Act IV, Scene I — A Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, near Prague
Enter ERIC and HENRICK, Retainers of the Count.
Eric. So, better times are come at last; to these Old walls new masters and high wassail--both A long desideratum.
Hen. Yes, for masters, It might be unto those who long for novelty, Though made by a new grave: but, as for wassail, Methinks the old Count Siegendorf maintained His feudal hospitality as high As e'er another Prince of the empire.
Eric. Why For the mere cup and trencher, we no doubt Fared passing well; but as for merriment 10 And sport, without which salt and sauces season The cheer but scantily, our sizings were Even of the narrowest.
Hen. The old count loved not The roar of revel; are you sure that this does?
Eric. As yet he hath been courteous as he's bounteous, And we all love him.
Hen. His reign is as yet Hardly a year o'erpast its honeymoon, And the first year of sovereigns is bridal: Anon, we shall perceive his real sway And moods of mind.
Eric. Pray Heaven he keep the present! 20 Then his brave son, Count Ulric--there's a knight! Pity the wars are o'er!
Hen. Why so?
Eric. Look on him! And answer that yourself.
Hen. He's very youthful, And strong and beautiful as a young tiger.
Eric. That's not a faithful vassal's likeness.
Hen. But Perhaps a true one.
Eric. Pity, as I said, The wars are over: in the hall, who like Count Ulric for a well-supported pride, Which awes, but yet offends not? in the field, Who like him with his spear in hand, when gnashing 30 His tusks, and ripping up, from right to left, The howling hounds, the boar makes for the thicket? Who backs a horse, or bears a hawk, or wears A sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier?
Hen. No one's, I grant you. Do not fear, if war Be long in coming, he is of that kind Will make it for himself, if he hath not Already done as much.
Eric. What do you mean?
Hen. You can't deny his train of followers (But few our native fellow-vassals born 40 On the domain) are such a sort of knaves As---- [Pauses.
Eric. What?
Hen. The war (you love so much) leaves living. Like other parents, she spoils her worst children.
Eric. Nonsense! they are all brave iron-visaged fellows, Such as old Tilly loved.
Hen. And who loved Tilly? Ask that at Magdebourg[194]--or, for that matter, Wallenstein either;--they are gone to----
Eric. Rest! But what beyond 'tis not ours to pronounce.
Hen. I wish they had left us something of their rest: The country (nominally now at peace) 50 Is over-run with--God knows who: they fly By night, and disappear with sunrise; but Leave us no less desolation, nay, even more, Than the most open warfare.
Eric. But Count Ulric-- What has all this to do with him?
Hen. With him! He----might prevent it. As you say he's fond Of war, why makes he it not on those marauders?
Eric. You'd better ask himself.
Hen. I would as soon Ask the lion why he laps not milk.
Eric. And here he comes!
Hen. The devil! you'll hold your tongue? 60
Eric. Why do you turn so pale?
Hen. 'Tis nothing--but Be silent.
Eric. I will, upon what you have said.
Hen. I assure you I meant nothing,--a mere sport Of words, no more; besides, had it been otherwise, He is to espouse the gentle Baroness Ida of Stralenheim, the late Baron's heiress; And she, no doubt, will soften whatsoever Of fierceness the late long intestine wars Have given all natures, and most unto those Who were born in them, and bred up upon 70 The knees of Homicide; sprinkled, as it were, With blood even at their baptism. Prithee, peace On all that I have said!
Enter ULRIC and RODOLPH.
Good morrow, count.
Ulr. Good morrow, worthy Henrick. Eric, is All ready for the chase?
Eric. The dogs are ordered Down to the forest, and the vassals out To beat the bushes, and the day looks promising. Shall I call forth your Excellency's suite? What courser will you please to mount?
Ulr. The dun, Walstein.
Eric. I fear he scarcely has recovered 80 The toils of Monday: 'twas a noble chase: You speared four with your own hand.
Ulr. True, good Eric; I had forgotten--let it be the grey, then, Old Ziska: he has not been out this fortnight.
Eric. He shall be straight caparisoned. How many Of your immediate retainers shall Escort you?
Ulr. I leave that to Weilburgh, our Master of the horse. [Exit ERIC. Rodolph!
Rod. My Lord!
Ulr. The news Is awkward from the---- [RODOLPH points to HENRICK. How now, Henrick? why Loiter you here?
Hen. For your commands, my Lord. 90
Ulr. Go to my father, and present my duty, And learn if he would aught with me before I mount. [Exit HENRICK. Rodolph, our friends have had a check Upon the frontiers of Franconia[195], and 'Tis rumoured that the column sent against them Is to be strengthened. I must join them soon.
Rod. Best wait for further and more sure advices.
Ulr. I mean it--and indeed it could not well Have fallen out at a time more opposite To all my plans.
Rod. It will be difficult 100 To excuse your absence to the Count your father.
Ulr. Yes, but the unsettled state of our domain In high Silesia will permit and cover My journey. In the mean time, when we are Engaged in the chase, draw off the eighty men Whom Wolffe leads--keep the forests on your route: You know it well?
Rod. As well as on that night When we----
Ulr. We will not speak of that until We can repeat the same with like success: And when you have joined, give Rosenberg this letter. 110 [Gives a letter. Add further, that I have sent this slight addition To our force with you and Wolffe, as herald of My coming, though I could but spare them ill At this time, as my father loves to keep Full numbers of retainers round the castle, Until this marriage, and its feasts and fooleries, Are rung out with its peal of nuptial nonsense.
Rod. I thought you loved the lady Ida?
Ulr. Why, I do so--but it follows not from that I would bind in my youth and glorious years, 120 So brief and burning, with a lady's zone, Although 'twere that of Venus:--but I love her, As woman should be loved--fairly and solely.
Rod. And constantly?
Ulr. I think so; for I love Nought else.--But I have not the time to pause Upon these gewgaws of the heart. Great things We have to do ere long. Speed! speed! good Rodolph!
Rod. On my return, however, I shall find The Baroness Ida lost in Countess Siegendorf?
Ulr. Perhaps: my father wishes it, and, sooth, 130 'Tis no bad policy: this union with The last bud of the rival branch at once Unites the future and destroys the past.
Rod. Adieu.
Ulr. Yet hold--we had better keep together Until the chase begins; then draw thou off, And do as I have said.
Rod. I will. But to Return--'twas a most kind act in the count Your father to send up to Konigsberg For this fair orphan of the Baron, and To hail her as his daughter.
Ulr. Wondrous kind! 140 Especially as little kindness till Then grew between them.
Rod. The late Baron died Of a fever, did he not?
Ulr. How should I know?
Rod. I have heard it whispered there was something strange About his death--and even the place of it Is scarcely known.
Ulr. Some obscure village on The Saxon or Silesian frontier.
Rod. He Has left no testament--no farewell words?
Ulr. I am neither confessor nor notary, So cannot say.
Rod. Ah! here's the lady Ida. 150
Enter IDA STRALENHEIM.
Ulr. You are early, my sweet cousin!
Ida. Not too early, Dear Ulric, if I do not interrupt you. Why do you call me "Cousin?"
Ulr. (smiling). Are we not so?
Ida. Yes, but I do not like the name; methinks It sounds so cold, as if you thought upon Our pedigree, and only weighed our blood.
Ulr. (starting). Blood!
Ida. Why does yours start from your cheeks?
Ulr. Aye! doth it?
Ida. It doth--but no! it rushes like a torrent Even to your brow again.
Ulr. (recovering himself). And if it fled, It only was because your presence sent it 160 Back to my heart, which beats for you, sweet Cousin!
Ida. "Cousin" again.
Ulr. Nay, then, I'll call you sister.
Ida. I like that name still worse.--Would we had ne'er Been aught of kindred!
Ulr. (gloomily). Would we never had!
Ida. Oh, heavens! and can you wish that?
Ulr. Dearest Ida! Did I not echo your own wish?
Ida. Yes, Ulric, But then I wished 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.
Ulr. You shall be 170 All--all----
Ida. And you to me are so already; But I can wait.
Ulr. 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 father-- [She pauses.
Ulr. You have mine--you have me.
Ida. Dear Ulric, how I wish My father could but view my happiness, Which wants but this!
Ulr. Indeed!
Ida. You would have loved him, 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 180 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.
Ulr. Who says that?
Ida. What?
Ulr. That he died alone.
Ida. The general rumour, And disappearance of his servants, who Have ne'er returned: that fever was most deadly Which swept them all away.
Ulr. If they were near him, He could not die neglected or alone.
Ida. Alas! what is a menial to a death-bed, 190 When the dim eye rolls vainly round for what It loves?--They say he died of a fever.
Ulr. Say! It was so.
Ida. I sometimes dream otherwise.
Ulr. All dreams are false.
Ida. And yet I see him as I see you.
Ulr. Where?
Ida. In sleep--I see him lie Pale, bleeding, and a man with a raised knife Beside him.
Ulr. But you do not see his face?
Ida (looking at him). No! Oh, my God! do you?
Ulr. Why do you ask?
Ida. Because you look as if you saw a murderer!
Ulr. (agitatedly). Ida, this is mere childishness; your weakness 200 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! [A bugle sounds.
Rod. Hark, my Lord, the bugle!
Ida (peevishly to RODOLPH). Why need you tell him that? Can he not hear it Without your echo?
Rod. 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.
Rod. You will not, Lady, need aid of mine.
Ulr. I must not now 210 Forgo it.
Ida. But you shall!
Ulr. 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 turned so pale and ill.
Ulr. You jest.
Ida. Indeed I do not:--ask of Rodolph.
Rod. Truly, My Lord, within this quarter of an hour You have changed more than e'er I saw you change In years.
Ulr. 'Tis nothing; but if 'twere, the air Would soon restore me. I'm the true cameleon, And live but on the atmosphere;[196] your feasts 220 In castle halls, and social banquets, nurse not My spirit--I'm a forester and breather Of the steep mountain-tops,[197] where I love all The eagle loves.
Ida. Except his prey, I hope.
Ulr. 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.
Ulr. Ida, you scarcely Will make a soldier's wife.
Ida. I do not wish To be so; for I trust these wars are over, 230 And you will live in peace on your domains.
Enter WERNER as COUNT SIEGENDORF.
Ulr. My father, I salute you, and it grieves me With such brief greeting.--You have heard our bugle; The vassals wait.
Sieg. So let them.--You forget To-morrow is the appointed festival In Prague[198] for peace restored. You are apt to follow The chase with such an ardour as will scarce Permit you to return to-day, or if Returned, too much fatigued to join to-morrow The nobles in our marshalled ranks.
Ulr. You, Count, 240 Will well supply the place of both--I am not A lover of these pageantries.
Sieg. No, Ulric; It were not well that you alone of all Our young nobility----
Ida. And far the noblest In aspect and demeanour.
Sieg. (to IDA). True, dear child, Though somewhat frankly said for a fair damsel.-- But, Ulric, recollect too our position, So lately reinstated in our honours. Believe me, 'twould be marked in any house, But most in ours, that ONE should be found wanting 250 At such a time and place. Besides, the Heaven Which gave us back our own, in the same moment It spread its peace o'er all, hath double claims On us for thanksgiving: first, for our country; And next, that we are here to share its blessings.
Ulr. (aside). Devout, too! Well, sir, I obey at once. (Then aloud to a servant.) Ludwig, dismiss the train without! [Exit LUDWIG. Ida. And so You yield, at once, to him what I for hours Might supplicate in vain.
Sieg. (smiling). You are not jealous Of me, I trust, my pretty rebel! who 260 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.
Sieg. You shall, Your harp, 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?
Ulr. By and by.
Ida. Be sure I'll sound it better than your bugles; 270 Then pray you be as punctual to its notes: I'll play you King Gustavus' march.
Ulr. 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 his sound on it:--but come quickly; Your mother will be eager to receive you. [Exit IDA.
Sieg. Ulric, I wish to speak with you alone.
Ulr. 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. 280
Rod. Count Siegendorf, command you aught? I am bound Upon a journey past the frontier.
Sieg. (starts). Ah!-- Where? on what frontier?
Rod. The Silesian, on My way--(Aside to ULRIC.)--Where shall I say?
Ulr. (aside to RODOLPH). To Hamburgh. (Aside to himself). That Word will, I think, put a firm padlock on His further inquisition.
Rod. Count, to Hamburgh.
Sieg. (agitated). Hamburgh! No, I have nought to do there, nor Am aught connected with that city. Then God speed you!
Rod. Fare ye well, Count Siegendorf! [Exit RODOLPH.
Sieg. Ulric, this man, who has just departed, is 290 One of those strange companions whom I fain Would reason with you on.
Ulr. My Lord, he is Noble by birth, of one of the first houses In Saxony.
Sieg. I talk not of his birth, But of his bearing. Men speak lightly of him.
Ulr. 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.
Sieg. If I must be plain, The world speaks more than lightly of this Rodolph: 300 They say he is leagued with the "black bands" who still Ravage the frontier.
Ulr. And will you believe The world?
Sieg. In this case--yes.
Ulr. In any case, I thought you knew it better than to take An accusation for a sentence.
Sieg. 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 heed, Ulric; you have seen to what the passions led me: 310 Twenty long years of misery and famine Quenched them not--twenty thousand more, perchance, 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 warned by a father!--I was not By mine, and you behold me!
