THE GRANDSIRE.
SCENE. — The ancient gallery of seigniorial portraits of the burg of Heppenheff. This gallery is circular in form and spreads around the great tower; it communicates with the rest of the castle by means of four large doors which are situated at the four cardinal points. As the curtain rises, one notices that a portion of this gallery makes a turn and is lost behind the round wall of the tower. To the left, one of the four large communicating doors. To the right, a large and high door, communicating with the interior of the lower it stands upon an elevation of three steps and has a small house-door beside it. In the background a semi-circular roman promenade with low pillars, curious capitals, over which is a second story, (practicable) communicating with the gallery by means of a stair case of six steps. The sky is visible through the large arches of this promenade and also the remainder of the castle, whose highest tower is surmounted with an immense black flag, which floats in the breeze. To the left, near to the large folding-door, there is a small window filled with high-coloured glass. Near to the window, an arm-chair. The gallery looks uninhabited and dilapidated. The walls and the stone vaulting, on which some almost effaced frescoes are distinguishable, are green and mouldy through the oozing of rain. The portraits hung in the panels of the gallery are all turned to the wall. As the curtain rises, evening approaches. That part of the castle which is visible through the arches of the promenade seems to be lighted and illuminated in the interior, although it is yet broad daylight. The noise of trumpets and clarions comes from that side of the bury, and at times loud songs accompanied by the clinking of glasses are heard. Nearer, one hears the rustling of iron, as if a troop of men in chains were mooing about in that portion of the promenade which is invisible. A woman leans against the great door, and appears to be listening to the flourishes and singing in the neighbouring hall. She is alone, old, half covered by a long black veil, dressed in ragged sack-cloth, bound with a chain, which by a double link is fastened to her waist and to her naked feet, she has an iron collar around her neck.
GUANHUMARA (alone, listening. Song outside).
“To us the civil war Eternal glory brings: Defiance to the cities, Defiance to the kings.
“The Burgrave flourishes When days of peace are o’er. Barons, defy the pope, Defy the emperor!
“We ‘re brave! Then let us reign, — Reign by the fire, the rod. Burgraves, defy the devil! Defy almighty God!”
[Trumpets and clarions.
GUANHUMARA.
The lords are gay! The feasting still goes on’
[She looks towards the opposite side of the theatre. Under the lash, the prisoners work since dawn.
[She listens.
Here, sounds of revel; there, the clank of chains.
[She fixes her eyes on the door of the tower to the right. There, father and grandfather, bent with years, Watch the results of all their sombre work. They meditate upon their life, their race, And, out of reach of yon mad jests, review Their crimes, less hideous than their progeny. How great these lords in their prosperity Have been, and are to-day. Frontier dukes, And sovereign counts, and sons of gothic kings Bend to their level and their equals are ‘ Their city, full of clarions, songs, and hoots, Stands inaccessible among the clouds. A thousand soldiers, bandits with fierce eyes, Armed to the teeth, keep an eternal watch. All things go for protection to their lair. And yet in a dark corner of the place Wanders a woman, old and bent and sad, Chains on her feet, a yoke upon her neck, In rags, face veiled; a wretched slave is she: But, princes, tremble! This slave’s name is Hate! [She goes up stage and mounts the steps of the promenade. A troop of slaves enter from the gallery at the right; they are chained (some of them in couples), and they carry working-tools, pics, pickaxes, hammers, etc., in their hands. GUANHUMARA, leaning against one of the pillars in the promenade, loatches them thoughtfully. By the torn and soiled garments of the prisoners one can recognize their former professions.
KUNZ, TEUDON, IIAQUIN, GONDICARIUS, citizens and merchants with grey beards; Jossius, an old soldier; HERMANN, CYNULFUS, KARL, students from, the University of Boulogne and the School of Maintz; SWAN (or SUEUON) merchant from Lubeck. The prisoners advance slowly in separate groups, the students with the students, citizens and merchants together, soldier alone. The old men seem exhausted with work and grief. During this entire scene and the two which follow it, the flourishes and singing from the next hall are audible.
TEUDON (throwing down the tool which he held, and sitting on the stone step, in front of the double door of the tower).
The hour of rest at last! Oh, I am tired’
KUNZ (shaking his chain).
Once I was free and rich — and now!
GONDICARIUS (leaning against a pillar).
Alas!
CYNULFUS (watching GUANHUMARA, who crosses the promenade slowly).
I wish I knew on whom that woman spies.
SWAN (low to CYNULFUS).
The other month, our masters, — race accursed! —
Seized her among the merchants of Saint Gall.
I know no more’
CYNULFUS.
It is enough for me That she has freedom while we all are chained.
SWAN.
She cured a fever which near killed Hatto, —
Hatto, the eldest of the grand-children.
HAQUIN.
A serpent bit the Burgrave Rollo’s heel. The other day; she cured that too.
CYNULFUS.
Indeed!
HAQUIN.
I think, for my part, she’s a sorceress.
HERMANN.
No! she’s a fool.
SWAN.
She knows a thousand things. She cured not only Rollo, Hatto, but Eloi, Kniid, Azzo, — lepers from whom all men fled.
TEUDON.
This woman’s working at some sombre scheme. I tell you, she’s some wretched plot afoot With these three lepers, who are bound to her. You stumble on them at most every turn. They ‘re like three dogs which follow a she-wolf.
HAQUIN.
Yes; in the cemetery, yesterday, I saw them where the lepers live, these four, Making a coffin; nailing down the planks. She held a vase, and waved it, in her hands, Crooning, as women sing to babes who sleep. She made a philtre of the dead man’s bones.
SWAN.
All night they were afoot. The stars were bright, And one could see this woman and the lepers, Masked! It was horrible! I could not sleep; I watched them.
KUNZ.
Yes, they have some hiding-place Here in the caves. The other day the witch With her three lepers passed with surly looks By the long wall. I turned my eyes away One instant. When I looked again they’d gone, — Had sunk within the wall!
HAQUIN.
These wretched men, These lepers, sorcerers, with whom we live, Oppress me.
KUNZ.
It was near to the Lost Cave.
You know it?
HERMANN. That these lepers serve the one Who healed them is but natural and just.
SWAN.
Instead of lepers and bad Hatto, Kunz, The one within these walls she ought to cure Is old Job’s niece —
KUNZ.
Regina! God bless her!
She is an angel.
HERMANN. She is dying.
KUNZ.
Yes!
