Chapter 26

Northern Frontier of Silesia--the Night tempestuous_.

WERNER _and_ JOSEPHINE, _his Wife_.

_Jos._ My love, be calmer!

_Wer._ I am calm.

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

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

_Jos._ Ah, no!

_Wer._ (_smiling_). Why! wouldst thou have it so?

_Jos._ I would Have it a healthful current.

_Wer._ Let it flow 10 Until 'tis spilt or checked--how soon, I care not.

_Jos._ And am I nothing in thy heart?

_Wer._ All--all.

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

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

_Jos._ To see thee well is much-- To see thee happy----

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

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

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

_Jos._ And art thou not now sheltered from them all? _Wer._ Yes. And from these alone.

_Jos._ And that is something.

_Wer._ True--to a peasant.[cn]

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

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

_Jos._ Well?

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

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

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

_Jos._ Lonely! my dear husband?

_Wer._ Or worse--involving all I love, in this Far worse than solitude. _Alone_, I had died, And all been over in a nameless grave.

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

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

_Jos._ We are not baffled.

_Wer._ Are we not penniless?

_Jos._ We ne'er were wealthy.

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

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

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

_Jos._ I must hope better still,--at least we have yet Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. 100

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

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

_Wer._ Save what we seem! save what we _are_--sick beggars, Even to our very hopes.--Ha! ha!

_Jos._ Alas! That bitter laugh!

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

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

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

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

_Wer._ And what is that in thine eyes?

_Jos._ All which it Has done in our behalf,--nothing.

_Wer._ How,--nothing?

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

_Wer._ (_ironically_). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent!

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

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

_Jos._ Hark!

_Wer._ A knocking!

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

_Wer._ And poverty hath none, Save those who come to make it poorer still. Well--I am prepared.

[WERNER _puts his hand into his bosom, as if to search for some weapon_.

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

_Enter_ IDENSTEIN.

_Iden._ A fair good evening to my fair hostess And worthy----What's your name, my friend?

_Wer._ Are you Not afraid to demand it?

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

_Wer._ Better, sir!

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

_Wer._ My name is Werner[162].

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

_Wer._ To yours?

_Jos._ Oh, yes; we are, but distantly. (_Aside to_ WERNER.) Cannot you humour the dull gossip till We learn his purpose?

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

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

_Iden._ Why, what should bring me here?

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

_Jos._ (_aside_). Patience, dear Werner!

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

_Jos._ How should we?

_Iden._ The river has o'erflowed.

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

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

_Jos._ Poor creatures! are you sure?

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

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

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

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

_Wer._ Intendant, Have you not learned his name? (_Aside to his wife_.) My Josephine, Retire: I'll sift this fool. [_Exit_ JOSEPHINE.

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

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

_Enter_ GABOR.[165]

_Gab._ If I intrude, I crave----

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

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

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

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

_Iden._ But are you sure His Excellency----But his name: what is it?

_Gab._ I do not know.

_Iden._ And yet you saved his life.

_Gab._ I helped my friend to do so.

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

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

_Iden._ Pray, Good friend, and who may you be?

_Gab._ By my family, Hungarian.

_Iden._ Which is called?

_Gab._ It matters little.

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

_Gab._ Sufficient.

_Iden._ How many?

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

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

_Gab._ Perhaps.

_Iden._ Now, how much do you reckon on?

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

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

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

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

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

_Wer._ (_quickly_). Sir!

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

_Wer._ Nothing: but we are strangers to each other.

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

_Wer._ Very true. 320

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

_Wer._ Pray, pardon me; my health----

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

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

_Gab._ In what service? The Imperial?

_Wer._ (_quickly, and then interrupting himself_). I commanded--no--I mean 330 I served; but it is many years ago, When first Bohemia[167] raised her banner 'gainst The Austrian.

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

_Wer._ What is that?

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

_Wer._ And I--nothing.

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

_Wer._ I was.

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

_Wer._ Who Told you I was a beggar?

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

_Wer._ (_looking at him with suspicion_). You know me not.

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

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

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

_Enter_ IDENSTEIN.

_Iden._ 'Tis here! the _supernaculum!_[168] twenty years Of age, if 'tis a day.

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

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

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

_Iden._ I would she were! 390 But you're mistaken:--that's the stranger's wife.

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

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

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

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

_Gab._ But how came he here?

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

_Gab._ Tender and true!--but why?

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

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

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

_Gab._ Poor souls!

_Iden._ Aye, Exceeding poor.

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

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

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

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

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

_Iden._ _I_ cringe!--but I shall lose the opportunity-- Plague take it! he'll be _here_, and I _not there!_ [_Exit_ IDENSTEIN _hastily_.

