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The Poems of Emma Lazarus, Volume 2 / Jewish poems: Translations

Chapter 27: ACT II.—At Eisenach.
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About This Book

A selection of lyric poems, dramatic pieces, translations, and occasional essays that interweave biblical and historical imagery to meditate on exile, faith, sacrifice, and cultural renewal. Original poems range from mournful elegies to ardent appeals for communal revival, while translations introduce medieval Hebrew and European lyric voices; a dramatic sequence and a series of epistles address communal responsibility, education, and humanitarian relief. The collection balances personal feeling and public argument, combining translation, mythic allusion, and travel-inflected observation to examine identity, memory, and the work of preserving and reinvigorating a literary and religious heritage.

     A VOICE.
     He flouts the Lord's anointed!  Cast him forth!
     SUSSKIND VON ORB.
     Peace, brethren, peace!  If I have ever served
     Israel with purse, arm, brain, or heart—now hear me!
     May God instruct my speech!  This wise old man,
     Whose brow flames with the majesty of truth,
     May be part-blinded through excess of light,
     As one who eyes too long the naked sun,
     Setting in rayless glory, turns and finds
     Outlines confused, familiar colors changed,
     All objects branded with one blood-bright spot.
     Nor chafe at Baruch's homely sense; truth floats
     Midway between the stars and the abyss.
     We, by God's grace, have found a special nest
     I' the dangerous rock, screened against wind and hawk;
     Free burghers of a free town, blessed moreover
     With the peculiar favor of the Prince,
     Frederick the Grave, our patron and protector.
     What shall we fear?  Rather, where shall we seek
     Secure asylum, if here be not one?
     Fly?  Our forefathers had the wilderness,
     The sea their gateway, and the fire-cored cloud
     Their divine guide.  Us, hedged by ambushed foes,
     No frank, free, kindly desert shall receive.
     Death crouches on all sides, prepared to leap
     Tiger-like on our throats, when first we step
     From this safe covert.  Everywhere the Plague!
     As nigh as Erfurt it has crawled—the towns
     Reek with miasma, the rank fields of spring,
     Rain-saturated, are one beautiful—lie,
     Smiling profuse life, and secreting death.
     Strange how, unbidden, a trivial memory
     Thrusts itself on my mind in this grave hour.
     I saw a large white bull urged through the town
     To slaughter by a stripling with a goad,
     Whom but one sure stamp of that solid heel,
     One toss of those mooned horns, one battering blow
     Of that square marble forehead, would have crushed,
     As we might crush a worm, yet on he trudged,
     Patient, in powerful health to death.  At once,
     As though o' the sudden stung, he roared aloud,

     Beat with fierce hoofs the air, shook desperately
     His formidable head, and heifer-swift,
     Raced through scared, screaming streets.  Well, and the end?
     He was the promptlier bound and killed and quartered.
     The world belongs to man; dreams the poor brute
     Some nook has been apportioned for brute life?
     Where shall a man escape men's cruelty?
     Where shall God's servant cower from his doom?
     Let us bide, brethren—we are in His hand.
     RABBI CRESSELIN (uttering a piercing shriek).
                    Ah!
     Woe unto Israel!  Lo, I see again,
     As the Ineffable foretold.  I see
     A flood of fire that streams towards the town.
     Look, the destroying Angel with the sword,
     Wherefrom the drops of gall are raining down,
     Broad-winged, comes flying towards you.  Now he draws
     His lightning-glittering blade!  With the keen edge
     He smiteth Israel—ah!
     [He falls back dead.  Confusion in the Synagogue.]
     CLAIRE (from the gallery).
                     Father! My father!
     Let me go down to him!
     LIEBHAID.
                     Sweet girl, be patient.
     This is the House of God, and He hath entered.
     Bow we and pray.
     [Meanwhile, some of the men surround and raise from the ground the
     body of RABBI CRESSELIN.  Several voices speaking at once.]
     1ST VOICE.
             He's doomed.
     2D VOICE.
     Dead! Dead!
     3D VOICE.
                    A judgment!
     4TH VOICE.
     Make way there!  Air!  Carry him forth!  He's warm!

