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'"

OLD MOOR (falls back upon the pillow). An evil beast hath devoured
Joseph!

AMELIA (continues reading). "And Jacob rent his clothes, and put
sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days. And all
his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him, but he refused to
be comforted, and he said, 'For I will go down into the grave'"

OLD MOOR. Leave off! leave off. I feel very ill.

AMELIA (running towards him, lets fall the book). Heaven help us! What
is this?

OLD MOOR. It is death--darkness--is waving--before my eyes--I pray
thee--send for the minister--that he may--give me--the Holy Communion.
Where is--my son Francis?

AMELIA. He is fled. God have mercy upon us!

OLD MOOR. Fled--fled from his father's deathbed? And is that all--all
--of two children full of promise--thou hast given--thou hast--taken
away--thy name be--

AMELIA (with a sudden cry). Dead! both dead!
                         [Exit in despair.]


           Enter FRANCIS, dancing with joy.

FRANCIS. Dead, they cry, dead! Now am I master. Through the whole
castle it rings, dead! but stay, perchance he only sleeps? To be sure,
yes, to be sure! that certainly is a sleep after which no "good-morrow"
is ever said. Sleep and death are but twin-brothers. We will for once
change their names! Excellent, welcome sleep! We will call thee death!
(He closes the eyes of OLD MOOR.) Who now will come forward and dare to
accuse me at the bar of justice, or tell me to my face, thou art a
villain? Away, then, with this troublesome mask of humility and virtue!
Now you shall see Francis as he is, and tremble! My father was
overgentle in his demands, turned his domain into a family-circle, sat
blandly smiling at the gate, and saluted his peasants as brethren and
children. My brows shall lower upon you like thunderclouds; my lordly
name shall hover over you like a threatening comet over the mountains;
my forehead shall be your weather-glass! He would caress and fondle
the child that lifted its stubborn head against him. But fondling and
caressing is not my mode. I will drive the rowels of the spur into
their flesh, and give the scourge a trial. Under my rule it shall be
brought to pass that potatoes and small-beer shall be considered a
holiday treat; and woe to him who meets my eye with the audacious front
of health. Haggard want and crouching fear are my insignia; and in this
livery I will clothe ye.
                            [Exit.]




          SCENE III.--THE BOHEMIAN WOODS.

         SPIEGELBERG, RAZMAN, A Troop Of ROBBERS.


RAZ. Are you come? Is it really you? Oh, let me squeeze thee into a
jelly, my dear heart's brother! Welcome to the Bohemian forests! Why,
you are grown quite stout and jolly! You have brought us recruits in
right earnest, a little army of them; you are the very prince of crimps.

SPIEGEL. Eh, brother? Eli? And proper fellows they are! You must
confess the blessing of heaven is visibly upon me; I was a poor, hungry
wretch, and had nothing but this staff when I went over the Jordan, and
now there are eight-and-seventy of us, mostly ruined shopkeepers,
rejected masters of arts, and law-clerks from the Swabian provinces.
They are a rare set of fellows, brother, capital fellows, I promise you;
they will steal you the very buttons off each other's trousers in
perfect security, although in the teeth of a loaded musket,* and they
live in clover and enjoy a reputation for forty miles round, which is
quite astonishing.

   *[The acting edition reads, "Hang your hat up in the sun, and I'll
   take you a wager it's gone the next minute, as clean out of sight
   as if the devil himself had walked off with it."]

There is not a newspaper in which you will not find some little feat or
other of that cunning fellow, Spiegelberg; I take in the papers for
nothing else; they have described me from head to foot; you would think
you saw me; they have not forgotten even my coat-buttons. But we lead
them gloriously by the nose. The other day I went to the
printing-office and pretended that I had seen the famous Spiegelberg,
dictated to a penny-a-liner who was sitting there the exact image of a
quack doctor in the town; the matter gets wind, the fellow is arrested,
put to the rack, and in his anguish and stupidity he confesses the devil
take me if he does not--confesses that he is Spiegelberg. Fire and fury!
I was on the point of giving myself up to a magistrate rather than have
my fair fame marred by such a poltroon; however, within three months he
was hanged. I was obliged to stuff a right good pinch of snuff into my
nose as some time afterwards I was passing the gibbet and saw the
pseudo-Spiegelberg parading there in all his glory; and, while
Spiegelberg's representative is dangling by the neck, the real
Spiegelberg very quietly slips himself out of the noose, and makes jolly
long noses behind the backs of these sagacious wiseacres of the law.

RAZ. (laughing). You are still the same fellow you always were.

SPIEGEL. Ay, sure! body and soul. But I must tell you a bit of fun,
my boy, which I had the other day in the nunnery of St. Austin. We fell
in with the convent just about sunset; and as I had not fired a single
cartridge all day,--you know I hate the _diem perdidi_ as I hate death
itself,--I was determined to immortalize the night by some glorious
exploit, even though it should cost the devil one of his ears! We kept
quite quiet till late in the night. At last all is as still as a mouse
--the lights are extinguished. We fancy the nuns must be comfortably
tucked up. So I take brother Grimm along with me, and order the others
to wait at the gate till they hear my whistle--I secure the watchman,
take the keys from him, creep into the maid-servants' dormitory, take.
away all their clothes, and whisk the bundle out at the window. We go
on from cell to cell, take away the clothes of one sister after another,
and lastly those of the lady-abbess herself. Then I sound my whistle,
and my fellows outside begin to storm and halloo as if doomsday was at
hand, and away they rush with the devil's own uproar into the cells of
the sisters! Ha, ha, ha! You should have seen the game--how the poor
creatures were groping about in the dark for their petticoats, and how
they took on when they found they were gone; and we, in the meantime, at
'em like very devils; and now, terrified and amazed, they wriggled under
their bedclothes, or cowered together like cats behind the stoves.
There was such shrieking and lamentation; and then the old beldame of an
abbess--you know, brother, there is nothing in the world I hate so much
as a spider and an old woman--so you may just fancy that wrinkled old
hag standing naked before me, conjuring me by her maiden modesty
forsooth! Well, I was determined to make short work of it; either, said
I, out with your plate and your convent jewels and all your shining
dollars, or--my fellows knew what I meant. The end of it was I brought
away more than a thousand dollars' worth out of the convent, to say
nothing of the fun, which will tell its own story in due time.

RAZ. (stamping on the ground). Hang it, that I should be absent on
such an occasion.

SPIEGEL. Do you see? Now tell me, is not that life? 'Tis that which
keeps one fresh and hale, and braces the body so that it swells hourly
like an abbot's paunch; I don't know, but I think I must be endowed with
some magnetic property, which attracts all the vagabonds on the face of
the earth towards me like steel and iron.

RAZ. A precious magnet, indeed. But I should like to know, I'll be
hanged if I shouldn't, what witchcraft you use?

SPIEGEL. Witchcraft? No need of witchcraft. All it wants is a head--a
certain practical capacity which, of course, is not taken in with every
spoonful of barley meal; for you know I have always said that an honest
man may be carved out of any willow stump, but to make a rogue you must
have brains; besides which it requires a national genius--a certain
rascal-climate--so to speak.*

   *[In the first (and suppressed) edition was added, "Go to the
   Grisons, for instance; that is what I call the thief's Athens."
   This obnoxious passage has been carefully expunged from all the
   subsequent editions. It gave mortal offence to the Grison
   magistrates, who made a formal complaint of the insult and caused
   Schiller to be severely rebuked by the Grand Duke. This incident
   forms one of the epochs in our author's history.]

RAZ. Brother, I have heard Italy celebrated for its artists.

SPIEGEL. Yes, yes! Give the devil his due. Italy makes a very noble
figure; and if Germany goes on as it has begun, and if the Bible gets
fairly kicked out, of which there is every prospect, Germany, too, may
in time arrive at something respectable; but I should tell you that
climate does not, after all, do such a wonderful deal; genius thrives
everywhere; and as for the rest, brother, a crab, you know, will never
become a pineapple, not even in Paradise. But to pursue our subject,
where did I leave off?

RAZ. You were going to tell me about your stratagems.

SPIEGEL. Ah, yes! my stratagems. Well, when you get into a town, the
first thing is to fish out from the beadles, watchmen, and turnkeys, who
are their best customers, and for these, accordingly, you must look out;
then ensconce yourself snugly in coffee-houses, brothels, and
beer-shops, and observe who cry out most against the cheapness of the
times, the reduced five per cents., and the increasing nuisance of police
regulations; who rail the loudest against government, or decry
physiognomical science, and such like? These are the right sort of
fellows, brother. Their honesty is as loose as a hollow tooth; you have
only to apply your pincers. Or a shorter and even better plan is to drop
a full purse in the public highway, conceal yourself somewhere near, and
mark who finds it. Presently after you come running up, search, proclaim
your loss aloud, and ask him, as it were casually, "Have you perchance
picked up a purse, sir?" If he says "Yes," why then the devil fails you.
But if he denies it, with a "pardon me, sir, I remember, I am sorry,
sir," (he jumps up), then, brother, you've done the trick. Extinguish
your lantern, cunning Diogenes, you have found your match.

RAZ. You are an accomplished practitioner.

SPIEGEL. My God! As if that had ever been doubted. Well, then, when
you have got your man into the net, you must take great care to land him
cleverly. You see, my son, the way I have managed is thus: as soon as I
was on the scent I stuck to my candidate like a leech; I drank
brotherhood with him, and, _nota bene_, you must always pay the score.
That costs a pretty penny, it is true, but never mind that. You must go
further; introduce him to gaming-houses and brothels; entangle him in
broils and rogueries till he becomes bankrupt in health and strength, in
purse, conscience, and reputation; for I must tell you, by the way, that
you will make nothing of it unless you ruin both body and soul. Believe
me, brother, and I have experienced it more than fifty times in my
extensive practice, that when the honest man is once ousted from his
stronghold, the devil has it all his own way--the transition is then as
easy as from a whore to a devotee. But hark! What bang was that?

RAZ. It was thunder; go on.

SPIEGEL. Or, there is a yet shorter and still better way. You strip
your man of all he has, even to his very shirt, and then he will come to
you of his own accord; you won't teach me to suck eggs, brother; ask
that copper-faced fellow there. My eyes, how neatly I got him into my
meshes. I showed him forty ducats, which I promised to give him if he
would bring me an impression in wax of his master's keys. Only think,
the stupid brute not only does this, but actually brings me--I'll be
hanged if he did not--the keys themselves; and then thinks to get the
money. "Sirrah," said I, "are you aware that I am going to carry these
keys straight to the lieutenant of police, and to bespeak a place for
you on the gibbet?" By the powers! you should have seen how the
simpleton opened his eyes, and began to shake from head to foot like a
dripping poodle. "For heaven's sake, sir, do but consider. I will--
will--" "What will you? Will you at once cut your stick and go to the
devil with me?" "Oh, with all my heart, with great pleasure." Ha! ha!
ha! my fine fellow; toasted cheese is the thing to catch mice with; do
have a good laugh at him, Razman; ha! ha! ha!

RAZ. Yes, yes, I must confess. I shall inscribe that lesson in letters
of gold upon the tablet of my brain. Satan must know his people right
well to have chosen you for his factor.

SPIEGEL. Eh, brother? Eli? And if I help him to half a score of
fellows he will, of course, let me off scot-free--publishers, you know,
always give one copy in ten gratis to those who collect subscribers for
them; why should the devil be more of a Jew? Razman, I smell powder.

RAZ. Zounds! I smelt it long ago. You may depend upon it there has
being something going forward hereabouts. Yes, yes! I can tell you,
Spiegelberg, you will be welcome to our captain with your recruits; he,
too, has got hold of some brave fellows.

SPIEGEL. But look at mine! at mine here, bah!

RAZ. Well, well! they may be tolerably expert in the finger
department, but, I tell you, the fame of our captain has tempted even
some honorable men to join his staff.

SPIEGEL. So much the worse.

RAZ. Without joking. And they are not ashamed to serve under such a
leader. He does not commit murder as we do for the sake of plunder; and
as to money, as soon as he had plenty of it at command, he did not seem
to care a straw for it; and his third of the booty, which belongs to him
of right, he gives away to orphans, or supports promising young men with
it at college. But should he happen to get a country squire into his
clutches who grinds down his peasants like cattle, or some gold-laced
villain, who warps the law to his own purposes, and hoodwinks the eyes
of justice with his gold, or any chap of that kidney; then, my boy, he
is in his element, and rages like a very devil, as if every fibre in his
body were a fury.

SPIEGEL. Humph!

RAZ. The other day we were told at a tavern that a rich count from
Ratisbon was about to pass through, who had gained the day in a suit
worth a million of money by the craftiness of his lawyer. The captain
was just sitting down to a game of backgammon. "How many of us are
there?" said he to me, rising in haste. I saw him bite his nether lip,
which he never does except when he is very determined. "Not more than
five," I replied. "That's enough," he said; threw his score on the
table, left the wine he had ordered untouched, and off we went. The
whole time he did not utter a syllable, but walked aloof and alone, only
asking us from time to time whether we heard anything, and now and then
desiring us to lay our ears to the ground. At last the count came in
sight, his carriage heavily laden, the lawyer, seated by his side, an
outrider in advance, and two horsemen riding behind. Then you should
have seen the man. With a pistol in each hand he ran before us to the
carriage,--and the voice with which he thundered, "Halt!" The coachman,
who would not halt, was soon toppled from his box; the count fired out
of the carriage and missed--the horseman fled. "Your money, rascal!"
cried Moor, with his stentorian voice. The count lay like a bullock
under the axe: "And are you the rogue who turns justice into a venal
prostitute?" The lawyer shook till his teeth chattered again; and a
dagger soon stuck in his body, like a stake in a vineyard. "I have done
my part," cried the captain, turning proudly away; "the plunder is your
affair." And with this he vanished into the forest.

SPIEGEL. Hum! hum! Brother, what I told you just now remains between
ourselves; there is no occasion for his knowing it. You understand me?

RAZ. Yes, yes, I understand!

SPIEGEL. You know the man! He has his own notions! You understand me?

RAZ. Oh, I quite understand.

           (Enter SCHWARZ at full speed).

Who's there? What is the matter? Any travellers in the forest?

SCHWARZ. Quick, quick! Where are the others? Zounds! there you stand
gossiping! Don't you know--do you know nothing of it?--that poor
Roller--

PAZ. What of him? What of him?

SCHWARZ. He's hanged, that's all, and four others with him--

RAz. Roller hanged? S'death! when? How do you know?

SCHWARZ. He has been in limbo more than three weeks, and we knew
nothing of it. He was brought up for examination three several days,
and still we heard nothing. They put him to the rack to make him tell
where the captain was to be found--but the brave fellow would not slip.
Yesterday he got his sentence, and this morning was dispatched express
to the devil!

RAZ. Confound it! Does the captain know?

SCHWARZ. He heard of it only yesterday. He foamed like a wild boar.
You know that Roller was always an especial favorite; and then the rack!
Ropes and scaling-ladders were conveyed to the prison, but in vain.
Moor himself got access to him disguised as a Capuchin monk, and
proposed to change clothes with him; but Roller absolutely refused;
whereupon the captain swore an oath that made our very flesh creep. He
vowed that he would light a funeral pile for him, such as had never yet
graced the bier of royalty, one that should burn them all to cinders. I
fear for the city. He has long owed it a grudge for its intolerable
bigotry; and you know, when he says, "I'll do it," the thing is as good
as done.

RAZ. That is true! I know the captain. If he had pledged his word to
the devil to go to hell he never would pray again, though half a
pater-noster would take him to heaven. Alas! poor Roller!--poor Roller!

SPIEGEL. _Memento mori_! But it does not concern me. (Hums a tune).

        Should I happen to pass the gallows stone,
         I shall just take a sight with one eye,
        And think to myself, you may dangle alone,
         Who now, sir, 's the fool, you or I?

RAZ. (Jumping up). Hark! a shot! (Firing and noise is heard behind the
scenes).

SPIEGEL. Another!

RAZ. And another! The captain!

       (Voices behind the scenes are heard singing).

        The Nurnbergers deem it the wisest plan,
        Never to hang till they've caught their man.
                         _Da capo_.

SCHWEITZER and ROLLER (behind the scenes). Holla, ho! Holla, ho!

RAZ. Roller! by all the devils! Roller!

SCHWEITZER and ROLLER (still behind the scenes).
Razman! Schwarz! Spiegelberg! Razman!

RAZ. Roller! Schweitzer! Thunder and lightning!
Fire and fury! (They run towards him.)

Enter CHARLES VON MOOR (on horseback), SCHWEITZER, ROLLER, GRIMM,
SCHUFTERLE, and a troop of ROBBERS covered with dust and mud.

CHARLES (leaping from his horse) Liberty! Liberty!--Thou art on terra
firma, Roller! Take my horse, Schweitzer, and wash him with wine.
(Throws himself on the ground.) That was hot work!

RAZ. (to ROLLER). Well, by the fires of Pluto! Art thou risen from
the wheel?

SCHWARZ. Art thou his ghost? or am I a fool? or art thou really the
man?

ROLLER (still breathless). The identical--alive--whole.--Where do you
think I come from?

SCHWARZ. It would puzzle a witch to tell! The staff was already broken
over you.

ROLLER. Ay, that it was, and more than that! I come straightway from
the gallows. Only let me get my breath. Schweitzer will tell you all.
Give me a glass of brandy! You there too, Spiegelberg! I thought we
should have met again in another place. But give me a glass of brandy!
my bones are tumbling to pieces. Oh, my captain! Where is my captain?

SCHWARZ. Have patience, man, have patience. Just tell me--say--come,
let's hear--how did you escape? In the name of wonder how came we to
get you back again? My brain is bewildered. From the gallows, you say?

ROLLER (swallows a flask of brandy). Ah, that is capital! that warms
the inside! Straight from the gallows, I tell you. You stand there
amid stare as if that was impossible. I can assure you, I was not more
than three paces from that blessed ladder, on which I was to mount to
Abraham's bosom--so near, so very near, that I was sold, skin and all,
to the dissecting-room! The fee-simple of my life was not worth a pinch
of snuff. To the captain I am indebted for breath, and liberty, and
life.

SCHWEITZER. It was a trick worth the telling. We had heard the day
before, through our spies, that Roller was in the devil's own pickle;
and unless the vault of heaven fell in suddenly he would, on the morrow
--that is, to-day--go the way of all flesh. Up! says the captain, and
follow me--what is not a friend worth? Whether we save him or not, we
will at least light him up a funeral pile such as never yet honored
royalty; one which shall burn them black and blue. The whole troop was
summoned. We sent Roller a trusty messenger, who conveyed the notice to
him in a little billet, which he slipped into his porridge.

ROLLER. I had but small hope of success.

SCHWEITZER. We waited till the thoroughfares were clear. The whole
town was out after the sight; equestrians, pedestrians, carriages, all
pell-mell; the noise and the gibbet-psalm sounded far and wide. Now,
says the captain, light up, light up! We all flew like darts; they set
fire to the city in three-and-thirty places at once; threw burning
firebrands on the powder-magazine, and into the churches and granaries.
Morbleu! in less than a quarter of an hour a northeaster, which, like
us, must have owed a grudge to the city, came seasonably to our aid, and
helped to lift the flames up to the highest gables. Meanwhile we ran up
and down the streets like furies, crying, fire! ho! fire! ho! in every
direction. There was such howling--screaming-tumult--fire-bells
tolling. And presently the powder-magazine blew up into the air with a
crash as if the earth were rent in twain, heaven burst to shivers, and
hell sunk ten thousand fathoms deeper.

ROLLER. Now my guards looked behind them--there lay the city, like
Sodom and Gomorrah--the whole horizon was one mass of fire, brimstone,
and smoke; and forty hills echoed and reflected the infernal prank far
and wide. A panic seized them all--I take advantage of the moment, and,
quick as lightning--my fetters had been taken off, so nearly was my time
come--while my guards were looking away petrified, like Lot's wife, I
shot off--tore through the crowd--and away! After running some sixty
paces I throw off my clothes, plunge into the river, and swim along
under water till I think they have lost sight of me. My captain stood
ready, with horses and clothes--and here I am. Moor! Moor! I only
wish that you may soon get into just such another scrape that I may
requite you in like manner.

RAZ. A brutal wish, for which you deserve to be hanged. It was a
glorious prank, though.

ROLLER. It was help in need; you cannot judge of it. You should have
marched, like me, with a rope round your neck, travelling to your grave
in the living body, and seen their horrid sacramental forms and
hangman's ceremonies--and then, at every reluctant step, as the
struggling feet were thrust forward, to see the infernal machine, on
which I was to be elevated, glaring more and more hideously in the blaze
of a noonday sun--and the hangman's rapscallions watching for their prey
--and the horrible psalm-singing--the cursed twang still rings in my
ears--and the screeching hungry ravens, a whole flight of them, who were
hovering over the half-rotten carcass of my predecessor. To see all
this--ay, more, to have a foretaste of the blessedness which was in
store for me! Brother, brother! And then, all of a sudden, the signal
of deliverance. It was an explosion as if the vault of heaven were rent
in twain. Hark ye, fellows! I tell you, if a man were to leap out of a
fiery furnace into a freezing lake he could not feel the contrast half
so strongly as I did when I gained the opposite shore.

SPIEGEL. (Laughs.) Poor wretch! Well, you have got over it. (Pledges
him). Here's to a happy regeneration!

ROLLER (flings away his glass). No, by all the treasures of Mammon, I
should not like to go through it a second time. Death is something more
than a harlequin's leap, and its terrors are even worse than death
itself.

SPIEGEL. And the powder-magazine leaping into the air! Don't you see
it now, Razman? That was the reason the air stunk so, for miles round,
of brimstone, as if the whole wardrobe of Moloch was being aired under
the open firmament. It was a master-stroke, captain! I envy you for
it.

SCHWEITZER. If the town makes it a holiday-treat to see our comrade
killed by a baited hog, why the devil should we scruple to sacrifice the
city for the rescue of our comrade? And, by the way, our fellows had
the extra treat of being able to plunder worse than the old emperor.
Tell me, what have you sacked?

ONE OF THE TROOP. I crept into St. Stephen's church during the hubbub,
and tore the gold lace from the altarcloth. The patron saint, thought I
to myself, can make gold lace out of packthread.

SCHWEITZER. 'Twas well done. What is the use of such rubbish in a
church? They offer it to the Creator, who despises such trumpery, while
they leave his creatures to die of hunger. And you, Sprazeler--where
did you throw your net?

A SECOND. I and Brizal broke into a merchant's store, and have brought
stuffs enough with us to serve fifty men.

A THIRD. I have filched two gold watches and a dozen silver spoons.

SCHWEITZER. Well done, well done! And we have lighted them a bonfire
that will take a fortnight to put out again. And, to get rid of the
fire, they must ruin the city with water. Do you know, Schufterle, how
many lives have been lost?

SCHUF. Eighty-three, they say. The powder-magazine alone blew
threescore to atoms.

CHARLES (very seriously). Roller, thou art dearly bought.

SCHUF. Bah! bah! What of that? If they had but been men it would have
been another matter--but they were babes in swaddling clothes, and
shrivelled old nurses that kept the flies from them, and dried-up
stove-squatters who could not crawl to the door--patients whining for the
doctor, who, with his stately gravity, was marching to the sport. All
that had the use of their legs had gone forth in the sight, and nothing
remained at home but the dregs of the city.

CHARLES. Alas for the poor creatures! Sick people, sayest thou, old
men and infants?

SCHUF. Ay, the devil go with them! And lying-in-women into the
bargain; and women far gone with child, who were afraid of miscarrying
under the gibbet; and young mothers, who thought the sight might do them
a mischief, and mark the gallows upon the foreheads of their unborn
babes--poor poets, without a shoe, because their only pair had been sent
to the cobbler to mend--and other such vermin, not worth the trouble of
mentioning. As I chanced to pass by a cottage I heard a great squalling
inside. I looked in; and, when I came to examine, what do you think it
was? Why, an infant--a plump and ruddy urchin--lying on the floor under
a table which was just beginning to burn. Poor little wretch! said I,
you will be cold there, and with that I threw it into the flames!

CHARLES. Indeed, Schufterle? Then may those flames burn in thy bosom
to all eternity! Avaunt, monster! Never let me see thee again in my
troop! What! Do you murmur? Do you hesitate? Who dares hesitate when
I command? Away with him, I say! And there are others among you ripe
for my vengeance. I know thee, Spiegelberg. But I will step in among
you ere long, and hold a fearful muster-roll.
                       [Exeunt, trembling.]