_Re-enter_ WERNER.

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

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

_Iden._ (_without_). This way-- This way, your Excellency:--have a care, The staircase is a little gloomy, and Somewhat decayed; but if we had expected So high a guest--Pray take my arm, my Lord!

_Enter_ STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, _and Attendants--partly his own, and partly Retainers of the Domain of which_ IDENSTEIN _is Intendant_.

_Stral._ I'll rest here a moment.

_Iden._ (_to the servants_). Ho! a chair! 460 Instantly, knaves. [STRALENHEIM _sits down_.

_Wer._ (_aside_). Tis he!

_Stral._ I'm better now. Who are these strangers?

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

_Wer._ (_aloud and hastily_). _Who_ says that? [_They look at him with surprise_.

_Iden._ Why, no one spoke _of you_, or _to you_!--but Here's one his Excellency may be pleased To recognise. [_Pointing to_ GABOR.

_Gab._ I seek not to disturb His noble memory.

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

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

_Stral._ Methought That there were two.

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

_Stral._ Where is he?

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

_Stral._ Till That hour arrives, I can but offer thanks, And then----

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Gab._ I attend you.

_Stral_, (_after a few steps, pauses, and calls_ WERNER). Friend!

_Wer._ Sir!

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

_Stral._ (_to_ IDENSTEIN). Peace, intendant!

_Iden._ Oh! I am dumb.

_Stral._ (_to_ WERNER). Have you been long here?

_Wer._ Long?

_Stral._ I sought An answer, not an echo.

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

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

_Wer._ When I know it such I will requite--that is, _reply_--in unison.

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

_Wer._ (_quickly_). I am not journeying the same way!

_Stral._ How know ye That, ere you know my route?

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

_Stral._ Your language is above Your station.

_Wer._ (_bitterly_). Is it?

_Stral._ Or, at least, beyond Your garb.

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

_Stral._ (_startled_). I?

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

_Stral._ I knew not that you had reasons for reserve.

_Wer._ Many have such:--Have you none?

_Stral._ None which can Interest a mere stranger.

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

_Stral._ Sir, I will not balk your humour, though untoward: I only meant you service--but good night! Intendant, show the way! (_To_ GABOR.) Sir, you will with me? [_Exeunt_ STRALENHEIM _and Attendants_; IDENSTEIN _and_ GABOR.

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

_Enter_ IDENSTEIN _and_ FRITZ _in conversation_.

_Fritz_. Immediately.

_Iden._ I tell you, 'tis impossible.

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

_Iden._ I will do what I can.

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

_Iden._ The Baron is retired to rest?

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

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

_Fritz_. Remember! [_Exit_ FRITZ.

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

_Wer._ You have left Your noble guest right quickly.

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

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

_Enter_ GABOR _and_ JOSEPHINE.

_Gab._ Where is your husband?

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

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

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

_Gab._ That you know best.

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

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

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

_Gab._ Is he so suspicious?

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

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

_Re-enter_ IDENSTEIN _and some Peasants_. JOSEPHINE _retires up the Hall_.

_First Peasant_. But if I'm drowned?

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

_Second Peasant_. But our wives and families?

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

_Third Peasant_. I have neither, and will venture.

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

_Third Peasant_. No more!

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

_Third Peasant_. Never--but ne'er The less I must have three.

_Iden._ Have you forgot Whose vassal you were born, knave?

_Third Peasant_. No--the Prince's, And not the stranger's.

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

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

_Enter_ WERNER _hastily, with the knife in his hand, by the secret panel, which he closes hurriedly after him_.

_Wer._ (_not at first recognising her_). Discovered! then I'll stab--(_recognising her_). Ah! Josephine Why art thou not at rest?

_Jos._ What rest? My God! What doth this mean?

_Wer._ (_showing a rouleau_). Here's _gold_--_gold_, Josephine, Will rescue us from this detested dungeon.

_Jos._ And how obtained?--that knife!

_Wer._ 'Tis bloodless--_yet_. Away--we must to our chamber.

_Jos._ But whence comest thou? 740

_Wer._ Ask not! but let us think where we shall go-- This--this will make us way--(_showing the gold_)--I'll fit them now.

_Jos._ I dare not think thee guilty of dishonour.

_Wer._ Dishonour!

_Jos._ I have said it.

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

_Jos._ And not the worst, I hope.

_Wer._ Hope! I make _sure_. But let us to our chamber.

_Jos._ Yet one question-- What hast thou _done_?

_Wer._ (_fiercely_). Left one thing _undone_, which Had made all well: let me not think of it! Away!

_Jos._ Alas that I should doubt of thee! 750 [_Exeunt_.