 | Königsmark : the legend of the hounds and other poems |  |
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KÖNIGSMARK:
A TRAGEDY.
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- Ernest Augustus, Elector of Hanover.
- Prince George Louis, His eldest son.
- Prince Maximilian, A younger son.
- Count Philip Königsmark, Colonel of the Guard.
- Count von Platen, Prime Minister to Ernest.
- Baumain, Captain of the Guard.
- Page, To Countess von Platen.
- Sophia Dorothea, Wife to Prince George.
- Countess von Platen, Favorite of the Elector.
- Madam Wreyké, Her sister.
- Countess von Knesebeck, Maid of Honor to Sophia.
- Lords, Ladies, Guards, Attendants, etc.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
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ACT I.
SCENE. A Hall in the Electoral Palace. Enter Countess Von Platen and Madam Wreyke.COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
In love? I doubt it. If you mean by love
That rare, unselfish passion which confounds
The sage's logic and the poet's art;
That sweet religion of the heart which makes
Martyrs of men and saints of women. No;
Once in a century the aloe blows;
Once in a century humanity
Is topped by such a flower. He is a man
Less likely to affect a single woman,
Because so readily impressed by all.
Trust not his pliant nature. You may mould
The treacherous clay to any shape: the gem
Takes but one form, and keeps it.
MADAM WREYKE.
How is this?
A month ago he was your paragon,
Your flower of constancy. If Königsmark
Were false to you, to love, to anything,
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And earth, air, ocean and their multitudes
Were one stupendous fraud!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Yet he was false.
When I believed most, I was most deceived.
He acted—there's his secret—he portrayed
All that love should be to my listening heart.
Poor fool, that stormed applause at every scene;
Laughed at his humor, at his pathos wept,
And thought his mimicry was real. At last
The curtain fell; and I went out of doors,
Into the midnight, desolate, alone.
He used me for his ends. Upon my heart
He set his foot, and vaulted into power,
Reckless of that which bled beneath his spurn.
What office holds he that was not my gift,
Wrung by hard labor from the grudging hand
Of the Elector?
MADAM WREYKE.
You forgive him?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I!
I hate him deeper than I dare to tell.
Day after day his Countship trips me by,
Decked in his feathers, Colonel of the Guard—
Prince Max's friend, Prince George's friend, the sage
Who gives the Elector counsel o'er his wine—
This man whom I created! Or, perchance,
He stumbles on me in a corridor,
With a light laugh, “Ah! Countess, is it you?”
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As you were saying, not a month ago!
MADAM WREYKE.
What will you do?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I know not; I have no plan:
There's a wild fury beating in my breast
That must and shall have prey. I'd calmly sit
And see his heart bleed, drop by drop, while I
Counted each drop and droplet as they fell.
Torture! there is no torture that could do
Justice to my full hate. I can believe
That he aspires to win Sophia's love;—
What virtue is there that he would not dare?
MADAM WREYKE.
But he may fail.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
He shall not. Through this girl
I'll be his ruin. And Sophia, too;
I have scant reason to bear love to her.
My lady's virtues are the Court's new cry.
All the light dames and graceless reprobates,
Whose time is taxed to dodge discovery
Of their own slips, rain satire on themselves
By lauding her. She is a minster screen,
Behind whose holy blazonry the choir
Make mouths at heaven, while their accorded throats
Join in its praise. Even the Elector—heavens!—
A man upon whose soft and waxen youth
Vice stamped the counterfeited seal of age—
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Her tawdry livery till it hangs in rags
At his sharp elbows—he takes up the cry,
And preaches virtue, as though Heaven had made
His wicked lips its mouthpiece!
MADAM WREYKE.
One may see
The issue of all this.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Yes; I shall be
A waning moon, setting before her rise,
Unsphered, dishonored, out of time and place,
Scarce marked by any in her blinding light.
She has become the Elector's dearest care.
He rates Prince George for his neglect of her;
Takes counsel from her; and the courtiers,
So quick to see where royal favor shines,
Huddle to the bright spot, like unhoused doves,
And strut, and coo, and trim their ruffled plumes
Beneath her smiles. Ah! if Sophia knew
What wings they have, for a tumultuous flight,
At the first shadow!
MADAM WREYKE.
If Sophia knew?
Shall she not know? It seems to me your power
In Hanover was stricken with decay
At her first coming, and it needs but time
To dwindle you to nothing. You may urge
Your husband's post as minister, your own
Long hold upon the Elector's heart, your rank,
Your skill, so often shown in state-affairs,
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A minister may change within a week,
A favorite in a twinkling.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
True enough.
I have been shaken, but I keep my hold;
And where this foot is planted, there I'll stand
Against all Hanover. Count Königsmark—
Ha! ha! you see how he comes up again,
Just like the Vice in the old mysteries;
Turn as we may, we cannot shake him off—
He has a hankering for Von Platen's place;
And people talk of him; he has his clique:
Sophia, too, will doubtless lend him aid
At the right moment. Things look fair for him.
MADAM WREYKE.
Let his plot ripen—
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Let it rot, I say!—
Drop, blasted in the blossom! Let him plot;
But give me leave to watch him at his work,
And shape the issue of his plots for him,
And he may rack his cunning. How he'll stare
When all his schemes come tumbling on his head!—
Roof, column, cornice, not a vestige left
Of the brave mansion into which he wrought
His pride and wisdom through such hopeful days!
He has gone far enough.
MADAM WREYKE.
But how to check him?
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With bit and bridle, as you check a horse.
You'll see mad capering, restless flings and bounds,
But I shall tame him.
MADAM WREYKE.
I am glad to know
That you have taken these affairs in hand.
I was concerned about you long before
You broached the matter. I was full of fear
Lest you, in blind security, might miss
The threatening omens which I plainly saw
Rising around you.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Sister, I have eyes.—
In proof of which, I see Sophia coming
Fresh from the garden, whence her grace has stolen
Pinks for her cheeks and violets for her eyes.
Airing her virtues for the general good,
And purifying Hanover, no doubt;
Or taking in a stock of holiness,
Of the last mintage, as it fell from heaven
In showers of sunlight. Or perchance, and worse,
Count Königsmark has flushed that pretty face,
And the bloom lingers though the Count is gone.
MADAM WREYKE.
I met them yesterday. He strode beside her,
Bearing her boy into the palace door.
A mighty lump of babyhood that boy;
And the Count panted with the double weight
Of it and his own dignity. I laughed;
And asked if that new duty was among
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He mumbled something out about Sophia
Being fatigued, or faint, or lame, or ill,
And frowned, and passed along.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Ha! gone so far!
But one step more, and who can sound the depth
Of the steep ruin into which he falls!
Why, after all, my dream of love was false;
There is but one thing true, immortal hate.
MADAM WREYKE.
Let us retire: the Princess comes this way.
[Exeunt.
(Enter Sophia.)
SOPHIA.
I wonder if the crocus is in bloom
At backward Zell. Here they have violets
In plenty. They, I said: not we, but they:
I cannot learn to call this place my home.
Despite the ceremonious parade
That, by one act, divorced from Zell the hand
It gave to Hanover—despite the claims
Of wife and mother, and the harsh rebuff
With which my father disavows his blood,
And bids me look to those around me here
For comfort—I am still a stranger. Still
My truant heart haunts round the wonted home
It fears to enter, dreading stern rebuke.
And sobs, and sighs, and wistfully complains,
Hugging the door-post which it dares not pass.
I know not why it is. If I compare
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My frugal home. But, ah, my heart is blind,
And is not dazzled though my eyelids wink.
So, to my partial vision, Zell appears
A paradise, and Hanover—well, well,
At least a purgatory; for through it
I hope to reach my paradise again.
(Enter Königsmark.)
Philip, I was just thinking—
KÖNIGSMARK.
Let me guess.
You were just thinking of dear Zell. I see
Regret and love contending in your eyes;
Tears that drown smiles, and smiles that brighten tears.
Do you remember on a day like this,
When we were children, ere your rank had raised
Your heart so far above poor Königsmark,
How we would hunt the crocus in the fields;
And finding one—ay, but the first pale leaf,
Pushed just above the sod—we clapped our hands,
And cried, “The Spring is come?”
SOPHIA.
You read my mind:
'Twas of the crocuses at Zell I thought.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yes, of the crocuses; but you forgot
Our rambles after them.
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That I confess.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Ingrate!
SOPHIA.
Why so?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Am I not all that's left
Of Zell to you? I am the only pledge
Of all the treasures you have left behind—
The only link that now remains to you
Between your cradle and these days. Am I,
Whose eddying life ran side by side with yours,
Through its first dewy hours, too poor to bide,
Even as an alms-man, in your memory?
Ah, Princess, Princess! Yes, that titled name
Is clue to all. You have climbed too high to see
Down in the misty valley whence you came.
But I, from my low stand, can trace your path,
Counting each footprint; and no less exult
To see you glorified upon your height,
Though far beyond my reach.
SOPHIA.
You wrong me, Philip:
You know me better than to judge me thus.
You would not hear another so belie
Your friend.
KÖNIGSMARK.
My friend! Friend is a solemn word;
But, like most solemn words, of easy use.
SOPHIA.
I do not use it thus. To you alone
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Before your sight I lay aside the mask,
In which I play this comedy of life,
And show you that the tears which crowd my eyes
Are not of mirth, but sorrow.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You are homesick.
SOPHIA.
Homesick for Zell, but sick of Hanover.
Had I no other refuge, I would hence.
This hollow mummery—this cold, stiff life—
This playing princess to exacting crowds,
Too dull to praise, but all alive to blame—
Palls on my taste. I am besieged by hate.
For every friend, I make ten enemies.
Even the Elector's smiles come back to me,
Reflected from a thousand jealous eyes,
In sullen frowns. The Countess gnaws her nails,
Sneers at my little wisdom, mocks my taste,
Wishing my virtues, which the Elector lauds,
Were safely housed in heaven.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Have you no more?
What of Prince George, your husband? Have you learned
To bear his insults and neglect with smiles?
Can you be courteous to his favorites;
And ask their intercession for such boons
As he denies to you? When we begin
To jostle through a crowd of things like these,
We soon grow sore or callous.
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Hush, Königsmark!
There are some mysteries of a woman's heart
That even friendship has no right to touch.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Now, Heaven forgive me if I slander him!
I thought his deeds were patent. Ring your bell,
And call your lowest scullion from her fire;
Ask her to name Prince George's mistresses,
And you shall have a list to make you stare.
Why, even with me, will you deny this shame,
Or pass it by in silence?
SOPHIA.
Why will you
Still press the subject as though I were deaf?
Can you not be contented with my pain
Unless you hear my cries?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Ay, shout aloud!
Wake Hanover, wake Heaven, wake George himself,
Ere you submit to this degrading life!
That which you think your goodness, men have made
Your just reproach. You foster and maintain
Your lawless husband in his vicious ways
By your tame conduct. Trust me, there's more sin
In conscious apathy than erring acts.
SOPHIA.
What should I do?
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Do nothing, as you wish;
Else would you ask for counsel?
SOPHIA.
Königsmark,
Woman's long lesson is submission; we,
Kindly or sternly, are compelled to know
That the world's shaped by larger hands than ours;
And our one task is to adapt ourselves,
With our best skill, to forms we cannot change.
You launch us on the tide in gilded boats,
With silken hangings fluttering over us;
You tug and strain to row us smoothly on,
And while we smile, your work is ecstasy;
But let us venture once to touch the helm,
And the whole crew rebels. An idol waked
To actual life and motion, by the zeal
Of those who worship at some pagan shrine,
Would scatter the devout in wild affright:
So we poor women, we poor stocks and stones,
Sit on your altars in our painted rags,
Dreading to lose our feigned divinity
By the least sign of life. You nettle me,
Knowing my anger is of no avail.
You thunder manhood in my shrinking ears;
Bid me pick up my distaff as a sword,
And lay about me like a Paladin!
I am a woman, Philip.
KÖNIGSMARK.
And for that
You're to be trampled in the mire! To-day
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When your sweet husband with his latest prize,
Tall Ermengarda, flaunted into view.
I gazed, the whole Court gazed, in dumb surprise,
Upon your face, to catch a righteous frown,
A sneer of high contempt, a twinge of pain—
Looks that would so become you, as we thought.
We saw them not. Heaven's deep serenity
Was rage to your composure. In dismay
Each looked into his neighbor's vacant face;
Then toward the doting couple turned all eyes,
Flaming with the disgust you dared not show.
Ay, the most shameless losel of the Court
Took up your cause, as if it were his own,
And made the indecent monsters feel the shame
Of their bare-brewed iniquity.
SOPHIA.
I saw
The general stare, the general look of scorn.
And thanked my God for his supremest work—
The daring, noble, holy human heart!
Think you, if the broad brand of the whole world,
Laid hissing on his forehead, had no power,
That the weak murmurs of an unloved wife
Can wake a feeling?
KÖNIGSMARK.
'Tis not for his sake.
No! I'd not put a straw across the path
Between him and perdition. Let him go,
With all his wantons trooping at his heels.
To make hell merry. But for you, in whom
My pride was centred from my infancy,
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I would demand more deference and regard
Than the punctilious duelist who seeks
Occasion for a quarrel.
SOPHIA.
You are kind,
Dear Philip, you are very kind. I blame
Your actions towards me often, but, oh, never
The heart from which they spring. I have a scheme—
The only one in which I'll bear a part,
Even against this heartless libertine:
'Tis this: to fly from Hanover, to quit
A shameful evil that I cannot cure.
Once in security, we'll talk of terms;
Or leave my husband to what course he likes.
Zell and my father's heart are shut to me;
He would return me faster than I came,
Giving my husband warrant, by the act,
For baser usage.
KÖNIGSMARK.
In the Court of France
I have good friends. Or Dresden—what of that?
What do you think of Dresden?
SOPHIA.
I would go
Among my kindred, and stop scandal's mouth.
KÖNIGSMARK.
True, true! Ah! there's Duke Anthony.
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Well thought!
He loved me ever.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I will find some cause
To ride to Wölfenbuttle, and acquaint
Duke Anthony with your sad history.
He hates this Hanover from end to end.
They ousted him from the Electorate,
Broke the betrothment 'twixt his son and you,
And, worse than all, laugh at his anger now.
I'll work it so that you shall not be forced
To ask protection from him; he himself
Shall offer it, propose your flight, and aid
The whole proceeding. It shall be his plan.
You know how men will struggle for their own,
Even against justice. 'Tis a hopeful scheme.
Your cousin's time hangs dully on his hands;
He'll thank me for employment.
SOPHIA.
Philip, Philip,
'Tis your old way; you always held your triumph
Before you won your victory.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Hist! I see
A heavy shadow moving through the trees.
Some one approaches. Princess, it were well
If the conspirators were never seen
In secret conclave.
SOPHIA.
I will leave you then.
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Who start so wildly seldom reach your end
Unless by the first effort. Königsmark,
You are a greyhound, running by your sight;
One dash, and all is over; let the game
But gain a space upon your eager bounds,
And you have no nose to follow.
KÖNIGSMARK.
A while ago
You said I triumphed ere my victory;
I vow 'tis not your habit to reward
Before a service.
SOPHIA.
I am paid. Farewell!
[Exit.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Had I no fear my prayers would anger Heaven.
I'd call on Heaven to bless her. How dare I,
So stained with sin, so draggled and bemired
With the vile cleavings of my reckless course,
Insult her innocence with my foul love?
Her swinish husband's brutal appetite
But errs by instinct: I have given a mind
Stored with more riches than he ever knew
To the same service. In regard to her,
I am Prince George's better but in this,
That I am not her husband. Heavenly gifts
I have perverted to most earthly ends.
