s to conceal his father's dishonour and rescue
him from the power of Stralenheim. The plot hinges on the unlooked-for
and unsuspected action of Conrad. Unlike his father, he is not the man
to let "I dare not wait upon I would," but murders Stralenheim in cold
blood, and, at the same time, diverts suspicion from his father and
himself to the person of his comrade, a Hungarian soldier of fortune,
who is already supposed to be the thief, and who had sought and obtained
shelter in the apartments of the conscience-stricken Kruitzner.

The scene changes to Prague. Siegendorf, no longer Kruitzner, has
regained his inheritance, and is once more at the height of splendour
and prosperity. A service of thanksgiving is being held in the cathedral
to commemorate the signature of the Treaty of Prague (1635), and the
count is present in state. Suddenly he catches sight of the Hungarian,
and, "like a flash of lightning" feels and remembers that he _is_ a
thief, and that he might, however unjustly, be suspected if not accused
of the murder of Stralenheim. The service is over, and the count is
recrossing "Muldau's Bridge," when he hears the fatal word _Kruitzner_,
"the seal of his shame," spoken in his ear. He returns to his castle,
and issues orders that the Hungarian should be arrested and
interrogated. An interview takes place, at which the Hungarian denounces
Conrad as the murderer of Stralenheim. The son acknowledges the deed,
and upbraids the father for his weakness and credulity in supposing that
his escape from Stralenheim's machinations could have been effected by
any other means. If, he argues, circumstances can palliate dishonesty,
they can compel and justify murder. Common sense even now demands the
immediate slaughter of the Hungarian, as it compelled and sanctioned the
effectual silencing of Stralenheim. But Siegendorf knows not "thorough,"
and shrinks at assassination. He repudiates and denounces his son, and
connives at the escape of the Hungarian. Conrad, who is banished from
Prague, rejoins his former associates, the "black bands," which were the
scandal and terror of the neighbouring provinces, and is killed in a
skirmish with the regular troops. Siegendorf dies of a broken heart.

The conception of _The German's Tale_, as Byron perceived, is superior
to the execution. The style is laboured and involved, and the narrative
long-winded and tiresome. It is, perhaps, an adaptation, though not a
literal translation, of a Ge