Count S. [taking up money.] Despair not, SirFortune's a fickle goddess; The next turn will be yours, "faint heart ne'er won:" You know what says the proverb, “gold nor ladies." Bar. [aside.] Most sapient Raymond; bible-reading fool! Is this the end of your religious fervour? [He looks at a small billet. Within the dainty folds of this smooth paper Lie words which, like some cabalistic signs, Have fear and death in them! Ha, ha! Count Siemar; Thou keepest carelessly a lady's secret, Else hadst thou never dropped this perfumed paper! Raymond again loses the game; he flings down his last gold, hurls the dice upon the floor, and starts up with furious. gestures. Ten thousand curses fall upon all play! I am a ruined man, beyond retrieve — I am a cursed, ruined, wretched man! [pours out wine. [Aside.] Let this assist my purpose-fool, fool, fool! Most senseless fool! But let me drink, and die! [He drinks-Bartolin goes out; Raymond throws on his cloak and rushes out also. SCENE IV. The porch, leading into the street; enter Raymond, like one beside himself, with his hand on his dagger. Bartolin. [presenting the billet.] This sir, to yours, but to none other hand; Thus were my orders, absolute-Good night! Raym. [reads] "My daughter has consented to be yours; we will expect you at the appointed hour. Raymond is a penniless prodigal. Adieu." [Turning to the address A penniless prodigal! and they who robbed me, [He wraps his cloak around him, and walks SCENE V. Midnight — a dark and lonely street in the suburbs; enter COUNT SIEMAR, singing in a low voice. Come, pledge me in this cup of wine, And let us have a joyful night, Why should we part ere morning light! Help! help! or 'tis too late! [He falls. Raym. [striking him again.] Ye said I was a proI'll be as prodigal of thrusts as gold! digal! ay, ay- see then Count S. faintly.] Oh heavens, I am a murdered man; and none In the meantime give us your name, good sir, My murderer is one Berthier, a base man! 2nd W. What does he say? 1st W. It is the great Count Siemar! 2nd W. Oh, woful chance! 1st W. The prince will pay us richly For help we give-let's bear him to the palace! [They attempt to raise him. Count S. It is too late-too late! let me die here! [He dies. 1st W. If you have any message for the living, Speak it within my ear, most noble sir. glen, and sounds of the gathering tem- Even like this outward tempest are the pangs Ah, 't is here! Gloomy and lone, a place of guilt it seems, [He listens for some time. Yet will I enter, for I wildly long He's dead! alas, all's over with him now! To see again a human countenance ! 2nd W. Ah, what a cruel murderUpon his soul! God have mercy Enter 3rd WATCHMAN and DOCTOR. 1st W. He is stone-dead, poor soul! 2nd W. And 't is no other than the great Count Siemar! Doctor. [after examining the body.] It is too late! there is no life within him He has had seven wounds; the least were mortal! [They raise the body, and all move off. SCENE VI. Midnight-savage glen among mountains- thunder and lightning, with furious gusts of wind. Enter RAYMOND, in a monk's habit. For these seven days, like an ill-omened thing Thus wandered Cain, through melancholy years, [The lightning strikes a tree before him. Hath not more terror now than hath the present, [The storm rages more fearfully; trees are [He knocks at the door, which is opened by an Old Man. Raym. Father, I crave the shelter of your roof Ay, enter, thou art welcome. [He goes in. Seven days since, I left it. Old Man. Thou heard'st then of one Berthier, how he murdered The great Count Siemar? Raym. Yes, I heard of it- He made escape, in habit of a monk; As she had done her good name heretofore, Raym. Dead! say'st thou, father? Old Man. Ay, on the altar stone, which of her blood Will ever keep the stain- the altar Where he found sanctuary - and in the city "T is thought he murdered her! That did he not! Raym. thou know'st him Perchance did furnish that poor faithful girl, Raym. [after pacing the room several times, and A monarch's taste, Who unobserved would hold his meditations! Raym. Old man, a mighty sorrow weighs my soul: Thou hast not passed thy three-score years and ten, Without experience of some human pangs Respect my sorrow then, and give me peace! Old Man. Sorrow, the wise have said, is born of sin; And peace lies nowhere but within the grave. Raym. Alas! thy words are true. Old