ADVERTISEMENT TO THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. THIS attempt at dramatic composition was executed nearly thirty years since, when the magnificent works of Goethe and Schiller were for the first time made known to the British public, and received, as many now alive must remember, with universal enthusiasm. What we admire we usually attempt to imitate; and the author, not trusting to his own efforts, borrowed the substance of the story and a part of the diction from a dramatic romance called "Der Heilige Vehme" (the Secret Tribunal), which fills the sixth volume of the "Sagen den Vorzeit" (Tales of Antiquity), by Beit Weber. The drama must be termed rather a rifacimento of the original than a translation, since the whole is compressed, and the incidents and dialogue occasionally much varied. The imitator is ignorant of the real name of his ingenious contemporary, and has been informed that of Beit Weber is fictitious. The late Mr. John Kemble at one time had some desire to bring out the play at Drury Lane, then adorned by himself and his matchless sister, who were to have supported the characters of the unhappy son and mother: but great objections appeared to this proposal. There was danger that the main spring of the story,-the binding engagements formed by members of the secret tribunal, might not be sufficiently felt by an English audience, to whom the nature of that singularly mysterious institution was unknown from early association. There was also, according to Mr. Kemble's experienced opinion, too much blood, too much of the catastrophe of Tom Thumb, when all die on the stage. It was besides esteemed perilous to place the fifth act and the parade and show of the secret conclave, at the mercy of underlings and scene-shifters, who, by a ridiculous motion, gesture, or accent, might turn what should be grave into farce. The author, or rather the translator, willingly acquiesced in this reasoning, and never afterwards made any attempt to gain the honour of the buskin. The German taste also, caricatured by a number of imitators who, incapable of copying the sublimity of the great masters of the school, supplied its place by extravagance and bombast, fell into disrepute, and received a coup de grace from the joint efforts of the late lamented Mr. Canning and Mr. Frere. The effect of their singularly happy piece of ridicule called "The Rovers," a mock play which appeared in the Anti-Jacobin, was, that the German school, with its beauties and its defects, passed completely out of fashion, and the following scenes were consigned to neglect and obscurity. Very lately, however, the writer chanced to look them over with feelings very different from those of the adventurous period of his literary life during which they had been written, and yet with such as perhaps a reformed libertine might regard the illegimate production of an early amour. There is something to be ashamed of, certainly; but, after all, paternal vanity whispers that the child has a resemblance to the father. To this it need only be added, that there are in existence so many manuscript copies of the following play, that if it should not find its way to the public sooner, it is certain to do so when the author can no more have any opportunity of correcting the press, and consequently at greater disadvantage than at present. Being of too small a size or consequence for a separate publication, the piece is sent as a contribution to the Keepsake, where its demerits may be hidden amid the beauties of more valuable articles. ABBOTSFORD, 1st April, 1829. THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. MEN. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. sons to Rudiger. WICKERD, followers of the House of Aspen. CONRAD, Page of Honour to Henry of Aspen. RUDIGER, Baron of Aspen, an old German warrior. REYNOLD, S BERTRAM OF EBERSDORF, brother to the former hus- DUKE OF BAVARIA. WOMEN. ISABELLA, formerly married to Arnolf of Ebers- GERTRUDE, Isabella's niece, betrothed to Henry. Scene. The Castle of Ebersdorf in Bavaria, the ruins of Griefenhaus, and the adjacent country. RUDIGER, Baron of Aspen, and his lady, ISABELLA, are discovered sitting at a large oaken table. Rud. A plague upon that roan horse! Had he not stumbled with me at the ford after our last skirmish, I had been now with my sons. And yonder the boys are, hardly three miles off, battling