CHARLES (alone, walking up and down in great agitation). Hear them not,
thou avenger in heaven! How can I avert it? Art thou to blame, great
God, if thy engines, pestilence, and famine, and floods, overwhelm the
just with the unjust? Who can stay the flame, which is kindled to
destroy the hornet's nest, from extending to the blessed harvest? Oh!
fie on the slaughter of women, and children, and the sick! How this
deed weighs me down! It has poisoned my fairest achievements! There he
stands, poor fool, abashed and disgraced in the sight of heaven; the boy
that presumed to wield Jove's thunder, and overthrew pigmies when he
should have crushed Titans. Go, go! 'tis not for thee, puny son of
clay, to wield the avenging sword of sovereign justice! Thou didst fail
at thy first essay. Here, then, I renounce the audacious scheme. I go
to hide myself in some deep cleft of the earth, where no daylight will
be witness of my shame. (He is about to fly.)

            Enter a ROBBER hurriedly.

ROBBER. Look out, captain! There is mischief in the wind! Whole
detachments of Bohemian cavalry are scouring the forests. That infernal
bailiff must have betrayed us.

              Enter more ROBBERS.

2D ROBBER. Captain! captain! they have tracked us! Some thousands of
them are forming a cordon round the middle forest.

            Enter more ROBBERS again.

3D ROBBER. Woe, woe, woe! we are all taken, hanged drawn, and
quartered. Thousands of hussars, dragoons, and chasseurs are mustering
on the heights, and guard all the passes.
                     [Exit CHARLES VON MOOR.]

     Enter SCHWEITZER, GRIMM, ROLLER, SCHWARZ, SCHUFTERLE,
        SPIEGELBERG, RAZMAN, and the whole troop.

SCHWEITZER. Ha! Have we routed them out of their feather-beds at last?
Come, be jolly, Roller! I have long wished to have a bout with those
knights of the bread-basket. Where is the captain? Is the whole troop
assembled? I hope we have powder enough?

RAZ. Powder, I believe you; but we are only eighty in all and therefore
scarcely one to twenty.

SCHWEITZER. So much the better! And though there were fifty against
my great toe-nail--fellows who have waited till we lit the straw under
their very seats. Brother, brother, there is nothing to fear. They
sell their lives for tenpence; and are we not fighting for our necks?
We will pour into them like a deluge, and fire volleys upon their heads
like crashes of thunder. But where the devil is the captain.

SPIEGEL. He forsakes us in this extremity. Is there no hope of escape?

SCHWEITZER. Escape?

SPIEGEL. Oh, that I had tarried in Jerusalem!

SCHWEITZER. I wish you were choked in a cesspool, you paltry coward!
With defenceless nuns you are a mighty man; but at sight of a pair of
fists a confirmed sneak! Now show your courage or you shall be sewn up
alive in an ass's hide and baited to death with dogs.

RAZ. The captain! the captain!

        Enter CHARLES (speaking slowly to himself).

CHARLES. I have allowed them to be hemmed in on every side. Now they
must fight with the energy of despair. (Aloud.) Now my boys! now for
it! We must fight like wounded boars, or we are utterly lost!

SCHWEITZER. Ha! I'll rip them open with my tusks, till their entrails
protrude by the yard! Lead on, captain! we will follow you into the
very jaws of death.

CHARLES. Charge all your arms! You've plenty of powder, I hope?

SCHWEITZER (with energy). Powder? ay, enough to blow the earth up to
the moon.

RAZ. Every one of us has five brace of pistols, ready loaded, and three
carbines to boot.

CHARLES. Good! good! Now some of you must climb up the trees, or
conceal yourselves in the thickets, and some fire upon them in ambush--

SCHWEITZER. That part will suit you, Spiegelberg.

CHARLES. The rest will follow me, and fall upon their flanks like
furies.

SCHWEITZER. There will I be!

CHARLES. At the same time let every man make his whistle ring through
the forest, and gallop about in every direction, so that our numbers may
appear the more formidable. And let all the dogs be unchained, and set
on upon their ranks, that they may be broken and dispersed and run in
the way of our fire. We three, Roller, Schweitzer, and myself, will
fight wherever the fray is hottest.

SCHWEITZER. Masterly! excellent! We will so bewilder them with balls
that they shall not know whence the salutes are coming. I have more
than once shot away a cherry from the mouth. Only let them come on
(SCHUFTERLE is pulling SCHWEITZER; the latter takes the captain aside,
and entreats him in a low voice.)

CHARLES. Silence!

SCHWEITZER. I entreat you--

CHARLES. Away! Let him have the benefit of his disgrace; it has saved
him. He shall not die on the same field with myself, my Schweitzer, and
my Roller. Let him change his apparel, and I will say he is a traveller
whom I have plundered. Make yourself easy, Schweitzer. Take my word
for it he will be hanged yet.

             Enter FATHER DOMINIC.

FATHER DOM. (to himself, starts). Is this the dragon's nest? With your
leave, sirs! I am a servant of the church; and yonder are seventeen
hundred men who guard every hair of my head.

SCHWEITZER. Bravo! bravo! Well spoken to keep his courage warm.

CHARLES. Silence, comrade! Will you tell us briefly, good father, what
is your errand here?

FATHER Dom. I am delegated by the high justices, on whose sentence
hangs life or death--ye thieves--ye incendiaries--ye villains--ye
venomous generation of vipers, crawling about in the dark, and stinging
in secret--ye refuse of humanity--brood of hell--food for ravens and
worms--colonists for the gallows and the wheel--

SCHWEITZER. Dog! a truce with your foul tongue! or ------
(He holds the butt-end of his gun before FATHER DOMINIC'S face.)

CHARLES. Fie, fie, Schweitzer! You cut the thread of his discourse.
He has got his sermon so nicely by heart. Pray go on, Sir! "for the
gallows and the wheel?"

FATHER Dom. And thou, their precious captain!--commander-in-chief of
cut-purses!--king of sharpers! Grand Mogul of all the rogues under the
sun!--great prototype of that first hellish ringleader who imbued a
thousand legions of innocent angels with the flame of rebellion, and
drew them down with him into the bottomless pit of damnation! The
agonizing cries of bereaved mothers pursue thy footsteps! Thou drinkest
blood like water! and thy murderous knife holds men cheaper than
air-bubbles!

CHARLES. Very true--exceedingly true! Pray proceed, Sir!

FATHER DOM. What do you mean? Very true--exceedingly true! Is that an
answer?

CHARLES. How, Sir? You were not prepared for that, it seems? Go on--
by all means go on. What more were you going to say?

FATHER DOM. (heated). Abominable wretch! Avaunt! Does not the blood
of a murdered count of the empire cling to thy accursed fingers? Hast
thou not, with sacrilegious hands, dared to break into the Lord's
sanctuary, and carry off the consecrated vessels of the _sanctissimum_?
Hast thou not flung firebrands into our godly city, and brought down the
powder-magazine upon the heads of devout Christians? (Clasps his
hands). Horrible, horrible wickedness! that stinketh in the nostrils of
Heaven, and provoketh the day of judgment to burst upon you suddenly!
ripe for retribution--rushing headlong to the last trump!

CHARLES. Masterly guesses thus far! But now, sir, to the point! What
is it that the right worshipful justices wish to convey to me through
you?

FATHER Dom. What you are not worthy to receive. Look around you,
incendiary! As far as your eye can reach you are environed by our
horsemen--there is no chance of escape. As surely as cherries grow on
these oaks, and peaches on these firs, so surely shall you turn your
backs upon these oaks and these firs in safety.

CHARLES. Do you hear that, Schweitzer? But go on!

FATHER DOM. Hear, then, what mercy and forbearance justice shows
towards such miscreants. If you instantly prostrate yourselves in
submission and sue for mercy and forgiveness, then severity itself will
relent to compassion, and justice be to thee an indulgent mother. She
will shut one eye upon your horrible crimes, and be satisfied--only
think!--to let you be broken on the wheel.

SCHWEITZER. Did you hear that, captain? Shall I throttle this
well-trained shepherd's cur till the red blood spurts from every pore?

ROLLER. Captain! Fire and fury! Captain! How he bites his lip!
Shall I topple this fellow upside down like a ninepin?

SCHWEITZER. Mine, mine be the job! Let me kneel to you, captain; let
me implore you! I beseech you to grant me the delight of pounding him
to a jelly! (FATHER DOMINIC screams.)

CHARLES. Touch him not! Let no one lay a finger on him!--(To FATHER
DOMINIC, drawing his sword.) Hark ye, sir father! Here stand
nine-and-seventy men, of whom I am the captain, and not one of them has
been taught to trot at a signal, or learned to dance to the music of
artillery; while yonder stand seventeen hundred men grown gray under the
musket. But now listen! Thus says Moor, the captain of incendiaries. It
is true I have slain a count of the empire, burnt and plundered the
church of St. Dominic, flung firebrands into your bigoted city, and
brought down the powder-magazine upon the heads of devout Christians. But
that is not all,--I have done more. (He holds out his right hand.) Do you
observe these four costly rings, one on each finger? Go and report
punctually to their worships, on whose sentence hangs life or death what
you shall hear and see. This ruby I drew from the finger of a minister,
whom I stretched at the feet of his prince, during the chase. He had
fawned himself up from the lowest dregs, to be the first favorite;--the
ruin of his neighbor was his ladder to greatness--orphans' tears helped
him to mount it. This diamond I took from a lord treasurer, who sold
offices of honor and trust to the highest bidder, and drove the sorrowing
patriot from his door. This opal I wear in honor of a priest of your
cloth, whom I dispatched with my own hand, after he had publicly deplored
in his pulpit the waning power of the Inquisition. I could tell you more
stories about my rings, but that I repent the words I have already wasted
upon you--

FATHER DOM. O Pharaoh! Pharaoh!

CHARLES. Do you hear it? Did you mark that sigh? Does he not stand
there as if he were imploring fire from heaven to descend and destroy
this troop of Korah? He pronounces judgment with a shrug of the
shoulders, and eternal damnation with a Christian "Alas!" Is it
possible for humanity to be so utterly blind? He who has the hundred
eyes of Argus to spy out the faults of his brother--can he be so totally
blind to his own? They thunder forth from their clouds about gentleness
and forbearance, while they sacrifice human victims to the God of love
as if he were the fiery Moloch. They preach the love of one's neighbor,
while they drive the aged and blind with curses from their door. They
rave against covetousness; yet for the sake of gold they have
depopulated Peru, and yoked the natives, like cattle, to their chariots.
They rack their brains in wonder to account for the creation of a Judas
Iscariot, yet the best of them would betray the whole Trinity for ten
shekels. Out upon you, Pharisees! ye falsifiers of truth! ye apes of
Deity! You are not ashamed to kneel before crucifixes and altars; you
lacerate your backs with thongs, and mortify your flesh with fasting;
and with these pitiful mummeries you think, fools as you are, to veil
the eyes of Him whom, with the same breath, you address as the
Omniscient, just as the great are the most bitterly mocked by those who
flatter them while they pretend to hate flatterers. You boast of your
honesty and your exemplary conduct; but the God who sees through your
hearts would be wroth with Him that made you, were He not the same that
had also created the monsters of the Nile. Away with him out of my
sight!

FATHER DOM. That such a miscreant should be so proud!

CHARLES. That's not all. Now I will speak proudly. Go and tell the
right worshipful justices--who set men's lives upon the cast of a die--
I am not one of those thieves who conspire with sleep and midnight, and
play the hero and the lordling on a scaling-ladder. What I have done I
shall no doubt hereafter be doomed to read in the register of heaven;
but with his miserable ministers of earth I will waste no more words.
Tell your masters that my trade is retribution--vengeance my occupation!
(He turns his back upon him.)

FATHER DOM. Then you despise mercy and forbearance?---Be it so, I have
done with you. (Turning to the troop.) Now then, sirs, you shall hear
what the high powers direct me to make known to you!--If you will
instantly deliver up to me this condemned malefactor, bound hand and
foot, you shall receive a full pardon--your enormities shall be entirely
blotted out, even from memory. The holy church will receive you, like
lost sheep, with renewed love, into her maternal bosom, and the road to
honorable employment shall be open to you all. (With a triumphant
smile.) Now sir! how does your majesty relish this? Come on! bind him!
and you are free!

CHARLES. Do you hear that? Do you hear it? What startles you? Why do
you hesitate? They offer you freedom--you that are already their
prisoners. They grant you your lives, and that is no idle pretence, for
it is clear you are already condemned felons. They promise you honor
and emolument; and, on the other hand, what can you hope for, even
should you be victorious to-day, but disgrace, and curses, and
persecution? They ensure you the pardon of Heaven; you that are
actually damned. There is not a single hair on any of you that is not
already bespoke in hell. Do you still hesitate? are you staggered? Is
it so difficult, then, to choose between heaven and hell?--Do put in a
word, father!

FATHER DOM. (aside.) Is the fellow crazy? (Aloud.) Perhaps you are
afraid that this is a trap to catch you alive?--Read it yourselves!
Here--is the general pardon fully signed. (He hands a paper to
SCHWEITZER.) Can you still doubt?

CHARLES. Only see! only see! What more can you require? Signed with
their own hands! It is mercy beyond all bounds! Or are you afraid of
their breaking their word, because you have heard it said that no faith
need be kept with traitors? Dismiss that fear! Policy alone would
constrain them to keep their word, even though it should merely have
been pledged to old Nick. Who hereafter would believe them? How could
they trade with it a second time? I would take my oath upon it that
they mean it sincerely. They know that I am the man who has goaded you
on and incited you; they believe you innocent. They look upon your
crimes as so many juvenile errors--exuberances of rashness. It is I
alone they want. I must pay the penalty. Is it not so, father?

FATHER DOM. What devil incarnate is it that speaks out of him? Of
course it is so--of course. The fellow turns my brain.

CHARLES. What! no answer yet? Do you think it possible to cut your way
through yon phalanx? Only look round you! just look round! You surely
do not reckon upon that; that were indeed a childish conceit--Or do you
flatter yourselves that you will fall like heroes, because you saw that
I rejoiced in the prospect of the fight? Oh, do not console yourself
with the thought! You are not MOOR. You are miserable thieves!
wretched tools of my great designs! despicable as the rope in the hand
of the hangman! No! no! Thieves do not fall like heroes. Life must be
the hope of thieves, for something fearful has to follow. Thieves may
well be allowed to quake at the fear of death. Hark! Do you hear their
horns echoing through the forest? See there! how their glittering
sabres threaten! What! are you still irresolute? are you mad? are you
insane? It is unpardonable. Do you imagine I shall thank you for my
life? I disdain your sacrifice!

FATHER DOM. (in utter amazement). I shall go mad! I must be gone!
Was the like ever heard of?

CHARLES. Or are you afraid that I shall stab myself, and so by suicide
put an end to the bargain, which only holds good if I am given up alive?
No, comrades! that is a vain fear. Here, I fling away my dagger, and my
pistols, and this phial of poison, which might have been a treasure to
me. I am so wretched that I have lost the power even over my own life.
What! still in suspense? Or do you think, perhaps, that I shall stand
on my defence when you try to seize me? See here! I bind my right hand
to this oak-branch; now I am quite defenceless, a child may overpower
me. Who is the first to desert his captain in the hour of need?

ROLLER (with wild energy). And what though hell encircle us with
ninefold coils! (Brandishing his sword.) Who is the coward that will
betray his captain?

SCHWEITZER (tears the pardon and flings the pieces into FATHER DOMINIC'S
face). Pardon be in our bullets! Away with thee, rascal! Tell your
senate that you could not find a single traitor in all Moor's camp.
Huzza! Huzza! Save the captain!

ALL (shouting). Huzza! Save the captain! Save him! Save our noble
captain!

CHARLES (releasing his hand from the tree, joyfully). Now we are free,
comrades! I feel a host in this single arm! Death or liberty! At the
least they shall not take a man of us alive!

      [They sound the signal for attack; noise and tumult.
            Exeunt with drawn swords.]




                 ACT III.

      SCENE I.--AMELIA in the garden, playing the guitar.

     Bright as an angel from Walhalla's hall,
      More beautiful than aught of earth was he!
     Heaven-mild his look, as sunbeams when they fall,
      Reflected from a calm cerulean sea.

     His warm embrace--oh, ravishing delight!
      With heart to heart the fiery pulses danced--
     Our every sense wrap'd in ecstatic night--
      Our souls in blissful harmony entranced.

     His kisses--oh, what paradise of feeling!
      E'en as two flames which round each other twine--
     Or flood of seraph harp-tones gently stealing
      In one soft swell, away to realms divine!

     They rushed, commingled, melted, soul in soul!
      Lips glued to lips, with burning tremor bound!
     Cold earth dissolved, and love without control
      Absorbed all sense of worldly things around!

     He's gone!--forever gone! Alas! in vain
      My bleeding heart in bitter anguish sighs;
     To me is left alone this world of pain,
      And mortal life in hopeless sorrow dies.


               Enter FRANCIS.

FRANCIS. Here again already, perverse enthusiast? You stole away from
the festive banquet, and marred the mirthful pleasures of my guests.

AMELIA. 'Tis pity, truly, to mar such innocent pleasures! Shame on
them! The funeral knell that tolled over your father's grave must still
be ringing in your ears--

FRANCIS. Wilt thou sorrow, then, forever? Let the dead sleep in peace,
and do thou make the living happy! I come--

AMELIA. And when do you go again?

FRANCIS. Alas! Look not on me thus sorrowfully! You wound me, Amelia.
I come to tell you--

AMELIA. To tell me, I suppose, that Francis von Moor has become lord
and master here.

FRANCIS. Precisely so; that is the very subject on which I wish to
communicate with you. Maximilian von Moor is gone to the tomb of his
ancestors. I am master. But I wish--to be so in the fullest sense,
Amelia. You know what you have been to our house always regarded as
Moor's daughter, his love for you will survive even death itself; that,
assuredly, you will never forget?

AMELIA. Never, never! Who could be so unfeeling as to drown the memory
of it in festive banqueting?

FRANCIS. It is your duty to repay the love of the father to his sons;
and Charles is dead. Ha! you are struck with amazement; dizzy with the
thought! To be sure 'tis a flattering and an elating prospect which may
well overpower the pride of a woman. Francis tramples under foot the
hopes of the noblest and the richest, and offers his heart, his hand,
and with them all his gold, his castles, and his forests to a poor, and,
but for him, destitute orphan. Francis--the feared--voluntarily
declares himself Amelia's slave!

AMELIA. Why does not a thunderbolt cleave the impious tongue which
utters the criminal proposal! Thou hast murdered my beloved Charles;
and shall Amelia, his betrothed, call thee husband? Thou?

FRANCIS. Be not so violent, most gracious princess! It is true that
Francis does not come before you like a whining Celadon--'tis true he
has not learned, like a lovesick swain of Arcadia, to sigh forth his
amorous plaints to the echo of caves and rocks. Francis speaks--and,
when not answered, commands!

AMELIA. Commands? thou reptile! Command me? And what if I laughed
your command to scorn?

FRANCIS. That you will hardly do. There are means, too, which I know
of, admirably adapted to humble the pride of a capricious, stubborn
girl--cloisters and walls!

AMELIA. Excellent! delightful! to be forever secure within cloisters
and walls from thy basilisk look, and to have abundant leisure to think
and dream of Charles. Welcome with your cloister! welcome your walls!

FRANCIS. Ha! Is that it? Beware! Now you have taught me the art of
tormenting you. The sight of me shall, like a fiery-haired fury, drive
out of your head these eternal phantasies of Charles. Francis shall be
the dread phantom ever lurking behind the image of your beloved, like
the fiend-dog that guards the subterranean treasure. I will drag you to
church by the hair, and sword in hand wring the nuptial vow from your
soul. By main force will I ascend your virginal couch, and storm your
haughty modesty with still greater haughtiness.

AMELIA (gives him a slap in the face). Then take that first by way of
dowry!

FRANCIS. Ha! I will be tenfold, and twice tenfold revenged for this!
My wife! No, that honor you shall never enjoy. You shall be my
mistress, my strumpet! The honest peasant's wife shall point her finger
at you as she passes you in the street. Ay, gnash your teeth as
fiercely as you please--scatter fire and destruction from your eyes--
the fury of a woman piques my fancy--it makes you more beautiful, more
tempting. Come, this resistance will garnish my triumph, and your
struggles give zest to my embraces. Come, come to my chamber--I burn
with desire. Come this instant. (Attempts to drag her away).

AMELIA (falls on his neck). Forgive me, Francis! (As he is about to
clasp her in his arms, she suddenly draws the sword at his side, and
hastily disengages herself). Do you see now, miscreant, how I am able
to deal with you? I am only a woman, but a woman enraged. Dare to
approach, and this steel shall strike your lascivious heart to the core
--the spirit of my uncle will guide my hand. Avaunt, this instant!
(She drives him away).

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!

DANIEL. Your brother? No, on no account; he must not know it!
Certainly not! If he know not already more than he ought to know. Oh,
I can tell you, there are wicked men, wicked brothers, wicked masters;
but I would not for all my master's gold be a wicked servant. His honor
thought you were dead.

CHARLES. Humph! What are you muttering about?

DANIEL (in a half-suppressed voice). And to be sure when a man rises
from the dead thus uninvited--your brother was the sole heir of our late
master!

CHARLES. Old man! what is it you are muttering between your teeth, as
if some dreadful secret were hovering on your tongue which you fear to
utter, and yet ought? Out with it!

DANIEL. But I would rather gnaw my old bones with hunger, and suck my
own blood for thirst, than gain a life of luxury by murder.
                          [Exit hastily.]

CHARLES (starting up, after a terrible pause). Betrayed! Betrayed! It
flashes upon my soul like lightning! A, fiendish trick! A murderer and
a robber through fiend-like machinations! Calumniated by him! My
letters falsified, suppressed! his heart full of love! Oh, what a
monstrous fool was I! His fatherly heart full of love! oh, villainy,
villainy! It would have cost me but once kneeling at his feet--a tear
would have done it--oh blind, blind fool that I was! (running up
against the wall). I might have been happy--oh villainy, villainy!

Knavishly, yes, knavishly cheated out of all happiness in this life!
(He runs up and down in a rage.) A murderer, a robber, all through a
knavish trick! He was not even angry! Not a thought of cursing ever
entered his heart. Oh, miscreant! inconceivable, hypocritical,
abominable miscreant!

               Enter KOSINSKY.

KOSINSKY. Well, captain, where are you loitering? What is the matter?
You are for staying here some time longer, I perceive?

CHARLES. Up! Saddle the horses! Before sunset we must be over the
frontier!

KOSINSKY. You are joking.

CHARLES (in a commanding tone). Quick! quick! delay not! leave every
thing behind! and let no eye see you!
                         (Exit KOSINSKY.)

I fly from these walls. The least delay might drive me raving road; and
he my father's son! Brother! brother! thou hast made me the most
miserable wretch on earth; I never injured thee; this was not brotherly.
Reap the fruits of thy crime in quiet, my presence shall no longer
embitter thy enjoyment--but, surely, this was not acting like a brother.
May oblivion shroud thy misdeed forever, and death not bring it back to
light.

               Enter KOSINSKY.

KOSINSKY. The horses are ready saddled, you can mount as soon as you
please.

CHARLES. Why in such haste? Why so urgent? Shall I see her no more?

KOSINSKY. I will take off the bridles again, if you wish it; you bade
me hasten head over heels.

CHARLES. One more farewell! one more! I must drain this poisoned cup
of happiness to the dregs, and then--Stay, Kosinsky! Ten minutes more--
behind, in the castle yard--and we gallop off.




            Scene IV.--In the Garden.

AMELIA. "You are in tears, Amelia!" These were his very words--and
spoken with such expressionsuch a voice!--oh, it summoned up a thousand
dear remembrances!--scenes of past delight, as in my youthful days of
happiness, my golden spring-tide of love. The nightingale sung with the
same sweetness, the flowers breathed the same delicious fragrance, as
when I used to hang enraptured on his neck.*

   *[Here, in the acting edition, is added, 'Assuredly, if the spirits
   of the departed wander among the living, then must this stranger be
   Charles's angel!']

Ha! false, perfidious heart! And dost thou seek thus artfully to veil
thy perjury? No, no! begone forever from my soul, thou sinful image!
I have not broken my oath, thou only one! Avaunt, from my soul, ye
treacherous impious wishes! In the heart where Charles reigns no son
of earth may dwell. But why, my soul, dost thou thus constantly, thus
obstinately turn towards this stranger? Does he not cling to my heart
in the very image of my only one! Is he not his inseparable companion
in my thoughts? "You are in tears, Amelia?" Ha! let me fly from him!--
--fly!--never more shall my eyes behold this stranger!
                   [CHARLES opens the garden gate.]