Horror of Hatto, loneliness, and grief Are killing her. Each day she’s nearer death.
TEUDON.
Poor child —
[GUANHUMARA re-appears at back of stage and crosses slowly.
HAQUIN.
Look! There the old witch goes again. She terrifies me. Everything about her, — Her wild looks, her dumb grief, her piercing glance So wise, so clear, so terrible at times, Her wondrous powers which are miraculous, — They frighten me!
GONDICABIUS. Accursed be this place.
TEUDON.
Be quiet! Peace!
GONDICABIUS. Nobody comes this way. Our masters are at supper. We ‘re far off, We can’t be overheard.
TEUDON (lowering his voice and looking towards the tower).
They ‘re both in there.
GONDICAEIUS.
Who — both?
TEUDON.
The old men, — son and father. Peace. Except Madame Regina (this I have From Edwige the nurse), except Otbert, The young adventurer who came last year, Though but a boy to serve at Heppenheff, And whom the grandfather, cursed in his sons, Loves for his youth and for his loyalty, — No hand opens that door, no one comes here. The man of prey sits in his den alone’ There was a time when he defied the world; When twenty counts and twenty dukes, his sons And grandsons, generations five, of which His mountain was the ark, surrounded him, As if this bandit patriarch were king. But age has broken him. He lives apart And sits there, ‘neath a gorgeous canopy, Alone. His son, old Magnus, standing, holds His lance. For months he never speaks a word. At night one sees him, entering, pale and crushed, Some secret hall of which he keeps the key. Where does he go?
SWAN.
This old man has strange griefs. HAQUIN.
His sons weigh like bad spirits on his mind.
KUNZ.
‘T was not in vain that he was cursed!
GONDICARIUS.
‘T was just.
SWAN.
When he was very old, he had a son, His last son, whom he loved, — so goes the world; Always the grey-beard loves the head of gold. When but one year of age this child was lost.
KUNZ.
A gypsy stole it.
CYNUFLUS. Near a field of wheat.
HAQUIN.
As for myself, I know, this city built On mountain top, and having, so they say, Witnessed a monstrous crime, was left long time Deserted, and at length was pulled down by Teutonic order. Finally the years Oblivion brought, and suddenly, one day The master, a fantastic man, who changed His name as we change hats, returned. Since then, By his command, the black flag always waves Over the castle.
SWAN (to KUNZ). Have you noticed, son, At base of the round tower, above the stream Which howls in the ravine, at angle with The moat, a narrow window crossed with bars, Twisted and broken?
KUNZ.
It is the Lost Cave. I spoke about it a short while ago.
HAQUIN.
A gloomy spot. A spectre habits there, ‘T is said.
HERMANN.
Nonsense!
CYNULFUS. The wall seems streaked with blood.
KUNZ.
What’s certain, is, that none can enter there. The secret of the entrance’s lost. The window Is all we know of it. No living soul Goes in.
SWAN.
Yet, every night, when I pass by The rock, I hear footsteps within.
KUNZ (with horror).
You ‘re sure?
SWAN.
Quite sure.
TEUDON.
Come, Kunz — enough! Here silence would Be wise.
HAQUIN. This place is full of mystery. I watch all things; all gives me food for thought.
TEUDON.
Let’s talk of something else; what is to happen No one but God can tell.
[Turns to a group which has taken no part in the scene so far. They are in a corner, listening attentively to what a young student is saying.
Come, Karl, we’ll hear Your story too.
[KARL comes to the front, all draw around him; the two groups of slaves, old men and youths, mingle together, displaying the same attention.
KARL.
You must remember, for ‘T is an important point, that’t was last month The adventure happened — [Seems to reflect a moment.
Twenty years ago! When Barbarossa died in the Crusades —
HERMANN. Your Max was in a bad locality. So be it!
KARL.
Yes, it is a wretched place, A dreaded spot. A flight of ravens, black And sinister, eternally sweeps ‘round The mountain, and at night, when the deep gloom Envelops them, their awful cries affright The boldest of the huntsmen chasing them Back to Lantern. Great drops of water fall, Like tears from some most awful countenance.
A cavern, black and of most fearful shape, Gapes deep in the ravine. Max Edmoud, Count, Feared not to climb that fearful mount by night.
He boldly entered the unearthly caves.
A pallid light of dawn revealed their horrors As he moved on, when suddenly, far down The gloomy depths, beneath a vaulted arch, Seated upon a chair of brass, his feet Enveloped by his mantle, to the right A sceptre, to the left a globe, he saw An old man, frightful, motionless, bowed down, In purple robes, armed with a sword, and crowned.
Upon a block of stone the old man leaned.
Although Count Max was brave and had waged war With John the Warrior, he felt himself Grow pale before this old man, almost lost Amid the grass, the moss, and ivy leaves.
It was the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa.
He slept; a wild and fearful sleep. His beard, Which once was gold, was white as snow, and wound Itself three times around the block of stone;
His long white lashes shut his heavy lids;
A pierced heart bled on his scarlet shield.
At instants during his unnatural sleep His hand grasped blindly at his sword. God knows What dreams were passing through his soul
HERMANN.
What more?
KARL.
Listen. The sound of footsteps in the cave Awakened the old man; he raised his head, And fixing on the Count a savage look, He asked him, as he opened his dull eyes, “ Chevalier, have the ravens flown away?” Count Max returned, “ No, sire.” At that reply The old man bowed his head without a word. And Max, dumb, stupefied with terror, saw This phantom emperor fall asleep again. [ While KARL has been speaking, all the prisoners have gradually drawn around him, listening with increasing interest to his story. Jossius was one of the first to come as soon as he heard the name of BARBAROSSA.
HERMANN (laughing heartily). That is a most extraordinary tale!
HAQUIN (to KARL). If rumour’s right, ‘t was in the Cydnus that The Emperor drowned himself in sight of all His troops.
JOSSIUS. The current carried him away. I know, for I was there. I saw it all. It was a fearful sight, and from my mind The memory will never be effaced Othon of Wittelsbach, you know, hated The Emperor, but when he saw him thus At mercy of the waves, while on him rained The Turkish javelins, he, Prince Othon, On horseback leaped into the angry stream, Offering himself as target to the foe. “ We’ll save the Emperor,” he cried.
HERMANN.
In vain!
JOSSIUS.
Yes, vain, though all tried valiantly. There died Two counts and soldiers sixty-three for him.
KARL.
That’s nothing to prevent his ghost from haunting The Malpas Valley —
SWAN.
