Josephine. Ah, no! Thou knowst by sufferings more than mine, my love! In watching me. Josephine. To see thee well is muchTo see thee happy W'erner. Where hast thou seen such? Let me be wretched with the rest! Josephine. But think How many in this hour of tempest shiver Beneath the biting wind and heavy rain, Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth, Which hath no chamber for them save beneath Her surface. Werner. And that's not the worst: who cares For chambers? rest is all. The wretches whom Thou namest-ay, the wind howls round them, and The dull and dropping rain saps in their bones Werner (smiling). Why! wouldst thou The creeping marrow. I have been a soldier, have it so? Josephine. I would Have it a healthful current. Werner. Let it flow Until 'tis spilt or check'd-how soon, I care not. Josephine. And am I nothing in thy heart? Werner. All-all. Josephine. Then canst thou wish for that which must break mine? Werner (approaching her slowly). But for thee I had been-no matter what, But much of good and evil; what I am, Thou knowest; what I might or should have been, Thou knowest not: but still I love thee, nor Shall aught divide us. [Werner walks on abruptly, and then approaches Josephine. The storm of the night, Perhaps, affects me; I'm a thing of feelings, And have of late been sickly, as, alas! A hunter, and a traveller, and am Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now, | May have return'd back to his grandsire, and When, but for this untoward sickness, which | Even now uphold thy rights for thee? Seized me upon this delate frontier, and Werner. 'Tis hopeless. Josephine (abruptly). My son—our sonour Ulric, Been clasp'd again in these long empty arms, He was, and beautiful he must be now. Werner. I have been full oft The chase of fortune; now she hath o'ertaken My spirit where it cannot turn at bay,Sick, poor, and lonely. Josephine. Lonely! my dear husband? Werner. Or worse-involving all I love, in this Far worse than solitude. Alone, I had died, And all been over in a nameless grave. Josephine. And I had not outlived thee; but pray take Comfort! We have struggled long; and they who strive With fortune win or weary her at last, Werner. We were in sight of him, of every thing Which could bring compensation for past Since his strange disappearance from my father's, Entailing, as it were, my sins upon Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. Werner. We should have done, but for this fatal sickness, More fatal than a mortal malady, Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh. Our unexpected journey, and this change Of name, leaves all discovery far behind: None hold us here for aught save what we seem. Werner. Save what we seem! save what we are sick beggars, Even to our very hopes.-Ha! ha! Josephine. Alas! That bitter laugh! W'erner. Who would read in this form The high soul of the son of a long line? Who, in this garb, the heir of princely lands? Who, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride Of rank and ancestry? in this worn cheek, And famine-hollow'd brow, the lord of halls, Which daily feast a thousand vassals? Josephine. You Ponder'd not thus upon these worldly things, My Werner! when you deign'd to choose for bride The foreign daughter of a wandering exile. Werner. An exile's daughter with an outcast son Were a fit marriage; but I still had hopes To lift thee to the state we both were born for. Your father's house was noble, though decay'd, And worthy by its birth to match with ours. Josephine. Your father did not think so, though 'twas noble; But had my birth been all my claim to match With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is. Werner. And what is that in thine eyes? Josephine. All which it Has done in our behalf, -nothing. W'erner. How,-nothing? Josephine. Or worse; for it has been a canker in Thy heart from the beginning: but for this, We had not felt our poverty, or as Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce, Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes. Werner (ironically). And been an Hanseatic burgher? Excellent! Josephine. Whate'er thou mightst have been, to me thou art, What no state, high or low, can ever change, My heart's first choice; -which chose thee, knowing neither Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy sorrows: While they last, let me comfort or divide them; When they end, let mine end with them, or thee! Werner. My better angel! such I have This rashness, or this weakness of my temper, nature In youth was such as to unmake an empire, Myself, to lose this for our son and thee! My father barr'd me from my father's house, As e'er was gilt upon a trader's board; Josephine. Oh, yes; we are, but distantly Idenst. Well, I'm glad of that; Play'd round my