No doubt is a mere tool and spy of Stralenheim’s,

  To sound and to secure me. Without means!

  Sick, poor — begirt too with the flooding rivers,

  Impassable even to the wealthy, with

  All the appliances which purchase modes 580

  Of overpowering peril, with men’s lives, —

  How can I hope! An hour ago methought

  My state beyond despair; and now, ‘tis such,

  The past seems paradise. Another day,

  And I’m detected, — on the very eve

  Of honours, rights, and my inheritance,

  When a few drops of gold might save me still

  In favouring an escape.

  Enter Idenstein and Fritz in conversation.

  Fritz. Immediately.

  Iden. I tell you, ‘tis impossible.

  Fritz. It must

  Be tried, however; and if one express 590

  Fail, you must send on others, till the answer

  Arrives from Frankfort, from the commandant.

  Iden. I will do what I can.

  Fritz. And recollect

  To spare no trouble; you will be repaid

  Tenfold.

  Iden. The Baron is retired to rest?

  Fritz. He hath thrown himself into an easy chair

  Beside the fire, and slumbers; and has ordered

  He may not be disturbed until eleven,

  When he will take himself to bed.

  Iden. Before

  An hour is past I’ll do my best to serve him. 600

  Fritz. Remember![Exit Fritz.

  Iden. The devil take these great men! they

  Think all things made for them. Now here must I

  Rouse up some half a dozen shivering vassals

  From their scant pallets, and, at peril of

  Their lives, despatch them o’er the river towards

  Frankfort. Methinks the Baron’s own experience

  Some hours ago might teach him fellow-feeling:

  But no, “it must” and there’s an end. How now?

  Are you there, Mynheer Werner?

  Wer. You have left

  Your noble guest right quickly.

  Iden. Yes — he’s dozing, 610

  And seems to like that none should sleep besides.

  Here is a packet for the Commandant

  Of Frankfort, at all risks and all expenses;

  But I must not lose time: Good night![Exit Iden.

  Wer. “To Frankfort!”

  So, so, it thickens! Aye, “the Commandant!”

  This tallies well with all the prior steps

  Of this cool, calculating fiend, who walks

  Between me and my father’s house. No doubt

  He writes for a detachment to convey me

  Into some secret fortress. — Sooner than 620

  This — —

  [Werner looks around, and snatches up a knife

  lying on a table in a recess.

  Now I am master of myself at least.

  Hark, — footsteps! How do I know that Stralenheim

  Will wait for even the show of that authority

  Which is to overshadow usurpation?

  That he suspects me ‘s certain. I’m alone —

  He with a numerous train: I weak — he strong

  In gold, in numbers, rank, authority.

  I nameless, or involving in my name

  Destruction, till I reach my own domain;

  He full-blown with his titles, which impose 630

  Still further on these obscure petty burghers

  Than they could do elsewhere. Hark! nearer still!

  I’ll to the secret passage, which communicates

  With the — — No! all is silent — ’twas my fancy! —

  Still as the breathless interval between

  The flash and thunder: — I must hush my soul

  Amidst its perils. Yet I will retire,

  To see if still be unexplored the passage

  I wot of: it will serve me as a den

  Of secrecy for some hours, at the worst. 640

  [Werner draws a panel, and exit, closing it after him.

  Enter Gabor and Josephine.

  Gab. Where is your husband?

  Jos. Here, I thought: I left him

  Not long since in his chamber. But these rooms

  Have many outlets, and he may be gone

  To accompany the Intendant.

  Gab. Baron Stralenheim

  Put many questions to the Intendant on

  The subject of your lord, and, to be plain,

  I have my doubts if he means well.

  Jos. Alas!

  What can there be in common with the proud

  And wealthy Baron, and the unknown Werner?

  Gab. That you know best.

  Jos. Or, if it were so, how 650

  Come you to stir yourself in his behalf,

  Rather than that of him whose life you saved?

  Gab. I helped to save him, as in peril; but

  I did not pledge myself to serve him in

  Oppression. I know well these nobles, and

  Their thousand modes of trampling on the poor.

  I have proved them; and my spirit boils up when

  I find them practising against the weak: —

  This is my only motive.

  Jos. It would be

  Not easy to persuade my consort of 660

  Your good intentions.

  Gab. Is he so suspicious?

  Jos. He was not once; but time and troubles have

  Made him what you beheld.

  Gab. I’m sorry for it.

  Suspicion is a heavy armour, and

  With its own weight impedes more than protects.

  Good night! I trust to meet with him at day-break.

  [Exit Gabor.

  Re-enter Idenstein and some Peasants. Josephine retires up the Hall.

  First Peasant. But if I’m drowned?

  Iden. Why, you will be well paid for ‘t,

  And have risked more than drowning for as much,

  I doubt not.

  Second Peasant. But our wives and families?

  Iden. Cannot be worse off than they are, and may 670

  Be better.

  Third Peasant. I have neither, and will venture.

