 
 SIEGENDORF (to LudtVlg). 
 
 See they cease not 
 Their quest of him I have described. (Exit 
 
 Ludwig) Oh ! Ulric, 
 How have I long'd for thee ! 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 151 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Your wish is granted—* 
 Behold me ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I have seen the murderer. 
 
 ULR1C. 
 
 Whom ? Where ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 The Hungarian who slew Stralenheim.. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You dream. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I live ! and as I live, I saw him — 
 Heard him ! He dared to utter even my name. - 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What name ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Werner ! 'twas mine. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 It must be so 
 No more : forget it. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Never ! never ! all 
 My destinies were woven in that name : 
 It will not be engraved upon my tomb, 
 But it may lead me there. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 To the point — the Hungarian ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Listen ! — The church was throng'd ; the hymn 
 
 was raised ; 
 I Te Deum" pealed from Nations, rather than 
 From choirs, in one great try of " God be 
 
 praised" 
 For one day's peace, after thrice ten dread years. 
 Each bloodier than the former : I arose, 
 
152 WERNER, act v. 
 
 With all the nobles, and as I look'd down 
 
 Along the lines of lifted faces, — from 
 
 Our banner'd and escutcheon'd gallery, I 
 
 Saw, like a flash of lightning (for I saw 
 
 A moment, and no more), what struck me 
 
 sightless 
 To all else — the Hungarian's face ! I grew 
 Sick ; and when I recover'd from the mist 
 Which curl'd about my senses, and again 
 Look'd down, I saw him not. The thanksgiv- 
 ing 
 Was over, and we march'd back in procession. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Continue. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 When we reach'd the Muldau's bridge, 
 The joyous crowd above, the numberless 
 Barks mann'd with revellers in their best garbs, 
 Which shot along the glancing tide below, 
 The decorated street, the long array, 
 The clashing music, and the thundering 
 Of far Artillery, which seem'd to bid 
 A long and loud farewell to its great doings, 
 The standards o'er me, and the tramplings 
 
 round, 
 The roar of rushing thousands,— all — all could 
 
 not 
 Chase this man from my mind ; although my 
 
 senses 
 No longer held him palpable. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 You saw him 
 No more, then ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I look'd, as a dying soldier 
 Looks at a draught of water, for this man ; 
 
sc.i. A TRAGEDY. 153 
 
 But still I saw him not ; but in his stead — 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What in his stead ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 My eye for ever fell 
 Upon your dancing crest ; the loftiest, 
 As on the loftiest and the loveliest head 
 It rose the highest of the stream of plumes, 
 Which overflow'd the glittering streets of 
 Prague. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 What's this to the Hungarian ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Much; fori 
 Had almost then forgot him in my son, 
 When just as the Artillery ceased, and paused 
 The Music, and the crowd embraced in lieu 
 Of shouting, I heard in a deep, low voice, 
 Distinct, and keener far upon my ear 
 Than the late Cannon's Volume, this word f 
 " Werner /" 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 ! I turn'd — and saw*— and fell. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 And wherefore ? Were you seen ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 The officious care 
 Of those around me dragg'd me from the spot, 
 Seeing my faintness, ignorant of the cause ; 
 You, too, were too remote in the procession 
 (The old nobles being divided from their chil- 
 To aid me. [dren) 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 But I'll aid you now. 
 
154 WERNER, act v. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 In what ? 
 
 \JLRIC. 
 
 In searching for this man, or When he's 
 
 found, 
 What shall we do with him ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I know not that. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Then wherefore seek ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Because I cannot rest 
 Till he is found. His fate, and Stralenheim's, 
 And ours, seem intertwisted ; nor can be 
 Unravell'd, till 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 A stranger, to wait on 
 Your Excellency. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Who? 
 
 ATTENDANT. 
 
 He gave no name 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Admit him, ne'ertheless. 
 
 [ The Attendant introduces Gabor, and 
 afterwards exit. 
 
