SPIEGEL. (slinking forward). Bread and water! Is that it? A
temperate diet! But I have made a better provision for you. Did I not
say that I should have to think for you all at last?
SCHWEIT. What does the blockhead say! The jackass is going to think
for us all!
SPIEGEL. Cowards, cripples, lame dogs are ye all if you have not
courage enough to venture upon something great.
ROLLER. Well, of course, so we should be, you are right; but will your
proposed scheme get us out of this devil of a scrape? eh?
SPIEGEL. (with a proud laugh). Poor thing! Get us out of this scrape?
Ha, ha, ha! Get us out of the scrape!--and is that all your thimbleful
of brain can reach? And with that you trot your mare back to the
stable? Spiegelberg would have been a miserable bungler indeed if that
were the extent of his aim. Heroes, I tell you, barons, princes, gods,
it will make of you.
RAZ. That's pretty well for one bout, truly! But no doubt it is some
neck-breaking piece of business; it will cost a head or so at the least.
SPIEGEL. It wants nothing but courage; as to the headwork, I take that
entirely upon myself. Courage, I say, Schweitzer! Courage, Roller!
Grimm! Razman! Schufterle! Courage!
SCHW. Courage! If that is all, I have courage enough to walk through
hell barefoot.
SCHUFT. And I courage enough to fight the very devil himself under the
open gallows for the rescue of any poor sinner.
SPIEGEL. That's just what it should be! If ye have courage, let any
one of you step forward and say he has still something to lose, and not
everything to gain?
SCHW. Verily, I should have a good deal to lose, if I were to lose all
that I have yet to win!
PAZ. Yes, by Jove! and I much to win, if I could win all that I have
not got to lose.
SCHUFT. Were I to lose what I carry on my back on trust I should at any
rate have nothing to lose on the morrow.
SPIEGEL. Very well then! (He takes his place in the middle of them,
and says in solemn adjuration)--if but a drop of the heroic blood of the
ancient Germans still flow in your veins--come! We will fix our abode
in the Bohemian forests, draw together a band of robbers, and--What are
you gaping at? Has your slender stock of courage oozed out already?
ROLLER. You are not the first rogue by many that has defied the
gallows;--and yet what other choice have we?
SPIEGEL. Choice? You have no choice. Do you want to lie rotting in
the debtor's jail and beat hemp till you are bailed by the last trumpet?
Would you toil with pick-axe and spade for a morsel of dry bread? or
earn a pitiful alms by singing doleful ditties under people's windows?
Or will you be sworn at the drumhead--and then comes the question,
whether anybody would trust your hang-dog visages--and so under the
splenetic humor of some despotic sergeant serve your time of purgatory
in advance? Would you like to run the gauntlet to the beat of the drum?
or be doomed to drag after you, like a galley-slave, the whole iron
store of Vulcan? Behold your choice. You have before you the complete
catalogue of all that you may choose from!
ROLLER. Spiegelberg is not altogether wrong! I, too, have been
concocting plans, but they come much to the same thing. How would it
be, thought I, were we to club our wits together, and dish up a
pocketbook, or an almanac, or something of that sort, and write reviews
at a penny a line, as is now the fashion?
SCHUFT. The devil's in you! you are pretty nearly hitting on my own
schemes. I have been thinking to myself how would it answer were I to
turn Methodist, and hold weekly prayer-meetings?
GRIMM. Capital! and, if that fails, turn atheist! We might fall foul of
the four Gospels, get our book burned by the hangman, and then it would
sell at a prodigious rate.
RAZ. Or we might take the field to cure a fashionable ailment. I know
a quack doctor who has built himself a house with nothing but mercury,
as the motto over his door implies.
SCHWEIT. (rises and holds out his hand to Spiegelberg). Spiegelberg,
thou art a great man! or else a blind hog has by chance found an acorn.
SCHW. Excellent schemes! Honorable professions! How great minds
sympathize! All that seems wanting to complete the list is that we
should turn pimps and bawds.
SPIEGEL. Pooh! Pooh! Nonsense. And what is to prevent our combining
most of these occupations in one person? My plan will exalt you the
most, and it holds out glory and immortality into the bargain.
Remember, too, ye sorry varlets, and it is a matter worthy of
consideration: one's fame hereafter--the sweet thought of immortality--
ROLLER. And that at the very head of the muster-roll of honorable
names! You are a master of eloquence, Spiegelberg, when the question is
how to convert an honest man into a scoundrel. But does any one know
what has become of Moor?
SPIEGEL. Honest, say you? Do you think you'll be less honest then than
you are now? What do you call honest? To relieve rich misers of half
of those cares which only scare golden sleep from their eyelids; to
force hoarded coin into circulation; to restore the equalization of
property; in one word, to bring back the golden age; to relieve
Providence of many a burdensome pensioner, and so save it the trouble of
sending war, pestilence, famine, and above all, doctors--that is what I
call honesty, d'ye see; that's what I call being a worthy instrument in
the hand of Providence,--and then, at every meal you eat, to have the
sweet reflection: this is what thy own ingenuity, thy lion boldness, thy
night watchings, have procured for thee--to command the respect both of
great and small!
ROLLER. And at last to mount towards heaven in the living body, and in
spite of wind and storm, in spite of the greedy maw of old father Time,
to be hovering beneath the sun and moon and all the stars of the
firmament, where even the unreasoning birds of heaven, attracted by
noble instinct, chant their seraphic music, and angels with tails hold
their most holy councils? Don't you see? And, while monarchs and
potentates become a prey to moths and worms, to have the honor of
receiving visits from the royal bird of Jove. Moritz, Moritz, Moritz!
beware of the three-legged beast.*
*[The gallows, which in Germany is formed of three posts.]