AMELIA (starting). Hark! hark! did I not hear the gate creak? (She
perceives CHARLES and starts up.) He?--whither?--what? I am rooted to
the spot,--I can not fly! Forsake me not, good Heaven! No! thou shalt
not tear me from my Charles! My soul has no room for two deities, I am
but a mortal maid! (She draws the picture of CHARLES from her bosom.)
Thou, my Charles! be thou my guardian angel against this stranger, this
invader of our loves! At thee will I look, at thee, nor turn away my
eyes--nor cast one sinful look towards him! (She sits silent, her eyes
fixed upon the picture.)

CHARLES. You here, Lady Amelia?--and so sad? and a tear upon that
picture? (AMELIA gives him no answer.) And who is the happy man for
whom these silver drops fall from an angel's eyes? May I be permitted
to look at--(He endeavors to look at the picture.)

AMELIA. No--yes--no!

CHARLES (starting back). Ha--and does he deserve to be so idolized?
Does he deserve it?

AMELIA. Had you but known him!

CHARLES. I should have envied him.

AMELIA. Adored, you mean.

CHARLES. Ha!

AMELIA. Oh, you would so have loved him?---there was so much, so much
in his face--in his eyes--in the tone of his voice,--which was so like
yours--that I love so dearly! (CHARLES casts his eyes down to the
ground.) Here, where you are standing, he has stood a thousand times--
and by his side, one who, by his side, forgot heaven and earth. Here
his eyes feasted on nature's most glorious panorama,--which, as if
conscious of his approving glance, seemed to increase in beauty under
the approbation of her masterpiece. Here he held the audience of the
air captive with his heavenly music. Here, from this bush, he plucked
roses, and plucked those roses for me. Here, here, he lay on my neck;
here he imprinted burning kisses on my lips, and the flowers hung their
heads with pleasure beneath the foot-tread of the lovers.*

   *[In the acting edition the scene changes materially at this point,
   and the most sentimental part of the whole drama is transformed
   into the most voluptuous. The stage direction here is,--(They give
   way to their transports without control, and mingle their kisses.
   MOOR hangs in ecstacy on her lips, while she sinks half delirious
   on the couch.) O Charles! now avenge thyself; my vow is broken.

   MOOR (tearing himself away from her, as if in frenzy). Can this be
   hell that still pursues me! (Gazing on her.) I felt so happy!

   AMELIA (perceiving the ring upon her finger, starts up from the
   couch). What! Art thou still there--on that guilty hand? Witness
   of my perjury. Away with thee! (She pulls the ring from her
   finger and gives it to CHARLES.) Take it--take it, beloved
   seducer! and with it what I hold most sacred--take my all--my
   Charles! (She falls back upon the couch.)

   MOOR (changes color). O thou Most High! was this thy almighty
   will? It is the very ring I gave her in pledge of our mutual
   faith. Hell be the grave of love! She has returned my ring.

   AMELIA (terrified). Heavens! What is the matter? Your eyes roll
   wildly, and your lips are pale as death! Ah! woe is me. And are
   the pleasures of thy crime so soon forgotten?

   MOOR (suppressing his emotion). 'Tis nothing! Nothing! (Raising
   his eyes to heaven.) I am still a man! (He takes of his own ring
   and puts it on AMELIA'S finger.) In return take this! sweet fury of
   my heart! And with it what I hold most sacred--take my all--my
   Amelia!

   AMELIA (starting up). Your Amelia!

   MOOR (mournfully). Oh, she was such a lovely maiden, and faithful
   as an angel. When we parted we exchanged rings, and vowed eternal
   constancy. She heard that I was dead--believed it--yet remained
   constant to the dead. She heard again that I was living--yet
   became faithless to the living. I flew into her arms--was happy
   as--the blest in Paradise. Think what my heart was doomed to feel,
   Amelia! She gave me back my ring--she took her own.

   AMELIA (her eyes fixed on the earth in amazement). 'Tis strange,
   most strange! 'Tis horrible!

   MOOR. Ay, strange and horrible! My child, there is much--ay, much
   for man to learn ere his poor intellect can fathom the decrees of
   Him who smiles at human vows and weeps at human projects. My
   Amelia is an unfortunate maiden!

   AMELIA. Unfortunate! Because she rejected you?

   MOOR. Unfortunate. Because she embraced the man she betrayed.

   AMELIA (with melancholy tenderness). Oh, then, she is indeed
   unfortunate! From my soul I pity her! She shall be my sister.
   But there is another and a better world."


CHARLES. He is no more?

AMELIA. He sails on troubled seas--Amelia's love sails with him. He
wanders through pathless, sandy deserts--Amelia's love clothes the
burning sand with verdure, and the barren shrubs with flowers. Southern
suits scorch his bare head, northern snows pinch his feet, tempestuous
hail beats down on his temples, but Amelia's love lulls him to sleep in
the midst of the storm. Seas, and mountains, and skies, divide the
lovers--but their souls rise above this prison-house of clay, and meet
in the paradise of love. You appear sad, count!

CHARLES. These words of love rekindle my love.

AMELIA (pale). What? You love another? Alas! what have I said?

CHARLES. She believed me dead, and in my supposed death she remained
faithful to me--she heard again that I was alive, and she sacrificed for
me the crown of a saint. She knows that I am wandering in deserts, and
roaming about in misery, yet her love follows me on wings through
deserts and through misery. Her name, too, like yours, is Amelia.

AMELIA. How I envy your Amelia!

CHARLES. Oh, she is an unhappy maid. Her love is fixed upon one who is
lost--and it can never--never be rewarded.

AMELIA. Say not so! It will be rewarded in heaven. Is it not agreed
that there is a better world, where mourners rejoice, and where lovers
meet again?

CHARLES. Yes, a world where the veil is lifted--where the phantom love
will make terrible discoveries--Eternity is its name. My Amelia is an
unhappy maid.

AMELIA. Unhappy, and loves you?*

   *[In the acting edition the scene closes with a different
   denouement. Amelia here says, "Are all unhappy who live with you,
   and bear the name of Amelia.
   "CHARLES. Yes, all--when they think they embrace an angel, and
   find in their arms--a murderer. Alas, for my Amelia! She is
   indeed unfortunate.
   "AMELIA (with an expression of deep affliction). Oh, I must weep
   for her.
   "CHARLES (grasping her hand, and pointing to the ring). Weep for
   thyself.
   "AMELIA (recognizing the ring). Charles! Charles! O heaven and
   earth!
   (She sinks fainting; the scene closes.)"]


CHARLES. Unhappy, because she loves me! What if I were a murderer?
How, Lady Amelia, if your lover could reckon you up a murder for every
one of your kisses? Woe to my Amelia! She is an unhappy maid.

AMELIA (gayly rising). Ha! What a happy maid am I! My only one is a
reflection of Deity, and Deity is mercy and compassion! He could not
bear to see a fly suffer. His soul is as far from every thought of
blood as the sun is from the moon. (CHARLES suddenly turns away into a
thicket, and looks wildly out into the landscape. AMELIA sings, playing
the guitar.)

     Oh! Hector, wilt thou go forevermore,
     Where fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained shore,
      Heaps countless victims o'er Patroclus' grave?
     Who then thy hapless orphan boy will rear,
     Teach him to praise the gods and hurl the spear,
      When thou art swallowed up in Xanthus' wave?

CHARLES (silently tunes the guitar, and plays).

     Beloved wife!--stern duty calls to arms
     Go, fetch my lance! and cease those vain alarms!

             [He flings the guitar away, and rushes off.]




     SCENE V.--A neighboring forest. Night. An old ruined
          castle in the centre of the scene.

       The band of ROBBERS encamped on the ground.

              The ROBBERS singing.

        To rob, to kill, to wench, to fight,
         Our pastime is, and daily sport;
        The gibbet claims us morn and night,
         So let's be jolly, time is short.

        A merry life we lead, and free,
         A life of endless fun;
        Our couch is 'neath the greenwood tree,
        Through wind and storm we gain our fee,
         The moon we make our sun.
        Old Mercury is our patron true,
        And a capital chap for helping us through.

        To-day we make the abbot our host,
         The farmer rich to-morrow;
        And where we shall get our next day's roast,
         Gives us nor care nor sorrow.

        And, when with Rhenish and rare Moselle
         Our throats we have been oiling,
        Our courage burns with a fiercer swell,
        And we're hand and glove with the Lord of Hell,
         Who down in his flames is broiling.

        For fathers slain the orphans' cries,
         The widowed mothers' moan and wail,
        Of brides bereaved the whimpering sighs,
         Like music sweet, our ears regale.

        Beneath the axe to see them writhe,
         Bellow like calves, fall dead like flies;
        Such bonny sights, and sounds so blithe,
         With rapture fill our eats and eyes.

        And when at last our death-knell rings--
         The devil take that hour!
        Payment in full the hangman brings,
         And off the stage we scour.
        On the road a glass of good liquor or so,
        Then hip! hip! hip! and away we go!


SCHWEITZER. The night is far advanced, and the captain has not yet
returned.

RAZ. And yet he promised to be back before the clock struck eight.

SCHWEITZER. Should any harm have befallen him, comrades, wouldn't we
kindle fires! ay, and murder sucking babes?

SPIEGEL. (takes RAZMANN aside). A word in your ear, Razmann!

SCHWARZ (to GRIMM). Should we not send out scouts?

GRIMM. Let him alone. He no doubt has some feat in hand that will put
us to shame.

SCHWEITZER. Then you are out, by old Harry! He did not part from us
like one that had any masterpiece of roguery in view. Have you
forgotten what he said as he marched us across the heath? "The fellow
that takes so much as a turnip out of a field, if I know it, leaves his
head behind him, as true as my name is Moor." We dare not plunder.

RAZ. (aside to SPIEGELBERG). What are you driving at? Speak plainer.

SPIEGEL. Hush! hush! I know not what sort of a notion you and I have of
liberty, that we should toil under the yoke like bullocks, while we are
making such wonderful fine speeches about independence. I like it not.

SCHWEITZER (to GRIMM). What crotchet has that swaggering booby got in
his numskull, I wonder?

RAZ. (aside to SPIEGELBERG). Is it the captain you mean?--

SPIEGEL. Hush! I tell you; hush! He has got his eavesdroppers all
around us. Captain, did you say? Who made him captain over us? Has he
not, in fact, usurped that title, which by right belongs to me? What?
Is it for this that we stake our lives--that we endure all the splenetic
caprices of fortunes--that we may in the end congratulate ourselves upon
being the serfs of a slave? Serfs! When we might be princes? By
heaven! Razmann, I could never brook it.

SCHWEITZER (overhearing him--to the others). Yes--there's a hero for
you! He is just the man to do mighty execution upon frogs with stones.
The very breath of his nostrils, when he sneezes, would blow you through
the eye of a needle.

SPIEGEL. (to RAZMANN). Yes--and for years I have been intent upon it.
There must be an alteration, Razmann. If you are the man I always took
you for--Razmann! He is missing--he is almost given up--Razmann--
methinks his hour is come. What? does not the color so much as mount to
your cheek when you hear the chimes of liberty ringing in your ears?
Have you not courage enough to take the hint?

RAZ. Ha! Satan! What bait art thou spreading for my soul?

SPIEGEL. Does it take? Good! then follow me! I have marked in what
direction he slunk off. Come along! a brace of pistols seldom fail;
and then--we shall be the first to strangle sucking babes. (He
endeavors to draw him of.)

SCHWEITZER (enraged, draws his sword). Ha! caitiff! I have overheard
you! You remind me, at the right moment, of the Bohemian forest! Were
not you the coward that began to quail when the cry arose, "the enemy is
coming!" I then swore by my soul--(They fight, SPIEGELBERG is killed.)
To the devil with thee, assassin!

ROBBERS (in agitation). Murder! murder!--Schweitzer!--Spiegelberg!--
Part them!

SCHWEITZER (throwing the sword on the body). There let him rot! Be
still, my comrades! Don't let such a trifle disturb you. The brute has
always been inveterate against the captain and has not a single scar on
his whole body. Once more, be still. Ha, the scoundrel! He would stab
a man behind his back--skulk and murder! Is it for this that the hot
sweat has poured down us in streams? that we may sneak out of the world
at last like contemptible wretches? The brute! Is it for this that we
have lived in fire and brimstone? To perish at last like rats?

GRIMM. But what the devil, comrade, were you after? What were you
quarreling about? The captain will be furious.

SCHWEITZER. Be that on my head. And you, wretch (to RAZMANN) you were
his accomplice, you! Get out of my sight! Schufterle was another of
your kidney, but he has met his deserts in Switzerland--has been hanged,
as the captain prophesied. (A shot is heard.)

SCHWARZ (jumping up). Hark! a pistol shot! (Another shot is heard.)
Another! Hallo! the captain!

GRIMM. Patience! If it be he, there will be a third. (The third shot
is heard.)

SCHWARZ. 'Tis he! 'Tis the captain! Absent yourself awhile,
Schweitzer--till we explain to him! (They fire.)

          Enter CHARLES VON MOOR and KOSINSKY.

SCHWEITZER (running to meet them). Welcome, captain. I have been
somewhat choleric in your absence. (He conducts him to the corpse.) Be
you judge between him and me. He meant to waylay and assassinate you.

ROBBERS (in consternation). What; the captain?

CHARLES (after fixing his eyes for some time upon the corpse, with a
sudden burst of feeling). Oh, incomprehensible finger of the avenging
Nemesis! Was it not he whose siren song seduced me to be what I am?
Let this sword be consecrated to the dark goddess of retribution! That
was not thy deed, Schweitzer.

SCHWEITZER. By heaven, it was mine, though! and, as the devil lives,
it is not the worst deed I have done in my time. (Turns away moodily.)

CHARLES (absorbed in thought). I comprehend--Great Ruler in heaven--
I comprehend. The leaves fall from the trees, and my autumn is come.
Remove this object from my sight! (The corpse of SPIEGELBERG is carried
out.)

GRIMM. Give us your orders, captain! What shall we do next?

CHARLES. Soon--very soon--all will be accomplished. Hand me my lute;
I have lost myself since I have been there. My lute, I say--I must
nurse up my strength again. Leave me!

ROBBERS. 'Tis midnight, captain.

CHARLES. They were only stage tears after all. Let me bring to memory
the song of the old Roman, that my slumbering genius may wake up again.
Hand me my lute. Midnight, say you?

SCHWARZ. Yes, and past, too! Our eyes are as heavy as lead. For three
days we have not slept a wink.

CHARLES. What? does balmy sleep visit the eyes of murderers? Why doth
it flee mine? I never was a coward, nor a villain. Lay yourselves to
rest. At day-break we march.

ROBBERS. Good night, captain. (They stretch them selves on the ground
and fall asleep.)


       Profound silence. CHARLES VON MOOR takes up his
              guitar, and plays.


BRUTUS.
Oh, be ye welcome, realms of peace and rest!
Receive the last of all the sons of Rome!
From dread Philippi's field, where all the best
Fell bleeding in her cause, I wearied come.
Cassius, no more! And Rome now prostrate laid!
My brethren all lie weltering in their gore!
No refuge left but Hades' gloomy shade;
No hope remains!--No world for Brutus more!

CAESAR.
Who's he that, with a hero's lofty bearing,
Comes striding o'er yon mountain's rocky bed?
Unless my eyes deceive, that noble daring
Bespeaks the Roman warrior's fearless tread.
Whence, son of Tiber, do thy footsteps bend!
Say, stands the seven-billed city firmly yet?
No Caesar there, to be the soldiers friend!
Full oft has he that orphaned city wept.

BRUTUS.
Ha! thou of three-and-twenty wounds! Avaunt!
Thou unblest shade, what calls thee back to light?
Down with thee, down, to Pluto's deepest haunt,
And shroud thy form in black, eternal night,
Proud mourner! triumph not to learn our fall!
Phillippi's altars reek with freedom's blood?
The bier of Brutus is Rome's funeral pall;
He Minos seeks. Hence to thy Stygian flood!

CAESAR.
That death-stroke, Brutus, which thy weapon hurled!
Thou, too, Brutus?--that thou shouldst be my foe!
Oh, son! It was thy father! Son! The world
Was thine by heritage! Now proudly go,
Well mayst thou claim to be the chief in glory,
'Twas thy fell sword that pierced thy father's heart!
Now go--and at yon gates relate thy story--
Say Brutus claims to be the chief in glory,
'Twas his fell sword that pierced his father's heart!
Go--Now thou'rt told what staid me on this shore,
Grim ferryman, push off, and swiftly ply thine oar.

BRUTUS.
Stay, father, stay! Within the whole bright round
Of Sol's diurnal course I knew but one
Who to compare with Caesar could be found;
And that one, Caesar, thou didst call thy son!
'Twas only Caesar could destroy a Rome;
Brutus alone that Caesar could withstand--
Where Brutus lives, must Caesar die! Thy home
Be far from mine. I'll seek another land.

        [He lays down his guitar, and walks to and
        fro in deep meditation.]

Who will give me certainty! All is so dark--a confused labyrinth--no
outlet--no guiding star. Were but all to end with this last gasp of
breath. To end, like an empty puppet-show. But why then this burning
thirst after happiness? Wherefore this ideal of unattained perfection?
This looking to an hereafter for the fulfilment of our hopes? If the
paltry pressure of this paltry thing (putting a pistol to his head)
makes the wise man and the fool--the coward and the brave--the noble and
the villain equal?--the harmony which pervades the inanimate world is so
divinely perfect--why, then, should there be such discord in the
intellectual? No! no! there must be something beyond, for I have not
yet attained to happiness.

Think ye that I will tremble, spirits of my slaughtered victims? No,
I will not tremble. (Trembling violently.) The shrieks of your dying
agonies--your black, convulsive features--your ghastly bleeding wounds--
what are they all but links of one indissoluble chain of destiny, which
hung upon the temperament of my father, the life's blood of my mother,
the humors of my nurses and tutors, and even upon the holiday pastimes
of my childhood! (Shaking with horror.) Why has my Perillus made of me
a brazen bull, whose burning entrails yearn after human flesh? (He
lifts the pistol again to his head.)

Time and Eternity!--linked together by a single instant! Fearful key,
which locks behind me the prisonhouse of life, and opens before me the
habitations of eternal night--tell me--oh, tell me--whither--whither
wilt thou lead me? Strange, unexplored land! Humanity is unnerved at
the fearful thought, the elasticity of our finite nature is paralyzed,
and fancy, that wanton ape of the senses, juggles our credulity with
appalling phantoms. No! no! a man must be firm. Be what thou wilt,
thou undefined futurity, so I remain but true to myself. Be what thou
wilt, so I but take this inward self hence with me. External forms are
but the trappings of the man. My heaven and my hell is within.

What if Thou shouldst doom me to be sole inhabitant of some burnt-out
world which thou hast banished from thy sight, where darkness and
never-ending desolation were all my prospect; then would my creative
brain people the silent waste with its own images, and I should have
eternity for leisure to unravel the complicated picture of universal
wretchedness. Or wilt thou make me pass through ever-repeated births
and ever-changing scenes of misery, stage by stage*--to annihilation?

   [This and other passages will remind the reader of Cato's soliloquy
   "It must be so, Plato; thou reasonest well." But the whole bears a
   strong resemblance to Hamlet's "To be or not to be;" and some
   passages in Measure for Measure, Act iii, Sc. 1.]

Can I not burst asunder the life-threads woven for me in another world
as easily as I do these? Thou mayest reduce me into nothing; but Thou
canst not take from me this power. (He loads the pistol, and then
suddenly pauses.) And shall I then rush into death from a coward fear
of the ills of life? Shall I yield to misery the palm of victory over
myself? No! I will endure it! (He flings the pistol away.) Misery
shall blunt its edge against my pride! Be my destiny fulfilled! (It
grows darker and darker.)

HERMANN (coming through the forest). Hark! hark! the owl screeches
horribly--the village clock strikes twelve. Well, well--villainy is
asleep--no listeners in these wilds. (He goes to the castle and
knocks.) Come forth, thou man of sorrow! tenant of the miserable
dungeon! thy meal awaits thee.

CHARLES (stepping gently back, unperceived). What means this?

VOICE (from within the castle). Who knocks? Is it you, Hermann, my
raven?

HERMANN. Yes, 'tis Hermann, your raven. Come to the grating and eat.
(Owls are screeching.) Your night companions make a horrid noise, old
man! Do you relish your repast?

VOICE. Yes--I was very hungry. Thanks to thee, thou merciful sender of
ravens, for this thy bread in the wilderness! And how is my dear child,
Hermann?

HERMANN. Hush!--hark!--A noise like snoring! Don't you hear something?

VOICE. What? Do you hear anything?

HERMANN. 'Tis the whistling of the wind through the crannies of the
tower--a serenading which makes one's teeth chatter, and one's nails
turn blue. Hark! tis there again. I still fancy I hear snoring. You
have company, old man. Ugh! ugh! ugh!

VOICE. Do you see anything?

HERMANN. Farewell! farewell! this is a fearful place. Go down into
your bole,--thy deliverer, thy avenger is above. Oh! accursed son! (Is
about to fly.)

CHARLES (stepping forth with horror). Stand!

HERMANN (screaming). Oh, me!*

   *[In the acting edition Hermann, instead of this, says,--
   'Tis one of his spies for certain, I have lost all fear (draws his
   sword). Villain, defend yourself! You have a man before you.]

   MOOR. I'll have an answer (strikes the sword out of his hand).
   What boots this childish sword-play? Didst thou not speak of
   vengeance? Vengeance belongs especially to me--of all men on
   earth. Who dares interfere with my vocation?

   HERMANN (starts back in affright). By heaven! That man was not
   born of woman. His touch withers like the stroke of death.

   VOICE. Alas, Hermann! to whom are you speaking?

   MOOR. What! still those sounds? What is going on there? (Runs
   towards the tower.) Some horrible mystery, no doubt, lies concealed
   in that tower. This sword shall bring it to light.

   HERMANN (comes forward trembling). Terrible stranger! art thou
   the demon of this fearful desert--or perhaps 'one of the ministers
   of that unfathonable retribution who make their circuit in this
   lower world, and take account of all the deeds of darkness? Oh!
   if thou art, be welcome to this tower of horrors!

   MOOR. Well guessed, wanderer of the night! You have divined my
   function. Exterminating Angel is my name; but I am flesh and blood
   like thee. Is this some miserable wretch, cast out of men, and
   buried in this dungeon? I will loosen his chains. Once more,
   speak! thou voice of terror Where is the door?

   HERMANN. As soon could Satan force the gates of heaven as thou
   that door. Retire, thou man of might! The genius of the wicked is
   beyond the ordinary powers of man.

   MOOR. But not the craft of robbers. (He takes some pass-keys from
   his pocket.) For once I thank heaven I've learned that craft!
   These keys would mock hell's foresight. (He takes a key, and opens
   the gate of the tower. An old man comes from below emaciated like
   a skeleton. MOOR springs back with of right.) Horrible spectre!
   my father!

CHARLES. Stand! I say.

HERMANN. Woe! woe! woe! now all is discovered!

CHARLES. Speak! Who art thou? What brought thee here? Speak!

HERMANN. Mercy, mercy! gracious sir! Hear but one word before you
kill me.

CHARLES (drawing his sword). What am I to hear?

HERMANN. 'Tis true, he forbade me at the peril of my life--but I could
not help it--I dare not do otherwise--a God in heaven--your own
venerable father there--pity for him overcame me. Kill me, if you will!

CHARLES. There's some mystery here--Out with it! Speak! I must know
all.

VOICE (from the castle). Woe! woe! Is it you, Hermann, that are
speaking? To whom are you speaking, Hermann?

CHARLES. Some one else down there? What is the meaning of all this?
(Runs towards the castle.) It is some prisoner whom mankind have cast
off! I will loosen his chains. Voice! Speak! Where is the door?

HERMANN. Oh, have mercy, sir--seek no further, I entreat--for mercy's
sake desist! (He stops his way.)

CHARLES. Locks, bolts, and bars, away! It must come out. Now, for the
first time, come to my aid, thief-craft! (He opens the grated iron door
with, housebreaking tools. An OLD MAN, reduced to a skeleton, comes up
from below.)

THE OLD MAN. Mercy on a poor wretch! Mercy!

CHARLES (starts back in terror). That is my father's voice!

OLD MOOR. I thank thee, merciful Heaven! The hour of deliverance has
arrived.

CHARLES. Shade of the aged Moor! what has disturbed thee in thy grave?
Has thy soul left this earth charged with some foul crime that bars the
gates of Paradise against thee? Say?--I will have masses read, to send
thy wandering spirit to its home. Hast thou buried in the earth the
gold of widows and orphans, that thou art driven to wander howling
through the midnight hour? I will snatch the hidden treasure from the
clutches of the infernal dragon, though he should vomit a thousand
redhot flames upon me, and gnash his sharp teeth against my sword. Or
comest thou, at my request, to reveal to me the mysteries of eternity?
Speak, thou! speak! I am not the man to blanch with fear!