My heart, my intellect, my subtle eye,
That lays the mysteries of humanity
As bare to me as the dissector's knife
The body's secrets—that transcendent boon,
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Full front with angels, and attain to heights
Of wondering knowledge, from which reason turns
Dizzy with weakness—these I have debased—
To what?—to mean ambition, avarice,
And the poor triumph of frail woman's tears.
I loathe my life. I know not where to hide
From the sharp glance of memory. Henceforth
The beast within my nature shall consume,
Die out amid its ashes. Hear me, Heaven!
I'll sin no more. Lo! even while I pray,
Temptation comes, and a despairing sense
Of unforgotten guilt, to close the gates
Of heaven against me.
(Re-enter Countess Von Platen.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Ha! Count Königsmark!
Alone—no woman—not a sign of one!
You slight your old employment. Nay, look there!
Whose robe is that which flutters up the path?
KÖNIGSMARK.
I cannot tell.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Or will not. Have you seen—
Pray look at me; you are discourteous, Count—
Have you not seen the Princess?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Seen what princess?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Sophia Dorothea.
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Since when, madam?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Since the creation. Pshaw! you answer me
With question upon question. Fear you me?
Philip, I am your friend.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I am not yours;
You know it, madam. I am false as air;
And for that falsehood, where it fell on you,
You ought to hate me. Why, have you forgotten
The night you clung to me with desperate strength,
Sobbing and cursing, praying and commanding
That I would stay a moment; or at least
Utter one word of love before I went?
I wounded you in woman's tenderest spot;
I have not hoped to be forgiven.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
You then
Have not forgotten?
KÖNIGSMARK.
No.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Nor I. But, come,
Let us forget. I bear no malice now;
Besides, you are in danger.
KÖNIGSMARK.
What of that?
Do you suppose I live my life without
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A jealous husband, or an outraged brother,
May call me to the field. I weighed this thing,
And practiced fencing.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But your peril now
Is one you cannot master. Long success
Has made you over-confident. Your aim
Is too ambitious, dangerous to achieve,
And certain death to fail in. I believe
Sophia's temper colder than your heart;
Her virtue deeper than your wickedness;
Her duty more than your ingratitude;
And all her good so overbalancing
Even your ill, that failure is as sure
As after punishment.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Why, this is news!
Her station cuts me off from intercourse.
Had I the wish, the opportunity—
On which hang all things in affairs like this—
Is wanting. Bah! impossibilities
Are not the things I cope with. I must have
At least the common chances.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Save your words
For simpler hearers. You should recollect
The dainty falsehoods you have helped me to,
And fear a surfeit, Count. I am your friend;—
Believe or not, the fact remains the same;—
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Or I misjudge your nature. (Aside.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
Be at rest,
If your kind heart can find no other care.
Besides, my old pursuits begin to pall:—
You know my fickle character. I think
Of taking up religion, for the nonce,
By way of change. You know that the relapse
Will be—ah, so delicious!
(Enter Prince George.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
In good time—
Your Highness has come in quite à propos.
Here's a disciple for you, Königsmark. (Aside to him.)
What does your Highness think the Count designs?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Heaven knows.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
To take religion up.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Ha! ha!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But for what purpose, think you?
PRINCE GEORGE.
I suppose
To ruin it.
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No; for the luxury
Of a relapse into his sins again
PRINCE GEORGE.
By Jove, that's rare!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But you must be devout,
You must outgo Saint Peter in your zeal,
Else you will not receive the fullest zest
From the relapse.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I'll found a monastery.
My patron saint shall be—
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Saint Anthony:
You know how he was tempted.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You shall sit
Before the door, and be temptation. You
Shall be the world, the flesh, the devil, Countess,
All merged in one.
PRINCE GEORGE.
O monstrous slanderer!
KÖNIGSMARK.
I wished to show how safe my house will be
With such a mild temptation.
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Ah! my Count,
There'll be a bitter reckoning for this. (Aside.)
PRINCE GEORGE.
Where go you, now?
KÖNIGSMARK.
To found my monkery.
[Exit.
PRINCE GEORGE.
You and Count Königsmark appear to be
Poor friends just now.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
No, no; the very best,
Judging his latest manner. 'Tis his way:
He is a man who frowns upon his friends,
And fawns upon his foes. I ruffled him
By rating his presumption.
PRINCE GEORGE.
About what?
He seems a harmless idler. Setting by
Some gallantries, in which his willing prey
Ran half the way to meet him, he may pass
As a good fellow in such days as these.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
He grows ambitious in his gallantries,
Deeming his victims types of our whole sex;
'Twas there I checked him.
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Pshaw! you sadden sport.
Let him aspire; what matter?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Duty, Prince,—
My duty to your father and his house
Is serious matter.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Ha! would Königsmark
Play tricks with us? By Jove, the fellow's bold!
Who is the lady?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Has your Highness heard
The news from England? Things look promising
For Hanover. The Stuarts—
PRINCE GEORGE.
Pray answer me.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I beg your pardon. What did you inquire?
PRINCE GEORGE.
I ask for whom these amorous toils are set?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
What toils?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Why Königsmark's, of whom we spoke.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Ah! Königsmark?
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Zounds! yes. Do you forget
Your conversation as you utter it?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
No; but the news from England is so full
Of prosperous tidings—
PRINCE GEORGE.
Hang your politics!
Keep them for the Elector. Answer me;
Who's the Count's lady-love?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I cannot say—
Or rather, please your Highness, dare not say.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Pish! you provoke me.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I would not provoke
Your Highness to inquire; because your peace
Is so concerned in this—
PRINCE GEORGE.
How now! speak out!
You should have learned not to play hide and seek
With one of my rash temper.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
If I speak,
I must disclose a truth—
PRINCE GEORGE.
I hope so, madam.
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A truth—say a suspicion; for the truth
Remains to be established.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Say a truth—
Say a suspicion—or, to please yourself,
Say a suspicion of a truth. 'Sdeath, Countess,
Say something! You bewilder me with words,
Suggesting, yet concealing, an affair
That, after all, may be a mere device
Tricked out by fraud or folly.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Does your Highness
Mistrust my truth?
PRINCE GEORGE.
I shall mistrust your wits,
Or say you think but poorly of my own,
If this continue.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I would rather be
An open foe than a suspected friend.
Pray has your Highness not observed of late
That Königsmark and Princess—
PRINCE GEORGE.
Ha! my wife!
That is your drift? 'Ods mercy! are you mad?
He and Sophia! Yes, yes, I have marked
Their talks and rambles. I have counted them
Brother and sister, as they think themselves.
32
They have been playmates?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
And may be again
Unless you mar their pastime. Playmates, too!—
Memories of childhood!—oh, what deadly stuff
For Königsmark to work with!
PRINCE GEORGE.
Have you grounds
For this suspicion?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Common rumor, Prince,
The scandal of the Court, and my own eyes.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Have they been talked of?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Talked of! They have worn
A hundred gossips' tongues cut.
PRINCE GEORGE.
'Twere as well
To end their friendship.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
In its public show
I see no harm; but secret meetings, Prince,
Are full of danger.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Ha! but have they such?
33
A while ago they parted on this spot,
Sophia flying as though winged by fear—
For what suppose you? but to shun my sight.
Prince, that looks ill.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Looks ill! It looks like guilt.
Looks, Countess, mark me: you must not suppose
I think it guilt. Sophia is too cold—
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
To you?
PRINCE GEORGE.
To me, and all mankind.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Perhaps.—
Were I Count Königsmark, I'd pledge myself
To speak with certainty upon this point.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Fie! you would make me jealous.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I! in faith,
I would but turn you to your own affairs.
Do your own will: I shall not offer you
Even advice. If I have erred in this,
What harm is done? You have no heart to wound,
No sentimental suffering o'er your wrongs.
If it is true, I spoke in proper time;
And you should thank me, and bestir yourself.
34
You know what love I bear my Zellish wife;
I show it in my life. My father's plan
Was to wed Zell with Hanover; and there
He has succeeded, with but little care
For the poor pawns with which his move was made.
But she's my wife, my honor's in her hands,
And, by high heaven, she shall respect the pledge!
Were she not mine, Count Königsmark and she
Were welcome to their love. Ha! ha! by Jove,
All the Sophias in broad Hanover
May kiss his feet, but not my wife—my wife.
Were she an ape, a goat, a porcupine,
She should be sacred if she bore that name.
I'll see to this, and I expect your aid
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
And so far as my duty—
PRINCE GEORGE.
Poh! your duty!
You have some motives of your own I know,
But they are naught to me. If she prove false,
Zell may become the devil's heritage:
I swear, I will not, through a tainted wife,
Succeed to it, though the Elector rave
At my refusal. Countess, a good day!
[Exit.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Not jealous? You are bitten to the heart.
Storm at your wife, forbid her Königsmark,
And we shall have more secret interviews,
With keener relish for the stolen sweets.
35
We'll drive them to it headlong. Jealousy,
Commend me to a thorough libertine
To learn thy nature. They who scorn our sex,
And make them playthings for their vanity,
Suffer at home, just grain for grain, the pangs
They spread abroad, suspicion poising sin.
I vow, my sense of justice gathers joy
From loose-lived George's ill-concealed distress.
When Philip Königsmark begins to writhe
In the great anguish of his coming fate,
I ask no heaven beyond the sight of it,
With power to tell him, in his misery,
I am the cause. Look in my flaming eyes,
And see a baleful prophecy of that
Which burns beyond the borders of this world—
That hell towards which you hasten,—and in which
I'll laugh for joy through all eternity,
Blessed as a saint, to see your sufferings!
[Exit.
36
ACT II.
SCENE. The State Apartment of the Palace. Figures cross the Stage, as if going to a Masquerade. Enter the Elector and Countess Von Platen.ELECTOR.
I'll not believe it. Never talk of proof.
This woman's stuff, this mawkish sentiment,
For ever creeps into affairs of state,
Laming our projects. Hearts! why, what have hearts
To do with policy? Sound government
Moves by inflexible machinery,
Crushing all interference with its laws.
I say Sophia is a part of this,
A train of wheels, and I'll not have her stopped
While she moves on so smoothly to my ends.
We judge a government by its results,
Not by its means. Zell and this girl are one;
And Hanover must swallow both, to be
The kingdom I intend her to become.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But George is jealous.
ELECTOR.
Jealous! by what right?
Suppose Sophia shaped her life by his,
Paid him in kind for his inconstancy,
Why what a famous baggage she would be
37
Too loyal and too patient for the rogue.
The contrast makes him darker than he is;
And, Heaven knows, that is needless. I could say
A thousand things in my defence of her,
Were she proved guilty without doubt; I scorn
To answer mere suspicion with a word.
Look at her face—
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
And Zell!
ELECTOR.
Ay, look at Zell—
If you will reason on such grounds as these—
And I'll defend her were she Jezabel.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Frankly said, Ernest! It is not my wish
To lose you Zell. Precaution, nothing more,
Is my advice. Maintain the character
Of your own family by timely care,
And all the threatened evils which you fear
May be avoided. You are fixed so high,
And look so far abroad, as to forget
The little people clustered at your feet.
Turn your eyes homeward.
ELECTOR.
There is sense in that.
I'll end this matter at a single blow:
I'll banish Königsmark from Hanover.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Before you know him guilty? Pray be just.
38
Against impending fears. Your government,
Conducted by such policy as this,
Would run your favorite shallop high and dry
Before a fortnight.
ELECTOR.
Zounds! what shall I do?
You counsel action, yet oppose each act.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I'll tell you what. We must begin at once
By strict investigation. We will know
What points we stand upon, what points we lack,
And to what truths these facts, when duly weighed,
Direct our judgment.
ELECTOR.
Oh, yes; we shall know
All that we know, all that we do not know,
And to what ends our ignorance may tend.—
How wise we'll be! Elizabeth, my time
Is far too precious in its real results
To waste in busy idleness like this.
You, if you wish, may set your wits to work,
And chase these shadows for mere love of sport.
The chase alone must be your recompense.
I'll have no antlers hanging at my door,
No clarions heralding your victory,
Nothing to draw the notice of the world;
For, let me tell you, if you prove this girl
The devil's daughter, not the Duke of Zell's—
So the succession but remain in her—
I shall be deaf to all your arguments.
39
With my best wishes.
[Exit.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I desire no more.
The match between Sophia and Prince George
Was my own plan. The fault of my device
Was that my puppet soon outgrew my hand.
But let me once destroy the hold she has
On the Elector, through her dowry—
O'erturn her influence, yet keep him Zell—
Kill his fair goose, yet get her golden egg;
And for the deed draw all his gathered wrath
On Philip Königsmark's devoted head—
And I shall be content. The course is plain,
Secure and rapid, yet I hesitate.
Why is this pause? An awful monitor
Whispers within me one prophetic word,
And it is blood, blood, blood! Oh, terrible!
I dare not trace my purpose to its end;
Yet I rush blindly on, as though my fate
Had snatched me in a hurricane from earth,
And hurled me forward. I will not shed blood.
What were the dreadful future to a soul
That in the face of apprehension looks
With my dismay! No; I will not shed blood—
Not even his.
(Enter Madam Wreyke.)
MADAM WREYKE.
Good heavens! what have you done?
George is as moody as a winter day;
Sophia keeps her chamber; Königsmark
40
And the Elector fidgets through the palace,
Searching our faces, with his asking eyes
Full of a question which he dares not breath
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
These are but phases of the same disease,
Affecting different natures differently.
Prince George is jealous.
MADAM WREYKE.
But too soon, I fear.
He was not ripe for jealousy.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Not ripe!
Why, when is jealousy not ripe? It springs,
Like Arctic moss, a strong and perfect plant
At the first flash of light. This jealousy
Has no degrees. 'Tis a most choleric
And nimble fiend. A sign, a look, a word
Has necromantic power to start it up
Blazing with wrathful questions. Listen, now:
Were there no obstacles between this pair
Of backward lovers, they might both grow gray
Unconscious of each other's passion. Place
A barrier between them, and you'll see
How they'll boil up to meet above the wall,
Or undermine it, or flow round about,
To mix their kindred currents as of old.
That obstacle is George's jealousy.
His mere suspicion may be first to teach
Sophia that she loves. Count Königsmark
Needs no preceptor.
41
Yes; but George's power
May interpose impossibilities.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Impossibilities are Love's old playthings.
I'll trust to Love, and aid him at his need.
George's suspicion, too, prepares the way
For easy proof. And, by the by, have you
Aught of Sophia's? Say a fan, a glove,
A scarf, a ring, a jewel—anything
Known to be hers; some trifle, plainly marked
With her own cypher? George's jealousy
Is a devouring ogre, and craves food.
I am purveyor, and must find him meat,
Or, 'sdeath! I may be eaten in its place.
MADAM WREYKE.
No; I have nothing.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Get me something.
MADAM WREYKE.
How?
And what shall I obtain?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
What is the use
Of such a lover as your friend, Prince Max,
If not to get me—let me think—yes, yes!
If not to get me those fine Mechlin gloves
That all the women have been crazed about?
42
What is your purpose with those Mechlin gloves?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
The less you know, the less will be your sin.
Get me the gloves.
MADAM WREYKE.
I'll try.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Tell stupid Max
You wish to copy the embroidery,
And to return them secretly; for thus
The Princess will know nothing of the theft.
Warn him to keep your counsel.
MADAM WREYKE.
If he hear
The Princess slandered, with the gloves as proof,
I might as well warn a tornado, sister,
As bid him hold his peace. He'll blurt it out
In spite of me. He loves Sophia dearly,
And aches to serve her.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
He'll hear nothing.