     3D VOICE.
     Nay, his heart's stopped—his breath has ceased—quite dead.
     5TH VOICE.
     Didst mark a diamond lance flash from the roof,
     And strike him 'twixt the eyes?
     1ST VOICE.
                     Our days are numbered.
     This is the token.
     RABBI JACOB.
                     Lift the corpse and pray.
     Shall we neglect God's due observances,
     While He is manifest in miracle?
     I saw a blaze seven times more bright than fire,
     Crest, halo-wise, the patriarch's white head.
     The dazzle stung my burning lids—they closed,
     One instant—when they oped, the great blank cloud
     Had settled on his countenance forever.*
     Departed brother, mayest thou find the gates
     Of heaven open, see the city of peace,
     And meet the ministering angels, glad,
     Hastening towards thee!  May the High Priest stand
     To greet and bless thee!  Go thou to the end!
     Repose in peace and rise again to life.
     No more thy sun sets, neither wanes thy moon.
     The Lord shall be thy everlasting light,
     Thy days of mourning shall be at an end.
     For you, my flock, fear nothing; it is writ
     As one his mother comforteth, so I
     Will comfort you and in Jerusalem
     Ye shall be comforted.  [Scene closes.]

       *From this point to the end of the scene is a literal
       translation of the Hebrew burial service.
     SCENE III.

       Evening.  A crooked byway in the Judengasse.  Enter PRINCE

     WILLIAM.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Cursed be these twisted lanes!  I have missed the clue
     Of the close labyrinth.  Nowhere in sight,
     Just when I lack it, a stray gaberdine
     To pick me up my thread.  Yet when I haste
     Through these blind streets, unwishful to be spied,
     Some dozen hawk-eyes peering o'er crook'd beaks
     Leer recognition, and obsequious caps
     Do kiss the stones to greet my princeship.  Bah!
     Strange, 'midst such refuse sleeps so white a pearl.
     At last, here shuffles one.

       Enter a Jew.

                     Give you good even!
     Sir, can you help me to the nighest way
     Unto the merchant's house, Susskind von Orb?
     JEW.
     Whence come you knowing not the high brick wall,
     Without, blank as my palm, o' the inner side,
     Muring a palace? But—do you wish him well?
     He is my friend—we must be wary, wary,
     We all have warning—Oh, the terror of it!
     I have not yet my wits!
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
                     I am his friend.
     Is he in peril?  What's the matter, man?
     JEW.
     Peril?  His peril is no worse than mine,
     But the rich win compassion.  God is just,
     And every man of us is doomed.  Alack!
     HE said it—oh those wild, white eyes!
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
                     I pray you,
     Tell me the way to Susskind's home.
     JEW.

                     Sweet master,
     You look the perfect knight, what can you crave
     Of us starved, wretched Jews?  Leave us in peace.
     The Judengasse gates will shut anon,
     Nor ope till morn again for Jew or Gentile.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Here's gold.  I am the Prince of Meissen—speak!
     JEW.
     Oh pardon!  Let me kiss your mantle's edge.
     This way, great sir, I lead you there myself,
     If you deign follow one so poor, so humble.
     You must show mercy in the name of God,
     For verily are we afflicted.  Come.
     Hard by is Susskind's dwelling—as we walk
     By your good leave I'll tell what I have seen.
     [Exeunt.]
     SCENE IV.

       A luxuriously-furnished apartment in SUSSKIND VON ORB'S house.
       Upon a richly-spread supper-table stands the seven-branched
       silver candlestick of the Sabbath eve.  At the table are seated