Well, I have been told, That by a miracle he saved himself, Became a hermit, and is yet alive.
GONDICARIUS. Pray God he be! May he help Germany Before the year twelve hundred twenty comes, — The fatal year, when the empire must fall.
SWAN.
Already, on all sides, our glory wanes.
HAQUIN.
Yes, if he were alive! I dream of it.
To rescue us his loyal subjects from This hell, he’d recommence the Burgraves’ war!
KUNZ.
The whole world groans as much as we poor slaves. Our country has no chief, Europe no bounds.
HAQUIN.
Bread fails —
GONDICARIUS. Along the borders of the Rhine There’s naught but swarming of new brigand life.
KUNZ.
The electors feed on quarrels ‘mongst themselves.
HERMANN. Cologne declares for Suabia.
SWAN.
And Erfurt For Brunswick.
GONDICARIUS. Maintz elects Berthold.
KUNZ.
And Treves Wants Frederic.
GONDICARIUS. Meanwhile the country dies.
HAQUIN.
The cities are all closed.
SWAN.
It is unsafe To travel save in companies well armed.
KARL.
Small tyrants harass our good citizens.
TEUDON.
Four emperors! Too much, and not enough; For when it comes to kings, you see, one king’s Worth more than four.
KUNZ.
We need a mighty arm To fight for us; but Barbarossa’s dead!
SWAN (to JOSSIUS). Was nothing ever found of him?
JOSSIUS.
The waves Kept all their booty.
TEUDON. Swan, you recollect The prophecy they made upon his birth: “ This child, whose laws one day will rule the world, Shall twice be held as dead, and shall revive.” Well! this prediction, which was ridiculed And then forgotten, has been half fulfilled.
HERMANN.
He’s been the hero of full many a tale.
TEUDON.
I’m telling what I know. In ninety-two, I saw a certain Sfrondati within The hospital at Prague. An aged man, Dalmatian, and ‘t was said, of feeble mind.
This man, within his prison, loudly told That when a youth and searching for adventure He became squire to Rarbarossa’s father, The old Duke Frederic. The Duke was stunned With the prediction made about his son.
The child indeed seemed born for double war;
Guelf through his mother, Ghibeline through his sire, He might be fairly claimed by either side.
His father brought him up within a tower At first, away from every eye, and tried To hide him from the clutch of destiny.
But by and by he sought another refuge, —
One still more safe. A noble girl had borne
To him a bastard son, who, born and bred Among the mountains, did not know his sire Was Duke of Suabia and chief of war.
He knew him only by the name Othon.
The good duke kept this son concealed, for fear He might desire to be a prince and strive To wrest a province from his own dukedom.
The bastard, through his mother, owned a city Near to the Rhine, of which he was Burgrave, And the lord suzerain, — a bandit castle, An eagle’s nest, a lair! The father thought This shelter safe. He sought the burgrave, and Embracing him, said, as he gave the child Into his care, “ My son, this is your brother!”
He went away. No man cheats destiny.
Of course, the father thought his secret safe, Because the child himself ignored the truth.
Till he was twenty Barbarossa lived With the burgrave, when, mark you, this is strange!
One day some herdsmen, passing by the stream Which sweeps the basement of the castle walls, Found in a thicket, at a boulder’s base, Two bloody, naked bodies — breathing yet.
Two men, stabbed in the castle, without noise, And thrown by night into the precipice, Yet were not dead! A miracle, you see.
These two men, who were saved by God’s own hand, Were Barbarossa and his friend Sfrondati, Who alone possessed a knowledge of his birth.
They both were healed; then, with great mystery Sfrondati brought the young son to the Duke, Who for reward imprisoned Sfrondati.
He kept his son, which was the wisest course, And only sought to hush the whole affair.
He never saw his bastard son again;
But when he felt his end approaching, called His son, and had him kiss the crucifix, And swear, kneeling beside his dying bed, Not to disclose himself unto his brother, Nor to avenge himself, but wait until His brother’s age had reached a hundred years. By which never was meant, though God is judge. In fact, the bastard died and never knew He was a duke’s son and the brother Of a great emperor. Sfrondati’s face Grew white with horror if one tried to probe This family secret. The two men had loved One girl. The elder felt himself betrayed, Killed one, and sold the other to a bandit, Remorseless fiend, who yoked her, like a man, To boats that ply from Ostia to Rome, — A fearful fate! Sfrondati shook his head And said, “ Forgotten!” His mind was a blank. Nothing survived the dark night of his soul, — Neither the name of bastard, nor the woman. He knew no longer how, he knew not where. I saw this man, imprisoned for a fool In Prague; now he is dead.
HERMANN.
And you conclude?
TEUDON.
I only think. If all these facts are true, The prophecy holds good: because, surely, This hope is not fantastical; if once It is accomplished, why not twice? If young, Our Barbarossa was accounted dead, Why may he not revive again?
HERMANN (laughing).
We’ll wait Until he comes.
KUNZ (to TEUDON). I’ve heard this tale before. Young Frederic was called Donato then; The bastard’s name was Fosco; and the girl Who made the trouble was a Corsican, If I remember right. The lovers used To hide in some cave out of sight, to which The entrance was their own sweet mystery. One night the brother Fosco found them there. With jealous heart and furious hand he changed The idyll to a tragedy.
GONDICARIUS.
And yet That Frederic should have reached the height of power And never tried to find the woman he had loved, Has always seemed a blot upon his fame, — That is, if this romantic tale be true.
TEUDON.
Ah, but he did, my friend! For thirty years Did his most valiant arm ransack both borders Of the Rhine. But the bastard —
KUNZ.
Fosco? TEUDON (continuing).
Yes.
Had left his home to serve in Brittany. I think, ‘t was many years ere he returned.
The emperor devastated mountains, woods, Laid siege to castles and destroyed burgraves, But found her not.
GONDICARIUS (to JOSSIUS).
You were among his troops; You fought those knaves; do you remember it?
JOSSIUS.
It was a war of giants. The burgraves For once, stood by each other, tooth and nail.
We had to carry every portal, every wall!
Above, below, riddled with shot and bathed In blood the barons fought; and laughing wildly Beneath their hideous masks, let fiery oil And melted lead upon their helmets stream.
We had to hold the siege without and fight within.
We cut down with our swords, bit with our teeth.
