Illo. What! we are masters here; no soul shall

dare

Avow himself imperial where we've rule.

Gordon! Good night, and for the last time, take
A fair leave of the place. Send out patroles
To make secure, the watch-word may be altered
At the stroke of ten; deliver in the keys
To the Duke himself, and then you're quit for ever
Your wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow
The Swedes will take possession of the citadel.
Ter. (as he is going, to Butler.) You come
though to the castle.

But.

At the right time. [Exeunt Tertsky and Illo.

SCENE VIII.

Gordon and Butler.

Gor. (looking after them.) Unhappy men!

How free from all foreboding!

They rush into the outspread net of murder
In the blind drunkenness of victory;

I have no pity for their fate. This Illo,
This overflowing and fool-hardy villain,

That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's

blood.

But. Do as he ordered you.

Send round pa

troles,

Take measures for the citadel's security;

When they are within I close the castle gate,
That nothing may transpire.

Gor.

Nay, stop; first tell me

Oh! haste not so!

But. You have heard already, To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night Alone is ours. They make good expedition, But we will make still greater. Fare you well. Gor. Ah! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler,

I pray you, promise me !

But.

The sun has set;

A fateful evening doth descend upon us,

And brings on their long night! Their evil stars Deliver them unarmed into our hands,

And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well, The duke was ever a great calculator;

His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board, To move and station, as his game required. Other men's honour, dignity, good name,

Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of it:

Still calculating, calculating still;

And yet at last his calculation proves

Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and lo!

His own life will be found among the forfeits.

Gor. O think not of his errors now; remember

His greatness, his munificence, think on all

The lovely features of his character,
On all the noble exploits of his life,

And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen
Arrest the lifted sword.

But.

It is too late.

I suffer not myself to feel compassion,

Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now: (grasping Gordon's hand.)

Gordon! 'Tis not my hatred (I pretend not
To love the Duke, and have no cause to love him)
Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me
To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate.
Hostile concurrences of many events
Control and subjugate me to the office.
In vain the human being meditates

Free action. He is but the wire-worked puppet
Of the blind power, which out of his own choice
Creates for him a dread necessity.

What too would it avail him, if there were
A something pleading for him in my heart-
Still I must kill him.

Gor.

Follow its impulse.

If your heart speak to you, 'Tis the voice of God.

Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous Bedewed with blood-his blood? Believe it not!

But. You know not. Ask not! Wherefore

should it happen,

That the Swedes gained the victory, and hasten With such forced marches hitherward? Fain

would I

Have given him to the Emperor's mercy.---Gordon !
I do not wish his blood---But I must ransom
The honour of my word---it lies in pledge---
And he must die, or—

(passionately grasping Gordon's hand.)
Listen then, and know!

I am dishonoured if the Duke escape us.
Gor. O! to save such a man-

But.

Gor.

What!

It is worth

A sacrifice.---Come, friend! Be noble-minded ! Our own heart, and not other men's opinions, Forms our true honour.

But.

He is a great Lord,

This Duke-and I am but of mean importance !
This is what you would say. Wherein concerns it
The world at large, you mean to hint to me,
Whether the man of low extraction keeps
Or blemishes his honour-

So that the man of princely rank be saved.
We all do stamp our value on ourselves.

The price we challenge for ourselves is given us.
There does not live on earth the man so stationed,

That I despise myself compared with him.
Man is made great or little by his own will:
Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies.

Gor. I am endeavouring to move a rock.
Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings.
I cannot hinder you, but may some god
Rescue him from you!
[Exit Gordon.

SCENE IX.

Butler (alone).

I treasured my good name all my life long;
The Duke has cheated me of life's best jewel,
So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon!
He prizes above all his fealty;

His conscious soul accuses him of nothing;
In opposition to his own soft heart
He subjugates himself to an iron duty.
Me in a weaker moment passion warped;
I stand beside him, and must feel myself
The worst man of the two. What, though the world
Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet

One man does know it, and can prove it too---
High-minded Piccolomini !

There lives the man who can dishonour me!

This ignominy blood alone can cleanse!

Duke Friedland, thou or I---Into my own hands

---The dearest thing a man

Fortune delivers me--

has is himself.

(The curtain drops.)