ladies
Already are at the portal. Have you sent
The messengers in search of him he seeks for?

_Meis._ I have, in all directions, over Prague,
As far as the man's dress and figure could
By your description track him. The devil take
These revels and processions! All the pleasure
(If such there be) must fall to the spectators,--
I'm sure none doth to us who make the show.

_Arn._ Go to! my Lady Countess comes.

_Meis._ I'd rather 10
Ride a day's hunting on an outworn jade,
Than follow in the train of a great man,
In these dull pageantries.

_Arn._ Begone! and rail
Within. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter the_ COUNTESS JOSEPHINE SIEGENDORF _and_ IDA STRALENHEIM.

_Jos._ Well, Heaven be praised! the show is over.

_Ida._ How can you say so? Never have I dreamt
Of aught so beautiful. The flowers, the boughs,
The banners, and the nobles, and the knights,
The gems, the robes, the plumes, the happy faces,
The coursers, and the incense, and the sun
Streaming through the stained windows, even the _tombs_, 20
Which looked so calm, and the celestial hymns,
Which seemed as if they rather came from Heaven
Than mounted there--the bursting organ's peal
Rolling on high like an harmonious thunder;
The white robes and the lifted eyes; the world
At peace! and all at peace with one another!
Oh, my sweet mother! [_Embracing_ JOSEPHINE.

_Jos._ My beloved child!
For such, I trust, thou shalt be shortly.

_Ida._ Oh!
I am so already. Feel how my heart beats!

_Jos._ It does, my love; and never may it throb 30
With aught more bitter.

_Ida._ Never shall it do so!
How should it? What should make us grieve? I hate
To hear of sorrow: how can we be sad,
Who love each other so entirely? You,
The Count, and Ulric, and your daughter Ida.

_Jos._ Poor child!

_Ida._ Do you pity me?

_Jos._ No: I but envy,
And that in sorrow, not in the world's sense
Of the universal vice, if one vice be
More general than another.

_Ida._ I'll not hear
A word against a