 Ah ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 'Tis, then, Werner ! 
 
 siegendorf (haughtily ) . 
 
 The same you knew, Sir, by that name ; andyow.' 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 155 
 
 gabor (looking round). 
 I recognise you both ; father and son, 
 It seems. Count, I have heard that you, or yours, 
 Have lately been in search of me : I am here. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I have sought you, and have found you ; you are 
 
 charged 
 (Your own heart may inform you why) with such 
 A crime as \_He pauses, 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Give it utterance, and then 
 I'll meet the consequences. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 You shall do so— * 
 Unless 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 First, who accuses me ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 All things, 
 If not all men : the universal rumour — 
 My own presence on the spot — the place — the 
 
 time—' 
 And every speck of circumstance unite 
 To fix the blot on you. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 And on me only ? 
 Pause ere you answer. Is no other name, 
 Save mine, stain'd in this business ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Trifling villain ! 
 Who play'st with thine own guilt ! Of all that 
 
 breathe 
 Thou best dost know the innocence of him 
 'Gainst whom thy breath would blow thy bloody 
 
 slander, 
 
156 WERNER, act v.v 
 
 But I will talk no further with a wretch, 
 Further than Justice asks. Answer at once, 
 And without quibbling, to my charge. 
 
 GAB OR. 
 
 'Tis false ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Who says so ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 I. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And how disprove it? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 By 
 
 The presence of the murderer. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Name him ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 He 
 May have more names than one. Your lord- 
 ship had so 
 Once on a time. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 If you mean me, I dare 
 Your utmost. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You may do so, and in safety. 
 I know the assassin. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Where is he ? 
 gabor (pointing to ulric). 
 
 Beside you ! 
 [Ulric rushes forward to attack Gabor; Siegen- 
 dorf interposes. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Liar and fiend ! but you shall not be slain ; 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 157 
 
 These walls are mine, and you are safe within 
 them. \He turns to ulric. 
 
 Ulric, repel this calumny, as I 
 Will do. I avow, it is a growth so monstrous, 
 I could not deem it earth-born : but, be calm ; 
 It will refute itself. But touch him not. 
 
 [ulric endeavours to compose himself. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Look at hi?n y Count, and then hear me. -f 
 siegendorf (Jirst to gabor, and then looking at 
 ulric). 
 
 I hear thee. 
 My God ! you look 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 How ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 As on that dread night 
 When we met in the garden. 
 
 ulric (composes himself}. 
 
 It is nothing. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Count, you are bound to hear me. I came 
 
 hither 
 Not seeking you, but sought. When I knelt 
 
 down 
 Amidst the People in the Church, I dream'd not 
 To find the beggar'd Werner in the seat 
 Of Senators and Princes ; but you have call'd me, 
 And we have met. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Go on, Sir. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Ere I do so, 
 Allow me to inquire who profited 
 By Stralenheim's death ? Was't I— as poor as 
 ever ; 
 
 O 
 
158 WERNER, actv. 
 
 And poorer by Suspicion on my name. 
 The Baron lost in that last outrage neither 
 Jewels nor gold ; his life alone was sought, — 
 A life which stood between the claims of others 
 To honours and estates, scarce less than princely. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 These hints, as vague as vain, attach no less 
 To me than to my son. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I can't help that. 
 But let the consequence alight on him 
 Who feels himself the guilty one amongst us. 
 I speak to you, Count Siegendorf, because 
 I know you innocent, and deem you just. 
 But ere I can proceed— Dare you protect me ? — 
 Dare you command me ? 
 
 [[Siegendorf first looks at the Hungarian, and 
 then at ulric, who has unbuckled his sabre 
 and is drawing lines with it on the fioor — 
 still in its sheath. 
 ulric (looks at his father and says.) 
 
 Let the man go on ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I am unarm'd, Count — bid your son lay down 
 His sabre. 
 
 ulric (offers it to him contemptuously'). 
 Take it. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 No, Sir, 'tis enough 
 That we are both unarm'd— I would not choose 
 To wear a steel which may be stain'd with more 
 Blood than came there in battle. 
 ulric (casts the sabre from him in contempt). 
 
