_Sieg._ (_solus_). 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 longed without tears To see my child again,--and now I have found him!
But how! obedient, but with coldness; duteous In my sight, but with carelessness; mysterious-- 420 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 can not Unravel. 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 430 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, Unlatched the door of Death for thee? 'Twas 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, 440 Methinks thou wouldst contaminate all hands Like mine. 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--cherished her as one Who will be mine.
_Enter an_ ATTENDANT.
_Atten._ The abbot, if it please Your Excellency, whom you sent for, waits Upon you. [_Exit_ ATTENDANT.
_Enter the_ PRIOR ALBERT.
_Prior_. Peace be with these walls, and all Within them!
_Sieg._ Welcome, welcome, holy father! 450 And may thy prayer be heard!--all men have need Of such, and I----
_Prior_. Have the first claim to all The prayers of our community. Our convent, Erected by your ancestors, is still Protected by their children.
_Sieg._ Yes, good father; Continue daily orisons for us In these dim days of heresies and blood, Though the schismatic Swede, Gustavus, is Gone home.
_Prior_. To the endless home of unbelievers, Where there is everlasting wail and woe, 460 Gnashing of teeth, and tears of blood, and fire Eternal and the worm which dieth not!
_Sieg._ True, father: and to avert those pangs from one, Who, though of our most faultless holy Church, Yet died without its last and dearest offices, Which smooth the soul through purgatorial pains, I have to offer humbly this donation In masses for his spirit.
[SIEGENDORF _offers the gold which he had taken from_ STRALENHEIM.
_Prior_. Count, if I Receive it, 'tis because I know too well Refusal would offend you. Be assured 470 The largess shall be only dealt in alms, And every mass no less sung for the dead.
Our House needs no donations, thanks to yours, Which has of old endowed it; but from you And yours in all meet things 'tis fit we obey.
For whom shall mass be said?
_Sieg._ (_faltering_). For--for--the dead.
_Prior_. His name?
_Sieg._ 'Tis from a soul, and not a name, I would avert perdition.
_Prior_. I meant not To pry into your secret. We will pray For one unknown, the same as for the proudest. 480
_Sieg._ 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_. A proper deed In the behalf of our departed friends.
_Sieg._ But he who's gone was not my friend, but foe, The deadliest and the stanchest.
_Prior_. Better still!
To employ our means to obtain Heaven for the souls Of our dead enemies is worthy those Who can forgive them living.
_Sieg._ But I did not 490 Forgive this man. I loathed him to the last, As he did me. I do not love him now, But----
_Prior_. Best of all! for this is pure religion!
You fain would rescue him you hate from hell-- An evangelical compassion--with Your own gold too!
_Sieg._ Father, 'tis not my gold.
_Prior_. Whose, then? You said it was no legacy.
_Sieg._ No matter whose--of this be sure, that he Who owned it never more will need it, save In that which it may purchase from your altars: 500 'Tis yours, or theirs.
_Prior_. Is there no blood upon it?
_Sieg._ No; but there's worse than blood--eternal shame!
_Prior_. Did he who owned it die in his _bed?_
_Sieg._ Alas!
He did.
_Prior_. Son! you relapse into revenge, If you regret your enemy's bloodless death.
_Sieg._ His death was fathomlessly deep in blood.
_Prior_. You said he died in his bed, not battle.
_Sieg._ He Died, I scarce know--but--he was stabbed i' the dark, And now you have it--perished on his pillow By a cut-throat!--Aye!--you may look upon me! 510 _I_ am _not_ the man. I'll meet your eye on that point, As I can one day God's.
_Prior_. Nor did he die By means, or men, or instrument of yours?
_Sieg._ No! by the God who sees and strikes!
_Prior_. Nor know you Who slew him?
_Sieg._ I could only guess at _one_, And he to me a stranger, unconnected, As unemployed. Except by one day's knowledge, I never saw the man who was suspected.
_Prior_. Then you are free from guilt.
_Sieg._ (_eagerly_). Oh! _am_ I?--say!
_Prior_. You have said so, and know best.
_Sieg._ Father! I have spoken 520 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, Though, by the Power who abhorreth human blood, I did not!--nay, once spared it, when I might And _could_--aye, 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; For, 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 prayed myself in vain.
_Prior_. I will.
Be comforted! You are innocent, and should Be calm as innocence.
_Sieg._ But calmness is not Always the attribute of innocence.
I feel it is not.
_Prior_. But it will be so, When the mind gathers up its truth within it.
Remember the great festival to-morrow, In which you rank amidst our chiefest nobles, As well as your brave son; and smooth your aspect, Nor in the general orison of thanks For bloodshed stopt, let blood you shed not rise, A cloud, upon your thoughts. This were to be Too sensitive. Take comfort, and forget Such things, and leave remorse unto the guilty. [_Exeunt_.