University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—The Outskirts of General Torstenson's Camp.
Enter Rodolph, Gerold, Lodowick, and others.—Soldiers dragging in Joseph.
Ger.
He is a spy!

Lod.
Drag him along to the guard.
Let him be tried at once and executed.

Ger.
Nay, kill him without trial. He's a Jew
Blasphemer, reprobate, extortioner!

Jos.
Nay, sirs; but hear me!

Rod.
Hear him.—Let him speak.
Give him fair play.

Ger.
Fair play, and to a Jew!

Jos.
You give a thief fair play—a murderer—
And why not me, who neither kill nor steal?

Ger.
Not steal!

Rod.
Have patience!

Jos.
Have I stolen from you?
What have you lost, to lay to my account?
Is it your charity—I have it not;
But I will spare you some of mine! Perhaps
The stock to serve a Christian may be small,
Yet such as 'tis, it would not let me use
A Christian, though a thief or murderer,
As you use me!

Ger.
You hear him! Leave him, sirs,
To me. I'll do his business!

Jos.
A brave man!

Ger.
Leave him to me, sirs; I account a Jew
But as I would a rat!

Jos.
Obey him, sirs.
Let go your hold of me, and loose the rat,
Before that dog! I have known a cur to turn
Before as small a thing! I mean it, sirs.
But as you leave a rat to use his teeth,
Nor arm the dog you set upon a rat,
So that, whate'er the odds, 'tis bite 'gainst bite,—
Give me equality of weapons too,
Hand against hand, at large, and arm'd or not,
And see, if, be the Jew indeed a rat,
The Christian nearer doth approach the man!

Rod.
The Jew has fairly said.

Jos.
Will fairly do,
Give him fair play! Sirs, you are Christian men!
A Christian father lies in jeopardy
In Prague—a reverend teacher of your faith.
Man hath summ'd up his days; the number's out
On Saturday, unless Heaven sends him aid;
He has an only daughter, who essays
To succour him, and spies salvation here,
But cannot come to bring't—a Christian too—
So she must send for't; and thereto employs
A friend, whose counsel, coffers, roof, hands, blood,
She has, and welcome too, at her command;
And Christian men—You, sirs!—won't suffer him
To do her will, because he is a Jew!

Ger.
We knew not this!

Jos.
You would not know it, sirs!
You would not hear me!—would not let me speak!
Laid you not hands upon me one and all?
Vied you not in reviling me? with death
Did you not threaten me, nor till now give time,
To put a word of deprecation in,
Because I am a Jew!

Lod.
We have wrong'd the Jew.

Ger.
I fear we have.

Rod.
Nay, sirs, I know we have,
So let's ask pardon of the honest man.

Jos.
Ask me no pardon—It is given, ere ask'd.
A venial fault 's atoned for, when 'tis own'd.
And pray you, sirs, if you have friends yourselves—
As friends, however fenced in this world, lie
Within the leap of danger—bring me straight
To one call'd Roselheim, who beareth rank
Among your forces.

Rod.
Here the very man
Comes, as he knew your need. You'll not complain?

Jos.
I never break my word, although a Jew.
[Rodolph and the rest go out
Enter Rupert, Madame Roselheim, and Esther.
Do I not speak to Major Roselheim?

Rup.
You have named me, friend!

Jos.
Thanks, sir, to call me so.

Rup.
You have an errand for me—have you not?

Jos.
Yes; but a messenger more welcome far
Than I, this letter, sir, will tell it you—
I say more welcome—though it brings bad news.

Mad. Ros.
From Meeta, is it not?

Rup.
Yes, mother.

Mad. Ros.
What
Says Meeta?

Rup.
Presently!—I'll tell you all
Anon!

Mad. Ros.
I read the letter in your face;
The old man's doom is seal'd,—not quite, but yet
Almost as sure?

Rup.
You have guess'd it, mother.

Mad. Ros.
Rupert,
Is there no chance for him?

Rup.
There is a chance.

Mad. Ros.
What is't, my son?

Rup.
I may not tell you, madam.

Mad. Ros.
Were it a breach of confidence?

Rup.
No, mother,—
Of duty only. Movements, which are language
To a soldier, give me hopes, and these I am free
To share with you, and do so—not their cause.

Mad. Ros.
Tell me his plight in every circumstance.

Rup.
Learn it in one, he dies within two days,
Unless—

Mad. Ros.
What, Rupert?

Rup.
Learn the rest from hope!
Mother, you said the Governor of Prague
Was schoolfellow and choice comrade of my father,
From boyhood even to majority,—
That golden age of life, when hearts that join
Are riveted by metal, weatherproof,
That shines and keeps, while those it holds decay.
You would have sent to him; nay, gone yourself;
But, save in extreme need, I would not have it.
Send now—indite a letter—state your claim,
And crave delay to the last fraction
Of time that duty will allow—and let
Our Esther be the bearer, under guidance
Of this good man. Come there no other profit,
'Twill place her nearer Meeta—should she need her.
She ne'er divines my care had conn'd this news.
[Aside.
Before this herald brought it.

Mad. Ros.
Esther!

Esther.
Madam?

Mad. Ros.
Fear you to go to Prague?

Esther.
To no place, madam,
For you.

Mad. Ros.
'Tis with a letter to the Governor.

Esther.
I'll take it, madam: I'll do anything
To leave the camp.

Mad. Ros.
Why, what's the matter, Esther?

Esther.
That boy—that Hans, is going fast to ruin.
Before they stop, they'll make a soldier of him.
Already has he got their swagger, madam;
Drinks, swears,—yes, madam, on my life he does!
I'll never take the poor lad home again
The simple thing he was.

Mad. Ros.
Then, Esther, take
The boy along with you.

Esther.
I thank you, madam!—
Not that I care for Hans; but innocence
Is a rare thing, and should not be corrupted,
While those who know its value can prevent it.
So as you think it right that the poor lad
Be placed in safety, while it can avail him,
I'll take him with me, madam.

Mad. Ros.
Do so, Esther;
Go, find him straight, then come at once to me.

[Goes out.
Rup.
I have a charge for thee, concerning Meeta;
But this at once—should any one you love
Remain in Prague on Friday night, take care
They keep the house. You understand me, Esther?

Esther.
Humph! Yes, I think I do! But where is Hans?
Upon my life, I quite forget myself
With care for him. It fits not he and I
Should go together, and be nothing more
Than Hans and Esther! I have quite forgot
Appearances. And what will people say?
Here's a dilemma! If I leave the lad
Behind me, he is ruin'd. They'll be putting,
'Mongst other things, sweethearts into his head.
And I am ruin'd if I take him with me,
And he no right to me, nor I to him!
I could not pass him for my brother—None
Would credit that the selfsame mother bore us!
'Tis out of nature he could be my son.
What shall I do for sake of the poor lad?
There's no contrivance I can hit upon,
But to make Hans my husband. Well-a-day!
To think that ever it should come to this;
But, if it can't be help'd, as well be done
To-day as this day year. 'Tis very plain
I must be sacrificed, or Hans be lost,—
And that were cruelty—That must not be!
And so my mind's made up! I'll marry him!