MADAM WREYKE.
Well,
I'll set about it.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
See, he comes.
43
PRINCE MAX.
What, Countess,
Do you neglect the masquerade to-night?
Your interests suffer while you tarry here.
You should not leave so slippery a thing
As my good father's heart to guard itself.
As I came through, I saw a buxom mask
Toying with the Elector's hand.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Which hand?
PRINCE MAX.
Why, either; but I'll say it was the left—
Nearest the heart, and farthest from the right.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Then I care not. The right hand is for me,
The one that holds the sceptre. Will you back
To be our escort?
PRINCE MAX.
Pardon me; I wish
A word in private—
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
That will do; I'll go.
Where is Von Platen?
PRINCE MAX.
Where was Menelaus
When Paris wooed his Helen?
44
Are you Paris?
PRINCE MAX.
Oh, no; his younger son.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Adieu? Your wit
Is disagreeable from antiquity:
I'll seek a fresher.
PRINCE MAX.
Let me recommend
A wit that's fresher than the morning dew,
If one may trust opinion. Königsmark
Has made the dancers dance with merriment.
He shines alone there, like the mid-day sun:
The little stars, that show themselves sometimes,
Roll round him darkly. All the fairer side
Of our gay Court—maids, wives and widows—fight,
Like hungry tigresses, who shall be first
To throw herself beneath Count Philip's feet.
That ancient jest is fresh from Königsmark.
Von Platen came into the masquerade,
Accoutred as a warrior of old Greece,
When Königsmark saluted him, at once,
As “Menelaus,” and the whole Court roared
Like a loose Bedlam. Poor Von Platen's vizard
Shriveled with blushes.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Villain! gross, gross villain! (Aside.)
Well, praised be heaven, that something makes them gay!
45
A nobler archer than Count Königsmark
To shoot the shafts. The blunt and leaden heads
Of his bird-bolts make noise enough it seems;
But, ah, they do not pierce, as mine shall pierce,
When he is quarry, and I bend the bow. (Aside.)
[Exit.
PRINCE MAX.
See, where she sails, in full-blown womanhood,
One of my many mothers! Fairer she
Than all her predecessors. I grew proud
Of the Elector's taste in womankind
When I first saw your sister.
MADAM WREYKE.
Fie, you wretch!
You make more scandal than a tea-table.
PRINCE MAX.
How she must hate poor Königsmark!
MADAM WREYKE.
But why?
PRINCE MAX.
Because she praised him. To my simple mind,
There's something awful in a woman's praise.
'Tis like a bell chimed for a funeral;
The sweeter and the more prolonged its note,
The sadder the occasion. Tell me, dear,
When will your doughty husband be from home?
MADAM WREYKE.
He lives at home.
46
Why, so do most men.
MADAM WREYKE.
Bah!
I mean by that, he seldom goes abroad.
PRINCE MAX.
Still, I suppose, he's peering at the moon
Through his huge telescope. Unhappy sage!
He must be jealous of the man in it.
MADAM WREYKE.
I fear that he is jealous of a man
Most strangely under the moon's influence.
PRINCE MAX.
Of me, you mean? I who am prudence, Kate,
Incarnate prudence, in these glaring days
When folly rides a horse, and daring vice
Bullies poor virtue in her very church.
MADAM WREYKE.
But you confound my husbands strangely, Max.
Poor Busché, my first victim, was the sage;
And he has not peeped through a telescope,
Nor opened a Greek grammar, since the day
Some waggish fellows bore him to his grave.
My old Endymion, for aught I know,
May now be in the moon he loved so well.
PRINCE MAX.
Then General Wreyke's looking after him
Through his own telescope.
47
Brave Wreyké is
A man of valor, a grim, bloody Mars,
Who cares no more for telescopes or Greek
Than I for him. Be careful how you talk.
You are always bringing the dead Busché up,
With warlike Wreyké's sabre in his hand;
Or making Wreyké bend his fiery eyes
To patient Busché's instruments.
PRINCE MAX.
In faith,
You taught me to confound them. Sage and soldier
Have equal life within my memory,
Where both are buried, with one wreath of love
Hung, as a votive garland, o'er their graves.
They were good people in their way, no doubt,
But of small moment, Kate, to you or me.
Let us not talk of them. Now answer me,
When shall I come?
MADAM WREYKE.
To-morrow, if you choose,—
On one condition.
PRINCE MAX.
One condition more!
When shall I reach my last condition, pray?
MADAM WREYKE.
When you are ill-conditioned, sick in bed,
Telling the priest whole histories of lies,
And, like the malefactor hung last week,
Fancy yourself a dying saint. But, Max,
48
One of those Mechlin gloves the Princess wears,
Those famous gloves that we have all admired.
I wish to copy the embroidery
For a design that's private to myself,
And must not be divulged.
PRINCE MAX.
An easy task.
I'll ask the Princess—
MADAM WREYKE.
Nothing, if you please.
You'll steal it.
PRINCE MAX.
Steal!
MADAM WREYKE.
The Princess must not know
That I possess it. In a day or two,
I shall return the glove.
PRINCE MAX.
But stealing gloves
Is not my line precisely. I am apt
At almost any kind of villainy;
But stealing, Kate, is something new to me;
I'll bungle at it. Then I may be whipped,
Put in the pillory, or Heaven knows what,
If I'm discovered.
MADAM WREYKE.
Will you bring the glove?
49
Yes.
MADAM WREYKE.
And in secret?
PRINCE MAX.
Yes.
MADAM WREYKE.
You'll never say
A word about it?
PRINCE MAX.
No, by—
MADAM WREYKE.
Do not swear:
I always doubt when you begin to swear.
I must return. The dancing is begun.
PRINCE MAX.
Then take my arm; and as we go along,
I pray you, blush a little for my sake.
My reputation as a libertine
Has been my making with your gentle sex.
Come, blush; and make them wonder what bad thing
I whisper to you.
MADAM WREYKE.
I shall blush perforce,
If you abuse humanity and sense
With such perverse and wicked calumnies.
PRINCE MAX.
Well, have it as you will. It seems to me,
The devil has been preaching here of late,
50
And to full benches, people run so mad.
Look there! why, bless me! here comes brother George
With his own wife!
MADAM WREYKE.
The world begins to mend.
PRINCE MAX.
Yes, certainly—on the outside, at least.
What will sweet George resort to after this?
He has exhausted Hanover, I think,
And needs must travel in pursuit of game.
He's now coquetting with the only woman
Whom he has not made love to in the Court.
What's to do after this venture?
MADAM WREYKE.
Come along,
Oh! what a tongue to lay a wager on!
[Exeunt.
(Enter Prince George, Princess Sophia and Countess Von Knesebeck, with Attendants, Pages, etc.)
SOPHIA.
These are plain duties that belong to heaven,
And need no teaching. I have always tried
To shape my conduct to the public wish,
Living, in fear, a true slave to my state
Both as a wife and princess. If the world
Slanders my motives and suspects my acts,
The fault is in its own corrupted heart,
Not in my error. Philip Königsmark
51
Wicked, you call him; I will not deny
The many gallantries you charge him with,
Nor ask indulgence for his lightest sin;
And yet, I say, the heart beneath all this
Is pure as nature so oppressed can be:
To me 'tis always pure. He comes to me,
Shaking the world's contagion from his robes,
Laying aside his years of wickedness,
His harmful thoughts, his schemes of future guilt,—
Ay, and, I hope, that gnawing misery
Which makes so hollow such a life as his,—
And stands before me but the simple boy
Who brought me early flowers and blossom-sprays,
When we were playmates in my home at Zell.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Grant it: I will not question aught of this;
I'll even blink Count Philip's character,
And swear that you and he are weaning lambs.—
Lambs for the slaughter you may be, ere long,
If you will graze together. If the world
Has scandalized you, though the charge be false,
Your damage is no less. There's but one thing
Which you must shun, and that is ill report.
SOPHIA.
Commands like these sound strangely from your mouth,
Whose conduct shouts defiance—
PRINCE GEORGE.
Pray you, cease.
The sins I do, I carry; but your guilt
52
Upon your race.
SOPHIA.
My guilt!
PRINCE GEORGE.
Nay, understand;
I but suppose it for the argument.
I place no bar 'twixt you and Königsmark;
Your open friendship never will offend;
But I forbid your secret intercourse,
Your private meetings, your long tête-à-têtes,
Your looks of interchanged intelligence,
And all things else that may provoke the world
To censure your imprudence. This shall be!
And hark you, madam, where your duty fails,
Let your obedience help you.
[Exit.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Princess, come.
SOPHIA.
Could ice be colder? Come! Where shall I go?
You see my husband has abandoned me
Upon the threshold of the Court. I feel
Like a poor wretch, upon whose poverty
The door is shut in fury. Shall I steal
Into the ball-room, at the Prince's heels,
Like an intruding cur? Oh! had I weeds,
Fit for a widow, with my widow's heart
I'd make a solemn entry. Here I stand,
A mark of wonder for my pitying train—
Insulted, scorned, deserted! Shall I turn
53
To wet its pillows with my fruitless tears?
Or shall I, in the majesty of my wrongs,
Enter the Court, with all the pomp I can,
And let this simple picture of my state
Appeal to men?
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Dear Princess, calm yourself;
You must grow used to this; your husband's heart
Is strange and wayward.
SOPHIA.
Heart! he has no heart—
No, nor that common worldly courtesy
With which men ape possession of a heart.
If fate has made me so unfortunate
As to be bound, unwillingly, to him,
Have I not grief enough, who know myself
Unloving and unloved, to satisfy
The slight annoyance which my presence gives?
I am no obstacle across his path;
He treads me underfoot. I stand aloof,
Holding his children back with either hand,
Meek, broken-hearted, abject; all I ask
Is decent pity, and some small regard
To that slight remnant of my wifely pride
Which is the right of woman. But his joy
Seems rather to consist in my distress
Than in the pleasure which his vices give.
Countess, I cannot bear it. To this point
I have struggled onward with my weary fate,
But here strength fails me. I must either die,
Or fling aside my burden.
54
KÖNIGSMARK.
Princess.—
SOPHIA.
Philip!
What brings you here?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Prince George's wish.
SOPHIA.
Indeed?
KÖNIGSMARK.
He ordered me to bring you to the masque.
SOPHIA.
He ordered you!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yes; sent me a command
By Countess Platen. The first welcome word
That she has given to me for many a day.
SOPHIA.
But do you not distrust that woman?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yes;
But such a heavenly message I'd have heard
From hell's ambassador.
SOPHIA.
Where is Prince George?
55
Trundling his little figure through the dance
With lofty Ermengarda. She is decked,
With flowers and gaudy bands, from head to heel;
So that her panting, dumpty lover looks
Much like a peasant dancing round a May-pole.
SOPHIA.
You do not mean—
KÖNIGSMARK.
The murder's out at last.
She is acknowledged now to occupy
The very high but questionable post
Which rumor gave her. George has fitted up
A little palace for her; and to-morrow
She'll hold a court for all the villainy
That crawls to power by such unhallowed means.
SOPHIA.
This is too much!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Not half enough, it seems;
Men wonder now what title and estate
Her gracious lord will lavish on her.
SOPHIA.
Count!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Philip, not Count, dear Princess. Think of Zell.
SOPHIA.
You jeer at me.
56
At you!
SOPHIA.
If not at me,
At my afflictions.
KÖNIGSMARK.
If I give you pain,
First let me ask your pardon, and then Heaven's.
At infamy and outrage such as this,
A man must laugh or cry. I choose to laugh:
Weep you, poor sufferer; but remember this,—
Your heavy tears and my light merriment
Spring from one feeling. It is easier
To weep, as you do, than to laugh with me.
SOPHIA.
Now you are Philip once again. (Removes her glove, and extends her hand, which he kisses.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
What eyes
Are those which glimmer through the corridor?
The Countess Platen!
SOPHIA.
She!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Ay; look you there,
How she is gliding rapidly away;
And now your husband joins her at the door.
They enter, talking eagerly.
57
Of what?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Of you, of me, of mischief. Lies, lies, lies,
Past my imagination. Now, Prince George,
If you have sense within your earthy mind,
Let it bestead you; for the wily snake
That tempted Eve is whispering in your ear
Counsel as damning.
SOPHIA.
Philip, we are snared.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I see the trap. If we betray ourselves,
We cannot rail at the deceiver's craft.
SOPHIA.
What is her purpose?
KÖNIGSMARK.
To enrage Prince George
With jealous fancies of yourself and me.
Suspicion is a monster that grows fat
By food which reason starves on. Let us be
As wary as her ladyship is false.
Dear Princess, if the sun went out in heaven—
If planets, moon and stars were shrunk to naught
In the thick blackness, and the torpid earth
Groped blindly onward in her useless flight—
Poor nature's children would pray death to strike,
Perhaps usurp his rights. So I, aghast
At the dread mandate which must be pronounced,
58
That seems eternal darkness unto me.—
We must not meet again.
SOPHIA.
Philip, you rave.
What desperation would you urge me to,
By this cruel threat? My husband has forbidden
Our private meetings, as he calls the walks
Which we have taken through the palace grounds;
But even he had not your hardihood;
He would not tear me from you altogether.
He did not cavil at such friendly acts
As may be done in public.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Gracious Heaven!
There is no spark of love within her heart!
Friendship is all—no more;—her candor proves it. (Aside.)
You guess my meaning. I shall not transcend
Your husband's orders, Princess. I ne'er wished
To draw a scandal on your spotless life,
By shunning you in public. Such a course
Would ask suspicion to make free with you.
SOPHIA.
You will not fly me then?
KÖNIGSMARK.
No; I ne'er thought
Of such a thing. But have you no regret
For what our childhood has bequeathed to us,—
That sweet communion which blessed my life,
59
Around whose magic circle all the fiends
Clamored in vain? I am berest indeed.
I had a hope of heaven, still bright for me,
Within that starry centre of my soul.
The hope is fled: I turn my eyes within,
And all is darkness.
SOPHIA.
Yes; but—
KÖNIGSMARK.
Oh, enough!
Why should I murmur, if you seem content?
To-morrow evening, if there be no check,
I'll see Duke Anthony, and plead your cause.
A little interval of worldly care
May pass between that meeting and your flight,
And then we part for ever.
SOPHIA.
Philip, nay—
KÖNIGSMARK.
For heaven's sake, peace! or I shall rave outright!
Why stand we here, while spies and enemies
Interpret our behavior as they wish?
Come to the masque. If fate have more in store,
I'll meet her anger with a mocking laugh.
I have lost all: why should I care to set
My worthless life against the smallest stake?
Come; they shall see how dear a thing it is
To play at ventures with a desperate man!
60
I do not understand you.
KÖNIGSMARK.
That is well;
Faith is above all knowledge.
SOPHIA.
I have that.
(As they exeunt, she drops her glove.)
(Re-enter Prince Max and Madam Wreyke.)
PRINCE MAX.
Sweetheart, you leave us early.
MADAM WREYKE.
I am tired.
PRINCE MAX.
Why so am I; but my fatigue will last;
I shall not 'scape it with a little sleep.
Ah me! what labor, what consuming care,
Heart-burning, bitterness, spite, envy, hate,
Besotted luxury, qualms and regrets,
Are bound up in that false and vacant word
Which men call pleasure! Pleasure, what is it?
Simply anticipation. What is pain?
A retrospect of what we meant for joy.
Life is inverted to the backward glance;
And like a faulty picture, which we turn
Towards a clear mirror, doubles its defects
By the reflection. Poh! I'll hang myself,
If I proceed with fancies such as these.