SPIEGEL. And does that fright thee, craven-heart? Has not many a
universal genius, who might have reformed the world, rotted upon the
gallows? And does not the renown of such a man live for hundreds and
thousands of years, whereas many a king and elector would be passed over
in history, were not historians obliged to give him a niche to complete
the line of succession, or that the mention of him did not swell the
volume a few octavo pages, for which he counts upon hard cash from the
publisher. And when the wayfarer sees you swinging to and fro in the
breeze he will mutter to himself, "That fellow's brains had no water in
them, I'll warrant me," and then groan over the hardship of the times.
SCHWEIT. (slaps him on the shoulder). Well said, Spiegelberg! Well
said! Why the devil do we stand here hesitating?
SCHW. And suppose it is called disgrace--what then? Cannot one, in
case of need, always carry a small powder about one, which quietly
smooths the weary traveller's passage across the Styx, where no
cock-crowing will disturb his rest? No, brother Moritz! Your scheme is
good; so at least says my creed.
SCHUFT. Zounds! and mine too! Spiegelberg, I am your recruit.
RAZ. Like a second Orpheus, Spiegelberg, you have charmed to sleep that
howling beast, conscience! Take me as I stand, I am yours entirely!
GRIMMM. _Si omnes consentiunt ego non dissentio_;* mind, without a
comma. There is an auction going on in my head--methodists--quack
doctors--reviewers--rogues;--the highest bidder has me. Here is my
hand, Moritz!
*[The joke is explained by placing a comma after non.]
ROLLER. And you too, Schweitzer? (he gives his right hand to
SPIEGELBERG). Thus I consign my soul to the devil.
SPIEGEL. And your name to the stars! What does it signify where the
soul goes to? If crowds of _avantcouriers_ give notice of our descent
that the devils may put on their holiday gear, wipe the accumulated soot
of a thousand years from their eyelashes, and myriads of horned heads
pop up from the smoking mouth of their sulphurous chimneys to welcome
our arrival! 'Up, comrades! (leaping up). Up! What in the world is
equal to this ecstacy of delight? Come along, comrades!
ROLLER. Gently, gently! Where are you going? Every beast must have a
head, boys!
SPIEGEL. (With bitterness). What is that incubus preaching about? Was
not the head already there before a single limb began to move? Follow
me, comrades!
ROLLER. Gently, I say! even liberty must have its master. Rome and
Sparta perished for want of a chief.
SPIEGEL. (in a wheedling manner). Yes,--stay--Roller is right. And he
must have an enlightened head. Do you understand? A keen, politic
head. Yes! when I think what you were only an hour ago, and what you
are now, and that it is all owing to one happy thought. Yes, of course,
you must have a chief, and you'll own that he who struck out this idea
may claim to have an enlightened and politic head?
ROLLER. If one could hope, if one could dream, but I fear he will not
consent.
SPIEGEL. Why not? Speak out boldly, friend! Difficult as it may be to
steer a laboring vessel against wind and tide, oppressive as may be the
weight of a crown, speak your thought without hesitation, Roller!
Perhaps he may be prevailed upon after all!
ROLLER. And if he does not the whole vessel will be crazy enough.
Without Moor we are a "body without a soul."
SPIEGEL. (turning angrily from him). Dolt! blockhead!
(Enter CHARLES VON MOOR in violent agitation, stalking backwards
and forwards, and speaking to himself.)
CHARLES VON M. Man--man! false, perfidious crocodile-brood! Your eyes
are all tears, but your hearts steel! Kisses on your lips, but daggers
couched in your bosoms! Even lions and tigers nourish their young.
Ravens feast their brood on carrion, and he--he Malice I have learned to
bear; and I can smile when my fellest enemy drinks to me in my own
heart's blood; but when kindred turn traitors, when a father's love
becomes a fury's hate; oh, then, let manly resignation give place to
raging fire! the gentle lamb become a tiger! and every nerve strain
itself to vengeance and destruction!
ROLLER. Hark ye, Moor! What think ye of it? A robber's life is
pleasanter, after all, than to lie rotting on bread and water in the
lowest dungeon of the castle?
CHARLES VON M. Why was not this spirit implanted in a tiger which gluts
its raging jaws with human flesh? Is this a father's tenderness? Is
this love for love? Would I were a bear to rouse all the bears of the
north against this murderous race! Repentance, and no pardon! Oh, that
I could poison the ocean that men might drink death from every spring!
Contrition, implicit reliance, and no pardon!
ROLLER. But listen, Moor,--listen to what I am telling you!
CHARLES VON M. 'Tis incredible! 'tis a dream--a delusion! Such earnest
entreaty, such a vivid picture of misery and tearful penitence--a savage
beast would have been melted to compassion! stones would have wept, and
yet he--it would be thought a malicious libel upon human nature were I
to proclaim it--and yet, yet--oh, that I could sound the trumpet of
rebellion through all creation, and lead air, and earth, and sea into
battle array against this generation of hyenas!
GRIMM. Hear me, only hear me! You are deaf with raving.
CHARLES VON M. Avaunt, avaunt! Is not thy name man? Art thou not born
of woman? Out of my sight, thou thing with human visage! I loved him
so unutterably!--never son so loved a father; I would have sacrificed a
thousand lives for him (foaming and stamping the ground). Ha! where is
he that will put a sword into my hand that I may strike this generation
of vipers to the quick! Who will teach me how to reach their heart's
core, to crush, to annihilate the whole race? Such a man shall be my
friend, my angel, my god--him will I worship!
ROLLER. Such friends behold in us; be but advised!
SCHW. Come with us into the Bohemian forests! We will form a band of
robbers there, and you (MOOR stares at him).
SCHWEIT. You shall be our captain! you must be our captain!
SPIEGEL. (throws himself into a chair in a rage). Slaves and cowards!
CHARLES VON M. Who inspired thee with that thought? Hark, fellow!
(grasping ROLLER tightly) that human soul of thine did not produce it;
who suggested it to thee? Yes, by the thousand arms of death! that's
what we will, and what we must do! the thought's divine. He who
conceived it deserves to be canonized. Robbers and murderers! As my
soul lives, I am your captain!
