Ah! how different I feel! Now I breathe again--I feel strong as the
snorting steed, ferocious as the tigress when she springs upon the
ruthless destroyer of her cubs. To a cloister, did he say? I thank
thee for the happy thought! Now has disappointed love found a place of
refuge--the cloister--the Redeemer's bosom is the sanctuary of
disappointed love. (She is on the point going).
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In the acting edition the following scene occurs between Herman and
Francis, immediately before that with Amelia. As Schiller himself
thought this among the happiest of his additions, and regretted that it
was "entirely and very unfortunately overlooked in the first edition,"
it seems desirable to introduce it here as well as the soliloquy
immediately following, which has acquired some celebrity.
SCENE VIII.
Enter HERMANN.
FRANCIS. Ha! Welcome, my Euryalus! My prompt and trusty instrument!
HERMANN (abruptly and peevishly). You sent for me, count--why?
FRANCIS. That you might put the seal to your master-piece.
HERMANN (gruffly). Indeed?
FRANCIS. Give the picture its finishing touch.
HERMANN. Poh! Poh!
FRANCIS (startled). Shall I call the carriage? We'll arrange the
business during the drive?
HERMANN (scornfully). No ceremony, sir, if you please. For any
business we may have to arrange there is room enough between these four
walls. At all events I'll just say a few words to you by way of
preface, which may save your lungs some unnecessary exertion.
FRANCIS (reservedly). Hum! And what may those words be?
HERMANN (with bitter irony). "You shall have Amelia--and that from my
hand--"
FRANCIS (with astonishment). Hermann!
HERMANN (as before, with his back turned on FRANCIS). "Amelia will
become the plaything of my will--and you may easily guess the rest-in
short all will go as we wish" (Breaks into an indignant laugh, and then
turns haughtily to FRANCIS.) Now, Count von Moor, what have you to say
to me?
FRANCIS (evasively). To thee? Nothing. I had something to say to
Hermann.--
HERMANN, No evasion. Why was I sent for hither? Was it to be your dupe
a second time! and to hold the ladder for a thief to mount? to sell my
soul for a hangman s fee? What else did you want with me?
FRANCIS (as if recollecting). Ha! It just occurs to me! We must not
forget the main point. Did not my steward mention it to you? I wanted
to talk to you about the dowry.
HERMANN. This is mere mockery sir; or, if not mockery, something worse.
Moor, take care of yourself-beware how you kindle my fury, Moor. We are
alone! And I have still an unsullied name to stake against yours!
Trust not the devil, although he be of your own raising.
FRANCIS (with dignity). Does this deportment become thee towards thy
sovereign and gracious master? Tremble, slave!
HERMANN (ironically). For fear of your displeasure, I suppose? What
signifies your displeasure to a man who is at war with himself? Fie,
Moor. I already abhor you as a villain; let me not despise you for a
fool. I can open graves, and restore the dead to life! Which of us now
is the slave?
FRANCIS (in a conciliating tone). Come, my good friend, be discreet,
and do not prove faithless.
HERMANN. Pshaw! To expose a wretch like you is here the best
discretion--to keep faith with you would be an utter want of sense.
Faith? with whom? Faith with the prince of liars? Oh, I shudder at the
thought of such faith. A very little timely faithlessness would have
almost made a saint of me. But patience! patience! Revenge is cunning
in resources.
FRANCIS. Ah, by-the-by, I just remember. You lately lost a purse with
a hundred louis in it, in this apartment. I had almost forgotten it.
Here, my good friend! take back what belongs to you. (Offers him a
purse).
HERMANN (throws it scornfully at his feet). A curse on your Judas
bribe! It is the earnest-money of hell. You once before thought to
make my poverty a pander to my conscience--but you were mistaken, count!
egregiously mistaken. That purse of gold came most opportunely--to
maintain certain persons.
FRANCIS (terrified). Hermann! Hermann! Let me not suspect certain
things of you. Should you have done anything contrary to my
instructions--you would be the vilest of traitors!
HERMANN (exultingly). Should I? Should I really? Well then count,
let me give you a little piece of information! (Significantly.) I will
fatten up your infamy, and add fuel to your doom. The book of your
misdeeds shall one day be served up as a banquet, and all the world be
invited to partake of it. (Contemptuously.) Do you understand me now,
my most sovereign, gracious, and excellent master?
FRANCIS (starts up, losing all command of himself). Ha! Devil!
Deceitful impostor! (Striking his forehead.) To think that I should
stake my fortune on the caprice of an idiot! That was madness! (Throws
himself, in great excitement, on a couch.)
HERMANN (whistles through his fingers). Wheugh! the biter bit!--
FRANCIS (biting his lip). But it is true, and ever will be true--that
there is no thread so feebly spun, or which snaps asunder so readily, as
that which weaves the bands of guilt!--
HERMANN. Gently! Gently! Are angels, then, superseded, that devils
turn moralists?
FRANCIS (starts up abruptly; to HERMANN with a malignant laugh). And
certain persons will no doubt acquire much honor by making the
discovery?
HERMANN (clapping his hands). Masterly! Inimitable! You play your
part to admiration! First you lure the credulous fool into the slough,
and then chuckle at the success of your malice, and cry "Woe be to you
sinner!" (Laughing and clenching his teeth.) Oh, how cleverly these
imps off the devil manoeuvre. But, count (clapping him on the shoulder)
you have not yet got your lesson quite perfect--by Heavens! You first
learn what the losing gamester will hazard. Set fire to the
powder-magazine, says the pirate, and blow all to hell--both friend
and foe!
FRANCIS (runs to the wall, and takes down a pistol). Here is treason!
I must be resolute--
HERMANN (draws a pistol as quickly from his pocket, and presents it at
him). Don't trouble yourself--one must be prepared for everything with
you.