     SUSSKIND VON ORB, LIEBHAID, and REUBEN.
     SUSSKIND.
     Drink, children, drink! and lift your hearts to Him
     Who gives us the vine's fruit.
     [They drink.]
                     How clear it glows;
     Like gold within the golden bowl, like fire
     Along our veins, after the work-day week
     Rekindling Sabbath-fervor, Sabbath-strength.
     Verily God prepares for me a table
     In presence of mine enemies!  He anoints
     My head with oil, my cup is overflowing.
     Praise we His name!  Hast thou, my daughter, served
     The needs o' the poor, suddenly-orphaned child?
     Naught must she lack beneath my roof.
     LIEBHAID.
                     Yea, father.
     She prays and weeps within: she had no heart
     For Sabbath meal, but charged me with her thanks—
     SUSSKIND.
     Thou shalt be mother and sister in one to her.
     Speak to her comfortably.
     REUBEN.
                     She has begged
     A grace of me I happily can grant.
     After our evening-prayer, to lead her back
     Unto the Synagogue, where sleeps her father,
     A light at head and foot, o'erwatched by strangers;
     She would hold vigil.
     SUSSKIND.
                     'T is a pious wish,
     Not to be crossed, befitting Israel's daughter.
     Go, Reuben; heavily the moments hang,
     While her heart yearns to break beside his corpse.
     Receive my blessing.
     [He places his hands upon his son's head in benediction.  Exit
     Reuben.]
                     Henceforth her home is here.
     In the event to-night, God's finger points
     Visibly out of heaven.  A thick cloud
     Befogs the future.  But just here is light.