ALL (with tumultuous shouts). Hurrah! long live our captain!
SPIEGEL. (starting up, aside). Till I give him his _coup de grace_!
CHARLES VON M. See, it falls like a film from my eyes! What a fool was
I to think of returning to be caged? My soul's athirst for deeds, my
spirit pants for freedom. Murderers, robbers! with these words I
trample the law underfoot--mankind threw off humanity when I appealed to
it. Away, then, with human sympathies and mercy! I no longer have a
father, no longer affections; blood and death shall teach me to forget
that anything was ever dear to me! Come! come! Oh, I will recreate
myself with some most fearful vengeance;--'tis resolved, I am your
captain! and success to him who Shall spread fire and slaughter the
widest and most savagely--I pledge myself He shall be right royally
rewarded. Stand around me, all of you, and swear to me fealty and
obedience unto death! Swear by this trusty right hand.
ALL (place their hands in his). We swear to thee fealty and obedience
unto death!
CHARLES VON M. And, by this same trusty right Hand, I here swear to you
to remain your captain, true and faithful unto death! This arm shall
make an instant corpse of him who doubts, or fears, or retreats. And
may the same befall me from your hands if I betray my oath! Are you
content?
[SPIEGELBERG runs up and down in a furious rage.]
ALL (throwing up their hats). We are content!
CHARLES VON M. Well, then, let us be gone! Fear neither death nor
danger, for an unalterable destiny rules over us. Every man has his
doom, be it to die on the soft pillow of down, or in the field of blood,
or on the scaffold, or the wheel! One or the other of these must be our
lot! [Exeunt.]
SPIEGEL. (looking after them after a pause). Your catalogue has a hole
in it. You have omitted poison.
[Exit.]
SCENE III.--MOOR'S Castle.--AMELIA'S Chamber.
FRANCIS, AMELIA.
FRANCIS. Your face is averted from me, Amelia? Am I less worthy than
he who is accursed of his father?
AMELIA. Away! Oh! what a loving, compassionate father, who abandons
his son a prey to wolves and monsters! In his own comfortable home he
pampers himself with delicious wines and stretches his palsied limbs on
down, while his noble son is starving. Shame upon you, inhuman
wretches! Shame upon you, ye souls of dragons, ye blots on humanity!--
his only son!
FRANCIS. I thought he had two.
AMELIA. Yes, he deserves to have such sons as you are. On his deathbed
he will in vain stretch out his withered hands for his Charles, and
recoil with a shudder when he feels the ice-cold hand of his Francis.
Oh, it is sweet, deliciously sweet, to be cursed by such a father! Tell
me, Francis, dear brotherly soul--tell me what must one do to be cursed
by him?
FRANCIS. You are raving, dearest; you are to be pitied.
AMELIA. Oh! indeed. Do you pity your brother? No, monster, you hate
him! I hope you hate me too.
FRANCIS. I love you as dearly as I love myself, Amelia!
AMELIA. If you love me you will not refuse me one little request.
FRANCIS. None, none! if you ask no more than my life.
AMELIA. Oh, if that is the case! then one request, which you will so
easily, so readily grant. (Loftily.) Hate me! I should perforce blush
crimson if, whilst thinking of Charles, it should for a moment enter my
mind that you do not hate me. You promise me this? Now go, and leave
me; I so love to be alone!
FRANCIS. Lovely enthusiast! how greatly I admire your gentle,
affectionate heart. Here, here, Charles reigned sole monarch, like a
god within his temple; he stood before thee waking, he filled your
imaination dreaming; the whole creation seemed to thee to centre in
Charles, and to reflect him alone; it gave thee no other echo but of
him.
AMELIA (with emotion). Yes, verily, I own it. Despite of you all,
barbarians as you are, I will own it before all the world. I love him!
FRANCIS. Inhuman, cruel! So to requite a love like this! To forget
her--
AMELIA (starting). What! forget me?
FRANCIS. Did you not place a ring on his finger?--a diamond ring, the
pledge of your love? To be sure how is it possible for youth to resist
the fascinations of a wanton? Who can blame him for it, since he had
nothing else left to give away? and of course she repaid him with
interest by her caresses and embraces.
AMELIA (with indignation). My ring to a wanton?
FRANCIS. Fie, fie! it is disgraceful. 'Twould not be much, however, if
that were all. A ring, be it ever so costly, is, after all, a thing
which one may always buy of a Jew. Perhaps the fashion of it did not
please him, perhaps he exchanged it for one more beautiful.
AMELIA (with violence). But my ring, I say, my ring?
FRANCIS. Even yours, Amelia. Ha! such a brilliant, and on my finger;
and from Amelia! Death itself should not have plucked it hence. It is
not the costliness of the diamond, not the cunning of the pattern--it is
love which constitutes its value. Is it not so, Amelia? Dearest child,
you are weeping. Woe be to him who causes such precious drops to flow
from those heavenly eyes; ah, and if you knew all, if you could but see
him yourself, see him under that form?
AMELIA. Monster! what do you mean? What form do you speak of?
FRANCIS. Hush, hush, gentle soul, press me no further (as if
soliloquizing, yet aloud). If it had only some veil, that horrid vice,
under which it might shroud itself from the eye of the world! But there
it is, glaring horribly through the sallow, leaden eye; proclaiming
itself in the sunken, deathlike look; ghastly protruding bones; the
faltering, hollow voice; preaching audibly from the shattered, shaking
skeleton; piercing to the most vital marrow of the bones, and sapping
the manly strength of youth--faugh! the idea sickens me. Nose, eyes,
ears shrink from it. You saw that miserable wretch, Amelia, in our
hospital, who was heavily breathing out his spirit; modesty seemed to
cast down her abashed eye as she passed him; you cried woe upon him.
Recall that hideous image to your mind, and your Charles stands before
you. His kisses are pestilence, his lips poison.