FRANCIS (lets the pistol fall, and throws himself on the sofa in great
confusion). Only keep my council till--till I have collected my
thoughts.
HERMANN. I suppose till you have hired a dozen assassins to silence my
tongue forever! Is it not so! But (in his ear) the secret is committed
to paper, which my heirs will publish.
[Exit.]
SCENE IX.
FRANCIS, solus.
Francis! Francis! Francis! What is all this? Where was thy courage?
where thy once so fertile wit? Woe! Woe! And to be betrayed by thy
own instruments! The pillars of my good fortune are tottering to their
fall, the fences are broken down, and the raging enemy is already
bursting in upon me. Well! this calls for some bold and sudden resolve!
What if I went in person--and secretly plunged this sword in his body?
A wounded man is but a child. Quick! I'll do it. (He walks with a
resolute step to the end of the stage, but stops suddenly as if overcome
by sensations of horror). Who are these gliding behind me? (Rolling
his eyes fearfully) Faces such as I have never yet beheld. What
hideous yells do I hear! I feel that I have courage--courage! oh yes to
overflowing! But if a mirror should betray me? or my shadow! or the
whistling of the murderous stroke! Ugh! Ugh! How my hair bristles! A
shudder creeps through my frame. (He lets a poigniard fall from under
his clothes.) I am no coward--perhaps somewhat too tenderhearted. Yes!
that is it! These are the last struggles of expiring virtue. I revere
them. I should indeed be a monster were I to become the murderer of my
own brother. No! no! no! That thought be far from me! Let me cherish
this vestige of humanity. I will not murder. Nature, thou hast
conquered. I still feel something here that seems like--affection. He
shall live.
[Exit.]
Enter HERMANN, timidly.
HERMANN. Lady Amelia! Lady Amelia!
AMELIA. Unhappy man! why dost thou disturb me?
HERMANN. I must throw this weight from my soul before it drags it down
to hell. (Falls down before her.) Pardon! pardon! I have grievously
injured you, Lady Amelia!
AMELIA. Arise! depart! I will hear nothing. (Going.)
HERMANN (detaining her). No; stay! In the name of Heaven! In the name
of the Eternal! You must know all!
AMELIA. Not another word. I forgive you. Depart in peace. (In the
act of going.)
HERMANN. Only one word--listen; it will restore all your peace of mind.
AMELIA (turning back and looking at him with astonishment). How,
friend? Who in heaven or on earth can restore my peace of mind?
HERMANN. One word from my lips can do it. Hear me!
AMELIA (seizing his hand with compassion). Good sir! Can one word from
thy lips burst asunder the portals of eternity?
HERMANN. (rising). Charles lives!
AMELIA (screaming). Wretch!
HERMANN. Even so. And one word more. Your uncle--
AMELIA. (rushing upon him). Thou liest!
HERMANN. Your uncle--
AMELIA. Charles lives?
HERMANN. And your uncle--
AMELIA. Charles lives?
HERMANN. And your uncle too--betray me not!
(HERMANN runs off)
AMELIA (stands a long while like one petrified; after which she starts
up wildly, and rushes after HERMANN.) Charles lives!
SCENE II.--Country near the Danube.
THE ROBBERS (encamped on a rising ground, under trees,
their horses are grazing below.)
CHARLES. Here must I lie (throwing himself upon the ground). I feel as
if my limbs were all shattered. My tongue is as dry as a potsherd
(SCHWEITZER disappears unperceived.) I would ask one of you to bring me
a handful of water from that stream, but you are all tired to death.
SCHWARZ. Our wine-flasks too are all empty.
CHARLES. See how beautiful the harvest looks! The trees are breaking
with the weight of their fruit. The vines are full of promise.
GRIMM. It is a fruitful year.
CHARLES. Do you think so? Then at least one toil in the world will be
repaid. One? Yet in the night a hailstorm may come and destroy it all.
SCHWARZ. That is very possible. It all may be destroyed an hour before
the reaping.
CHARLES. Just what I say. All will be destroyed. Why should man
prosper in that which he has in common with the ant, while he fails in
that which places him on a level with the gods. Or is this the aim and
limit of his destiny?
SCHWARZ. I know not.
CHARLES. Thou hast said well; and wilt have done better, if thou never
seekest to know. Brother, I have looked on men, their insect cares and
their giant projects,--their god-like plans and mouse-like occupations,
their intensely eager race after happiness--one trusting to the
fleetness of his horse,--another to the nose of his ass,--a third to his
own legs; this checkered lottery of life, in which so many stake their
innocence and their leaven to snatch a prize, and,--blanks are all they
draw--for they find, too late, that there was no prize in the wheel. It
is a drama, brother, enough to bring tears into your eyes, while it
shakes your sides with laughter.
SCHWARZ. How gloriously the sun is setting yonder!
CHARLES (absorbed in the scene). So dies a hero! Worthy of adoration!
SCHWARZ. You seem deeply moved.
CHARLES. When I, was but a boy--it was my darling thought to live like
him, like him to die--(with suppressed grief.) It was a boyish thought!
GRIMM. It was, indeed.
CHARLES. There was a time--(pressing his hat down upon his face).
I would be alone, comrades.
SCHWARZ. Moor! Moor! Why, what the deuce! How his color changes.
GRIMM. By all the devils! What ails him? Is he ill?
CHARLES. There was a time when I could not have slept had I forgotten
my evening prayers.
GRIMM. Are you beside yourself? Would you let the remembrances of your
boyish years school you now?
CHARLES (lays his head upon the breast of GRIMM). Brother! Brother!
GRIMM. Come! Don't play the child--I pray you
CHARLES. Oh that I were-that I were again a child!
GRIMM. Fie! fie!
SCHWARZ. Cheer up! Behold this smiling landscape--this delicious
evening!
CHARLES. Yes, friends, this world is very lovely--
SCHWARZ. Come, now, that was well said.
