_Stral._ He stands Between me and a brave inheritance! 370 Oh! could you see it! But you shall.
_Ulr._ I hope so.
_Stral._ It is the richest of the rich Bohemia, Unscathed by scorching war. It lies so near The strongest city, Prague, that fire and sword Have skimmed it lightly: so that now, besides Its own exuberance, it bears double value Confronted with whole realms far and near Made deserts.
_Ulr._ You describe it faithfully.
_Stral._ Aye--could you see it, you would say so--but, As I have said, you shall.
_Ulr._ I accept the omen. 380
_Stral._ Then claim a recompense from it and me, Such as _both_ may make worthy your acceptance And services to me and mine for ever.
_Ulr._ And this sole, sick, and miserable wretch-- This way-worn stranger--stands between you and This Paradise?--(As Adam did between The devil and his)--[_Aside_].
_Stral._ He doth.
_Ulr._ Hath he no right?
_Stral._ Right! none. A disinherited prodigal, Who for these twenty years disgraced his lineage In all his acts--but chiefly by his marriage, 390 And living amidst commerce-fetching burghers, And dabbling merchants, in a mart of Jews.
_Ulr._ He has a wife, then?
_Stral._ You"d be sorry to Call such your mother. You have seen the woman He _calls_ his wife.
_Ulr._ Is she not so?
_Stral._ No more Than he"s your father:--an Italian girl, The daughter of a banished man, who lives On love and poverty with this same Werner.
_Ulr._ They are childless, then?
_Stral._ There is or was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Whom the old man--the grandsire (as old age 400 Is ever doting) took to warm his bosom, As it went chilly downward to the grave: But the imp stands not in my path--he has fled, No one knows whither; and if he had not, His claims alone were too contemptible To stand.--Why do you smile?
_Ulr._ At your vain fears: A poor man almost in his grasp--a child Of doubtful birth--can startle a grandee!
_Stral._ All"s to be feared, where all is to be gained.
_Ulr._ True; and aught done to save or to obtain it. 410
_Stral._ You have harped the very string next to my heart[185].
I may depend upon you?
_Ulr._ "Twere too late To doubt it.
_Stral._ Let no foolish pity shake Your bosom (for the appearance of the man Is pitiful)--he is a wretch, as likely To have robbed me as the fellow more suspected, Except that circ.u.mstance is less against him; He being lodged far off, and in a chamber Without approach to mine; and, to say truth, I think too well of blood allied to mine, 420 To deem he would descend to such an act: Besides, he was a soldier, and a brave one Once--though too rash.
_Ulr._ And they, my Lord, we know By our experience, never plunder till They knock the brains out first--which makes them heirs, Not thieves. The dead, who feel nought, can lose nothing, Nor e"er be robbed: their spoils are a bequest-- No more.
_Stral._ Go to! you are a wag. But say I may be sure you"ll keep an eye on this man, And let me know his slightest movement towards 430 Concealment or escape.
_Ulr._ You may be sure You yourself could not watch him more than I Will be his sentinel.
_Stral._ By this you make me Yours, and for ever.
_Ulr._ Such is my intention. [_Exeunt_.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_A Hall in the same Palace, from whence the secret Pa.s.sage leads_.
_Enter_ WERNER _and_ GABOR.
_Gab._ Sir, I have told my tale: if it so please you To give me refuge for a few hours, well-- If not, I"ll try my fortune elsewhere.
_Wer._ How Can I, so wretched, give to Misery A shelter?--wanting such myself as much As e"er the hunted deer a covert----
_Gab._ Or The wounded lion his cool cave. Methinks You rather look like one would turn at bay, And rip the hunter"s entrails.
_Wer._ Ah!
_Gab._ I care not If it be so, being much disposed to do 10 The same myself. But will you shelter me?
I am oppressed like you--and poor like you-- Disgraced----
_Wer._ (_abruptly_). Who told you that I was disgraced?
_Gab._ No one; nor did I say _you_ were so: with Your poverty my likeness ended; but I said _I_ was so--and would add, with truth, As undeservedly as _you_.
_Wer._ Again!
As _I_?
_Gab._ Or any other honest man.
What the devil would you have? You don"t believe me Guilty of this base theft?
_Wer._ No, no--I cannot. 20
_Gab._ Why that"s my heart of honour! yon young gallant-- Your miserly Intendant and dense n.o.ble-- All--all suspected me; and why? because I am the worst clothed, and least named amongst them; Although, were Momus"[186] lattice in your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, My soul might brook to open it more widely Than theirs: but thus it is--you poor and helpless-- Both still more than myself.
_Wer._ How know you that?
_Gab._ You"re right: I ask for shelter at the hand Which I call helpless; if you now deny it, 30 I were well paid. But you, who seem to have proved The wholesome bitterness of life, know well, By sympathy, that all the outspread gold Of the New World the Spaniard boasts about Could never tempt the man who knows its worth, Weighed at its proper value in the balance, Save in such guise (and there I grant its power, Because I feel it,) as may leave no nightmare Upon his heart o" nights.
_Wer._ What do you mean?
_Gab._ Just what I say; I thought my speech was plain: 40 You are no thief--nor I--and, as true men, Should aid each other.