Oh, what assaults! and when at last, with storm And fire we took a castle, oftentimes It buried us among its ruins. It was then That Barbarossa, masked but crowned, fought singly With a bandit, who, forced from his lair, Burned Frederic’s arm with a red hot trefoil, And made the Emperor say to Count d’ Arau, “ I’ll let the headsman pay him back, my friend.”
GONDICARIUS. Was this man taken prisoner?
JOSSIUS.
He escaped. His visor hid his face, and Frederic kept The trefoil on his arm.
TEUDON (to SWAN). Well, as for me, I think that Barbarossa is alive. You’ll see!
JOSSIUS. I’m sure that he is dead.
CYNULFUS.
And Max?
HERMANN.
Delusion!
TEUDON. And the grotto at Malpas?
HERMANN.
A fairy-tale!
KARL.
Yet Sfrondati has thrown New light upon this history.
HERMANN.
My faith!
They ‘re naught but dreams of a demented mind, Within whose flickering lights all visions pass, Having no better substance than the clouds.
[Enter a SOLDIER, whip in hand.
SOLDIER.
Slaves, get to work! To-night the guests intend To visit this division of the castle. Lord Hatto, the master, brings them. Pass on! Let him not find you dragging your chains here! [The prisoners pick up their tools, couple themselves together silently and go out with lent heads, driven by THE SOLDIER with his whip. GUANHUMARA appears upon the upper gallery and follows them with her eyes. Just as the prisoners disappear, REGINA, EDWIGE, and OTBERT enter through the great door. REGINA is dressed in white. EDWIGE, the nurse, is old, and dressed in black. OTBERT wears the costume of a soldier of fortune, with cutlass and long sword. REGINA is very young. She is pale, weak, and is hardly able to walk. She seems like one who has been ill a long time and is about to die. She leans on the arm of OTBERT. who supports her, and watches her with great anxiety. EDWIGE follows them. Without being seen by any of them, GUANHUMARA watches them and listens to them for a few moments, then exits on the side opposite where she came in.
OTBERT, REGINA, EDWIGE (at intervals).
OTBERT.
Lean more on me. There! Do not walk so fast. Sit down and rest a moment.
[Leads her to a great chair near the window. How are you?
REGINA.
I ‘m ill — I’m cold. I shiver. Ah! that feasting —
O
It made me suffer.
[To EDWIGE.] See that no one comes.
[EDWIGE goes out.
OTBERT.
Have no fear! They will drink until day-break. Why do you go there if it tires you?
REGINA.
Because Hatto —
OTBEET. Hatto?
REGINA (pacifying him).
Speak low. He might Have forced me. I am his betrothed.
OTBERT.
You should Have spoken to the old man: Hatto is Afraid of him.
REGINA. What does it matter, now That I am soon to die?
OTBERT.
Oh, don’t say that! REGINA.
To suffer, dream, and die is woman’s lot.
OTBERT (turning to window). Look! The fine sunset.
REGINA.
Yes; a dying sun Sets all the world afire I ‘T is autumn — night! All’s dying, — leaves and grass and moss and light.
OTBERT. The leaves will live again!
REGINA (dreamily, looking at sky).
Yes, they’ll return. Ah me, how fast they fly! ‘T is sad to see Them go, the swallows, for they go so far, — Way to the sunny south.
OTBERT.
They will come back!
REGINA.
Perhaps — but not in time! I’ll never see The birds, nor look upon the leaves again.
OTBERT.
Regina!
REGINA. Push me closer, closer to The window! — [She gives him her purse.
Take my purse, Otbert, and throw The money to those prisoners!
[OTBERT throws the purse from a window at the lack: she continues looking out of window.
Ah, yes!
The sun is fire’ Those rays, the last ones, look! Have made a crown upon the brow of Taunus. How the river shines. Red splendours decorate The forests. See! those panes of glass in yon Small hamlet, there, are livid fire. How grand! How grand ‘ Ah me, how beautiful life is! All nature is a stream of living light. Yet I, who have no father and no mother, I’m dying; nobody can save me. None Can help me; I am doomed. Alone and sad, I feel existence ebbing from my heart.
OTBERT.
Alone? And where am I, who love you?
REGINA.
Ah!
Your love is like the rest, — a dream. Sweet dream! But dreams which come at night, go with the dawn, And soon — you will forget me; yes, you will!
OTBERT.
For you I’d die; for you I’d dare damnation!
You say I do not love you! Ah, you are Not kind! One year ago, when in this den, Surrounded by these plunderers, I saw You first, I loved you. In this gloomy place Where crimes are heaped more high than hope, my eyes Found you, the one white lily in the slums Of hell, one radiant star amid eternal Night! I loved you, the Countess of the Rhine!
Loved you, his bride, — Hatto the invincible.
I’m a poor man (I’ve told you so before), Soldier of fortune, of uncertain birth, Perhaps a slave, or less than slave; perhaps A greater than a king. But all I am Is yours. When you leave me, my life is done.
They ‘re two, in this black castle, whom I love:
You first, you most, you above every one, —
Above a father had I one, or God!
Then next I love the old man, cowering there Beneath the weight of a remorseless past.
In you he finds his only joy. You are, O — sweet young girl, his one last torch of life, His one last faith in Heaven, his one last trust That God, who made you, must be merciful.
I —— wretched, hapless youth, crushed underneath The heel of destiny, I bless you both;
For near you I forget my lot, near him My soul feels power to break its iron bars.
Near you it feels the courage to endure.
You understand me now. I’ve told you all.
That I am sad, am jealous, and I suffer;
Oh, yes, I suffer every hour! Just now, When Hatto looked at you, up in my heart There surged a very hurricane of hate.
I could have killed him, and I checked myself.
I do not love you? Child, give me one kiss And take my heart’s blood. Dear, go tell the priest He does not love his God; Regina, tell The free-born Tuscan that he does not love His home; go tell the sailor that he does Not love the dawn which follows fearful nights;
Go tell the weary prisoner who dies Within his cell, he does not love the hand Which sets him free, — but do not tell me that I love you not! To me you are the light Which pierces the abyss through which I go, —
The hand of God, sustaining when I fall.
To you I must belong eternally.
You know that well! ‘T is strange! the kindest women, They love to trifle with men’s agonies —
But pardon me, I talk about myself And you are suffering. Upon my knees, Let me give sympathy unto your pain, Which, while I kiss your hands, breathe out on me.
REGINA.
My lot, like yours, Otbert, was full of woe. I am an orphan, just the same as you. If Heaven had willed, our fortunes, so akin, United might have borne us joys divine. But now —
OTBERT.