CHARLES. This earth so glorious!--
GRIMM. Right--right--I love to hear you talk thus.
CHARLES. (sinking back). And I so hideous in' this lovely world--
a monster on this glorious earth!
GRIMM. Oh dear! oh dear!
CHARLES. My innocence! give me back my innocence! Behold, every living
thing is gone forth to bask in the cheering rays of the vernal sun--why
must I alone inhale the torments of hell out of the joys of heaven? All
are so happy, all so united in brotherly love, by the spirit of peace!
The whole world one family, and one Father above--but He not my father!
I alone the outcast, I alone rejected from the ranks of the blessed--the
sweet name of child is not for me--never for me the soul-thrilling
glance of her I love--never, never the bosom friend's embrace--(starting
back wildly)--surrounded by murderers--hemmed in by hissing vipers--
riveted to vice with iron fetters--whirling headlong on the frail reed
of sin to the gulf of perdition--amid the blooming flowers of a glad
world, a howling Abaddon!
SCHWARZ (to the others). How strange! I never saw him thus before.
CHARLES (with melancholy). Oh, that I might return again to my mother's
womb. That I might be born a beggar! I should desire no more,--no
more, oh heaven!--but that I might be like one of those poor laborers!
Oh, I would toil till the blood streamed down my temples--to buy myself
the luxury of one guiltless slumber--the blessedness of a single tear.
GRIMM (to the others). A little patience--the paroxysm is nearly over.
CHARLES. There was a time when my tears flowed so freely. Oh, those
days of peace! Dear home of my fathers--ye verdant halcyon vales!
O all ye Elysian scenes of my childhood!--will you never return?--will
your delicious breezes never cool my burning bosom? Mourn with me,
Nature, mourn! They will never return! never will their delicious
breezes cool my burning bosom! They are gone! gone! irrevocably gone!
Enter SCHWEITZER with water in his hat.
SCHWEITZER (offering him water in his hat). Drink, captain; here is
plenty of water, and cold as ice.
SCHWARZ. You are bleeding! What have you been doing?
SCHWEITZER. A bit of a freak, you fool, which had well-nigh cost me two
legs and a neck. As I was frolicking along the steep sandbanks of the
river, plump, in a moment, the whole concern slid from under me, and I
after it, some ten fathoms deep;--there I lay, and, as I was recovering
my five senses, lo and behold, the most sparkling water in the gravel!
Not so much amiss this time, said I to myself, for the caper I have cut.
The captain will be sure to relish a drink.
CHARLES (returns him the hat and wipes his face). But you are covered
with mud, Schweitzer, and we can't see the scar which the Bohemian
horseman marked on your forehead--your water was good, Schweitzer--and
those scars become you well.
SCHWEITZER. Bah! There's room for a score or two more yet.
CHARLES. Yes, boys--it was a hot day's work--and only one man lost.
Poor Roller! he died a noble death. A marble monument would be erected
to his memory had he died in any other cause than mine. Let this
suffice. (He wipes the tears from his eyes.) How many, did you say, of
the enemy were left on the field?
SCHWEITZER. A hundred and sixty huzzars, ninety-three dragoons, some
forty chasseurs--in all about three hundred.
CHARLES. Three hundred for one! Every one of you has a claim upon this
head. (He bares his head.) By this uplifted dagger! As my Soul liveth,
I will never forsake you!
SCHWEITZER. Swear not! You do not know but you may yet be happy, and
repent your oath.
CHARLES. By the ashes of my Roller! I will never forsake you.
Enter KOSINSKY.
KOSINSKY (aside). Hereabouts, they say, I shall find him. Ha! What
faces are these? Should they be--if these--they must be the men! Yes,
'tis they,'tis they! I will accost them.
SCHWARZ. Take heed! Who goes there?
KOSINSKY. Pardon, sirs. I know not whether I am going right or wrong.
CHARLES. Suppose right, whom do you take us to be?
KOSINSKY. Men!
SCHWEITZER. I wonder, captain, whether we have given any proof of that?
KOSINSKY. I am in search of men who can look death in the face, and let
danger play around then like a tamed snake; who prize liberty above life
or honor; whose very names, hailed by the poor and the oppressed, appal
the boldest, and make tyrants tremble.
SCHWEITZER (to the Captain). I like that fellow. Hark ye, friend! You
have found your men.
KOSINSKY. So I should think, and I hope soon to find them brothers.
You can direct me to the man I am looking for. 'Tis your captain, the
great Count von Moor.
SCHWEITZER (taking him warmly by the hand). There's a good lad. You
and I must be chums.
CHARLES (coming nearer). Do you know the captain?
KOSINSKY. Thou art he!--in those features--that air--who can look at
thee, and doubt it? (Looks earnestly at him for some time). I have
always wished to see the man with the annihilating look, as he sat on
the ruins of Carthage.* That wish is realized.
*[Alluding to Caius Marius. See Plutarch's Lives.]
SCHWEITZER. A mettlesome fellow!--
CHARLES. And what brings you to me?
KOSINSKY. Oh, captain! my more than cruel fate. I have suffered
shipwrecked on the stormy ocean of the world; I have seen all my fondest
hopes perish; and nought remains to me but a remembrance of the bitter
past, which would drive me to madness, were I not to drown it by
directing my energies to new objects.
CHARLES. Another arraignment of the ways of Providence! Proceed.
KOSINSKY. I became a soldier. Misfortune still followed me in the
army. I made a venture to the Indies, and my ship was shivered on the
rocks--nothing but frustrated hopes! At last, I heard tell far and wide
of your valiant deeds, incendiarisms, as they called them, and I came
straightway hither, a distance of thirty leagues, firmly resolved to
serve under you, if you will deign to accept my services. I entreat
thee, noble captain, refuse me not!
SCHWEITZER (with a leap into the air). Hurrah! Hurrah! Our Roller
replaced ten hundred-fold! An out-and-out brother cut-throat for our
troop.
