University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Holstein's House.
HOLSTEIN and ELLEN.
HOLSTEIN.
Although now past the exercise of arms,
And in inglorious ease condemn'd to waste
The brief remains of life—My fancy ranges
With our brave Prince th'experienced files of war,
And paints him governing the course of battle;
Beholds him strike the opposer to the ground,
And aids his pity to relieve the fallen.

ELLEN.
Heaven's grace preserve him to his happy people!
I grieve no welcome waits on his return,
Where it would charm the most, upon the brow
Of our beloved Duchess.

HOLSTEIN.
Her complaint,
Yields it not then to time and medicine?
Has Ida lately been here from the Palace?

ELLEN.
Not lately—for our lovely child has gain'd
So warm a seat within the generous breast
Of our dear mistress, that she seems to live
But while her duteous services are paid;
And every help is minister'd by Ida.

HOLSTEIN.
Danger may lurk beneath such proud distinction.
The favourite of a Prince is doom'd to feed
On hollow smiles, and envious adulation:
To raise, or to repulse, alike are fatal;
He rears ingratitude that will supplant him,
And all whom he repells are sworn his foes.

ELLEN.
Yet when her Highness sought the lovely child,
Struck by her beauty, innocence and youth,
Could we refuse her?

HOLSTEIN.
No, I mean not that.
But still my fondness aches for her return.
And, when the healing power shall deign to bless,
With former health, my royal mistress, then,
I will entreat her to restore our darling
To those, whom quiet shuns, while she is absent.

ELLEN.
But see, the nephew of Duke Wirtemberg;
The gentle Herman comes in haste from Court—
I hope his tidings are thus wing'd by comfort.
Enter HERMAN.
Health and the lengthen'd happiness of life,
Attend my much rever'd and valu'd friends.

HOLSTEIN.
We feel this honour sensibly, my Lord.
May we indulge a hope, your aunt recovers?

HERMAN.
We flatter still ourselves with the belief;
And what we pant for credulously coin;
But the physicians fear her—all the aids
Of science, and the many-breathed prayer
From holy lips, yet keep her from the skies.
The lovely Ida—

ELLEN.
Is my daughter well?

HERMAN.
She suffers but in sympathizing woe.
Her fondest greeting, to each honour'd parent,
Salutes you by my tongue.—She longs to see you.

ELLEN.
We've taught ourselves, to bear a tedious absence,
From which the slightest good results to one,
To whom we most owe duty and affection.

HERMAN,
My valiant friend, if now your leisure serves,
I could desire some private speech with you;
If not, I'll wait a fitter season.

HOLSTEIN.
Sir,
I am entirely your's. My dear your leave.

ELLEN.
Adieu, my Lord.

[Exit.
HERMAN.
I will not waste a moment
In idle preparation of my suit.
Thus speaking with the frankness of a soldier,
I lay my heart plainly, at once, before you.
The gracious Ida, your most beauteous daughter,
Has here inspir'd the most unbounded love.

HOLSTEIN.
Unwelcome tidings! O, my fears presag'd this.

[aside.
HERMAN.
I could not reconcile to manly conduct
A close clandestine furtherance of my passion;
To her most honour'd parent, I address me,
Court his indulgence, bow to his decision.

HOLSTEIN.
Young Prince, is this a time for such a theme,
Ev'n were I prone to listen to the honour,
When sickness menaces the throne itself?

HERMAN.
Spare this reproach, for even there, my friend,
Passion collected fuel to the flame,
And love illum'd his torch at pity's shrine.
I saw my Ida, like some angel, tend
The pillow of disease, whose pallid brow,
Flush'd at the comfort, which her care bestow'd;
While she, unwearied, all relief declin'd,
And seem'd th'embodied soul of consolation.

HOLSTEIN.
Excuse me, if I hear no more, young friend,
Your candour has my praise—is worthy of you.
I have a debt, like you, to open dealing.
My obligations to the Duke, my master,
Forbid my countenance, where his is wanting.
If he object not to your lowly choice,
I can find nought but honour in the union.

HERMAN.
My friend, my father, take my fervent thanks.
Ever indulgent, the thrice gracious Duke
Will never frown upon my chaste desires.
Adieu! may every bliss descend upon you,
That I have power to wish, or you enjoy.

[Exit.
HOLSTEIN.
Fare you well! rash and inconsiderate youth!
Such is the nature of that hour of prime!
The bud of young desire shoots unsuspecting,
Touch'd by the genial gales of ripening time;
Regardless of the wayward blasts of winter,
That smite the evening of a day all sunshine;
Blighting the unguarded bosom of the flow'r,
Whose form then withers, and its sweets expire.

[Exit.
SCENE, The Palace.
Enter RATIBOR.
The promis'd day of power at length dawns on me:
One daring step will seat me on a throne.
The Duke returns but slenderly attended,
A band of brave associates shall assail him,
And rid me of my only bar, this Brother!
Curse on my mind for conjuring up that term!
To that word prejudice and folly join
Sensations, deadly to ambition.
And yet, fraternal discord is as common
As any rebel passion of our natures,
And the first blood, that stain'd the new-made earth,
Envy shed forth, and by a brother's hand.
But see, where Ida comes to still this tempest.

Enter IDA.
My Lord, your sister charg'd me to enquire,
If your Grace knows when to expect the Duke?
Alas, I fear he will arrive too late,
And find his angel wife a speechless corse.