61
A painful process—heat and chill the heart
Until you make it steel.
MADAM WREYKE.
Are you engaged
In this rare business?
PRINCE MAX.
I have little need;
Others will do it for me.—Ha! look, Kate!
Here is the glove we sought for. (Picks it up.)
MADAM WREYKE.
That is it.
How fortunate!
PRINCE MAX.
To us; but for Sophia,
Who owns and lost the glove, I cannot say—
“How fortunate!” What a one-sided view
You women take of fortune! and that view
Always your own, counting no other's cost.
MADAM WREYKE.
What a fine moralist you grow! But, come,
Conduct me to my carriage. Bear in mind,
You are to keep the secret of this glove.
PRINCE MAX.
Trust me.
MADAM WREYKE.
I must. I'll wager you a crown,
That you'll betray me ere the week be out.
62
Done, for a thousand!
(Re-enter Countess von Knesebeck.)
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Has your Highness seen
A glove of Mechlin lace upon the floor?
PRINCE MAX.
Why, what is Mechlin lace? Some cobweb thing,
That blew out at the window, I suppose.
You women go in such a flimsy garb
That I oft wonder how you hold together.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
'Tis a lace glove, of priceless rarity,
Much valued by the Princess.
PRINCE MAX.
Tell your mistress,
She should not set her heart on such light things.
I'll send my Bishop father to her room,
To rate her on her vanity. As he
Will be his own example of the sin,
'Twill be light labor.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Madam, pray explain
The matter to his Highness. You may chance
To light upon the glove—for here 'twas lost—
And do the Princess service.
MADAM WREYKE.
Certainly.
63
To doubt my service.
PRINCE MAX.
O kind Heaven, be deaf!
Here comes a lie, a thorough female lie—
Downright and simple—without if or but—
To dare thy judgment! (Aside.)
MADAM WREYKE.
We came hither, Countess,
Just as the Princess left—
PRINCE MAX.
And if the glove
Had been upon the floor, undoubtedly
We should have seen it. Let me save her soul,
At my own peril. (Aside.)
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Probably, the glove,
By its own beauty, made some knave a thief.
PRINCE MAX.
Yes, probably. There's but one step between
Sin and temptation. When the devil baits
His big hooks, Countess, the leviathans
Bite like mere gudgeons.
[Exit Countess von Knesebeck.
Oh! oh! Katharine,
Could you but see your face!
MADAM WREYKE.
I wonder not;
I am blushing for your falsehood.
64
In your cause.
A miracle has saved me from a theft.
I should thank Heaven that sent the smaller sin,
And swallow it in silence. But I lied—
I lied most roundly—did I not, sweet Kate?
MADAM WREYKE.
Most roundly, Max, and with such natural grace!
You've found your calling.
PRINCE MAX.
But I did not steal:
And there's no law for liars.
MADAM WREYKE.
Or you'd hang.
PRINCE MAX.
Now, after all, what is the glove to you?
Your purpose with it is an idle whim;
Let me restore it.
MADAM WREYKE.
In a day or two.
PRINCE MAX.
I vow, it hangs upon my conscience, Kate;
I shall not rest until I take it back.—
Oh! curse the glove!
MADAM WREYKE.
Order my carriage round.
I'll join you shortly in the vestibule.
Lay by your gloom.
65
To lie and steal with grace!
These are two pretty steps 'twixt youth and manhood!
I feel as I were entering upon life
Through the gaol-door.
MADAM WREYKE.
Be careful, or perhaps
You'll exit through it.
PRINCE MAX.
What a comforter
Was lost to Job by your belated birth!
[Exit.
MADAM WREYKE.
I wonder what Elizabeth will do
(Re-enter Countess von Platen)
With this same glove? It seems a trifling tool,
To be employed in her large business.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
(Taking the glove.)
Hark!
Once on a time, I saw an engineer,
With hammer, chisel and some sooty stuff,
At work upon the huge foundation stones
Of a great rock. I paused, half merrily,
To wonder what the silly fellow meant
By his mean labor with so vast a thing.
Anon, there came a crash; the frightened earth
Shook under me; light failed; the startled air
Buffeted round me like an angry sea:
I almost swooned for terror. When I looked,
66
Lay the great rock, a ruin. Even thus,
When Hanover is shaken by this glove,
You'll rather wonder at the grand effect
Than at the trifling instrument. Adieu!
[Exeunt severally.
67
ACT III.
SCENE. The Garden of the Palace. Enter Königsmark.KÖNIGSMARK.
I have traced them one by one, the winding paths
Our loitering footsteps have so often trod.
How lonely seems yon walk which strays between
The lilac border and the boxwood hedge,
Though every tree hangs its pale violet blooms,
In drooping clusters, to the thievish air
That steals the perfume, and, with ingrate haste,
Forsakes its benefactor! There the path
Swerves from the sun, and plunging in the grove,
Is lost in dubious shadows. I, who stand
Under the frown of fortune, should consign
My sullen spirit to yon lowering wood:
This fair scene mocks me. Painted and unreal
Seems every flower; the swaying trees no more
Wave gentle invitations to repose;
Sternly they shake their threatening arms at me,
And whisper to themselves a tale of woe
Shaped from my future. Far above my head
The hard and steely sky encloses me
In its wide vault; and the o'erbrooding sun,
Like the high cresset in a felon's cell,
Glares in my face with its unwinking eye
Ablaze with coming vengeance. Gracious Heaven!
I merit it: 'Tis bitter, but 'tis just,
That Nature should forsake the erring man,
68
Abused her bounty. Shall we never meet—
Never again? Must the last glimpse of light
Go out before me, as I stagger on,
Through the lone darkness, to my darker end?
The shadow on my way is from myself,
Turning my back against the blessed sun.
Sin and remorse have wrapped my life in gloom;
But, like a shipwrecked sailor without chart
Or guiding needle, I preferred the night
And its fair star, by which my course was steered,
To aimless daylight. Yes, this love of mine
Itself is sin—a sin that looks like virtue
Against the darker background of my crimes;
But yet a sin, an insult to her truth,
And a wide blot upon my sullied soul
Before eternal eyes.
(Enter Countess von Platen)
There is no gate,
So wide and lofty, in the walls of heaven,
As to admit the burden which I bear:
I cannot shake it off: hell yawns—
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Yes, Count;
Hell yawns, and all the devils yawn with it,
To hear so ripe a sinner uttering
Such green morality.
KÖNIGSMARK.
What brought you here?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
The season tempted me. These early flowers
69
And so I came. But I would not intrude,
If you are waiting for some fairer flower—
A pure white lily, modest violet,
Or, better still, a passionate young rose—
A princess, all aglow with life and fire,
Carnation to the centre. As for me,
I am a homely plant, a kitchen-herb,
And dare not claim your notice. I'm for use;—
You found me useful once, to spice your dish,
When banqueting was rarer.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Wait, and see
What flower will bloom. In penetrating power
You overpeer your odorous sisterhood.
The kitchen-herb is sage.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Why, true,
Sage is a kitchen-herb.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You help my wit.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
When your wit halts.
KÖNIGSMARK.
It bears me limping off. (Going.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Stay, Count, a word. Our—what shall I call it?—love?
70
Yes; call it love. Love is a hardy boy,
And carries more things than belong to him.
Poor Love is Passion's porter.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Very well:
We'll call the feeling that arose between
Your heart and mine—for want of truer name—
Love, simply love.
KÖNIGSMARK.
For want of truer name.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Your protest was included with my own;
But, if it ease your conscience, enter it
Once more. Or, if you wish it, every time
That I say “love,” you'd better add to it
“For want of truer name.” Well, Count, this love
Has reached the Elector's ears; and he—smile on—
Is jealous, as old men are apt to be
Who balance merits with a man like you.—
Good Heaven, Count Philip! here the Elector comes,
And with Von Platen too!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Where, Countess, where?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
There, through the linden-walk.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Is that the Elector?
71
Doubtless; and I know Von Platen by his stoop.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You gave him that. A skillful artisan
Knows his own work.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Count, would you ruin me?
KÖNIGSMARK.
How, Countess?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
By your loitering.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Run away,
If you are frightened. As for me, in sooth,
I feel no terror of that ancient pair.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But were we seen together?
KÖNIGSMARK.
If you flee,
We'll not be seen together.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But were you
Found standing here, and the least glimpse of me
Caught, as I fled?—
KÖNIGSMARK.
What then?
72
It would confirm
The Elector's worst suspicion. Königsmark,
You dally cruelly with the fate of one
Who gave you all. Prize or despise the gift,
It was my best, and offered for your sake.
A vestal's love, in her own eyes, could be
No more than the insulted, humbled heart
Which I bestowed upon you: 'twas my all.
Nay, then, we'll fall together. Here I'll stand,
Close by your fortunes, and divide the worst.
When this disgraceful scandal steals abroad,
Some, whose respect you hold in high esteem,
Will wonder at you—but with less respect.
KÖNIGSMARK.
True. (Aside.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
See, they come directly towards this spot.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Madam, command me.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Victory! (Aside.)
This way.
(As they exeunt, she drops Sophia's glove.)
(Enter Prince George and Count von Platen.)
PRINCE GEORGE.
This is a rendezvous. We have disturbed
A pair of billing doves. See, see, Von Platen,
How they go fluttering through the trees!
73
Ha! ha!
The man is surely Königsmark. Pray, note
His stately stride behind his lady-love.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Yes; it is Königsmark. His dignity
Is no companion for his lady's fright.
I wish we'd caught them. Love has nimble eyes
For coming danger. 'Tis a pretty spot
For dalliance truly. Mark yon laurel bower,
Walled in with leaves, yet full of loop-holes, too,
And the thick hedge that circles it around:
This is Love's citadel. And here are posies—
Roses in every shape, from bud to flower,
Violets, lilies, heartsease, spicy pinks—
To say sweet things about, and furnish love
With dainty figures for his rhetoric.
'Sdeath, Count, I wonder who the lady—
(Picks up Sophia's glove.)
VON PLATEN.
Ha!
Have you found proofs? Good Heaven, your Highness, why—
Why do you glare upon that glove? Nay, Prince,
Is it a goblin?
PRINCE GEORGE.
No; 'tis but too real.
Von Platen, read that cypher.
VON PLATEN.
Wonderful!
74
Vile, damnable!
VON PLATEN.
Your Highness does not think—
PRINCE GEORGE.
Think, man! I know. I do not wish to see
The thing I loathe to think on. Guilty wives
Play not their capers in the market-place:
Oh no; they come to bowers, to spots like this,
Filled with their wicked cunning, and disgrace
Fair nature and themselves at once.
VON PLATEN.
But, Prince,
The glove by chance—
PRINCE GEORGE.
The glove by fate, I say!—
'Twas fate alone that plucked it from her hand,
And left it here before my outraged eyes.
Wall guilt about with solid adamant,
And it will murmur on till some one hear;
Sink it beneath the waves, and it will rise
At the first thunder; bury it in earth,
And, at fit season, it will sprout and bear
Its bitter fruitage. Guilt, like the deaf man
That whispers to himself unconsciously,
Knows not that others hear. Against its will,
It is its own advertisement.
VON PLATEN.
Your Highness
May wrong your wife by hasty judgment.
75
Ah!
If it were news, I could be merciful,
And doubt my own conclusions. But this thing
Has been the tattle of the Court for months:
Your wife has heard it,—nay, herself has seen
Such private meetings, in secluded nooks,
As this which we have interrupted. More,
But yesterday I charged my wife to hold
No further interviews with Königsmark;
She cunningly assented to my wish;
And here you have the fresh, unbroken fruit
Of her obedience. She does not take time
Even to forget my wishes, but sails on
Serenely towards her port, as though my breath
Were morning vapor.
VON PLATEN.
Surely you'll not charge
The Princess with a crime.
PRINCE GEORGE.
I make no charge:
I am in the dark with you. But what's to do
With disobedience, if it run at large?
She has discovered what a precious thing
The Elector holds her and her Zell to be;
And thus supported, with audacious front,
She sinks my fame beneath her dirty lands,
And dares me to the issue. What am I,
Against a wife and father such as these?
I tell you, I am helpless. Let her step
One foot into the daylight, show one sign
Of certain guilt, and were she lineal heir
76
With her transgression!
VON PLATEN.
Patience, patience, Prince!
Doubts and suspicions are not evidence.
PRINCE GEORGE.
I prove no more than what her conduct shows.
I'll call her disobedient, nothing else;
And yet I think her hasty flight, just now,
Argues her damned, in her own eyes at least,
And gives us color for a like belief
Count Königsmark shall answer—
VON PLATEN.
Answer what?
Will you proclaim your own dishonor, Prince,
On a suspicion?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Your advice is wise.
I shall be patient to a certain point;
But after that, you'll find me deaf as death
To timid counsel, pity, or respect.
Zounds! Count, look yonder! Here Sophia comes:
For what, I pray you? Is the woman mad,
To seek my anger?
(Enter Sophia and Countess von Knesebeck.)
How now, madam, still
At your old haunts! Our talk of yesterday
Rests lightly on your memory.
77
Not so;
No syllable has faded yet. Some words
Impress themselves upon the hardest heart,
By greater hardness. I have brought my friend,
The Countess Knesebeck, as body-guard
Against gallants.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Your wit is sprightly.
SOPHIA.
Yes;
Your jealous humors form so wide a butt,
That the most simple wit may strike, by chance,
An outer ring.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Von Platen, this is cool. (Aside to him.)
May I inquire what purpose brought you here?
SOPHIA.
Two purposes: the need of exercise,
And the slight hope of finding, in my walk,
A glove of Mechlin lace which I have lost.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Ah, ha! Mark that. (Aside to Von Platen.)
Is this the glove?
SOPHIA.
Yes, yes!
Oh! thank your Highness! You must not suppose
I hold this trifle higher than its worth.
78
Because no woman has the match to them.
At such a reason, you, as men, may laugh,
But 'twere deep logic to a female court.
PRINCE GEORGE.
How came it here?
SOPHIA.
Why, that is strange indeed.
I thought I wore it to the masquerade.
The Countess saw it on my hand too.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Yes;
As we were entering the ante-room.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Here is fine acting! Did you ever hear
Lies overloaded so with circumstance?
They must have practiced at a looking-glass,
Before they sallied forth to try their art
On our credulity. (Aside to Von Platen.)
SOPHIA.
Perhaps the glove
Was stolen; or found, and lost again.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Perhaps
The robber feared detection, having heard
What stir you made about it.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Blessed saints!
79
They catch the falsehood from each other's mouth,
For fear of being outstripped. (Aside to Von Platen.)
SOPHIA.
But tell me, Prince,
Where was it found?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Here.
SOPHIA.
Here! Who found it?
PRINCE GEORGE.
I.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
That is a strange—
PRINCE GEORGE.
You reckless sinner, cease!
Think me, and make me, whatsoe'er you will;
I will not be called wittol to my teeth.
SOPHIA.
Your Highness—
PRINCE GEORGE.
Shameless trickster, dare you play
Such wretched antics in the open air,
With nothing 'twixt you and the thunderbolt,
That lightly slumbers in yon murky cloud,
But heavenly mercy?
80
Is your Highness sane?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Dare you deny the evidence of sense?
SOPHIA.
Yes, if God's truth oppose it.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Impudent!
Would you outface us with transparent lies,—
Set up your mere denial, to persuade
Von Platen and myself, that what we saw,
We saw not?
SOPHIA.
Pray, what saw you?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Ah!
You'll not commit yourself, until you know
The utmost limit of the adverse charge;
You will not give the slightest vantage-ground,
By one incautious word. Does this appear
Like truth, like innocence? No, no; it shows
The tricky sharpness of the advocate.