       Enter a servant ushering in PRINCE WILLIAM.
     SERVANT.
     His highness Prince of Meissen.
     [Exit.]
     SUSSKIND.
                     Welcome, Prince!
     God bless thy going forth and coming in!
     Sit at our table and accept the cup
     Of welcome which my daughter fills.
     [LIEBHAID offers him wine.]
     PRINCE WILLIAM (drinking).
                     To thee!
     [All take their seats at the table.]
     I heard disquieting news as I came hither.
     The apparition in the Synagogue,
     The miracle of the message and the death.
     Susskind von Orb, what think'st thou of these things?
     SUSSKIND.
     I think, sir, we are in the hand of God,
     I trust the Prince—your father and my friend.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Trust no man! flee!  I have not come to-night
     To little purpose.  Your arch enemy,
     The Governor of Salza, Henry Schnetzen,
     Has won my father's ear.  Since yester eve
     He stops at Eisenach, begging of the Prince
     The Jews' destruction.
     SUSSKIND (calmly).
                     Schnetzen is my foe,
     I know it, but I know a talisman,
     Which at a word transmutes his hate to love.
     Liebhaid, my child, look cheerly.  What is this?
     Harm dare not touch thee; the oppressor's curse,
     Melts into blessing at thy sight.
     LIEBHAID.
                     Not fear
     Plucks at my heart-strings, father, though the air
     Thickens with portents; 't is the thought of flight,
     But no—I follow thee.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
                     Thou shalt not miss
     The value of a hair from thy home treasures.
     All that thou lovest, Liebhaid, goes with thee.
     Knowest thou, Susskind, Schnetzen's cause of hate?
     SUSSKIND.
     'T is rooted in an ancient error, born
     During his feud with Landgrave Fritz the Bitten,
     Your Highness' grandsire—ten years—twenty—back.
     Misled to think I had betrayed his castle,
     Who knew the secret tunnel to its courts,
     He has nursed a baseless grudge, whereat I smile,
     Sure to disarm him by the simple truth.
     God grant me strength to utter it.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
                     You fancy
     The rancor of a bad heart slow distilled
     Through venomed years, so at a breath, dissolves.
     O good old man, i' the world, not of the world!
     Belike, himself forgets the doubtful core
     Of this still-curdling, petrifying ooze.
     Truth? why truth glances from the callous mass,
     A spear against a rock.  He hugs his hate,
     His bed-fellow, his daily, life-long comrade;
     Think you he has slept, ate, drank with it this while,
     Now to forego revenge on such slight cause
     As the revealed truth?
     SUSSKIND.
                     You mistake my thought,
     Great-hearted Prince, and justly—for I speak
     In riddles, till God's time to make all clear.
     When His day dawns, the blind shall see.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
                     Forgive me,
     If I, in wit and virtue your disciple,
     Seem to instruct my master.  Accident
     Lifts me where I survey a broader field
     Than wise men stationed lower.  I spy peril,
     Fierce flame invisible from the lesser peaks.
     God's time is now.  Delayed truth leaves a lie
     Triumphant.  If you harbor any secret,
     Potent to force an ear that's locked to mercy,
     In God's name, now disbosom it.
     SUSSKIND.
                     Kind Heaven!
     Would that my people's safety were assured
     So is my child's!  Where shall we turn?  Where flee?
     For all around us the Black Angel broods.
     We step into the open jaws of death
     If we go hence.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
                     Better to fall beneath
     The hand of God, than be cut off by man.
     SUSSKIND.
     We are trapped, the springe is set.  Not ignorantly
     I offered counsel in the Synagogue,
     Quelled panic with authoritative calm,
     But knowing, having weighed the opposing risks.
     Our friends in Strasburg have been overmastered,
     The imperial voice is drowned, the papal arm
     Drops paralyzed—both, lifted for the truth;
     We can but front with brave eyes, brow erect,
     As is our wont, the fullness of our doom.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Then Meissen's sword champions your desperate cause.
     I take my stand here where my heart is fixed.
     I love your daughter—if her love consent,
     I pray you, give me her to wife.
     LIEBHAID.
             Ah!
     SUSSKIND.
                     Prince,
     Let not this Saxon skin, this hair's gold fleece,
     These Rhine-blue eyes mislead thee—she is alien.
     To the heart's core a Jewess—prop of my house,
     Soul of my soul—and I? a despised Jew.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Thy propped house crumbles; let my arm sustain
     Its tottering base—thy light is on the wane,
     Let me relume it.  Give thy star to me,
     Or ever pitch-black night engulf us all—
     Lend me your voice, Liebhaid, entreat for me.
     Shall this prayer be your first that he denies?
     LIEBHAID.
     Father, my heart's desire is one with his.
     SUSSKIND.
     Is this the will of God?  Amen!  My children,
     Be patient with me, I am full of trouble.
     For you, heroic Prince, could aught enhance
     Your love's incomparable nobility,
     'T were the foreboding horror of this hour,
     Wherein you dare flash forth its lightning-sword.
     You reckon not, in the hot, splendid moment
     Of great resolve, the cold insidious breath
     Wherewith the outer world shall blast and freeze—
     But hark!  I own a mystic amulet,
     Which you delivering to your gracious father,
     Shall calm his rage withal, and change his scorn
     Of the Jew's daughter into pure affection.
     I will go fetch it—though I drain my heart
     Of its red blood, to yield this sacrifice.
     [Exit SUSSKIND.]
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Have you no smile to welcome love with, Liebhaid?
     Why should you tremble?
     LIEBHAID.
                     Prince, I am afraid!
     Afraid of my own heart, my unfathomed joy,
     A blasphemy against my father's grief,
     My people's agony.  I dare be happy—
     So happy! in the instant's lull betwixt
     The dazzle and the crash of doom.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
                     You read
     The omen falsely; rather is your joy
     The thrilling harbinger of general dawn.
     Did you not tell me scarce a month agone,
     When I chanced in on you at feast and prayer,
     The holy time's bright legend? of the queen,
     Strong, beautiful, resolute, who denied her race
     To save her race, who cast upon the die
     Of her divine and simple loveliness,
     Her life, her soul,—and so redeemed her tribe.
     You are my Esther—but I, no second tyrant,
     Worship whom you adore, love whom you love!
     LIEBHAID.
     If I must die with morn, I thank my God,
     And thee, my king, that I have lived this night.

       Enter SUSSKIND, carrying a jewelled casket.
     SUSSKIND.
     Here is the chest, sealed with my signet-ring,
     A mystery and a treasure lies within,
     Whose worth is faintly symboled by these gems,
     Starring the case.  Deliver it unopened,
     Unto the Landgrave.  Now, sweet Prince, good night.
     Else will the Judengasse gates be closed.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Thanks, father, thanks.  Liebhaid, my bride, good-night.
     [He kisses her brow.
     SUSSKIND places his hands on the heads of
     LIEBHAID and PRINCE WILLIAM.]
     SUSSKIND.
     Blessed, O Lord, art thou, who bringest joy
     To bride and bridegroom.  Let us thank the Lord.
     [Curtain falls.]





ACT II.—At Eisenach.

     SCENE I.