 It — or some 
 Such other weapon, in my hands — spared yours 
 Once when disarm'd and at my mercy. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 159 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 True— 
 I have not forgotten it : you spared me for 
 Your own especial purpose — to sustain 
 An ignominy not my own. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Proceed : 
 The tale is doubtless worthy the relater. 
 But is it of my father to hear further ? 
 
 \_To SlEGENDORF, 
 
 siegendorf (takes his son by the hand). 
 
 My son ! I know my own innocence — and doubt 
 not 
 
 Of yours — but I have promised this man pa- 
 tience ; 
 
 Let him continue. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I will not detain you 
 By speaking of myself much ;— I began 
 Life early — and am what the world has made me. 
 At Frankfort on the Oder, where I pass'd 
 A winter in obscurity, it was 
 My chance at several places of resort 
 (Which I frequented sometimes but not often) 
 To hear related a strange circumstance 
 In February last. A martial force, 
 Sent by the state, had after strong resistance 
 Secured a band of desperate men, supposed 
 Marauders of the hostile camp. — They proved, 
 However, not to be so — but banditti, 
 Whom either accident or enterprise 
 Had carried from their usual haunt — the forests 
 Which skirt Bohemia — even into Lusatia. 
 Many amongst them were reported of 
 High rank — and martial law sl£pt for a time. 
 At last they were escorted over the frontiers, . 
 
160 WERNER, actv. 
 
 And placed beneath the civil jurisdiction 
 Of the free town of Frankfort. Of their fate, 
 I know no more. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And what is this to Ulric ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 «sj Amongst them there was said to be one man 
 Of wonderful endowments : — birth and fortune, 
 Youth, strength and beauty, almost superhuman, 
 And courage as unrivalled, were proclaim'd 
 His by the public rumour ; and his sway 
 Not only over his associates, but 
 His judges, was attributed to witchcraft. 
 Such was his influence : — I have no great faith 
 In any Magic save that of the Mine— 
 I therefore deem'd him wealthy. — But my soul 
 Was roused with various feelings to seek out 
 This Prodigy, if only to behold him. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And did you so ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You'll hear. Chance favour'd me : 
 A popular affray in the public square 
 Drew crowds together — rit was one of those 
 Occasions, where men's souls look out of them, 
 And show them as they are — even in their faces : 
 The moment my eye met his — I exclaim'd 
 " This is the man !" though he was then, as since, 
 With the nobles of the city. I felt sure 
 I had not err'd, and watch'd him long and nearly: 
 I noted down his form — his gesture — features, 
 Stature and bearing— and amidst them all, 
 Midst every natural and acquired distinction, 
 I could discern, methought, the assassin's eye 
 And gladiator's heart. 
 
sc.i. A TRAGEDY. 'l61 
 
 ulric {smiling). 
 
 The tale sounds well. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 And may sound better. — He appear'd to me 
 One of those beings to whom fortune bends 
 As she doth to the Daring — and on whom 
 The Fates of others oft depend ; besides, 
 An indescribable sensation drew me 
 Near to this man, as if my Point of Fortune 
 Was to be fix'd by him.' — There I was wrong. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And may not be right now. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I follow'd him, 
 Solicited his notice — and obtain'd it — 
 Though not his friendship : — it was his inten- 
 tion 
 To leave the city privately — we left it 
 Together — and together we arrived 
 In the poor town where Werner was conceal'd, 
 
 And Stralenheim was succour'd Now we 
 
 are on 
 The verge — dare you hear further ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I must do so — 
 Or I have heard too much. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I saw in you 
 A man above his station — and if not 
 So high, as now I find you, in my then 
 Conceptions — 'twas that I had rarely seen 
 Men such as you appear'd in height of mind, 
 In the most high of worldly rank ; you were 
 Poor — even to all save rags — I wjould have shared 
 My purse, though slender, with you — you re- 
 fused it. 
 