AMELIA (strikes him). Shameless liar!
FRANCIS. Does such a Charles inspire you with horror? Does the mere
picture fill you with disgust? Go, then! gaze upon him yourself, your
handsome, your angelic, your divine Charles! Go, drink his balmy
breath, and revel in the ambrosial fumes which ascend from his throat!
The very exhalations of his body will plunge you into that dark and
deathlike dizziness which follows the smell of a bursting carcase, or
the sight of a corpse-strewn battle-field. (AMELIA turns away her
face.) What sensations of love! What rapture in those embraces! But is
it not unjust to condemn a man because of his diseased exterior? Even
in the most wretched lump of deformity a soul great and worthy of love
may beam forth brightly like a pearl on a dunghill. ( With a malignant
smile.) Even from lips of corruption love may----. To be sure if vice
should undermine the very foundations of character, if with chastity
virtue too should take her flight as the fragrance departs from the
faded rose--if with the body the soul too should be tainted and
corrupted.
AMELIA (rising joyfully). Ha! Charles! now I recognize thee again!
Thou art whole, whole! It was all a lie! Dost thou not know,
miscreant, that it would be impossible for Charles to be the being you
describe? (FRANCIS remains standing for some time, lost in thought,
then suddenly turns round to go away.) Whither are you going in such
haste? Are you flying from your own infamy?
FRANCIS (hiding his face). Let me go, let me go! to give free vent to
my tears! tyrannical father, thus to abandon the best of your sons to
misery and disgrace on every side! Let me go, Amelia! I will throw
myself at his feet, on my knees I will conjure him to transfer to me the
curse that he has pronounced, to disinherit me, to hate me, my blood, my
life, my all----.
AMELIA (falls on his neck). Brother of my Charles! Dearest, most
excellent Francis!
FRANCIS. Oh, Amelia! how I love you for this unshaken constancy to my
brother. Forgive me for venturing to subject your love to so severe a
trial! How nobly you have realized my wishes! By those tears, those
sighs, that divine indignation--and for me too, for me--our souls did so
truly harmonize.
AMELIA. Oh, no! that they never did!
FRANCIS. Alas! they harmonized so truly that I always thought we must
be twins. And were it not for that unfortunate difference in person, to
be twin-like, which, it must be admitted, would be to the disadvantage
of Charles, we should again and again be mistaken for each other. Thou
art, I often said to myself, thou art the very Charles, his echo, his
counterpart.
AMELIA (shakes her head). No, no! by that chaste light of heaven! not
an atom of him, not the least spark of his soul.
FRANCIS. So entirely the same in our dispositions; the rose was his
favorite flower, and what flower do I esteem above the rose? He loved
music beyond expression; and ye are witnesses, ye stars! how often you
have listened to me playing on the harpsichord in the dead silence of
night, when all around lay buried in darkness and slumber; and how is it
possible for you, Amelia, still to doubt? if our love meets in one
perfection, and if it is the self-same love, how can its fruits
degenerate? (AMELIA looks at him with astonishment.) It was a calm,
serene evening, the last before his departure for Leipzic, when he took
me with him to the bower where you so often sat together in dreams of
love,--we were long speechless; at last he seized my hand, and said, in
a low voice, and with tears in his eyes, "I am leaving Amelia; I know
not, but I have a sad presentiment that it is forever; forsake her not,
brother; be her friend, her Charles--if Charles--should never--never
return." (He throws himself down before her, and kisses her hand with
fervor.) Never, never, never will he return; and I stand pledged by a
sacred oath to fulfil his behest!
AMELIA (starting back). Traitor! Now thou art unmasked! In that very
bower he conjured me, if he died, to admit no other love. Dost thou see
how impious, how execrable----. Quit my sight!
FRANCIS. You know me not, Amelia; you do not know me in the least!
AMELIA. Oh, yes, I know you; from henceforth I know you; and you
pretend to be like him? You mean to say that he wept for me in your
presence? Yours? He would sooner have inscribed my name on the
pillory? Begone--this instant!
FRANCIS. You insult me.
AMELIA. Go--I say. You have robbed me of a precious hour; may it be
deducted from your life.
FRANCIS. You hate me then!
AMELIA. I despise you--away!
FRANCIS (stamping with fury). Only wait! you shall learn to tremble
before me!--To sacrifice me for a beggar!
[Exit in anger.]
AMELIA. Go, thou base villain! Now, Charles, am I again thine own.
Beggar, did he say! then is the world turned upside down, beggars are
kings, and kings are beggars! I would not change the rags he wears for
the imperial purple. The look with which he begs must, indeed, be a
noble, a royal look, a look that withers into naught the glory, the
pomp, the triumphs of the rich and great! Into the dust with thee,
glittering baubles! (She tears her pearls from her neck.) Let the rich
and the proud be condemned to bear the burden of gold, and silver, and
jewels! Be they condemned to carouse at the tables of the voluptuous!
To pamper their limbs on the downy couch of luxury! Charles! Charles!
Thus am I worthy of thee!
[Exit.]
ACT II.
SCENE I.--FRANCIS VON MOOR in his chamber--in meditation.
FRANCIS. It lasts too long-and the doctor even says is recovering--an
old man's life is a very eternity! The course would be free and plain
before me, but for this troublesome, tough lump of flesh, which, like
the infernal demon-hound in ghost stories, bars the way to my treasures.
Must, then, my projects bend to the iron yoke of a mechanical system?
Is my soaring spirit to be chained down to the snail's pace of matter?