Man. -- The furrows of old age are on his cheeks, Can'st not repent? Of the great mortal struggle! This is another way of getting peace, Raym. [Opening his eyes, which have a glazed, wild look, and speaking like one in a dream.] I hear their mournful voices! my heart faints Alas, alas, I am undone undone ! Darkness is with me, but mine ears are open! Scarce number seven-thus the sin 'gainst know- Oh, was a human soul of so great worth ledge; 'Gainst parents disobedience, which shall bring Raym. God knows my sin- I do confess to none. Old Man. Thou dost belie thy habit-for ye teach That a great virtue lieth in confession. Raym. Cease, cease to trouble me-leave me alone! Old Man. From me far be it to disturb thy soul, I will withdraw. Raym. [He goes into an inner room. My sins are those he named – Mine are those deadly sins - there is no pardonWith God there is no pardon-nor with man. And she dead!- then what boots it to live on! I am an outcast from the face of man Caves are my hiding-places, and my food The miserable product of a soil Cursed for some ancient sin! Why should I live? [He takes a small phial from his bosom. Misery did arm me thus against myselfI drink to death. Death, be a gracious friend Unto a wretched soul that flies to thee! [He drinks. Soul, gird thyself, a journey lies before thee, From which no human voice can call thee back! [He lies down, closes his eyes, and remains for some minutes motionless. Meantime the Old Man comes forth as Bartolin, and stands beside him. Raym. Oh, hast thou found me here, mine enemy! That angels mourn for it? My God, my God! [The tempest without gains strength, and Mourn, mourn celestial spirits, One that was meant of your bright host to be, A human soul hath lost its heavenward way, Alas, how art thou fallen! A song of mourning let each one take up! The spirit is gone forth to the unknown, We that in gladness hymned Lost from our company, Oh erring human soul! Take up a song of woe, A song of mourning let each one begin! Stained with mortal sin! Oh star, shorn of thy beams, In blackness of thick darkness wandering now, Lost, lost, art thou! Oh spirit, vext with fears, by tempests tost. THE cruel nature of Achzib was unmoved by the moral ruin before him; in him was neither pity nor remorse. "As the tree falleth," said he, "so it lieth; and there is no repentance in the grave!" While he thus spoke, the Pastor entered. "Grant me the shelter of thy roof," said he, "for one hour; and when the storm hath abated, I will pursue my journey." "Whither dost thou journey?" inquired Achzib. "I seek a lost sheep of my Father's fold," replied the old man sorrowfully. "Behold!" said Achzib, lifting the cloak from the face of the dead, "him whom thou seekest- Raymond-who hath even now committed self-murder!" "My son! my son!" exclaimed the pastor falling upon his knees beside the body. Alas, my son, hast thou gone forth to the eternal judgment with this mortal sin upon thy soul!" and he buried his face in his hands, and wept like a woman. yet have found pardon with heaven."—And again the aged man covered his face and wept. "I will leave thee to thy meditations," said Achzib, and went out. The Pastor combated his emotion, and approached the dead; he lifted the already whitened locks from the young man's forehead. "Oh my son, my son!" exclaimed he, in the words of the royal mourner, “ would God, I had died for thee! Father, which art in heaven,'" said the old man, falling on his knees, "prayer availeth not for the dead; thy justice hath determined what is meet: but oh, by the tears our Lord shed for Lazarus; by the bloody sweat, the trembling spirit, and the mortal agony, I pray thee, if it be possible, pity and forgive! Oh, let the blood shed on Mount Calvary avail somewhat let the prayer for the murderers avail-Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!' "If there was good in him, though less than an atom, remember it-I know thou wilt, for thou art merciful; and even in the midst of despair, I bless thee. I bless thee, for the remorse which lived in the heart of this sinner-I bless thee, for the suffering he endured-the poverty, the shame, the hunger, the nakedness, which would not let him forget thee!I bless thee, that thou didst not leave his sin unpunished in this world! These grey hairs, this defaced youth; pain of body and anguish of mind, — these, oh