Ulr. I behold The prosperous and belovéd Siegendorf, Lord of a Prince's appanage, and honoured 320 By those he rules and those he ranks with.
Sieg. Ah! Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear For thee? Belovéd, when thou lovest me not! All hearts but one may beat in kindness for me-- But if my son's is cold!----
Ulr. Who dare say that?
Sieg. None else but I, who see it--feel it--keener Than would your adversary, who dared say so, Your sabre in his heart! But mine survives The wound.
Ulr. You err. My nature is not given To outward fondling: how should it be so, 330 After twelve years' divorcement from my parents?
Sieg. And did not I too pass those twelve torn years In a like absence? But 'tis vain to urge you-- Nature was never called back by remonstrance. Let's change the theme. I wish you to consider That these young violent nobles of high name, But dark deeds (aye, the darkest, if all Rumour Reports be true), with whom thou consortest, Will lead thee----
Ulr. (impatiently). I'll be led by no man.
Sieg. Nor Be leader of such, I would hope: at once 340 To wean thee from the perils of thy youth And haughty spirit, I have thought it well That thou shouldst wed the lady Ida--more As thou appear'st to love her.
Ulr. I have said I will obey your orders, were they to Unite with Hecate--can a son say more?
Sieg. 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 350 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 Thou'dst say at once--"I love young Ida, and Will wed her;" or, "I love her not, and all The powers on earth shall never make me."--So Would I have answered.
Ulr. Sir, you wed for love. 360
Sieg. I did, and it has been my only refuge In many miseries.
Ulr. Which miseries Had never been but for this love-match.
Sieg. Still Against your age and nature! Who at twenty E'er answered thus till now?
Ulr. Did you not warn me Against your own example?
Sieg. Boyish sophist! In a word, do you love, or love not, Ida?
Ulr. What matters it, if I am ready to Obey you in espousing her?
Sieg. As far As you feel, nothing--but all life for her. 370 She's young--all-beautiful--adores you--is Endowed with qualities to give happiness, Such as rounds common life into a dream Of something which your poets cannot paint, And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue), For which Philosophy might barter Wisdom; And giving so much happiness, deserves A little in return. I would not have her Break her heart with a man who has none to break! Or wither on her stalk like some pale rose 380 Deserted by the bird she thought a nightingale, According to the Orient tale.[199] She is----
Ulr. 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.
Sieg. But she loves you.
Ulr. And I love her, and therefore would think twice.
Sieg. Alas! Love never did so.
Ulr. Then 'tis time He should begin, and take the bandage from His eyes, and look before he leaps; till now 390 He hath ta'en a jump i' the dark.
Sieg. But you consent?
Ulr. I did, and do.
Sieg. Then fix the day.
Ulr. Tis usual, And, certes, courteous, to leave that to the lady.
Sieg. I will engage for her.
Ulr. 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.
Sieg. But 'tis your office To woo.
Ulr. 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, 400 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, 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 feminine, as though they were The stars receding early to our wish Upon the dawn of a world-winning battle-- 410 What can a son or man do more? [Exit ULRIC.
Sieg. (solus). Too much!-- Too much of duty, and too little love! He pays me in the coin he owes me not: For such 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 longed 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-- 420 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; Yet there's some tie between them which I can not 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 430 To shed more blood? or--Oh! if it should be! Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these walls To wither him and his--who, though they slew not, Unlatched 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! And only took--Accurséd gold! thou liest Like poison in my hands; I dare not use thee, Nor part from thee; thou camest in such a guise, 440 Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands Like mine. Yet I have done, to atone for thee, Thou villanous 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--cherished her as one Who will be mine.
Enter an ATTENDANT.
Atten. The abbot, if it please Your Excellency, whom you sent for, waits Upon you. [Exit ATTENDANT.
Enter the PRIOR ALBERT.
Prior. Peace be with these walls, and all Within them!
Sieg. Welcome, welcome, holy father! 450 And may thy prayer be heard!--all men have need Of such, and I----
Prior. Have the first claim to all The prayers of our community. Our convent, Erected by your ancestors, is still Protected by their children.
Sieg. Yes, good father; Continue daily orisons for us In these dim days of heresies and blood, Though the schismatic Swede, Gustavus, is Gone home.
Prior. To the endless home of unbelievers, Where there is everlasting wail and woe, 460 Gnashing of teeth, and tears of blood, and fire Eternal and the worm which dieth not!
Sieg. 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 masses for his spirit. [SIEGENDORF offers the gold which he had taken from STRALENHEIM.
Prior. Count, if I Receive it, 'tis because I know too well Refusal would offend you. Be assured 470 The largess shall be only dealt in alms, And every mass no less sung for the dead. Our House needs no donations, thanks to yours, Which has of old endowed it; but from you And yours in all meet things 'tis fit we obey. For whom shall mass be said?
Sieg. (faltering). For--for--the dead.
Prior. His name?
Sieg. 'Tis from a soul, and not a name, I would avert perdition.
Prior. I meant not To pry into your secret. We will pray For one unknown, the same as for the proudest. 480
Sieg. Secret! I have none: but, father, he who's gone Might have one; or, in short, he did bequeath-- No, not bequeath--but I bestow this sum For pious purposes.
Prior. A proper deed In the behalf of our departed friends.
Sieg. But he who's gone was not my friend, but foe, The deadliest and the stanchest.
Prior. Better still! To employ our means to obtain Heaven for the souls Of our dead enemies is worthy those Who can forgive them living.
Sieg. But I did not 490 Forgive this man. I loathed him to the last, As he did me. I do not love him now, But----
Prior. Best of all! for this is pure religion! You fain would rescue him you hate from hell-- An evangelical compassion--with Your own gold too!
Sieg. Father, 'tis not my gold.
Prior. Whose, then? You said it was no legacy.
Sieg. No matter whose--of this be sure, that he Who owned it never more will need it, save In that which it may purchase from your altars: 500 'Tis yours, or theirs.
Prior. Is there no blood upon it?
Sieg. No; but there's worse than blood--eternal shame!
Prior. Did he who owned it die in his bed?
Sieg. Alas! He did.
Prior. Son! you relapse into revenge, If you regret your enemy's bloodless death.
Sieg. His death was fathomlessly deep in blood.
Prior. You said he died in his bed, not battle.
Sieg. He Died, I scarce know--but--he was stabbed i' the dark, And now you have it--perished on his pillow By a cut-throat!--Aye!--you may look upon me! 510 I am not the man. I'll meet your eye on that point, As I can one day God's.
Prior. Nor did he die By means, or men, or instrument of yours?
Sieg. No! by the God who sees and strikes!
Prior. Nor know you Who slew him?
Sieg. I could only guess at one, And he to me a stranger, unconnected, As unemployed. Except by one day's knowledge, I never saw the man who was suspected.
Prior. Then you are free from guilt.
Sieg. (eagerly). Oh! am I?--say!
Prior. You have said so, and know best.
Sieg. Father! I have spoken 520 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!--nay, once spared it, when I might And could--aye, perhaps, should (if our self-safety 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 prayed myself in vain.
Prior. I will. Be comforted! You are innocent, and should Be calm as innocence.
Sieg. But calmness is not Always the attribute of innocence. I feel it is not.
Prior. 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.
Act V
SCENE I.--_A large and magnificent Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, decorated with Trophies, Banners, and Arms of that Family_.
Enter ARNHEIM and MEISTER, attendants of COUNT SIEGENDORF.
Arn. 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?
Meis. 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.
Arn. Go to! my Lady Countess comes.
Meis. I'd rather 10 Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade, Than follow in the train of a great man, In these dull pageantries.
Arn. Begone! and rail Within. [Exeunt.
Enter the COUNTESS JOSEPHINE SIEGENDORF and IDA STRALENHEIM.
Jos. 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 stained windows, even the tombs, 20 Which looked 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 JOSEPHINE.
Jos. My belovéd child! For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly.
Ida. Oh! I am so already. Feel how my heart beats!
Jos. It does, my love; and never may it throb 30 With aught more bitter.
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 entirely? You, The Count, and Ulric, and your daughter Ida.
Jos. Poor child!
Ida. Do you pity me?
Jos. 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 40 You and my Ulric. Did you ever see Aught like him? How he towered amongst them all! How all eyes followed him! The flowers fell faster-- Rained 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.
Jos. 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.
Jos. Why so? he loves you well.
Ida. But I can never 50 Shape my thoughts of him into words to him: Besides, he sometimes frightens me.
Jos. How so? Ida. A cloud comes o'er his blue eyes suddenly, Yet he says nothing.
Jos. 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.
Jos. Yet there are other men, In the world's eye, as goodly. There's, for instance, The young Count Waldorf, who scarce once withdrew His eyes from yours to-day.
Ida. I did not see him, 60 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.
Jos. 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 looked on Ulric.
Jos. Come, Let us retire! they will be here anon, Expectant of the banquet. We will lay Aside these nodding plumes and dragging trains. 70
Ida. And, above all, these stiff and heavy jewels, 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.
Sieg. Is he not found?
Lud. Strict search is making every where; and if The man be in Prague, be sure he will be found.
Sieg. Where's Ulric?
Lud. 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, 80 Gallop o'er the west drawbridge.
Enter ULRIC, splendidly dressed.
Sieg. (to LUDWIG). See they cease not Their quest of him I have described. [Exit LUDWIG. Oh, Ulric! How have I longed for thee!
Ulr. Your wish is granted-- Behold me!
Sieg. I have seen the murderer.
Ulr. Whom? Where?
Sieg. The Hungarian, who slew Stralenheim.
Ulr. You dream.
Sieg. I live! and as I live, I saw him-- Heard him! he dared to utter even my name.
Ulr. What name?
Sieg. Werner! 'twas mine.
Ulr. It must be so No more: forget it.
Sieg. Never! never! all My destinies were woven in that name: 90 It will not be engraved upon my tomb, But it may lead me there.
Ulr. To the point----the Hungarian?
Sieg. Listen!--The church was thronged: the hymn was raised; "Te Deum" pealed from nations rather than From choirs, in one great cry of "God be praised" For one day's peace, after thrice ten dread years, Each bloodier than the former: I arose, With all the nobles, and as I looked down Along the lines of lifted faces,--from Our bannered and escutcheoned gallery, I 100 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 recovered from the mist Which curled about my senses, and again Looked down, I saw him not. The thanksgiving Was over, and we marched back in procession.
Ulr. Continue.
Sieg. When we reached the Muldau's bridge, The joyous crowd above, the numberless Barks manned with revellers in their best garbs, 110 Which shot along the glancing tide below, The decorated street, the long array, The clashing music, and the thundering Of far artillery, which seemed 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.
Ulr. You saw him No more, then?
Sieg. I looked, as a dying soldier 120 Looks at a draught of water, for this man; But still I saw him not; but in his stead----
Ulr. What in his stead?
Sieg. 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 overflowed the glittering streets of Prague.
Ulr. What's this to the Hungarian?
Sieg. Much! for I Had almost then forgot him in my son; When just as the artillery ceased, and paused 130 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--"Werner!"
Ulr. Uttered by----
Sieg. HIM! I turned--and saw--and fell.
Ulr. And wherefore? Were you seen?
Sieg. The officious care Of those around me dragged 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 children) 140 To aid me.
Ulr. But I'll aid you now.
Sieg. In what?
Ulr. In searching for this man, or----When he's found, What shall we do with him?
Sieg. I know not that.
Ulr. Then wherefore seek?
Sieg. Because I cannot rest Till he is found. His fate, and Stralenheim's, And ours, seem intertwisted! nor can be Unravelled, till----
Enter an ATTENDANT.
Atten. A stranger to wait on Your Excellency.
Sieg. Who?
Atten. He gave no name.
Sieg. Admit him, ne'ertheless. [The ATTENDANT introduces GABOR, and afterwards exit. Ah!
Gab. 'Tis then Werner!
Sieg. (haughtily). The same you knew, sir, by that name; and you! 150
Gab. (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.
Sieg. 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.
Gab. Give it utterance, and then I'll meet the consequences.
Sieg. You shall do so-- Unless----
Gab. First, who accuses me?
Sieg. All things, If not all men: the universal rumour-- My own presence on the spot--the place--the time-- 160 And every speck of circumstance unite To fix the blot on you.
Gab. And on me only? Pause ere you answer: is no other name, Save mine, stained in this business?
Sieg. 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. But I will talk no further with a wretch, Further than justice asks. Answer at once, And without quibbling, to my charge.
Gab. 'Tis false! 170
Sieg. Who says so?
Gab. I.
Sieg. And how disprove it?
Gab. By The presence of the murderer.
Sieg. Name him.
Gab. He May have more names than one. Your Lordship had so Once on a time.
Sieg. If you mean me, I dare Your utmost.
Gab. You may do so, and in safety; I know the assassin.
Sieg. Where is he?
Gab. (pointing to ULRIC). Beside you! [ULRIC rushes forward to attack GABOR; SIEGENDORF interposes.
Sieg. Liar and fiend! but you shall not be slain; These walls are mine, and you are safe within them. Ulric, repel this calumny, as I [He turns to ULRIC. Will do. I avow it is a growth so monstrous, 180 I could not deem it earth-born: but be calm; It will refute itself. But touch him not. [ULRIC endeavours to compose himself.
Gab. Look at him, Count, and then hear me.