Since we have spoken of our love, Grief cannot hurt you, for I’ll be on guard. ‘I’ll serve, adore you! I will kill Hatto If he should fret you! I will be Your father and your mother. Do not fear, I will replace them both. Your father, — see, my arms Your mother, — feel, my heart!
REGINA.
You right Now I read clear into your soul.’ T is fierce, resistless as a giant is, And tender, like a woman. That’s you • Your nature is like that, Otbert. Alas ‘‘ You can’ do anything for me.
OTBERT.
I can! REGINA.
’Tis not from Hatto that I need defence. As brave and valiant as you are, you can’t Dispute me with the one who claims my body, Demands my soul. My veritable bridegroom, He is death! Before I go to my dark home, Of what is best in me I make two parts; I give one to my Saviour, one to you. Friend, place your gentle hand upon my brow. I say to you as now I stand upon The threshold of another life: Otbert My soul belongs to God, my heart to you. You are my love!
EDWIGE (returning). Some one is coming.
REGINA (to EDWIGE).
Come!
[Leaning upon OTBERT and EDWIGE, she takes a few steps towards the door. As she is about to pass through, she pauses and turns. To be sixteen and die, is horrible, When life can give us such great happiness! Otbert, I want to live! Oh, grant my prayer! Don’t let the cold tomb separate us, love ‘ I’m horribly afraid of death! O life! I must have life! Can you not give it me?
OTBERT.
Yes! You shall live!
[REGINA exits with EDWIGE. The door closes: OTBERT seems to follow her with his eyes and continues to speak with her although she has disappeared.
What! Die? So young and fair! No! Though damnation be the price of life For you, the price I’ll pay, and you shall live! [Perceives GUANHUMARA, who has been standing for some time, motionless, at back of stage. You are the one I want. I need you. Come!
GUANHUMARA.
Go — go your way!
OTBERT. No; hear me!
GUANHUMARA.
Hear you ask About your family, your country. Well! Suppose I do not know? The reason why Your youth was passed in gaunt exile with me? If your true name is Otbert, or Yorglii? If’t was in Corsica I found you, naked And alone, searching for life, or if It was Moldavia? Why, I made you come Into this castle? Why I came myself And found you, yet forbade all recognition? Why, although Regina’s touched our tyrant’s heart, I keep this chain around my neck, and why, Where’er I go, as if bound by a vow, I always wear this ring? If I am Slav, Or Corsican, or Jew, or Moor? I’ll tell You nothing. Go! Denounce me if you will — But no! Although she gave you bitter food, You’ll not betray the one who fed you with Her life, — the only mother you have known. And after all, what hurt could death give me?
[She tries to pass: he stops her.
OTBERT.
‘T is nothing of myself I’d ask you now. You, who know everything, Regina —
GUANHUMARA.
Will Be dead within a month. [Tries to go; he detains her.
OTBERT.
Can you not save Her?
GUANHUMARA. Save her? What is she to me? [Dreamily, speaking to herself.’] Ah, yes! In India I wandered through the woods At night, in unknown depths, a hideous thing, Livid and terrible e’en to the beasts. I searched for herbs, for poisons, philtres strange, Which make the dead alive, and living dead!
OTBERT.
Speak! Can you save her?
GUANHUMARA.
Yes.
OTBERT.
For sake of pity, For God’s sake who now hears us, and for mine, — For me, who kiss your feet with tears, — you will?
GUANHUMARA. Will I? Suppose, a few moments ago, When you looked into your Regina’s eyes, Suppose your enemy, Hatto, had come Upon you suddenly like a wild storm, And, laughing with inhuman rage, had pierced Her palpitating heart with his cold steel And thrown her tender body to the stream Which, like a tiger, howls and fumes below; Suppose he then took you with his red hands And led you to the neighbouring town, and bound You, broken-hearted as you were, with chains, And placed you, naked, in the trader’s mart To be insulted, bought and sold, — a slave; Suppose that you a soldier, born free-man, Were harnessed like a dog, to draw the ships That ply the River Tiber; and suppose After that fearful day life took no note Of you or him for nigh a hundred years, — When you had wandered, mad, from land to land, Throughout those awful years of slavery, And had come back, what would there be Within your heart? Speak now, and tell me that’
OTBERT.
Vengeance and murder and a thirst for blood.
GUANHUMARA. Well, I am vengeance! I am murder, too. I am the thirst for blood! Blind spectre of The Past, unerringly I march unto My goal. And what is this you ask of me? You want me to have pity, to save life, To feel a human kindness — paugh! You make Me laugh. You say you need me. Have a care! What if I should need you? Do not grow pale. What if I brought you up unto this end? What if I’ve tried to shun you for your sake, Because I shrink before your innocence? You, in your turn, O child whom I would spare, Must shrink from rousing memories of my wrongs, Must leave me to my solitude and death. Well, now! At last you know my history! Was it not cruel? ‘T was the lover whom They killed. The woman — ah, I was the woman She was made a slave and sold Alas, she lived! The assassin — he lives too! You can help me. Indeed, I’ve suffered, — suffered long’ Oh, all The rains of heaven have fallen on my brow. I have grown hideous, like a beast, from pain. Tor sixty years I’ve lived on what makes weaker People die. Hunger, exile, and grief Have crushed me to the dust. I’ve seen the Nile, The Indus, seen the ocean and the storms, And the eternal nights of the North Pole. My chains have been embedded in my flesh. I, sick and frozen, — I, a woman, — have Been driven by my masters, with the lash. But it is over. There is nothing human In me now; and when I place my hand [Putting her hand on her heart. Here, nothing stirs. I am a statue and I live within a tomb. When, white and cold, I reached this castle just about at dusk One month ago, I wondered, ‘mid the storm, No fateful ear o’erheard my steps of stone. Well! I, who’ve slept with hate for sixty years, I hold my enemy within my power At last. Yea, in my grasp, and if I choose, This hour he dies. One word, he cowers at my feet; One step, and he is dead. Shall I repeat It twice? You are the one, the only one, Who can give me the vengeance that I want. But now that I have won the fearful chance, I say, “ No, no, it would be horrible!” I, who’ve gone down to hell, — I feel afraid. Don’t seek me. Do not tempt me. Keep away; For if there’s question of a pact with me, I’ll claim conditions that will make you blench! Speak! Will you draw your dagger from its sheath? Become a murderer — a headsman? Ah, You tremble! Go, weak heart and faltering arm! I have not sought you! Go; leave me alone!