RATIBOR.
Your fears, dear maid, outrun all likelihood—
With her physicians I have held some converse,
And they incline to give me better hopes.

IDA.
My Lord, my constant view of her condition
Forbids me to indulge such grateful thoughts.
Her patient temper yields not to complaint,
But all the healing art will ne'er prevail,
If symptoms may be known of dissolution.

RATIBOR.
O mis-becoming terrors! Think ye not
The presence of her husband will dispose
Her drooping powers to happy renovation?
Trust me no cordial to the heart has force
Equal to him, whose image it enfolds.

IDA.
This I can well believe.

RATIBOR.
And why my fair one?
Has any suitor yet upon thy heart
Impress'd indelibly his gay perfections?
This is a perilous spot for youthful beauty.

IDA.
I am unconscious of such indiscretion.

RATIBOR.
The soft confession of your eye denies
The coy reserve that lingers on your tongue.
I had expected, to a friend like me,
Not youthful, and thus fit for confidence,
A warm eulogium on some favour'd swain.

IDA.
At whom thus points your Grace?

RATIBOR.
Perhaps at Herman.
He has discernment—You have youth and beauty.
It is, as I suspected.

(aside)
IDA.
Sure, my Lord,
You do not deem your handmaid so presuming!
The Prince is dearly amiable—but I,
Born in an humble sphere, attract not him.

RATIBOR.
O disregard the difference of rank,
Love levels the distinctions of the world,
And raises up the Peasant to the Prince.
Perhaps your beauties have obtain'd an interest
In rank to his superior far—I've said it.
Your prudence will digest the hint at leisure.
Say to the Dutchess, that my royal Brother
Has left the camp, and will be here to-morrow.
At some, not distant period, loveliest Ida,
I shall demand your private ear awhile;
Adieu! a splendid lot awaits you.

[Exit.
IDA.
(Curtesies low, and arises with an expression of terror.)
How!
Did I hear rightly? What said Ratibor?
Interest obtain'd in far superior rank!
It is too clear—O my beloved Herman,
What fiend has started thee so dread a rival?

Enter HERMAN.
My love, if ent'ring now, my ears deceiv'd not,
I heard my name, and coupled with a rival!
Give me the cause of that alarming junction.

IDA.
O Prince, I beg you leave me to my fate!
I was not fram'd to be the sport of greatness;
And, little suited to its flowery bands,
Suffer me to obliterate the past,
And fly distinction, that would make me wretched.

HERMAN.
What sudden change is this? O tell me, Ida,
Speak clearly, instantly, lest my despair
Dash your fond victim senseless at your feet—
Thou said'st I had a rival! Who is he?
Give me the wretch's hated name, that I
May dare him to contest his claims with me,
And rid you of the suit—

IDA.
Of Ratibor.

HERMAN.
My uncle! then indeed I find a rival,
The most pernicious that my mind could image!
His influence with the Duke, and more his power
As a chief member of that dreadful band,
Who judge in secret—nay the constant hate
Which spite of artifice, I know he bears me—
All call for double vigilance against him.

IDA.
O, Herman, why should I excite a contest,
Where most I wish for harmony and love?
Let me retire, and peace will be restor'd.

HERMAN.
No, I disdain the creeping timid prudence,
That gives up honour to make sure of safety.
To your dear father, I have frankly pleaded
That passion which must govern all my life:
By him referr'd where most I owe allegiance,
I'll trust to goodness which has ever flow'd
From Wirtemberg upon his favour'd Herman.

[Exeunt.
A gloomy Vault.
RATIBOR
enters.
Since I have form'd this bold design, a cold
And aguish tremor shakes my very flesh,
And my heart heaves at every noise around me:
When the alarm subsides, a chilly dew
Bathes all my limbs—And yet it is'n't done!
How when he falls beneath the hireling dagger?
A diadem! will that repay these shudders?
The essay may soon be made, for here comes Rudolph.

Enter RUDOLPH.
(Dressed as a Member of the Secret Tribunal.)
My Lord, I wait your ultimate directions.
The sums of gold have silenc'd every scruple;
Your Brother dies, had he a thousand lives.

RATIBOR.
Name not the hated tie to me, good Rudolph.
The troops, you say, are well dispos'd and ready—
His way lies through the wood that skirts the town;
There then assault him; and, remember, friend,
Transfix the body to some blighted oak,
And leave the weapon there; the deed will then
Seem the just vengeance of the Secret Judges,
And none will question the proceeding further.

RUDOLPH.
Not of a Prince so slain?

RATIBOR.
Art thou to learn
The pow'r by the invisibles possess'd?
Which makes the Emperor tremble on his throne.
And, through this country more especially,
Judges and punishes in secresy.
He is a heretick, the slave of Huss,
And therefore blotted from the breast of love,
Devoted to destruction.

RUDOLPH.
Deem it done.
I shall acquaint you how we speed to-morrow.

RATIBOR.
Rudolph, remember, I expect your haste;
Exchange your dress, and come strait to my chamber.

RUDOLPH.
Ere noon, my Lord, expect me.

[Exit.
RATIBOR.
Fare you well.
Would he had led me hence! fie on these terrors!
O guilt, that, seeking to conceal its purpose,
Flies to a spot, that aggravates the horror!
If any one should cross me in my path,
Would not my trembling limbs betray my purpose?
O, who can banish night, and talk down conscience?
The beams of day and revelry combin'd
May dissipate this sickness of the soul—
And then ambition crown'd! There's comfort still.

[Goes off in alarm.