       A Room in the LANDGRAVE'S Palace.
     FREDERICK THE GRAVE and

     HENRY SCHNETZEN.
     LANDGRAVE.
     Who tells thee of my son's love for the Jewess?
     SCHNETZEN.
     Who tells me?  Ask the Judengasse walls,
     The garrulous stones publish Prince William's visits
     To his fair mistress.
     LANDGRAVE.
               Mistress?  Ah, such sins
     The Provost of St. George's will remit
     For half a pound of coppers.
     SCHNETZEN.
               Think it not!
     No light amour this, leaving shield unflecked;
     He wooes the Jewish damsel as a knight
     The lady of his heart.
     LANDGRAVE.
               Impossible!

     SCHNETZEN.
     Things more impossible have chanced.  Remember
     Count Gleichen, doubly wived, who pined in Egypt,
     There wed the Pasha's daughter Malachsala,
     Nor blushed to bring his heathen paramour
     Home to his noble wife Angelica,
     Countess of Orlamund.  Yea, and the Pope
     Sanctioned the filthy sin.
     LANDGRAVE.
               Himself shall say it.
     Ho, Gunther! (Enter a Lackey.)
     Bid the Prince of Meissen here.
     [Exit Lackey.  The LANDGRAVE paces the stage in agitation.]

       Enter PRINCE WILLIAM.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Father, you called me?
     LANDGRAVE.
               Ay, when were you last
     In Nordhausen?
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               This morning I rode hence.
     LANDGRAVE.
     Were you at Susskind's house?
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               I was, my liege.
     LANDGRAVE.
     I hear you entertain unseemly love
     For the Jew's daughter.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               Who has told thee this?
     SCHNETZEN.
     This I have told him.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               Father, believe him not.
     I swear by heaven 't is no unseemly love
     Leads me to Susskind's house.
     LANDGRAVE.
                     With what high title
     Please you to qualify it?
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               True, I love
     Liebhaid von Orb, but 't is the honest passion
     Wherewith a knight leads home his equal wife.
     LANDGRAVE.
     Great God! and thou wilt brag thy shame!  Thou speakest
     Of wife and Jewess in one breath!  Wilt make
     Thy princely name a stench in German nostrils?
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Hold, father, hold!  You know her—yes, a Jewess
     In her domestic piety, her soul
     Large, simple, splendid like a star, her heart
     Suffused with Syrian sunshine—but no more—
     The aspect of a Princess of Thuringia,
     Swan-necked, gold-haired, Madonna-eyed.  I love her!
     If you will quench this passion, take my life!
     [He falls at his father's feet.
     FREDERICK, in a paroxysm of rage,
     seizes his sword.]
     SCHNETZEN.
     He is your son!
     LANDGRAVE.
               Oh that he ne'er were born!
     Hola! Halberdiers! Yeomen of the Guard!

       Enter Guardsmen.

     Bear off this prisoner!  Let him sigh out
     His blasphemous folly in the castle tower,
     Until his hair be snow, his fingers claws.
     [They seize and bear away PRINCE WILLIAM.]
     Well, what's your counsel?
     SCHNETZEN.
               Briefly this, my lord.
     The Jews of Nordhausen have brewed the Prince
     A love-elixir—let them perish all!
     [Tumult without.  Singing of Hymns and Ringing of Church-bells.
     The LANDGRAVE and SCHNETZEN go to the window.]
     SONG* (without).

          The cruel pestilence arrives,
          Cuts off a myriad human lives.
          See the Flagellants' naked skin!
          They scourge themselves for grievous sin.
          Trembles the earth beneath God's breath,
          The Jews shall all be burned to death.