OTBERT (pale, and lowering his voice). What do you ask of me?
GUANHUMARA.
Keep innocent And go —
OTBERT.
To save her, I will shed my blood.
GUANHUMARA.
Go! go!
OTBERT.
Commit a crime! Is that enough?
GUANHUMARA. He tempts me’ Demons, you hear witness that He tempted me. Well, I will not resist. I take you at your word, and you are mine! No matter what may happen. Do not waste Your time in prayers to me. My soul’s a hell Within whose livid depths all prayers are lost. I told you I am pitiless; I can Feel no remorse, except he should come back, — The man who died; Donato, whom I loved. Now listen for the last time, while you stand Upon the threshold of this awful task. I tell you all. There’s some one you must kill, — Kill, as one kills upon the scaffold. Kill, Here; when I will and whom I will, and have No mercy and no faltering. Do you hear?
OTBERT.
Go on!
GUANHUMARA. Each breath of this soft air is pushing Your fair Regina to her tomb. Without My help she dies; and if I will, she lives. You see this phial: just one drop of this, Each night, will bring life back to her.
OTBERT.
Good God Do you speak truly? Give it me!
GUANHUMAEA.
No, wait!
If, thanks to this, you see her come to you With life upon her lips, health in her eyes, A resurrected angel, happy woman, Then you belong to me!
OTBERT (beside himself).
My God! I do!
GUANHUMARA.
You swear it?
OTBERT.
Yes.
GUANHUMARA. So be it. Your Regina Shall be my surety, — shall be the forfeit If you break faith with me. I know this place; I am acquainted with its mysteries, And can go anywhere at any time.
OTBERT (holding out his hand for the phial). You promise me she’ll live?
GUANHUMARA.
Think of your oath.
OTBERT.
She will be saved!
GUANHUMARA. Remember, in exchange I claim your soul.
OTBERT.
Take it and give —
GUANHUMARA.
‘T is mine!
[Gives him the phial.
Until to-morrow!
OTBERT.
Yes, until to-morrow.
[GUANHUMARA goes out.
OTBERT (alone). Thank you! No matter who you are or what you do, My blessings on you if Regina lives ‘ I’ll take this to her.
[Goes towards the small door, stops a moment and looks at phial.
Cheerfully I give Myself to hell to save my loved one’s life. [He exits hastily through the small door, which closes after him. From the opposite side, one hears laughter and singing, which gradually draws nearer. The large folding-door opens. The Princes and the Burgraves, led by HATTO, enter joyously; they are all crowned with flowers, dressed in silk and gold, without armour of any kind, and with glasses in their hands. They drink, laugh, talk in groups, among which pages are passing, bearing bottles full of wine, golden ewers, and platters laden with fruit. In the background are Halberdiers, motionless and silent. Musicians, clarions, trumpets, heralds.
HATTO, GORLOIS, DUKE GERHARD OF THURINGEN; PLATON, Margrave of Moravia; GILISSA, Margrave of Lusatia; ZOAGLIO GIANNILARO, Genoese nobleman;
DARIUS, Burgrave of Lahneck; CADWALLA, Burgrave of Okenfels; LUPUS, Count of Mons (a very young man, like GORLOIS). Other Burgraves and Princes; some dumb personages, among others UTHER, pen- dragon of the Bretons, and the brothers of HATTO and, of GORLOIS. A few women handsomely dressed. Pages, halberdiers, captains.
COUNT LUPUS (singing).
“The winter’s cold, the wind is high, The snow the mountain covers: What matters that, since we can love? What matters snow to lovers?
“My mother is dead; our family priest Eternal grief discovers: What matters that, since we can love! What matters grief to lovers?
“Beelzebub outside my door, With all his demons, hovers; What matters that, since we can love What matters hell to lovers ‘(“
MARGRAVE GILISSA (leaning from, the side window, to COUNT LUPUS).
One sees the portal and the winding path From here.
MARGRAVE PLATON (examining the general dilapidation of the place). What dreariness and what decay!
DUKE GERHARD (to HATTO).
‘T is like a castle tenanted by ghosts.
HATTO (indicating door of tower).
My grandfather is there!
DUKE GERHARD.
Is he alone?
HATTO.
No, with my father.
MARGRAVE PLATON.
How did you contrive To rid yourself of them?
HATTO.
They’d had their day. Besides, their minds are troubled. ‘T is two weeks Since the old man has spoken. Old age must Give way! He’s near a hundred. Well, they ‘re gone, And I am in their place.
GIANNILARO.
They left, themselves?
HATTO.
Well, not exactly —— [A CAPTAIN enters.
What is it?
CAPTAIN (to HATTO)
My lord The jeweller Perez’ ransom is not paid.
HATTO.
Let him be hung!
CAPTAIN.
The citizens of Linz, Much frightened, beg for quarter.
HATTO.
Pillage them.
‘T is conquered territory.
CAPTAIN.
Those of Rhens?
HATTO.
Those pillage too! — [THE CAPTAIN goes out.
BURGRAVE DARIUS (glass in hand, turning to HATTO).
Your wine is good, Marquis.
[Drinks.
HATTO.
My faith ‘ it ought to be. It’s ruddy wine. Bingen, afraid and anxious to conciliate me, Sends me two tuns a year.
DUKE GEKHABD.
She’s beautiful, —
Regina, your betrothed.
HATTO.
Ah, well! We use What we have got. On the maternal side She is related to the family.
DUKE GERHARD.
She’s ill.
HATTO.
It’s nothing.
GIANNILARO (low to DUKE GERHARD).
She is dying.
GERHARD.
Ah!
[Enter CAPTAIN.
CAPTAIN (low to HATTO). The merchants will pass here to-morrow.
HATTO (aloud).
Good!
Go; lie in wait for them.
[CAPTAIN exits. HATTO continues, turning to the Princes.
My father would Be there with them. I stay at home. Once we Were warriors; now we amuse ourselves. Once it was force, now it is stratagem. The traveller curses me; the traveller says “ Hatto and his wild brothers lead a life Most terrible within that gloomy place Which furious tempests lash continually. Hatto gives feasts to margraves, dukes, and counts. His princely guests are served by princely slaves, Who humbly kiss the dust beneath his feet.” My faith! it’s a fine life. I’m feared and envied, I laugh always; my dungeon settles all. Waiting for hell, I make a paradise Of life. I let my bandits loose as huntsmen Let loose their dogs. I revel in my life. You saw that my betrothed is beautiful. How is’t with you? Do you intend to wed The Countess Isabel?
