The Works of Lord Byron Volume V Part 92

_Fritz_. How? _We_, sir!

_Iden._ No--not _you_, But some of the inferior knaves. You say The Baron was asleep in the great chair-- The velvet chair--in his embroidered night-gown; His toilet spread before him, and upon it A cabinet with letters, papers, and Several rouleaux of gold; of which _one_ only Has disappeared:--the door unbolted, with No difficult access to any.

_Fritz_. Good sir, Be not so quick; the honour of the corps 40 Which forms the Baron's household's unimpeached From steward to scullion, save in the fair way Of peculation; such as in accompts, Weights, measures, larder, cellar, b.u.t.tery, Where all men take their prey; as also in Postage of letters, gathering of rents, Purveying feasts, and understanding with The honest trades who furnish n.o.ble masters[cq]; But for your petty, picking, downright thievery, We scorn it as we do board wages. Then 50 Had one of our folks done it, he would not Have been so poor a spirit as to hazard His neck for _one_ rouleau, but have swooped all; Also the cabinet, if portable.

_Iden._ There is some sense in that----

_Fritz_. No, Sir, be sure 'Twas none of our corps; but some petty, trivial Picker and stealer, without art or genius.

The only question is--Who else could have Access, save the Hungarian and yourself?

_Iden._ You don't mean me?

_Fritz_. No, sir; I honour more 60 Your talents----

_Iden._ And my principles, I hope.

_Fritz_. Of course. But to the point: What's to be done?

_Iden._ Nothing--but there's a good deal to be said.

We'll offer a reward; move heaven and earth, And the police (though there's none nearer than Frankfort); post notices in ma.n.u.script (For we've no printer); and set by my clerk To read them (for few can, save he and I).

We'll send out villains to strip beggars, and Search empty pockets; also, to arrest 70 All gipsies, and ill-clothed and sallow people.

Prisoners we'll have at least, if not the culprit; And for the Baron's gold--if 'tis not found, At least he shall have the full satisfaction Of melting twice its substance in the raising The ghost of this rouleau. Here's alchemy For your Lord's losses!

_Fritz_. He hath found a better.

_Iden._ _Where?_

_Fritz_. In a most immense inheritance.

The late Count Siegendorf, his distant kinsman, Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my Lord 80 Is on his way to take possession.

_Iden._ Was there No heir?

_Fritz_. Oh, yes; but he has disappeared Long from the world's eye, and, perhaps, the world.

A prodigal son, beneath his father's ban For the last twenty years; for whom his sire Refused to kill the fatted calf; and, therefore, If living, he must chew the husks still. But The Baron would find means to silence him, Were he to re-appear: he's politic, And has much influence with a certain court. 90

_Iden._ He's fortunate.

_Fritz_. 'Tis true, there is a grandson, Whom the late Count reclaimed from his son's hands, And educated as his heir; but, then, His birth is doubtful.

_Iden._ How so?

_Fritz_. His sire made A left-hand, love, imprudent sort of marriage, With an Italian exile's dark-eyed daughter: n.o.ble, they say, too; but no match for such A house as Siegendorf's. The grandsire ill Could brook the alliance; and could ne'er be brought To see the parents, though he took the son. 100

_Iden._ If he's a lad of mettle, he may yet Dispute your claim, and weave a web that may Puzzle your Baron to unravel.

_Fritz_. Why, For mettle, he has quite enough: they say, He forms a happy mixture of his sire And grandsire's qualities,--impetuous as The former, and deep as the latter; but The strangest is, that he too disappeared Some months ago.

_Iden._ The devil he did!

_Fritz_. Why, yes: It must have been at _his_ suggestion, at 110 An hour so critical as was the eve Of the old man's death, whose heart was broken by it.

_Iden._ Was there no cause a.s.signed?

_Fritz_. Plenty, no doubt, And none, perhaps, the true one. Some averred It was to seek his parents; some because The old man held his spirit in so strictly (But that could scarce be, for he doted on him); A third believed he wished to serve in war, But, peace being made soon after his departure, He might have since returned, were that the motive; 120 A fourth set charitably have surmised, As there was something strange and mystic in him, That in the wild exuberance of his nature He had joined the black bands[172], who lay waste Lusatia, The mountains of Bohemia and Silesia, Since the last years of war had dwindled into A kind of general condottiero system Of bandit-warfare; each troop with its chief, And all against mankind.

_Iden._ That cannot be.

A young heir, bred to wealth and luxury, 130 To risk his life and honours with disbanded Soldiers and desperadoes!

_Fritz_. Heaven best knows!

But there are human natures so allied Unto the savage love of enterprise, That they will seek for peril as a pleasure.

I've heard that nothing can reclaim your Indian, Or tame the tiger, though their infancy Were fed on milk and honey. After all, Your Wallenstein, your Tilly and Gustavus, Your Bannier, and your Torstenson and Weimar[173], 140 Were but the same thing upon a grand scale; And now that they are gone, and peace proclaimed, They who would follow the same pastime must Pursue it on their own account. Here comes The Baron, and the Saxon stranger, who Was his chief aid in yesterday's escape, But did not leave the cottage by the Oder Until this morning.

_Enter_ STRALENHEIM _and_ ULRIC.

_Stral._ Since you have refused All compensation, gentle stranger, save Inadequate thanks, you almost check even them, 150 Making me feel the worthlessness of words, And blush at my own barren grat.i.tude, They seem so n.i.g.g.ardly, compared with what Your courteous courage did in my behalf----

_Ulr._ I pray you press the theme no further.

_Stral._ But Can I not serve you? You are young, and of That mould which throws out heroes; fair in favour; Brave, I know, by my living now to say so; And, doubtlessly, with such a form and heart, Would look into the fiery eyes of War, 160 As ardently for glory as you dared An obscure death to save an unknown stranger, In an as perilous, but opposite, element.

You are made for the service: I have served; Have rank by birth and soldiership, and friends, Who shall be yours. 'Tis true this pause of peace Favours such views at present scantily; But 'twill not last, men's spirits are too stirring; And, after thirty years of conflict, peace Is but a petty war, as the time shows us 170 In every forest, or a mere armed truce.

War will reclaim his own; and, in the meantime, You might obtain a post, which would ensure A higher soon, and, by my influence, fail not To rise. I speak of Brandenburgh, wherein I stand well with the Elector[174]; in Bohemia, Like you, I am a stranger, and we are now Upon its frontier.

_Ulr._ You perceive my garb Is Saxon, and, of course, my service due To my own Sovereign. If I must decline 180 Your offer, 'tis with the same feeling which Induced it.

_Stral._ Why, this is mere usury!

I owe my life to you, and you refuse The acquittance of the interest of the debt, To heap more obligations on me, till I bow beneath them.

_Ulr._ You shall say so when I claim the payment.

_Stral._ Well, sir, since you will not-- You are n.o.bly born?

_Ulr._ I have heard my kinsmen say so.

_Stral._ Your actions show it. Might I ask your name?

_Ulr._ Ulric.

_Stral._ Your house's?

_Ulr._ When I'm worthy of it, 190 I'll answer you.

_Stral._ (_aside_). Most probably an Austrian, Whom these unsettled times forbid to boast His lineage on these wild and dangerous frontiers, Where the name of his country is abhorred.

[_Aloud to_ FRITZ _and_ IDENSTEIN.

So, sirs! how have ye sped in your researches?

_Iden._ Indifferent well, your Excellency.

_Stral._ Then I am to deem the plunderer is caught?