The Works of Lord Byron - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_Josepha_. You shall have it, 10 Such as this ruinous mansion may afford: Tis s.p.a.cious, but too cold and crazy now For Hospitality's more cordial welcome: But as it is 'tis yours.
_Werner_ (_to his wife_). Why say ye so?
At once such hearty greeting to a stranger?
At such a lonely hour, too--
_Josepha_ (_in reply to Werner_). Nay--he's honest.
There is trust-worthiness in his blunt looks.
_Werner_ (_to Josepha_).
"Trustworthiness in looks!" I'll trust no looks!
I look into men's faces for their age, Not for their actions--had he Adam's brow, 20 Open and goodly as before the fall, I've lived too long to trust the frankest aspect.
(_To Carl_) Whence come you Sir?
_Carl_. From Frankfort, on my way To my own country--I've a companion too-- He tarries now behind:--an hour ago, On reaching that same river on your frontier, We found it swoln by storms--a stranger's carriage, Despite the current, drawn by st.u.r.dy mules, Essayed to pa.s.s, and nearly reached the middle Of that which was the _ford_ in gentler weather, 30 When down came driver, carriage, mules, and all-- You may suppose the worthy Lord within Fared ill enough:--worse still he might have suffered, But that my comrade and myself rushed in, And with main strength and some good luck beside, Dislodged and saved him: he'll be here anon.
His equipage by this time is at Dresden-- I left it floating that way.
_Werner_. Where is he?
_Carl_. Hitherward on his way, even like myself-- We saw the light and made for the nearest shelter: 40 You'll not deny us for a single night?
You've room enough, methinks--and this vast ruin Will not be worse for three more guests.
_Werner_. Two more: And thou?--well--be it so--(_aside_) (tonight will soon Be overpast: they shall not stay tomorrow)-- Know you the name of him you saved?
_Carl_. Not I!
I think I heard him called a Baron Something-- But was too chill to stay and hear his t.i.tles: You know they are sometimes tedious in the reckoning, If counted over by the n.o.ble wearer. 50 Has't any wine? I'm wet, stung to the marrow-- My comrade waited to escort the Baron: They will be here, anon--they, too, want cheering: I'll taste for them, if it please you, courteous host!
_Josepha_. Such as our vintage is shall give you welcome: I'll bring you some anon. [_goes out_.
_Carl_ (_looking round_). A goodly mansion!
And has been n.o.bly tenanted, I doubt not.
This worn magnificence some day has shone On light hearts and long revels--those torn banners Have waved o'er courtly guests--and yon huge lamp 60 High blazed through many a midnight--I could wish My lot had led me here in those gay times!
Your days, my host, must pa.s.s but heavily.
Are you the va.s.sal of these antient chiefs, Whose heir wastes elsewhere their fast melting h.o.a.rds, And placed to keep their cobwebs company?
_Werner_ (_who has been absorbed in thought till the latter part of his speech_). A Va.s.sal!--I a va.s.sal!--_who_ accosts me With such familiar question?--(_checks himself and says aside_)--Down startled pride!
Have not long years of wretchedness yet quenched thee, And, suffering evil, wilt thou start at scorn? 70 (_To Carl_.) Sir! if I boast no birth--and, as you see, My state bespeaks none--still, no being breathes Who calls me slave or servant.--Like yourself I am a stranger here--a lonely guest-- But, for a time, on sufferance. On my way, From--a far distant city--Sickness seized, And long detained me in the neighbouring hamlet.
The Intendant of the owner of this castle, Then uninhabited, with kind intent, Permitted me to wait returning health 80 Within these walls--more sheltered than the cot Of humble peasants.
_Carl_. Worthy Sir, your mercy!
I meant not to offend you--plain of speech, And blunt in apprehension, I do judge Men's station from their seeming--but themselves From acts alone. You bid me share your shelter, And I am bound to you; and had you been The lowliest va.s.sal had not thanked you less, Than I do now, believing you his better, Perhaps my own superior--
_Werner_. What imports it? 90 What--who I am--or whence--you are welcome--sit-- You shall have cheer anon. (_walks disturbedly aside_)
_Carl_ (_to himself_). Here's a strange fellow!
Wild, churlish, angry--_why_, I know not, seek not.
Would that the wine were come! my doublet's wet, But my throat dry as Summer's drought in desarts.
Ah--here it sparkles!
_Enter_ JOSEPHA _with wine in flask--and a cup. As she pours it out a Voice is heard without calling at a distance_.
WERNER _starts_--JOSEPHA _listens tremulously_.
_Werner_. That voice--that voice--Hark!
No--no--tis silent--Sir--I say--that voice-- Whose is it--speak--
_Carl_ (_drinking unconcernedly_).
Whose is it? faith, I know not-- And, yet, 'tis my companion's: he's like you, And does not care to tell his name and station. 100 [_The voice again and nearer_.
_Josepha_. 'Tis his--I knew it--Ulric!--Ulric!--Ulric!
[_She drops the wine and rushes out_.
_Carl_. The flask's unhurt--but every drop is spilt.
Confound the voice! I say--would he were dumb!
And faith! to me, he has been nearly so-- A silent and unsocial travelling mate.
_Werner_ (_stands in agitation gazing towards the door_).
If it be he--I cannot move to meet him.
Yes--it must be so--there is no such voice That so could sound and shake me: he is here, And I am--
_Enter_ STRALENHEIM.
_Werner_ (_turns and sees him_). A curse upon thee, stranger!
Where dids't thou learn a tone so like my boy's? 110 Thou mock bird of my hopes--a curse upon thee!
Out! Out! I say. Thou shalt not harbour here.
_Stralenheim_. What means the peasant? knows he unto whom He dares address this language?
_Carl_. n.o.ble Sir!
Pray heed him not--he's Phrenzy's next door neighbour, And full of these strange starts and causeless jarrings.
_Werner_. Oh, that long wished for voice!--I dreamed of it-- And then it did elude me--then--and now.
_Enter_ ULRIC _and_ JOSEPHA. WERNER _falls on his neck_.
Oh G.o.d! forgive, for thou dids't not forget me.
Although I murmured--tis--it is my Son! 120
_Josepha_. Aye, 'tis dear Ulric--yet, methinks, he's changed, too: His cheek is tanned, his frame more firmly knit!
That scar, too, dearest Ulric--I do fear me-- Thou hast been battling with these heretics, And that's a Swedish token on thy brow.
_Ulric_. My heart is glad with yours--we meet like those Who never would have parted:--of the past You shall know more anon--but, here's a guest That asks a gentle welcome. n.o.ble Baron, My father's silence looks discourtesy: 130 Yet must I plead his pardon--'tis his love Of a long truant that has rapt him, thus, From hospitable greeting--you'll be seated-- And, Father, we will sup like famished hunters.
JOSEPHA _goes out here_.
_Stralenheim_. I have much need of rest: no more refreshment!
Were all my people housed within the hamlet, Or can they follow?
_Ulric_. Not to night I fear.
They staid in hope the damaged Cabriole Might, with the dawn of day, have such repairs, As circ.u.mstance admits of.