CHARLES. What is your name?
KOSINSKY. Kosinsky.
CHARLES. What? Kosinsky! And do you know that you are but a
thoughtless boy, and are embarking on the most weighty passage of your
life as heedlessly as a giddy girl? You will find no playing at bowls
or ninepins here, as you probably imagine.
KOSINSKY. I understand you, sir. I am,'tis true, but four-and-twenty
years old, but I have seen swords glittering, and have heard balls
whistling around me.
CHARLES. Indeed, young gentleman? And was it for this that you took
fencing lessons, to run poor travellers through the body for the sake of
a dollar, or stab women in the back? Go! go! You have played truant to
your nurse because she shook the rod at you.
SCHWEITZER. Why, what the devil, captain! what are you about? Do you
mean to turn away such a Hercules? Does he not look as if he could
baste Marechal Saxe across the Ganges with a ladle?
CHARLES. Because your silly schemes miscarry, you come here to turn
rogue and assassin! Murder, boy, do you know the meaning of that word?
You may have slumbered in peace after cropping a few poppy-heads, but to
have a murder on your soul--
KOSINSKY. All the murders you bid me commit be upon my head!
CHARLES. What! Are you so nimble-witted? Do you take measure of a man
to catch him by flattery? How do you know that I am not haunted by
terrific dreams, or that I shall not tremble on my death-bed?--How much
have you already done of which you have considered the responsibility?
KOSINSKY. Very little, I must confess; excepting this long journey to
you, noble count--
CHARLES. Has your tutor let the story of Robin Hood--get into your
hands? Such careless rascals ought to be sent to the galleys. And has
it heated your childish fancy, and infected you with the mania of
becoming a hero? Are you thirsting for honor and fame? Would you buy
immortality by deeds of incendiarism? Mark me, ambitious youth! No
laurel blooms for the incendiary. No triumph awaits the victories of
the bandit--nothing but curses, danger, death, disgrace. Do you see the
gibbet yonder on the hill?
SPIEGEL (going up and down indignantly). Oh, how stupid! How
abominably, unpardonably stupid! That's not the way. I went to work
in a very different manner.
KOSINSKY. What should he fear, who fears not death?
CHARLES. Bravo! Capital! You have made good use of your time at
school; you have got your Seneca cleverly by heart. But, my good
friend, you will not be able with these fine phrases to cajole nature
in the hour of suffering; they will never blunt the biting tooth of
remorse. Ponder on it well, my son! (Takes him by the hand.) I advise
you as a father. First learn the depth of the abyss before you plunge
headlong into it. If in this world you can catch a single glimpse of
happiness--moments may come when you-awake,--and then--it may be too
late. Here you step out as it were beyond the pale of humanity--you
must either be more than human or a demon. Once more, my son! if but
a single spark of hope glimmer for you elsewhere, fly this fearful
compact, where nought but despair enters, unless a higher wisdom has so
ordained it. You may deceive yourself--believe me, it is possible to
mistake that for strength of mind which in reality is nothing more than
despair. Take my counsel! mine! and depart quickly.
KOSINSKY. No! I will not stir. If my entreaties fail to move you, hear
but the story of my misfortunes. And then you will force the dagger
into my hand as eagerly as you now seek to withhold it. Seat yourselves
awhile on the grass and listen.
CHARLES. I will hear your story.
KOSINSKY. Know, then, that I am a Bohemian nobleman. By the early
death of my father I became master of large possessions. The scene of
my domain was a paradise; for it contained an angel--a maid adorned with
all the charms of blooming youth, and chaste as the light of heaven.
But to whom do I talk of this? It falls unheeded on your cars--ye never
loved, ye were never beloved--
SCHWEITZER. Gently, gently! The captain grows red as fire.
CHARLES. No more! I'll hear you some other time--to-morrow,--or
by-and-by, or--after I have seen blood.
KOSINSKY. Blood, blood! Only hear on! Blood will fill your whole
soul. She was of citizen birth, a German--but her look dissolved all
the prejudices of aristocracy. With blushing modesty she received the
bridal ring from my hand, and on the morrow I was to have led my AMELIA
to the altar. (CHARLES rises suddenly.) In the midst of my intoxicating
dream of happiness, and while our nuptials were preparing, an express
summoned me to court. I obeyed the summons. Letters were shown me
which I was said to have written, full of treasonable matter. I grew
scarlet with indignation at such malice; they deprived me of my sword,
thrust me into prison, and all my senses forsook me.
SCHWEITZER. And in the meantime--go on! I already scent the game.
KOSINSKY. There I lay a whole month, and knew not what was taking
place. I was full of anxiety for my Amelia, who I was sure would suffer
the pangs of death every moment in apprehension of my fate. At last the
prime minister makes his appearance,--congratulates me in honey-sweet
words on the establishment of my innocence,--reads to me a warrant of
discharge,--and returns me my sword. I flew in triumph to my castle, to
the arms of my Amelia, but she had disappeared! She had been carried
off, it was said, at midnight, no one knew whither, and no eye had
beheld her since. A suspicion instantly flashed across my mind. I
rushed to the capital--I made inquiries at court--all eyes were upon
me,--no one would give me information. At last I discovered her through
a grated window of the palace--she threw me a small billet.
SCHWEITZER. Did I not say so?
KOSINSKY. Death and destruction! The contents were these! They had
given her the choice between seeing me put to death, and becoming the
mistress of the prince. In the struggle between honor and love she
chose the latter, and (with a bitter smile) I was saved.
SCHWEITZER. And what did you do then?
