University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—The Fortress of Prague—A Room.
Gen. Kleiner
[without].
Wait you without.

Adol.
[without].
We will, sir.

Gen. Kle.
[without].
Idenstein,
Keep guard upon her.

Iden.
[without].
There's no need, sir.

Gen. Kle.
No—
A wife most docile—let her have her way!
[Enters with the Lieutenant-Governor.
Bring here the prisoner. Do not say 'tis I
That want to see him, nor apprise him how
I am accompanied—
[Lieutenant-Governor goes out.
I had hoped this task
Would have been wholly spared me,—so relapse
Of consciousness succeeded to relapse,
When nature once gave way, till nearly half
The interval that spares him life was out.
But she recovers and at once demands
Fulfilment of my word.—What now my course?
A veteran take the field without a plan—
Or take the field at all with mutiny
In the ranks! How come I here? What brought me here?
A regiment of foot, or horse, or what?
Can I believe I came of mine own will?
With aid of mine own limbs, when I would be
A thousand miles away? I must be mad,—
I, that can't bear to see a caged bird!
Mad for a hundred ducats! I would give
That sum—ay, twice as much, to any one,
Would bind me hand and foot and take me hence!

[Re-enter Lieutenant, with Muhldenau.
Lieut.
The prisoner.

Gen. Kle.
Leave us, good Lieutenant. [Lieutenant goes out.]
Sir—

Muhl.
Your pleasure?

Gen. Kle.
Pleasure, sir? I have no pleasure!
I'm an unhappy man, that with the power
To do his pleasure, cannot do it, sir.
I know the track I ought to take, and would,
Yet always go the way that's contrary.
Sir, were a fever next door to me, and
I knew removing further would prevent me
From taking it, I would remove next door!
There is in some men a fatality
That knowledge is more loss than profit to them;
For what appears their bane as clear as day,
Is ever sure to be the thing they do,—
As sight of a descending shell, 'tis known,
Will fix the man, who sees it, to the spot,
Where he is sure to die, with limbs at large
As his that walks or runs.

Muhl.
I know you, sir!
The gracious man they took me first before,
Who pitied me; with patient audience heard me;
Enjoin'd them gently to entreat me, and,
Far as their duty warranted, to make
The pains of bondage light.

Gen. Kle.
Have they obey'd me?

Muhl.
They have.

Gen. Kle.
You want no comforts they can give you?

Muhl.
They have done all they could to comfort me,
And Heaven has done the rest. I am to die
On Saturday—I ask'd not at what hour?
Will't please you tell me, sir?

Gen. Kle.
Sir?

Muhl.
I perceive
It gives you pain to do't. Don't heed, for me—
He feels not death that uses life to die!
The hour, sir?

Gen. Kle.
Nine o'clock.

Muhl.
What kind of death
Am I to suffer?

Gen. Kle.
Sir?

Muhl.
I merely ask,
Because there's something in the form of death
To poor humanity, however brave
To meet it. I would know it ere it comes,—
Look at it—meet it with accustom'd eye,—
Not to be startled by it at the time
I should be all myself—not that I trust
In my own strength—I have a firmer stay.
What death am I to die?—Is't by the sword?

Gen. Kle.
It is!

Muhl.
I'm sorry, sir, to give you pain.

Gen. Kle.
Sir, I can fight!—I love the fight. I think
The blast of a trumpet music!—Beat a drum
In concert with the shrill throat of fife,
And my heart dances!—It is mirth to me
To hear the running roar of musketry
From wing to wing, along the blazing line!
And when the cannon thunders, clap on clap,
So thick, there's not a breath of pause between,
I tower as I myself could rule the bolts!
I have seen death on every side of me,
And given it not a thought! I have ta'en wounds,
And never felt them, in the battle's heat!
But I can't bear to look upon a man
About to die, and in cold blood! I own
I am a coward there! Forgive me, sir!
Have you a friend, sir, whom you wish to see?

Muhl.
Is there one near me? You're a merciful,
Considerate man—you would not, idly, raise a hope—
You would not raise but to kill it straight!
Sir, I had learn'd to think a boundary,
'Twixt me and all things living 'neath the sun,
Was drawn, and no more to be cross'd by me
Than the dark frontier of the grave, once pass'd!
But you have breathed a word, and it is gone!
I have a child, sir!—If she knows my plight,
She's here in Prague!—she's at my prison-door!
Is she?—Is it of her you speak?—That sob—
In the next room! Is it my daughter's heart
That's bursting there?—Is it?—My Meeta!—Come!—
Thou know'st thy father!—Fear not for him—Come!
He has strength enough to bear the sight of thee;
But not to want it longer, when he thinks
Thou'rt near him! Come to him! Come—Come! my child!

[Meeta enters, rushing into her father's arms; Adolpha and Idenstein following.
Meeta.
You bear it, father!—See!—and so do I!
O, I was right!—No door that man can shut,
But Heaven can open! Day succeeded day!
In vain chance, chance; and mock'd me still! Yet, spite of all,
I cherish'd hope, nor suffer'd it to dwindle;
And 'tis fulfill'd! I have pass'd your prison-door!
I see you!—hear you!—I am in your arms!