 o 2 
 
162 WERNER, act v. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Doth my refusal make a debt to you, 
 That thus you urge it ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Still you owe me something, 
 Though not for that — and I owed you my safety, 
 At least my seeming safety— when the slaves 
 Of Stralenheim pursued me on the grounds 
 That J had robb'd him. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I conceal'd you— I, 
 Whom, and whose house, you arraign, reviving 
 viper ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I accuse no man — save in my defence. 
 You, Count! have made yourself accuser, judge, 
 Your hall's my court, your heart is my tribunal. 
 Be just, and I'll be merciful. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 You merciful ! 
 You ! Base calumniator ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I. 'Twill rest 
 With me at last to be so. You conceal'd me — 
 In secret passages known to yourself, 
 You said, and to none else. At dead of night, 
 Weary with watching in the dark, and dubious 
 Of tracing back my way — I saw a glimmer 
 Through distant crannies of a twinkling light. 
 I follow'd it, and reach'd a door — a secret 
 Portal — which open'd to the chamber, where, 
 With cautious hand and slow, having first un- 
 done 
 As much as made a crevice of the fastening, 
 I look'd through, and beheld a purple bed, 
 And on it Stralenheim I 
 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 163 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Asleep ! And yet 
 You slew him — Wretch ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 He was already slain. 
 And bleeding like a sacrifice. My own 
 Blood became ice. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 But he was all alone ? 
 
 You saw none else ? You did not see the 
 
 \He pauses from agitation, 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 No, 
 He, whom you dare not name — nor even I 
 Scarce dare to recollect, was not then in 
 The chamber. 
 
 SIEGENDORF (to Ulric.) 
 
 Then, my boy, thou art guiltless still — 
 Thou bad'st me say /was so once — Oh ! now 
 Do thou as much. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Be patient ! I can not 
 Recede now, though it shake the very walls 
 Which frown above us. You remember, or 
 If not, your son does, that the locks were 
 
 changed 
 Beneath his chief inspection — on the morn 
 Which led to this same night : how he had en- 
 
 ter'd, 
 He best knows — but within an antechamber, 
 The door of which was half ajar — I saw 
 A man who wash'd his bloody hands, and oft 
 With stern and anxious glance gazed back upon 
 The bleeding body — but it moved no more. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. * * 
 
 Oh, God of Fathers ! 
 
164 WERNER, act v. ; 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I beheld his features 
 As I see yours — but yours they were not, though 
 Resembling them, behold them in Count Ulric's ! 
 Distinct — as I beheld them, though the expres- 
 sion 
 Is not now what it then was ; but it was so 
 When I first charged him with the crime : — so 
 lately. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 This is so 
 
 gabor (interrufiting him.} 
 
 Nay — but hear me to the end ! 
 Now you must do so. I conceived myself 
 Betray'd by you and him (for now I saw 
 There was some tie between you) into this 
 Pretended den of refuge, to become 
 The victim of your guilt ; and my first thought 
 Was vengeance : but though arm'd with a short 
 
 poignard 
 (Having left my sword without) I was no match 
 For him at any time, as had been proved 
 That morning — either in address or force. 
 I turn'd, and fled — i' the dark : Chance rather 
 
 than 
 Skill made me gain the secret door of the hall, 
 And thence the chamber where you slept — if I 
 Had found you waking, Heaven alone can tell 
 What Vengeance and Suspicion might have 
 
 prompted ; 
 But ne'er slept Guilt as Werner slept that night. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And yet I had horrid dreams ! and such brief 
 
 sleep — 
 The stars had not gone down when I awoke--- 
 
se. i. A TRAGEDY. 165 
 
 Why didst thou spare me ? I dreamt of my fa- 
 ther — 
 And now -my dream is out. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 'Tis not my fault, 
 If I have read it. — Well ! I fled and hid me— 
 Chance led me here after so many moons — 
 And show'd me Werner in Count Siegendorf! 
 Werner, whom I had sought in huts in vain, 
 Inhabited the Palace of a Sovereign ! 
 You sought me, and have found me — now you 
 
 know 
 My secret, and may weigh its worth. 
 siegendorf (after a paused) 
 