OLD MOOR. I am not a spirit. Touch me--I live but oh! a life indeed of
misery!

CHARLES. What! hast thou not been buried?

OLD MOOR. I was buried--that is to say, a dead dog lies in the vault of
my ancestors, and I have been pining for three long moons in this dark
and loathsome dungeon, where no sunbeam shines, no warm breeze
penetrates, where no friend is seen, where the hoarse raven croaks and
owls screech their midnight concert.

CHARLES. Heaven and earth! Who has done this?

OLD MOOR. Curse him not! 'Tis my son, Francis, who did this.

CHARLES. Francis? Francis? Oh, eternal chaos!

OLD MOOR. If thou art a man, and hast a human heart--oh! my unknown
deliverer--then listen to a father's miseries which his own sons have
heaped upon him. For three long moons I have moaned my pitiful tale to
these flinty walls--but all my answer was an empty echo, that seemed to
mock my wailings. Therefore, if thou art a man, and hast a human
heart--

CHARLES. That appeal might move even wild beasts to pity.

OLD MOOR. I lay upon a sick bed, and had scarcely begun to recover a
little strength, after a dangerous illness, when a man was brought to
me, who pretended that my first-born had fallen in battle. He brought a
sword stained with his blood, and his last farewell--and said that my
curse had driven him into battle, and death, and despair.

CHARLES (turning away in violent agitation). The light breaks in upon
me!

OLD MOOR. Hear me on! I fainted at the dreadful news. They must have
thought me dead; for, when I recovered my senses, I was already in my
coffin, shrouded like a corpse. I scratched against the lid. It was
opened--'twas in the dead of night--my son Francis stood before me--
"What!" said he, with a tremendous voice, "wilt thou then live forever?"
--and with this he slammed-to the lid of the coffin. The thunder of
these words bereft me of my senses; when I awoke again, I felt that the
coffin was in motion, and being borne on wheels. At last it was opened
--I found myself at the entrance of this dungeon--my son stood before
me, and the man, too, who had brought me the bloody sword from Charles.
I fell at my son's feet, and ten times I embraced his knees, and wept,
and conjured, and supplicated, but the supplications of a father reached
not his flinty heart. "Down with the old carcass!" said he, with a
voice of thunder, "he has lived too long;"--and I was thrust down
without mercy, and my son Francis closed the door upon Me.

CHARLES. Impossible!--impossible! Your memory or senses deceive you.

OLD MOOR. Oh, that it were so! But hear me on, and restrain your rage!
There I lay for twenty hours, and not a soul cared for my misery. No
human footstep treads this solitary wild, for 'tis commonly believed
that the ghosts of my ancestors drag clanking chains through these
ruins, and chant their funeral dirge at the hour of midnight. At last
I heard the door creak again on its hinges; this man opened it, and
brought me bread and water. He told me that I had been condemned to die
of hunger, and that his life was in danger should it be discovered that
he fed me. Thus has my miserable existence been till now sustained--but
the unceasing cold--the foul air of my filthy dungeon--my incurable
grief--have exhausted my strength, and reduced my body to a skeleton. A
thousand times have I implored heaven, with tears, to put an end to my
sufferings--but doubtless the measure of my punishment is not
fulfilled,--or some happiness must be yet in store for me, for which he
deigns thus miraculously to preserve me. But I suffer justly--my
Charles! my Charles!--and before there was even a gray hair on his Head!

CHARLES. Enough! Rise! ye stocks, ye lumps of ice! ye lazy unfeeling
sleepers! Up! will none of you awake? (He fires a pistol over their
heads.)

THE ROBBERS (starting up). Ho! hallo! hallo! what is the matter?

CHARLES. Has not that tale shaken you out of your sleep? 'Tis enough
to break the sleep eternal! See here, see here! The laws of the world
have become mere dice-play; the bonds of nature are burst asunder; the
Demon of Discord has broken loose, and stalks abroad triumphant! the Son
has slain his Father!

THE ROBBERS. What does the captain say?

CHARLES. Slain! did I say? No, that is too mild a term! A son has
a thousand-fold broken his own father on the wheel,--impaled, racked,
flayed him alive!--but all these words are too feeble to express what
would make sin itself blush and cannibals shudder. For ages, no devil
ever conceived a deed so horrible. His own father!--but see, see him!
he has fainted away! His own father--the son--into this dungeon--cold--
naked--hungry--athirst--Oh! see, I pray you, see!--'tis my own father,
in very truth it is.

THE ROBBERS (come running and surround the old man). Your father?
Yours?

SCHWEITZER (approaches him reverently, and falls on his knees before
him). Father of my captain! let me kiss thy feet! My dagger is at thy
command.

CHARLES. Revenge, revenge, revenge! thou horribly injured, profaned
old man! Thus, from this moment, and forever, I rend in twain all ties
of fraternity. (He rends his garment from top to bottom.) Here, in the
face of heaven, I curse him--curse every drop of blood which flows in
his veins! Hear me, O moon and stars! and thou black canopy of night,
that lookest down upon this horror! Hear me, thrice terrible avenger.
Thou who reignest above yon pallid orb, who sittest an avenger and a
judge above the stars, and dartest thy fiery bolts through darkness on
the head of guilt! Behold me on my knees behold me raise this hand
aloft in the gloom of night--and hear my oath--and may nature vomit me
forth as some horrible abortion from out the circle of her works if I
break that oath! Here I swear that I will never more greet the light of
day, till the blood of that foul parricide, spilt upon this stone, reeks
in misty vapor towards heaven. (He rises.)

ROBBERS. 'Tis a deed of hell! After this, who shall call us villains?
No! by all the dragons of darkness we never have done anything half so
horrible.

CHARLES. True! and by all the fearful groans of those whom your daggers
have despatched--of those who on that terrible day were consumed by
fire, or crushed by the falling tower--no thought of murder or rapine
shall be harbored in your breast, till every man among you has dyed his
garments scarlet in this monster's blood. It never, I should think,
entered your dreams, that it would fall to your lot to execute the
great decrees of heaven? The tangled web of our destiny is unravelled!
To-day, to-day, an invisible power has ennobled our craft! Worship Him
who has called you to this high destiny, who has conducted you hither,
and deemed ye worthy to be the terrible angels of his inscrutable
judgments! Uncover your heads! Bow down and kiss the dust, and rise up
sanctified. (They kneel.)

SCHWEITZER. Now, captain, issue your commands! What shall we do?

CHARLES. Rise, Schweitzer! and touch these sacred locks! (Leading him
to his father, and putting a lock of hair in his hand.) Do you remember
still, how you, cleft the skull of that Bohemian trooper, at the moment
his sabre was descending on my head, and I had sunk down on my knees,
breathless and exhausted? 'Twas then I promised thee a reward that
should be right royal. But to this hour I have never been able to
discharge that debt.

SCHWEITZER. You swore that much to me, 'tis true; but let me call you
my debtor forever!

CHARLES. No; now will I repay thee, Schweitzer! No mortal has yet been
honored as thou shalt be. I appoint thee avenger of my father's wrongs!
(SCHWEITZER rises.)

SCHWEITZER. Mighty captain! this day you have, for the first time, made
me truly proud! Say, when, where, how shall I smite him?

CHARLES. The minutes are sacred. You must hasten to the work. Choose
the best of the band, and lead them straight to the count's castle!
Drag him from his bed, though he sleep, or he folded in the arms of
pleasure! Drag him from the table, though he be drunk! Tear him from
the crucifix, though he lie on his knees before it! But mark my words--
I charge thee, deliver him into my hands alive! I will hew that man to
pieces, and feed the hungry vultures with his flesh, who dares but graze
his skin, or injure a single hair of his head! I must have him whole.
Bring him to me whole and alive, and a million shall be thy reward.
I'll plunder kings at the risk of my life, but thou shalt have it, and
go free as air. Thou hast my purpose--see it done!

SCHWEITZER. Enough, captain! here is my hand upon it. You shall see
both of us, or neither. Come, Schweitzer's destroying angels, follow
me! (Exit with a troop.)

CHARLES. The rest of you disperse in the forest--I remain here.




                 ACT V.

        SCENE I. A vista of rooms. Dark night.

        Enter DANIEL, with a lantern and a bundle.

DANIEL. Farewell, dear home! How many happy days have I enjoyed within
these walls, while my old master lived. Tears to thy memory, thou whom
the grave has long since devoured! He deserves this tribute from an old
servant. His roof was the asylum of orphans, the refuge of the
destitute, but this son has made it a den of murderers. Farewell, thou
dear floor! How often has old Daniel scrubbed thee! Farewell, dear
stove, old Daniel takes a heavy leave of thee. All things had grown so
familiar to thee,--thou wilt feel it sorely, old Eleazar. But heaven
preserve me through grace from the wiles and assault of the tempter.
Empty I came hither--empty I will depart,--but my soul is saved! (He is
in the act of going out, when he is met by FRANCIS, rushing in, in his
dressing-gown.) Heaven help me! Master! (He puts out his lantern.)

FRANCIS. Betrayed! betrayed! The spirit of the dead are vomited from
their graves. The realm of death, shaken out of its eternal slumber,
roars at me, "Murderer, murderer!" Who moves there?

DANIEL (frightened). Help, holy Virgin! help! Is it you, my gracious
master, whose shrieks echo so terribly through the castle that every one
is aroused out of his sleep?

FRANCIS. Sleep? And who gave thee leave to sleep? Go, get lights!
(Exit DANIEL. Enter another servant.) No one shall sleep at this hour.
Do you hear? All shall be awake--in arms--let the guns be loaded! Did
you not see them rushing through yon vaulted passages?

SERVANT. See whom, my lord?

FRANCIS. Whom? you dolt, slave! And do you, with a cold and vacant
stare, ask me whom? Have they not beset me almost to madness? Whom?
blockhead! whom? Ghosts and demons! How far is the night advanced?

SERVANT. The watch has just called two.

FRANCIS. What? will this eternal night last till doomsday? Did you
hear no tumult near? no shout of victory? no trampling of horses?
Where is Char--the Count, I would say?

SERVANT. I know not, my lord.

FRANCIS. You know not? And are you too one of his gang? I'll tread
your villain's heart out through your ribs for that infernal "I know
not!" Begone, fetch the minister!

SERVANT. My lord!

FRANCIS. What! Do you grumble? Do you demur? (Exit servant hastily.)
Do my very slaves conspire against me? Heaven, earth, and hell--all
conspire against me!

DANIEL (returns with a lighted candle). My lord!

FRANCIS. Who said I trembled? No!--'twas but a dream. The dead still
rest in their graves! Tremble! or pale? No, no! I am calm--quite
tranquil.

DANIEL. You are as pale as death, my lord; your voice is weak and
faltering.

FRANCIS. I am somewhat feverish. When the minister comes be sure you
say I am in a fever. Say that I intend to be bled in the morning.

DANIEL. Shall I give you some drops of the balsam of life on sugar?

FRANCIS. Yes, balsam of life on sugar! The minister will not be here
just yet. My voice is weak and faltering. Give me of the balsam of
life on sugar!

DANIEL. Let me have the keys, I will go down to the closet and get it.

FRANCIS. No! no! no! Stay!--or I will go with you. You see I must not
be left alone! How easily I might, you see--faint--if I should be left
alone. Never mind, never mind! It will pass off--you must not leave
me.

DANIEL. Indeed, Sir, you are ill, very ill.

FRANCIS. Yes, just so, just so, nothing more. And illness, you know,
bewilders the brain, and breeds strange and maddening dreams. What
signify dreams? Dreams come from the stomach and cannot signify
anything. Is it not so, Daniel? I had a very comical dream just now.
(He sinks down fainting.)

DANIEL. Oh, merciful heaven! what is this? George!--Conrad!
Sebastian! Martin! Give but some sign of life! (Shaking him.) Oh, the
Blessed Virgin! Oh, Joseph! Keep but your reason! They will say I
have murdered him! Lord have mercy upon me!

FRANCIS (confused). Avaunt!--avaunt!--why dost thou glare upon me thus,
thou horrible spectre? The time for the resurrection of the dead is not
yet come.

DANIEL. Merciful heavens! he has lost his senses.

FRANCIS (recovering himself gradually). Where am I? You here, Daniel?
What have I said? Heed it not. I have told a lie, whatever I said.
Come, help me up! 'T was only a fit of delirium--because--because--I
have not finished my night's rest.

DANIEL. If John were but here! I'll call for help--I'll send for the
physician.

FRANCIS. Stay! Seat yourself by my side on this sofa! There. You are
a sensible man, a good man. Listen to my dream!

DANIEL. Not now; another time! Let me lead you to bed; you have great
need of rest.

FRANCIS. No, no; I prythee, listen, Daniel, and have a good laugh at
me. You must know I fancied that I held a princely banquet, my heart
was merry, and I lay stretched on the turf in the castle garden; and all
on a sudden--it was at midday--and all on a sudden--but mind you have a
good laugh at me!

DANIEL. All on a sudden.

FRANCIS. All on a sudden a tremendous peal of thunder struck upon my
slumbering ear; I started up staggering and trembling; and lo, it seemed
as if the whole hemisphere had burst forth in one flaming sheet of fire,
and mountains, and cities, and forests melted away like wax in the
furnace; and then rose a howling whirlwind, which swept before it the
earth, and the sea, and heaven; then came a sound, as from brazen
trumpets, "Earth, give up thy dead: sea, give up thy dead!" and the open
plains began to heave, and to cast up skulls, and ribs, and jawbones,
and legs, which drew together into human bodies, and then came sweeping
along in dense, interminable masses--a living deluge. Then I looked up,
and to! I stood at the foot of the thundering Sinai, and above me was a
multitude, and below me a multitude; and on the summit of the mountain,
on three smoking thrones, sat three men, before whose gaze all creation
trembled.

DANIEL. Why, this is a living picture of the day of judgment.

FRANCIS. Did I not tell you? Is it not ridiculous stuff? And one
stepped forth who, to look upon, was like a starlight night; he had in
his hand a signet ring of iron, which he held up between the east and
the west, and said, "Eternal, holy, just, immutable! There is but one
truth; there is but one virtue! Woe, woe, woe! to the doubting sinner!"
Then stepped forth a second, who had in his hand a flashing mirror,
which he held up between the east and west, and said, "This is the
mirror of truth; hypocrisy and deceit cannot look on it." Then was I
terrified, and so were all, for we saw the forms of snakes, and tigers,
and leopards reflected from that fearful mirror. Then stepped forth a
third, who had in his hand a brazen balance, which he held up between
the east and the west, and said, "Approach, ye sons of Adam! I weigh
your thoughts in the balance of my wrath! and your deeds with the weight
of my fury!"

DANIEL. The Lord have mercy upon me!

FRANCIS. They all stood pale and trembling, and every heart was panting
with fearful expectation. Then it seemed to me as if I heard my name
called the first from out the thunders of the mountain, and the
innermost marrow froze within my bones, and my teeth chattered loudly.
Presently the clang of the balance was heard, the rocks sent forth
thunders, and the hours glided by, one after the other, towards the left
scale, and each threw into it a mortal sin!

DANIEL. Oh, may God forgive you!

FRANCIS. He forgave me not! The left scale grew mountains high, but the
other, filled with the blood of atonement, still outweighed it. At last
came an old man, heavily bowed down with grief, his arm gnawed through
with raging hunger. Every eye turned away in horror from the sight. I
knew the man--he cut off a lock of his silver hair, and cast it into the
scale of my sins, when to! in an instant, it sank down to the abyss, and
the scale of atonement flew up on high. Then heard I a voice, issuing
like thunder from the bowels *[Some editions of the original read Rauch
(smoke), some Bauch, as translated.] of the mountain, "Pardon, pardon to
every sinner of the earth and of the deep! Thou alone art rejected!"
(A profound pause.) Well, why don't you laugh?

DANIEL. Can I laugh while my flesh creeps? Dreams come from above.

FRANCIS. Pshaw! pshaw! Say not so! Call me a fool, an idiot, an
absurd fool! Do, there's a good Daniel, I entreat of you; have a hearty
laugh at me!

DANIEL. Dreams come from God. I will pray for you.

FRANCIS. Thou liest, I tell thee. Go, this instant, run! be quick!
see where the minister tarries all this time; tell him to come quickly,
instantly! But, I tell thee, thou liest!

DANIEL. Heaven have mercy upon you!
                             [Exit.]

FRANCIS. Vulgar prejudice! mere superstition! It has not yet been
proved that the past is not past and forgotten, or that there is an eye
above this earth to take account of what passes on it. Humph! Humph!
But whence, then, this fearful whisper to my soul? Is there really an
avenging judge above the stars? No, no! Yes, yes! A fearful monitor
within bears witness that there is One above the stars who judgeth!
What! meet the avenger above the stars this very night? No, no! I say.
All is empty, lonely, desolate, beyond the stars. Miserable subterfuge,
beneath which thy cowardice seeks to hide itself. And if there should
be something in it after all? No! no! it cannot be. I insist that it
cannot be! But yet, if there should be! Woe to thee if thy sins should
all have been registered above!--if they should be counted over to thee
this very night! Why creeps this shudder through my frame? To die!
Why does that word frighten me thus? To give an account to the Avenger,
there, above the stars! and if he should be just--the wails of orphans
and widows, of the oppressed, the tormented, ascending to his ears, and
he be just? Why have they been afflicted? And why have I been
permitted to trample upon them?

              Enter PASTOR MOSER.

MOSER. Your lordship sent for me! I am surprised! The first time in
my life! Is it to scoff at religion, or does it begin to make you
tremble?

FRANCIS. I may scoff or I may tremble, according as you shall answer
me. Listen to me, Moser, I will prove that you are a fool, or wish to
make fools of others, and you shall answer me. Do you hear? At the
peril of your life you shall answer me.

MOSER. 'Tis a higher Being whom you summon before your tribunal. He
will answer you hereafter.

FRANCIS. I will be answered now, this instant, that I may not commit
the contemptible folly of calling upon the idol of the vulgar under the
pressure of suffering. I have often, in bumpers of Burgundy, tauntingly
pledged you in the toast, "There is no God!" Now I address myself to
you in earnest, and I tell you there is none? You shall oppose me with
all the weapons in your power; but with the breath of my lips I will
blow them away.

MOSER. 'Twere well that you could also blow away the thunder which will
alight upon your proud soul with ten thousand times ten thousand tons'
weight! That omniscient God, whom you--fool and miscreant--are denying
in the midst of his creation, needeth not to justify himself by the
mouth of dust. He is as great in your tyrannies as in the sweetest
smile of triumphant virtue.

FRANCIS. Uncommonly well said, parson. Thus I like you.

MOSER. I stand here as steward of a greater Master, and am addressing
one who, like myself, is a sinner--one whom I care not to please. I
must indeed be able to work miracles, to extort the acknowledgment from
your obdurate wickedness--but if your conviction is so firm, why have
you sent for me in the middle of the night?

FRANCIS. Because time hangs heavy on my hands, and the chess-board has
ceased to have any attraction. I wish to amuse myself in a tilt with
the parson. Your empty terrors will not unman my courage. I am well
aware that those who have come off short in this world look forward to
eternity; but they will be sadly disappointed. I have always read that
our whole body is nothing more than a blood-spring, and that, with its
last drop, mind and thought dissolve into nothing. They share all the
infirmities of the body; why, then, should they not cease with its
dissolution? Why not evaporate in its decomposition? Let a drop of
water stray into your brain, and life makes a sudden pause, which
borders on non-existence, and this pause continued is death. Sensation
is the vibration of a few chords, which, when the instrument is broken,
cease to sound. If I raze my seven castles--if I dash this Venus to
pieces--there is an end of their symmetry and beauty. Behold! thus is
it with your immortal soul!

MOSER. So says the philosophy of your despair. But your own heart,
which knocks against your ribs with terror even while you thus argue,
gives your tongue the lie. These cobwebs of systems are swept away by
the single word--"Thou must die!" I challenge you, and be this the
test: If you maintain your firmness in the hour of death; if your
principles do not then miserably desert you, you shall be admitted to
have the best of the argument. But if, in that dread hour, the least
shudder creeps over you, then woe be to you! you have deceived yourself.

FRANCIS (disturbed). If in the hour of death a shudder creeps over me?

MOSER. I have seen many such wretches before now, who set truth at
defiance up to that point; but at the approach of death the illusion
vanished. I will stand at your bedside when you are dying--I should
much like to see a tyrant die. I will stand by, and look you
steadfastly in the face when the physician takes your cold, clammy hand,
and is scarcely able to detect your expiring pulse; and when he looks
up, and, with a fearful shake of the head, says to you, "All human aid
is in vain!" Beware, at that moment, beware, lest you look like Richard
and Nero!

FRANCIS. No! no!

MOSER. Even that very "No" will then be turned to a howling "Yea!" An
inward tribunal, which you can no longer cheat with sceptical delusions,
will then wake up and pass judgment upon you. But the waking up will be
like that of one buried alive in the bowels of the churchyard; there
will come remorse like that of the suicide who has committed the fatal
act and repents it;--'twill be a flash of lightning suddenly breaking in
upon the midnight darkness of your life! There will be one look, and,
if you can sustain that, I will admit that you have won!

FRANCIS (walking up and down restlessly). Cant! Priestly cant!

MOSER. Then, for the first time, will the sword of eternity pass
through your soul;--and then, for the first time, too late, the thought
of God will wake up a terrible monitor, whose name is Judge. Mark this,
Moor; a thousand lives hang upon your beck; and of those thousand every
nine hundred and ninety-nine have been rendered miserable by you. You
wanted but the Roman empire to be a Nero, the kingdom of Peru to be a
Pizarro. Now do you really think that the Almighty will suffer a worm
like you to play the tyrant in His world and to reverse all his
ordinances? Do you think the nine hundred and ninety-nine were created
only to be destroyed, only to serve as puppets in your diabolical game?
Think it not! He will call you to account for every minute of which you
have robbed them, every joy that you have poisoned, every perfection
that you have intercepted. Then, if you can answer Him--then, Moor,
I will admit that you have won.

FRANCIS. No more, not another word! Am I to be at the mercy of thy
drivelling fancies?

MOSER. Beware! The different destinies of mankind are balanced with
terrible nicety. The scale of life which sinks here will rise there,
and that which rises here will sink there. What was here temporary
affliction will there be eternal triumph; and what here was temporary
triumph will there be eternal despair.

FRANCIS (rushing savagely upon him.) May the thunder of heaven strike
thee dumb, thou lying spirit! I will tear thy venomed tongue out of thy
mouth!

MOSER. Do you so soon feel the weight of truth? Before I have brought
forward one single word of evidence? Let me first proceed to the
proofs--

FRANCIS. Silence! To hell with thee and thy proofs! The soul is
annihilated, I tell thee, and I will not be gainsaid!

MOSER. That is what the spirits of the bottomless pit are hourly
moaning for; but heaven denies the boon. Do you hope to escape from the
Avenger's arm even in the solitary waste of nothingness? If you climb
up into heaven, he is there! if you make your bed in hell, behold he is
there also! If you say to the night, "Hide me!" and to the darkness,
"Cover me!" even the night shall be light about you, and darkness blaze
upon your damned soul like a noonday sun.

FRANCIS. But I do not wish to be immortal--let them be so that like;
I have no desire to hinder them. I will force him to annihilate me;
I will so provoke his fury that he may utterly destroy me. Tell me
which are the greatest sins--which excite him to the most terrible
wrath?

MOSER. I know but two. But men do not commit these, nor do men even
dream of them.

FRANCIS. What are they?

MOSER (very significantly). Parricide is the name of the one;
fratricide of the other. Why do you turn so suddenly pale?

FRANCIS. What, old man? Art thou in league with heaven or with hell?
Who told thee that?

MOSER. Woe to him that hath them both upon his soul! It were better
for that man that he had never been born! But be at peace; you have no
longer either a father or a brother!

FRANCIS. Ha! what! Do you know no greater sin? Think again! Death,
heaven, eternity, damnation, hang upon thy lips. Not one greater?

MOSER. No, not one

FRANCIS (falling back in a chair). Annihilation! annihilation!

MOSER. Rejoice, then, rejoice! Congratulate yourself! With all your
abominations you are yet a saint in comparison with a parricide. The
curse that falls upon you is a love ditty in comparison with the curse
that lies upon him. Retribution--

FRANCIS (starting up). Away with thee! May the graves open and swallow
thee ten thousand fathoms deep, thou bird of ill omen! Who bade thee
come here? Away, I tell thee, or I will run thee through and through!