Father! I will accept as tokens of mercy. Thou knowest the strength of temptation, thou knowest the weakness of human nature. Oh, pity and forgive!" The Pastor rose from his knees; the cold grey light of the morning struggled faintly through the small window; but Achzib had not yet returned. Without waiting for his coming, the Pastor composed as well as he might, the rigidly convulsed limbs, and prepared the body for interment. Near the hut he found a hollow in the bosom of the mountain, scoped by nature as if for a grave; and made strong by “This man must have been dear unto thee!" said Christian love, thither he bore the dead. No man Achzib, interrupting the Pastor's sorrow. "Oh!" replied he, rising, “the human soul is very precious; and this man was dear to me, even as a son!" “He hath confessed to me much and grievous sin," said Achzib. "Alas, he was a sinner, but I had hoped the day of grace was not over;" replied the Pastor," he was a great sinner, yet was not his nature evil; remorse followed crime, and heart-stinging repentance. God had not wholly abandoned him, and he who knows how we are tempted, knows also how to forgive!" "Methinks," said Achzib, "thou would'st excuse the sinner; thou would'st destroy the distinction between virtue and vice." "Nay, nay," replied the Pastor, "I know we are all sinners, and this young man the chiefest of them; but I dare not limit the mercy of God. I remember the thief on the cross; the publicans and sinners of the Gospel; and I hoped, that though he should not have found pardon from the justice of man, he might, witnessed the deed: and the departing Pastor exclaimed, "I leave thee to man's oblivion, and God's mercy." Achzib was once more among men, looking for a victim. He heard of wars, and rumours of wars. He heard of a tyrannous ruler, and an oppressed people, and he said, "I will go there." PHILIP OF MAINE. PERSONS. PHILIP OF MAINE. THE LORD OF MAINE, HIS FATHER. THE LORD OF KRONBERG. IDA KRONBERG, HIS DAUGHTER. BERTHA, HER COUSIN. ARNOLD, HENRY, CONRAD, AND ROLAND, LEAD ERS OF THE PEOPLE. Lord of K. What! dost thou ask my daughter as the payment Of such poor service, as a peasant lad MOTHER SCHWARTZ, THE FORGE-WOMAN; JAN, Had done for half a guilder! HER SON, AND HANS CLEF, LEADERS OF THE Phil. of M. HERENTS OF LORD KRONBERG. TERS. Lord of K. - Audacious rebel, SOLDIERS, AND OTHER SUBORDINATE CHARAC Wouldst beard me to my face! I tell thee, traitor, I have mine eyes upon thee, and thy fatherI know wherefore ye harbour in your walls The disaffected rabble-why thou comest To ask alliance with me, then to beard me! Phil. of M. My lord, this quarrel was not of my seeking. ACT I-SCENE I. A magnificent room in the Castle of Kronberg. Enter the LORD OF KRONBERG, and PHILIP OF MAINE. Lord of Kronberg. Good, good! you seek alliance with my house! Philip of Maine. I do, my lord. Lord of K. Phil. of M. Lord of K. Too long I have forborne! I know I know what your ambition lusteth after: What next, fair sir! Can stir up the fierce spirit of the people; Of your fair daughter's hand I ask, nought more. Lord of K. Nought to maintain her on! no marriage dower No broad lands, as a daughter's appanage? Or, to your face, I'd tell you, you're a tyrant! Phil. of M. I asked her, for herself! Broad lands Think but of those poor workers in the loom, and dower Came not within my count. Lord of K. Are not, what once they were-scoff not, my lord, I will retrieve its fortunes! good my lord, All dying in your streets, who might have earned Demand Whom you refuse a morsel? Your poor burghers, "Tis such as you, With busy meddling, that disturb their souls! Art worth a sword? canst draw one? canst thou And patch the old man's doublet! Name him not; Canst hunt? canst hold a hawk? canst read? canst That noble, good old lord, or by the gods, write? I wot not of a roof to your old house, Phil. of M. I shall forget myself! Hence with thee, prating fool! And yet thou'dst woo- wouldst take a wife, for- Hence with thee, ere I summon one, whose trade sooth! The noble Ida Kronberg! ha! ha! ha! Phil. of M. My lord, I do not take a taunt un moved; Nor do I ask a favour undeserved Is to chastise young insolence like thine! Phil. of M. A day may come, when we will count Were your fair daughter, ten times nobler still, Lord of K. Phil. of M. This honour uninvited! Your own mouth Those old dues, |