SOPHIA.
And is it contrary to human law,
That the accused, in such a cause as this,
Defend herself? I have no advocate,
Save my own wit, against an unknown charge.
This is wild justice. You yourself assume
The judge's ermine and the accuser's gown;
81
Denying me the common right of speech,
Even on the scaffold.
PRINCE GEORGE.
This shall not avail.
You saw, Von Platen; you shall question her.
I'll lay aside a husband's rights and powers,
Letting my judgment stand a listener.
'Sdeath! do you think me hasty of belief
'Gainst my own honor?
SOPHIA.
'Gainst your honor, Prince!
I am your honor's guardian: I alone
Support that fiction to a doubting world.
You have done all that reckless hands could do
To blot the patent which you held from heaven;
And now you turn, with prodigal excess,
To pluck the remnant which I hold in trust—
Ah! not for you, you spendthrift of all worth,
But for our children. Let me render them
A name unsullied, on one side at least,
As their poor portion.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Hear her, Heaven!
SOPHIA.
Ay, hear!
If thou dost ever bend thy open ear
To bad men's supplications, hark to this;
And let his angry words arise, transformed
To something holy by a mother's prayer!
82
Bold hypocrite! Von Platen, to your work!
VON PLATEN.
I pray your Highness—
PRINCE GEORGE.
I will have it so.
VON PLATEN.
Am I commanded?
PRINCE GEORGE.
On your loyalty.
VON PLATEN.
Believe me, Princess, 'tis a loathful task.
SOPHIA.
I shall believe you as I find you, sir;—
But be not backward.
VON PLATEN.
These then are the facts:
His Highness and myself came walking hither,
Absorbed in conversation. As we turned
From yonder linden-alley towards this bower,
We saw two figures stealing from our sight,
As if to shun us. One was Königsmark;
We knew him by the boldness of his gait
And by his lordly person. She who ran
Before the Count, bending her body down,
As if to screen herself by her companion,
We could not recognize. I'll say no more;
But here we found your glove.
83
Dry, almost warm—
No trace of dew upon a thread of it;—
And yet 'tis early morning. I'll be sworn,
That glove lay not upon the watery grass
Since yester-eve—no, not one hour.
SOPHIA.
I think
The lady dropped it.
PRINCE GEORGE.
What?
SOPHIA.
And yet, I say,
That lady was not I.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Oh! marvelous!
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
How so, your Highness? What the Princess lost,
Another one may find, and lose again.
PRINCE GEORGE.
I'll credit anything—put faith in dreams,
In conjurors, in wantons—ere I shake
In this conviction.
SOPHIA.
But are you quite sure
The man was Königsmark?
84
Of that one fact
There is no doubt.
SOPHIA.
I'm sorry.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Keep your grief
For your own use. This feignéd innocence—
I'll not deny you have the trick of it,
To rival nature—does not hoodwink me.
SOPHIA.
Your Highness doubts me!
PRINCE GEORGE.
Doubt you! should I not?
Would one, corrupt in everything besides,
Shrink from or stammer at a spoken lie?
SOPHIA.
Gross man, the indignation which I feel
Should find a tongue; but I will calm myself
Down to the level of a patient wife.
I know my duty; and I further know
The scoff and spurn of the whole universe
Can never make me other than I am,
As spotless as the heaven that wraps me round.
Hear me, Prince George! I'll put my pride to sleep,
And answer you straightforward to the point:
As Heaven's my witness, I have nowhere seen
Count Königsmark to-day!
85
And let me join
My lady's full avowal with my voice.
Since she arose I have not left her side;
And, as I hope for mercy on my sins,
Her words are solemn truth!
VON PLATEN.
Where were you then
A half hour since, and in whose company?
Your whereabout is capable of proof,
I doubt not, Princess.
SOPHIA.
Silence, insolent!
Your Countship is mistaken; it would seem,
From questions such as these, that you suppose
You are inquiring of the character
Borne by your own pure, excellent, dear wife.
'Twere unbecoming to my station, Count,
To bandy questions and replies with you.
I shall remember I'm of princely rank;
Forget not your condition. If the Prince
Would humble me with questions, let him ask;
I shall reply as meekly as I can.
You heard my broad assertion of my truth,
And I repeat it to you. Do you think
That your good wife would venture such an oath,
Were you to try her?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Madam, you are pert.
Answer the question.
86
Half an hour ago
I was shut up within the nursery,
At play among my children. There, indeed,
I am secluded. No one comes to them,
Save those whose duties bring them sourly in—
Not even their father.
PRINCE GEORGE.
After that?
SOPHIA.
I sewed
Upon a sampler, in my private room.—
Mark, where I pricked my finger, Prince.
PRINCE GEORGE.
What next?
SOPHIA.
My robe was changed, my walking-shoes put on,—
Ay, and my hair was dressed. Pray, bend your head,
And you may scent the fresh pomatum.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Then?
SOPHIA.
I put my mantle round me, drew my hood
Over my forehead, to avoid the sun,
And by so many steps as I can stride
Between this place and yonder palace-door,
Came here right onward. By the way I coughed,
87
Here are the flowers; and then—
PRINCE GEORGE.
You jest with us.
SOPHIA.
Where could a jest come in with better grace?
PRINCE GEORGE.
Then you have not seen Königsmark?
SOPHIA.
You heard
My solemn oath to that, twice registered,
For your conviction; and you also heard,
If you had doubts, the needless perjury
With which the Countess followed up my words.
I have spoken truly, as a lady may;
If you would have me answer as a felon,
You must arraign me in another court.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Your story seems like truth.
SOPHIA.
Seems, only seems!
Naught but defect of mind can make it false.
Go to the nursery, call in my maids,
Torture my helpless children till they speak,
Stretch my French hair-dresser upon the rack,
Propose some awful and tremendous form
Of affirmation to the Countess here,
88
If you would push this business to an end:
Only deal not with Philip Königsmark
In your grand inquisition, if you're wise;
For, let me say, his proud soul would not speak
Upon compulsion, if the deviltry
Of all the Holy Office held itself
Obedient to your nod.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Your eloquence
Grows great again upon your favorite theme.
Your foolish and intemperate admiration
Betrays in spirit what it lacks in fact.
Give you and him the devil's golden gift,
Bare opportunity, and I will back
Temptation against virtue, ten to one.
SOPHIA.
Wanton insulter! would you drive me on
To desperation? Would you make me false?
Oh! were not virtue centred in herself,
Both law and solace to the tempted heart—
Dwelling, like God, amid her own pure light,
And needing nothing more beyond herself—
Self-nurtured, self-rewarded, self-sustained—
Heaven knows what fancies outrage and revenge
Might have begotten in my troubled soul
Long, long ere this! I pray you, pause a while:
I am but human, and my misery
May mount above control.
PRINCE GEORGE.
Fine verbiage this!
89
In Heaven's name, leave me, Prince!
PRINCE GEORGE.
I shall, unasked.
My stay belies my wish, and flatters you.
When you are strolling in this place again,
Be careful of your gloves. Von Platen, come!
[Exit with Von Platen.
SOPHIA.
I am resolved. This is not want of love,
Such as indifference may calmly bear,
Nor mere disgust, nor common tyranny,—
'Tis gross, malignant hatred.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Such as fiends
May feel for angels, better than themselves—
A hungry, thirsty and insatiate hate
That gnaws itself, unless its victim's blood
Redden its ruthless fangs. I'll say no more:
Throw prudence to the wind, and act your will.
I'd rather flee for refuge to the wolves,
Than live in splendor so unhappily.
Fly to Duke Anthony. I'll aid your plans,
And share your flight.
SOPHIA.
My tried and steadfast friend,
You still forget the care you owe yourself,
In your regard for me. Count Königsmark
Designs a visit to Duke Anthony
This very night, returning ere the dawn,
90
Touching the answer that will come to me.
Duke Anthony would peril all his worth,
To do the house of Hanover some turn
To set it groaning. I shall rest secure
In his protection; for he'd wear his sword,
Down to the hilt, in his defence of me,
So that our enemies may only be
The best of Hanover. Ah, faithful heart,
Your eyes are glittering with joyful tears
At thought of my escape.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Not only that;
The safe asylum, the untroubled rest,
After these storms have blown their fury out,
Would draw this tribute from less loving eyes
That look upon your fortunes.
(Re-enter Königsmark, behind.)
SOPHIA.
Nay, you wrong
Your deep affection, by supposing it
A wide and common feeling. Hanover
Is broad and populous, my heart is soft,
And open, as the flowers before the sun,
To warming friendship; yet I still must say
That, when I came here, I brought all my friends:
I have found none, not one, for all my need.
You and—
KÖNIGSMARK.
And Philip Königsmark, you'll say,
If you deal fairly with that humble man.
91
What, after all your warnings given to me,
About our dangerous meetings, are you first
To break your resolution? Königsmark,
There's a pervading weakness in your mind
That, some time, will undo you. Look to that.
KÖNIGSMARK.
There's a pervading weakness in my heart
That strengthens me in action, and preserves
The little good my sinful nature holds.
Of that I am proud. I stood, observing you,
As exiled Adam by his garden's gate,
Gazing in grief at its forbidden joys.
I saw the cherub wave his flaming sword,
I knew that my rebellion was a sin;
But the old love was stronger than my fear—
It grew imperious—it mastered me;
I dashed aside the angel's lifted brand,
And here I stand, unwounded!
SOPHIA.
And in Eden?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Close by the tree of life.
SOPHIA.
Bold flatterer!
Countess, he talks this nonsense by the day,—
He ever talked it. You must not suppose
The man as empty as his words imply.
He has good metal in his character,
If you dig deep enough.
92
Thus have I been
Game for this lady from my earliest day.
She chased me round the garden, and stuck burrs
In my long hair, when we were both at Zell;
But then I always laughed at her wild hunts,
As I do now.
SOPHIA.
Beseech you, Countess, hark!
Lest there be aught that's treason to the Prince
In our discourse. Here is a specimen
Of that bad intercourse on which my lord
Is pleased to found his jealousy. Ah, me!
Philip, they say you are a naughty boy;
In proof of which, who was your lady-love,
This morning, in the garden?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Countess Platen;
But keep it quiet; for the Countess says
That the Elector has distinguished me
By his august and gracious jealousy,
Through dearth of higher favors. It may be;
But I half doubt it.
SOPHIA.
It may be!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Nay, nay;
It might have been.
SOPHIA.
Indeed? But let that go:
93
Blaming this action, praising that.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Oh! yes;
I'll thank you for the thought you waste on me.
I ill deserve the goodness of your blame;
Your praise would dizzy me. But do not think
That the least figment of what you call love
E'er passed between us. There was dazzling fence
Of wit, of spurious passion, skill and craft,
Betwixt us veteran sworders; but the foils
Wore buttons, and the conflict was all play,
We both knew well, though fighting with such heat
That the spectators thought us serious.
SOPHIA.
They say you won.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I know but this; I won,
As the grand issue, her eternal hate.
SOPHIA.
How did you meet?
KÖNIGSMARK.
By accident, she said.
SOPHIA.
It cost me dearly.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You?
94
His Highness saw
You and the Countess fleeing from this spot,
And in the grass he found a glove of mine,
And drew his own conclusions.
KÖNIGSMARK.
But the glove,
How came it here?
SOPHIA.
I lost it yesterday;
The Countess found it; and in hastening hence,
In her confusion, dropped it.
KÖNIGSMARK.
In her craft.
This trap was laid and set to tangle you:
I see it all; and now I can account
For her strange conduct. Part by part, I take
This dainty mechanism of her brain
To pieces; and throughout I see her hand
As plain, as in the petals of this rose,
Whose combination forms the perfect flower,
I witness Nature. Lest I judge amiss,
The thorn convinces sharply. I shall blow
Her blooming prospects to the winds of heaven!
SOPHIA.
They'll not believe you. I have been refused
Credit upon my oath. A criminal's
Stoutest denial is no proof at law;
Confession only is received from him.
But I have suffered so much by my trial,
95
To Cousin Anthony may shelter me
From the impending doom.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Hist! hist!
(Re-enter Countess von Platen.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Good-day,
Fair Princess,—and to you, sweet Count! I see
The rose has bloomed at last. (Apart to him.)
SOPHIA.
You're welcome, Countess.
Philip and I were wrangling. I maintained
The bread and milk my mother made in Zell
Was better than the wine of Hanover—
The fiery wine you rouse your sins withal—
Better, because more innocent, But he
Has spoiled his palate with your biting drink,
And argues otherwise. You'll make report
Of this grave matter to the Prince, no doubt.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I am no gossip.
SOPHIA.
Not without a cause.
Know you this glove?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I've seen it on your hand.
96
Where did you find it!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I! I found it not.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Where did you drop it, Countess?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Bless my wits!
I am besieged with questions. Gentle folks,
I came not hither to be catechised;
Nor am I skilled in tracing stolen goods
By conjuration.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Parried well! In faith,
Equivocation is as good as truth,
When simple ears are listening.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Königsmark,
You may be sorry for your brutal jokes
At one, whose only fault has been regard
For your coarse, worthless self. As for your Highness,
Your lot in life is, I suppose, above
Our mortal sufferings; like the gods of old,
Nectar's your drink, ambrosia your food,
And every change of sun and moon and star,
But shows a new phase of your happiness.
97
Oh! I could weep for pity, at the part
You choose to play in my sad history.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
In truth, your judgment errs. Your own belief
Makes enemies of persons who would think
'Twere almost sacrilege to wish you ill.
Count Königsmark comes nearer to my rank,
And so I scold him, with a playful wrath,
For his misdeeds. I love you both indeed,
More than your hearts seem willing to permit.
You doubt it? Try me; that is all I ask
For your conviction.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Countess, mark this ring,
A clear-set cameo. On the under side,
You see how smooth the polished surface lies,
How veined with graceful lines, how exquisite!
But hold it thus, against God's piercing light,
And fierce Medusa's head comes staring through—
Each hair a serpent, awful as the scowl
O'er which it writhes. In ancient days, they say,
This dreadful visage turned a man to stone;
But now Medusa combs her serpents down
To wanton ringlets, smooths her threatening brow,
Smiles with her mouth, looks coyly with her eyes,
And woos the incautious mortal to her side.
Believe her not; for at some dismal hour
She'll reassume her terrors, and transform
The trusting fool to marble. Let us walk
98
Holding our hearts as steady as we can,
Lest on the way our brimming love should spill,
And scorch the helpless flowers on either side.
[Exeunt.
99
ACT IV.
SCENE. A State Apartment in the Palace. The Elector discovered sitting in Council, surrounded by Count von Platen and other Counselors, Prince Max, Baumain, Officers, Pages, Guards, etc.ELECTOR.
Break up the council. Where is Königsmark?
Son Max, your handsome friend is strayed away.
Have you not seen him?
PRINCE MAX.
Please your Highness, yes;
I saw him riding a well-jaded horse,
Covered with mud and dust from head to tail,
Towards the new stables.
ELECTOR.
Whither has he been?
PRINCE MAX.
Making a foray on the country-girls,
To stock the town with. He has added you,
Heaven knows how many, to the population
Of this electoral city; not to count
The many souls that he has sent below,
To swell hell's myriads. His zeal is great.
You, and the devil, owe him many thanks
For his hot industry.
100
'Tis dangerous
To make inquiries of you, graceless boy!
PRINCE MAX.
I talk my best. I do not pick my phrase do not
To suit the hearing of well-mannered vice.