[Muhldenau and Meeta retire.
Gen. Kle.
What can Adolpha mean, and Idenstein?
What can they be about? What do they mean
By staying here? Why don't they call me hence?
How cool they stand!—How very cool!—while I
Am writhing!—Ay!—A pair of callous hearts!
They would be thought to weep—and if they do,
They like it! Cough, and seem to wipe your eyes!
Do! Can't you go, if you can't bear it? Don't
You know there is a door? and can't you go,
And take me with you?—Idenstein!—Adolpha!

Adol.
Sir!

Gen. Kle.
Madam!

Iden.
General!

Gen. Kle.
Sir!—I hope you're pleased?

Adol.
At what, dear sir?

Gen. Kle.
To see two human hearts
Bleeding, that you stay here as you were wood,
Or lead, or stone, instead of flesh and blood!

Adol.
We thought your duty, sir—

Gen. Kle.
My duty!—Pshaw!
You know you never let me do my duty!

Adol.
We will withdraw, if you will let us, father!

Gen. Kle.
“Let us!”—You never do but what you're let!

[General Kleiner, Idenstein, and Adolpha, move softly towards the door.
Muhl.
Who is that?

Meeta.
Which?

Muhl.
She that's moving towards the door!

Meeta.
The lady that obtain'd admittance for me.

Muhl.
Bid her stop!

Meeta.
My father?

Muhl.
Lady, stop! The face,
Well as the form!—I saw thy mother's form,
And now I see her face! Do you not see
Your mother?

Meeta.
Father, you forget—She died
When I was but an infant!

Muhl.
True!—You're right!
I had forgot! Then see your mother now—
As she was at your age, Meeta!—Yes!—my child!

Meeta.
Sir!—Father!—'tis the daughter of the Governor!

Iden.
His mind is shaken by imprisonment!

Muhl.
No, sir! my heart is struck!—struck by the form
And face of one that's dead—long dead—yet stands
Alive again before me!

Meeta.
Dearest father,
It is the daughter of the Governor.
The Governor that's there!

Muhl.
I beg her pardon,
I beg her pardon, Meeta, yet I feel,
As I were asking pardon of my child.
Sir, were those eyes your wife's?—Those perfect arches,
As though Art set a copy unto Nature,
To try her cunning!—and that domy forehead
Of feeling, speaking marble!—and the rest
O' the features, with the form therewith consorting!
Were they your wife's? If so, they once belong'd
To mine!—I cannot look on her and think
She's not my child.

[Turns up.
Iden.
Why are you lost, Adolpha?

[Aside.
Adol.
I cannot help it! I am strangely moved.

[Aside.
Iden.
At what, my love?

Adol.
[aloud].
To hear a father's voice,
As never did it sound to me before!

Muhl.
What saidst thou, Meeta?

Meeta.
'Twas the lady spoke.

Muhl.
The voice too! It recalls to me my home,
As from my hearth it came—my very hearth!
But she's the daughter of the Governor!

[Retires to the back of the stage, and sits.
Meeta.
As drops his heart the hope, mine takes it up!

Gen. Kle.
Idenstein—

Iden.
Sir—

Gen. Kle.
Let us go.

Iden.
Adolpha!

Meeta.
Stop!
No!—Not a trait! No more resembles him
Than I!—while as I look at her, methinks,
Touches, as of a face I can't recall,
Yet feel as once I knew, start forth from it!
You're troubled, sir—nor yet are you at ease,
[To Idenstein.
So many tokens call him owner, yet
The precious thing that bears them not his own!
Incredible! impossible—my heart
Protests against it!—yearns for her! cries out
She's his and mine, and will not be gainsaid!
Are you the daughter of the Governor?

Adol.
I am—I am his only child!—

Meeta.
You are!
I kiss your hand and ask your pardon! but—
What scar is this upon your wrist?—No knife
Could make this wound, and in your father's house
How came you by it? Was it by a knife?

Adol.
No, by a sword.

Meeta.
When?

Adol.
When I was an infant.

Meeta.
Where?

Adol.
At the siege of Magdeburg!

Meeta.
The siege
Of Magdeburg! How came you there?

Adol.
I know not.

Meeta.
[To General Kleiner.]
Sir, are you—
Are you her father?—Is he, her father? [To Idenstein]
—Both
Look doubt at one another! Providence!
What can this mean? Why are you silent, sir?
If she you call your daughter—Look at me!
Don't turn away!—If she you call your child
Was in the siege of Magdeburg, I lost
A sister there.—Is this she? O, a word
To save my heart from bursting! Her nurse, whose hand
I held by, carried her,—a soldier seized
The woman by the hair—

Gen. Kle.
I smote him down,
And saved the child! [Muhldenau rushing forward, throws himself at the Governor's feet, clasping his knees.]


Meeta.
'Tis she! She's ours! She's found! My sister!

Muhl.
Meeta!
Thy sister! What! in one another's arms!
Give her to me!

Meeta.
Here, take her to thy heart!
Into it, father!—Sister!—Father!—Heaven!

[Muhldenau and Adolpha embrace—Meeta rushes up to them, and kneeling, clasps them both.—Act ends.