Sieg. (first to GABOR, and then looking at ULRIC). I hear thee. My God! you look----
Ulr. How?
Sieg. As on that dread night, When we met in the garden.
Ulr. (composing himself). It is nothing.
Gab. 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 dreamed not To find the beggared Werner in the seat Of Senators and Princes; but you have called me, 190 And we have met.
Sieg. Go on, sir.
Gab. Ere I do so, Allow me to inquire, who profited By Stralenheim's death? Was't I--as poor as ever; 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.
Sieg. These hints, as vague as vain, attach no less To me than to my son.
Gab. I can't help that. 200 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 floor--still in its sheath.
Ulr. (looks at his father, and says,) Let the man go on!
Gab. I am unarmed, Count, bid your son lay down His sabre.
Ulr. (offers it to him contemptuously). Take it.
Gab. No, sir, 'tis enough That we are both unarmed--I would not choose To wear a steel which may be stained with more 210 Blood than came there in battle.
Ulr. (casts the sabre from him in contempt). It--or some Such other weapon in my hand--spared yours Once, when disarmed and at my mercy.
Gab. True-- I have not forgotten it: you spared me for Your own especial purpose--to sustain An ignominy not my own.
Ulr. Proceed. The tale is doubtless worthy the relater. But is it of my father to hear further? [To SIEGENDORF.
Sieg. (takes his son by the hand). My son, I know my own innocence, and doubt not Of yours--but I have promised this man patience; 220 Let him continue.
Gab. 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 passed 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, 230 Secured a band of desperate men, supposed Marauders from 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 slept for a time. At last they were escorted o'er the frontiers, And placed beneath the civil jurisdiction 240 Of the free town of Frankfort. Of their fate I know no more.
Sieg. And what is this to Ulric?
Gab. 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 proclaimed 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 250 In any magic save that of the mine-- I therefore deemed him wealthy.--But my soul Was roused with various feelings to seek out This prodigy, if only to behold him.
Sieg. And did you so?
Gab. You'll hear. Chance favoured me: A popular affray in the public square Drew crowds together--it 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 exclaimed, 260 "This is the man!" though he was then, as since, With the nobles of the city. I felt sure I had not erred, and watched 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.
Ulr. (smiling). The tale sounds well.
Gab. And may sound better.--He appeared to me One of those beings to whom Fortune bends, 270 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 fixed by him.--There I was wrong.
Sieg. And may not be right now.
Gab. I followed him, Solicited his notice--and obtained it-- Though not his friendship:--it was his intention To leave the city privately--we left it Together--and together we arrived 280 In the poor town where Werner was concealed, And Stralenheim was succoured----Now we are on The verge--dare you hear further?
Sieg. I must do so-- Or I have heard too much.
Gab. 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 appeared in height of mind, In the most high of worldly rank; you were Poor, even to all save rags: I would have shared 290 My purse, though slender, with you--you refused it.
Sieg. Doth my refusal make a debt to you, That thus you urge it?
Gab. 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 I had robbed him.
Sieg. I concealed you--I, Whom and whose house you arraign, reviving viper!
Gab. I accuse no man--save in my defence. You, Count, have made yourself accuser--judge: 300 Your hall's my court, your heart is my tribunal. Be just, and I'll be merciful!
Sieg. You merciful?-- You! Base calumniator!
Gab. I. 'Twill rest With me at last to be so. You concealed 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 followed it, and reached a door--a secret 310 Portal--which opened to the chamber, where, With cautious hand and slow, having first undone As much as made a crevice of the fastening, I looked through and beheld a purple bed, And on it Stralenheim!--
Sieg. Asleep! And yet You slew him!--Wretch!
Gab. He was already slain, And bleeding like a sacrifice. My own Blood became ice.
Sieg. But he was all alone! You saw none else? You did not see the---- [He pauses from agitation.
Gab. No, He, whom you dare not name, nor even I 320 Scarce dare to recollect, was not then in The chamber.
Sieg. (to ULRIC). Then, my boy! thou art guiltless still-- Thou bad'st me say I was so once.--Oh! now Do thou as much.
Gab. 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 entered He best knows--but within an antechamber, 330 The door of which was half ajar, I saw A man who washed his bloody hands, and oft With stern and anxious glance gazed back upon-- The bleeding body--but it moved no more.
Sieg. Oh! God of fathers!
Gab. 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 expression Is not now what it then was!--but it was so When I first charged him with the crime--so lately. 340
Sieg. This is so--
Gab. (interrupting him). Nay--but hear me to the end! Now you must do so.--I conceived myself Betrayed 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 armed with a short poniard (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. 350 I turned 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.
Sieg. And yet I had horrid dreams! and such brief sleep, The stars had not gone down when I awoke. Why didst thou spare me? I dreamt of my father-- And now my dream is out!
Gab. 'Tis not my fault, 360 If I have read it.--Well! I fled and hid me-- Chance led me here after so many moons-- And showed 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.
Sieg. (after a pause). Indeed!
Gab. Is it revenge or justice which inspires Your meditation?
Sieg. Neither--I was weighing The value of your secret.
Gab. You shall know it 370 At once:--When you were poor, and I, though poor, Rich enough to relieve such poverty As might have envied mine, I offered 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?
Sieg. Yes.
Gab. Not quite. You think me venal, and scarce true: '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 380 Been somewhat damaged in my name to save Yours and your son's. Weigh well what I have said.
Sieg. Dare you await the event of a few minutes' Deliberation?
Gab. (casts his eyes on ULRIC, who is leaning against a pillar). If I should do so?
Sieg. I pledge my life for yours. Withdraw into This tower. [Opens a turret-door.
Gab. (hesitatingly). This is the second safe asylum You have offered me.
Sieg. And was not the first so?
Gab. 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 390 Be put to rest with Stralenheim, there are Some tongues without will wag in my behalf. Be brief in your decision![200]
Sieg. I will be so.-- My word is sacred and irrevocable Within these walls, but it extends no further.
Gab. I'll take it for so much.
Sieg. (points to ULRIC'S sabre, still upon the ground). Take also that-- I saw you eye it eagerly, and him Distrustfully.
Gab. (takes up the sabre). I will; and so provide To sell my life--not cheaply. [GABOR goes into the turret, which SIEGENDORF closes.
Sieg. (advances to ULRIC). Now, Count Ulric! For son I dare not call thee--What say'st thou? 400
Ulr. His tale is true.
Sieg. True, monster!
Ulr. Most true, father! And you did well to listen to it: what We know, we can provide against. He must Be silenced.
Sieg. Aye, with half of my domains; And with the other half, could he and thou Unsay this villany.
Ulr. It is no time For trifling or dissembling. I have said His story's true; and he too must be silenced.
Sieg. How so?
Ulr. As Stralenheim is. Are you so dull As never to have hit on this before? 410 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 summoned, would the cry for the police Been left to such a stranger? Or should I Have loitered 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 fathomed you, Doubting if you were false or feeble: I 420 Perceived you were the latter: and yet so Confiding have I found you, that I doubted At times your weakness.
Sieg. Parricide! no less Than common stabber! What deed of my life, Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit For your accomplice?
Ulr. 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 I be calm? Think you that I have heard 430 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?
Sieg. Oh! my dead father's curse! 'tis working now.
Ulr. 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. Yet hear me still!--If you condemn me, yet, Remember who hath taught me once too often 440 To listen to him! Who proclaimed to me That there were crimes made venial by the occasion? That passion was our nature? that the goods Of Heaven waited on the goods of fortune? Who showed 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 stamped (It might be) bastardy on me, and on Himself--a felon's brand! The man who is 450 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 ponder Upon effects, not causes. Stralenheim, Whose life I saved from impulse, as unknown, I would have saved a peasant's or a dog's, I slew Known as 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 460 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 showed the path; now trace me that Of safety--or let me!
Sieg. I have done with life!
Ulr. Let us have done with that which cankers life-- Familiar feuds and vain recriminations Of things which cannot be undone. We have 470 No more to learn or hide: I know no fear, And have within these very walls men who (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.
Sieg. (solus). Am I awake? are these my father's halls? And you--my son? My son! mine! I who have ever 480 Abhorred 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 guessed 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! or once more To be the father of fresh crimes, no less Than of the criminal! Ho! Gabor! Gabor! 490 [Exit into the turret, closing the door after him.
Act V, Scene II — The Interior of the Turret
GABOR and SIEGENDORF.
Gab. Who calls?
Sieg. 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.
Gab. What am I to do With these?
Sieg. Whate'er you will: sell them, or hoard, And prosper; but delay not, or you are lost!
Gab. You pledged your honour for my safety!
Sieg. 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! Or you will be slain by----
Gab. Is it even so? 10 Farewell, then! Recollect, however, Count, You sought this fatal interview!
Sieg. I did: Let it not be more fatal still!--Begone!
Gab. By the same path I entered?
Sieg. Yes; that's safe still; But loiter not in Prague;--you do not know With whom you have to deal.
Gab. I know too well-- And knew it ere yourself, unhappy Sire! Farewell! [Exit GABOR.
Sieg. (solus and listening). He hath cleared the staircase. Ah! I hear The door sound loud behind him! He is safe! Safe!--Oh, my father's spirit!--I am faint-- 20
[He leans down upon a stone seat, near the wall of the tower, in a drooping posture.
Enter ULRIC with others armed, and with weapons drawn.
Ulr. Despatch!--he's there!
Lud. The Count, my Lord!
Ulr. (recognizing SIEGENDORF). You here, sir!
Sieg. Yes: if you want another victim, strike!
Ulr. (seeing him stript of his jewels). Where is the ruffian who hath plundered you? Vassals, despatch in search of him! You see 'Twas as I said--the wretch hath stript my father Of jewels which might form a Prince's heir-loom! Away! I'll follow you forthwith. [Exeunt all but SIEGENDORF and ULRIC. What's this? Where is the villain?
Sieg. There are two, sir: which Are you in quest of?
Ulr. Let us hear no more Of this: he must be found. You have not let him 30 Escape?
Sieg. He's gone.
Ulr. With your connivance?
Sieg. With My fullest, freest aid.
Ulr. Then fare you well! [ULRIC is going.
Sieg. Stop! I command--entreat--implore! Oh, Ulric! Will you then leave me?
Ulr. What! remain to be Denounced--dragged, it may be, in chains; and all By your inherent weakness, half-humanity, Selfish remorse, and temporizing pity, That sacrifices your whole race to save A wretch to profit by our ruin! No, Count, Henceforth you have no son!
Sieg. I never had one; 40 And would you ne'er had borne the useless name! Where will you go? I would not send you forth Without protection.
Ulr. Leave that unto me. I am not alone; nor merely the vain heir Of your domains; a thousand, aye, ten thousand Swords, hearts, and hands are mine.
Sieg. The foresters! With whom the Hungarian found you first at Frankfort!
Ulr. 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; 50 There are more spirits abroad than have been laid With Wallenstein!
Enter JOSEPHINE and IDA.
Jos. What is't we hear? My Siegendorf! Thank Heaven, I see you safe!
Sieg. Safe!
Ida. Yes, dear father!
Sieg. No, no; I have no children: never more Call me by that worst name of parent.
Jos. What Means my good Lord?
Sieg. That you have given birth To a demon!
Ida (taking ULRIC'S hand). Who shall dare say this of Ulric?
Sieg. Ida, beware! there's blood upon that hand.
Ida (stooping to kiss it). I'd kiss it off, though it were mine.
Sieg. It is so!
Ulr. Away! it is your father's! [Exit ULRIC.
Ida. Oh, great God! 60 And I have loved this man! [IDA falls senseless--JOSEPHINE stands speechless with horror.
Sieg. 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!--The race of Siegendorf is past.
The end of the fifth act and the Drama. B. P. J^y 20, 1822.
FOOTNOTES:
[159] {337}[This is not correct. The Young Lady's Tale, or the Two Emilys and The Clergyman's Tale, or Pembroke, were contributed by Sophia Lee. Kruitzner, or The Germans Tale, was written by Harriet Lee (1757-1851), the younger of the sisters. Miss Lee began her literary career as a dramatist. A comedy, The New Peerage; or, Our Eyes may deceive us, was played at Drury Lane, November 10, 1787. In 1798 she published The Mysterious Marriage; or, The Heirship of Rosalva. After the publication of Byron's Werner, she wrote a dramatic version of The German's Tale, under the title of The Three Strangers. It was brought out at Covent Garden, December 10, 1825, and acted four times.
The first volume of the Canterbury Tales, by Harriet Lee, was published in 1797; the second volume, by Sophia Lee, in 1798 (a second edition of these volumes was published in 1799); a third volume (second edition), by Sophia and Harriet Lee, appeared in 1800; the fourth volume, by Harriet Lee (which contains The German's Tale, pp. 3-368) was published in 1801; and the fifth volume, by Harriet Lee, in 1805.
There can be little doubt that Byron's visit to Churchill's grave at Dover, which took place April 25, 1816 (see Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 45), was suggested by a passage in the Introduction, pp. vii.-ix., to the first volume (1797) of the Canterbury Tales. The author "wanders forth to note the memorabilia of Dover," is informed that "the greatest curiosity in the place is the tomb of a poet," and hastens "to a spot surrounded by ruined walls, in the midst of which stood the white marble tablet marked with Churchill's name," etc.]
