 | Königsmark : the legend of the hounds and other poems |  |
7
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,
8
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?”
9
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—
10
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,
11
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?
12
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
13
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
14
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.
15
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
16
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.
17
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?
18
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
19
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,
20
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.
21
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.
22
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,
23
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.
24
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
25
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;—
26
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.
27
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.
28
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.
29
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?
30
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.
31
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.
| Königsmark : the legend of the hounds and other poems | |