  Iden. That’s right. A gallant carle, and fit to be

  A soldier. I’ll promote you to the ranks

  In the Prince’s body-guard — if you succeed:

  And you shall have besides, in sparkling coin,

  Two thalers.

  Third Peasant. No more!

  Iden. Out upon your avarice!

  Can that low vice alloy so much ambition?

  I tell thee, fellow, that two thalers in

  Small change will subdivide into a treasure.

  Do not five hundred thousand heroes daily 680

  Risk lives and souls for the tithe of one thaler?

  When had you half the sum?

  Third Peasant.Never — but ne’er

  The less I must have three.

  Iden. Have you forgot

  Whose vassal you were born, knave?

  Third Peasant.No — the Prince’s,

  And not the stranger’s.

  Iden. Sirrah! in the Prince’s

  Absence, I am sovereign; and the Baron is

  My intimate connection; — ”Cousin Idenstein!

  (Quoth he) you’ll order out a dozen villains.”

  And so, you villains! troop — march — march, I say;

  And if a single dog’s ear of this packet 690

  Be sprinkled by the Oder — look to it!

  For every page of paper, shall a hide

  Of yours be stretched as parchment on a drum,

  Like Ziska’s skin, to beat alarm to all

  Refractory vassals, who can not effect

  Impossibilities. — Away, ye earth-worms!

  [Exit, driving them out.

  Jos. (coming forward).

  I fain would shun these scenes, too oft repeated,

  Of feudal tyranny o’er petty victims;

  I cannot aid, and will not witness such.

  Even here, in this remote, unnamed, dull spot, 700

  The dimmest in the district’s map, exist

  The insolence of wealth in poverty

  O’er something poorer still — the pride of rank

  In servitude, o’er something still more servile;

  And vice in misery affecting still

  A tattered splendour. What a state of being!

  In Tuscany, my own dear sunny land,

  Our nobles were but citizens and merchants,

  Like Cosmo. We had evils, but not such

  As these; and our all-ripe and gushing valleys 710

  Made poverty more cheerful, where each herb

  Was in itself a meal, and every vine

  Rained, as it were, the beverage which makes glad

  The heart of man; and the ne’er unfelt sun

  (But rarely clouded, and when clouded, leaving

  His warmth behind in memory of his beams)

  Makes the worn mantle, and the thin robe, less

  Oppressive than an emperor’s jewelled purple.

  But, here! the despots of the north appear

  To imitate the ice-wind of their clime, 720

  Searching the shivering vassal through his rags,

  To wring his soul — as the bleak elements

  His form. And ‘tis to be amongst these sovereigns

  My husband pants! and such his pride of birth —

  That twenty years of usage, such as no

  Father born in a humble state could nerve

  His soul to persecute a son withal,

  Hath changed no atom of his early nature;

  But I, born nobly also, from my father’s

  Kindness was taught a different lesson. Father! 730

  May thy long-tried and now rewarded spirit

  Look down on us and our so long desired

  Ulric! I love my son, as thou didst me!

  What’s that? Thou, Werner! can it be? and thus?

  Enter Werner hastily, with the knife in his hand, by the secret panel, which he closes hurriedly after him.

  Wer. (not at first recognising her).

  Discovered! then I’ll stab — (recognising her). Ah! Josephine

  Why art thou not at rest?

  Jos. What rest? My God!

  What doth this mean?

  Wer. (showing a rouleau).

  Here’s gold — gold, Josephine,

  Will rescue us from this detested dungeon.

  Jos. And how obtained? — that knife!

  Wer. ‘Tis bloodless — yet.

  Away — we must to our chamber.

  Jos. But whence comest thou? 740

  Wer. Ask not! but let us think where we shall go —

  This — this will make us way — (showing the gold) — I’ll fit them now.

  Jos. I dare not think thee guilty of dishonour.

  Wer. Dishonour!

  Jos. I have said it.

  Wer. Let us hence:

  ‘Tis the last night, I trust, that we need pass here.

  Jos. And not the worst, I hope.

  Wer. Hope! I make sure.

  But let us to our chamber.

  Jos. Yet one question —

  What hast thou done?

  Wer. (fiercely).Left one thing undone, which

  Had made all well: let me not think of it!

  Away!

  Jos. Alas that I should doubt of thee! 750

  [Exeunt.

  ACT II

  Scene I. — A Hall in the same Palace.

  Enter Idenstein and Others.

  Iden. Fine doings! goodly doings! honest doings!

  A Baron pillaged in a Prince’s palace!

  Where, till this hour, such a sin ne’er was heard of.

  Fritz. It hardly could, unless the rats despoiled

  The mice of a few shreds of tapestry.

  Iden. Oh! that I e’er should live to see this day!

  The honour of our city’s gone for ever.

  Fritz. Well, but now to discover the delinquent:

  The Baron is determined not to lose

  This sum without a search.

  Iden. And so am I. 10

  Fritz. But whom do you suspect?