MOSER. Can mere "priestly cant" excite a philosopher to such a pitch of
frenzy? Why not blow it away with a breath of your lips?
                             (Exit.)

       [FRANCIS throws himself about in his chair in
        terrible agitation. Profound stillness.]

             Enter a SERVANT, hastily

SERVANT. The Lady Amelia has fled. The count has suddenly disappeared.

           Enter DANIEL, in great alarm.

DANIEL. My lord, a troop of furious horsemen are galloping down the
hill, shouting "murder! murder!" The whole village is in alarm.

FRANCIS. Quick! let all the bells be tolled--summon everyone to the
chapel--let all fall on their knees--pray for me. All prisoners shall
be released and forgiven--I will make two and threefold restitution to
the poor--I will--why don't you run? Do call in the father confessor,
that he may give me absolution for my sins. What! are you not gone yet?
(The uproar becomes more audible.)

DANIEL. Heaven have mercy upon me, poor sinner! Can I believe you
in earnest, sir? You, who always made a jest of religion? How many
a Bible and prayer-book have you flung at my bead when by chance you
caught me at my devotions?

FRANCIS. No more of this. To die! think of it! to die! It will be too
late! (The voice of SCHWEITZER is heard, loud and furious.) Pray for
me, Daniel! Pray, I entreat you!

DANIEL. I always told you,--"you hold prayer in such contempt; but take
heed! take heed! when the fatal hour comes, when the waters are flowing
in upon your soul, you will be ready to give all the treasures of the
world for one little Christian prayer." Do you see it now? What abuse
you used to heap on me! Now you feel it! Is it not so!

FRANCIS (embracing him violently). Forgive me! my dear precious jewel
of a Daniel, forgive me! I will clothe you from head to foot--do but
pray. I will make quite a bridegroom of you--I will--only do pray--
I entreat you--on my knees, I conjure you. In the devil's name, pray!
why don't you pray? (Tumult in the streets, shouts and noises.)

SCHWEIT. (in the street). Storm the place! Kill all before you!
Force the gates! I see lights! He must be there!

FRANCIS (on his knees). Listen to my prayer, O God in heaven! It is
the first time--it shall never happen again. Hear me, God in heaven!

DANIEL. Mercy on me! What are you saying? What a wicked prayer!

          Uproar of the PEOPLE, rushing in.

PEOPLE. Robbers! murderers! Who makes such a dreadful noise at this
midnight hour!

SCHWEIT (still in the street). Beat them back, comrades! 'Tis the
devil, come to fetch your master. Where is Schwarz with his troop?
Surround the castle, Grimm! Scale the walls!

GRIMM. Bring the firebrands. Either we must up or he must down. I will
throw fire into his halls.

FRANCIS (praying). Oh Lord! I have been no common murderer--I have
been guilty of no petty crimes, gracious Lord--

DANIEL. Heaven be merciful to us! His very prayers are turned to sins.
(Stones and firebrands are hurled up from below; the windows fall in
with a crash; the castle takes fire.)

FRANCIS. I cannot pray. Here! and here! (striking his breast and his
forehead) All is so void--so barren! (Rises from his knees.) No, I will
not pray. Heaven shall not have that triumph, nor hell that pastime.

DANIEL. O holy Virgin! Help! save! The whole castle is in flames!

FRANCIS. There, take this sword! Quick! Run it right through my body,
that these fiends may not be in time to make holiday sport of me. (The
fire increases.)

DANIEL. Heaven forbid? Heaven forbid! I would send no one before his
time to heaven, much less to--(He runs away).

FRANCIS (following him with a ghastly stare, after a pause).
To hell, thou wouldst say. Indeed! I scent something of the kind.
(In delirium.) Are these their triumphant yells? Do I hear you
hissing, ye serpents of the abyss? They force their way up--they
besiege the door! Why do I shrink from this biting steel? The door
cracks--it yields--there is no escape! Ha! then do thou have mercy upon
me! (He tears away the golden cord from his hat, and strangles
himself.)*

   *[In the acting edition, Francis attempts to throw himself into the
   flames, but is prevented by the robbers, and taken alive. He is
   then brought before his brother, in chains, for sentence.
   SCHWEITZER says, "I have fulfilled my word, and brought him alive."
   GRIMM. "We tore him out of the flames and the castle is in ashes."
   After confronting Francis with his father, and a reproachful
   interview between the brothers, Charles delegates the judgment on
   Francis to Schweitzer and Kosinsky, but for himself forgives him in
   these words: "Thou hast robbed me of heaven's bliss! Be that sin
   blotted out! Thy doom is sealed--perdition is thy lot! But I
   forgive thee, brother." Upon this CHARLES embraces and leaves him;
   the ROBBERS however, thrust FRANCIS into the dungeon where he had
   immured his father, laughing in a savage manner. Beyond this the
   fate of Francis is left undetermined. Schweitzer, instead of
   killing himself, is made partaker, with Kosinsky, of Moor's
   estate.]

           Enter SCHWEITZER and his band.

SCHWEITZER. Murderous wretch, where art thou? Did you see how they
fled? Has he so few friends? Where has the beast crawled to?

GRIMM (stumbles over the corpse). Stay! what is this lying in the way?
Lights here.

SCHWARZ. He has been beforehand with us. Put up your swords. There he
lies sprawling like a dead dog.

SCHWEITZER. Dead! What! dead? Dead without me? 'Tis a lie, I say.
Mark how quickly he will spring upon his feet! (Shakes him). Hollo!
up with you? There is a father to be murdered.

GRIMM. Spare your pains. He is as dead as a log.

SCHWEITZER (steps aside from him). Yes, his game is up! He is dead!
dead! Go back and tell my captain he is as dead as a log. He will not
see me again. (Blows his brains out.)




 SCENE II.--The scene the same as the last scene of the preceding Act.

     OLD MOOR seated on a stone; CHARLES VON MOOR opposite;
          ROBBERS scattered through the wood.

CHARLES. He does not come! (Strikes his dagger against a stone till
the sparks fly.)

OLD MOOR. Let pardon be his punishment--redoubled love my vengeance.

CHARLES. No! by my enraged soul that shall not be! I will not permit
it. He shall bear that enormous load of crime with him into eternity!--
what else should I kill him for?

OLD MOOR (bursting into tears). Oh my child!

CHARLES. What! you weep for him? In sight of this dungeon?

OLD MOOR. Mercy! oh mercy! (Wringing his hands violently.) Now--now my
son is brought to judgment!

CHARLES (starting). Which son?

OLD MOOR. Ha! what means that question?

CHARLES. Nothing! nothing!

OLD MOOR. Art thou come to make a mockery of my grief?

CHARLES. Treacherous conscience! Take no heed of my words!

OLD MOOR. Yes, I persecuted a son, and a son persecutes me in return.
It is the finger of God. Oh my Charles! my Charles! If thou dost hover
around me in the realms of peace, forgive me! oh forgive me!

CHARLES (hastily). He forgives you! (Checking himself.) If he is
worthy to be called your son, he must forgive you!

OLD MOOR. Ha! he was too noble a son for me. But I will go to him with
my tears, my sleepless nights, my racking dreams. I will embrace his
knees, and cry--cry aloud--"I have sinned against heaven and before
thee; I am no longer worthy to be called thy father!"

CHARLES (in deep emotion). Was he very dear to you--that other son?

OLD MOOR. Heaven is my witness, how much I loved him. Oh, why did I
suffer myself to be beguiled by the arts of a wicked son? I was an
envied father among the fathers of the world--my children full of
promise, blooming by my side! But--oh that fatal hour!--the demon of
envy entered into the heart of my younger son--I listened to the
serpent--and--lost both my children! (Hides his countenance.)

CHARLES (removes to a distance from him). Lost forever!

OLD MOOR. Oh, deeply do I feel the words of Amelia. The spirit of
vengeance spoke from her lips. "In vain wilt thou stretch forth thy
dying hands after a son, in vain fancy thou art grasping the warm hands
of thy Charles,--he will never more stand by thy bedside."

    (CHARLES stretches out his hand to him with averted face.)

Oh, that this were the hand of my Charles! But he is laid far away in
the narrow house--he is sleeping the iron sleep--he hears not the voice
of my lamentation. Woe is me! to die in the arms of a stranger? No son
left--no son left to close my eyes!

CHARLES (in violent emotion). It must be so--the moment has arrived.
Leave me--(to the ROBBERS.) And yet--can I restore his son to him?
Alas! No! I cannot restore him that son! No! I will not think of it.

OLD MOOR. Friend! what is that you were muttering?

CHARLES. Your son--yes, old man--(faltering) your son--is--lost
forever!

OLD MOOR. Forever?

CHARLES (looking up to heaven in bitter anguish). Oh this once--keep my
soul from sinking--sustain me but this once!

OLD MOOR. Forever, did you say.

CHARLES. Ask no more! I said forever!

OLD MOOR. Stranger, stranger! why didst thou drag me forth from the
dungeon to remind me of my sorrows?

CHARLES. And what if I were now to snatch his blessing?--snatch it like
a thief, and steal away with the precious prize? A father's blessing,
they say, is never lost.

OLD MOOR. And is my Francis too lost?

CHARLES (falling on his knees before him). 'Twas I who burst the bars
of your dungeon. I crave thy blessing!

OLD MOOR (sorrowfully). Oh that thou shouldst destroy the son!--thou,
the father's deliverer! Behold! Heaven's mercy is untiring, and we
pitiful worms let the sun go down upon our wrath. (Lays his hand upon
the head of CHARLES.) Be thou happy, even as thou shalt be merciful!

CHARLES (rising much affected). Oh!--where is my manhood? My sinews
are unstrung--the sword drops from my hand.

OLD MOOR. How lovely a thing it is when brethren dwell together in
unity; as the dewdrops of heaven that fall upon the mountains of Zion.
Learn to deserve that happiness, young man, and the angels of heaven
will sun themselves in thy glory. Let thy wisdom be the wisdom of gray
hairs, but let thy heart be the heart of innocent childhood.

CHARLES. Oh, for a foretaste of that happiness! Kiss me, divine old
man!

OLD MOOR (kissing him). Think it thy father's kiss; and I will think I
am kissing my son. Canst thou too weep?

CHARLES. I felt as if it were my father's kiss! Woe unto me, were they
to bring him now!

   (The companions of SCHWEITZER enter in a silent and mournful
   procession, hanging down their heads and hiding their faces.)

CHARLES. Good heaven! (Retreats horror-struck, and seeks to hide
himself. They pass by him his face is averted. Profound silence. They
halt.)

GRIMM (in a subdued tone). My captain!

      [CHARLES does not answer and steps farther back.]

SCHWARZ. Dear captain!

          [CHARLES retreats still farther.]

GRIMM. 'Tis not our fault, captain!

CHARLES (without looking at them). Who are ye?

GRIMM. You do not look at us! Your faithful followers.

CHARLES. Woe to ye, if ye are faithful to me!

GRIMM. The last farewell from your servant Schweitzer!--

CHARLES (starting). Then ye have not found him?

SCHWARZ. Found him dead.

CHARLES (leaping up with joy). Thanks, O Sovereign Ruler of all things!
--Embrace me, my children!--Mercy be henceforward our watchword!--Now,
were that too surmounted,--all would be surmounted.

            Enter ROBBERS with AMELIA.

ROBBERS. Hurrah! hurrah! A prize, a splendid prize!

AMELIA (with hair dishevelled). The dead, they cry, have arisen at his
voice--My uncle alive--in this wood--Where is he? Charles? Uncle!--Ha?
(She rushes into the arms, of OLD MOOR.)

OLD MOOR. Amelia! my daughter! Amelia! (Holds her tightly grasped in
his arms.)

CHARLES (starting back). Who brings this image before my eyes.

AMELIA (tearing herself away from the old man, rushes upon CHARLES, and
embraces him in an ecstasy of delight). I have him, O ye stars! I have
him!

CHARLES (tearing himself away, to the ROBBERS). Let us be gone,
comrades! The arch fiend has betrayed me!

AMELIA. My bridegroom, my bridegroom! thou art raving! Ha! 'Tis with
delight! Why, then, am I so cold, so unfeeling, in the midst of this
tumult of happiness?

OLD MOOR (rousing himself). Bridegroom? Daughter! my daughter! Thy
bridegroom?*

   *[Instead of this the stage edition has, "Come my children! Thy
   hand, Charles--and thine, Amelia. Oh! I never looked for such
   happiness on this side the grave. Here let me unite you forever."]

AMELIA. His forever! He forever, ever, mine! Oh! ye heavenly powers!
support me in this ecstasy of bliss, lest I sink beneath its weight!

CHARLES. Tear her from my neck! Kill her! Kill him! Kill me--
yourselves--everybody! Let the whole world perish! (About to rush of.)

AMELIA. Whither? what? Love! eternity! happiness! never-ending joys!
and thou wouldst fly?

CHARLES. Away, away! most unfortunate of brides! See with thine own
eves; ask, and hear it with thine own ears! Most miserable of fathers!
Let me escape hence forever!

AMELIA. Support me! for heaven's sake support me! It is growing dark
before my eyes! He flies!

CHARLES. Too late! In vain! Your curse, father! Ask me no more!
I am--I have--your curse--your supposed curse! Who enticed me hither?
(Rushing upon the ROBBERS with drawn sword.) Which of you enticed me
hither, ye demons of the abyss? Perish, then, Amelia! Die, father!
Die, for the third time, through me! These, thy deliverers, are Robbers
and Murderers! Thy Charles is their Captain! (OLD MOOR expires.)

     [AMELIA stands silent and transfixed like a statue.
        The whole band are mute. A fearful pause.]

CHARLES (rushing against an oak). The souls of those I have strangled
in the intoxication of love--of those whom I crushed to atoms in the
sacredness of sleep--of those whom--Ha! ha! ha! do you hear the
powder-magazine bursting over the heads of women in travail? Do you see
the flames creeping round the cradles of sucklings? That is our nuptial
torch; those shrieks our wedding music! Oh! he forgetteth none of these
things!--he knoweth how to connect the--links in the chain of life.
Therefore do love's delights elude my grasp; therefore is love given me
for a torment! This is retribution!

AMELIA. 'Tis all true! Thou Ruler in heaven! 'Tis all true! What
have I done, poor innocent lamb? I have loved this man!

CHARLES. This is more than a man can endure. Have I not heard death
hissing at me from more thousands of barrels, and never yet moved a
hair's breadth out of its way. And shall I now be taught to tremble
like a woman? tremble before a woman! No! a woman shall not conquer my
manly courage! Blood! blood! 'tis but a fit of womanish feeling. I
must glut myself with blood; and this will pass away. (He is about to
fly.)

AMELIA (sinking into his arms). Murderer! devil! I cannot--angel--
leave thee!

CHARLES (thrusting her from him). Away! insidious serpent! Thou
wouldst make a mockery of my frenzy; but I will bid defiance to my
tyrant destiny. What! art thou weeping? O ye relentless, malicious
stars! She pretends to weep, as if any soul could weep for me!
(AMELIA falls on his neck.) Ha! what means this? She shuns me not--she
spurns me not. Amelia! hast thou then forgotten? Dost thou remember
whom thou art embracing, Amelia?

AMELIA. My only one, mine, mine forever!

CHARLES (recovering himself in an ecstasy of joy). She forgives me, she
loves me! Then am I pure as the ether of heaven, for she loves me!
With tears I thank thee, all-merciful Father! (He falls on his knees,
and bursts into a violent fit of weeping.) The peace of my soul is
restored; my sufferings are at an end. Hell is no more! Behold! oh
behold! the child of light weeps on the neck of a repentant demon!
(Rising and turning to the ROBBERS). Why are ye not weeping also?
Weep, weep, ye are all so happy. O Amelia! Amelia! Amelia! (He hangs
on her neck, they remain locked in a silent embrace.)

A ROBBER (stepping forward enraged). Hold, traitor! This instant come
from her arms! or I will speak a word that shall make thy ears tingle,
and thy teeth chatter with horror! (He holds his sword between them.)

AN AGED ROBBER. Remember the Bohemian forests! Dost thou hear? dost
thou tremble? Remember the Bohemian forests, I tell thee! Faithless
man! where are thy oaths? Are wounds so soon forgotten? Who staked
fortune, honor, life itself for thee? Who stood by thee like walls, and
like shields caught the blows which were aimed at thy life? Didst not
thou then lift up thy hand and swear an iron oath never to forsake us,
even as we forsook not thee? Base, perfidious wretch! and wouldst thou
now desert us at the whining of a harlot?

A THIRD ROBBER. Shame on thy perjury! The spirit of the immolated
Roller, whom thou didst summon from the realms of death to attest thy
oath, will blush at thy cowardice, and rise from his grave full armed to
chastise thee.

THE ROBBERS (all in disorder, tearing open their garments). See here!
and here! Dost thou know these scars? Thou art ours! With our heart's
blood we have bought thee, and thou art ours bodily, even though the
Archangel Michael should seek to wrest thee out of the grasp of the
fiery Moloch! Now! March with us! Sacrifice for sacrifice, Amelia for
the band!

CHARLES (releasing her hand). It is past! I would arise and return to
my father; but heaven has said, "It shall not be!" (Coldly.) Blind fool
that I was! why should I wish it? Is it possible for a great sinner to
return? A great sinner never can return. That ought I long since to
have known. Be still! I pray thee be still! 'Tis all as it should be.
When He sought me I would not; now that I seek him, He will not. What
can be more just? Do not roll about thine eyes so wildly. He--has no
need of me. Has He not creatures in abundance? One he can easily
spare, and that one am I. Come along, comrades!

AMELIA (pulling him back). Stay, I beseech you! One blow! one deadly
blow! Again forsaken! Draw thy sword, and have mercy upon me!

CHARLES. Mercy has taken refuge among bears. I will not kill thee!

AMELIA (embracing his knees). Oh, for heaven's sake! by all that is
merciful! I ask no longer for love. I know that our stars fly from
each other in opposition. Death is all I ask. Forsaken, forsaken!
Take that word in all its dreadful import! Forsaken! I cannot survive
it! Thou knowest well that no woman can survive that. All I ask is
death. See, my hand trembles! I have not courage to strike the blow.
I shrink from the gleaming blade! To thee it is so easy, so very easy;
thou art a master in murder--draw thy sword, and make me happy!

CHARLES. Wouldst thou alone be happy? Away with thee! I will kill no
woman!

AMELIA. Ha! destroyer! thou canst only kill the happy; they who are
weary of existence thou sparest! (She glides towards the robbers.) Then
do ye have mercy on me, disciples of murder! There lurks a bloodthirsty
pity in your looks that is consoling to the wretched. Your master is a
boaster and a coward.

CHARLES. Woman, what dost thou say? (The ROBBERS turn away.)

AMELIA. No friend? No; not even among these a friend? (She rises.)
Well, then, let Dido teach me how to die! (She is going; a ROBBER takes
aim at her.)

CHARLES. Hold! dare it! Moor's Amelia shall die by no other hand than
Moor's. (He strikes her dead.)

THE ROBBERS. Captain! captain! what hast thou done? Art thou raving?

CHARLES (with his eyes fixed on the body). One more pang and all will
be over. She is immolated! Now, look on! have you any farther demand?
Ye staked a life for me, a life which has ceased to be your own--a life
full of infamy and shame! I have sacrificed an angel for you. Now!
look upon her! Are you content?

GRIMM. You have repaid your debt with usury. You have done all that man
could do for his honor, and more. Now let's away.

CHARLES. What say you? Is not the life of a saint for the life of a
felon more than an equal exchange? Oh! I say unto you if every one of
you were to--mount the scaffold, and to have his flesh torn from his
bones piecemeal with red-hot pincers, through eleven long summer days of
torture, yet would it not counterbalance these tears! (With a bitter
laugh.) The scars! the Bohemian forests! Yes, yes! they must be
repaid, of course!

SCHWARZ. Compose yourself, captain! Come along with us! this is no
sight for you. Lead us elsewhere!

CHARLES. Stay! one word more before we proceed elsewhere. Mark me, ye
malicious executioners of my barbarous nod! from this moment I cease to
be your captain.*

   *[The acting edition reads,--"Banditti! we are quits. This
   bleeding corpse cancels my bond to you forever. From your own I
   set you free." ROBBERS. "We are again your slaves till death!"
   CHARLES. "No, no, no! We have done with each other. My genius
   whispers me, 'Go no further, Moor. Here is the goal of humanity--
   and thine!' Take back this bloody plume (throws it at their feet).
   Let him who seeks to be your captain take it up."]

With shame and horror I here lay down the bloody staff, under which you
thought yourselves licensed to perpetrate your crimes and to defile the
fair light of heaven with deeds of darkness. Depart to the right and to
the left. We shall never more have aught in common.

THE ROBBERS. Ha! coward! where are thy lofty schemes? were they but
soap-bubbles, which disperse at the breath of a woman?*


   *[In lieu of this soliloquy and what follows, to the end, the
   acting edition has:--

   R. MOOR. Dare not to scrutinize the acts of Moor. That is my last
   command. Now, draw near--form a circle around me, and receive the
   last words of your dying captain. (He surveys them attentively for
   some time.) You have been devotedly faithful to me, faithful
   beyond example. Had virtue bound you together as firmly as vice,
   you would have been heroes, and your names recorded by mankind with
   admiration. Go and offer your services to the state. Dedicate
   your talents to the cause of a monarch who is waging war in
   vindication of the rights of man. With this blessing I disband
   you. Schweitzer and Kosinsky, do you stay. (The others disperse
   slowly, with signs of emotion.)]



                SCENE VIII.



          R. MOOR, SCRWETTZER, and KOSINSKY.

   R. MOOR. Give me thy right hand, Kosinsky--Schweitzer thy left.
   (He takes their hands, and stands between, them; to KOSINSKY,)
   Young man, thou art still pure-amongst the guilty thou alone art
   guiltless! (To SCHWEITZER.) Deeply have I imbrued thy hand in
   blood. 'Tis I who have done this. With this cordial grasp I take
   back mine own. Schweitzer! thou art purified! (He raises their
   hands fervently to heaven.) Father in heaven! here I restore them
   to thee. They will be more devoted to thy service than those who
   never fell. Of that I feel assured. (SCHWEITZER and KOSINSKY fall
   on his neck with fervor.) Not now--not now, dear comrades. Spare
   my feelings in this trying hour. An earldom has this day fallen to
   my lot--a rich domain on which no malediction rests. Share it
   between you, my children; become good citizens; and if for ten
   human beings that I have destroyed you make but one happy, my soul
   may yet be saved. Go--no farewell! In another world we may meet
   again--or perhaps no more. Away! away! ere my fortitude desert me.
               [Exeunt both, with downcast countenances.]


                SCENE IX.

   And I, too, am a good citizen. Do I not fulfil the extremity of
   the law? Do I not honor the law? Do I not uphold and defend it?
   I remember speaking to a poor officer on my way hither, who was
   toiling as a day-laborer, and has eleven living children. A
   thousand ducats have been offered to whoever shall deliver up the
   great robber alive. That man shall be served. [Exit.]


CHARLES. Oh! fool that I was, to fancy that I could amend the world by
misdeeds and maintain law by lawlessness! I called it vengeance and
equity. I presumed, O Providence! upon whetting out the notches of thy
sword and repairing thy partialities. But, oh, vain trifling! here I
stand on the brink of a fearful life, and learn, with wailing and
gnashing of teeth, that two men like myself could ruin the whole edifice
of the moral world. Pardon--pardon the boy who thought to forestall
Thee; to Thee alone belongeth vengeance; Thou needest not the hand of
man! But it is not in my power to recall the past; that which is ruined
remains ruined; what I have thrown down will never more rise up again.
Yet one thing is left me whereby I may atone to the offended majesty of
the law and restore the order which I have violated. A victim is
required--a victim to declare before all mankind how inviolable that
majesty is--that victim shall be myself. I will be the death-offering!

ROBBERS. Take his sword from him--he will kill himself.

CHARLES. Fools that ye are! doomed to eternal blindness! Think ye
that one mortal sin will expiate other mortal sins? Do you suppose that
the harmony of the world would be promoted by such an impious discord?
(Throwing his arms at their feet.) He shall have me alive. I go to
deliver myself into the hands of justice.

ROBBERS. Put him in chains! he has lost his senses!

CHARLES. Not that I have any doubt but that justice would find me
speedily enough if the powers above so ordained it. But she might
surprise me in sleep, or overtake me in flight, or seize me with
violence and the sword, and then I should have lost the only merit left
me, that of making my death a free-will atonement. Why should I, like a
thief, any longer conceal a life, which in the counsels of the heavenly
ministry has long been forfeited?

ROBBERS. Let him go. He is infected with the great-man-mania; he means
to offer up his life for empty admiration.