[cm] {338} [Of England or any other country. It may seem unnecessary to add this, but having seen a poem of mine never intended for representation, dragged in spite of my remonstrance upon the theatres of more than one nation, I trust it will not be deemed impertinent if I once more repeat my protest against [a gross] folly which may injure me--and [benefit] no one. If it be understood that all dramatic writing is generically intended for the stage, I deny it[*]. With the exception of Shakespeare (or Tate, Cibber, and Thompson under his name), not one in fifty plays of our dramatists is ever acted, however much they may be read. Only one of Massinger--none of Ford--none of Marlowe, one of Ben Jonson--none of Webster, none of Heywood: and, even in Comedy, Congreve is rarely acted, and that in only one of his plays. Neither is Joanna Baillie. I am far from attempting to raise myself to a level with the least of these names--I only wish to be [exempted] from a stage which is not theirs. Perhaps Mr. Lamb's essay upon the effects of dramatic representation on the intelligent auditor[**]----marks are just with regard to this--plays of Shakespeare himself--the hundredfold to those of others.--From a mutilated page of MS. M.]
[*] [Byron is replying to Jeffrey (Edinburgh Review, February, 1822, vol. 36, p. 422). "A drama is not merely a dialogue, but an action: and necessarily supposes that something is to pass before the eyes of assembled spectators.... If an author does not bear this continually in his mind, and does not write in the ideal presence of an eager and diversified assemblage, he may be a poet, perhaps, but assuredly he will never be a dramatist."]
[**] ["It may seem a paradox, but I cannot help being of opinion that the plays of Shakespeare are less calculated for performance on a stage than those of almost any other dramatist whatever."--"On the Tragedies of Shakespeare," Complete Works of Charles Lamb, 1875, p. 255. It was, too, something of a paradox that Byron should be eager to shelter himself under the ægis of Charles Lamb. But unpopularity, like poverty, brings together strange bedfellows.]
[160] {340}[The Thirty Years' War dates from the capture of Pilsen by Mansfeld, November 21, 1618, and did not end till the Peace of Westphalia, October 24, 1648. The incident recorded in act v., a solemn commemoration of the Treaty of Prague, must have taken place in 1635. But in Werner there is little or no attempt "to follow history."]
[cn] {342} Yea--to a peasant.--[MS. erased.]
[161] {346}[Compare--"And still my passions wake and war." Lines "To----" [Lady Blessington], Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 564.]
[162] {347}[It has been surmised that Byron had some knowledge of the early life and history of the dramatist Friedrich Ludwig Zacharias Werner (1768-1823), and that a similarity of character and incident suggested the renaming of Kruitzner. But the change of name was made in 1815, not in 1821, and it is far more probable that Byron called his hero "Werner," because "Kruitzner" is unrhythmical, or simply because "Werner," a common German surname, is not unlike "Werther," which was "familiar as a household word."]
[163] {348}["Lord Byron's establishment at Pisa was, like everything else about him, somewhat singular; it consisted of a monkey, a mastiff, a bull-dog, two cats, ... several servants in livery, and the trusty Fletcher as Major Domo, or superintendant of the Menagerie."--Life, Writings, Opinions, etc., 1825, ii. 203, 204. See, too, Medwin, Conversations, 1824, pp. 1, 2.]
[164] [The Oder crosses and re-crosses the northern frontier of Silesia.]
[165] {349}[In Miss Lee's Kruitzner Gabor is always spoken of as "The Hungarian." He is no doubt named after Bethlen Gabor, Prince of Transylvania, who was elected King of Hungary, August, 1620.]
[166] {351}[Compare--"And so--for God's sake--hock and soda-water." Fragment written on MS. of Canto I. of Don Juan.]
[167] {352}[On the 18th of August, 1619, Bethlen Gabor threw in his lot with the Bohemians, and "wrote the Directors at Prague that he would march with his troops, and in September would, in their defence, enter Moravia."--History of the Thirty Years War, by A. Gindely, 1885, i. 166. Vide ibid., for portrait of "Gabriel Bethlem, D. G. Princeps Transsylvaniæ, etc., Ætatis suæ 40, A^o Christi, 1620."]
[168] {354}[From super, and nagel, "a nail." To drink supernaculum is to empty the cup so thoroughly that the last drop or "pearl," drained on to the nail, retains its shape, and does not run. If "the pearl" broke and began to slide, the drinker was "sconced." Hence, good liquor. See Rabelais' Life of Gargantua, etc., Urquhart's Translation, 1863, lib. i, ch. 5.]
[co] {355} Without means and he has not a stiver left.--[MS. erased.]
[cp] {357} This is one of those to whom I owe aid.--[MS. erased.]
[169] {364}[Compare Age of Bronze, line 130, vide post, p. 549.]
[170] {365}[For the "merchant dukes" of Florence, see Childe Harold, Canto IV. stanza lx. line 4. See, too, ibid., stanza xlviii. line 8, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 375, and 365, note 1.]
[171] {367}["Your printer has made one odd mistake:--'poor as a Mouse' instead of 'poor as a Miser.' The expression may seem strange, but it is only a translation of 'Semper avarus eget!'" (Hor., Epist. I. ii. 56).--Letter to Murray, May 29, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 75.]
[cq] {368} ----who furnish our good masters.--[MS. M.]
[172] {385}[The Swedish garrisons did not evacuate Bohemia till 1649, and then, as their occupation was gone, with considerable reluctance. "It need not, therefore, be a matter of wonder that from the discharged soldiers numerous bands of robbers ['bande nere,' or 'black bands:' see Deformed Transformed, Part II. sc. i. line 65] were formed; that these pursued on their own account the trade that they had formerly carried on under the cover of military law, and that commerce became again unsafe on the highways."--History of the Thirty Years' War, by A. Gindely, 1885, ii. 382, 383.]
[173] [Albrecht Wenceslaus Eusebius, Count of Waldstein, Duke of Mecklenburg, quartermaster of the Imperial Army in the Thirty Years' War, was born in Bohemia, September 15, 1583, and assassinated at Egra, February 25, 1634.
Johann Tsercläs Count von Tilly, born 1559, defeated the Bohemians at the battle of Prague, November 8, 1620, died April 30, 1632.
Gustavus Adolphus, the "Lion of the North," born December 9, 1594, succeeded his father, Charles IX., King of Sweden, in 1611. As head of the Protestant League, he invaded Germany, defeated the armies of Conti and Schaumburg, June-December, 1630; defeated Tilly at Leipzig and Breitenfeld, September 7, 1631; defeated Wallenstein at Lutzen; but was killed in battle, November 16, 1632.
Johan Bannier, or Baner, Swedish general, born June 23, 1595, defeated the Saxons near Chemnitz, April 4, 1639, died December, 1649.
Lennart Torstenson, Swedish general, born 1603, fought at the battle of Leipzig, and was taken prisoner at Nürnburg. In 1641 he was appointed General-in-Chief of the Swedes in Germany, and died at Stockholm, April, 1651.
Bernhard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar, born 1604, succeeded Gustavus Adolphus in command in Germany, November 16, 1632; defeated the Imperialists at Rheinfeld, 1638; died at Huningen, 1639.
Banier and Torstenson were living when the Peace of Westphalia was proclaimed, November 3, 1648.]
[174] {373}[George William, Elector of Brandenburgh (1595-1640), was in alliance with Gustavus Adolphus; John George, Elector of Saxony (1585-1656) (vide supra, line 179), was on the side of the Imperialists.]
[175] {377}[Compare The Antiquary, by Sir W. Scott, i. 366, chap. vii. ed. 1851: "'Good man,' said Sir Arthur, 'can you think of nothing?--of no help?--I'll make you rich--I'll give you a farm--I'll----' 'Our riches will soon be equal,' said the beggar, looking upon the strife of the waters. 'They are sae already; for I hae nae land, and you would give your fair bounds and barony for a square yard of rock that would be dry for twal hours.'"--The Antiquary was published in 1816, six years before the second version of Werner was written, and ten years after the death of the Duchess of Devonshire.]
[176] {381}[The following is the original passage in the novel:--"'Stralenheim,' said Conrad, 'does not appear to me altogether the man you take him for:--but were it even otherwise, he owes me gratitude not only for the past, but for what he supposes to be my present employment. I saved his life, and he therefore places confidence in me. He has been robbed last night--is sick--a stranger--and in no condition to discover the villain who has plundered him.... and the business on which I sought the Intendant was chiefly that.'"--Canterbury Tales, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii. 203, 204.]
[177] ["'And who,' said he, 'has entitled you to brand thus with ignominious epithets a being you do not know? Who ... has taught you that it would be safe even for my son to insult me?'--'It is not necessary to know the person of a ruffian,' replied Conrad, indignantly, 'to give him the appellation he merits:--and what is there in common between my father and such a character?'--'Everything,' said Siegendorf, bitterly,--'for that ruffian was your father!'"--Ibid., p. 204.]
[178] {382}["'Conrad ... before you thus presume to chastise me with your eye, learn to understand my actions! Young, and inexperienced in the world--reposing hitherto in the bosom of indulgence and luxury, is it for you to judge of the impulse of the passions, or the temptations of misery? Wait till, like me, you have blighted your fairest hopes--have endured humiliation and sorrow--poverty and insult--before you pretend to judge of their effect on you! Should that miserable day ever arrive--should you see the being at your mercy who stands between you and everything that is dear or noble in life!--who is ready to tear from you your name--your inheritance--your very life itself--congratulate your own heart, if, like me, you are content with petty plunder, and are not tempted to exterminate a serpent, who now lives, perhaps to sting us all.'"--Canterbury Tales, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii. 204, 205.]
[179] {383}["'You do not know this man,' continued he; 'I do!--I believe him to be mean--sordid--deceitful! You will conceive yourself safe, because you are young and brave! Learn, however, ... none are so secure but desperation or subtilty may reach them! Stralenheim, in the palace of a prince, was in my power! My knife was held over him--a single moment would have swept him from the face of the earth, and with him all my future fears:--I forbore--and I am now in his.--Are you certain that you are not so too? Who assures you he does not know you?--who tells you that he has not lured you into his society, either to rid himself of you for ever, or to plunge you with your family into a dungeon?'"--Canterbury Tales, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii. 205. It should be noted that this and other passages from Miss Lee's story, which have been selected for comparison with the text, are to be regarded as representative parallels--samples of a far more extended adaptation. Vide ante, "The Introduction to Werner," p. 326.]
[180] ["'Me ... he has known invariably through every change of fortune or of name--and why not you?--Me he has entrapped--are you more discreet? He has wound the snares of Idenstein around me:--of a reptile, whom, a few years ago, I would have spurned from my presence, and whom, in spurning now, I have furnished with fresh venom:--will you be more patient?--Conrad, Conrad, there are crimes rendered venial by the occasion, and temptations too exquisite for human fortitude to master or endure.'"--Canterbury Tales, by Sophia and Harriet Lee, 1838, ii. 205.]
[181] {384}["'These are only the systems of my father ... My mother thinks not with him?'"--Ibid., p. 206.]
[182] {385} The Ravenstone, "Rabenstein," is the stone gibbet of Germany, and so called from the ravens perching on it. [Compare Manfred, act iii., First Version, Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 122.]
[cr] {387} ----and a master.--[MS. M.]
[183] {388}[Compare--"Cozenage, mere cozenage." _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iv. sc. 5, line 58.
If further proof were needed, the repetition or echo of Shakespearian phrases, here and elsewhere in the play, would reveal Byron's handiwork.]
[184] {389}[Compare Marino Faliero, act ii, sc. 2, line 115--"These swoln silkworms masters."
Silkworm ("mal bigatto") is an Italianism. See Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 386, note 4.]
[cs] {391}
----and hollow Sickness sits caverned in his yellow eye.--[MS. M.]
[185] {393}["Thou hast harped my fear aright." Macbeth, act iv. sc. 1, line 74.]
[186] {396}["Momus is the god of cruel mockery. He is said to have found fault with the man formed by Hephæstus, because a little door had not been left in his breast, so as to enable his fellows to look into his secret thoughts." (See Lucian's Hermotimus, cap. xx.) There was a proverb, Τῷ Μώμῳ ἀρέσκειν [Tô~| Mô/mô| a)re/skein] Momo santisfacere; vide Adagia Variorum, 1643, p. 58. Byron describes Suwarrow as "Now Mars, now Momus" (Don Juan, Canto VII. stanza lv. line 7).]
[187] {403}[For the "Theban brethren," Eteocles and Polynices, see the Septem c. Thebas of Æschylus. Byron had read and liked the "Seven before Thebes."--Letters, 1900, iv. 174.]
[188] {404}[A cavity at the lower end of the lead attached to a sounding-line is partially filled with an arming (tallow), to which the bottom, especially if it be sand, shells, or fine gravel, adheres.--Knights's American Mechanical Dictionary, 1877, art. "Sounding-Apparatus."]
[189] {405}[Compare The Age of Bronze, line 45, for the story of Sesostris being drawn by kings. (See Diodorus Siculus, Bibl. Hist., lib. i. p. 37, C., ed. 1604, p. 53.)]
[ct] {406} And never offered aught as a reward.--[MS. M. erased.]
[cu] {407} ----that if thou wert a snail, none else.--[MS. M.]
[190] {408}[Compare--"The iron tongue of midnight." Midsummer Night's Dream, act v. sc. 1, line 352.]
