University of Virginia Library

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
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,
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
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
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
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,
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.

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,
Gallop o'er the west drawbridge.

Enter Ulric, splendidly dressed.
Sieg.
(to Ludwig).
[Exit Ludwig.

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:
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
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,
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
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
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)
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.
[The Attendant introduces Gabor, and afterwards exit.

Gab.
'Tis then Werner!

Sieg.
(haughtily).
The same you knew, sir, by that name; and you!

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—
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!

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,
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,
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.
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
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;
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,
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
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
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,
“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,
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
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
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:
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
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
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,
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.

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.
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,
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
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
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
Be put to rest with Stralenheim, there are
Some tongues without will wag in my behalf.
Be brief in your decision!

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?

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?
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
Sir 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! who have ever
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!

[Exit into the turret, closing the door after him.