To blow out a wick which is already flickering upon its last drop of
oil--'tis nothing more. And yet I would rather not do it myself, on
account of what the world would say. I should not wish him to be
killed, but merely disposed of. I should like to do what your clever
physician does, only the reverse way--not stop Nature's course by
running a bar across her path, but only help her to speed a little
faster. Are we not able to prolong the conditions of life? Why,
then, should we not also be able to shorten them? Philosophers and
physiologists teach us how close is the sympathy between the emotions of
the mind and the movements of the bodily machine. Convulsive sensations
are always accompanied by a disturbance of the mechanical vibrations--
passions injure the vital powers--an overburdened spirit bursts its
shell. Well, then--what if one knew how to smooth this unbeaten path,
for the easier entrance of death into the citadel of life?--to work the
body's destruction through the mind--ha! an original device!--who can
accomplish this?--a device without a parallel! Think upon it, Moor!
That were an art worthy of thee for its inventor. Has not poisoning
been raised almost to the rank of a regular science, and Nature
compelled, by the force of experiments, to define her limits, so that
one may now calculate the heart's throbbings for years in advance, and
say to the beating pulse, "So far, and no farther"? Why should not one
try one's skill in this line?*
*[A woman in Paris, by means of a regularly performed series of
experiments, carried the art of poisoning to such perfection that
she could predict almost to a certainty the day of death, however
remote. Fie upon our physicians, who should blush to be outdone by
a woman in their own province. Beckmann, in his article on secret
poisoning, has given a particular account of this woman, the
Marchioness de Brinvilliers.--See "History of Inventions," Standard
Library Edition, vol. i, pp. 47-63.]
And how, then, must I, too, go to work to dissever that sweet and
peaceful union of soul and body? What species of sensations should I
seek to produce? Which would most fiercely assail the condition of
life? Anger?--that ravenous wolf is too quickly satiated. Care? that
worm gnaws far too slowly. Grief?--that viper creeps too lazily for me.
Fear?--hope destroys its power. What! and are these the only
executioners of man? is the armory of death so soon exhausted? (In deep
thought.) How now! what! ho! I have it! (Starting up.) Terror! What
is proof against terror? What powers have religion and reason under
that giant's icy grasp! And yet--if he should withstand even this
assault? If he should! Oh, then, come Anguish to my aid! and thou,
gnawing Repentance!--furies of hell, burrowing snakes who regorge your
food, and feed upon your own excrements; ye that are forever destroying,
and forever reproducing your poison! And thou, howling Remorse, that
desolatest thine own habitation, and feedest upon thy mother. And come
ye, too, gentle Graces, to my aid; even you, sweet smiling Memory,
goddess of the past--and thou, with thy overflowing horn of plenty,
blooming Futurity; show him in your mirror the joys of Paradise, while
with fleeting foot you elude his eager grasp. Thus will I work my
battery of death, stroke after stroke, upon his fragile body, until the
troop of furies close upon him with Despair! Triumph! triumph!--the
plan is complete--difficult and masterly beyond compare--sure--safe; for
then (with a sneer) the dissecting knife can find no trace of wound or
of corrosive poison.
(Resolutely.) Be it so! (Enter HERMANN.) Ha! _Deus ex machina_!
Hermann!
HERMANN. At your service, gracious sir!
FRANCIS (shakes him by the hand). You will not find it that of an
ungrateful master.
HERMANN. I have proofs of this.
FRANCIS. And you shall have more soon--very soon, Hermann!--I have
something to say to thee, Hermann.
HERMANN. I am all attention.
FRANCIS. I know thee--thou art a resolute fellow--a man of mettle.--To
call thee smooth-tongued! My father has greatly belied thee, Hermann.
HERMANN. The devil take me if I forget it!
FRANCIS. Spoken like a man! Vengeance becomes a manly heart! Thou art
to my mind, Hermann. Take this purse, Hermann. It should be heavier
were I master here.
HERMANN. That is my unceasing wish, most gracious sir. I thank you.
FRANCIS. Really, Hermann! dost thou wish that I were master? But my
father has the marrow of a lion in his bones, and I am but a younger
son.
HERMANN. I wish you were the eldest son, and that your father were as
marrowless as a girl sinking in a consumption.
FRANCIS. Ha! how that elder son would recompense thee! How he would
raise thee from this grovelling condition, so ill suited to thy spirit
and noble birth, to be a light of the age!--Then shouldst thou be
covered with gold from head to foot, and dash through the streets four
in hand--verily thou shouldst!--But I am losing sight of what I meant to
say.--Have you already forgotten the Lady Amelia, Hermann?
HERMANN. A curse upon it! Why do you remind me of her?
FRANCIS. My brother has filched her away from you.
HERMANN. He shall rue it.
FRANCIS. She gave you the sack. And, if I remember right, he kicked
you down stairs.
HERMANN. For which I will kick him into hell.
FRANCIS. He used to say, it was whispered abroad, that your father
could never look upon you without smiting his breast and sighing,
"God be merciful to me, a sinner!"
HERMANN (wildly). Thunder and lightning! No more of this!
FRANCIS. He advised you to sell your patent of nobility by auction, and
to get your stockings mended with the proceeds.
HERMANN. By all the devils in hell, I'll scratch out his eyes with my
own nails!
FRANCIS. What? you are growing angry? What signifies your anger? What
harm can you do him? What can a mouse like you do to such a lion? Your
rage only makes his triumph the sweeter. You can do nothing more than
gnash your teeth, and vent your rage upon a dry crust.
HERMANN (stamping). I will grind him to powder!
FRANCIS (slapping his shoulder). Fie, Hermann! You are a gentleman.
You must not put up with the affront. You must not give up the lady,
no, not for all the world, Hermann! By my soul, I would move heaven and
earth were I in your place.
HERMANN. I will not rest till I have him, and him, too, under ground.
FRANCIS. Not so violent, Hermann! Come nearer--you shall have Amelia.
HERMANN. That I must; despite the devil himself, I will have her.
FRANCIS. You shall have her, I tell you; and that from my hand. Come
closer, I say.--You don't know, perhaps, that Charles is as good as
disinherited.
HERMANN (going closer to him). Incredible! The first I have heard of
it.