[191] [Compare Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza xcvi. line 5, Poetical Works, 1899, ii. 275, note I.]
[192] {409}[Compare--"With your leave, I will call a will-o'-the-wisp." Goethe's Faust.]
[193] {410}[Compare--"Sleep she as sound as careless infancy." Merry Wives of Windsor, act v. sc. 5, line 50.]
[194] {416}[At the siege of Magdeburg, May 19, 1631, "soldiers and citizens, with their wives, boys and girls, old and young, were all mercilessly butchered." "The city was set fire to at more than twelve points, and, except the cathedral and about fifty houses, sank into soot and ashes. It was not Tilly and his men, but Magdeburg's own people, who kindled the city to a conflagration."--History of the Thirty Years' War, by Anton Gindely, 1885, ii. 65, 66.]
[195] {418}[In Miss Lee's Kruitzner, Conrad meets his death in a skirmish on the frontiers of Franconia.]
[196] {423}[Compare "Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat the air" (Hamlet, act iii. sc. 2, lines 88, 89).]
[197] [Compare--
"Had his free breathing been denied The range of the steep mountain's side."
Prisoner of Chillon, lines 142, 143.]
[198] [The Treaty of Prague was signed May 30, 1635.]
[199] {428}[For "the attachment of the nightingale to the rose," see Giaour lines 21-31, Poetical Works, 1900, in. 86, note 1.]
[200] {446}["Gab. I have yet an additional security. I did not enter Prague a solitary individual; and there are tongues without that will speak for me, although I should even share the fate of Stralenheim! Let your deliberation be short.--Sieg. My promise is solemn--sacred--irrevocable: it extends not, however, beyond my own walls."--Canterbury Tales, 1838, ii. 268; see, too, pp. 269, 270.]
WERNER
Nov. 1815.
[FIRST DRAFT.]
Act I, Scene I — A ruinous chateau on the Silesian frontier of Bohemia
Josepha. THE storm is at it's height--how the wind howls, Like an unearthly voice, through these lone chambers! And the rain patters on the flapping casement Which quivers in it's frame--the night is starless-- Yet cheerly Werner! still our hearts are warm: The tempest is without, or should be so-- For we are sheltered here where Fortune's clouds May roll all harmless o'er us as the wrath Of these wild elements that menace now, Yet do not reach us.
Werner (_without attending, and walking disturbedly, speaking to himself_). No--'Tis past--'tis blighted, 10 The last faint hope to which my withered fortune Clung with a feeble and a fluttering grasp, Yet clung convulsively--for twas the last-- Is broken with the rest: would that my heart were! But there is pride, and passion's war within, Which give my breast vitality to suffer, As it hath suffered through long years till now. My father's wrath extends beyond the grave, And haunts me in the shape of Stralenheim! He revels in my fathers palace--I-- 20 Exiled--disherited--a nameless outcast! [Werner pauses. My boy, too, where and what is he?--my father Might well have limited his curse to me. If that my heritage had passed to Ulric, I had not mourned my own less happy lot. No--No--all's past--all torn away.
Josepha. Dear Werner, Oh banish these discomfortable thoughts That thus contend within you: we are poor, So we have ever been--but I remember The time when thy Josepha's smile could turn 30 Thy heart to hers--despite of every ill. So let it now--alas! you hear me not.
Werner. What said you?--let it pass--no matter what-- Think me not churlish, Sweet, I am not well. My brain is hot and busy--long fatigue And last night's watching have oppressed me much.
Josepha. Then get thee to thy couch. I do perceive In thy pale cheek and in thy bloodshot eye A strange distemperature--nay, as a boon, I do entreat thee to thy rest.
Werner. My rest! 40 Well--be it so--Good Night!
Josepha. Thy hand is burning; I will prepare a potion:--peace be with thee-- Tomorrow's dawn I trust will find thee healthful; And, then, our Ulric may perchance--
Werner. Our Ulric--thine and mine--our only boy-- Curse on his father and his father's Sire! (For, if it is so, I will render back A curse that Heaven will hear as well as his), Our Ulric by his father's fault or folly, And by my father's unrelenting pride, 50 Is at this hour, perchance, undone. This night That shelters us may shower it's wrath on him-- A homeless beggar for his parent's sin-- Thy sin and mine--Thy child and mine atones-- Our Ulric--Woman!--I'll to no bed to-night-- There is no pillow for my thoughts.
Josepha. What words, What fearful words are these! what may they mean?
Werner. Look on me--thou hast known me, hitherto, As an oppressed, but yet a humble creature; By birth predestined to the yoke I've borne. 60 Till now I've borne it patiently, at least, In bitter silence--but the hour is come, That should and shall behold me as I was, And ought again to be--
Josepha. I know not what Thy mystery may tend to, but my fate-- My heart--my will--my love are linked with thine, And I would share thy sorrow: lay it open.
Werner. Thou see'st the son of Count--but let it pass-- I forfeited the name in wedding thee: That fault of many faults a father's pride 70 Proclaimed the last and worst--and, from that hour, He disavowed, disherited, debased A wayward son----tis a long tale--too long-- And I am heartsick of the heavy thought.
Josepha. Oh, I could weep--but that were little solace: Yet tell the rest--or, if thou wilt not, say-- Yet say--why, through long years, from me withheld, This fearful secret that hath gnawed thy soul?
Werner. Why? had it not been base to call on thee For patience and for pity--to awake 80 The thirst of grandeur in thy gentle spirit-- To tell thee what thou shouldst have been--the wife Of one, in power--birth--wealth, preeminent-- Then, sudden quailing in that lofty tone, To bid thee soothe thy husband--peasant Werner?
Josepha. I would thou wert, indeed, the peasant Werner; For then thy soul had been of calmer mould, And suited to thy lot----
Werner. Was it not so? Beneath a humble name and garb--the which My youthful riot and a father's frown, 90 Too justly fixed upon me, had compelled My bowed down spirit to assume too well-- Since it deceived the world, myself, and thee: I linked my lot irrevocably with thine-- And I have loved thee deeply--long and dearly-- Even as I love thee still--but these late crosses, And most of all the last,--have maddened me; And I am wild and wayward as in youth, Ere I beheld thee--
Josepha. Would thou never hadst! Since I have been a blight upon thy hope, 100 And marred alike the present and the future.
Werner. Yet say not so--for all that I have known Of true and calm content--of love--of peace-- Has been with thee and from thee: wert thou not, I were a lonely and self-loathing thing. Ulric has left us! all, save thou, have left me! Father and son--Fortune--Fame--Power--Ambition-- The ties of being--the high soul of man-- All save the long remorse--the consciousness, The curse of living on, regretting life 110 Mispent in miserably gazing upward, While others soared--Away, I'll think no more.
Josepha. But Ulric--wherefore didst thou let him leave His home and us? tis now three weary years.
Werner (interrupting her quickly). Since my hard father, half-relenting, sent The offer of a scanty stipend which I needs must earn by rendering up my son-- Fool that I was--I thought this quick compliance, And never more assuming in myself The haught name of my house would soften him-- 120 And for our child secure the heritage Forfeit in me forever. Since that hour, Till the last year, the wretched pittance came-- Then ceased with every tidings of my son And Sire--till late I heard the last had ceased To live--and unforgiving died--Oh God!
Josepha. Was it for this our Ulric left us so? Thou dids't deceive me then--he went not forth To join the legions of Count Tilly's war?
Werner. I know not--he had left my father's castle, 130 Some months before his death--but why?--but why? Left it as I did ere his birth, perchance, Like me an outcast. Old age had not made My father meeker--and my son, Alas! Too much his Sire resembled----
Josepha. Yet there's comfort. Restrain thy wandering Spirit--Ulric cannot Have left his native land--thou dost not know, Though it looks strangely, thy Sire and he In anger parted--Hope is left us still.
Werner. The best hope that I ever held in youth, 140 When every pulse was life, each thought a joy, (Yet not irrationally sanguine, since My birth bespoke high thoughts,) hath lured and left me. I will not be a dreamer in mine age-- The hunter of a shadow--let boys hope: Of Hope I now know nothing but the name-- And that's a sound which jars upon my heart. I've wearied thee--Good night--my patient Love!
Josepha. I must not leave thee thus--my husband--friend-- My heart is rent in twain for thee--I scarce 150 Dare greet thee as I would, lest that my love Should seem officious and ill timed:--'tis early-- Yet rest were as a healing balm to thee-- Then once again--Good night!
Voice Without. What Ho--lights ho!
Act I, Scene II
Josepha. What noise is that? 'tis nearer--hush! they knock. [A knocking heard at the gate--WERNER starts.
Werner (aside). It may be that the bloodhounds of the villain, Who long has tracked me, have approached at last: I'll not be taken tamely.
Josepha. 'Twas the voice, The single voice of some lone traveller. I'll to the door.
Werner. No--stay thou here--again! [Knocking repeated. Opens the door. Well--Sir--your pleasure?
Enter CARL the Bavarian.
Carl. Thanks most worthy Sir! My pleasure, for to-night, depends on yours-- I'm weary, wet, and wayworn--without shelter, Unless you please to grant it.
Josepha. You shall have it, 10 Such as this ruinous mansion may afford: Tis spacious, but too cold and crazy now For Hospitality's more cordial welcome: But as it is 'tis yours.
Werner (to his wife). Why say ye so? At once such hearty greeting to a stranger? At such a lonely hour, too--
Josepha (in reply to Werner). Nay--he's honest. There is trust-worthiness in his blunt looks.
Werner (to Josepha). "Trustworthiness in looks!" I'll trust no looks! I look into men's faces for their age, Not for their actions--had he Adam's brow, 20 Open and goodly as before the fall, I've lived too long to trust the frankest aspect. (To Carl) Whence come you Sir?
Carl. From Frankfort, on my way To my own country--I've a companion too-- He tarries now behind:--an hour ago, On reaching that same river on your frontier, We found it swoln by storms--a stranger's carriage, Despite the current, drawn by sturdy mules, Essayed to pass, and nearly reached the middle Of that which was the ford in gentler weather, 30 When down came driver, carriage, mules, and all-- You may suppose the worthy Lord within Fared ill enough:--worse still he might have suffered, But that my comrade and myself rushed in, And with main strength and some good luck beside, Dislodged and saved him: he'll be here anon. His equipage by this time is at Dresden-- I left it floating that way.
Werner. Where is he?
Carl. Hitherward on his way, even like myself-- We saw the light and made for the nearest shelter: 40 You'll not deny us for a single night? You've room enough, methinks--and this vast ruin Will not be worse for three more guests.
Werner. Two more: And thou?--well--be it so--(aside) (tonight will soon Be overpast: they shall not stay tomorrow)-- Know you the name of him you saved?
Carl. Not I! I think I heard him called a Baron Something-- But was too chill to stay and hear his titles: You know they are sometimes tedious in the reckoning, If counted over by the noble wearer. 50 Has't any wine? I'm wet, stung to the marrow-- My comrade waited to escort the Baron: They will be here, anon--they, too, want cheering: I'll taste for them, if it please you, courteous host!
Josepha. Such as our vintage is shall give you welcome: I'll bring you some anon. [goes out.
Carl (looking round). A goodly mansion! And has been nobly tenanted, I doubt not. This worn magnificence some day has shone On light hearts and long revels--those torn banners Have waved o'er courtly guests--and yon huge lamp 60 High blazed through many a midnight--I could wish My lot had led me here in those gay times! Your days, my host, must pass but heavily. Are you the vassal of these antient chiefs, Whose heir wastes elsewhere their fast melting hoards, And placed to keep their cobwebs company?
Werner (_who has been absorbed in thought till the latter part of his speech_). A Vassal!--I a vassal!--who accosts me With such familiar question?--(_checks himself and says aside_)--Down startled pride! Have not long years of wretchedness yet quenched thee, And, suffering evil, wilt thou start at scorn? 70 (To Carl.) Sir! if I boast no birth--and, as you see, My state bespeaks none--still, no being breathes Who calls me slave or servant.--Like yourself I am a stranger here--a lonely guest-- But, for a time, on sufferance. On my way, From--a far distant city--Sickness seized, And long detained me in the neighbouring hamlet. The Intendant of the owner of this castle, Then uninhabited, with kind intent, Permitted me to wait returning health 80 Within these walls--more sheltered than the cot Of humble peasants.
Carl. Worthy Sir, your mercy! I meant not to offend you--plain of speech, And blunt in apprehension, I do judge Men's station from their seeming--but themselves From acts alone. You bid me share your shelter, And I am bound to you; and had you been The lowliest vassal had not thanked you less, Than I do now, believing you his better, Perhaps my own superior--
Werner. What imports it? 90 What--who I am--or whence--you are welcome--sit-- You shall have cheer anon. (walks disturbedly aside)
Carl (to himself). Here's a strange fellow! Wild, churlish, angry--why, I know not, seek not. Would that the wine were come! my doublet's wet, But my throat dry as Summer's drought in desarts. Ah--here it sparkles!
Enter JOSEPHA _with wine in flask--and a cup. As she pours it out a Voice is heard without calling at a distance_. WERNER starts--JOSEPHA listens tremulously.
Werner. That voice--that voice--Hark! No--no--tis silent--Sir--I say--that voice-- Whose is it--speak--
Carl (drinking unconcernedly). Whose is it? faith, I know not-- And, yet, 'tis my companion's: he's like you, And does not care to tell his name and station. 100 [The voice again and nearer.