       *A rhyme of the times.  See Graetz's "History of the Jews,"
       page 374, vol. vii.
     LANDGRAVE.
     Look, foreign pilgrims!  What an endless file!
     Naked waist-upward.  Blood is trickling down
     Their lacerated flesh.  What do they carry?
     SCHNETZEN.
     Their scourges—iron-pointed, leathern thongs,
     Mark how they lash themselves—the strict Flagellants.
     The Brothers of the Cross—hark to their cries!
     VOICE FROM BELOW.
     Atone, ye mighty!  God is wroth!  Expel
     The enemies of heaven—raze their homes!
     [Confused cries from below, which gradually die away in the
     distance.]
     Woe to God's enemies!  Death to the Jews!
     They poison all our wells—they bring the plague.
     Kill them who killed our Lord!  Their homes shall be
     A wilderness—drown them in their own blood!
     [The LANDGRAVE and SCHNETZEN withdraw from the window.]
     SCHNETZEN.
     Do not the people ask the same as I?
     Is not the people's voice the voice of God?
     LANDGRAVE.
     I will consider.
     SCHNETZEN.
               Not too long, my liege.
     The moment favors.  Later 't were hard to show
     Due cause to his Imperial Majesty,
     For slaughtering the vassals of the Crown.
     Two mighty friends are theirs.  His holiness
     Clement the Sixth and Kaiser Karl.
     LANDGRAVE.
               'T were rash
     Contending with such odds.
     SCHNETZEN.
               Courage, my lord.
     These battle singly against death and fate.
     Your allies are the sense and heart o' the world.
     Priests warring for their Christ, nobles for gold,
     And peoples for the very breath of life
     Spoiled by the poison-mixers.  Kaiser Karl
     Lifts his lone voice unheard, athwart the roar
     Of such a flood; the papal bull is whirled
     An unconsidered rag amidst the eddies.
     LANDGRAVE.
     What credence lend you to the general rumor
     Of the river poison?
     SCHNETZEN.
               Such as mine eyes avouch.
     I have seen, yea touched the leathern wallet found
     On the body of one from whom the truth was wrenched
     By salutary torture.  He confessed,
     Though but a famulus of the master-wizard,
     The horrible old Moses of Mayence,
     He had flung such pouches in the Rhine, the Elbe,
     The Oder, Danube—in a hundred brooks,
     Until the wholesome air reeked pestilence;
     'T was an ell long, filled with a dry, fine dust
     Of rusty black and red, deftly compounded
     Of powdered flesh of basilisks, spiders, frogs,
     And lizards, baked with sacramental dough
     In Christian blood.
     LANDGRAVE.
               Such goblin-tales may curdle
     The veins of priest-rid women, fools, and children.
     They are not for the ears of sober men.
     SCHNETZEN.
     Pardon me, Sire.  I am a simple soldier.
     My God, my conscience, and my suzerain,
     These are my guides—blindfold I follow them.
     If your keen royal wit pierce the gross web
     Of common superstition—be not wroth
     At your poor vassal's loyal ignorance.
     Remember, too, Susskind retains your bonds.
     The old fox will not press you; he would bleed
     Against the native instinct of the Jew,
     Rather his last gold doit and so possess
     Your ease of mind, nag, chafe, and toy with it;
     Abide his natural death, and other Jews
     Less devilish-cunning, franklier Hebrew-viced,
     Will claim redemption of your pledge.
     LANDGRAVE.
               How know you
     That Susskind holds my bonds?
     SCHNETZEN.
               You think the Jews
     Keep such things secret?  Not a Jew but knows
     Your debt exact—the sum and date of interest,
     And that you visit Susskind, not for love,
     But for his shekels.
     LANDGRAVE.
               Well, the Jews shall die.
     This is the will of God.  Whom shall I send
     To bear my message to the council?
     SCHNETZEN.
               I
     Am ever at your 'hest.  To-morrow morn
     Sees me in Nordhausen.
     LANDGRAVE.
               Come two hours hence.
     I will deliver you the letter signed.
     Make ready for your ride.
     SCHNETZEN (kisses FREDERICK'S hand).
               Farewell, my master.
     (Aside.)
     Ah, vengeance cometh late, Susskind von Orb,
     But yet it comes!  My wife was burned through thee,
     Thou and thy children are consumed by me!
     [Exit.]
     SCENE II.