 Indeed ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Is it Revenge or Justice which inspires 
 
 Your Meditation ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Neither^ — I was weighing 
 The value of your secret. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You shall know it 
 At once — when you were poor, and I, though 
 
 poor, 
 Rich enough to relieve such poverty 
 As might have envied mine, I offer'd you 
 My purse — you would not share it: I'll be 
 
 franker 
 With you ; you are wealthy, noble, trusted by 
 The Imperial powers — You understand me ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Not quite. You think me venal, and scarce true ; 
 
166 WERNER, actv. 
 
 'Tis no less true, however, that my fortunes 
 Have made me both at present ; you shall aid 
 
 me, 
 I would have aided you — and also have 
 Been somewhat damaged in my name to save 
 Yours and your son's. Weigh well what I have 
 
 said. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Dare you await the event of a few minutes' 
 Deliberation ? 
 
 GABOR (casts his eyes on Ulric, who is leaning 
 against a fiillar.) 
 If I should do so ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I pledge my life for yours. Withdraw into 
 This tower. [Opens a turret door. 
 
 gabor (hesitatingly.) 
 This is the second safe asylum 
 You have ofFer'd me. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And was not the first so ? 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I know not that even now — but will approve 
 The second. I have still a further shield. 
 I did not enter Prague alone — and should I 
 Be put to rest with Stralenheim — there are 
 Some tongues without will wag in my behalf. 
 Be brief in your decision ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I will be so. 
 My word is sacred and irrevocable 
 Within these walls, but it extends no further. 
 
 gabor. 
 I'll take it for so much, 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 167 
 
 siegendorf (points to Ulric's sabre, still upon the 
 ground). 
 
 Take also that — 
 I saw you eye it eagerly, and him 
 Distrustfully. 
 
 gabor (takes up the sabre"). 
 I will ; and so provide 
 To sell my life' — not cheaply. 
 \_Gabor goes into the turret, which Siegendorf 
 closes). 
 siegendorf (advances to Ulric) 
 
 Now, Count Ulric ! 
 For son I dare not call thee — What say'st thou ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 His tale is true. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 True, monster i 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Most true, father ; 
 And you did well to listen to it : what 
 We know, we can provide against. He must 
 Be silenced. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Ay, with half of my domains ; 
 And with the other half, could he and thou 
 Unsay this villany. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 It is no time 
 For trifling or dissembling. I have said 
 His story's true; and he too must be silenced, 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 How so ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 As Stralenheim is. "Are you so dull 
 As never to have hit on this before ? 
 
168 WERNER, actv. 
 
 When we met in the garden, what except 
 Discovery in the act could make me know 
 His death ? Or had the prince's household been 
 Then summon'd, would the cry for the police 
 Been left to such a stranger ? Or should I 
 Have loiter'd on the way? Or could you, Werner, 
 The object of the Baron's hate and fears, 
 Have fled — unless by many an hour before 
 Suspicion woke ? I sought and fathom'd you, 
 Doubting if you were false or feeble ; I 
 Perceived you were the latter ; and yet so 
 Confiding have I found you, that I doubted 
 At times your weakness. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Parricide ! no less 
 Than common stabber ! What deed of my life, 
 Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit 
 For your accomplice ? 
 
 TJLRIC. 
 
