PREFACE. THE following Drama is taken entirely from the "German's Tale, Kruitzner," published many years ago in Lee's Canterbury Tales; written (I believe) by two sisters, of whom one furnished only this story and another, both of which are considered superior to the remainder of the collection. I have adopted the characters, plan, and even the language, of many parts of this story. Some of the characters are modified or altered, a few of the names changed, and one character (Ida of Stralen heim) added by myself; but in the rest the original is chiefly followed. When I was young, (about fourteen, I think,) I first read this tale, which made a deep impression upon me; and may, indeed, be said to contain the germ of much that I have since written. I am not sure that it ever was very popular; or, at any rate, its popularity has since been eclipsed by that of other great writers in the same department. But I have generally found that those who had read it, agreed with me in their estimate of the singular power of mind and conception which it developes. I should also add conception, rather than execution; for the story might, perhaps, have been developed with greater advantage. Among those whose opinions agreed with mine upon this story, I could mention some very high names; but it is not necessary, nor indeed of any use, for every one must judge according to his own feelings. I merely refer the reader to the original story, that he may see to what extent I have borrowed from it: and am not unwilling that he should find much greater pleasure in perusing it than the drama which is founded upon its contents. I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as |1815, (the first I ever attempted, except one at thir teen years old, called "Ulric and Ilvina," which I had sense enough to burn,) and had nearly completed an act, when I was interrupted by circumstances. This is somewhere among my papers in England; but as it has not been found, I have re written the first, and added the subsequent acts. The whole is neither intended, nor in any shape adapted, for the stage. February, 1822. DRAMATIS PERSONE. Men.-WERNER. ULRIC. GABOR. ARNHEIM. LUDWIG. Women.-JOSEPHINE. IDA STRALENHEIM. Scene-Partly on the Frontier of Silesia, and partly in Siegendorf Castle, near Prague. Time-The Close of the Thirty Years' War. Yes, but not to thyself: thy pace is hurried, Wer. 'Tis chill; the tapestry lets through The wind to which it waves: my blood is frozen. Jos. Ah, no! Wer. (smiling.) Why! wouldst thou have it so? Jos. Have it a healthful current. I would Jos. Then canst thou wish for that which must break mine? Wer. (approaching her slowly.) But for thee I had been-no matter what, But much of good and evil; what I am, [WERNER walks on abruptly, and then ap- The storm of the night, Perhaps, affects me; I'm a thing of feelings, And have of late been sickly, as, alas! Thou know'st by sufferings more than mine, my love! To see thee happy Wer. Wer. Something beyond our outward sufferings (though These were enough to gnaw into our souls) Jos. (abruptly.) My son-our son-our Ulric Twelve years! he was but eight then :-beautiful Wer. Jos. Lonely! my dear husband? Wer. Or worse-involving all I love, in this Far worse than solitude. Alone, I had died, And all been over in a nameless grave. Jos. 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, power; Enjoy'd them, loved them, and, alas! abused them, Where hast thou seen such? And forfeited them by my father's wrath, Let me be wretched with the rest! But think Jos. 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. Wer. And that's not the worst: who cares Abeggar, and should know the thing thou talk'st of. Wer. True-to a peasant. In my o'er-fervent youth; but for the abuse 'Tis hopeless. my father's, Jos. Jos. I must hope better still,—at least we have yet Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. Had such been my inheritance; but now, Wer. We should have done, but for this fatal sick- Chasten'd, subdued, out-worn, and taught to know ness, More fatal than a mortal malady, Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace; By the snares of this avaricious fiend ;- Jos. He does not know thy person; and his spies, Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh. Our unexpected journey, and this change Even to our very hopes.-Ha! ha! Alas! Jos. Jos. Your father did not think so, though 'twas I asked for something better than your name, noble ; But had my birth been all my claim to match Has done in our behalf,-nothing. Iden. Better or worse, like matrimony: what All which it Here in the prince's palace-(to be sure, How,-nothing? Or, if that seem'd too humble, tried by commerce, Jos. Whatc'er thou mightst have been, to me thou art What no state high or low can ever change, Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy sorrows: While they last, let me comfort or divide them; thee; This rashness, or this weakness of my temper, Wer. We learn his purpose? [Aside to WERNER Wer. You appear to have drank enough already; You see I am poor, and sick, and will not see That I would be alone; but to your business! What brings you here? Iden. Why, what should bring me here? Wer. I know not, though I think that I could guess That which will send you hence. Iden. What ho, there! bustle! Without there, Herman, Weilburg, Peter, Conrad [Gives directions to different servants who enter A nobleman sleeps here to-night-see that All is in order in the damask chamberKeep up the stove-I will myself to the cellarJos. (aside.) Patience, dear Werner. And Madame Idenstein (my consort, stranger) Iden. You don't know what has happened, then? | Shall furnish forth the bed-apparel; for, Jos. To say the truth, they are marvellous scant of this Within the palace precincts, since his highness Left it some dozen years ago. And then His excellency will sup, doubtless? How should we? Iden. The river is o'erflow'd. Ilen. Jos. Poor creatures! are you sure? It may turn out with the live or dead body. Iden. Here? no; but in the prince's own apart-] ment, As fits a noble guest:-'tis damp, no doubt, Gab. Faith! But are you sure And yet you saved his life. Well, that's strange To save a man's life whom you do not know. Good friend, and who may you be? Pray, By my family It matters little. Iden. (aside.) I think that all the world are grown anonymous, Since no one cares to tell what he's call'd! Pray, has his excellency a large suite ? Gab. Iden. How many? Gab. Sufficient. I did not count them. We came up by mere accident, and just In time to drag him through his carriage window. Iden. Well, what would I give to save a great man; No doubt you'll have a swinging sum as recompense. Gab. Perhaps. Iden. Now, how much do you reckon on? Gab. I have not yet put up myself to sale: In the mean time, my best reward would be A glass of your Hockheimer-a green glass, Wreath'd with rich grapes and Bacchanal devices, O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage; For which I promise you, in case you e'er Run hazard of being drown'd, (although I own It seems, of all deaths, the least likely for you,) I'll pull you out for nothing. Quick, my friend, And think, for every bumper I shall quaff, A wave the less may roll above your head. Iden. (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. Gab. (to WERNER.) This master of the ceremonies is The intendant of the palace, I presume: 'Tis a fine building, but decay'd. Your offer's noble were it to a friend, [Exit WERNER. Gab. (solus.) A goodly fellow by his looks, though worn, As most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure I scarce know which most quickly; but he seems Enter IDENSTEIN. Iden. 'Tis here! the supernaculum! twenty years if 'tis a day. I have also served, and can Of age, Gab. Which epoch makes Young women and old wine; and 'tis great pity, Wer. (quickly, and then interrupting himself.) I Which still improves the one, should spoil the other. Fill full-Here's to our hostess!-your fair wife! command-no-I mean I served; but it is many years ago, When first Bohemia raised her banner 'gainst At least in beauty: as for majesty, Gab. That's harder still. You say you were a Is more than I can say for Madame Idenstein, soldier. Wer. I was. Gab. You look one still. All soldiers are, Or should be comrades, even though enemies. Our swords when drawn must cross, our engines aim (While levell'd) at each other's hearts; but when A truce, a peace, or what you will, remits The steel into its scabbard, and lets sleep The spark which lights the matchlock, we brethren. are Gab. Iden. There I differ. |