University of Virginia Library

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
In Brunswick, sometimes; or Duke Anthony
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
Ran, like good tidings, through the realm of dreams;
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,
You would not blame me, as perhaps you will.
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.)


SOPHIA.
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,
I'll leap from yonder window, though quick death
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!

SOPHIA.
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?
See here, the seal of his high infamy
'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.

KÖNIGSMARK.
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.

SOPHIA.
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
What thing of me you will; but, by high Heaven,
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.

COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
(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.)


COUNTESS VON KNESEBECK.
(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.
Who only flee, and in some happier hour,
May knit again the raveled bond between
My children and myself? Come, come, at once!

[Exeunt.