FRANCIS. Be patient, and listen! Another time you shall hear more.--
Yes, I tell you, as good as banished these eleven months. But the old
man already begins to lament the hasty step, which, however, I flatter
myself (with a smile) is not entirely his own. Amelia, too, is
incessantly pursuing him with her tears and reproaches. Presently he
will be having him searched for in every quarter of the world; and if he
finds him--then it's all over with you, Hermann. You may perhaps have
the honor of most obsequiously holding the coach-door while he alights
with the lady to get married.
HERMANN. I'll strangle him at the altar first.
FRANCIS. His father will soon give up his estates to him, and live in
retirement in his castle. Then the proud roysterer will have the reins
in his own hands, and laugh his enemies to scorn;--and I, who wished to
make a great man of you--a man of consequence--I myself, Hermann, shall
have to make my humble obeisance at his threshold.
HERMANN (with fire). No, as sure as my name is Hermann, that shall
never be! If but the smallest spark of wit glimmer in this brain of
mine, that shall never be!
FRANCIS. Will you be able to prevent it? You, too, my good Hermann,
will be made to feel his lash. He will spit in your face when he meets
you in the streets; and woe be to you should you venture to shrug your
shoulders or to make a wry mouth. Look, my friend! this is all that
your lovesuit, your prospects, and your mighty plans amount to.
HERMANN. Tell me, what am I to do?
FRANCIS. Well, then, listen, Hermann! You see how I enter into your
feelings, like a true friend. Go--disguise yourself, so that no one may
recognize you; obtain audience of the old man; pretend to come straight
from Bohemia, to have been at the battle of Prague along with my
brother--to have seen him breathe his last on the field of battle!
HERMANN. Will he believe me?
FRANCIS. Ho! ho! let that be my care! Take this packet. There you
will find your commission set forth at large; and documents, to boot,
which shall convince the most incredulous. Only make haste to get away
unobserved. Slip through the back gate into the yard, and then scale
the garden wall.--The denouement of this tragicomedy you may leave to
me!
HERMANN. That, I suppose, will be, "Long live our new baron, Francis
von Moor!"
FRANCIS (patting his cheeks). How cunning you are! By this means, you
see, we attain all our aims at once and quickly. Amelia relinquishes
all hope of him,--the old man reproaches himself for the death of his
son, and--he sickens--a tottering edifice needs no earthquake to bring
it down--he will not survive the intelligence--then am I his only son,
--Amelia loses every support, and becomes the plaything of my will, and
you may easily guess--in short, all will go as we wish--but you must not
flinch from your word.
HERMANN. What do you say? (Exultingly.) Sooner shall the ball turn
back in its course, and bury itself in the entrails of the marksman.
Depend upon me! Only let me to the work. Adieu!
FRANCIS (calling after him). The harvest is thine, dear Hermann!
(Alone.) When the ox has drawn the corn into the barn, he must put up
with hay. A dairy maid for thee, and no Amelia!
SCENE II.--Old Moor's Bedchamber.
OLD MOOR asleep in an arm-chair; AMELIA.
AMELIA (approaching him on tip-toe). Softly! Softly! He slumbers.
(She places herself before him.) How beautiful! how venerable!--
venerable as the picture of a saint. No, I cannot be angry with thee,
thou head with the silver locks; I cannot be angry with thee! Slumber
on gently, wake up cheerfully--I alone will be the sufferer.
OLD M. (dreaming). My son! my son! my son!
AMELIA (seizes his hand). Hark!--hark! his son is in his dreams.
OLD M. Are you there? Are you really there! Alas! how miserable you
seem! Fix not on me that mournful look! I am wretched enough.
AMELIA (awakens him abruptly). Look up, dear old man! 'Twas but a
dream. Collect yourself!
OLD M. (half awake). Was he not there? Did I not press his hands?
Cruel Francis! wilt thou tear him even from my dreams?
AMELIA (aside). Ha! mark that, Amelia!
OLD M. (rousing himself). Where is he? Where? Where am I? You here,
Amelia?
AMELIA. How do you find yourself? You have had a refreshing slumber.
OLD M. I was dreaming about my son. Why did I not dream on? Perhaps I
might have obtained forgiveness from his lips.
AMELIA. Angels bear no resentment--he forgives you. (Seizes his hand
sorrowfully.) Father of my Charles! I, too, forgive you.
OLD M. No, no, my child! That death-like paleness of thy cheek is the
father's condemnation. Poor girl! I have robbed thee of the happiness
of thy youth. Oh, do not curse me!
AMELIA (affectionately kissing his hand). I curse you?
OLD M. Dost thou know this portrait, my daughter?
AMELIA. Charles!
OLD M. Such was he in his sixteenth year. But now, alas! how changed.
Oh, it is raging within me. That gentleness is now indignation; that
smile despair. It was his birthday, was it not, Amelia--in the
jessamine bower--when you drew this picture of him? Oh, my daughter!
How happy was I in your loves.
AMELIA (with her eye still riveted upon the picture). No, no, it is not
he! By Heaven, that is not Charles! Here (pointing to her head and her
heart), here he is perfect; and how different. The feeble pencil avails
not to express that heavenly spirit which reigned in his fiery eye.
Away with it! This is a poor image, an ordinary man! I was a mere
dauber.
OLD M. That kind, that cheering look! Had that been at my bedside,
I should have lived in the midst of death. Never, never should I have
died!
AMELIA. No, you would never, never have died. It would have been but a
leap, as we leap from one thought to another and a better. That look
would have lighted you across the tomb--that look would have lifted you
beyond the stars!
OLD M. It is hard! it is sad! I am dying, and my son Charles is not
here--I am borne to my tomb, and he weeps not over my grave. How sweet
it is to be lulled into the sleep of death by a son's prayer--that is
the true requiem.