KOSINSKY. Then I stood like one transfixed with a thunderbolt! Blood
was my first thought, blood my last! Foaming at the mouth, I ran to my
quarters, armed myself with a two-edged sword, and, with all haste,
rushed to the minister's house, for he--he alone--had been the fiendish
pander. They must have observed me in the street, for, as I went up, I
found all the doors fastened. I searched, I enquired. He was gone,
they said, to the prince. I went straight thither, but nobody there
would know anything about him. I return, force the doors, find the base
wretch, and was on the point when five or six servants suddenly rushed
on me from behind, and wrenched the weapon from my hands.
SCHWEITZER (stamping the ground). And so the fellow got off clear, and
you lost your labor?
KOSINSKY. I was arrested, accused, criminally prosecuted, degraded,
and--mark this--transported beyond the frontier, as a special favor. My
estates were confiscated to the minister, and Amelia remained in the
clutches of the tiger, where she weeps and mourns away her life, while
my vengeance must keep a fast, and crouch submissively to the yoke of
despotism.
SCHWEITZER (rising and whetting his sword). That is grist to our mill,
captain! There is something here for the incendiaries!
CHARLES (who has been walking up and down in violent agitation, with a
sudden start to the ROBBERS). I must see her. Up! collect your
baggage--you'll stay with us, Kosinsky! Quick, pack up!
THE ROBBERS. Where to? What?
CHARLES. Where to? Who asks that question? (Fiercely to SCHWEITZER)
Traitor, wouldst thou keep me back? But by the hope for heaven!
SCHWEITZER. I, a traitor? Lead on to hell and I will follow you!
CHARLES (falling on his neck). Dear brother! thou shalt follow me. She
weeps, she mourns away her life. Up! quickly! all of you! to
Franconia! In a week we must be there.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I.--Rural scenery in the neighborhood of
CHARLES VON MOOR'S castle.
CHARLES VON MOOR, KOSINSKY, at a distance.
CHARLES. Go forward, and announce me. You remember what you have to
say?
KOSINSKY. You are Count Brand, you come from Mecklenburg. I am your
groom. Do not fear, I shall take care to play my part. Farewell!
[Exit.]
CHARLES. Hail to thee, Earth of my Fatherland (kisses the earth.)
Heaven of my Fatherland! Sun of my Fatherland! Ye meadows and hills,
ye streams and woods! Hail, hail to ye all! How deliciously the
breezes are wafted from my native hills? What streams of balmy perfume
greet the poor fugitive! Elysium! Realms of poetry! Stay, Moor, thy
foot has strayed into a holy temple. (Comes nearer.)
See there! the old swallow-nests in the castle yard!---and the little
garden-gate!--and this corner of the fence where I so often watched in
ambuscade to teaze old Towzer!--and down there in the green valley,
where, as the great Alexander, I led my Macedonians to the battle of
Arbela; and the grassy hillock yonder, from which I hurled the Persian
satrap--and then waved on high my victorious banner! (He smiles.) The
golden age of boyhood lives again in the soul of the outcast. I was
then so happy, so wholly, so cloudlessly happy--and now--behold all my
prospects a wreck! Here should I have presided, a great, a noble, an
honored man--here have--lived over again the years of boyhood in the
blooming--children of my Amelia--here!--here have been the idol of my
people--but the foul fiend opposed it (Starting.) Why am I here? To
feel like the captive when the clanking of his chains awakes him from
his dream of liberty. No, let me return to my wretchedness! The
captive had forgotten the light of day, but the dream of liberty flashes
past his eyes like a blaze of lightning in the night, which leaves it
darker than before. Farewell, ye native vales! once ye saw Charles as a
boy, and then Charles was happy. Now ye have seen the man his happiness
turned to despair! (He moves rapidly towards the most distant point of
the landscape, where he suddenly stops and casts a melancholy look
across to the castle.) Not to behold her! not even one look?--and only
a wall between me and Amelia! No! see her I must!--and him too!--though
it crush me! (He turns back.) Father! father! thy son approaches. Away
with thee, black, reeking gore! Away with that grim, ghastly look of
death! Oh, give me but this one hour free! Amelia! Father! thy
Charles approaches! (He goes quickly towards the castle.) Torment me
when the morning dawns--give me no rest with the coming night--beset me
in frightful dreams! But, oh! poison not this my only hour of bliss!
(He is standing at the gate.) What is it I feel? What means this, Moor?
Be a man! These death-like shudders--foreboding terrors.
[Enters.]
SCENE II.*--Gallery in the Castle.
*[In some editions this is the third scene,
and there is no second.]
Enter CHARLES VON MOOR, AMELIA.
AMELIA. And are you sure that you should know his portrait among these
pictures?
CHARLES. Oh, most certainly! his image has always been fresh in my
memory. (Passing along thee pictures.) This is not it.
AMELIA. You are right! He was the first count, and received his patent
of nobility from Frederic Barbarossa, to whom he rendered some service
against the corsairs.
CHARLES (still reviewing the pictures). Neither is it this--nor this--
nor that--it is not among these at all.
AMELIA. Nay! look more attentively! I thought you knew him.
CHARLES. As well as my own father! This picture wants the sweet
expression around the mouth, which distinguished him from among a
thousand. It is not he.
AMELIA. You surprise me. What! not seen him for eighteen years, and
still--
CHARLES (quickly, with a hectic blush). Yes, this is he! (He stands as
if struck by lightning.)
AMELIA. An excellent man!
CHARLES (absorbed in the contemplation of the picture). Father!
father! forgive me! Yes, an excellent man! (He wipes his eyes.) A
godlike man!
AMELIA. You seem to take a deep interest in him.
CHARLES. Oh, an excellent man! And he is gone, you say!
AMELIA. Gone! as our best joys perish. (Gently taking him by the
hand.) Dear Sir, no happiness ripens in this world.
CHARLES. Most true, most true! And have you already proved this truth
by sad experience? You, who can scarcely yet have seen your
twenty-third year?
AMELIA. Yes, alas, I have proved it. Whatever lives, lives to die in
sorrow. We engage our hearts, and grasp after the things of this world,
only to undergo the pang of losing them.
