I do not wish
To be so; for I trust these wars are over,
And you will live in peace on your domains.

Enter WERNER, as COUNT SIEGENDORF.

ULRIC.

My father, I salute you, and it grieves me
With such brief greeting.-You have heard our bugle;
The vassals wait.

SIEGEN DORF.

So let them-you forget
To-morrow is the appointed festival

In Prague, for peace restored. You are apt to follow
The chase with such an ardour as will scarce
Permit you to return to-day, or if

Return'd, too much fatigued to join to-morrow
The nobles in our marshall'd ranks.

ULRIC.

You, count,

Will well supply the place of both-I am not A lover of these pageantries.

SIEGENDORF.

No, Ulric; It were not well that you alone of all Our young nobility

IDA.

And far the noblest

In aspect and demeanour.

SIEGENDORF (to IDA).

True, dear child,

Though somewhat frankly said for a fair damsel.

But, Ulric, recollect too our position,

So lately reinstated in our honours.
Believe me,
't would be mark'd in any house,
But most in ours, that ONE should be found wanting
At such a time and place. Besides, the Heaven
Which gave us back our own, in the same moment
It spread its peace o'er all, hath double claims
On us for thanksgiving; first, for our country,
And next, that we are here to share its blessings.
ULRIC (aside).

Devout, too! Well, sir, I obey at once.

[Then aloud to a servan... Ludwig, dismiss the train without! [Exit LUDWIO.

IDA.

And so

You yield at once to him, what } for hours Might supplicate in vain.

SIEGENDORF (sn iling). You are not jealous Of me, I trust, my pretty rebel! who Would sanction disobedience against all

ULRIC.

And will you believe

SIEGENDORF.

In this case-yes.

ULRIC.

In any case,

I thought you knew it better than to take An accusation for a sentence.

SIEGENDORF.

Son!

I understand you: you refer to—but
My destiny has so involved about me
Her spider web, that I can only flutter
Like the poor fly, but break it not. Take heed,
Ulric; you have seen to what the passions led me;
Twenty long years of misery and famine

Quench'd them not-twenty thousand more, perchance
Hereafter (or even here in moments which
Might date for years, did anguish make the dial),
May not obliterate or expiate

The madness and dishonour of an instant.
Ulric, be warn'd by a father!-I was not

ULRIC.

I behold

The prosperous and beloved Siegendorf, Lord of a prince's appanage, and honour'd By those he rules, and those he ranks with.

SIEGENDORF.

Ah!

Why wilt thou call me prosperous, while I fear For thee? Beloved, when thou lovest me not! All hearts but one may beat in kindness for meBut if my son's is cold!——

ULRIC.

Who dare say that?

SIEGENDORF.

None else but I, who see it-feel it-keener Than would your adversary, who dared say so, Your sabre in his heart! But mine survives The wound.

ULRIC.

You err. My nature is not given To outward fondling; how should it be so, After twelve years' divorcement from my parents?

SIEGENDorf.

And did not I too pass those twelve torn years
In a like absence? But 't is vain to urge you-
Nature was never call'd back by remonstrance.
Let's change the theme. I wish you to consider
That these young violent nobles of high name,
But dark deeds (ay, the darkest, if all rumour

As far

As you feel, nothing, but all life for her.
She's young-all-beautiful-adores you-is
Endow'd with qualities to give happiness,
Such as rounds common life into a dream
Of something which your poets cannot paint,
And (if it were not wisdom to love virtue)
For which philosophy might barter wisdom;
And giving so much happiness deserves
A little in return. I would not have her

Break her heart for a man who has none to break,
Or wither on her stalk like some pale rose
Deserted by the bird she thought a nighungale,
According to the orient tale. She is-

And smile at pretty prattle, and look into
The eyes of feminie, as though they were
The stars receding early to our wish
Upon the dawn of a world-winning battle-
What can a son or man do more?
SIEGENDORF (solus).

[Exit ULRIC.

Too much!