Josepha. 'Tis his--I knew it--Ulric!--Ulric!--Ulric! [She drops the wine and rushes out.
Carl. The flask's unhurt--but every drop is spilt. Confound the voice! I say--would he were dumb! And faith! to me, he has been nearly so-- A silent and unsocial travelling mate.
Werner (stands in agitation gazing towards the door). If it be he--I cannot move to meet him. Yes--it must be so--there is no such voice That so could sound and shake me: he is here, And I am--
Enter STRALENHEIM.
Werner (turns and sees him). A curse upon thee, stranger! Where dids't thou learn a tone so like my boy's? 110 Thou mock bird of my hopes--a curse upon thee! Out! Out! I say. Thou shalt not harbour here.
Stralenheim. What means the peasant? knows he unto whom He dares address this language?
Carl. Noble Sir! Pray heed him not--he's Phrenzy's next door neighbour, And full of these strange starts and causeless jarrings.
Werner. Oh, that long wished for voice!--I dreamed of it-- And then it did elude me--then--and now.
Enter ULRIC and JOSEPHA. WERNER falls on his neck.
Oh God! forgive, for thou dids't not forget me. Although I murmured--tis--it is my Son! 120
Josepha. Aye, 'tis dear Ulric--yet, methinks, he's changed, too: His cheek is tanned, his frame more firmly knit! That scar, too, dearest Ulric--I do fear me-- Thou hast been battling with these heretics, And that's a Swedish token on thy brow.
Ulric. My heart is glad with yours--we meet like those Who never would have parted:--of the past You shall know more anon--but, here's a guest That asks a gentle welcome. Noble Baron, My father's silence looks discourtesy: 130 Yet must I plead his pardon--'tis his love Of a long truant that has rapt him, thus, From hospitable greeting--you'll be seated-- And, Father, we will sup like famished hunters.
JOSEPHA goes out here.
Stralenheim. I have much need of rest: no more refreshment! Were all my people housed within the hamlet, Or can they follow?
Ulric. Not to night I fear. They staid in hope the damaged Cabriole Might, with the dawn of day, have such repairs, As circumstance admits of.
Carl. Nay--that's hopeless. 140 They must not only mend but draw it too. The mules are drowned--a murrain on them both! One kicked me as I would have helped him on.
Stralenheim. It is most irksome to me--this delay. I was for Prague on business of great moment.
Werner. For Prague--Sir--Say you?--
Stralenheim. Yes, my host! for Prague. And these vile floods and villainous cross roads Steal my time from it's uses--but--my people? Where do they shelter?
Ulric. In the boatman's shed, Near to the ferry: you mistook the ford-- 150 Tis higher to the right:--their entertainment Will be but rough--but 'tis a single night, And they had best be guardians of the baggage. The shed will hold the weather from their sleep, The woodfire warm them--and, for beds, a cloak Is swansdown to a seasoned traveller: It has been mine for many a moon, and may Tonight, for aught it recks me.
Stralenheim. And tomorrow I must be on my journey--and betimes. It is not more than three days travel, hence, 160 To Mansfeldt Castle.
Werner and Ulric. Mansfeldt Castle!--
Stralenheim. Aye! For thither tends my progress--so, betimes, Mine host I would be stirring--think of that! And let me find my couch of rest at present.
Werner. You shall Sir--but--to Mansfeldt!-- [ULRIC stops his father and says aside to him, Silence--father-- Whate'er it be that shakes you thus--tread down-- (To Stralenheim) My father, Sir, was born not far from Prague, And knows it's environs--and, when he hears, The name endeared to him by native thoughts, He would ask of it, and it's habitants-- 170 You will excuse his plain blunt mode of question.
Stralenheim. Indeed, perchance, then, he may aid my search. Pray, know you aught of one named Werner? who (But he no doubt has passed through many names), Lived long in Hamburgh--and has thence been traced Into Silesia--and not far from hence-- But there we lost him; he who can disclose Aught of him, or his hiding-place, will find Advantage in revealing it.
Ulric. Why so--Sir?
Stralenheim. There are strong reasons to suspect this man 180 Of crimes against the State--league with Swedes-- And other evil acts of moment:--he Who shall deliver him, bound hand and foot, Will benefit his country and himself: I will reward him doubly too.
Ulric. You know him?
Stralenheim. He never met my eyes--but Circumstance Has led me to near knowledge of the man. He is a villain--and an enemy To all men--most to me! If earth contain him, He shall be found and fettered: I have hopes, 190 By traces which tomorrow will unravel, A fresh clue to his lurking spot is nigh.
Carl. And, if I find it, I will break the thread. What, all the world against one luckless wight! And he a fugitive--I would I knew him!
Ulric. You'd help him to escape--is it not so?
Carl. I would, indeed!
Ulric. The greater greenhorn you! I would secure him--nay--I will do so.
Stralenheim. If it be so--my gratitude for aid, And rescue of my life from the wild waters, 200 Will double in it's strength and it's requital. Your father, too, perhaps can help our search?
Werner. I turn a spy--no--not for Mansfeldt Castle, And all the broad domain it frowns upon.
Stralenheim. Mansfeldt again!--you know it then? perchance, You also know the story of it's lords?
Werner. Whate'er I know, there is no bribe of thine Can swerve me to the crooked path thou pointest. The chamber's ready, which your rest demands.
Stralenheim (aside). 'Tis strange--this peasant's tone is wondrous high, 210 His air imperious--and his eye shines out As wont to look command with a quick glance-- His garb befits him not--why, he may be The man I look for! now, I look again, There is the very lip--short curling lip-- And the oerjutting eye-brow dark and large, And the peculiar wild variety Of feature, even unto the Viper's eye, Of that detested race, and it's descendant Who stands alone between me and a power, 220 Which Princes gaze at with unquiet eyes! This is no peasant--but, whate'er he be, Tomorrow shall secure him and unfold.
Ulric. It will not please you, Sir, then to remain With us beyond tomorrow?
Stralenheim. Nay--I do not say so--there is no haste. And now I think again--I'll tarry here-- Perhaps until the floods abate--we'll see-- In the mean time--to my chamber--so--Good Night! [Exit with WERNER.
Werner. This way, Sir.
Carl. And I to mine: pray, where are we to rest? 230 We'll sup within--
Ulric. What matter where--there's room.
Carl. I would fain see my way through this vast ruin; Come take the lamp, and we'll explore together.
Josepha (meeting them). And I will with my son.
Ulric. Nay--stay--dear mother! These chilly damps and the cold rush of winds Fling a rough paleness o'er thy delicate cheek-- And thou seem'st lovely in thy sickliness Of most transparent beauty:--but it grieves me. Nay! tarry here by the blaze of the bright hearth:-- I will return anon--and we have much 240 To listen and impart. Come, Carl, we'll find Some gorgeous canopy, and, thence, unroost It's present bedfellows the bats--and thou Shalt slumber underneath a velvet cloud That mantles o'er the couch of some dead Countess. [Exit CARL and ULRIC.
Josepha (sola). It was my joy to see him--nothing more I should have said--which sent my gush of blood Back on my full heart with a dancing tide: It was my weary hope's unthought fulfilment, My agony of mother-feelings curdled 250 At once in gathered rapture--which did change My cheek into the hue of fainting Nature. I should have answered thus--and yet I could not: For though 'twas true--it was not all the truth. I have much suffered in the thought of Werner's Late deep distemperature of mind and fortunes, Which since have almost driven him into phrenzy:-- And though that I would soothe, not share, such passions, And show not how they shake me:--when alone, I feel them prey upon me by reflection, 260 And want the very solace I bestowed; And which, it seems, I cannot give and have. Ulric must be my comforter--his father's Hath long been the most melancholy soul That ever hovered o'er the verge of Madness: And, better, had he leapt into it's gulph: Though to the Mad thoughts are realities, Yet they can play with sorrow--and live on. But with the mind of consciousness and care The body wears to ruin, and the struggle, 270 However long, is deadly----He is lost, And all around him tasteless:--in his mirth His very laughter moves me oft to tears, And I have turned to hide them--for, in him, As Sunshine glittering o'er unburied bones---- Soft--he is here.----
Werner. Josepha--where is Ulric?
Josepha. Gone with the other stranger to gaze o'er These shattered corridors, and spread themselves A pillow with their mantles, in the least ruinous: I must replenish the diminished hearth 280 In the inner chamber--the repast is ready, And Ulric will be here again.--
THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED:
A DRAMA.
INTRODUCTION TO THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED.
The date of the original MS. of The Deformed Transformed is "Pisa, 1822." There is nothing to show in what month it was written, but it may be conjectured that it was begun and finished within the period which elapsed between the death of Allegra, April 20, and the death of Shelley, July 8, 1822. According to Medwin (Conversations, 1824, p. 227), an unfavourable criticism of Shelley's ("It is a bad imitation of Faust"), together with a discovery that "two entire lines" of Southey's--
"And water shall see thee, And fear thee, and flee thee"--
were imbedded in one of his "Songs," touched Byron so deeply that he "threw the poem into the fire," and concealed the existence of a second copy for more than two years. It is a fact that Byron's correspondence does not contain the remotest allusion to The Deformed Transformed; but, with regard to the plagiarism from Southey, in the play as written in 1822 there is neither Song nor Incantation which could have contained two lines from The Curse of Kehama.
As a dramatist, Byron's function, or métier, was twofold. In Manfred, in Cain, in Heaven and Earth, he is concerned with the analysis and evolution of metaphysical or ethical notions; in Marino Faliero, in Sardanapalus, and The Two Foscari, he set himself "to dramatize striking passages of history;" in The Deformed Transformed he sought to combine the solution of a metaphysical puzzle or problem, the relation of personality to individuality, with the scenic rendering of a striking historical episode, the Sack of Rome in 1527.
In the note or advertisement prefixed to the drama, Byron acknowledges that "the production" is founded partly on the story of a forgotten novel, The Three Brothers, and partly on "the Faust of the great Goethe."
Arnaud, or Julian, the hero of The Three Brothers (by Joshua Pickersgill, jun., 4 vols., 1803), "sells his soul to the Devil, and becomes an arch-fiend in order to avenge himself for the taunts of strangers on the deformity of his person" (see Gent. Mag., November, 1804, vol. 74, p. 1047; and post, pp. 473-479). The idea of an escape from natural bonds or disabilities by supernatural means and at the price of the soul or will, the un-Christlike surrender to the tempter, which is the grund-stoff of the Faust-legend, was brought home to Byron, in the first instance, not by Goethe, or Calderon, or Marlowe, but by Joshua Pickersgill. A fellow-feeling lent an intimate and peculiar interest to the theme. He had suffered all his life from a painful and inconvenient defect, which his proud and sensitive spirit had magnified into a deformity. He had been stung to the quick by his mother's taunts and his sweetheart's ridicule, by the jeers of the base and thoughtless, by slanderous and brutal paragraphs in newspapers. He could not forget that he was lame. If his enemies had but possessed the wit, they might have given him "the sobriquet of Le Diable Boiteux" (letter to Moore, April 2, 1823, Letters, 1901, vi. 179). It was no wonder that so poignant, so persistent a calamity should be "reproduced in his poetry" (Life, p. 13), or that his passionate impatience of such a "thorn in the flesh" should picture to itself a mysterious and unhallowed miracle of healing. It is true, as Moore says (Life, pp. 45, 306), that "the trifling deformity of his foot" was the embittering circumstance of his life, that it "haunted him like a curse;" but it by no means follows that he seriously regarded his physical peculiarity as a stamp of the Divine reprobation, that "he was possessed by an idée fixe that every blessing would be 'turned into a curse' to him" (letter of Lady Byron to H. C. Robinson, Diary, etc., 1869, in. 435, 436). No doubt he indulged himself in morbid fancies, played with the extravagances of a restless imagination, and wedded them to verse; but his intellect, "brooding like the day, a master o'er a slave," kept guard. He would never have pleaded on his own behalf that the tyranny of an idée fixe, a delusion that he was predestined to evil, was an excuse for his shortcomings or his sins.
Byron's very considerable obligations to The Three Brothers might have escaped notice, but the resemblance between his "Stranger," or "Cæsar," and the Mephistopheles of "the great Goethe" was open and palpable.
If Medwin may be trusted (Conversations, 1824, p. 210), Byron had read "Faust in a sorry French translation," and it is probable that Shelley's inspired rendering of "May-day Night," which was published in The Liberal (No. i., October 14, 1822, pp. 123-137), had been read to him, and had attracted his attention. The Deformed Transformed is "a Faustish kind of drama;" and Goethe, who maintained that Byron's play as a whole was "no imitation," but "new and original, close, genuine, and spirited," could not fail to perceive that "his devil was suggested by my Mephistopheles" (Conversations, 1874, p. 174). The tempter who cannot resist the temptation of sneering at his own wiles, who mocks for mocking's sake, is not Byron's creation, but Goethe's. Lucifer talked at the clergy, if he did not "talk like a clergyman;" but the "bitter hunchback," even when he is solus, sneers as the river wanders, "at his own sweet will." He is not a doctor, but a spirit of unbelief!