 Father, do not raise 
 The devil you cannot lay, between us. This 
 Is time for union and for action, not 
 For family disputes. While you were tortured 
 Could / be calm ? Think you that I have heard 
 This fellow's tale without some feeling ? you 
 Have taught me feeling for you and myself; 
 For whom or what else did you ever teach it ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Oh ! my dead father's curse ! 'tis working now. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Let it work on ! the grave will keep it down ! 
 Ashes are feeble foes : it is more easy 
 To baffle such, than countermine a mole, 
 Which winds its blind but living path beneath 
 you. 
 
sc. i. A TRAGEDY. 169 
 
 Yet hear me still ! — If you condemn me, yet 
 Remember who hath taught me once too often 
 To listen to him ! Who proclaim'd to me 
 That there were crimes made venial by the occa- ** <* 
 
 sion ? 
 That passion was our nature ? that the goods 
 Of heaven waited on the goods of fortune ? 
 Who show'd me his humanity secured 
 By his nerves only ? Who deprived me of 
 All power to vindicate myself and race 
 In open day ? By his disgrace which stamp'd 
 (It might be) bastardy on me, and on 
 Himself — a. felon's brand ! The man who is 
 At once both warm and weak, invites to deeds 
 He longs to do, but dare not. Is it strange 
 That I should act what you could think ? We 
 
 have done 
 With right and wrong ; and now must only pon- 
 der 
 Upon effects, not causes. Stralenheim, 
 Whose^Hfel saved from impulse, as, unknown, 
 I would'have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slew 
 KnowM&s our foe — but not from vengeance. He 
 Was a rock in our way which I cut through, 
 As doth the bolt, because it stood between us 
 And our true destination — but not idly. 
 As stranger I preserved him, and he owed me 
 His life ; when due, I but resumed the debt. 
 He, you, and I stood o'er a gulf wherein 
 I have plunged our enemy. You kindled first 
 The torch — you show'd the path ; now trace me 
 
 that 
 Of safety— or let me ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF.^ 
 
 I have done with life ! 
 P 
 
170 WERNER, aotv 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Let us have done with that which cankers life- 
 Familiar feuds and vain recriminations 
 Of things which cannot be undone. We have 
 No more to learn or hide : I know no fear, 
 And have within these very walls men whom 
 (Although you know them not) dare venture all 
 
 things. 
 You stand high with the state ; what passes here 
 Will not excite her too great curiosity : 
 Keep your own secret, keep a steady eye, 
 Stir not, and speak not ; — leave the rest to me : 
 We must have no third babblers thrust between 
 
 us : 
 
 [Exit Ulric. 
 
 SIEGENDORF (solus) 
 
 Am I awake ? are these my father's halls ? 
 And yon — my son ? My son ! mine .' who have 
 
 ever 
 Abhorr'd both mystery and blood, and yet 
 Am plunged into the deepest hell of both ! 
 I must be speedy, or more will be shed — 
 The Hungarian's ! — Ulric — he hath partisans, 
 It seems : I might have guess'd as much. Oh 
 
 fool ! 
 Wolves prowl in company. He hath the key 
 (As I too) of the opposite door which leads 
 Into the turret. Now then I or once more 
 To be the father of fresh crimes — no less 
 Than of the criminal ! Ho ! Gabor ! Gabor ! 
 [Exit into the turret, closing the door after him. 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 171 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The interior of the Turret. 
 Gabor and Siegendorf. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Who calls ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I— Siegendorf ! Take these and fly! 
 Lose not a moment ! 
 
 [Tears off a diamond star and other jewels, and 
 thrusts them into Gabor's hand. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 What am I to do 
 With these ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Whate'er you will : sell them, or hoard, 
 And prosper ; but delay not — or you are lost ! 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 You pledged your honour for my safety ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 And 
 
 Must thus redeem it. Fly ! I am not master, 
 It seems, of my own castle — of my own 
 Retainers — nay, even of these very walls, 
 Or I would bid them fall and crush me ! Fly I 
 Or you'll be slain by 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 Is it even so ? 
 Farewell then ! Recollect, however, Count, 
 You sought this fatal interview ! 
 
172 WERNER, act v. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I did: 
 Let it not be more fatal still ! — Begone I 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 By the same path I enter'd ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Yes ; that's safe still. 
 But loiter not in Prague ;— you do not know 
 With whom you have to deal. 
 