CHARLES. What can you have lost, and yet so young?
AMELIA. Nothing--everything--nothing. Shall we go on, count?*
*[In the acting edition is added--
"MOOR. And would you learn forgetfulness in that holy garb there?
(Pointing to a nun's habit.)
"AMELIA. To-morrow I hope to do so. Shall we continue our walk,
sir?"]
CHARLES. In such haste? Whose portrait is that on the right? There is
an unhappy look about that countenance, methinks.
AMELIA. That portrait on the left is the son of the count, the present
count. Come, let us pass on!
CHARLES. But this portrait on the right?
AMELIA. Will you not continue your walk, Sir?
CHARLES. But this portrait on the right hand? You are in tears,
Amelia? [Exit AMELIA, in precipitation.]
CHARLES. She loves me, she loves me! Her whole being began to rebel,
and the traitor tears rolled down her cheeks. She loves me! Wretch,
hast thou deserved this at her hands? Stand I not here like a condemned
criminal before the fatal block? Is this the couch on which we so often
sat--where I have hung in rapture on her neck? Are these my ancestral
halls? (Overcome by the sight of his father's portrait.) Thou--thou--
Flames of fire darting from thine eyes--His curse--His curse--He disowns
me--Where am I? My sight grows dim--Horrors of the living God--'Twas I,
'twas I that killed my father!
[He rushes off]
Enter FRANCIS VON MOOR, in deep thought.
FRANCIS. Away with that image! Away with it! Craven heart! Why dost
thou tremble, and before whom? Have I not felt, during the few hours
that the count has been within these walls as if a spy from hell were
gliding at my heels. Methinks I should know him! There is something so
lofty, so familiar, in his wild, sunburnt features, which makes me
tremble. Amelia, too, is not indifferent towards him! Does she not
dart eager, languishing looks at the fellow looks of which she is so
chary to all the world beside? Did I not see her drop those stealthy
tears into the wine, which, behind my back, he quaffed so eagerly that
he seemed to swallow the very glass? Yes, I saw it--I saw it in the
mirror with my own eyes. Take care, Francis! Look about you! Some
destruction-brooding monster is lurking beneath all this! (He stops,
with a searching look, before the portrait of CHARLES.)
His long, crane-like neck--his black, fire-sparkling eyes--hem! hem!--
his dark, overhanging, bushy eyebrows. (Suddenly starting back.)
Malicious hell! dost thou send me this suspicion? It is Charles! Yes,
all his features are reviving before me. It is he! despite his mask!
it is he! Death and damnation! (Goes up and down with agitated steps.)
Is it for this that I have sacrificed my nights--that I have mowed down
mountains and filled up chasms? For this that I have turned rebel
against all the instincts of humanity? To have this vagabond outcast
blunder in at last, and destroy all my cunningly devised fabric. But
gently! gently! What remains to be done is but child's play. Have I
not already waded up to my very ears in mortal sin? Seeing how far the
shore lies behind me, it would be madness to attempt to swim back. To
return is now out of the question. Grace itself would be beggared, and
infinite mercy become bankrupt, were they to be responsible for all my
liabilities. Then onward like a man. (He rings the bell.) Let him be
gathered to the spirit of his father, and now come on! For the dead I
care not! Daniel! Ho! Daniel! I'd wager a trifle they have already
inveigled him too into the plot against me! He looks so full of
mystery!
Enter DANIEL.
DANIEL. What is your pleasure, my master?
FRANCIS. Nothing. Go, fill this goblet with wine, and quickly! (Exit
DANIEL.) Wait a little, old man! I shall find you out! I will fix my
eye upon you so keenly that your stricken conscience shall betray itself
through your mask! He shall die! He is but a sorry bungler who leaves
his work half finished, and then looks on idly, trusting to chance for
what may come of it.
Enter DANIEL, with the wine.
Bring it here! Look me steadfastly in the face! How your knees knock
together! How you tremble! Confess, old man! what have you been
doing?
DANIEL. Nothing, my honored master, by heaven and my poor soul!
FRANCIS. Drink this wine! What? you hesitate? Out with it quickly!
What have you put into the wine?
DANIEL. Heaven help me! What! I in the wine?
FRANCIS. You have poisoned it! Are you not as white as snow? Confess,
confess! Who gave it you? The count? Is it not so? The count gave it
you?
DANIEL. The count? Jesu Maria! The count has not given me anything.
FRANCIS (grasping him tight). I will throttle you till you are black in
the face, you hoary-headed liar! Nothing? Why, then, are you so often
closeted together? He, and you, and Amelia? And what are you always
whispering about? Out with it! What secrets, eh? What secrets has he
confided to you?
DANIEL. I call the Almighty to witness that he has not confided any
secrets to me.
FRANCIS. Do you mean to deny it? What schemes have you been hatching
to get rid of me? Am I to be smothered in my sleep? or is my throat to
be cut in shaving? or am I to be poisoned in wine or chocolate? Eh?
Out with it, out with it! Or am I to have my quietus administered in my
soup? Out with it! I know it all!
DANIEL. May heaven so help me in the hour of need as I now tell you the
truth, and nothing but the pure, unvarnished truth!
FRANCIS. Well, this time I will forgive you. But the money! he most
certainly put money into your purse? And he pressed your hand more
warmly than is customary? something in the manner of an old
acquaintance?
DANIEL. Never, indeed, Sir.
FRANCIS. He told you, for instance, that he had known you before? that
you ought to know him? that the scales would some day fall from your
eyes? that--what? Do you mean to say that he never spoke thus to you?
DANIEL. Not a word of the kind.
FRANCIS. That certain circumstances restrained him--that one must
sometimes wear a mask in order to get at one's enemies--that he would be
revenged, most terribly revenged?
DANIEL. Not a syllable of all this.