DUKE GERHARD. No, I do not!
HATTO.
You took her city from her, the last year, And promised to espouse her.
DUKE GERHARD.
Possibly.
They made me swear it on the Bible, too, I think. But I — I kept the city and I left The girl. — [He laughs.
HATTO (laughing).
What said the diet?
DUKE GERHARD (laughing).
It was dumb.
HATTO.
And your oath, on the Bible.
DUKE GERHARD.
Bah’
[Some moments before this, the door of the tower has been opened, revealing several steps of a gloomy staircase, on which two old men are discovered. One is a little more than sixty years old, his hair is grey, his beard is grey; the other, very much older, is almost entirely bald and has a long white beard; both wear a cuirass of steel, with armour on legs and arms; a long sword at their sides, and over their soldier dress, the oldest one wears a white robe lined with gold cloth; the other one a great wolf-skin, whose jaws are adjusted on his head. Behind the older man, a squire stands as if petrified; he has a white beard, is dressed in armour, and holds a large black banner, without any device, above the old man’s head. OTBERT, with his eyes cast down, stands near the older man; he is somewhat in the background, and the old man rests his right arm, on him. In the shadow, behind each of the old knights, two squires are visible. They are dressed in armour like their masters, and are not less old than they; long white beards flow from the visors which are pulled down from their helmets. On cushions of scarlet velvet the squires hold the helmets of the two old men; they are of extraordinary shape, and their crests are formed of the jaws of fantastic animals. The two old men listen in silence; the younger leans his chin upon his two hands joined on the handle’s point of an immense Scotch axe. The guests, busily talking together, have not perceived them.
The same. JOB, MAGNUS, OTBERT. MAGNUS.
There was A time when oaths, made in old Germany, Were like our armour and our arms, — of steel. I think of it with pride, as something solid, And lustrous to the eye, which direst battle Could never shatter, which was made to match The man in spirit, and hugged fast to pillow By the most noble, while he slept; which dim And rusty, still was strong and to be feared. When a proud noble died and was interred, His armour covered him not half so well As his unbroken word; that, time and death, Which rots the fairest steel must leave untouched. But now faith, honour, and our pledged word Follow the giddy fashions of the day. They ‘re made of tinsel, silk. The strongest vow, With witnesses or not, will last about As long as lasts a handsome doublet, more Or less, — most often less; is soon worn out And cast aside as are the ragged garments Which give offence because they ‘re out of style. [As MAGNUS speaks, all look around at him with consternation. Sudden silence among the guests.
HATTO (bowing to the old man).
My father —
MAGNUS.
You young fellows make much noise. Leave the old men alone in their grim night. Your glaring torches hurt their tired eyes. We men of old clashed swords. You children clash Your glasses, — but let it be far from us.
HATTO.
My lord —
[At this moment he perceives all the portraits are turned face to the wall.
What’s this? [To MAGNUS.] Your pardon, who has dared — These portraits, my ancestors, what bold hand Has turned them thus?
MAGNUS.
I did.
HATTO.
You did?
MAGNUS.
Yes, I.
HATTO.
My father —
DUKE GERHARD (to HATTO). ‘T is a jest.
MAGNUS (to HATTO).
I turned them thus, That they might not see their descendants’ shame.
HATTO (furious). For a less insult Barbarossa killed His great-uncle Louis. And if you go Too far —
MAGNUS (turning his head half way to HATTO). Some one has spoken Barbarossa’s name Some one, I think, praised this barbarian. Before me, let none dare to speak his name!
COUNT LUPUS (laughing). What did he do to you, old man?
MAGNUS.
My sires, Veil, veil your eyes! What did he do to me, My masters? Little Count of Mons, ‘t was you Who asked me, was it not? Go down the Rhine; Start from the lake and go to the Seven Mountains, Counting all the proud castles on the way Which are in ruins! What he did to me? He took our daughters, sisters, and he made Them slaves; he built imperial gallows on Our rocks, and built them with the stones of our Ancestral halls; upon us he made war And carnage and assault unto the death; He put a slave’s yoke on our noblest men, — That’s what he did to me, and what he did To you! For thirty years we’ve borne with fire And exile, chains, indignities; with wrongs And tortures, dungeons, death, — all from this man, This Caesar, the invincible. From him We’ve suffered everything. Good God! like Jews, Like slaves, we have endured these infamies, This one eternal victory; and now Our sons, degraded, don’t remember it.
All bowed before him. When this Frederic, A mass of gold from crested head to heel, Surged from the top of some breach, all afire.
And cast his gauntlet in the teeth of our Entire army, not one man had strength To face him; they all shook with fear, and fled.
My father —— [Indicating the, old man.
Yes, my father who stands here, Alone had courage, when he met this god In a small passage face to face, to bar His way and with a red-hot iron to brand His right hand with the mark of a trefoil. O memories, O time, — all, all is past’ The lightning’s disappeared from our dazed eyes. The baron lords are gone. The ruins strew The fields; of all the forest there remains But one great oak; — [Bowing before the old man.
And that great oak is you, My father most revered. — [Straightening himself up.
Accursed be The name of Barbarossa, name abhorred! Our crests lie underneath the moulding earth, Our Rhine, dishonoured river, flows by naught But savage ruins. We shall be avenged! ‘T will be my lot, my task! Without compunction Or mercy, pity, shame, — on him if he’s Alive, or on his race, — my hate shall fall. God keep me from the tomb ‘til this is done! God keep me living ‘til we are avenged. To taste that awful, that unequalled joy, I’d lift my arms from out my tomb and seize My prey! To come back to the earth and end This holy task, I’d burst the bonds of death. Oh, be God willing or be he adverse, Whatever gate shuts down upon my soul, Let it be heaven or hell, with dauntless heart I’ll burst it with my fist of iron —
[Interrupts himself and remains silent.
Alas!
What say I, — wretched, hopeless, weak old man?
[He falls into a deep reverie, and does not appear to notice anything around him. Little by little, the guests resume their laughter and gaiety. The two old men seem like statues. Wine circulates, and the revellers resume their jests.
HATTO (low to DUKE GERHARD, indicating the old men, and shrugging his shoulders).
Age has disturbed their mind.
GORLOIS (low to COUNT LUPUS, indicating HATTO).
The day will come When father will resemble them, and I
Will be like him.