If all things vile were called by their right names,
We'd have less preaching. 'Tis the gloss of sin
In which men see their faces, and look pleased;
Remove the varnish, and the rough, coarse grain
Would draw scant praises. When I open church,
I shall begin by giving every sin
His name according to his pedigree,
Not his new title that shames Satan's tail
In length and involution. Men may wince,
And blush, and raise their hands, and cry, “For shame!”
But till their morals bear their manners out,
I'll call a foul thing—slut!
ELECTOR.
'Ods mercy, Max!
Is Madam Wreyké your inspiring muse?
PRINCE MAX.
I am no better than the rest of you:—
No, father, I am worse; for I have bowed
My natural temper to abhorred desires,
And, like a youthful drunkard, crazed myself
With draughts revolting to my palate's taste.
I've not attained to self-deception, though:
There's your last step in guilt.
(Enter Countess von Platen.)
101
Max, Max, my son,
You are a strange and inconsistent boy;
Having one grain of goodness mixed in you
With every ounce of ill. I sometimes think
That Nature meant you for a parish priest,
But used you for a prince; there's such a jar
Betwixt your heart and fortune. Credit me,
I love you well, madcap philosopher,—
Your naughty holiness, I love you well!
PRINCE MAX.
I know it, father.
(Enter Königsmark.)
ELECTOR.
Ah! Count Königsmark!
'Twere breach of state to say I wait for you,
Though something near the truth. You seem fatigued.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Unwonted exercise has jaded me.
I took an early gallop from the town,
And lost my way. That has belated me;
For which I crave your Highness' pardon.
ELECTOR.
Count,
The doctors tell me travel is a thing
As wholesome to the body as the mind.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I was about to ask your Highness leave
To visit Paris.
102
Paris, by all means;—
Rome, Athens, Cairo, Pekin and Bombay,
The South Sea Islands, Lima, Mexico,
The land that freezes to the Northern Pole,
And the wide prairies of America,
Were not amiss, perhaps. And mark you, Count,
I purpose that you travel round and round
My little Hanover for many years,
Settling its boundaries surely in your mind,
Ere you re-enter it. You understand?
KÖNIGSMARK.
My banishment!
ELECTOR.
Oh no; for you shall have
Your usual pension from the public purse
Doubled; and I'll so manage your affairs,
That all the property you leave behind
Shall yield a large increase of revenue.
Banished! you're favored. As a special mark
Of my regard, my son, Prince Maximilian,
Shall travel with you. He has pressing need
To rummage through the world in search of wit;
Even if the quest should put some leagues of land
'Twixt him and Madam Wreyké. You must start—
I give you leisure to prepare, you see—
To-morrow morning; for my eager Max
Waxes impatient.
PRINCE MAX.
Please, your Highness—
103
Yes;
Your plans of travel please my Highness well
But I will hear no more about it, sirs;
Your long discourse grows tedious. I hate
Long stories, and long women, and long faces,
More than an ague.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
He has sprung a mine
Under my feet, and sent my secret works
In fragments to the moon. Well done, old sin!
But now to countermine. (Aside.)
[Exit.
ELECTOR.
Are you content?
PRINCE MAX.
Perforce, I am.
ELECTOR.
And you, Count?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Your command
Goes with my heart. I have outstayed my time,
It seems, and welcome changes to farewell;
But that is better than to be thrust forth,
Against all hospitable rites. Heaven knows,
I was unconscious of your Highness' wish
Before it fell so harshly on my ears.
My heart has talons, clinging where it loves,
But, oh! my pride has wings. Take back your gifts
Of rank and money; they but measured out
Your favor to me—tokens of a love
104
As mean as is a banker's paper bill,
That stands for something which itself is not.
The debt is canceled, and the bill erased;
I scatter it in fragments to the wind:
The thing is worthless. From your Hanover
I will not draw a penny, though grim want
With his lean fingers pinch my empty purse.
My lands, my houses and my equipage,
Before another day grow old, shall shake
Beneath the mallet of the auctioneer,
Though every blow be ruin.
ELECTOR.
Königsmark,
Pride's a poor reasoner: think.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I dare not think,
Lest base temptations overcome my soul.
Urge me no more. I have one precious jewel,
That, leaving all things, I would carry hence,
As a safe talisman against regret—
My self-respect. While that remains to me,
What sordid Plutus, from his money-bags,
Shall dare to call me poor?
PRINCE MAX.
By Jupiter,
Here's one deserves the royal name of man!
Go boot and saddle for our travel, Count!
We'll wear the hills to valleys with our feet,
Before I leave you, if so high a soul
Will take so low a comrade.
105
You are more—
Far more than generous in your thoughts of me:
His Highness will provide you better friends.
For I must break all holds with Hanover;
I would not have my memory linked to it
Even through your love, Prince Max. I take my leave,
Your Highness, with the promise that to-morrow
Shall make us strangers.
ELECTOR.
Choose your time. Farewell,
Thou hot but noble spirit! If a friend
May e'er have leave to serve you, do me right,
And look to Hanover; for she may be
A kingdom ere you think.
(As Königsmark is going, enter Sophia.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
(Apart to her.)
I've seen the Duke.
This letter from him will explain the rest.
In heaven's name, Princess, ere you take your flight,
Contrive that we may meet! (Gives a letter, which she conceals, and Exit.)
ELECTOR.
What said the Count?
SOPHIA.
Oh! much in little—“Good-day” and “Farewell.”
ELECTOR.
Max, you will please me, if you give no note
106
[Exit Prince Max.
SOPHIA.
I am come
Upon a painful errand to your Highness.
But, lest I do injustice to your son,
Call in Prince George.
ELECTOR.
Your husband? You may call
In thunder to him, and he will not hear.
Surely you know he's half-way to Berlin,
To spend a fortnight.
SOPHIA.
No; in his designs
I am no partner. But I shall not pause
To broach the matter. I am come prepared
With simple statements, that make no attempt
To move by eloquence. Dry logic, facts,
That lie within the sight of every one,
Are all I offer. I shall make no charge
To wrong my absent husband, nor disarm
His due defence by any forward blow.
Let him accuse himself. I, for my part,
Speak only for myself.
ELECTOR.
I always said
You were half angel. You are vexed, I guess,
At George's jealousy; but jealousy
Proves love.
107
Ah! yes: and parceling out his heart
Among a crowd of women, lest its weight
Distress the lawful bearer of the load,
That too proves love! You treat me as a child
Whom you would woo, not punish. I demand
The culprit's trial and the culprit's doom,
If I am guilty. If you find me true,
I ask redress in a just, lawful way—
Such rights accorded as besit my wrongs;
And I will have them from your Highness' hand,
Or snatch them with my own.
ELECTOR.
Your anger speaks.
I'll not deny some justice in your words;
But justice is not always wisdom, dear.
There's many a wife who suffers more than you,
Yet makes the best of it, and glides along
As smoothly as the average of wives.
Your opposition to the current's set
Stirs up the storm, and blinds your eyes with spray.
Swim with the stream.
SOPHIA.
I cannot; let me drown;
The baseness of the struggle frenzies me.
What if I live through degradation, wrong,
Brutality, and; half a century hence,
Land on the fairest slope of Paradise?
For my best comfort. I should save a soul
Not worth the saving—a dejected thing,
To slouch and tremble at the gaze of Heaven
Throughout an immortality of shame.
108
Bah! you talk nonsense. Hanover and Zell,
A wedded kingdom, to descend to you,
And follow to your children.—There's a view
To reconcile you to your high-perched home,
And make its damps and solitudes look gay.
SOPHIA.
Were I the lowest corner of those lands,
You would not let them tread my verdure out,
And plant me full of nettles, in your sight.
Will you do nothing?
ELECTOR.
What thing can I do?
SOPHIA.
Divorce me from my husband.
ELECTOR.
Holy saints!
Put Zell and Hanover apart again!
The thought is madness.
SOPHIA.
You must clearly see
The mutual misery in which we live.—
ELECTOR.
See! I see nothing but poor Hanover,
A crownless dukedom, with its empty hands
Stretched towards disdainful Zell—a woeful sight!
SOPHIA.
So, then, I am not spirit, flesh and blood,
109
A living, breathing, conscious human thing;
But leagues of level country, stocks and stones,
Houses and beggars' hovels, pens and styes,
To be transferred by charter, and feel proud
That my lord deigns to put his careless foot,
Sometimes, upon my bosom!
ELECTOR.
Such a lot,
As hers who represents my Zell to me,
Is not unhonored. Daughter, at a bound,
You overleap the barriers of life,
That cramp the lowly, and become a star
To fix the eyes of nations. Ay, a star
With a grand orbit, a far-reaching force,
Controlling planets; but no less a part
Of a great system, to whose central law
It is your duty to conform yourself.
SOPHIA.
I find small honor and great misery
In such a portion. 'Tis a woman's whim
To pine for freedom; but I'd rather be
My poor heart's mistress than the world's.
ELECTOR.
Poh! poh!
You talk at random. Put your trust in me;
And when the crown of Hanover and Zell
Rests on your forehead, you will count me wise.
SOPHIA.
Then, Heaven, direct me! I have made appeal
110
Touches my grief no nigher than the sounds
Of some triumphal festival the ear
Of a lone mother, hugging her starved babe
Closer, to let the mocking show go by.
What is the crown of Hanover and Zell
To me, who feel the martyr's fiery ring
Pinching my temples? Hanover and Zell!—
A drop of honey to a starving wretch—
A spark to one who freezes! Will your Highness
Talk of such tinsel, while my awful woe
Sits on her throne, and laughs at your poor tricks?
Call me a child; but I'm a dying child;
And if you offer toys, I'll put them by,
Not with the child's sweet tyranny, perhaps,
But somewhat rudely.
ELECTOR.
I shall speak with George—
By Heaven, and I will do it in a way
To make the boy remember! Shall my plans—
Your father's too—miscarry in the end,
Because the brute who bears them goes astray?
The hopes of Hanover, of Germany.—
For mark you, this is but our first great step
Towards a grand union of the German States
Into one mighty nation. Think of that!
Do you suppose that interests such as these
Shall go to ruin for a pink-faced girl,
Who whines and whimpers, with or without cause,
Because it is her nature? Marry, now,
It makes me angry! But that headstrong boy,
Who will not bear the yoke, shall feel the goad,
And mend his paces.
111
That is naught to me:
You cannot patch up injury with wrath.
He has accused me in a public place,
Before the face of man, before my face,
With that gross crime, of which I only know
Because it is his practice.
ELECTOR.
Fool, blind fool!
He'll bruise his knees before you for this act.
SOPHIA.
If I am guilty, I am unworthy of him;
If innocent, he is unworthy of me.
I'll take my leave, your Highness, and prepare,
With Heaven's assistance, for the dismal days
That frown before me.
ELECTOR.
That is right, my child:
Lean hard on heaven, and it will bear you up.
There's no harm done by praying; but take care
That you pray softly to yourself, not loud,
Lest other ears than Heaven's receive your prayers,
And do us mischief. Low and earnest prayer—
I always preached that in my bishopric,
When I taught doctrine to my little flock,—
In which the wolves and goats made up the mass.
The sheep and lambs being scanty. But of that
We will say nothing. It was long ago:
Perhaps the world has mended.
SOPHIA.
My low prayers
112
A heart that's only warped by statesmancraft
From a right purpose. I have seen you hide
A pity brimming in your eyes for me
Beneath your robe of office. I'll not blame
That which, perchance, my ignorance condemns;
Nor set my sorrow up against the claim
Which Hanover holds on you. If you prize
The gratitude of one, left fatherless
By slippery fortune, take it in God's name!—
I cast it towards you with my whole full heart!
[Exit.
ELECTOR.
When Königsmark is gone, and some small sense
Of decency is hammered through the head
Of mulish George, Sophia may begin
To look on life with better favor. 'Sdeath!
These aching hearts that long for sympathy,
With sentimental loves, and hates, and woes,
For all their softness, are the toughest stuff
That I e'er worked in. I am plagued with hearts—
With other people's driveling, senseless hearts:
Hearts are my devils. If I take a step,
I am sure to stumble over one of them.
My heart! your heart!—Why, 'tis the fool's excuse
For all his folly, and the hypocrite's
Grand plea for all his selfishness. The eye
Drops tears upon it, but it will not feel—
The reason pricks it, but it will not move—
Experience warns it, but it will not hear—
Truth shines upon it, but it will not see—
Sense gives it dainties, but it will not taste—
And plucks it roses, but it will not smell:
113
To a dumb maniac, and thy policy
Hangs on the changes of the wandering moon.
(Re-enter Countess von Platen.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Your Highness.—
ELECTOR.
Well, Elizabeth, how now?
Have you come here to vex me with your heart?
I wish you had none.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I have little heart—
ELECTOR.
That's cheering.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I have little heart, I say,
To tell the reason of my coming.
ELECTOR.
Well?
I'm listening with both ears.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
You recollect
That you once bade me to trace out the bond
Betwixt the Princess and Count Königsmark.—
ELECTOR.
Bade you! forbade you, rather; but agreed.
At length, to grant your curious desire,
For peace' sake and precaution.
114
Let that pass;
It matters little. I have traced it out,
And find it—
ELECTOR.
What?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Love.
ELECTOR.
Love! more hearts! Ye gods,
I shall go crazy! Proof, proof, proof, I say,
Before my wits turn over!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Proof? nay, facts.
Count Königsmark will visit her to-night
In her own chamber.
ELECTOR.
Nonsense! You all plot
To rob me of my Zell, my darling Zell,
Whose flat, plain face is fairer in my eyes
Than Rubens' Flora.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
George's jealousy
Was not a dream.
ELECTOR.
My life is all a dream,—
A hideous nightmare! Hanover and Zell
Dreamt they were wedded, and awake, to find
115
How came you by this rubbish?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Ask me not:
I am bound to secresy.
ELECTOR.
And I am bound,
By my incredulous nature, to believe
Nothing I hear, and only half I see.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Issue a warrant for the Count's arrest;
And in the private audit he shall have,
You may both hear and see.
ELECTOR.
You're confident.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
It is too certain, Ernest. I would doubt
But cannot: there's no shift for unbelief.
Issue the warrant.
ELECTOR.
Take it then.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Not now:
We must arrest him in the very act,
With guilt upon him.
ELECTOR.
Take him from her room,
And fill the world with scandal! No, no, no!
116
But not in public; nor shall any cause
Be offered for his fate. Sophia's character
Must be kept spotless, for my kingdom's sake.
I'll strike the evil at the very spring.
Remove this Königsmark, and she, perforce,
Must settle down to virtue. If she's false,
The fault is in her heart, not in her blood,
And, therefore, curable.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Well, have your will:
Though, to my simple judgment, it appears
Something like tyranny to punish guilt
Without a trial. For unless you act
As I have counseled, you will have no proof,
And thus no trial.
ELECTOR.
True.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But if he's seized
Within her chamber, or just issuing thence,
Or at safe distance—so the fact stand clear—
What can he say to help him? Not a word.
He'll die, unshriven, to shield his paramour,
And, by his silence, save Sophia's fame.
ELECTOR.
You'd not cry murder till the deed is done,
But I would fain prevent it. Why should he
Have access to her chamber?
117
What of that?
He has been there before.
ELECTOR.
Elizabeth,
That's sweet morality!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Morality!
Pish, Ernest, pish! It seems to me, of late,
That you have left the line of policy,
And struck out a new pathway straight for heaven.
Heaven speed you then! (Going.)
ELECTOR.
Where shall we seize the Count?
Not in her chamber?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Where you please. This thing
Has little personal regard from me.
I care not if you let the Count escape:
He is no enemy of mine. The girl
I care no more for than a painted doll;—
Save that she holds your Zell in trust for you,
And that will not be periled.