with Count Roderic, and their father must lie here like a worm-eaten manuscript in a convent library! Out upon it! Out upon it! Is it not hard that a warrior, who has travelled so many leagues to display the cross on the walls of Zion, should be now unable to lift a spear before his own castle gate! Isa. Dear husband, your anxiety retards your re Isa. Surely, he at least Rud. Even he forsakes me, and skips up the tower staircase like lightning to join your fair ward, Gertrude, on the battlements. I cannot blame him; for, by my knightly faith, were I in his place, I think even these bruised bones would hardly keep me from her side. Still, however, here I must sit alone. Isa. Not alone, dear husband. Heaven knows what I would do to soften your confinement. Rud. Tell me not of that, lady. When I first knew thee, Isabella, the fair maid of Arnheim was the joy of her companions, and breathed life wherever she came. Thy father married thee to Arnolf of Ebersdorf-not much with thy will, 'tis true(she hides her face.) Nay-forgive me, Isabellabut that is over-he died, and the ties between us, which thy marriage had broken, were renewed-but the sunshine of my Isabella's light heart returned no more. VOL. I.-4 U Isa. (weeping.) Beloved Rudiger, you search my very soul! Why will you recall past times-days of spring that can never return? Do I not love thee more than ever wife loved husband? Rud. (stretches out his arms-she embraces him.) And therefore art thou ever my beloved Isabella. But still, is it not true? Has not thy cheerfulness vanished since thou hast become Lady of Aspen? Dost thou repent of thy love to Rudiger? Isa. Alas! no! never! never! Rud. Then why dost thou herd with monks and priests, and leave thy old knight alone, when, for the first time in his stormy life, he has rested for weeks within the walls of his castle? Hast thou committed a crime froin which Rudiger's love cannot absolve thee? Isa. O many! many! Rud. Then be this kiss thy penance. And tell me, Isabella, hast thou not founded a convent, and endowed it with the best of thy late husband's lands? Ay, and with a vineyard which I could have prized as well as the sleek monks. Dost thou not daily distribute alins to twenty pilgrims? Dost thou not cause ten masses to be sung each night for the repose of thy late husband's soul? Isa. It will not know repose. Rud. Well, well-God's peace be with Arnolf of Ebersdorf; the mention of him makes thee ever sad, though so many years have passed since his death. Isa. But at present, dear husband, have I not the most just cause for anxiety? Are not Henry and George, our beloved sons, at this very moment perhaps engaged in doubtful contest with our hereditary foe, Count Roderic of Maltingen? Rud. Now, there lies the difference: you sorrow that they are in danger, I that I cannot share it with thent.-Hark! I hear horses' feet on the draw bridge. Go to the window, Isabella. Isa. (at the window.), It is Wickerd, your squire. Rud. Then shall we have tidings of George and Henry. (Enter WICKERD.) How now, Wickerd? Have you come to blows yet? Wic. Not yet, noble sir. Rud. Not yet?-shame on the boys' dallyingwhat wait they for? Wie. The foe is strongly posted, sir knight, upon the Wolfshill, near the ruins of Griefenhaus; therefore your noble son, George of Aspen, greets you well, and requests twenty more men-at-arms, and, after they have joined hint, he hopes, with the aid of St. Theodore, to send you news of victory. Rey. His appearance reminds her of her first husband, and thou hast well seen that makes her ever sad. Rud. (attempts to rise hostily.) Saddle my black | noble mistress has dropped the wine she was raisbarb; I will head them myself. (Sits down.) Aing to her lips, and exchanged her smiles for a murrain on that stumbling roan! I had forgot my ghastly frown, as if sorrow went by sympathy, as dislocated bones. Call Reynold, Wickerd, and bid kissing goes by favour. him take all whom he can spare from defence of the castle (WICKERD is going) and ho! Wickerd, carry with you my black barb, and bid George charge upon him. (Exit WICKERD.) Now see, Isabella, if I disregard the boy's safety; I send him the best horse ever knight bestrode. When we lay before Ascalon, indeed, I had a bright bay PersianThou dost not heed me. Isa. Forgive me, dear husband; are not our sons in danger? Will not our sins be visited upon them? Is not their present