HATTO (to DUKE GERHARD). The soldiers are devoted To them, that is the worst.
[In the mean time GORLOIS and some pages have gone towards the window and are looking outside. Suddenly GORLOIS turns around.
GORLOIS.
Father, look there!
See that old man with the white beard!
COUNT LUPUS (running to the window).
How old!
How slowly he ascends the winding path!
His brow is bent.
GIANNILARO (approaching). How tired he looks!
COUNT LUPUS.
The wind Blows lustily through his old cloak.
GOKLOIS.
It looks As though he meant to ask for shelter here.
MARGRAVE GILISSA. He’s a poor beggar!
BURGRAVE CADWALLA. Or a spy.
BURGRAVE DARIUS.
Away!
HATTO (at the window). Let the old wretch be chased away at once, With stones!
LUPUS, GORLOIS, AND PAGES (throwing stones). Off with you, dog’
MAGNUS (awakening with a start).
Almighty God! In what age are we living, and what men Are these we call our sons! To stone like this A poor old man, who totters to our door!
[Looking at them all. In my day we had follies like the rest: We sang, we feasted, we were young, like you.
But if an old man, bent with age and pain, Came unto us, with out-stretched hand, to beg, Whether we were in midst of revel, feast, Or song; we stopped, we filled a casque with money, And we gave him wine, because, who knows? ofttimes Beggars are sent by God. Then we resumed Our revels, while the old man went his way, His feeble hands cheered with the touch of gold, His sad heart warmed with wine. That’s what we did.
Compare to that what you have done just now.
JOB (straightening himself up, taking one step forward, and touching the shoulder of MAGNUS). Young man, be still. In my time, at our feasts We drank and sang much gayer songs than you. We used to sit around an entire ox Served on a dish of gold; but if, by chance, A beggar, an old man in rags, passed by, An escort went to meet him; when he came, The clarions burst forth, the barons rose, The young men ceased to sing or speak or smile; They bowed themselves before him humbly, though They might be princes of the Holy Empire. The old men stretched their hands to him, and said, “ Accept a welcome here, my lord.”
[To GORLOIS.] GO you And bring the stranger up.
HATTO (bowing). But —
JOB (to HATTO).
Silence!
DUKE. GERHARD.
My lord —
JOB (to DUKE GERHARD). Who dares to speak when I have said “ Be still!”
[All fall back in silence. GORLOIS obeys him and exits.
OTBERT (aside). Good, Count! You, grand old lion, look with shame On these poor tiger-cats God gave to you For sons. But if they goad you on too far, Set up your lion’s mane and make them blench.
GORLOIS (re-entering, to JOB). He’s coming up, your lordship.
JOB (to those princes who have remained sitting’).
Rise! All rise’
[To his sons.] Gather around me.
[To GORLOIS.] Here!
[To the heralds and trumpeters.] Now, clarions, blow! Blow loud, as though you were to greet a king! [Flourishes. The Burgraves and the Princes stand on the left. All the sons and grandsons of JOB stand around him on the right. Halberdiers are in the background holding the banner high. Through the centre door enters a beggar, who seems almost as old as COUNT JOB. His white beard descends to his stomach; he wears a hooded robe of brown drugget, which is in rags; a large brown cloak full of rents; his head is bare; around his waist he wears a cord from which hangs a large rosary; his naked feet are corded. When he reaches the top of the sixth step, he stands motionless, leaning upon a long, knotted stick. The Halberdiers salute him with the banner and the clarions blow fresh flourishes. GUANHUMARA has appeared before this, on the upper story of the promenade, and has watched the entire scene.
The same. A BEGGAR.
JOB (standing among his children, to THE BEGGAR, motionless upon the threshold). Whoever you may be, have you e’er heard That in Taunus, between Cologne and Spire, There stands a rock tremendous, by whose side Tall mountains look like hills; upon this rock Built on a heap of lava stands a burg Whose master is redoubted o’er the earth? Has it been told you that this lawless man, Tainted with crime, renowned for valiant deeds, By Frankfurt diet and the Pisan council Thrust from the Holy Empire and the church, Was chastised, hunted, ostracized, yet still Kept on his mountain-top and held his own? He waged a tireless war, with never halt Nor quarter, ‘gainst the Elector Palatine, And ‘gainst the Archbishop of Treves? With bold, Unerring foot pushed back, for sixty years, The ladder which the Empire tried to rest Against his wall? Has it been told you that The brave man always finds a shelter there? That this proud burgrave makes the rich man poor And of the mightiest makes slaves; that now, High overhead of all the dukes and kings And emperors, in face of Germany All bruised and torn and bleeding from their broils, He floats upon his tower, in sign of hate Of grim defiance and of bold appeal To the enchainéd people, a black flag, Whose gloomy folds sweep out rebellious ‘gainst The wild destruction of the storms? Has it Been told you that he’s near his hundredth year;
That, braving God and man unto the last, He claims, since he ascended to his lair, Not wars which have burned castles all around, Not Caesar furious, nor almighty Rome, Not years, which crush all men beneath their weight, Have ever vanquished, bent, or broken him, This Titan, excommunicated Job?
Did you know that?
THE BEGGAR. I did.
JOB.
You ‘re at his home. Welcome, my lord. I’m Job, called the accursed.
[Indicating MAGNUS. This is my son, here at my feet; and these Are sons of his, much less in size than we. Thus hope often betrays us. My good sword, My father left me. It has won for me A name of terror. In my mother’s right I hold this castle D’Heppenheff. Name, sword, And castle, all belong to you, my guest. Now, in your turn, speak loud and free to us.
THE BEGGAR. Lords, counts, and princes! Also you, O slaves I enter and salute you, and I say If everything’s at peace within your souls, If nothing, when you think of actions past Troubles your hearts, pure as the sky is pure, Live, laugh, and sing; but, otherwise, at once Direct your thoughts to God. Young men, old men, You crowned with flowers and you crowned with years, If underneath God’s sky you do base deeds, Look well before you and be grave. Our days Are short and full of strange uncertainties.
Age conies to few: to most opens the tomb.
Young men, so proud of being young and strong, Think of the old. Old men, remember death!
Love the sweet law of hospitality;
For when we turn a stranger from our door, Do we know who he is, or whence he conies?
Were you all kings, you should respect the poor.
For God, who with a single breath lays low The pines which have withstood a hundred years, Can also fill with lightning and with storm The hand the beggar hides beneath his rags.