AMELIA (with enthusiasm). Yes, sweet it is, heavenly sweet, to be
lulled into the sleep of death by the song of the beloved. Perhaps our
dreams continue in the grave--a long, eternal, never-ending dream of
Charles--till the trumpet of resurrection sounds--(rising in ecstasy)
--and thenceforth and forever in his arms! (A pause; she goes to the
piano and plays.)
ANDROMACHE.
Oh, Hector, wilt thou go for evermore,
When fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained shore,
Heaps countless victims o'er Patroclus' grave?
When then thy hapless orphan boy will rear,
Teach him to praise the gods and hurl the spear,
When thou art swallow'd up in Xanthus' wave?
OLD M. A beautiful song, my daughter. You must play that to me before
I die.
AMELIA. It is the parting of Hector and Andromache. Charles and I used
often to sing it together to the guitar. (She continues.)
HECTOR.
Beloved wife! stern duty calls to arms--
Go, fetch my lance! and cease those vain alarms!
On me is cast the destiny of Troy!
Astyanax, my child, the Gods will shield,
Should Hector fall upon the battle-field;
And in Elysium we shall meet with joy!
Enter DANIEL.
DANIEL. There is a man without, who craves to be admitted to your
presence, and says he brings tidings of importance.
OLD M. To me there is but one thing in this world of importance; thou
knowest it, Amelia. Perhaps it is some unfortunate creature who seeks
assistance? He shall not go hence in sorrow.
AMELIA.--If it is a beggar, let him come up quickly.
OLD M. Amelia, Amelia! spare me!
AMELIA (continues to play and sing.)
ANDROMACHE.
Thy martial tread no more will grace my hall--
Thine arms shall hang sad relics on the wall--
And Priam's race of godlike heroes fade!
Oh, thou wilt go where Phoebus sheds no light--
Where black Cocytus wails in endless night
Thy love will die in Lethe's gloomy shade.
HECTOR.
Though I in Lethe's darksome wave should sink,
And cease on other mortal ties to think,
Yet thy true love shall never be forgot!
Hark! on the walls I hear the battle roar--
Gird on my armor--and, oh, weep no more.
Thy Hector's love in Lethe dieth not!
(Enter FRANCIS, HERMANN in disguise, DANIEL.)
FRANCIS. Here is the man. He says that he brings terrible news. Can
you bear the recital!
OLD M. I know but one thing terrible to hear. Come hither, friend, and
spare me not! Hand him a cup of wine!
HERMANN (in a feigned voice). Most gracious Sir? Let not a poor man be
visited with your displeasure, if against his will he lacerates your
heart. I am a stranger in these parts, but I know you well; you are the
father of Charles von Moor.
OLD M. How know you that?
HERMANN. I knew your son
AMELIA (starting up). He lives then? He lives! You know him? Where
is he? Where? (About to rush out.)
OLD M. What know you about my son?
HERMANN. He was a student at the university of Leipzic. From thence he
travelled about, I know not how far. He wandered all over Germany, and,
as he told me himself, barefoot and bareheaded, begging his bread from
door to door. After five months, the fatal war between Prussia and
Austria broke out afresh, and as he had no hopes left in this world, the
fame of Frederick's victorious banner drew him to Bohemia. Permit me,
said he to the great Schwerin, to die on the bed of heroes, for I have
no longer a father!--
OLD M. O! Amelia! Look not on me!
HERMANN. They gave him a pair of colors. With the Prussians he flew on
the wings of victory. We chanced to lie together, in the same tent. He
talked much of his old father, and of happy days that were past--and of
disappointed hopes--it brought the tears into our eyes.
OLD M. (buries his face in his pillow).--No more! Oh, no more!
HERMANN. A week after, the fierce battle of Prague was fought--I can
assure you your son behaved like a brave soldier. He performed
prodigies that day in sight of the whole army. Five regiments were
successively cut down by his side, and still he kept his ground. Fiery
shells fell right and left, and still your son kept his ground. A ball
shattered his right hand: he seized the colors with his left, and still
he kept his ground!
AMELIA (in transport). Hector, Hector! do you hear? He kept his
ground!
HERMANN. On the evening of the battle I found him on the same spot. He
had sunk down, amidst a shower of hissing balls: with his left hand he
was staunching the blood that flowed from a fearful wound; his right he
had buried in the earth. "Comrade!" cried he when he saw me, "there has
been a report through the ranks that the general fell an hour ago--"
"He is fallen," I replied, "and thou?" "Well, then," he cried,
withdrawing his left hand from the wound, "let every brave soldier
follow his general!" Soon after he breathed out his noble soul, to join
his heroic leader.
FRANCIS (feigning to rush wildly on HERMANN). May death seal thy
accursed lips! Art thou come here to give the death-blow to our father?
Father! Amelia! father!
HERMANN. It was the last wish of my expiring comrade. "Take this
sword," faltered he, with his dying breath, "deliver it to my aged
father; his son's blood is upon it--he is avenged--let him rejoice.
Tell him that his curse drove me into battle and into death; that I fell
in despair." His last sigh was "Amelia."
AMELIA (like one aroused from lethargy). His last sigh--Amelia!
OLD M. (screaming horribly, and tearing his hair). My curse drove him
into death! He fell in despair!
FRANCIS (pacing up and down the room). Oh! what have you done, father?
My Charles! my brother!
HERMANN. Here is the sword; and here, too, is a picture which he drew
from his breast at the same time. It is the very image of this young
lady. "This for my brother Francis," he said; I know not what he meant
by it.
FRANCIS (feigning astonishment). For me? Amelia's picture? For me--
Charles--Amelia? For me?
AMELIA (rushing violently upon HERMANN). Thou venal, bribed impostor!
(Lays hold of him.)
HERMANN. I am no impostor, noble lady. See yourself if it is not your
picture. It may be that you yourself gave it to him.
FRANCIS. By heaven, Amelia! your picture! It is, indeed.
AMELIA (returns him the picture) My picture, mine! Oh! heavens and
earth!