situation Rud. Situation? I know it well: as fair a field for open fight as I ever hunted over: see here(makes lines on the table)-here is the ancient castle of Griefenhaus in ruins, here the Wolfshill; and here the marsh on the right. Isa. The marsh of Griefenhaus! Rud. Yes; by that the boys must pass. Isa. Pass there! (Apart.) Avenging Heaven! thy hand is upon us! (Exit hastily. Rud. Whither now? Whither now? She is gone. Thus it goes. Peter! Peter! (Enter PETER.) Help me to the gallery, that I may see them on horseback. [Exit, leaning on PETER. Wic. Dost thou marvel at that? She was married to Arnolf by a species of force, and they say that before his death he compelled her to swear never to espouse Rudiger. The priests will not absolve her for the breach of that vow, and therefore she is troubled in mind. For, d'ye mark me, Reynold[Bugle sounds. Rey. A truce to your preaching! To horse! and a blessing on our arms! Wic. St. George grant it! SCENE III. [Exeunt. The gallery of the castle, terminating in a large balcony commanding a distant prospect.- Voices, bugle-horns, kettle-drums, trampling of horses, c. are heard without. RUDIGER, leaning on PETER, looks from the balcony. GRRTRUDE and ISABELLA are near him. Rud. There they go at length-look, Isabella! look, my pretty Gertrude these are the iron-handed warriors who shall tell Roderic what it will cost him to force thee from my protection-(Flourish withThe inner court of the castle of Ebersdorf; a quad-out, RUDIGER stretches his arms from the balcony.) rangle, surrounded with Gothic buildings; troopers, followers of RUDIGER, pass and repass in haste, as if preparing for an excursion. SCENE II. WICKERD Comes forward. Wic. What, ho! Reynold! Reynold!-By our Lady, the spirit of the Seven Sleepers is upon himSo ho! not mounted yet? Reynold! Enter REYNOLD. Rey. Here! here! A devil choke thy bawling! think'st thou old Reynold is not as ready for a skirmish as thou? Wic. Nay, nay: I did but jest; but, by my sooth, it were a shame should our youngsters have yoked with Count Roderic before we graybeards come. Rey. Heaven forefend! Our troopers are but saddling their horses; five minutes more, and we are in our stirrups, and then let Count Roderic sit fast. Wic. A plague on him! he has ever lain hard on the skirts of our noble master. Rey. Especially since he was refused the hand of our lady's niece, the pretty Lady Gertrude. Wic. Ay, marry! would nothing less serve the fox of Maltingen than the lovely lamb of our young Baron Henry! By my sooth, Reynold, when I look upon these two lovers, they make me full twenty years younger; and when I meet the man that would divide them-I say nothing-but let him look to it. Rey. And how fare our young lords? Wic. Each well in his humour.-Baron George stern and cold, according to his wont, and his brother as cheerful as ever. Rey. Well!-Baron Henry for me. Wic. Nay, Baron George shows his gloomy spirit even by the choice of a favourite. Rey. Ay-Martin, formerly the squire of Arnolf of Ebersdorf, his mother's first husband.-I marvel he could not have fitted himself with an attendant from among the faithful followers of his worthy father, whom Arnolf and his adherents used to hate as the Devil hates holy water. But Martin is a good soldier, and has stood toughly by George in many a hard brunt. Wic. The knave is sturdy enough, but so sulky withal-I have seen, brother Reynold, that when mour. Go, my children, and God's blessing with you [Bugles, &c. at a greater distance still. Ger. Heaven guard them. Alas! the voice of war that calls the blood into your cheeks chills and freezes mine. Rud. Say not so. It is glorious, my girl! glorious! See how their armour glistens as they wind round yon hill! how their spears glimmer amid the long train of dust. Hark! you can still hear the faint notes of their trumpets-Bugles very faint.)— And Rudiger, old Rudiger with the iron arm, as the crusaders used to call me, must remain behind with the priests and the women. Well! well!-(Sings.} "It was a knight to battle rode, And as his war-horse he bestrode."- "Off rode the horseman, dash, sa, sa! Isa. To their safety, and God grant it!-(Drinks.) Enter BERTRAM as a minstrel, with a Boy bearing his harp.-Also PETER. Rud. Thy name, minstrel? Rud. Nay in sooth you are too anxious. Cheer Martin showed his moody visage at the banquet, our up. And thou, too, my lovely Gertrude: in a few |