The second part of The Deformed Transformed represents, in three scenes, the Siege and Sack of Rome in 1527. Byron had read Robertson's Charles the Fifth (ed. 1798, ii. 313-329) in his boyhood (Life, p. 47), but it is on record that he had studied, more or less closely, the narratives of contemporary authorities. A note to The Prophecy of Dante (Poetical Works, 1901, iv. 258) refers to the Sacco di Roma, descritto da Luigi Guicciardini, and the Ragguaglio Storico ... sacco di Roma dell' anno MDXXVII. of Jacopo Buonaparte; and it is evident that he was familiar with Cellini's story of the marvellous gests and exploits quorum maxima pars fuit, which were wrought at "the walls by the Campo Santo," or on the ramparts of the Castle of San Angelo.
The Sack of Rome was a great national calamity, and it was something more: it was a profanation and a sacrilege. The literature which it evoked was a cry of anguish, a prophetic burden of despair. "Chants populaires," writes M. Emile Gebhart (De l'Italie, "Le Sac de Rome en 1527," 1876, pp. 267, sq.), "Nouvelles de Giraldi Cintio, en forme de Décaméron ... récits historiques ... de César Grollier, Dialogues anonymes ... poésies de Pasquin, toute une littérature se developpa sur ce thème douloureux.... Le Lamento di Roma, œuvre étrange, d'inspiration gibeline, rappelle les espérances politiques exprimées jadis par Dante ... 'Bien que César m'ait dépouilleé de liberté, nous avons toujours été d'accord dans une même volonté. Je ne me lamenterais pas si lui régnait; mais je crois qu'il est ressuscité, ou qu'il ressuscitera véritablement, car souvent un Ange m'a annoncé qu'un César viendrait me délivrer.'... Enfin, voici une chanson française que répétaient en repassant les monts les soldats du Marquis de Saluces:--
"Parlons de la déffaiete De ces pouvres Rommains, Aussi de la complainete De notre père saint.
"'O noble roy de France, Regarde en pitié L'Eglise en ballance ... Pour Dieu! ne tarde plus, C'est ta mère, ta substance; O fils, n'en faictz reffus.'"
"Le dernier monument," adds M. Gebhart, in a footnote, "de cette littérature, est le singulier drame de Byron, The Deformed Transformed, dont Jules César est le héros, et le Sac de Rome le cadre."
It is unlikely that Byron, who read everything he could lay his hands upon, and spared no trouble to master his "period," had not, either at first or second hand, acquainted himself with specimens of this popular literature. (For La Presa e Lamento di Roma, Romæ Lamentatio, etc., see Lamenti Storici dei Secoli xiv., xv. (Medin e Fratri), Scelta di Curiosità, etc., 235, 236, 237, Bologna, 1890, vol. iii. See, too, for "Chanson sur la Mort du Connétable de Bourbon," Recueil de Chants historiques français, par A. J. V. Le Roux de Lincy, 1842, ii. 99.)
The Deformed Transformed was published by John Hunt, February 20, 1824. A third edition appeared February 23, 1824.
It was reviewed, unfavourably, in the London Magazine, March, 1824, vol. 9, pp. 315-321; the Scots Magazine, March, 1824, N.S. vol. xiv. pp. 353-356; and in the Monthly Review, March, 1824, Enlarged Series, 103, pp. 321, 324. One reviewer, however (London Magazine), had the candour to admit that "Lord Byron may write below himself, but he can never write below us!"
For the unfinished third part, vide post, pp. 532-534.
ADVERTISEMENT
This production is founded partly on the story of a novel called "The Three Brothers[201]," published many years ago, from which M. G. Lewis's "Wood Demon"[202] was also taken; and partly on the "Faust" of the great Goethe. The present publication[203] contains the two first Parts only, and the opening chorus of the third. The rest may perhaps appear hereafter.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Stranger, afterwards Cæsar
Arnold.
Bourbon.
Philibert.
Cellini.
Bertha.
Olimpia.
_Spirits, Soldiers, Citizens of Rome, Priests, Peasants, etc._
THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED:[cv]
I. A Forest
Enter ARNOLD and his mother BERTHA.
Bert. Out, Hunchback!
Arn. I was born so, Mother![204]
Bert. Out, Thou incubus! Thou nightmare! Of seven sons, The sole abortion!
Arn. Would that I had been so, And never seen the light!
Bert. I would so, too! But as thou hast--hence, hence--and do thy best! That back of thine may bear its burthen; 'tis More high, if not so broad as that of others.
Arn. It bears its burthen;--but, my heart! Will it Sustain that which you lay upon it, Mother? I love, or, at the least, I loved you: nothing 10 Save You, in nature, can love aught like me. You nursed me--do not kill me!
Bert. Yes--I nursed thee, Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not If there would be another unlike thee, That monstrous sport of Nature. But get hence, And gather wood![205]
Arn. I will: but when I bring it, Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are So beautiful and lusty, and as free As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me: Our milk has been the same.
Bert. As is the hedgehog's, 20 Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds The nipple, next day, sore, and udder dry. Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out! [Exit BERTHA.
Arn. (solus). Oh, mother!--She is gone, and I must do Her bidding;--wearily but willingly I would fulfil it, could I only hope 30 A kind word in return. What shall I do?
[ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing this he wounds one of his hands.
My labour for the day is over now. Accursed be this blood that flows so fast; For double curses will be my meed now At home--What home? I have no home, no kin, No kind--not made like other creatures, or To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed, too, Like them? Oh, that each drop which falls to earth Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me! Or that the Devil, to whom they liken me, 40 Would aid his likeness! If I must partake[206] His form, why not his power? Is it because I have not his will too? For one kind word From her who bore me would still reconcile me Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash The wound.
[ARNOLD goes to a spring, and stoops to wash his hand: he starts back.
They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me, What she hath made me. I will not look on it Again, and scarce dare think on't. Hideous wretch That I am! The very waters mock me with 50 My horrid shadow--like a demon placed Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle From drinking therein. [He pauses. And shall I live on, A burden to the earth, myself, and shame Unto what brought me into life? Thou blood, Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me Try if thou wilt not, in a fuller stream, Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself On earth, to which I will restore, at once, This hateful compound of her atoms, and 60 Resolve back to her elements, and take The shape of any reptile save myself, And make a world for myriads of new worms! This knife! now let me prove if it will sever This withered slip of Nature's nightshade--my Vile form--from the creation, as it hath The green bough from the forest.
[ARNOLD places the knife in the ground, with the point upwards.
Now 'tis set, And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like Myself, and the sweet sun which warmed me, but 70 In vain. The birds--how joyously they sing! So let them, for I would not be lamented: But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell; The fallen leaves my monument; the murmur Of the near fountain my sole elegy. Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall!
[_As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, his eye is suddenly caught by the fountain, which seems in motion_.
The fountain moves without a wind: but shall The ripple of a spring change my resolve? No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir, Not as with air, but by some subterrane 80 And rocking Power of the internal world. What's here? A mist! No more?--
[A cloud comes from the fountain. He stands gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tall black man comes towards him.[207]
Arn. What would you? Speak! Spirit or man?
Stran. As man is both, why not Say both in one?
Arn. Your form is man's, and yet You may be devil.
Stran. So many men are that Which is so called or thought, that you may add me To which you please, without much wrong to either. But come: you wish to kill yourself;--pursue Your purpose.
Arn. You have interrupted me.
Stran. What is that resolution which can e'er 90 Be interrupted? If I be the devil You deem, a single moment would have made you Mine, and for ever, by your suicide; And yet my coming saves you.
Arn. I said not You were the Demon, but that your approach Was like one.
Stran. Unless you keep company With him (and you seem scarce used to such high Society) you can't tell how he approaches; And for his aspect, look upon the fountain, And then on me, and judge which of us twain 100 Looks likest what the boors believe to be Their cloven-footed terror.
Arn. Do you--dare you To taunt me with my born deformity?
Stran. Were I to taunt a buffalo with this Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary With thy Sublime of Humps, the animals Would revel in the compliment. And yet Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty In action and endurance than thyself, And all the fierce and fair of the same kind 110 With thee. Thy form is natural: 'twas only Nature's mistaken largess to bestow The gifts which are of others upon man.
Arn. Give me the strength then of the buffalo's foot,[cw] When he spurns high the dust, beholding his Near enemy; or let me have the long And patient swiftness of the desert-ship, The helmless dromedary!--and I'll bear[cx] Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience.
Stran. I will.
Arn. (with surprise). Thou canst?
Stran. Perhaps. Would you aught else? 120
Arn. Thou mockest me.
Stran. Not I. Why should I mock What all are mocking? That's poor sport, methinks. To talk to thee in human language (for Thou canst not yet speak mine), the forester Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar, Or wolf, or lion--leaving paltry game To petty burghers, who leave once a year Their walls, to fill their household cauldrons with Such scullion prey. The meanest gibe at thee,-- Now I can mock the mightiest.[cy]
Arn. Then waste not 130 Thy time on me: I seek thee not.
Stran. Your thoughts Are not far from me. Do not send me back: I'm not so easily recalled to do Good service.
Arn. What wilt thou do for me?
Stran. Change Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you; Or form you to your wish in any shape.
Arn. Oh! then you are indeed the Demon, for Nought else would wittingly wear mine.
Stran. I'll show thee The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee Thy choice.
Arn. On what condition?
Stran. There's a question! 140 An hour ago you would have given your soul To look like other men, and now you pause To wear the form of heroes.
Arn. No; I will not. I must not compromise my soul.
Stran. What soul, Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcase?
Arn. 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement In which it is mislodged. But name your compact: Must it be signed in blood?
Stran. Not in your own.
Arn. Whose blood then?
Stran. We will talk of that hereafter. But I'll be moderate with you, for I see 150 Great things within you. You shall have no bond But your own will, no contract save your deeds. Are you content?
Arn. I take thee at thy word.
Stran. Now then!-- [The Stranger approaches the fountain, and turns to ARNOLD.
A little of your blood.[208]
Arn. For what?
Stran. To mingle with the magic of the waters, And make the charm effective.
Arn. (holding out his wounded arm). Take it all.
Stran. Not now. A few drops will suffice for this.
[The Stranger takes some of ARNOLD'S blood in his hand, and casts it into the fountain.
Shadows of Beauty! Shadows of Power! Rise to your duty-- 160 This is the hour! Walk lovely and pliant[cz] From the depth of this fountain, As the cloud-shapen giant Bestrides the Hartz Mountain.[209] Come as ye were, That our eyes may behold The model in air Of the form I will mould, Bright as the Iris 170 When ether is spanned;-- Such his desire is, [Pointing to ARNOLD. Such my command![da] Demons heroic-- Demons who wore The form of the Stoic Or sophist of yore-- Or the shape of each victor-- From Macedon's boy, To each high Roman's picture, 180 Who breathed to destroy-- Shadows of Beauty! Shadows of Power! Up to your duty-- This is the hour!
[Various phantoms arise from the waters, and pass in succession before the Stranger and ARNOLD.
Arn. What do I see?
Stran. The black-eyed Roman,[210] with The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er Beheld a conqueror, or looked along The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became His, and all theirs who heired his very name. 190
Arn. The phantom's bald; my quest is beauty. Could I Inherit but his fame with his defects!
Stran. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs.[211] You see his aspect--choose it, or reject. I can but promise you his form; his fame Must be long sought and fought for.
Arn. I will fight, too, But not as a mock Cæsar. Let him pass: His aspect may be fair, but suits me not.
Stran. Then you are far more difficult to please Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus's mother, 200 Or Cleopatra at sixteen[212]--an age When love is not less in the eye than heart. But be it so! Shadow, pass on! [The phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears.
Arn. And can it Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone,[db] And left no footstep?
Stran. There you err. His substance Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame More than enough to track his memory; But for his shadow--'tis no more than yours, Except a little longer and less crooked I' the sun. Behold another! [A second phantom passes.
Arn. Who is he? 210
Stran. He was the fairest and the bravest of Athenians.[213] Look upon him well.
Arn. He is More lovely than the last. How beautiful!
Stran. Such was the curled son of Clinias;--wouldst thou Invest thee with his form?
Arn. Would that I had Been born with it! But since I may choose further, I will look further. [The shade of Alcibiades disappears.
Stran. Lo! behold again!
Arn. What! that low, swarthy, short-nosed, round-eyed satyr, With the wide nostrils and Silenus' aspect, The splay feet and low stature![214] I had better 220 Remain that which I am.
Stran. And yet he was The earth's perfection of all mental beauty, And personification of all virtue. But you reject him?
Arn. If his form could bring me That which redeemed it--no.
Stran. I have no power To promise that; but you may try, and find it Easier in such a form--or in your own.
Arn. No. I was not born for philosophy, Though I have that about me which has need on't. Let him fleet on.
Stran. Be air, thou Hemlock-drinker! 230 [The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises.
Arn. What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard And manly aspect look like Hercules,[215] Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus Than the sad purger of the infernal world, Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,[216] As if he knew the worthlessness of those For whom he had fought.
Stran. It was the man who lost The ancient world for love.
Arn. I cannot blame him, Since I have risked my soul because I find not That which he exchanged the earth for.
Stran. Since so far 240 You seem congenial, will you wear his features?
Arn. No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult. If but to see the heroes I should ne'er Have seen else, on this side of the dim shore, Whence they float back before us.