       A Room in the Wartburg Monastery.
     PRINCESS MATHILDIS and

     PRIOR PEPPERCORN.
     PRIOR.
     Be comforted, my daughter.  Your lord's wisdom
     Goes hand in hand with his known piety
     Thus dealing with your son.  To love a Jewess
     Is flat contempt of Heaven—to ask in marriage,
     Sheer spiritual suicide.  Let be;
     Justice must take its course.
     PRINCESS.
               Justice is murdered;
     Oh slander not her corpse.  For my son's fault,
     A thousand innocents are doomed.  Is that
     God's justice?
     PRIOR.
               Yea, our liege is but his servant.
     Did not He purge with fiery hail those twain
     Blotches of festering sin, Gomorrah, Sodom?
     The Jews are never innocent,—when Christ
     Agonized on the Cross, they cried—"His blood
     Be on our children's heads and ours!"  I mark
     A dangerous growing evil of these days,
     Pity, misnamed—say, criminal indulgence
     Of reprobates brow-branded by the Lord.
     Shall we excel the Christ in charity?
     Because his law is love, we tutor him
     In mercy and reward his murderers?
     Justice is blind and virtue is austere.
     If the true passion brimmed our yearning hearts
     The vision of the agony would loom
     Fixed vividly between the day and us:—
     Nailed on the gaunt black Cross the divine form,
     Wax-white and dripping blood from ankles, wrists,
     The sacred ichor that redeems the world,
     And crowded in strange shadow of eclipse,
     Reviling Jews, wagging their heads accursed,
     Sputtering blasphemy—who then would shrink
     From holy vengeance? who would offer less
     Heroic wrath and filial zeal to God
     Than to a murdered father?
     PRINCESS.
               But my son
     Will die with her he loves.
     PRIOR.
               Better to perish
     In time than in eternity.  No question
     Pends here of individual life; our sight
     Must broaden to embrace the scope sublime
     Of this trans-earthly theme.  The Jew survives
     Sword, plague, fire, cataclysm—and must, since Christ
     Cursed him to live till doomsday, still to be
     A scarecrow to the nations.  None the less
     Are we beholden in Christ's name at whiles,
     When maggot-wise Jews breed, infest, infect
     Communities of Christians, to wash clean
     The Church's vesture, shaking off the filth
     That gathers round her skirts.  A perilous germ!
     Know you not, all the wells, the very air
     The Jews have poisoned?—Through their arts alone
     The Black Death scourges Christendom.
     PRINCESS.
               I know
     All heinousness imputed by their foes.
     Father, mistake me not: I urge no plea
     To shield this hell-spawn, loathed by all who love
     The lamb and kiss the Cross.  I had not guessed
     Such obscure creatures crawled upon my path,
     Had not my son—I know not how misled—
     Deigned to ennoble with his great regard,
     A sparkle midst the dust motes.
     SHE is sacred.
     What is her tribe to me?  Her kith and kin
     May rot or roast—the Jews of Nordhausen
     May hang, drown, perish like the Jews of France,
     But she shall live—Liebhaid von Orb, the Jewess,
     The Prince, my son, elects to love.
     PRIOR.
               Amen!
     Washed in baptismal waters she shall be
     Led like the clean-fleeced yeanling to the fold.
     Trust me, my daughter—for through me the Church
     Which is the truth, which is the life, doth speak.
     Yet first 't were best essay to cure the Prince
     Of this moon-fostered madness, bred, no doubt,
     By baneful potions which these cunning knaves
     Are skilled to mix.
     PRINCESS.
               Go visit him, dear father,
     Where in the high tower mewed, a wing-clipped eagle,
     His spirit breaks in cage.  You are his master,
     He is wont from childhood to hear wisdom fall
     From your instructed lips.  Tell him his mother
     Rises not from her knees, till he is freed.
     PRIOR.
     Madam, I go.  Our holy Church has healed
     Far deadlier heart-wounds than a love-sick boy's.
     Be of good cheer, the Prince shall live to bless
     The father's rigor who kept pure of blot
     A 'scutcheon more unsullied than the sun.
     PRINCESS.
     Thanks and farewell.
     PRIOR.
               Farewell.  God send thee peace!
     [Exeunt.]
     SCENE III.

       A mean apartment in one of the Towers of the Landgrave's Palace.