ELECTOR.
Let me see:
Not in her chamber, nor the corridor;
For there the guard would understand the cause.—
Ay!—now I have it—in the Ritter's Hall.
118
Lies through her chamber.—In the Ritter's Hall.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Well, have you settled it? Pray, think again.
ELECTOR.
No; that were best.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
But who shall manage it?
It will not do to trust in any one.
ELECTOR.
No, no; nor must the soldiers of the guard
Suspect me in the business; else the weight
So strangely thrown into a mere arrest,
Would set them thinking. Dear Elizabeth,
I'll ask a favor of you. (Writing.)
Here's the warrant.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
What shall I do with it?
ELECTOR.
Why, see it served.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I!
ELECTOR.
You.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Excuse me. You forget my sex.
ELECTOR.
Do you forget it, for my sake.
119
O Lord!
This is grim jesting, Ernest!
ELECTOR.
I can trust
This handsome villain to your hands, I know:
You have a taste for manly beauty.—Nay;
They say you one time held Count Königsmark
In high esteem—ah, Bess!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
When I begin
To stop court-scandal, you shall have a share
In my wide business; for I know of none
More deeply interested. Do you mean
That I shall really take Count Königsmark,
And on this warrant? (Taking it.)
ELECTOR.
Yes. Baumain is safe—
A trusty fellow;—let him do the deed
By your direction. But no blood must flow.
O'erpower the Count with numbers; bring him here,
Swiftly and silently. I'll judge his case
According to the facts. How sad this is!
For Königsmark would leave us to ourselves
To-morrow morning, and so end it all.
Perhaps, 'twere well to shut our eyes again,
And let him go unquestioned.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
As you said,
Ernest, that's sweet morality!
120
Indeed,
I have no wish to enter on this work;
My heart misgives me. Duty, duty, though;
I must remember that. You'll see it done?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Yes, as a woman may. But if I err,
Through want of judgment, you must pardon me.
ELECTOR.
Deal gently with him—that is all. No blood—
Remember that—no butchery, to fill
Our crazy palace with fresh walking ghosts.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
He'll not resist your warrant, surely.
ELECTOR.
No,
I think he will not; but his blood is hot,
And his hand hankers for his sword, I've marked,
When aught opposes him. Be circumspect.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I shall; for gentleness, at least, should guide
A woman's ministration of the law.
ELECTOR.
Adieu! I'll watch for you and Königsmark
In the blue chamber.—But no noise, no noise.
Adieu, Elizabeth!
[Exit.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
No noise, no noise!
121
And drown the pleasant sounds of earth for ever.
Pshaw! he's a man; he will not shriek, I know.
What if he struggle—beg for mercy—yield?—
Shall I relent? Oh Heaven! one hideous sight
Paints all my fancy! it is Königsmark—
His fair face hacked—his bosom red with blood—
His filmy eyes rolled upward against heaven,
In fearful wonder, staring for the soul
Just parted from them. Shall I—Ha! to mock
My growing weakness, see, the man draws nigh,
Swelling with insolent arrogance; his lips
Curling with sneers and insults that defy
My feeble menaces, and scorn my love.
Remorse can have no agonies to match
The gnawing teeth of unappeased revenge!
[Exit.
(Re-enter Königsmark.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
I feel like one who, dying, turning his eyes
Towards every corner of his narrow room,
And picks each object out, as though he sought
To bear their memory to the other world.
I roam the palace without aim; yet still,
As each familiar thing stands in my view,
I greet it kindly, and with melting eyes
Bid it farewell, almost unconsciously.
Grief clouds my mind: I cannot realize
The parting happiness, nor coming ill.
A dreamy torpor hangs upon my sense,
And, like the mercy in a deadly blow,
Stuns ere it kills. If any one had said,
The Princess will not grieve to see you go;
122
Which etiquette enjoins on severing friends,
To say farewell; I should have smiled in scorn
From the high summit of my confidence.
Yet so it seems. I've sought her far and near;
But even where we idly loitered once,
And spun the time out, merely for the sake
Of keeping back our parting,—now, alas!
In my most pressing want, I find her not.
Ah! let the mortal, wise in his own thought,
Look through thy darkened glass, Adversity,
If he would see the truthful hue of life,
And know it as it is!
(Enter a Page.)
PAGE.
Count Königsmark.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Well, sir?—He wears the Princess' livery. (Aside.)
What is your errand?
PAGE.
Nothing more than this.
(Gives him a note and exit.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
(Reading.)
Oh! I misjudged her! In her chamber, ha!
At one o'clock to-night! Strange, very strange!
“I need fear nothing; Countess Knesebeck
Will stay in hearing.” Ah, sweet innocent!
Or does she jest with me? Boy!—he is gone.
Oh! golden sunset to a stormy day!
123
Pine for the rising, while the setting sun
Shines on me thus? Night follows, and not day.
True; but the night may cover me with stars,
And rain down blessings from her peaceful breast!
[Exit.
124
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The Chamber of the Princess. Countess von Knesebeck discovered. Enter Sophia, weeping.SOPHIA.
Well, it is over.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
What?
SOPHIA.
My agony;
The greatest anguish that a mother's heart
Can bear, unbroken. Parting from a child,
That goes to seek its little happiness
With some young playfellow, or distant friend,
For a short season, draws a mother's tears;
What should I do, whose comfort is bare hope
In the blind future? Sense cannot express,
Words have no passion for a grief like mine.
If I were dying, mere necessity,
And helpless yielding to supreme command,
Might fix my soul; but here the choice is mine.
I calmly forfeit motherhood, to shun
The evils that surround it. Countess, think,
What fearful sufferings must have been the lot—
Suppose it what you may—that could compel
A loving mother to this dread extreme.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Take comfort, Princess; you may see your children
125
May make such stipulations, on your part,
That your return to them may be secure.
SOPHIA.
You talk of possibilities, and I
Want certainties before I go. The wretch
Who casts her babe to a pursuing wolf,
For her own safety, may pray angry Heaven
To save the child, or hope some hunter's shot
Will come between the savage and his prey;
But would you, therefore, hold the coward free
From just contempt?
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
You push the case too far:
You do not jeopardize your children's lives
By your hard flight.
SOPHIA.
I jeopardize their souls;
I make them o'er to strangers who shall teach
Their lips to curse me.—Oh! those taintless lips,
That now pray for me, wiping, at a breath,
The grievous record 'twixt myself and Heaven
As white as snow. I saw them as they lay,
Nestled together in their narrow bed,
Cheek against cheek—one pillow served them both—
And their bright hair was tangled so in one,
My eyes could not divide it. The deep flush
Of infant slumber burned on George's cheeks,
And centred in the crimson of his lips,
That smiled on guilty me. That joyful smile
126
For now his sister smiled, and stretched her arms,
And murmured “Mother!” Unless Heaven should plead,
There is no eloquence to hold me here
So strongly as that word. I laughed and wept—
I kissed them both—I hugged them to my heart—
And then—what think you?—then I said farewell!
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Oh, Heaven! oh, Heaven!
SOPHIA.
Weep, if you can, poor friend:
My tear-drops, like the petrifying tide
Of the Italian lake, turned me to stone;
And now the branch, that bent with every breeze,
Is fixed as marble. I shall not relent.
Go pack the clothes I brought with me from Zell;
Their style is old, but I will not take hence
A thread of Hanover. And in my desk,
You'll find a little store of Zellish gold:
'Twill be enough; and it is mine—my own;
I drew it from my father's treasury.
All that is Hanover's I'll leave behind,
And with it, by God's grace, my misery.
[Exit Countess von Knesebeck.
Here are my jewels; I must look to them,
And separate the gems of Hanover
From my poor trinkets. This my mother gave;
And this the Prince, when little George was born.—
O children, children, if you only knew
What the flight costs the hapless fugitive,
127
Rest here, proud jewel; let the giver take,
And reckon me above his charity.
Elector, there's your necklace. Mother-in-law,
Here is your diadem come back again!
This a birth-day ring poor Philip gave—
(Knock at the door.)
Come in, come in.
(Enter Königsmark.)
What, Countess, back so soon?
I would not lose this ring: I'll try it on.
Why, how my hand has grown since this was given!
Philip was vexed, because it was too large—
Poor Philip—
KÖNIGSMARK.
Ay, poor Philip!
SOPHIA.
Ha! you here!
What mean you by this folly? Königsmark,
Have you gone crazy? What induces you
To hazard fame for me, life for yourself,
By this rash visit? Speak, what brings you here?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Your note.
SOPHIA.
My note! I never sent you one.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Read it. I know your characters too well,
To doubt that note. (Gives it.)
128
It is a forgery:
I did not write a syllable of this.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Alas! I hoped you did.
SOPHIA.
And well you might.
We are entrapped. This note was surely forged
To bring you hither; but the end's not yet,
Though close upon us, doubtless. Stand you there,
With ruin all around us? Königsmark,
The forgers of this paper have designed
To take you in my chamber. Every minute
That you remain, gives opportunity.
In Heaven's name, will you go?
KÖNIGSMARK.
No!
SOPHIA.
Be it so:
I'll take destruction, if you offer it;
But it is hard to credit, that your hand
Can do such service for my enemies.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I am here; you say our foes are at the door;
They shall not pass it. (Bolts the door.)
SOPHIA.
Philip, are you mad?
KÖNIGSMARK.
No; I act wisely. Ere they find me here,
129
Look upward at me from the depth below.
I have somewhat I must say; I shall be brief;
And if you e'er recall my words, remember
They were my last.
SOPHIA.
How so?
KÖNIGSMARK.
To-morrow, Princess,
I quit your sight for ever.
SOPHIA.
What?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Perhaps,
You have not heard that I am banished.
SOPHIA.
No—
No, indeed, Philip—this is news to me.
Banished for what?
KÖNIGSMARK.
For your sake, I suppose,
Though 'twas not mentioned.
SOPHIA.
Ha! ha! what a slip
These cunning people make! To-night, I too
Quit Hanover for ever.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You!
130
Yes, yes.
In Brunswick, Philip, we may meet again;
Where friendship may not be, as here it is,
Reckoned among our crimes. Duke Anthony
Invites me, instantly, to come to him;
And for that purpose, he has set at Piend
An escort to receive me.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Be not rash.
I fear you have not counted the effect
Of this bold purpose on your happiness.
SOPHIA.
My husband has prepared me for the worst
By one last action. Listen! Ere he left,
With the alacrity of shame, and fled,
To hide his baseness in Berlin, we two
Had an encounter of high, stormy words;
In which he thundered, and I only rained,
As is my sex's habit. Towards the last,
Heated with wine and anger, in gross terms,
He charged me with a crime which he himself
Knew, as he uttered it, 'o be a lie.
My spirit, hitherto as meek as grief
And nervous fear could make it, rose at this;
And, in plain words, I called the odious taunt
By its right name—I called it a foul lie!
How do you think he answered?—With a blow!
Struck me, a princess—nay, a woman, man!—
Are you not blushing for your paltry sex?
131
'Gainst God and Nature, reddens on my throat,
Where his vile hand affixed it!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Coward!—brute!
In vindication of all manhood, stained
From surface unto centre, I shall call
The heartless ruffian to account for this.
SOPHIA.
Oh, no; he has the right, the right by law,
Founded on man's best wisdom. Every code,
Made by your Dracos, sanctions deeds like his.
But shall I, if the Lord has given me strength
And limbs to crawl away, stay here till blows
Have made them useless?
KÖNIGSMARK.
No; away, away!
What man shall blame you, when your story's told,
Or make a motion on your husband's part?
SOPHIA.
All men, I fear; but I shall venture it,
Relying on Heaven's judgment more than man's.
Philip, farewell! When I am safe in Brunswick,
We may be friends beneath a brighter sky.
That strange note frightened me: and yet I see
No reason for alarm. Some would-be wit
Sent it, perhaps, in silly merriment.
I do not blame him: though 'twere dangerous,
If he were lurking to o'erlook his trick.
132
I quite forgot the note, the time, the place.
All places seem as one, when you are near;
All times seem late enough, when we must part;
And who shall charge me with ingratitude
Towards any chance that brings me to your side?
SOPHIA.
There, Philip, there! in raptures once again!
Your gallantry is endless. Leave me now.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Hear me! I love you.—
SOPHIA.
Is it generous
To air your humors at a time like this?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Thus have you parried me, and put to shame
My modest homage, more than once before.
You will not understand me; or you feign
To think me jesting when I speak in truth.
I ask no answer from you. My high love
Is also generous, and would not see
Your spirit humbled. Make me no reply,
By word, or motion, or confessing blush:
But I will speak. The mean hypocrisy
Of secret worship galls my self-respect:
I feel as though a crime were on my soul.
If I have wronged you by my stealthy love,
Let me endure the open punishment:
I shall feel happier.
133
Philip Königsmark,
This is all wrong. To me 'tis cruelty—
Most wanton cruelty. You would erase
Those blameless feelings which my heart has kept
Through every trial,—that fair memory
Which made the thought of you inseparable
From home and childhood, and array yourself
Against my virtue, as a dangerous man
To be suspected, watched and held at bay.
Henceforth, I shall not trust you as of old;
I shall not dare to look into your face,
With the calm confidence of innocence,
Lest careless trust should leave some door ajar
For ambushed love to enter. I must raise
Between us two the barriers of the world,
The guards of etiquette; and wipe away,
As a false picture of my fantasy,
The playmate children in the grounds of Zell.
Ah, 'tis a heavy sorrow! for you leave
An empty place in my ill-furnished heart,
That must remain for ever.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You mistake:
I would not drag my idol to the ground,
And soil its lustre with my vain caress.
Remain upon your altar, safe from me,
In the dread splendor of divinity.
I do not pray, I worship. Now, farewell:
Hereafter, when you look upon my face—
Be it with joy or sorrow—you may think
134
You shall not think me false! Farewell, farewell!
(Knock at the door.)
SOPHIA.
Ha! we are lost!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Where does that passage lead?
SOPHIA.
Into my closet.
KÖNIGSMARK.
And I need not ask,
How many feet of empty air there are
Between yon window and the ground. Here lies
My rapid course then. (Approaches the window.)
SOPHIA.
Madman, hold! Hark, hark!
Listen one moment. (Goes to the door.)
Who is there?
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
(Without.)
'Tis I.
SOPHIA.
It is the Countess Knesebeck—thank God!
Are you alone?
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
(Without.)
Yes, Princess.
SOPHIA.
No one near?
Can you see no one in the corridor?
Look sharply.
135
(Without.)
No; all is as still as death.
KÖNIGSMARK.
As death! my inmost spirit echoes that. (Aside.)
SOPHIA.
Go bring my traveling-cloak and quilted hood;
I left them in the nursery.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
(Without.)
Pray make haste;
The horses wait us.
SOPHIA.
Countess? No reply.
Now, Philip, quick! (Opens the door.)
God bless you! I forgive:
I cannot part in anger from you. Here,
Here is my hand, my brother.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Gracious Heaven,
Rain blessings on her, till thy treasury
Be emptied of its bounties! As for me,
I sail into the tempest, careless now
Whether I swim or founder.
[Exit.
SOPHIA.
Gone, gone, gone!
And yet his blessing lingers; for I feel
That Heaven draws nearer as he leaves my side,
And some mysterious power supplies his place,
And takes his office. (Knock at the door.)
136
(Without.)
Princess!—
SOPHIA.
Well, come in!
(Re-enter Countess von Knesebeck.)
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
There's some one in the corridor.
SOPHIA.
Indeed!
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
I heard a step.