Stran. Hence, Triumvir, Thy Cleopatra's waiting. [The shade of Antony disappears: another rises.
Arn. Who is this? Who truly looketh like a demigod, Blooming and bright, with golden hair, and stature, If not more high than mortal, yet immortal In all that nameless bearing of his limbs, 250 Which he wears as the Sun his rays--a something Which shines from him, and yet is but the flashing Emanation of a thing more glorious still. Was he e'er human only?[217]
Stran. Let the earth speak, If there be atoms of him left, or even Of the more solid gold that formed his urn.
Arn. Who was this glory of mankind?
Stran. The shame Of Greece in peace, her thunderbolt in war-- Demetrius the Macedonian, and Taker of cities.
Arn. Yet one shadow more. 260
Stran. (addressing the shadow). Get thee to Lamia's lap! [The shade of Demetrius Poliorcetes vanishes: another rises. I'll fit you still, Fear not, my Hunchback: if the shadows of That which existed please not your nice taste, I'll animate the ideal marble, till Your soul be reconciled to her new garment
Arn. Content! I will fix here.
Stran. I must commend Your choice. The godlike son of the sea-goddess, The unshorn boy of Peleus, with his locks As beautiful and clear as the amber waves Of rich Pactolus, rolled o'er sands of gold, 270 Softened by intervening crystal, and Rippled like flowing waters by the wind, All vowed to Sperchius[218] as they were--behold them! And him--as he stood by Polixena, With sanctioned and with softened love, before The altar, gazing on his Trojan bride, With some remorse within for Hector slain And Priam weeping, mingled with deep passion For the sweet downcast virgin, whose young hand Trembled in his who slew her brother. So 280 He stood i' the temple! Look upon him as Greece looked her last upon her best, the instant Ere Paris' arrow flew.
Arn. I gaze upon him As if I were his soul, whose form shall soon Envelope mine.
Stran. You have done well. The greatest Deformity should only barter with The extremest beauty--if the proverb's true Of mortals, that Extremes meet.
Arn. Come! Be quick! I am impatient.
Stran. As a youthful beauty Before her glass. You both see what is not, 290 But dream it is what must be.
Arn. Must I wait?
Stran. No; that were a pity. But a word or two: His stature is twelve cubits; would you so far Outstep these times, and be a Titan? Or (To talk canonically) wax a son Of Anak?
Arn. Why not?
Stran. Glorious ambition! I love thee most in dwarfs! A mortal of Philistine stature would have gladly pared His own Goliath down to a slight David: But thou, my manikin, wouldst soar a show 300 Rather than hero. Thou shalt be indulged, If such be thy desire; and, yet, by being A little less removed from present men In figure, thou canst sway them more; for all Would rise against thee now, as if to hunt A new-found Mammoth; and their curséd engines, Their culverins, and so forth, would find way Through our friend's armour there, with greater ease Than the Adulterer's arrow through his heel Which Thetis had forgotten to baptize 310 In Styx.
Arn. Then let it be as thou deem'st best.
Stran. Thou shalt be beauteous as the thing thou seest, And strong as what it was, and----
Arn. I ask not For Valour, since Deformity is daring.[219] It is its essence to o'ertake mankind By heart and soul, and make itself the equal-- Aye, the superior of the rest. There is A spur in its halt movements, to become All that the others cannot, in such things As still are free to both, to compensate 320 For stepdame Nature's avarice at first. They woo with fearless deeds the smiles of fortune, And oft, like Timour the lame Tartar,[220] win them.
Stran. Well spoken! And thou doubtless wilt remain Formed as thou art. I may dismiss the mould Of shadow, which must turn to flesh, to incase This daring soul, which could achieve no less Without it.
Arn. Had no power presented me The possibility of change, I would Have done the best which spirit may to make 330 Its way with all Deformity's dull, deadly, Discouraging weight upon me, like a mountain, In feeling, on my heart as on my shoulders-- A hateful and unsightly molehill to The eyes of happier men. I would have looked On Beauty in that sex which is the type Of all we know or dream of beautiful, Beyond the world they brighten, with a sigh-- Not of love, but despair; nor sought to win, Though to a heart all love, what could not love me 340 In turn, because of this vile crookéd clog, Which makes me lonely. Nay, I could have borne It all, had not my mother spurned me from her. The she-bear licks her cubs into a sort Of shape;--my Dam beheld my shape was hopeless. Had she exposed me, like the Spartan, ere I knew the passionate part of life, I had Been a clod of the valley,--happier nothing Than what I am. But even thus--the lowest, Ugliest, and meanest of mankind--what courage 350 And perseverance could have done, perchance Had made me something--as it has made heroes Of the same mould as mine. You lately saw me Master of my own life, and quick to quit it; And he who is so is the master of Whatever dreads to die.
Stran. Decide between What you have been, or will be.
Arn. I have done so. You have opened brighter prospects to my eyes, And sweeter to my heart. As I am now, I might be feared--admired--respected--loved 360 Of all save those next to me, of whom I Would be belovéd. As thou showest me A choice of forms, I take the one I view. Haste! haste!
Stran. And what shall I wear?
Arn. Surely, he Who can command all forms will choose the highest, Something superior even to that which was Pelides now before us. Perhaps his Who slew him, that of Paris: or--still higher-- The Poet's God, clothed in such limbs as are Themselves a poetry.
Stran. Less will content me; 370 For I, too, love a change.
Arn. Your aspect is Dusky, but not uncomely.[221]
Stran. If I chose, I might be whiter; but I have a penchant For black--it is so honest, and, besides, Can neither blush with shame nor pale with fear; But I have worn it long enough of late, And now I'll take your figure.
Arn. Mine!
Stran. Yes. You Shall change with Thetis' son, and I with Bertha, Your mother's offspring. People have their tastes; You have yours--I mine.
Arn. Despatch! despatch!
Stran. Even so. 380
[_The Stranger takes some earth and moulds it along the turf, and then addresses the phantom of Achilles_.
Beautiful shadow Of Thetis's boy! Who sleeps in the meadow Whose grass grows o'er Troy: From the red earth, like Adam,[222] Thy likeness I shape, As the Being who made him, Whose actions I ape. Thou Clay, be all glowing, Till the Rose in his cheek 390 Be as fair as, when blowing, It wears its first streak! Ye Violets, I scatter, Now turn into eyes! And thou, sunshiny Water, Of blood take the guise! Let these Hyacinth boughs Be his long flowing hair, And wave o'er his brows, As thou wavest in air! 400 Let his heart be this marble I tear from the rock! But his voice as the warble Of birds on yon oak! Let his flesh be the purest Of mould, in which grew The Lily-root surest, And drank the best dew! Let his limbs be the lightest Which clay can compound, 410 And his aspect the brightest On earth to be found! Elements, near me, Be mingled and stirred, Know me, and hear me, And leap to my word! Sunbeams, awaken This earth's animation![dc] 'Tis done! He hath taken His stand in creation! 420
[ARNOLD falls senseless; his soul passes into the shape of Achilles, which rises from the ground; while the phantom has disappeared, part by part, as the figure was formed from the earth.
Arn. (in his new form). I love, and I shall be beloved! Oh, life! At last I feel thee! Glorious Spirit!
Stran. Stop! What shall become of your abandoned garment, Yon hump, and lump, and clod of ugliness, Which late you wore, or were?
Arn. Who cares? Let wolves And vultures take it, if they will.
Stran. And if They do, and are not scared by it, you'll say It must be peace-time, and no better fare Abroad i' the fields.
Arn. Let us but leave it there; No matter what becomes on't.
Stran. That's ungracious; 430 If not ungrateful. Whatsoe'er it be, It hath sustained your soul full many a day.
Arn. Aye, as the dunghill may conceal a gem Which is now set in gold, as jewels should be.
Stran. But if I give another form, it must be By fair exchange, not robbery. For they[223] Who make men without women's aid have long Had patents for the same, and do not love Your Interlopers. The Devil may take men,[dd] Not make them,--though he reap the benefit 440 Of the original workmanship:--and therefore Some one must be found to assume the shape You have quitted.
Arn. Who would do so?
Stran. That I know not, And therefore I must.
Arn. You!
Stran. I said it ere You inhabited your present dome of beauty.
Arn. True. I forget all things in the new joy Of this immortal change.
Stran. In a few moments I will be as you were, and you shall see Yourself for ever by you, as your shadow.
Arn. I would be spared this.
Stran. But it cannot be. 450 What! shrink already, being what you are, From seeing what you were?
Arn. Do as thou wilt.
Stran. (to the late form of ARNOLD, extended on the earth). Clay! not dead, but soul-less! Though no man would choose thee, An Immortal no less Deigns not to refuse thee. Clay thou art; and unto spirit All clay is of equal merit. Fire! without which nought can live; Fire! but in which nought can live, 460 Save the fabled salamander, Or immortal souls, which wander, Praying what doth not forgive, Howling for a drop of water, Burning in a quenchless lot: Fire! the only element Where nor fish, beast, bird, nor worm, Save the Worm which dieth not, Can preserve a moment's form, But must with thyself be blent: 470 Fire! man's safeguard and his slaughter: Fire! Creation's first-born Daughter, And Destruction's threatened Son, When Heaven with the world hath done: Fire! assist me to renew Life in what lies in my view Stiff and cold! His resurrection rests with me and you! One little, marshy spark of flame--[224] And he again shall seem the same; 480 But I his Spirit's place shall hold!
[An ignis-fatuus flits through the wood and rests on the brow of the body. The Stranger disappears: the body rises.
Arn. (in his new form). Oh! horrible!
Stran. (in ARNOLD'S late shape). What! tremblest thou?
Arn. Not so-- I merely shudder. Where is fled the shape Thou lately worest?
Stran. To the world of shadows. But let us thread the present. Whither wilt thou?
Arn. Must thou be my companion?
Stran. Wherefore not? Your betters keep worse company.
Arn. My betters!
Stran. Oh! you wax proud, I see, of your new form: I'm glad of that. Ungrateful too! That's well; You improve apace;--two changes in an instant, 490 And you are old in the World's ways already. But bear with me: indeed you'll find me useful Upon your pilgrimage. But come, pronounce Where shall we now be errant?
Arn. Where the World Is thickest, that I may behold it in Its workings.
Stran. That's to say, where there is War And Woman in activity. Let's see! Spain--Italy--the new Atlantic world[225]-- Afric with all its Moors. In very truth, There is small choice: the whole race are just now 500 Tugging as usual at each other's hearts.
Arn. I have heard great things of Rome.
Stran. A goodly choice-- And scarce a better to be found on earth, Since Sodom was put out. The field is wide too; For now the Frank, and Hun, and Spanish scion Of the old Vandals, are at play along The sunny shores of the World's garden.
Arn. How Shall we proceed?
Stran. Like gallants, on good coursers. What, ho! my chargers! Never yet were better, Since Phaeton was upset into the Po[226]. 510 Our pages too!
Enter two Pages, with four coal-black horses.
Arn. A noble sight!
Stran. And of A nobler breed. Match me in Barbary, Or your Kochlini race of Araby[de][227], With these!
Arn. The mighty steam, which volumes high From their proud nostrils, burns the very air; And sparks of flame, like dancing fire-flies wheel Around their manes, as common insects swarm Round common steeds towards sunset.
Stran. Mount, my lord: They and I are your servitors.
Arn. And these Our dark-eyed pages--what may be their names? 520
Stran. You shall baptize them.
Arn. What! in holy water?
Stran. Why not? The deeper sinner, better saint.
Arn. They are beautiful, and cannot, sure, be demons.
Stran. True; the devil's always ugly: and your beauty Is never diabolical.
Arn. I'll call him Who bears the golden horn, and wears such bright And blooming aspect, Huon;[228] for he looks Like to the lovely boy lost in the forest, And never found till now. And for the other And darker, and more thoughtful, who smiles not, 530 But looks as serious though serene as night, He shall be Memnon[229], from the Ethiop king Whose statue turns a harper once a day. And you?
Stran. I have ten thousand names, and twice As many attributes; but as I wear A human shape, will take a human name.
Arn. More human than the shape (though it was mine once) I trust.
Stran. Then call me Cæsar.
Arn. Why, that name Belongs to Empire, and has been but borne By the World's lords.
Stran. And therefore fittest for 540 The Devil in disguise--since so you deem me, Unless you call me Pope instead.
Arn. Well, then, Cæsar thou shalt be. For myself, my name Shall be plain Arnold still.
Cæs. We'll add a title[df]-- "Count Arnold:" it hath no ungracious sound, And will look well upon a billet-doux.
Arn. Or in an order for a battle-field.
Cæs. (sings). To horse! to horse! my coal-black steed Paws the ground and snuffs the air! There's not a foal of Arab's breed 550 More knows whom he must bear; On the hill he will not tire, Swifter as it waxes higher; In the marsh he will not slacken, On the plain be overtaken; In the wave he will not sink, Nor pause at the brook's side to drink; In the race he will not pant, In the combat he'll not faint; On the stones he will not stumble, 560 Time nor toil shall make him humble; In the stall he will not stiffen, But be wingèd as a Griffin, Only flying with his feet: And will not such a voyage be sweet? Merrily! merrily! never unsound, Shall our bonny black horses skim over the ground! From the Alps to the Caucasus, ride we, or fly! For we'll leave them behind in the glance of an eye. [They mount their horses, and disappear.