CHARLES. I might, 'tis true, be admired for it. (After a moment's
reflection.) I remember, on my way hither, talking to a poor creature,
a day-laborer, with eleven living children. A reward has been offered
of a thousand louis-d'ors to any one who shall deliver up the great
robber alive. That man shall be served.
                              [Exit.]






         FIESCO, OR THE GENOESE CONSPIRACY.

               A TRAGEDY.


            By Frederich Schiller



AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

The chief sources from which I have drawn the history of this conspiracy
are Cardinal de Retz's Conjuration du Comte Jean Louis de Fiesque, the
Histoire des Genes, and the third volume of Robertson's History of
Charles the Fifth.

The liberties which I have taken with the historical facts will be
excused, if I have succeeded in my attempt; and, if not, it is better
that my failure should appear in the effusions of fancy, than in the
delineation of truth. Some deviation from the real catastrophe of the
conspiracy (according to which the count actually perished [A] when his
schemes were nearly ripe for execution) was rendered necessary by the
nature of the drama, which does not allow the interposition either of
chance or of a particular Providence. It would be matter of surprise
to me that this subject has never been adopted by any tragic writer,
did not the circumstances of its conclusion, so unfit for dramatic
representation, afford a sufficient reason for such neglect. Beings of
a superior nature may discriminate the finest links of that chain which
connects an individual action with the system of the universe, and may,
perhaps, behold them extended to the utmost limits of time, past and
future; but man seldom sees more than the simple facts, divested of their
various relations of cause and effect. The writer, therefore, must adapt
his performance to the short-sightedness of human nature, which he would
enlighten; and not to the penetration of Omniscience, from which all
intelligence is derived.

In my Tragedy of the Robbers it was my object to delineate the victim of
an extravagant sensibility; here I endeavor to paint the reverse; a
victim of art and intrigue. But, however strongly marked in the page of
history the unfortunate project of Fiesco may appear, on the stage it may
prove less interesting. If it be true that sensibility alone awakens
sensibility, we may conclude that the political hero is the less
calculated for dramatic representation, in proportion as it becomes
necessary to lay aside the feelings of a man in order to become a
political hero.

It was, therefore, impossible for me to breathe into my fable that
glowing life which animates the pure productions of poetical inspiration;
but, in order to render the cold and sterile actions of the politician
capable of affecting the human heart, I was obliged to seek a clue to
those actions in the human heart itself. I was obliged to blend together
the man and the politician, and to draw from the refined intrigues of
state situations interesting to humanity. The relations which I bear to
society are such as unfold to me more of the heart than of the cabinet;
and, perhaps, this very political defect may have become a poetical
excellence.


[A] Fiesco, after having succeeded in the chief objects of his
undertaking, happened to fall into the sea whilst hastening to quell some
disturbances on board of a vessel in the harbor; the weight of his armor
rendered his struggles ineffectual, and he perished. The deviation from
history in the tragedy might have been carried farther, and would perhaps
have rendered it more suitable to dramatic representation.--Translation.





         FIESCO; OR, THE GENOESE CONSPIRACY.

              A TRAGEDY.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

ANDREAS DORIA, Duke of Genoa, a venerable old man, eighty years of age,
retaining the traces of a high spirit: the chief features in this
character are dignity and a rigid brevity in command.

GIANETTINO DORIA, nephew of the former, and pretender to the ducal power,
twenty-six years of age, rough and forbidding in his address, deportment,
and manners, with a vulgar pride and disgusting features.

FIESCO, Count of Lavagna, chief of the conspiracy, a tall, handsome young
man, twenty-three years of age; his character is that of dignified pride
and majestic affability, with courtly complaisance and deceitfulness.

VERRINA, a determined republican, sixty years of age; grave, austere, and
inflexible: a marked character.

BOURGOGNINO, a conspirator, a youth of twenty; frank and high-spirited,
proud, hasty, and undisguised.

CALCAGNO, a conspirator, a worn-out debauchee of thirty; insinuating and
enterprising.

SACCO, a conspirator, forty-five years of age, with no distinguishing
trait of character.

LOMELLINO, in the confidence of the pretender, a haggard courtier.

ZENTURIONE, |
ZIBO,    | Malcontents.
ASSERATO,  |

ROMANO, a painter, frank and simple, with the pride of genius.

MULEY HASSAN, a Moor of Tunis, an abandoned character, with a physiognomy
displaying an original mixture of rascality and humor.

A GERMAN of the ducal body-guard, of an honest simplicity, and steady
bravery.

THREE SEDITIOUS CITIZENS.

LEONORA, the wife of Fiesco, eighteen years of age, of great sensibility;
her appearance pale and slender, engaging, but not dazzling; her
countenance marked with melancholy; her dress black.

JULIA, Countess dowager Imperiali, sister of the younger Doria, aged
twenty-five; a proud coquette, in person tall and full, her beauty
spoiled by affectation, with a sarcastic maliciousness in her
countenance; her dress black.

BERTHA, daughter of Verrina, an innocent girl.

ROSA,   | Maids of Leonora.
ARABELLA, |

Several Nobles, Citizens, Germans, Soldiers, Thieves.

   (SCENE--Genoa. TIME--the year 1547.)




ACT I.



SCENE I.--A Saloon in FIESCO'S House. The distant sound of dancing and
music is heard.

LEONORA, masked, and attended by ROSA and ARABELLA, enters hastily.


LEONORA (tears off her mask). No more! Not another word! 'Tis as clear
as day! (Throwing herself in a chair.) This quite overcomes me----

ARABELLA. My lady!

LEONORA (rising.) What, before my eyes! with a notorious coquette! In
presence of the whole nobility of Genoa! (strongly affected.)--Rosa!
Arabella! and before my weeping eyes!

ROSA. Look upon it only as what it really was--a piece of gallantry. It
was nothing more.

LEONORA. Gallantry! What! Their busy interchange of glances--the
anxious watching of her every motion--the long and eager kiss upon her
naked arm, impressed with a fervor that left in crimson glow the very
traces of his lips! Ha! and the transport that enwrapped his soul, when,
with fixed eyes, he sate like painted ecstacy, as if the world around him
had dissolved, and naught remained in the eternal void but he and Julia.
Gallantry? Poor thing! Thou hast never loved. Think not that thou
canst teach me to distinguish gallantry from love!

ROSA. No matter, Signora! A husband lost is as good as ten lovers
gained.

LEONORA. Lost? Is then one little intermission of the heart's
pulsations a proof that I have lost Fiesco? Go, malicious slanderer!
Come no more into my presence! 'Twas an innocent frolic--perhaps a mere
piece of gallantry. Say, my gentle Arabella, was it not so?

ARABELLA. Most certainly! There can be no doubt of it!

LEONORA (in a reverie). But does she then feel herself sole mistress of
his heart? Does her name lurk in his every thought?--meet him in every
phase of nature? Can it be? Whither will these thoughts lead me? Is
this beautiful and majestic world to him but as one precious diamond, on
which her image--her image alone--is engraved? That he should love her?
--love Julia! Oh! Your arm--support me, Arabella! (A pause; music is
again heard.)

LEONORA (starting). Hark! Was not that Fiesco's voice, which from the
tumult penetrated even hither? Can he laugh while his Leonora weeps in
solitude? Oh, no, my child, it was the coarse, loud voice of Gianettino.

ARABELLA. It was, Signora--but let us retire to another apartment.

LEONORA. You change color, Arabella--you are false. In your looks, in
the looks of all the inhabitants of Genoa, I read a something--a
something which--(hiding her face)--oh, certainly these Genoese know more
than should reach a wife's ear.

ROSA. Oh, jealousy! thou magnifier of trifles!

LEONORA (with melancholy enthusiasm). When he was still Fiesco; when in
the orange-grove, where we damsels walked, I saw him--a blooming Apollo,
blending the manly beauty of Antinous! Such was his noble and majestic
deportment, as if the illustrious state of Genoa rested alone upon his
youthful shoulders. Our eyes stole trembling glances at him, and shrunk
back, as if with conscious guilt, whene'er they encountered the lightning
of his looks. Ah, Arabella, how we devoured those looks! with what
anxious envy did every one count those directed to her companions! They
fell among us like the golden apple of discord--tender eyes burned
fiercely--soft bosoms beat tumultuously--jealousy burst asunder all our
bonds of friendship----

ARABELLA. I remember it well. All Genoa's female hearts were in
rebellious ferment for so enviable a prize!

LEONORA (in rapture). And now to call him mine! Giddy, wondrous
fortune!--to call the pride of Genoa mine!--he who from the chisel
of the exhaustless artist, Nature, sprang forth all-perfect, combining
every greatness of his sex in the most perfect union. Hear me, damsels!
I can no longer conceal it--hear me! I confide to you something
(mysteriously)--a thought!--when I stood at the altar with Fiesco,--when
his hand lay in mine,--a thought, too daring for woman, rushed across me.
"This Fiesco, whose hand now lies in thine--thy Fiesco"--but hush! let no
man hear us boast how far he excels all others of his sex. "This, thy
Fiesco"--ah, could you but share my feelings!--"will free Genoa from its
tyrants!"

ARABELLA (astonished). And could this dream haunt a woman's mind even at
the nuptial shrine?

LEONORA. Yes, my Arabella,--well mayest thou be astonished--to the bride
it came, even in the joy of the bridal hour (more animated). I am a
woman, but I feel the nobleness of my blood. I cannot bear to see these
proud Dorias thus overtop our family. The good old Andreas--it is a
pleasure to esteem him. He may indeed, unenvied, bear the ducal dignity;
but Gianettino is his nephew--his heir--and Gianettino has a proud and
wicked heart. Genoa trembles before him, and Fiesco (much affected)--
Fiesco--weep with me, damsels!--loves his sister.

ARABELLA.
Alas, my wretched mistress!

LEONORA. Go now, and see this demi-god of the Genoese--amid the
shameless circles of debauchery and lust! hear the vile jests and wanton
ribaldry with which he entertains his base companions! That is Fiesco!
Ah, damsels, not only has Genoa lost its hero, but I have lost my
husband!

ROSA. Speak lower! some one is coming through the gallery.

LEONORA (alarmed). Ha! 'Tis Fiesco--let us hasten away--the sight of me
might for a moment interrupt his happiness. (She hastens into a side
apartment; the maids follow.)



SCENE IL

   GIANETTINO DORIA, masked, in a green cloak, and the MOOR,
   enter in conversation.

GIANETTINO. Thou hast understood me!

MOOR. Well----

GIANETTINO. The white mask----

MOOR. Well----

GIANETTINO. I say, the white mask----

MOOR. Well--well--well----

GIANETTINO. Dost thou mark me? Thou canst only fail here! (pointing to
his heart).

MOOR. Give yourself no concern.

GIANETTINO. And be sure to strike home----

MOOR. He shall have enough.

GIANETTINO (maliciously). That the poor count may not have long to
suffer.

MOOR. With your leave, sir, a word--at what weight do you estimate his
head?

GIANETTINO. What weight? A hundred sequins----

MOOR (blowing through his fingers). Poh! Light as a feather!

GIANETTINO. What art thou muttering?

MOOR. I was saying--it is light work.

GIANETTINO. That is thy concern. He is the very loadstone of sedition.
Mark me, sirrah! let thy blow be sure.

MOOR. But, sir,--I must fly to Venice immediately after the deed.

GIANETTINO. Then take my thanks beforehand. (He throws him a
bank-note.) In three days at farthest he must be cold.

                          [Exit.

MOOR (picking up the note). Well, this really is what I call credit to
trust--the simple word of such a rogue as I am!

                          [Exit.



SCENE III.

   CALCAGNO, behind him SACCO, both in black cloaks.

CALCAGNO. I perceive thou watchest all my steps.

SACCO. And I observe thou wouldst conceal them from me. Attend,
Calcagno! For some weeks past I have remarked the workings of thy
countenance. They bespeak more than concerns the interests of our
country. Brother, I should think that we might mutually exchange our
confidence without loss on either side. What sayest thou? Wilt thou be
sincere?

CALCAGNO. So truly, that thou shalt not need to dive into the recesses
of my soul; my heart shall fly half-way to meet thee on my tongue--I love
the Countess of Fiesco.

SACCO (starts back with astonishment). That, at least, I should not have
discovered had I made all possibilities pass in review before me. My
wits are racked to comprehend thy choice, but I must have lost them
altogether if thou succeed.

CALCAGNO. They say she is a pattern of the strictest virtue.

SACCO. They lie. She is the whole volume on that insipid text.
Calcagno, thou must choose one or the other--either to give up thy heart
or thy profession.

CALCAGNO. The Count is faithless to her; and of all the arts that may
seduce a woman the subtlest is jealousy. A plot against the Dorias will
at the same time occupy the Count, and give me easy access to his house.
Thus, while the shepherd guards against the wolf, the fox shall make
havoc of the poultry.

SACCO. Incomparable brother, receive my thanks! A blush is now
superfluous, and I can tell thee openly what just now I was ashamed even
to think. I am a beggar if the government be not soon overturned.

CALCAGNO. What, are thy debts so great?

SACCO. So immense that even one-tenth of them would more than swallow
ten times my income. A convulsion of the state will give me breath; and
if it do not cancel all my debts, at least 'twill stop the mouths of
bawling creditors.

CALCAGNO. I understand thee; and if then, perchance, Genoa should be
freed, Sacco will be hailed his country's savior. Let no one trick out
to me the threadbare tale of honesty, if the fate of empires hang on the
bankruptcy of a prodigal and the lust of a debauchee. By heaven, Sacco,
I admire the wise design of Providence, that in us would heal the
corruptions in the heart of the state by the vile ulcers on its limbs.
Is thy design unfolded to Verrina?

SACCO. As far as it can be unfolded to a patriot. Thou knowest his
iron integrity, which ever tends to that one point, his country. His
hawk-like eye is now fixed on Fiesco, and he has half-conceived a hope of
thee to join the bold conspiracy.

CALCAGNO. Oh, he has an excellent nose! Come, let us seek him, and fan
the flame of liberty in his breast by our accordant spirit.

                            [Exeunt.



SCENE IV.

   JULIA, agitated with anger, and FIESCO, in a white mask,
   following her.

JULIA. Servants! footmen!

FIESCO. Countess, whither are you going? What do you intend?

JULIA. Nothing--nothing at all. (To the servants, who enter and
immediately retire.) Let my carriage draw up----

FIESCO. Pardon me, it must not. You are offended.

JULIA. Oh, by no means. Away--you tear my dress to pieces. Offended.
Who is here that can offend me? Go, pray go.

FIESCO (upon one knee). Not till you tell me what impertinent----

JULIA (stands still in a haughty attitude). Fine! Fine! Admirable!
Oh, that the Countess of Lavagna might be called to view this charming
scene! How, Count, is this like a husband? This posture would better
suit the chamber of your wife when she turns over the journal of your
caresses and finds a void in the account. Rise, sir, and seek those to
whom your overtures will prove more acceptable. Rise--unless you think
your gallantries will atone for your wife's impertinence.

FIESCO (jumping up). Impertinence! To you?

JULIA. To break up! To push away her chair! To turn her back upon the
table--that table, Count, where I was sitting----

FIESCO. 'Tis inexcusable.

JULIA. And is that all? Out upon the jade! Am I, then, to blame
because the Count makes use of his eyes? (Smilingly admiring herself.)

FIESCO. 'Tis the fault of your beauty, madam, that keeps them in such
sweet slavery.

JULIA. Away with compliment where honor is concerned. Count, I insist
on satisfaction. Where shall I find it, in you, or in my uncle's
vengeance?

FIESCO. Find it in the arms of love--of love that would repair the
offence of jealousy.

JULIA. Jealousy! Jealousy! Poor thing! What would she wish for?
(Admiring herself in the glass.) Could she desire a higher compliment
than were I to declare her taste my own? (Haughtily.) Doria and Fiesco!
Would not the Countess of Lavagna have reason to feel honored if Doria's
niece deigned to envy her choice? (In a friendly tone, offering the
Count her hand to kiss.) I merely assume the possibility of such a case,
Count.

FIESCO (with animation). Cruel Countess! Thus to torment me. I know,
divine Julia, that respect is all I ought to feel for you. My reason
bids me bend a subject's knee before the race of Doria; but my heart
adores the beauteous Julia. My love is criminal, but 'tis also heroic,
and dares o'erleap the boundaries of rank, and soar towards the dazzling
sun of majesty.

JULIA. A great and courtly falsehood, paraded upon stilts! While his
tongue deifies me, his heart beats beneath the picture of another.

FIESCO. Rather say it beats indignantly against it, and would shake off
the odious burden. (Taking the picture of LEONORA, which is suspended by
a sky-blue ribbon from his breast, and delivering it to JULIA.) Place
your own image on that altar and you will instantly annihilate this idol.

JULIA (pleased, puts by the picture hastily). A great sacrifice, by mine
honor, and which deserves my thanks. (Hangs her own picture about his
neck.) So, my slave, henceforth bear your badge of service.

                            [Exit.

FIESCO (with transport). Julia loves me! Julia! I envy not even the
gods. (Exulting.) Let this night be a jubilee. Joy shall attain its
summit. Ho! within there! (Servants come running in.) Let the floors
swim with Cyprian nectar, soft strains of music rouse midnight from her
leaden slumber, and a thousand burning lamps eclipse the morning sun.
Pleasure shall reign supreme, and the Bacchanal dance so wildly beat the
ground that the dark kingdom of the shades below shall tremble at the
uproar!

   [Exit hastily. A noisy allegro, during which the back scene opens,
   and discovers a grand illuminated saloon, many masks--dancing. At
   the side, drinking and playing tables, surrounded with company.



SCENE V.

   GIANETTINO, almost intoxicated, LOMELLINO, ZIBO, ZENTURIONE,
   VERRINA, CALCAGNO, all masked. Several other nobles and ladies.

GIANETTINO (boisterously). Bravo! Bravo! These wines glide down
charmingly. The dancers perform a merveille. Go, one of you, and
publish it throughout Genoa that I am in good humor, and that every
one may enjoy himself. By my ruling star this shall be marked as a
red-letter day in the calendar, and underneath be written,--"This day was
Prince Doria merry." (The guests lift their glasses to their mouths. A
general toast of "The Republic." Sound of trumpets.) The Republic?
(Throwing his glass violently on the ground.) There lie its fragments.
(Three black masks suddenly rise and collect about GIANETTINO.)

LOMELLINO (supporting GIANETTINO on his arm). My lord, you lately spoke
of a young girl whom you saw in the church of St. Lorenzo.

GIANETTINO. I did, my lad! and I must make her acquaintance.

LOMELLINO. That I can manage for your grace.

GIANETTINO (with vehemence). Can you? Can you? Lomellino, you were a
candidate for the procuratorship. You shall have it.

LOMELLINO. Gracious prince, it is the second dignity in the state; more
than threescore noblemen seek it, and all of them more wealthy and
honorable than your grace's humble servant.

GIANETTINO (indignantly). By the name of Doria! You shall be
procurator. (The three masks come forward). What talk you of nobility
in Genoa? Let them all throw their ancestry and honors into the scale,
one hair from the white beard of my old uncle will make it kick the beam.
It is my will that you be procurator, and that is tantamount to the votes
of the whole senate.

LOMELLINO (in a low voice). The damsel is the only daughter of one
Verrina.

GIANETTINO. The girl is pretty, and, in spite of all the devils in hell,
I must possess her.

LOMELLINO. What, my lord! the only child of the most obstinate of our
republicans?

GIANETTINO. To hell with your republicans! Shall my passion be thwarted
by the anger of a vassal? 'Tis as vain as to expect the tower should
fall when the boys pelt it with mussel-shells. (The three black masks
step nearer, with great emotion.) What! Has the Duke Andreas gained his
scars in battle for their wives and children, only that his nephew should
court the favor of these vagabond republicans! By the name of Doria they
shall swallow this fancy of mine, or I will plant a gallows over the
bones of my uncle, on which their Genoese liberty shall kick itself to
death. (The three masks step back in disgust.)

LOMELLINO. The damsel is at this moment alone. Her father is here, and
one of those three masks.

GIANETTINO. Excellent! Bring me instantly to her.

LOMELLINO. But you will seek in her a mistress, and find a prude.

GIANETTINO. Force is the best rhetoric. Lead me to her. Would I could
see that republican dog that durst stand in the way of the bear Doria.
(Going, meets FIESCO at the door.) Where is the Countess?



SCENE VI.

   FIESCO and the former.

FIESCO. I have handed her to her carriage. (Takes GIANETTINO'S hand,
and presses it to his breast.) Prince, I am now doubly your slave. To
you I bow, as sovereign of Genoa--to your lovely sister, as mistress of
my heart.

LOMELLINO. Fiesco has become a mere votary of pleasure. The great world
has lost much in you.

FIESCO. But Fiesco has lost nothing in giving up the world. To live is
to dream, and to dream pleasantly is to be wise. Can this be done more
certainly amid the thunders of a throne, where the wheels of government
creak incessantly upon the tortured ear, than on the heaving bosom of an
enamored woman? Let Gianettino rule over Genoa; Fiesco shall devote
himself to love.

GIANETTINO. Away, Lomellino! It is near midnight. The time draws near
--Lavagna, we thank thee for thy entertainment--I have been satisfied.

FIESCO. That, prince, is all that I can wish.

GIANETTINO. Then good-night! To-morrow we have a party at the palace,
and Fiesco is invited. Come, procurator!

FIESCO. Ho! Lights there! Music!

GIANETTINO (haughtily, rushing through the three masks). Make way there
for Doria!

ONE OF THE THREE MASKS (murmuring indignantly). Make way? In hell!
Never in Genoa!

THE GUESTS (in motion). The prince is going. Good night, Lavagna!
(They depart.)



SCENE VII.

   The THREE BLACK MASKS and FIESCO. (A pause.)

FIESCO. I perceive some guests here who do not share the pleasure of the
feast.

MASKS (murmuring to each other with indignation). No! Not one of us.

FIESCO (courteously). Is it possible that my attention should have been
wanting to any one of my guests? Quick, servants! Let the music be
renewed, and fill the goblets to the brim. I would not that my friends
should find the time hang heavy. Will you permit me to amuse you with
fireworks. Would you choose to see the frolics of my harlequin? Perhaps
you would be pleased to join the ladies. Or shall we sit down to faro,
and pass the time in play?

A MASK. We are accustomed to spend it in action.

FIESCO. A manly answer--such as bespeaks Verrina.

VERRINA (unmasking). Fiesco is quicker to discover his friends beneath
their masks than they to discover him beneath his.

FIESCO. I understand you not. But what means that crape of mourning
around your arm? Can death have robbed Verrina of a friend, and Fiesco
not know the loss?

VERRINA. Mournful tales ill suit Fiesco's joyful feasts.

FIESCO. But if a friend--(pressing his hand warmly.) Friend of my soul!
For whom must we both mourn?

VRRRINA. Both! both! Oh, 'tis but too true we both should mourn--yet
not all sons lament their mother.

FIESCO. 'Tis long since your mother was mingled with the dust.

VERRINA (with an earnest look). I do remember me that Fiesco once called
me brother, because we both were sons of the same country!

FIESCO (jocosely). Oh, is it only that? You meant then but to jest?
The mourning dress is worn for Genoa! True, she lies indeed in her last
agonies. The thought is new and singular. Our cousin begins to be a
wit.

VERRINA. Fiesco! I spoke most seriously.

FIESCO. Certainly--certainly. A jest loses its point when he who makes
it is the first to laugh. But you! You looked like a mute at a funeral.
Who could have thought that the austere Verrina should in his old age
become such a wag!

SACCO. Come, Verrina. He never will be ours.

FIESCO. Be merry, brother. Let us act the part of the cunning heir, who
walks in the funeral procession with loud lamentations, laughing to
himself the while, under the cover of his handkerchief. 'Tis true we may
be troubled with a harsh step-mother. Be it so--we will let her scold,
and follow our own pleasures.

VERRINA (with great emotion). Heaven and earth! Shall we then do
nothing? What is to become of you, Fiesco? Where am I to seek that
determined enemy of tyrants? There was a time when but to see a crown
would have been torture to you. Oh, fallen son of the republic! By
heaven, if time could so debase my soul I would spurn immortality.

FIESCO. O rigid censor! Let Doria put Genoa in his pocket, or barter it
with the robbers of Tunis. Why should it trouble us? We will drown
ourselves in floods of Cyprian wine, and revel it in the sweet caresses
of our fair ones.

VERRINA (looking at him with earnestness). Are these indeed your serious
thoughts?

FIESCO. Why should they not be, my friend? Think you 'tis a pleasure to
be the foot of that many-legged monster, a republic? No--thanks be to
him who gives it wings, and deprives the feet of their functions! Let
Gianettino be the duke, affairs of state shall ne'er lie heavy on our
heads.