FRANCIS. What? Nothing at all? Recollect yourself. That he knew the
old count well--most intimately--that he loved him--loved him
exceedingly--loved him like a son!
DANIEL. Something of that sort I remember to have heard him say.
FRANCIS (turning pale). Did he say so? did he really? How? let me
hear! He said he was my brother?
DANIEL (astonished). What, my master? He did not say that. But as
Lady Amelia was conducting him through the gallery--I was just dusting
the picture frames--he suddenly stood still before the portrait of my
late master, and seemed thunderstruck. Lady Amelia pointed it out, and
said, "An excellent man!" "Yes, a most excellent man!" he replied,
wiping a tear from his eye.
FRANCIS. Hark, Daniel! You know I have ever been a kind master to you;
I have given you food and raiment, and have spared you labor in
consideration of your advanced age.
DANIEL. For which may heaven reward you! and I, on my part, have
always served you faithfully.
FRANCIS. That is just what I was going to say. You have never in all
your life contradicted me; for you know much too well that you owe me
obedience in all things, whatever I may require of you.
DANIEL. In all things with all my heart, so it be not against God and
my conscience.
FRANCIS. Stuff! nonsense! Are you not ashamed of yourself? An old
man, and believe that Christmas tale! Go, Daniel! that was a stupid
remark. You know that I am your master. It is on me that God and
conscience will be avenged, if, indeed, there be a God and a conscience.
DANIEL (clasping his hands together). Merciful Heaven!
FRANCIS. By your obedience! Do you understand that word? By your
obedience, I command you. With to-morrow's dawn the count must no
longer be found among the living.
DANIEL. Merciful Heaven! and wherefore?
FRANCIS. By your blind obedience! I shall rely upon you implicitly.
DANIEL. On me? May the Blessed Virgin have mercy on me! On me? What
evil, then, have I, an old man, done!
FRANCIS. There is no time now for reflection; your fate is in my hands.
Would you rather pine away the remainder of your days in the deepest of
my dungeons, where hunger shall compel you to gnaw your own bones, and
burning thirst make you suck your own blood? Or would you rather eat
your bread in peace, and have rest in your old age?
DANIEL. What, my lord! Peace and rest in my old age? And I a
murderer?
FRANCIS. Answer my question!
DANIEL. My gray hairs! my gray hairs!
FRANCIS. Yes or no!
DANIEL. No! God have mercy upon me!
FRANCIS (in the act of going). Very well! you shall have need of it.
(DANIEL detains him and falls on his knees before him.)
DANIEL. Mercy, master! mercy!
FRANCIS. Yes or no!
DANIEL. Most gracious master! I am this day seventy-one years of age!
and have honored my father and my mother, and, to the best of my
knowledge, have never in the whole course of my life defrauded any one
to the value of a farthing,--and I have adhered to my creed truly and
honestly, and have served in your house four-and-forty years, and am now
calmly awaiting a quiet, happy end. Oh, master! master! (violently
clasping his knees) and would you deprive me of my only solace in death,
that the gnawing worm of an evil conscience may cheat me of my last
prayer? that I may go to my long home an abomination in the sight of God
and man? No, no! my dearest, best, most excellent, most gracious
master! you do not ask that of an old man turned threescore and ten!
FRANCIS. Yes or no! What is the use of all this palaver?
DANIEL. I will serve you from this day forward more diligently than
ever; I will wear out my old bones in your service like a common
day-laborer; I will rise earlier and lie down later. Oh, and I will
remember you in my prayers night and morning; and God will not reject
the prayer of an old man.
FRANCIS. Obedience is better than sacrifice. Did you ever hear of the
hangman standing upon ceremony when he was told to execute a sentence?
DANIEL. That is very true? but to murder an innocent man--one--
FRANCIS. Am I responsible to you? Is the axe to question the hangman
why he strikes this way and not that? But see how forbearing I am. I
offer you a reward for performing what you owe me in virtue of your
allegiance.
DANIEL. But, when I swore allegiance to you, I at least hoped that I
should be allowed to remain a Christian.
FRANCIS. No contradiction! Look you! I give you the whole day to
think about it! Ponder well on it. Happiness or misery. Do you hear--
do you understand? The extreme of happiness or the extreme of misery!
I can do wonders in the way of torture.
DANIEL (after some reflection). I'll do it; I will do it to-morrow.
[Exit.]
FRANCIS. The temptation is strong, and I should think he was not born
to die a martyr to his faith. Have with you, sir count! According to
all ordinary calculations, you will sup to-morrow with old Beelzebub.
In these matters all depends upon one's view of a thing; and he is a
fool who takes any view that is contrary to his own interest. A father
quaffs perhaps a bottle of wine more than ordinary--he is in a certain
mood--the result is a human being, the last thing that was thought of in
the affair. Well, I, too, am in a certain mood,--and the result is that
a human being perishes; and surely there is more of reason and purpose
in this than there was in his production. If the birth of a man is the
result of an animal paroxysm, who should take it into his head to attach
any importance to the negation of his birth? A curse upon the folly of
our nurses and teachers, who fill our imaginations with frightful tales,
and impress fearful images of punishment upon the plastic brain of
childhood, so that involuntary shudders shake the limbs of the man with
icy fear, arrest his boldest resolutions, and chain his awakening reason
in the fetters of superstitious darkness. Murder! What a hell full of
furies hovers around that word. Yet 'tis no more than if nature forgets
to bring forth one man more or the doctor makes a mistake--and thus the
whole phantasmagoria vanishes. It was something, and it is nothing.
Does not this amount to exactly the same thing as though it had been
nothing, and came to nothing; and about nothing it is hardly worth while
to waste a word. Man is made of filth, and for a time wades in filth,
and produces filth, and sinks back into filth, till at last he fouls the
boots of his own posterity.*
*["To what base uses we may return, Horatio! why, may not
imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till we find it
stopping a bunghole?"--HAMLET, Act v, Sc. 1.]