  Iden. Suspect! all people

  Without — within — above — below — Heaven help me!

  Fritz. Is there no other entrance to the chamber?

  Iden. None whatsoever.

  Fritz. Are you sure of that?

  Iden. Certain. I have lived and served here since my birth,

  And if there were such, must have heard of such,

  Or seen it.

  Fritz. Then it must be some one who

  Had access to the antechamber.

  Iden. Doubtless.

  Fritz. The man called Werner’s poor!

  Iden. Poor as a miser.

  But lodged so far off, in the other wing, 20

  By which there’s no communication with

  The baron’s chamber, that it can’t be he.

  Besides, I bade him “good night” in the hall,

  Almost a mile off, and which only leads

  To his own apartment, about the same time

  When this burglarious, larcenous felony

  Appears to have been committed.

  Fritz. There’s another,

  The stranger — —

  Iden. The Hungarian?

  Fritz. He who helped

  To fish the baron from the Oder.

  Iden. Not

  Unlikely. But, hold — might it not have been 30

  One of the suite?

  Fritz. How? We, sir!

  Iden. No — not you,

  But some of the inferior knaves. You say

  The Baron was asleep in the great chair —

  The velvet chair — in his embroidered night-gown;

  His toilet spread before him, and upon it

  A cabinet with letters, papers, and

  Several rouleaux of gold; of which one only

  Has disappeared: — the door unbolted, with

  No difficult access to any.

  Fritz. Good sir,

  Be not so quick; the honour of the corps 40

  Which forms the Baron’s household’s unimpeached

  From steward to scullion, save in the fair way

  Of peculation; such as in accompts,

  Weights, measures, larder, cellar, buttery,

  Where all men take their prey; as also in

  Postage of letters, gathering of rents,

  Purveying feasts, and understanding with

  The honest trades who furnish noble masters;

  But for your petty, picking, downright thievery,

  We scorn it as we do board wages. Then 50

  Had one of our folks done it, he would not

  Have been so poor a spirit as to hazard

  His neck for one rouleau, but have swooped all;

  Also the cabinet, if portable.

  Iden. There is some sense in that — —

  Fritz. No, Sir, be sure

  ‘Twas none of our corps; but some petty, trivial

  Picker and stealer, without art or genius.

  The only question is — Who else could have

  Access, save the Hungarian and yourself?

  Iden. You don’t mean me?

  Fritz. No, sir; I honour more 60

  Your talents — —

  Iden. And my principles, I hope.

  Fritz. Of course. But to the point: What’s to be done?

  Iden. Nothing — but there’s a good deal to be said.

  We’ll offer a reward; move heaven and earth,

  And the police (though there’s none nearer than

  Frankfort); post notices in manuscript

  (For we’ve no printer); and set by my clerk

  To read them (for few can, save he and I).

  We’ll send out villains to strip beggars, and

  Search empty pockets; also, to arrest 70

  All gipsies, and ill-clothed and sallow people.

  Prisoners we’ll have at least, if not the culprit;

  And for the Baron’s gold — if ‘tis not found,

  At least he shall have the full satisfaction

  Of melting twice its substance in the raising

  The ghost of this rouleau. Here’s alchemy

  For your Lord’s losses!

  Fritz. He hath found a better.

  Iden. Where?

  Fritz. In a most immense inheritance.

  The late Count Siegendorf, his distant kinsman,

  Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my Lord 80

  Is on his way to take possession.

  Iden. Was there

  No heir?

  Fritz. Oh, yes; but he has disappeared

  Long from the world’s eye, and, perhaps, the world.

  A prodigal son, beneath his father’s ban

  For the last twenty years; for whom his sire

  Refused to kill the fatted calf; and, therefore,

  If living, he must chew the husks still. But

  The Baron would find means to silence him,

  Were he to re-appear: he’s politic,

  And has much influence with a certain court. 90

  Iden. He’s fortunate.

  Fritz. ‘Tis true, there is a grandson,

  Whom the late Count reclaimed from his son’s hands,

  And educated as his heir; but, then,

  His birth is doubtful.

  Iden. How so?

  Fritz. His sire made

  A left-hand, love, imprudent sort of marriage,

  With an Italian exile’s dark-eyed daughter:

  Noble, they say, too; but no match for such

  A house as Siegendorf’s. The grandsire ill

  Could brook the alliance; and could ne’er be brought

  To see the parents, though he took the son. 100

  Iden. If he’s a lad of mettle, he may yet

  Dispute your claim, and weave a web that may

  Puzzle your Baron to unravel.

  Fritz. Why,

  For mettle, he has quite enough: they say,

  He forms a happy mixture of his sire

  And grandsire’s qualities, — impetuous as

  The former, and deep as the latter; but

  The strangest is, that he too disappeared

  Some months ago.

  Iden. The devil he did!

  Fritz. Why, yes:

  It must have been at his suggestion, at 110

  An hour so critical as was the eve

  Of the old man’s death, whose heart was broken by it.

 

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