Too much of duty and too little love!
He pays me in the coin he owes me not:
For such hath been my wayward fate, I could not
Fulfil a parent's duties by his side

Till now; but love he owes me, for my thoughts
Ne'er left him, nor my eyes long'd without tears
To see my child again, and now I have found him!
But how? obedient, but with coldness; dutecus
In my sight, but with carelessness; mysterious,
Abstracted-distant-much given to long absence,
And where-none know-in league with the most riotous
Of our young nobles: though, to do him justice,
He never stoops down to their vulgar pleasures;
Yet there's some tie between them which I canno

Uniavel. They look up to him-consult him-
Throng round him as a leader: but with me
He hath no confidence! Ah! can I hope it
After-what! doth my father's curse descend
Even to my child? Or is the Hungarian near
To shed more blood, or-oh! if it should be!
Spirit of Stralenheim, dost thou walk these walls
To wither him and his-who, though they slew not,
Unlatch'd the door of death for thee? "T was not
Our fault, nor is our sin: thou wert our foe,
And yet I spared thee when my own destruction
Slept with thee, to awake with thine awakening!
And only took-accursed gold! thou liest
Like poison in my hands; I dare not use thee,
Nor part from thee; thou camest in such a guise,
Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands
Like mino. Yet I have done, to atone for thee,
Thou villanous gold! and thy dead master's doom,
Though he died not by me or mine, as much
As if he were my brother! I have ta'en
His orphan Ida-cherish'd her as one
Who will be mine.

Secret! I have none; but, father, he who's gone
Might have one; or, in short, he did bequeath-
No, not bequeath-but I bestow this sum
For pious purposes.

PRIOR ALBERT.

Count, if I

Receive it, 't is because I know too well Refusal would offend you. Be assured

Son! you relapse into revenge, If you regret your enemy's bloodless death.

SIEGENDORF.

His death was fathomlessly deep in blood.

PRIOR ALBERT.

You said he died in his bed, not battle.

SIEGENDORF.

He

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Siegendorf, decorated with Trophies, Banners, and Arms of that Family.

Enter ARNHEIM and MEISTER, Attendants of COUNT SIEGENDORF.

ARNHEIM.

Be quick! the count will soon return: the ladies
Already are at the portal. Have you sent
The messengers in search of him he seeks for?

MEISTER.

I have, in all directions, over Prague,
As far as the man's dress and figure could
By your description track him. The devil take
These revels and processions! All the pleasure
(If such there be) must fall to the spectators.
I'm sure none doth to us who make the show.

ARNHEIM.

Go to my lady countess comes.

MEISTER.

I'd rather

Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade, Than follow in the train of a great man In these dull pageantries.

You have said so, and know best.

SIEGENDorf.

Within.

ARNHEIM.

Begone, and rail

[Exeunt.

The truth, and nought but truth, if not the whole:
Yet say I am not guilty! for the blood
Of this man weighs on me, as if I shed it,
l'hough by the Power who abhorreth human blood,
I did not !-nay, once spared it, when I might
And could-ay, perhaps should-(if our self-safety
Be e'er excusable in such defences
Against the attacks of over-potent foes);
But pray for him, for me, and all my house;
Fer, as I said, though I be innocent,

I know not why, a like remorse is on me

As if he had fallen by me or mine. Pray for me, Father! I have pray'd myself in vain.

How can you say so! Never have I dreamt
Of aught so beautiful! The flowers, the boughs,
The banners, and the nobles, and the knights,
The
gems, the robes, the plumes, the happy faces,
The coursers, and the incense, and the sun,
Streaming through the stain'd windows, even the tombs,
Which look'd so calm, and the celestial hymns,
Which seem'd as they rather came from heaven
Than mounted there. The bursting organ's peal
Rolling on high like a harmonious thunder;

The white robes, and the lifted eyes; the world
At peace! and all at peace with one another!
Oh, my sweet mother! [Embracing JOSEPHINE,

JOSEPHINE.

My beloved child! For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly.

IDA.

Oh!

I am so already. Feel how my heart beats!

JOSEPHINE.

It does, my love; and never may 't throb With aught more bitter!

IDA.

Never shall it do so!

[Exeunt.

How should it? What should make us grieve? I hate
To hear of sorrow: how can we be sad,
Who love each other so entirely? You,
The count, and Ulric, and your daughter, Ida.