That is the burden of the song--the filthy cycle of human fate; and with
that--a pleasant journey to you, sir brother! Conscience, that
splenetic, gouty moralist, may drive shrivelled old drones out of
brothels, and torture usurers on their deathbeds--with me it shall never
more have audience.
[Exit.]
SCENE III.--Another Room in the Castle.
CHARLES VON MOOR enters from one side, DANIEL from the other.
CHARLES (hastily). Where is Lady Amelia?
DANIEL. Honored sir! permit an old man to ask you a favor.
CHARLES. It is granted. What is it you ask?
DANIEL. Not much, and yet all--but little, and yet a great deal.
Suffer me to kiss your hand!
CHARLES. That I cannot permit, good old man (embraces him), from one
whom I should like to call my father.
DANIEL. Your hand, your hand! I beseech you.
CHARLES. That must not be.
DANIEL. It must! (He takes hold of it, surveys it quickly, and falls
down before him.) Dear, dearest Charles!
CHARLES (startled; he composes himself, and says in a distant tone).
What mean you, my friend? I don't understand you.
DANIEL. Yes, you may deny it, you may dissemble as much as you please?
'Tis very well! very well. For all that you are my dearest, my
excellent young master. Good Heaven! that I, poor old man, should live
to have the joy--what a stupid blockhead was I that I did not at a
glance--oh, gracious powers! And you are really come back, and the dear
old master is underground, and here you are again! What a purblind dolt
I was, to be sure! (striking his forehead) that I did not on the
instant--Oh, dear me!---who could have dreamt it--What I have so often
prayed for with tears--Oh, mercy me! There he stands again, as large as
life, in the old room!
CHARLES. What's all this oration about? Are you in a fit of delirium,
and have escaped from your keepers; or are you rehearsing a
stage-player's part with me?
DANIEL. Oh, fie! fie! It is not pretty of you to make game of an old
servant. That scar! Eh! do you remember it? Good Heaven! what a
fright you put me into--I always loved you so dearly; and what misery
you might have brought upon me. You were sitting in my lap--do you
remember? there in the round chamber. Has all that quite vanished from
your memory--and the cuckoo, too, that you were so fond of listening to?
Only think! the cuckoo is broken, broken all to shivers--old Susan
smashed it in sweeping the room--yes, indeed, and there you sat in my
lap, and cried, "Cockhorse!" and I ran off to fetch your wooden horse--
mercy on me! what business had I, thoughtless old fool, to leave you
alone--and how I felt as if I were in a boiling caldron when I heard you
screaming in the passage; and, when I rushed in, there was your red
blood gushing forth, and you lying on the ground. Oh, by the Blessed
Virgin! did I not feel as if a bucket of icy cold water was emptied all
over me?--but so it happens, unless one keeps all one's eyes upon
children. Good Heaven! if it had gone into your eye! Unfortunately it
happened to be the right hand. "As long as I live," said I, "never
again shall any child in my charge get hold of a knife or scissors, or
any other edge tool." 'Twas lucky for me that both my master and
mistress were gone on a journey. "Yes, yes! this shall be a warning to
me for the rest of my life," said I--Gemini, Gemini! I might have lost
my place, I might--God forgive you, you naughty boy--but, thank Heaven!
it healed fairly, all but that ugly scar.
CHARLES. I do not comprehend one word of all that you are talking
about.
DANIEL. Eh? eh? that was the time! was it not? How many a ginger-cake,
and biscuit, and macaroon, have I slipped into your bands--I was always
so fond of you. And do you recollect what you said to me down in the
stable, when I put you upon old master's hunter, and let you scamper
round the great meadow? "Daniel!" said you, "only wait till I am grown
a big man, and you shall be my steward, and ride in the coach with me."
"Yes," said I, laughing, "if heaven grants me life and health, and you
are not ashamed of the old man," I said, "I shall ask you to let me have
the little house down in the village, that has stood empty so long; and
then I will lay in a few butts of good wine, and turn publican in my old
age." Yes, you may laugh, you may laugh! Eh, young gentleman, have you
quite forgotten all that? You do not want to remember the old man, so
you carry yourself strange and loftily;--but, you are my jewel of a
young master, for all that. You have, it is true, been a little bit
wild--don't be angry!--as young blood is apt to be! All may be well yet
in the end.
CHARLES (falls on his neck). Yes! Daniel! I will no longer hide it
from you! I am your Charles, your lost Charles! And now tell me, how
does my Amelia?
DANIEL (begins to cry). That I, old sinner, should live to have this
happiness--and my late blessed master wept so long in vain! Begone,
begone, hoary old head! Ye weary bones, descend into the grave with
joy! My lord and master lives! my own eyes have beheld him!
CHARLES. And he will keep his promise to you. Take that, honest
graybeard, for the old hunter (forces a heavy purse upon him). I have
not forgotten the old man.
DANIEL. How? What are you doing? Too much! You have made a mistake.
CHARLES. No mistake, Daniel! (DANIEL is about to throw himself on his
knees before him.) Rise! Tell me, how does my Amelia?
DANIEL. Heaven reward you! Heaven reward you! O gracious me! Your
Amelia will never survive it, she will die for joy?
CHARLES (eagerly). She has not forgotten me then?
DANIEL. Forgotten you? How can you talk thus? Forgotten you, indeed!
You should have been there, you should have seen how she took on, when
the news came of your death, which his honor caused to be spread
abroad--
CHARLES. What do you say? my brother--
DANIEL. Yes, your brother; his honor, your brother--another day I will
tell you more about it, when we have time--and how cleverly she sent him
about his business when he came a wooing every blessed day, and offered
to make her his countess. Oh, I must go; I must go and tell her; carry
her the news (is about to run of).
CHARLES. Stay! stay! she must not know--nobody must know, not even my
brother!