     PRINCE WILLIAM discovered seated at the window.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     The slow sun sets; with lingering, large embrace
     He folds the enchanted hill; then like a god
     Strides into heaven behind the purple peak.
     Oh beautiful!  In the clear, rayless air,
     I see the chequered vale mapped far below,
     The sky-paved streams, the velvet pasture-slopes,
     The grim, gray cloister whose deep vesper bell
     Blends at this height with tinkling, homebound herds!
     I see—but oh, how far!—the blessed town
     Where Liebhaid dwells.  Oh that I were yon star
     That pricks the West's unbroken foil of gold,
     Bright as an eye, only to gaze on her!
     How keen it sparkles o'er the Venusburg!
     When brown night falls and mists begin to live,
     Then will the phantom hunting-train emerge,
     Hounds straining, black fire-eyeballed, breathless steeds,
     Spurred by wild huntsmen, and unhallowed nymphs,
     And at their head the foam-begotten witch,
     Of soul-destroying beauty.  Saints of heaven!
     Preserve mine eyes from such unholy sight!
     How all unlike the base desire which leads
     Misguided men to that infernal cave,
     Is the pure passion that exalts my soul
     Like a religion!  Yet Christ pardon me
     If this be sin to thee!
     [He takes his lute, and begins to sing.  Enter with a lamp Steward
     of the Castle, followed by PRIOR PEPPERCORN.  Steward lays down the
     lamp and exit.]
     Good even, father!
     PRIOR.
               Benedicite!
     Our bird makes merry his dull bars with song,
     Yet would not penitential psalms accord
     More fitly with your sin than minstrels' lays?
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     I know no blot upon my life's fair record.
     PRIOR.
     What is it to wanton with a Christ-cursed Jewess,
     Defy thy father and pollute thy name,
     And fling to the ordures thine immortal soul?
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Forbear! thy cowl's a helmet, thy serge frock
     Invulnerable as brass—yet I am human,
     Thou, priest, art still a man.
     PRIOR.
               Pity him, Heaven!
     To what a pass their draughts have brought the mildest,
     Noblest of princes!  Softly, my son; be ruled
     By me, thy spiritual friend and father.
     Thou hast been drugged with sense-deranging potions,
     Thy blood set boiling and thy brain askew;
     When these thick fumes subside, thou shalt awake
     To bless the friend who gave thy madness bounds.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
     Madness!  Yea, as the sane world goes, I am mad.
     What else to help the helpless, to uplift
     The low, to adore the good, the beautiful,
     To live, battle, suffer, die for truth, for love!
     But that is wide of the question.  Let me hear
     What you are charged to impart—my father's will.

     PRIOR.
     Heart-cleft by his dear offspring's shame, he prays
     Your reason be restored, your wayward sense
     Renew its due allegiance.  For his son
     He, the good parent, weeps—hot drops of gall,
     Wrung from a spirit seldom eased by tears.
     But for his honor pricked, the Landgrave takes
     More just and general vengeance.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               In the name of God,
     What has he done to HER?
     PRIOR.
               Naught, naught,—as yet.
     Sweet Prince, be calm; you leap like flax to flame.
     You nest within your heart a cockatrice,
     Pluck it from out your bosom and breathe pure
     Of the filthy egg.  The Landgrave brooks no more
     The abomination that infects his town.
     The Jews of Nordhausen are doomed.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               Alack!
     Who and how many of that harmless tribe,
     Those meek and pious men, have been elected
     To glut with innocent blood the oppressor's wrath?
     PRIOR.
     Who should go free where equal guilt is shared?
     Frederick is just—they perish all at once,
     Generous moreover—for in their mode of death
     He grants them choice.
     PRINCE WILLIAM.
               My father had not lost
     The human semblance when I saw him last.
     Nor can he be divorced in this short space
     From his shrewd wit.  How shall he make provision
     For the vast widowed, orphaned host this deed
     Burdens the state withal?
     PRIOR.
               Oh excellent!
     This is the crown of folly, topping all!
     Forgive me, Prince, when I gain breath to point
     Your comic blunder, you will laugh with me.
     Patience—I'll draw my chin as long as yours.
     Well, 't was my fault—one should be accurate—
     Jews, said I? when I meant Jews, Jewesses,
     And Jewlings! all betwixt the age
     Of twenty-four hours, and of five score years.
     Of either sex, of every known degree,
     All the contaminating vermin purged
     With one clean, searching blast of wholesome fire.