VERRINA. Fiesco! Is that truly and seriously your meaning?

FIESCO. Andreas adopts his nephew as a son, and makes him heir to his
estates; what madman will dispute with him the inheritance of his power?

VERRINA (with the utmost indignation). Away, then, Genoese! (Leaves
FIESCO hastily, the rest follow.)

FIESCO. Verrina! Verrina! Oh, this republican is as hard as steel!



SCENE VIII.

   FIESCO. A MASK entering.

MASK. Have you a minute or two to spare, Lavagna?

FIESCO (in an obliging manner). An hour if you request it.

MASK. Then condescend to walk into the fields with me.

FIESCO. It wants but ten minutes of midnight.

MASK. Walk with me, Count, I pray.

FIESCO. I will order my carriage.

MASK. That is useless--I shall send one horse: we want no more, for only
one of us, I hope, will return.

FIESCO (with surprise). What say you?

MASK. A bloody answer will be demanded of you, touching a certain tear.

FIESCO. What tear?

MASK. A tear shed by the Countess of Lavagna. I am acquainted with that
lady, and demand to know how she has merited to be sacrificed to a
worthless woman?

FIESCO. I understand you now; but let me ask who 'tis that offers so
strange a challenge?

MASK. It is the same that once adored the lady Zibo, and yielded her to
Fiesco.

FIESCO. Scipio Bourgognino!

BOURGOGNINO (unmasking). And who now stands here to vindicate his honor,
that yielded to a rival base enough to tyrannize over innocence.

FIESCO (embraces him with ardor). Noble youth! thanks to the sufferings
of my consort, which have drawn forth the manly feelings of your soul; I
admire your generous indignation--but I refuse your challenge.

BOURGOGNINO (stepping back). Does Fiesco tremble to encounter the first
efforts of my sword?

FIESCO. No, Bourgognino! against a nation's power combined I would
boldly venture, but not against you. The fire of your valor is endeared
to me by a most lovely object--the will deserves a laurel, but the deed
would be childish.

BOURGOGNINO (with emotion). Childish, Count! women can only weep at
injuries. 'Tis for men to revenge them.

FIESCO. Uncommonly well said--but fight I will not.

BOURGOGNINO (turning upon him contemptuously). Count, I shall despise
you.

FIESCO (with animation). By heaven, youth, that thou shalt never do--not
even if virtue fall in value, shall I become a bankrupt. (Taking him by
the hand, with a look of earnestness.) Did you ever feel for me--what
shall I say--respect?

BOURGOGNINO. Had I not thought you were the first of men I should not
have yielded to you.

FIESCO. Then, my friend, be not so forward to despise a man who once
could merit your respect. It is not for the eye of the youthful artist
to comprehend at once the master's vast design. Retire, Bourgognino, and
take time to weigh the motives of Fiesco's conduct!

   [Exit BOURGOGNINO, in silence.

Go! noble youth! if spirits such as thine break out in flames in thy
country's cause, let the Dorias see that they stand fast!



SCENE IX.

   FIESCO.--The MOOR entering with an appearance of timidity,
   and looking round cautiously.

FIESCO (fixing his eye on him sharply). What wouldst thou here? Who art
thou?

MOOR (as above). A slave of the republic.

FIESCO (keeping his eye sharply upon him). Slavery is a wretched craft.
What dost thou seek?

MOOR. Sir, I am an honest man.

FIESCO. Wear then that label on thy visage, it will not be superfluous--
but what wouldst thou have?

MOOR (approaching him, FIESCO draws back). Sir, I am no villain.

FIESCO. 'Tis well thou hast told me that--and yet--'tis not well either
(impatiently). What dost thou seek?

MOOR (still approaching). Are you the Count Lavagna?

FIESCO (haughtily). The blind in Genoa know my steps--what wouldst thou
with the Count?

MOOR (close to him). Be on your guard, Lavagna!

FIESCO (passing hastily to the other side). That, indeed, I am.

MOOR (again approaching). Evil designs are formed against you, Count.

FIESCO (retreating). That I perceive.

MOOR. Beware of Doria!

FIESCO (approaching him with an air of confidence). Perhaps my
suspicions have wronged thee, my friend--Doria is indeed the name I
dread.

MOOR. Avoid the man, then. Can you read?

FIESCO. A curious question! Thou hast known, it seems, many of our
cavaliers. What writing hast thou?

MOOR. Your name is amongst other condemned sinners. (Presents a paper,
and draws close to FIESCO, who is standing before a looking-glass and
glancing over the paper--the MOOR steals round him, draws a dagger, and
is going to stab.)

FIESCO (turning round dexterously, and seizing the MOOR'S arm.) Stop,
scoundrel! (Wrests the dagger from him.)

MOOR (stamps in a frantic manner). Damnation! Your pardon--sire!

FIESCO (seizing him, calls with a loud voice). Stephano! Drullo!
Antonio! (holding the MOOR by the throat.) Stay, my friend!--what
hellish villany! (Servants enter.) Stay, and answer--thou hast
performed thy task like a bungler. Who pays thy wages?

MOOR (after several fruitless attempts to escape). You cannot hang me
higher than the gallows are----

FIESCO. No--be comforted--not on the horns of the moon, but higher than
ever yet were gallows--yet hold! Thy scheme was too politic to be of thy
own contrivance speak, fellow! who hired thee?

MOOR. Think me a rascal, sir, but not a fool.

FIESCO. What, is the scoundrel proud? Speak, sirrah! Who hired thee?

MOOR (aside). Shall I alone be called a fool? Who hired me? 'Twas but
a hundred miserable sequins. Who hired me, did you ask? Prince
Gianettino.

FIESCO (walking about in a passion). A hundred sequins? And is that all
the value set upon Fiesco's head? Shame on thee, Prince of Genoa! Here,
fellow (taking money from an escritoire), are a thousand for thee. Tell
thy master he is a niggardly assassin. (MOOR looks at him with
astonishment.) What dost thou gaze at? (MOOR takes up the money--lays
it down--takes it up again, and looks at FIESCO with increased
astonishment). What dost thou mean?

MOOR (throwing the money resolutely upon the table). Sir, that money I
have not earned--I deserve it not.

FIESCO. Blockhead, thou hast deserved the gallows; but the offended
elephant tramples on men not on worms. Were thy life worth but two words
I would have thee hanged.

MOOR (bowing with an air of pleasure at his escape). Sir, you are too
good----

FIESCO. Not towards thee! God forbid! No. I am amused to think my
humor can make or unmake such a villain as thou, therefore dost thou go
scot-free--understand me aright--I take thy failure as an omen of my
future greatness--'tis this thought that renders me indulgent, and
preserves thy life.

MOOR (in a tone of confidence). Count, your hand! honor for honor. If
any man in this country has a throat too much--command me, and I'll cut
it--gratis.

FIESCO. Obliging scoundrel! He would show his gratitude by cutting
throats wholesale!

MOOR. Men like me, sir, receive no favor without acknowledgment. We
know what honor is.

FIESCO. The honor of cut-throats?

MOOR. Which is, perhaps, more to be relied on than that of your men of
character. They break their oaths made in the name of God. We keep ours
pledged to the devil.

FIESCO. Thou art an amusing villain.

MOOR. I rejoice to meet your approbation. Try me; you will find in me a
man who is a thorough master of his profession. Examine me; I can show
my testimonials of villany from every guild of rogues--from the lowest to
the highest.

FIESCO. Indeed! (seating himself.) There are laws and systems then even
among thieves. What canst thou tell me of the lowest class?

MOOR. Oh, sir, they are petty villains, mere pick-pockets. They are a
miserable set. Their trade never produces a man of genius; 'tis confined
to the whip and workhouse--and at most can lead but to the gallows.

FIESCO. A charming prospect! I should like to hear something of a
superior class.

MOOR. The next are spies and informers--tools of importance to the
great, who from their secret information derive their own supposed
omniscience. These villains insinuate themselves into the souls of men
like leeches; they draw poison from the heart, and spit it forth against
the very source from whence it came.

FIESCO. I understand thee--go on----

MOOR. Then come the conspirators, villains that deal in poison, and
bravoes that rush upon their victims from some secret covert. Cowards
they often are, but yet fellows that sell their souls to the devil as the
fees of their apprenticeship. The hand of justice binds their limbs to
the rack or plants their cunning heads on spikes--this is the third
class.

FIESCO. But tell me! When comes thy own?

MOOR. Patience, my lord--that is the very point I'm coming to--I have
already passed through all the stages that I mentioned: my genius soon
soared above their limits. 'Twas but last night I performed my
masterpiece in the third; this evening I attempted the fourth, and proved
myself a bungler.

FIESCO. And how do you describe that class?

MOOR (with energy). They are men who seek their prey within four walls,
cutting their way through every danger. They strike at once, and, by
their first salute, save him whom they approach the trouble of returning
thanks for a second. Between ourselves they are called the express
couriers of hell: and when Beelzebub is hungry they want but a wink, and
he gets his mutton warm.

FIESCO. Thou art an hardened villain--such a tool I want. Give me thy
hand--thou shalt serve me.

MOOR. Jest or earnest?

FIESCO. In full earnest--and I'll pay thee yearly a 'thousand sequins.

MOOR. Done, Lavagna! I am yours. Away with common business--employ me
in whate'er you will. I'll be your setter or your bloodhound--your fox,
your viper--your pimp, or executioner. I'm prepared for all commissions
--except honest ones; in those I am as stupid as a block.

FIESCO. Fear not! I would not set the wolf to guard the lamb. Go thou
through Genoa to-morrow and sound the temper of the people. Narrowly
inquire what they think of the government, and of the house of Doria--
what of me, my debaucheries, and romantic passion. Flood their brains
with wine, until the sentiments of the heart flow over. Here's money--
lavish it among the manufacturers----

MOOR. Sir!

FIESCO. Be not afraid--no honesty is in the case. Go, collect what help
thou canst. To-morrow I will hear thy report.

                     [Exit.

MOOR (following). Rely on me. It is now four o'clock in the morning, by
eight to-morrow you shall hear as much news as twice seventy spies can
furnish.

                     [Exit.



SCENE X.--An apartment in the house of VERRINA.

   BERTHA on a couch, supporting her head on her hand--

   VERRINA enters with a look of dejection.

BERTHA (starts up frightened). Heavens! He is here!

VERRINA (stops, looking at her with surprise). My daughter affrighted at
her father!

BERTHA. Fly! fly! or let me fly! Father, your sight is dreadful to me!

VERRINA. Dreadful to my child!--my only child!

BERTHA (looking at him mournfully). Oh! you must seek another. I am no
more your daughter.

VERRINA. What, does my tenderness distress you?

BERTHA. It weighs me down to the earth.

VERRINA. How, my daughter! do you receive me thus? Formerly, when I
came home, my heart o'erburdened with sorrows, my Bertha came running
towards me, and chased them away with her smiles. Come, embrace me, my
daughter! Reclined upon thy glowing bosom, my heart, when chilled by the
sufferings of my country, shall grow warm again. Oh, my child! this day
I have closed my account with the joys of this world, and thou alone
(sighing heavily) remainest to me.

BERTHA (casting a long and earnest look at him). Wretched father!

VERRINA (eagerly embracing her). Bertha! my only child! Bertha! my last
remaining hope! The liberty of Genoa is lost--Fiesco is lost--and thou
(pressing her more strongly, with a look of despair) mayest be
dishonored!

BERTHA (tearing herself from him). Great God! You know, then----

VERRINA (trembling). What?

BERTHA. My virgin honor----

VERRINA (raging). What?

BERTHA. Last night----

VERRINA (furiously.) Speak! What!

BERTHA. Force. (Sinks down upon the side of the sofa.)

VERRINA (after a long pause, with a hollow voice). One word more, my
daughter--thy last! Who was it?

BERTHA. Alas, what an angry deathlike paleness! Great God, support me!
How his words falter! His whole frame trembles!

VERRINA. I cannot comprehend it. Tell me, my daughter--who?

BERTHA. Compose yourself, my best, my dearest father!

VERRINA (ready to faint). For God's sake--who?

BERTHA. A mask----

VERRINA (steps back, thoughtfully). No! That cannot be!--the thought is
idle--(smiling to himself ). What a fool am I to think that all the
poison of my life can flow but from one source! (Firmly addressing
himself to BERTHA.) What was his stature, less than mine or taller?

BERTHA. Taller.

VERRINA (eagerly). His hair? Black, and curled?

BERTHA. As black as jet and curled?

VERRINA (retiring from her in great emotion). O God! my brain! my brain!
His voice?

BERTHA. Was deep and harsh.

VERRINA (impetuously). What color was--No! I'll hear no more! 'His
cloak! What color?

BERTHA. I think his cloak was green.

VERRINA (covering his face with his hands, falls on the couch). No more.
This can be nothing but a dream!

BERTHA (wringing her hands). Merciful heaven! Is this my father?

VERRINA (after a pause, with a forced smile). Right! It serves thee
right--coward Verrina! The villain broke into the sanctuary of the laws.
This did not rouse thee. Then he violated the sanctuary of thy honor
(starting up). Quick! Nicolo! Bring balls and powder--but stay--my
sword were better. (To BERTHA.) Say thy prayers! Ah! what am I going
to do?

BERTHA. Father, you make me tremble----

VERRINA. Come, sit by me, Bertha! (in a solemn manner.) Tell me,
Bertha, what did that hoary-headed Roman, when his daughter--like you--
how can I speak it! fell a prey to ignominy? Tell me, Bertha, what said
Virginius to his dishonored daughter?

BERTHA (shuddering). I know not.

VERRINA. Foolish girl! He said nothing--but (rising hastily and
snatching up a sword) he seized an instrument of death----

BERTHA (terrified, rushes into his arms). Great God! What would you do,
my father?

VERRINA (throwing away the sword). No! There is still justice left in
Genoa.



SCENE XI.

   SACCO, CALCAGNO, the former.

CALCAGNO. Verrina, quick! prepare! to-day begins the election week of
the republic. Let us early to the Senate House to choose the new
senators. The streets are full of people, you will undoubtedly accompany
us (ironically) to behold the triumph of our liberty.

SACCO (to CALCAGNO). But what do I see? A naked sword! Verrina staring
wildly! Bertha in tears!

CALCAGNO. By heavens, it is so. Sacco! some strange event has happened
here.

VERRINA (placing two chairs). Be seated.

SACCO. Your looks, Verrina, fill us with apprehension.

CALCAGNO. I never saw you thus before--Bertha is in tears, or your grief
would have seemed to presage our country's ruin.

VERRINA. Ruin! Pray sit down. (They both seat themselves.)

CALCAGNO. My friend, I conjure you----

VERRINA. Listen to me.

CALCAGNO (to SACCO). I have sad misgivings.

VERRINA. Genoese! you both know the antiquity of my family. Your
ancestors were vassals to my own. My forefathers fought the battles of
the state, their wives were patterns of virtue. Honor was our sole
inheritance, descending unspotted from the father to the son. Can any
one deny it?

SACCO. No.

CALCAGNO. No one, by the God of heaven!

VERRINA. I am the last of my family. My wife has long been dead. This
daughter is all she left me. You are witnesses, my friends, how I have
brought her up. Can anyone accuse me of neglect?

CALCAGNO. No. Your daughter is a bright example to her sex.

VERRINA. I am old, my friends. On this one daughter all my hopes were
placed. Should I lose her, my race becomes extinct. (After a pause,
with a solemn voice). I have lost her. My family is dishonored.

SACCO and CALCAGNO. Forbid it, heaven! (BERTHA on the couch, appears
much affected.)

VERRINA. No. Despair not, daughter! These men are just and brave. If
they feel thy wrongs they will expiate them with blood. Be not
astonished, friends! He who tramples upon Genoa may easily overcome a
helpless female.

SACCO and CALCAGNO (starting up with emotion). Gianettino Doria!

BERTHA (with a shriek, seeing BOURGOGNINO enter). Cover me, walls,
beneath your ruins! My Scipio!



SCENE XII.

   BOURGOGNINO--the former.

BOURGOGNINO (with ardor). Rejoice, my love! I bring good tidings.
Noble Verrina, my heaven now depends upon a word from you. I have long
loved your daughter, but never dared to ask her hand, because my whole
fortune was intrusted to the treacherous sea. My ships have just now
reached the harbor laden with valuable cargoes. Now I am rich. Bestow
your Bertha on me--I will make her happy. (BERTHA hides her face--a
profound pause.)

VERRINA. What, youth! Wouldst thou mix thy heart's pure tide with a
polluted stream?

BOURGOGNINO (clasps his hand to his sword, but suddenly draws it back).
'Twas her father said it.

VERRINA. No--every rascal in Italy will say it. Are you contented with
the leavings of other men's repasts?

BOURGOGNINO. Old man, do not make me desperate.

CALCAGNO. Bourgognino! he speaks the truth.

BOURGOGNINO (enraged, rushing towards BERTHA). The truth? Has the girl
then mocked me?

CALCAGNO. No! no! Bourgognino. The girl is spotless as an angel.

BOURGOGNINO (astonished). By my soul's happiness, I comprehend it not!
Spotless, yet dishonored! They look in silence on each other. Some
horrid crime hangs on their trembling tongues. I conjure you, friends,
mock not thus my reason. Is she pure? Is she truly so? Who answers for
her?

VERRINA. My child is guiltless.

BOURGOGNINO. What! Violence! (Snatches the sword from the ground.) Be
all the sins of earth upon my bead if I avenge her not! Where is the
spoiler?

VERRINA. Seek him in the plunderer of Genoa! (BOURGOGNINO struck with
astonishment--VERRINA walks up and down the room in deep thought, then
stops.) If rightly I can trace thy counsels, O eternal Providence! it is
thy will to make my daughter the instrument of Genoa's deliverance.
(Approaching her slowly, takes the mourning crape from his arm, and
proceeds in a solemn manner.) Before the heart's blood of Doria shall
wash away this foul stain from thy honor no beam of daylight shall shine
upon these cheeks. Till then (throwing the crape over her) be blind! (A
pause--the rest look upon him with silent astonishment; he continues
solemnly, his hand upon BERTHA'S head.) Cursed be the air that shall
breathe on thee! Cursed the sleep that shall refresh thee! Cursed every
human step that shall come to sooth thy misery! Down, into the lowest
vault beneath my house! There whine, and cry aloud! (pausing with inward
horror.) Be thy life painful as the tortures of the writhing worm--
agonizing as the stubborn conflict between existence and annihilation.
This curse lie on thee till Gianettino shall have heaved forth his dying
breath. If he escape his punishment, then mayest thou drag thy load of
misery throughout the endless circle of eternity!

   [A deep silence--horror is marked on the countenances of all
   present. VERRINA casts a scrutinizing look at each of them.

BOURGOGNINO. Inhuman father! What is it thou hast done? Why pour forth
this horrible and monstrous curse against thy guiltless daughter?

VERRINA. Youth, thou say'st true!--it is most horrible. Now who among
you will stand forth and prate still of patience and delay? My
daughter's fate is linked with that of Genoa. I sacrifice the affections
of a father to the duties of a citizen. Who among us is so much a coward
as to hesitate in the salvation of his country, when this poor guiltless
being must pay for his timidity with endless sufferings? By heavens,
'twas not a madman's speech! I have sworn an oath, and till Doria lie in
the agonies of death I will show no mercy to my child. No--not though,
like an executioner, I should invent unheard-of torments for her, or with
my own hands rend her innocent frame piecemeal on the barbarous rack.
You shudder--you stare at me with ghastly faces. Once more, Scipio--I
keep her as a hostage for the tyrant's death. Upon this precious thread
do I suspend thy duty, my own, and yours (to SACCO and CALCAGNO). The
tyrant of Genoa falls, or Bertha must despair--I retract not.

BOURGOGNINO (throwing himself at BERTHA'S feet). He shall fall--shall
fall a victim to Genoa. I will as surely sheathe this sword in Doria's
heart as upon thy lips I will imprint the bridal kiss. (Rises.)

VERRINA. Ye couple, the first that ever owed their union to the Furies,
join hands! Thou wilt sheathe thy sword in Doria's heart? Take her! she
is thine!

CALCAGNO (kneeling). Here kneels another citizen of Genoa and lays his
faithful sword before the feet of innocence. As surely may Calcagno find
the way to heaven as this steel shall find its way to Gianettino's heart!
(Rises.)

SACCO (kneeling). Last, but not less determined, Raffaelle Sacco kneels.
If this bright steel unlock not the prison doors of Bertha, mayest thou,
my Saviour, shut thine ear against my dying prayers! (Rises.)

VERRINA (with a calm look). Through me Genoa thanks you. Now go, my
daughter; rejoice to be the mighty sacrifice for thy country!

BOURGOGNINO (embracing her as she is departing). Go! confide in God--and
Bourgognino. The same day shall give freedom to Bertha and to Genoa.

                        [BERTHA retires.



SCENE XIII.

   The former--without BERTHA.

CALCAGNO. Genoese, before we take another step, one word----

VERRINA. I guess what you would say.

CALCAGNO. Will four patriots alone be sufficient to destroy this mighty
hydra? Shall we not stir up the people to rebellion, or draw the nobles
in to join our party?

VERRINA. I understand you. Now hear my advice; I have long engaged a
painter who has been exerting all his skill to paint the fall of Appius
Claudius. Fiesco is an adorer of the arts, and soon warmed by ennobling
scenes. We will send this picture to his house, and will be present when
he contemplates it. Perhaps the sight may rouse his dormant spirit.
Perhaps----

BOURGOGNINO. No more of him. Increase the danger, not the sharers in
it. So valor bids. Long have I felt a something within my breast that
nothing would appease. What 'twas now bursts upon me (springing up with
enthusiasm); 'twas a tyrant!

                     [The scene closes.




ACT II.

SCENE I.--An Ante-chamber in the Palace of FIESCO.

   LEONORA and ARABELLA.

ARABELLA. No, no, you were mistaken: your eyes were blinded by jealousy.

LEONORA. It was Julia to the life. Seek not to persuade me otherwise.
My picture was suspended by a sky-blue ribbon: this was flame-colored.
My doom is fixed irrevocably.



SCENE II.

   The former and JULIA.

JULIA (entering in an affected manner). The Count offered me his palace
to see the procession to the senate-house. The time will be tedious.
You will entertain me, madam, while the chocolate is preparing.

   [ARABELLA goes out, and returns soon afterwards.

LEONORA. Do you wish that I should invite company to meet you?

JULIA. Ridiculous! As if I should come hither in search of company.
You will amuse me, madam (walking up and down, and admiring herself ), if
you are able, madam. At any rate I shall lose nothing.

ARABELLA (sarcastically). Your splendid dress alone will be the loser.
Only think how cruel it is to deprive the eager eyes of our young beaux
of such a treat! Ah! and the glitter of your sparkling jewels on which
it almost wounds the sight to look. Good heavens! You seem to have
plundered the whole ocean of its pearls.

JULIA (before a glass). You are not accustomed to such things, miss!
But hark ye, miss! pray has your mistress also hired your tongue? Madam,
'tis fine, indeed, to permit your domestics thus to address your guests.

LEONORA. 'Tis my misfortune, signora, that my want of spirits prevents
me from enjoying the pleasure of your company.

JULIA. An ugly fault that, to be dull and spiritless. Be active,
sprightly, witty! Yours is not the way to attach your husband to you.

LEONORA. I know but one way, Countess. Let yours ever be the
sympathetic medium.

JULIA (pretending not to mind her). How you dress, madam! For shame!
Pay more attention to your personal appearance! Have recourse to art
where nature has been unkind. Put a little paint on those cheeks, which
look so pale with spleen. Poor creature! Your puny face will never find
a bidder.

LEONORA (in a lively manner to ARABELLA). Congratulate me, girl. It is
impossible I can have lost my Fiesco; or, if I have, the loss must be but
trifling. (The chocolate is brought, ARABELLA pours it out.)

JULIA. Do you talk of losing Fiesco? Good God! How could you ever
conceive the ambitious idea of possessing him? Why, my child, aspire to
such a height? A height where you cannot but be seen, and must come into
comparison with others. Indeed, my dear, he was a knave or a fool who
joined you with FIESCO. (Taking her hand with a look of compassion.)
Poor soul! The man who is received in the assemblies of fashionable life
could never be a suitable match for you. (She takes a dish of
chocolate.)

LEONORA (smiling at ARABELLA). If he were, he would not wish to mix with
such assemblies.