SOPHIA.
A fancy. Look again.
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
I can see nothing. (Looking out.)
SOPHIA.
Do you know the time?
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Past one.
SOPHIA.
So late? Then we are waited for.
Throw on my cloak. I'll take one farewell look
At my poor children. How my spirits sink
Before this action; but my will is firm.
Scorn, insult, blows! Such things as these have made
Self-murder sweet, and snapped the ties of life
With desperate haste. Why should I hesitate.
137
May knit again the raveled bond between
My children and myself? Come, come, at once!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Ritter's Hall. Enter Countess von Platen, with a light, meeting a Page.COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
You gave the note?
PAGE.
Yes, Countess.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
And what then?
PAGE.
I waited in the corridor since dark,
Behind a pillar, as you ordered me,
And saw the Count go by my hiding-place:
I could have touched him.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
He has not returned?
PAGE.
No, Countess.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Are you certain?
PAGE.
Very sure.
138
Well done, my boy! Here is a purse of gold: (Gives a purse.)
Pour out the gold, and put your tongue in it,
To keep you quiet. There's an empty cell,
Beneath the castle, where the Elector keeps
His tell-tales, Fritz: remember that. Now go!
[Exit Page.
Baumain!
(Enter Baumain, disguised.)
BAUMAIN.
Your ladyship?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Where are your men?
BAUMAIN.
Here, in the passage.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Have you given them wine?
BAUMAIN.
Too much, I fear; the knaves are riotous.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
When all is over, here's a bag of gold
To shake amongst them. (Gives a purse.)
Hark! I heard a step.
BAUMAIN.
It was the casement.
139
How it blows to-night!
We shall have rain ere morning.
BAUMAIN.
Do you think
The Count will know me thus?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
No.
BAUMAIN.
If the Count—
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
How dull you are! Have I not told you all?
I'll not repeat it.
BAUMAIN.
Pardon me: you'll find
I am apt in action. If the Count should yield?
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
He must not yield. Say nothing of the warrant—
How could he read it in the dark, forsooth?—
Keep it, I pray you, for your own defence:
That is its purpose.—Listen! I would know
That step among a thousand. It is he.
Prepare yourself. (Exit Baumain.)
Now, Philip Königsmark,
We shall break even in this last account!
[Exit.
(Enter Königsmark.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
What hangs upon my footsteps? The close night
140
To superstitious fancies, I might say
That, as I cross this hall, I plainly feel
The hand of some strange phantom pluck me back,
Now by the cloak—now by the sleeve—and now,
Horror! 'tis on my shoulder! Fie, this chill,
That stirs my hair and shivers down my limbs,
Is a reproach to common manliness.
Yet as I walk, it seems as though my steps
Were all repeated, with like time and sound,
By something just behind me. Oh, for shame!
A streak of day would make me laugh at this.
Where am I now? This is the Ritter's Hall:
I dimly see the banners and the arms
Hanging above me. Ugh! how damp it is,
And cold, yet close! The air feels dense and dead,
As though it had not moved for centuries,
And full of noisome odors. Faith, I feel
As though I were descending, step by step,
Into the hollow of a grizzly tomb;
The fair warm sunlight seems so far away,
And I so wretched and oppressed at heart!
I'll shake this weakness off. Where lies my way?
The door should be there, on the left-hand side.
Right; here it is.
BAUMAIN.
(Without.)
Stand! who goes there?
KÖNIGSMARK.
A friend.
Thank Heaven, the voice is human! Who has set
A guard in this strange place? 'Tis something new,
And might be fatal now.
141
BAUMAIN.
Who, sir, are you,
Walking so late upon forbidden ground?
KÖNIGSMARK.
A friend, I said, and it remains with you
To keep me so.
BAUMAIN.
Your words are bold and proud.
Disclose yourself.
KÖNIGSMARK.
He is a stranger. (Aside.)
Well?
(Drops his cloak.)
BAUMAIN.
I do not know your face.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Nor I yours, sooth;
Though haply, sir, your huge, uncomely beard
May hide fair features.
BAUMAIN.
Give the countersign.
KÖNIGSMARK.
The countersign! Good fellow, let me know
Who set you here upon this novel guard?
BAUMAIN.
I was not set to answer questions. Quick,
Give me the password, or I shall arrest you.
142
Back knave! your hand is on a gentleman.
BAUMAIN.
I'll prove my title to as good a name,
If you resist me. (Draws.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
Are you drunk, you clown,
To take death's tools for playthings? Sheathe your sword!
You are too nimble with your rapier,
To know its proper use.
BAUMAIN.
Come, teach me then.
Your backward fashion shames my nimbleness.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Why, what word-valiant roysterer are you
Who quarrel with my kindness? Walk with me
Into the courtyard, and, mayhap, I'll give
Your valor a short breathing. In the palace,
'Tis treason to draw swords. You call yourself
A guard on duty; but I doubt your words;
For, to my knowledge, you are the first man
Who e'er stood sentry here.
BAUMAIN.
Will you not yield?
KÖNIGSMARK.
I am Count Königsmark, your Colonel, man;
Will that suffice?
143
I know you not, I say.
Sir, I arrest you.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Show your warrant then,
And I will follow you.
BAUMAIN.
My warrant's out—
Here, in my hand—warrant and power enough
To take a score of such gallants as you.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You saucy knave, give way and let me pass,
Or I shall lose my patience.
BAUMAIN.
By the saints.
If words were feats, I'd run away for fear!
You pass not here, sir. Either you must yield,
Or I must take you.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yield myself to you,
A vaporing, drunken braggart, with no right,
Nor form of warrant, to arrest my steps!
Look you; my way lies yonder, through that door;
Move hand or foot to stay me, and I'll whip
Your carcass to a jelly!—Step aside!
I would not draw my sword upon such game.
BAUMAIN.
Stand back! you walk upon my weapon's point:
The next step will be fatal.
144
Stubborn fool!
Are you so desperate? Make way, or, by Heaven,
I'll make way through you! (Draws.)
(They fight. Königsmark drives Baumain.)
BAUMAIN.
Help, help!—treason!—help!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Poor coward!—
(Enter Guards, who strike down Königsmark.)
BAUMAIN.
Hold! you shall not mangle him.
FIRST GUARD.
Oh, look! it is our Colonel!
SECOND GUARD.
What, the Count?
BAUMAIN.
I'll hang you all, without an hour of grace,
If by mischance this story get abroad.
THIRD GUARD.
I'd rather have seen Hans, my brother, there,
With all those gashes, in that pool of blood,
Than him who lies there.
SECOND GUARD.
Is he dead?
145
Stone dead.
I struck a blow across his shoulder, Paul,
That would have slain Goliah.
SECOND GUARD.
How he bleeds!
FIRST GUARD.
God curse the hand that did it!
BAUMAIN.
Come away!
What are you muttering there? Go in, you knaves!
He was a traitor.
FIRST GUARD.
If he was, I'd like
To find a loyal man in Hanover.
[Exeunt Guards.
BAUMAIN.
They take it hard; and I myself would choose
Some kinder duty, if I were my own.
Poor Königsmark! There lies the boldest heart
That ever led a soldier through a breach.
(Re-enter Countess von Platen.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Is it all over?
BAUMAIN.
Yes.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
You made a noise.
146
Not much.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Too much. He's dead?
BAUMAIN.
I think so, Countess:
He has not moved.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I'm sorry he is dead;
For I had something I would say to him.
BAUMAIN.
Say to him now!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Yes, now. Withdraw a space;
But do not go too far. Remain in sight;
And leave your flambeau with me.
[Exit Baumain.
His heart beats;
The angry color has not died away
From his warm brow. How noble he appears,
Stretched like a hero on an ancient tomb!
Philip, awake! Oh, how I loved this man!
She stole him from me. Heart, heart, will you beat
Ever again for your Sophia? No!
The hand which I have laid upon his fate
Makes him my own for ever.
KÖNIGSMARK.
O kind Heaven.
Let me not perish!
147
Philip Königsmark,
You know me?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yes; you are Elizabeth,
A lady I have injured; and I beg
To be forgiven.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Hush, hush! You'll fill my life
With horrors, and my dreams with hell itself.
Curse me—forgive not—I beseech you, curse!
Know you who did this deed?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Some brutal tools
Of the Elector or Prince George.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
No, no;
I did it.
KÖNIGSMARK.
You? Then God forgive you!—oh!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
You suffer much?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yes, yes; but, at my heart,
I suffer more for all concerned in this,
And most for you. Your feet are in my blood—
Your skirts are fringed with it—your hands are red:
Where'er you walk, that track shall follow you.—
A stream of crimson through the shuddering day,
148
You shall not dare to look behind, for fear
Of your own footsteps; and where'er you pause,
This pool of blood shall form around your feet,
Like a foul sorcerer's circle; while, before,
Hope shall be dead, and memory, behind,
Shall lash you like a fury! Pray to die.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Oh! mercy, mercy!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Take your hands away
From your white face! your hands are purple too,—
Stained to the bone with the infernal dye.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Oh, Philip, spare me! I have murdered you
From love, not hatred—jealousy and love
Blinded my sight.—I do not hate you now:
I'd give my life to save you, if with life,
Your love for me returned.
KÖNIGSMARK.
I loathe you, woman,
As Heaven commands us to loathe wickedness.
I wish no harm to you: I would not move
A finger to revenge myself. Ah, no;
I leave you to Heaven's justice,—the complete,
Full, even justice of far-sighted Heaven.
What more could I desire, for my revenge,
Than God will give you? Quit me; let me die
In peace; your presence troubles me. You seem
An evil thought, thrust between me and Heaven.
149
Grant my last prayer. It will not try you much,
To keep the pledge, when I am in my grave.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
What is it?
KÖNIGSMARK.
Spare the Princess.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Villain, peace!
You dare to love her yet? She brought you here;
This was her doing: I, a poor blind tool,
Driven by her poisonous sweetness here and there,
Struck wildly in the dark, I knew not what;
And so I slew you.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Murderous sophistry!
The devil has a salve for every sin:
You are all devil.—Go, go!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Königsmark,
I see her coming; I am going hence;
And in the dark she'll stumble over you.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Fiend, fiend!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
I see it now; she wears her cloak,
Her traveling clothes, a parcel's in her hand!—
Ha, ha! I understand; you would elope—
150
Get up, and follow her—ha, ha! I think
I balked your project! When I come again,
You'll see me spare the Princess!
[Exit with torch.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Has the earth
Patience to bear this monster on its breast!
(Enter Sophia with Countess von Knesebeck, carrying a light.)
SOPHIA.
How dark it is! I almost fear to cross
This dismal hall. But are you very sure
The horses are in waiting?—Hush! what's that?
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
I heard no sound.
SOPHIA.
I did,—a breathing. Hark!
Heaven's mercy! what is here? A bleeding man—
A murdered man!—Philip!
COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
Oh! terrible!
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yes, Princess, dying, but by hard degrees.
SOPHIA.
Fly, Countess! bring some napkins, and the flask
That sits upon my table. Stand not there,
151
He's dying—oh, my God, he's dying!
[Exit Countess von Knesebeck.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Yes;
But sweetly now. What bliss it were to die,
As I lie thus! Oh take me, Heaven, I pray!
Receive me from her pure, religious hands;
Prize the poor offering for the donor's sake,
And overlook my gross defects! Alas!
I am selfish in my happiness. Away!
You wait your ruin, if you tarry here!
SOPHIA.
Who used you thus?
KÖNIGSMARK.
The Countess, our old foe.
She had the hardihood to boast of it,
And hiss her malice in my dying ears.
She left me, as you came, with furious threats
Against you, Princess. She will soon return,
To consummate her vengeance. Leave me! Flee!
And save yourself!
SOPHIA.
I will not, dare not go.
God's eye is on me, Philip: what will he
Say to the wretch who leaves a dying friend,
To seek her safety?
152
I implore you, flee!
Your presence makes me wretched. I shall die
With greater comfort for your absence.—Go!
SOPHIA.
I will not go! I claim a higher right—
A right you'll not deny me. Listen, then;
I love you, Philip: not as you, perhaps,
Would have me love, but, oh, as tenderly,
As deeply and as firmly. To my heart
You were a brother: when my lips said “Philip,”
My heart meant brother. Shall I quit you now—
Leave my dear brother dying in the dark—
Skulk like a coward from a fancied fear?
The thought is odious. Were the world agape,
And all its sneering faces fixed on me,
Here would I kneel beside you. Ah, poor heart!
How helpless love folds up his soaring plumes
Beneath the shadow of death's awful wings!
Save him, just Heaven!—he is too bright a soul—
We cannot spare him—save him, gentle Heaven!
KÖNIGSMARK.
You love me as a sister. To my thoughts,
Made cold and pure by death's allaying hand,
That love seems better than the senses' heat,
And fitter for the realm to which I go.
Do not forget it in this world of yours,
Among its cares and changes. I shall wait—
I know not where—but I shall wait for you,—
A pining soul that cannot turn towards heaven
For earthly bondage.
153
Philip, you are faint.—
Faint, said I, faint? Oh, mercy! those dull eyes
That wander through the air, and nowhere rest,
Those sharpening features, and that gurgling breath,
Tell fearful tidings. Do not leave me yet!
Stretch life a little, wave destruction back,
And tarry here a moment!
(Re-enter Countess von Knesebeck.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
It is vain.—
Yet will I stay for this.
(Enter the Elector, Countess von Platen, Baumain, Guards, Attendants, etc., with torches, etc.)
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
See, see, your Grace!
She wears her traveling clothes. Need I say more?
Your eyes find argument in all they see.
Elopement was her aim. She and the Count
Would have been leagues away, before this time,
Had I not interposed.
KÖNIGSMARK.
'Tis false—all false!
SOPHIA.
Dare you, with murder fresh upon your soul,
Pile crime on crime? Is God immovable?
Is lightning harmless? and is thunder dumb?
154
At this majestic evidence of heaven,
Torn into shreds by your unholy hands!
You dare not. Think you that the end is here?
No, with the high commission of the Lord,
I tell you, woman, in a prophet's voice,
This deed frowns on you from eternity,
And gathers terrors from the rolling years!
ELECTOR.
Most mournful sight!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Ernest, be resolute.
SOPHIA.
Peace! he would speak.
KÖNIGSMARK.
Your Highness, hark to me.
I am dying, as you see; I lie almost
Within the outer judgment-court of heaven,
Nearer by leagues than you who stand around:
Falsehood cannot avail me. Hear me swear,
Standing before the awful bar of sin,
That, even in thought, the Princess is as pure
As the white dove that breasts the silver morn
In her first flight. I swear it, o'er and o'er!
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Could he say less?
155
O vile interpreter
Of a fair text!
ELECTOR.
Remove the Princess hence.
At fitting time, her case shall have my care,
(Guards seize Sophia.)
SOPHIA.
Unhand me, ruffians! I will not be forced
To quit my duty. He has paused a while—
My more than brother, my one, only friend—
Upon the treacherous outworks of the world,
To say farewell. I will not go till he
Has closed his eyes, and given me leave to go.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Hark, Ernest, hark!
ELECTOR.
I hear. Away with her!
SOPHIA.
Cruel villains, are you merciless? Your Grace,
Grant me one moment—but a little while!
See how his spirit rushes to its end!
Philip—dear Philip!
(Guards drag her off.)
KÖNIGSMARK.
(Starting up.)
She is innocent—
Oh, spare the Princess—she is innocent! (Falls.)
156
Madam, Count Königsmark is dead.
COUNTESS VON PLATEN.
Dead—dead! (Faints.)
| Königsmark : the legend of the hounds and other poems | |