OLD M. (screaming and tearing his face.) Woe, woe! my curse drove him
into death! He fell in despair!
FRANCIS. And he thought of me in the last and parting hour--of me.
Angelic soul! When the black banner of death already waved over him he
thought of me!
OLD M. (stammering like an idiot.) My curse drove him into death. In
despair my son perished.
HERMANN. This is more than I can bear! Farewell, old gentleman!
(Aside to FRANCIS.) How could you have the heart to do this?
[Exit in haste.]
AMELIA (rises and rushes after him). Stay! stay! What were nis last
words?
HERMANN (calling back). His last sigh was "Amelia."
[Exit.]
AMELIA. His last sigh was Amelia! No, thou art no impostor. It is too
true--true--he is dead--dead! (staggering to and fro till she sinks
down)--dead--Charles is dead!
FRANCIS. What do I see? What is this line on the sword?--written with
blood--Amelia!
AMELIA. By him?
FRANCIS. Do I see clearly, or am I dreaming? Behold, in characters of
blood, "Francis, forsake not my Amelia." And on the other side,
"Amelia, all-powerful death has released thee from thy oath." Now do
you see--do you see? With hand stiffening in death he wrote it, with
his warm life's blood he wrote it--wrote it on the solemn brink of
eternity. His spirit lingered in his flight to unite Francis and
Amelia.
AMELIA. Gracious heaven! it is his own hand. He never loved me.
[Rushes off]
FRANCIS (stamping the ground). Confusion! her stubborn heart foils all
my cunning!
OLD MOOR. Woe, woe! forsake me not, my daughter! Francis, Francis!
give me back my son!
FRANCIS. Who was it that cursed him? Who was it that drove his son
into battle, and death, and despair? Oh, he was an angel, a jewel of
heaven! A curse on his destroyers! A curse, a curse upon yourself!
OLD MOOR (strikes his breast and forehead with his clenched fist). He
was an angel, a jewel of heaven! A curse, a curse, perdition, a curse
on myself! I am the father who slew his noble son! He loved me even to
death! To expiate my vengeance he rushed into battle and into death!
Monster, monster that I am! (He rages against himself.)
FRANCIS. He is gone. What avail these tardy lamentations? (with a
satanic sneer.) It is easier to murder than to restore to life. You
will never bring him back from his grave.
OLD Moon. Never, never, never bring him back from the grave! Gone!
lost for ever! And you it was that beguiled my heart to curse him.--
you--you--Give me back my son!
FRANCIS. Rouse not my fury, lest I forsake you even in the hour of
death!
OLD MOOR. Monster! inhuman monster! Restore my son to me. (Starts
from the chair and attempts to catch FRANCIS by the throat, who flings
him back.)
FRANCIS. Feeble old dotard I would you dare? Die! despair!
[Exit.]
OLD MOOR. May the thunder of a thousand curses light upon thee! thou
hast robbed me of my son. (Throwing himself about in his chair full of
despair). Alas! alas! to despair and yet not die. They fly, they
forsake me in death; my guardian angels fly from me; all the saints
withdraw from the hoary murderer. Oh, misery! will no one support this
head, no one release this struggling soul? No son, no daughter, no
friend, not one human being--will no one? Alone--forsaken. Woe, woe!
To despair, yet not to die!
Enter AMELIA, her eyes red with weeping.
OLD MOOR. Amelia I messenger of heaven! Art thou come to release my
soul?
AMELIA (in a gentle tone). You have lost a noble son.
OLD MOOR. Murdered him, you mean. With the weight of this impeachment
I shall present myself before the judgment-seat of God.
AMELIA. Not so, old man! Our heavenly Father has taken him to himself.
We should have been too happy in this world. Above, above, beyond the
stars, we shall meet again.
OLD MOOR. Meet again! Meet again! Oh! it will pierce my soul like a
Sword--should I, a saint, meet him among the saints. In the midst of
heaven the horrors of hell will strike through me! The remembrance of
that deed will crush me in the presence of the Eternal: I have murdered
my son!
AMELIA. Oh, his smiles will chase away the bitter remembrance from your
soul! Cheer up, dear father! I am quite cheerful. Has he not already
sung the name of Amelia to listening angels on seraphic harps, and has
not heaven's choir sweetly echoed it? Was not his last sigh, Amelia?
And will not Amelia be his first accent of joy?
OLD MOOR. Heavenly consolation flows from your lips! He will smile
upon me, you say? He will forgive me? You must stay with my beloved
of my Charles, when I die.
AMELIA. To die is to fly to his arms. Oh, how happy and enviable is
your lot! Would that my bones were decayed!--that my hairs were gray!
Woe upon the vigor of youth! Welcome, decrepid age, nearer to heaven
and my Charles!
Enter FRANCIS.
OLD MOOR. Come near, my son! Forgive me if I spoke too harshly to you
just now! I forgive you all. I wish to yield up my spirit in peace.
FRANCIS. Have you done weeping for your son? For aught that I see you
had but one.
OLD MOOR. Jacob had twelve sons, but for his Joseph he wept tears of
blood.
FRANCIS. Hum!
OLD MOOR. Bring the Bible, my daughter, and read to me the story of
Jacob and Joseph! It always appeared to me so touching, even before I
myself became a Jacob.
AMELIA. What part shall I read to you? (Takes the Bible and turns over
the leaves.)
OLD MOOR. Read to me the grief of the bereaved father, when he found
his Joseph no more among his children;--when he sought him in vain
amidst his eleven sons;--and his lamentation when he heard that he was
taken from him forever.
AMELIA (reads). "And they took Joseph's coat, and killed a kid of the
goats, and dipped the coat in the blood; and they sent the coat of many
colors, and they brought it to their father, and said, 'This have we
found: know now whether it be thy son's coat or no.' (Exit FRANCIS
suddenly.) And he knew it and said, 'It is my son's coat; an evil beast
hath devoured him; Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces.'"