heart-blood is not water, And so let's have some wine, and drink unto Werner. You appear to have drank enough And if you had not, I've no wine to offer, Josephine. Hark! You see I am poor and sick, and will not see Few visitors. Werner. And poverty hath none, [Werner puts his hand into his bosom Idenst. A fair good evening to my fairer And worthy-what's your name, my friend? Not afraid to demand it? Idenst. Why, what should bring me here? that I could guess That which will send you hence. Josephine (aside). Patience, dear Werner! Idenst. You don't know what has happened, then? Josephine. How should we? Idenst. The river has o'erflow'd. Idenst. But what you don't know is, Is drown'd below the ford, with five posthorses. A monkey, and a mastiff, and a valet Josephine. Poor creatures! are you sure? Idenst. Yes, of the monkey, And the valet, and the cattle; but as yet We know not if his Excellency's dead Or no; your noblemen are hard to drown, As it is fit that men in office should be; But, what is certain,is, that he has swallow'd Enough of the Oder to have burst two peasants; Left it some dozen years ago. And then And now a Saxon and Hungarian traveller, | His Excellency will sup, doubtless? Who, at their proper peril, snatch'd him from The whirling river, have sent on to crave A lodging, or a grave, according as It may turn out with the live or dead body. Josephine. And where will you receive him? here, I hope, Keep up the stove- I will myself to the AndMadame Idenstein(my consort,stranger,) Within the palace - precincts, since his Gabor. If I intrude, I crave— He paused to change his garments in a cottage And has almost recover'd from his drenching. Idenst. What ho, there! bustle! [Gives directions to different ser vants who enter. A nobleman sleeps here to night-see that Gabor. Faith! I cannot tell ; but I should think the pillow Idenst. But are you sure His Excellency—but his name, what is it? Idenst. And yet you saved his life. To save a man's life whom you do not know. I scarce should give myself the trouble. Good friend, and who may you be? Hungarian. Idenst. (aside) I don't much like this fellow-close and dry He seems, two things which suit me not; however, Wine he shall have; if that unlocks him not, I shall not sleep to-night for curiosity. [Exit Idenstein. Gabor (to Werner). This master of the ceremonies is The intendant of the palace, I presume? 'Tis a fine building, but decay'd. Werner. The apartment Design'd for him you rescued will be found In fitter order for a sickly guest. Gabor. I wonder then you occupied it not, For you seem delicate in health. Werner (quickly). Sir! Gabor. Pray Excuse me have I said aught to offend you? Werner. Nothing: but we are strangers to each other. Gabor. And that's the reason I would have us less so : I thought our bustling host without had said You were a chance- and passing-guest, the| counterpart Of me and my companions. Werner. Very true. Gabor. Then, as we never met before, It may be, may again encounter, why, I have been a soldier, and perhaps am blunt Werner. I have also served, and can Requite a soldier's greeting. Gabor. In what service? The Imperial? Werner (quickly, and then interrupting himself). I commanded-no—I mean I served; but it is many years ago, When first Bohemia raised her banner 'gainst The Austrian. Gabor. Well, that's over now, and peace Has turn'd some thousand gallant hearts adrift A truce, a peace, or what you will, remits The steel into its scabbard, and lets sleep The spark which lights the matchlock, we are brethren. You are poor and sickly – I am not rich but healthy; I want for nothing which I cannot want; You seem devoid of this-wilt share it? [Gabor pulls out his purse. Werner. Who Told you I was a beggar? In saying you were a soldier during peacetime. Werner (looking at him with suspicion). You know me not? Gabor. I know no man, not even Myself: how should I then know one I ne'er Beheld till half an hour since? Werner. Sir, I thank you. Your offer's noble were it to a friend, I am a beggar in all save his trade, Gabor (solus). A goodly fellow by his looks, though worn, As most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure, Which tear life out of us before our time: I scarce know which most quickly; but he seems To have seen better days, as who has not Who has seen yesterday? But here approaches Our sage intendant, with the wine; however, For the cup's sake, I'll bear the cupbearer. Enter IDENSTEIN. Idenst. 'Tis here! the supernaculum! twenty years Of age, if 'tis a day. Gabor. Which epoch makes Young women and old wine, and 'tis great pity Of two such excellent things, increase of years, Which still improves the one, should spoil the other. Fill full - Here's to our hostess—your fair wife. [Takes the glass |