 GABOR. 
 
 I know too well — 
 And knew it ere yourself, unhappy sire ! 
 Farewell ! [Exit Gabor 
 
 siegendorf (solus and listening). 
 He hath clear'd the staircase. Ah ! I hear 
 The door sound loud behind him ! He is safe ! 
 Safe ! — Oh, my father's spirit ! — I am fain t 
 [He leans down upon a stone seat, near the wall 
 
 of the Tower, in a drooping posture. 
 
 enter Ulric, wih others armed, and with weapons 
 
 drawn. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Despatch ! — he's there ! 
 
 LUDWIG. 
 
 The Count, my Lord ! 
 ulric {recognising Siegendorf). 
 
 You here, Sir ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Yes : if you want another victim, strike ! 
 
 ulric (seeing him stript of his jewels). 
 Where is the ruffian who hath plunder'd you ? 
 Vassals, despatch in search of him ! You see 
 9 Twas as I said— the wretch hath stript my fa- 
 ther 
 Of jewels which mightform a prince's heirloom ! 
 
so. ii. A TRAGEDY. If 3 
 
 Away ! I'll follow you forthwith. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Siegendorf and Ulric. * 
 What's this ? 
 Where is the villain ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 There are two, Sir ; which 
 Are you in quest of ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Let us hear no more 
 Of this : he must be found. You have not let 
 
 him 
 Escape ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 He's gone. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 With your connivance ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 With 
 My fullest, freest aid. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Then fare you well ! 
 
 F Ulric is going', 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Stop ! I command— entreat — implore ! Oh, Ul- 
 ric ! 
 Will you then leave me ? 
 
 ULRIC 
 
 What ! remain to be 
 Denounced — dragg'd, it may be, in chains ; and 
 
 all 
 By your inherent weakness, half-humanity, 
 Selfish remorse, and temporising pity, 
 That sacrifices your whole race to save 
 A wretch to profit by our ruin ! No, Count, 
 Henceforth you have no son ! 
 
174 WERNER, act v. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 I never had one ; 
 And would you ne'er had borne the useless 
 
 name 
 
 Where will you go ? I would not send you forth 
 Without protection. 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Leave that unto me. 
 I am not alone ; not merely the vain heir 
 Of your domains : a thousand, ay, ten thousand 
 Swords, hearts, and hands, are mine. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 The foresters ! 
 With whom the Hungarian found you first at 
 Frankfort ? 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Yes — men — who are worthy of the name ! Go 
 
 tell 
 Your senators that -they look well to Prague; 
 Their feast of peace was early for the times ; 
 There are more spirits abroad than have been 
 
 laid 
 With Wallenstein ! 
 
 Mnter Josephine and Ida, 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 What is't we hear ? My Siegendorf 1 
 Thank Heaven, I see you safe ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Safe! 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Yes, dear father I 
 
sc. ii. A TRAGEDY. 175 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 No, no ; I have no children : never more 
 Call me by that worst name of parent. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 What 
 Means my good lord ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 That you have given birth 
 To a demon ? 
 
 IDA (taking Ulric's hand). 
 
 Who shall dare say this of Ulric ? 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 Ida, beware ! there's blood upon that hand. 
 
 ida (stooping to kiss it). 
 I'd kiss it off, though it were mine ! 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 It is so 1 
 
 ULRIC. 
 
 Away ! it is your father's ! [Exit Ulric. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Oh, great God 1 
 And I have loved this man ! 
 
 [Ida falls senseless — Josefihine stands speech- 
 less with horror. 
 
 SIEGENDORF. 
 
 The wretch hath slain 
 Them both !— My Josephine ! we are now alone ! 
 Would we had ever been so ! — All is over 
 For me ! — Now open wide, my sire, thy grave ; 
 Thy curse hath dug it deeper for thy son 
 In mine 1 — The race of Siegendorf is past ! 
 
 FENIS, 
 

 
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