JULIA. The Count is handsome, fashionable, elegant. He is so fortunate
as to have formed connections with people of rank. He is lively and
high-spirited. Now, when he severs himself from these circles of
elegance and refinement, and returns home warm with their impressions,
what does he meet? His wife receives him with a commonplace tenderness;
damps his fire with an insipid, chilling kiss, and measures out her
attentions to him with a niggardly economy. Poor husband! Here, a
blooming beauty smiles upon him--there he is nauseated by a peevish
sensibility. Signora, signora, for God's sake consider, if he have not
lost his understanding, which will he choose?

LEONORA (offering her a cup of chocolate). You, madam--if he have
lost it.

JULIA. Good! This sting shall return into your own bosom. Tremble for
your mockery! But before you tremble--blush!

LEONORA. Do you then know what it is to blush, signora? But why not?
'Tis a toilet trick.

JULIA. Oh, see! This poor creature must be provoked if one would draw
from her a spark of wit. Well--let it pass this time. Madam, you were
bitter. Give me your hand in token of reconciliation.

LEONORA (offering her hand with a significant look). Countess, my anger
ne'er shall trouble you.

JULIA (offering her hand). Generous, indeed! Yet may I not be so, too?
(Maliciously.) Countess, do you not think I must love that person whose
image I bear constantly about me?

LEONORA (blushing and confused). What do you say? Let me hope the
conclusion is too hasty.

JULIA. I think so, too. The heart waits not the guidance of the senses
--real sentiment needs no breastwork of outward ornament.

LEONORA. Heavens! Where did you learn such a truth?

JULIA. 'Twas in mere compassion that I spoke it; for observe, madam, the
reverse is no less certain. Such is Fiesco's love for you. (Gives her
the picture, laughing maliciously.)

LEONORA (with extreme indignation). My picture! Given to you! (Throws
herself into a chair, much affected.) Cruel, Fiesco!

JULIA. Have I retaliated? Have I? Now, madam, have you any other sting
to wound me with? (Goes to side scene.) My carriage! My object is
gained. (To LEONORA, patting her cheek.) Be comforted, my dear; he gave
me the picture in a fit of madness.

                     [Exeunt JULIA and ARABELLA.



SCENE III.

   LEONORA, CALCAGNO entering.

CALCAGNO. Did not the Countess Imperiali depart in anger? You, too, so
excited, madam?

LEONORA (violently agitated.) No! This is unheard-of cruelty.

CALCAGNO. Heaven and earth! Do I behold you in tears?

LEONORA. Thou art a friend of my inhuman--Away, leave my sight!

CALCAGNO. Whom do you call inhuman? You affright me----

LEONORA. My husband. Is he not so?

CALCAGNO. What do I hear!

LEONORA. 'Tis but a piece of villany common enough among your sex!

CALCAGNO (grasping her hand with vehemence). Lady, I have a heart for
weeping virtue.

LEONORA. You are a man--your heart is not for me.

CALCAGNO. For you alone--yours only. Would that you knew how much, how
truly yours----

LEONORA. Man, thou art untrue. Thy words would be refuted by thy
actions----

CALCAGNO. I swear to you----

LEONORA. A false oath. Cease! The perjuries of men are so innumerable
'twould tire the pen of the recording angel to write them down. If their
violated oaths were turned into as many devils they might storm heaven
itself, and lead away the angels of light as captives.

CALCAGNO. Nay, madam, your anger makes you unjust. Is the whole sex to
answer for the crime of one?

LEONORA. I tell thee in that one was centred all my affection for the
sex. In him I will detest them all.

CALCAGNO. Countess,--you once bestowed your hand amiss. Would you again
make trial, I know one who would deserve it better.

LEONORA. The limits of creation cannot bound your falsehoods. I'll hear
no more.

CALCAGNO. Oh, that you would retract this cruel sentence in my arms!

LEONORA (with astonishment). Speak out. In thy arms!

CALCAGNO. In my arms, which open themselves to receive a forsaken woman,
and to console her for the love she has lost.

LEONORA (fixing her eyes on him). Love?

CALCAGNO (kneeling before her with ardor). Yes, I have said it. Love,
madam! Life and death hang on your tongue. If my passion be criminal
then let the extremes of virtue and vice unite, and heaven and hell be
joined together in one perdition.

LEONORA (steps back indignantly, with a look of noble disdain). Ha!
Hypocrite! Was that the object of thy false compassion? This attitude
at once proclaims thee a traitor to friendship and to love. Begone
forever from my eyes! Detested sex! Till now I thought the only victim
of your snares was woman; nor ever suspected that to each other you were
so false and faithless.

CALCAGNO (rising, confounded). Countess!

LEONORA. Was it not enough to break the sacred seal of confidence? but
even on the unsullied mirror of virtue does this hypocrite breathe
pestilence, and would seduce my innocence to perjury.

CALCAGNO (hastily). Perjury, madam, you cannot be guilty of.

LEONORA. I understand thee--thou thoughtest my wounded pride would plead
in thy behalf. (With dignity). Thou didst not know that she who loves
Fiesco feels even the pang that rends her heart ennobling. Begone!
Fiesco's perfidy will not make Calcagno rise in my esteem--but--will
lower humanity.                  [Exit hastily.

CALCAGNO (stands as if thunderstruck, looks after her, then striking his
forehead). Fool that I am.            [Exit.



SCENE IV.

   The MOOR and FIESCO.

FIESCO. Who was it that just now departed?

MOOR. The Marquis Calcagno.

FIESCO. This handkerchief was left upon the sofa. My wife has been
here.

MOOR. I met her this moment in great agitation.

FIESCO. This handkerchief is moist (puts it in his pocket). Calcagno
here? And Leonora agitated? This evening thou must learn what has
happened.

MOOR. Miss Bella likes to hear that she is fair. She will inform me.

FIESCO. Well--thirty hours are past. Hast thou executed my commission?

MOOR. To the letter, my lord.

FIESCO (seating himself). Then tell me how they talk of Doria, and of
the government.

MOOR. Oh, most vilely. The very name of Doria shakes them like an
ague-fit. Gianettino is as hateful to them as death itself--there's
naught but murmuring. They say the French have been the rats of Genoa,
the cat Doria has devoured them, and now is going to feast upon the mice.

FIESCO. That may perhaps be true. But do they not know of any dog
against that cat?

MOOR (with an affected carelessness). The town was murmuring much of a
certain--poh--why, I have actually forgotten the name.

FIESCO (rising). Blockhead! That name is as easy to be remembered as
'twas difficult to achieve. Has Genoa more such names than one?

MOOR. No--it cannot have two Counts of Lavagna.

FIESCO (seating himself). That is something. And what do they whisper
about my gayeties?

MOOR (fixing his eyes upon him). Hear me, Count of Lavagna! Genoa must
think highly of you. They can not imagine why a descendant of the first
family--with such talents and genius--full of spirit and popularity--
master of four millions--his veins enriched with princely blood--a
nobleman like Fiesco, whom, at the first call, all hearts would fly to
meet----

FIESCO (turns away contemptuously). To hear such things from such a
scoundrel!

MOOR. Many lamented that the chief of Genoa should slumber over the ruin
of his country. And many sneered. Most men condemned you. All bewailed
the state which thus had lost you. A Jesuit pretended to have smelt out
the fox that lay disguised in sheep's clothing.

FIESCO. One fox smells out another. What say they to my passion for the
Countess Imperiali?

MOOR. What I would rather be excused from repeating.

FIESCO. Out with it--the bolder the more welcome. What are their
murmurings?

MOOR. 'Tis not a murmur. At all the coffee-houses, billiard-tables,
hotels, and public walks--in the market-place, at the Exchange, they
proclaim aloud----

FIESCO. What? I command thee!

MOOR (retreating). That you are a fool!

FIESCO. Well, take this sequin for these tidings. Now have I put on a
fool's cap that these Genoese may have wherewith to rack their wits.
Next I will shave my head, that they may play Merry Andrew to my Clown.
How did the manufacturers receive my presents?

MOOR (humorously). Why, Mr. Fool, they looked like poor knaves----

FIESCO. Fool? Fellow, art thou mad?

MOOR. Pardon! I had a mind for a few more sequins.

FIESCO (laughing, gives him another sequin). Well. "Like poor knaves."

MOOR. Who receive pardon at the very block. They are yours both soul
and body.

FIESCO. I'm glad of it. They turn the scale among the populace of
Genoa.

MOOR. What a scene it was! Zounds! I almost acquired a relish for
benevolence. They caught me round the neck like madmen. The very girls
seemed in love with my black visage, that's as ill-omened as the moon in
an eclipse. Gold, thought I, is omnipotent: it makes even a Moor look
fair.

FIESCO. That thought was better than the soil which gave it birth.
These words are favorable; but do they bespeak actions of equal import?

MOOR. Yes--as the murmuring of the distant thunder foretells the
approaching storm. The people lay their heads together--they collect in
parties--break off their talk whenever a stranger passes by. Throughout
Genoa reigns a gloomy silence. This discontent hangs like a threatening
tempest over the republic. Come, wind, then hail and lightning will
burst forth.

FIESCO. Hush!--hark! What is that confused noise?

MOOR (going to the window). It is the tumult of the crowd returning from
the senate-house.

FIESCO. To-day is the election of a procurator. Order my carriage! It
is impossible that the sitting should be over. I'll go thither. It is
impossible it should be over if things went right. Bring me my sword and
cloak--where is my golden chain?

MOOR. Sir, I have stolen and pawned it.

FIESCO. That I am glad to hear.

MOOR. But, how! Are there no more sequins for me?

FIESCO. No. You forgot the cloak.

MOOR. Ah! I was wrong in pointing out the thief.

FIESCO. The tumult comes nearer. Hark! 'Tis not the sound of
approbation. Quick! Unlock the gates; I guess the matter. Doria has
been rash. The state balances upon a needle's point. There has
assuredly been some disturbance at the senate-house.

MOOR (at the window). What's here! They're coming down the street of
Balbi--a crowd of many thousands--the halberds glitter--ah, swords too!
Halloo! Senators! They come this way.

FIESCO. Sedition is on foot. Hasten amongst them; mention my name;
persuade them to come hither. (Exit Moon hastily.) What reason,
laboring like a careful ant, with difficulty scrapes together, the wind
of accident collects in one short moment.



SCENE V.

   FIESCO, ZENTURIONE, ZIBO, and ASSERATO, rushing in.

ZIBO. Count, impute it to our anger that we enter thus unannounced.

ZENTURIONE. I have been mortally affronted by the duke's nephew in the
face of the whole senate.

ASSERATO. Doria has trampled on the golden book of which each noble
Genoese is a leaf.

ZENTURIONE. Therefore come we hither. The whole nobility are insulted
in me; the whole nobility must share my vengeance. To avenge my own
honor I should not need assistance.

ZIBO. The whole nobility are outraged in his person; the whole nobility
must rise and vent their rage in fire and flames.

ASSERATO. The rights of the nation are trodden under foot; the liberty
of the republic has received a deadly blow.

FIESCO. You raise my expectation to the utmost.

ZIBO. He was the twenty-ninth among the electing senators, and had drawn
forth a golden ball to vote for the procurator. Of the eight-and-twenty
votes collected, fourteen were for me, and as many for Lomellino. His
and Doria's were still wanting----

ZENTURIONE. Wanting! I gave my vote for Zibo. Doria--think of the
wound inflicted on my honor--Doria----

ASSERATO (interrupting him). Such a thing was never heard of since the
sea washed the walls of Genoa.

ZENTURIONE (continues, with great heat). Doria drew a sword, which he
had concealed under a scarlet cloak--stuck it through my vote--called to
the assembly----

ZIBO. "Senators, 'tis good-for-nothing--'tis pierced through. Lomellino
is procurator."

ZENTURIONE. "Lomellino is procurator." And threw his sword upon the
table.

ASSERATO. And called out, "'Tis good-for-nothing!" and threw his sword
upon the table.

FIESCO (after a pause). On what are you resolved?

ZENTURIONE. The republic is wounded to its very heart. On what are we
resolved?

FIESCO. Zenturione, rushes may yield to a breath, but the oak requires a
storm. I ask, on what are you resolved?

ZIBO. Methinks the question shall be, on what does Genoa resolve?

FIESCO. Genoa! Genoa! name it not. 'Tis rotten, and crumbles wherever
you touch it. Do you reckon on the nobles? Perhaps because they put on
grave faces, look mysterious when state affairs are mentioned--talk not
of them! Their heroism is stifled among the bales of their Levantine
merchandise. Their souls hover anxiously over their India fleet.

ZENTURIONE. Learn to esteem our nobles more justly. Scarcely was
Doria's haughty action done when hundreds of them rushed into the street
tearing their garments. The senate was dispersed----

FIESCO (sarcastically). Like frighted pigeons when the vulture darts
upon the dovecot.

ZENTURIONE. No! (fiercely)--like powder-barrels when a match falls on
them.

ZIBO. The people are enraged. What may we not expect from the fury of
the wounded boar!

FIESCO (laughing). The blind, unwieldy monster, which at first rattles
its heavy bones, threatening, with gaping jaws, to devour the high and
low, the near and distant, at last stumbles at a thread--Genoese, 'tis in
vain! The epoch of the masters of the sea is past--Genoa is sunk beneath
the splendor of its name. Its state is such as once was Rome's, when,
like a tennis-ball, she leaped into the racket of young Octavius. Genoa
can be free no longer; Genoa must be fostered by a monarch; therefore do
homage to the mad-brained Gianettino.

ZENTURIONE (vehemently). Yes, when the contending elements are
reconciled, and when the north pole meets the south. Come, friends.

FIESCO. Stay! stay! Upon what project are you brooding, Zibo?

ZIBO. On nothing.

FIESCO (leading them to a statue). Look at this figure.

ZENTURIONE. It is the Florentine Venus. Why point to her?

FIESCO. At least she pleases you.

ZIBO. Undoubtedly, or we should be but poor Italians. But why this
question now?

FIESCO. Travel through all the countries of the globe, and among the
most beautiful of living female models, seek one which shall unite all
the charms of this ideal Venus.

ZIBO. And then take for our reward?

FIESCO. Then your search will have convicted fancy of deceit----

ZENTURIONE (impatiently). And what shall we have gained?

FIESCO. Gained? The decision of the long-protracted contest between art
and nature.

ZENTURIONE (eagerly). And what then?

FIESCO. Then, then? (Laughing.) Then your attention will have been
diverted from observing the fall of Genoa's liberty.

                       [Exeunt all but FIESCO.



SCENE VI.

   FIESCO alone. (The noise without increases.)

FIESCO. 'Tis well! 'tis well. The straw of the republic has caught
fire--the flames have seized already on palaces and towers. Let it go
on! May the blaze be general! Let the tempestuous wind spread wide the
conflagration!



SCENE VII.

   FIESCO, MOOR, entering in haste.

MOOR. Crowds upon crowds!

FIESCO. Throw open wide the gates. Let all that choose enter.

MOOR. Republicans! Republicans, indeed! They drag their liberty along,
panting, like beasts of burden, beneath the yoke of their magnificent
nobility.

FIESCO. Fools! who believe that Fiesco of Lavagna will carry on what
Fiesco of Lavagna did not begin. The tumult comes opportunely; but the
conspiracy must be my own. They are rushing hither----

MOOR (going out). Halloo! halloo! You are very obligingly battering the
house down. (The people rush in; the doors broken down.)



SCENE VIII.

   FIESCO, twelve ARTISANS.

ALL ARTISANS. Vengeance on Doria! Vengeance on Gianettino!

FIESCO. Gently! gently! my countrymen! Your waiting thus upon me
bespeaks the warmth of your affection; but I pray you have mercy on my
ears!

ALL (with impetuosity). Down with the Dorias! Down with them, uncle and
nephew!

FIESCO (counting them with a smile). Twelve is a mighty force!

SOME OF THEM. These Dorias must away! the state must be reformed!

1ST ARTISAN. To throw our magistrates down stairs! The magistrates!

2D ARTISAN. Think, Count Lavagna--down stairs! because they opposed them
in the election----

ALL. It must not be endured! it shall not be endured!

3D ARTISAN. To take a sword into the senate!

1ST ARTISAN. A sword?--the sign of war--into the chamber of peace!

2D ARTISAN. To come into the senate dressed in scarlet! Not like the
other senators, in black.

1ST ARTISAN. To drive through our capital with eight horses!

ALL. A tyrant! A traitor to the country and the government!

2D ARTISAN. To hire two hundred Germans from the Emperor for his
body-guard.

1ST ARTISAN. To bring foreigners in arms against the natives--Germans
against Italians--soldiers against laws!

ALL. 'Tis treason!--'tis a plot against the liberty of Genoa!

1ST ARTISAN. To have the arms of the republic painted on his coach!

2D ARTISAN. The statue of Andreas placed in the centre of the
senate-house!

ALL. Dash them to pieces--both the statue and the man----

FIESCO. Citizens of Genoa, why this to me?

1ST ARTISAN. You should not suffer it. You should keep him down.

2D ARTISAN. You are a wise man, and should not suffer it. You should
direct us by your counsel.

1ST ARTISAN. You are a better nobleman. You should chastise them and
curb their insolence.

FIESCO. Your confidence is flattering. Can I merit it by deeds?

ALL (clamorously). Strike! Down with the tyrant! Make us free!

FIESCO. But--will you hear me?

SOME. Speak, Count!


FIESCO (seating himself). Genoese,--the empire of the animals was once
thrown into confusion; parties struggled with parties, till at last a
bull-dog seized the throne. He, accustomed to drive the cattle to the
knife of the butcher, prowled in savage manner through the state. He
barked, he bit, and gnawed his subjects' bones. The nation murmured; the
boldest joined together, and killed the princely monster. Now a general
assembly was held to decide upon the important question, which form of
government was best. There were three different opinions. Genoese, what
would be your decision?

1ST ARTISAN. For the people--everything in common----

FIESCO. The people gained it. The government was democratical; each
citizen had a vote, and everything was submitted to a majority. But a
few weeks passed ere man declared war against the new republic. The
state assembled. Horse, lion, tiger, bear, elephant, and rhinoceros,
stepped forth, and roared aloud, "To arms!" The rest were called upon to
vote. The lamb, the hare, the stag, the ass, the tribe of insects, with
the birds and timid fishes, cried for peace. See, Genoese! The cowards
were more numerous than the brave; the foolish than the wise. Numbers
prevailed--the beasts laid down their arms, and man exacted contributions
from them. The democratic system was abandoned. Genoese, what would you
next have chosen?

1ST AND 2D ARTISANS. A select government!

FIESCO. That was adopted. The business of the state was all arranged
in separate departments. Wolves were the financiers, foxes their
secretaries, doves presided in the criminal courts, and tigers in
the courts of equity. The laws of chastity were regulated by goats;
hares were the soldiers; lions and elephants had charge of the baggage.
The ass was the ambassador of the empire, and the mole appointed
inspector-general of the whole administration. Genoese, what think you
of this wise distribution? Those whom the wolf did not devour the fox
pillaged; whoever escaped from him was knocked down by the ass. The
tiger murdered innocents, whilst robbers and assassins were pardoned by
the doves. And at the last, when each had laid down his office, the mole
declared that all were well discharged. The animals rebelled. "Let us,"
they cried unanimously, "choose a monarch endowed with strength and
skill, and who has only one stomach to appease." And to one chief they
all did homage. Genoese--to one---but (rising and advancing
majestically)--that one was--the lion!

ALL (shouting, and throwing up their hats). Bravo! Bravo! Well
managed, Count Lavagna!

1ST ARTISAN. And Genoa shall follow that example. Genoa, also, has its
lion!

FIESCO. Tell me not of that lion; but go home and think upon him. (The
ARTISANS depart tumultuously.) It is as I would have it. The people and
the senate are alike enraged against Doria; the people and the senate
alike approve FIESCO. Hassan! Hassan! I must take advantage of this
favorable gale. Hoa! Hassan! Hassan! I must augment their hatred--
improve my influence. Hassan! Come hither! Whoreson of hell, come
hither!



SCENE IX.

   FIESCO, MOOR entering hastily.

MOOR. My feet are quite on fire with running. What is the matter now?

FIESCO. Hear my commands!

MOOR (submissively). Whither shall I run first?

FIESCO. I will excuse thy running this time. Thou shalt be dragged.
Prepare thyself. I intend to publish thy attempted assassination, and
deliver thee up in chains to the criminal tribunal.

MOOR (taking several steps backward). Sir!--that's contrary to
agreement.

FIESCO. Be not alarmed. 'Tis but a farce. At this moment 'tis of the
utmost consequence that Gianettino's attempt against my life should be
made public. Thou shalt be tried before the criminal tribunal.

MOOR. Must I confess it, or deny?

FIESCO. Deny. They will put thee to the torture. Thou must hold out
against the first degree. This, by the by, will serve to expiate thy
real crime. At the second thou mayest confess.

MOOR (shaking his head with a look of apprehension). The devil is a sly
rogue. Their worships might perhaps desire my company a little longer
than I should wish; and, for sheer farce sake, I may be broken on the
wheel.

FIESCO. Thou shalt escape unhurt, I give thee my honor as a nobleman. I
shall request, as satisfaction, to have thy punishment left to me, and
then pardon thee before the whole republic.

MOOR. Well--I agree to it. They will draw out my joints a little; but
that will only make them the more flexible.

FIESCO. Then scratch this arm with thy dagger, till the blood flows. I
will pretend that I have just now seized thee in fact. 'Tis well.
(Hallooing violently). Murder! Murder! Guard the passages! Make fast
the gates! (He drags the MOOR out by the throat; servants run across the
stage hastily.)



SCENE X.

   LEONORA and ROSA enter hastily, alarmed.

LEONORA. Murder! they cried--murder!--The noise came this way.

ROSA. Surely 'twas but a common tumult, such as happens every day in
Genoa.

LEONORA. They cried murder! and I distinctly heard Fiesco's name. In
vain you would deceive me. My heart discovers what is concealed from my
eyes. Quick! Hasten after them. See! Tell me whither they carry him.

ROSA. Collect your spirits, madam. Arabella is gone.

LEONORA. Arabella will catch his dying look. The happy Arabella!
Wretch that I am? 'twas I that murdered him. If I could have engaged
his heart he would not have plunged into the world, nor rushed upon the
daggers of assassins. Ah! she comes. Away! Oh, Arabella, speak not
to me!



SCENE XI.

   The former, ARABELLA.

ARABELLA. The Count is living and unhurt. I saw him gallop through the
city. Never did he appear more handsome. The steed that bore him
pranced haughtily along, and with its proud hoof kept the thronging
multitude at a distance from its princely rider. He saw me as I passed,
and with a gracious smile, pointing thither, thrice kissed his hand to
me. (Archly.) What can I do with those kisses, madam?

LEONORA (highly pleased). Idle prattler! Restore them to him.

ROSA. See now, how soon your color has returned!

LEONORA. His heart he is ready to fling at every wench, whilst I sigh in
vain for a look! Oh woman! woman!

                      [Exeunt.



SCENE XII.--The Palace of ANDREAS.

   GIANETTINO and LOMELLINO enter hastily.

GIANETTINO. Let them roar for their liberty as a lioness for her young.
I am resolved.

LOMELLINO. But--most gracious prince!

GIANETTINO. Away to hell with thy buts, thou three-hours procurator! I
will not yield a hair's breadth? Let Genoa's towers shake their heads,
and the hoarse sea bellow No to it. I value not the rebellious
multitude!

LOMELLINO. The people are indeed the fuel; but the nobility fan the
flame. The whole republic is in a ferment, people and patricians.

GIANETTINO. Then will I stand upon the mount like Nero, and regale
myself with looking upon the paltry flames.

LOMELLINO. Till the whole mass of sedition falls into the hands of some
enterprising leader, who will take advantage of the general devastation.

GIANETTINO. Poh! Poh! I know but one who might be dangerous, and he is
taken care of.

LOMELLINO. His highness comes.

   Enter ANDREAS--(both bow respectfully).

ANDREAS. Signor Lomellino, my niece wishes to take the air.

LOMELLINO. I shall have the honor of attending her.

                        [Exit LOMELLINO.



SCENE XIII.

   ANDREAS and GIANETTINO.

ANDREAS. Nephew, I am much displeased with you.

GIANETTINO. Grant me a hearing, most gracious uncle!

ANDREAS. That would I grant to the meanest beggar in Genoa if he were
worthy of it. Never to a villain, though he were my nephew. It is
sufficient favor that I address thee as an uncle, not as a sovereign!

GIANETTINO. One word only, gracious sir!

ANDREAS. Hear first what thou hast done; then answer me. Thou hast
pulled down an edifice which I have labored for fifty years to raise--
that which should have been thy uncle's mausoleum, his only pyramid--the
affections of his countrymen. This rashness Andreas pardons thee----

GIANETTINO. My uncle and my sovereign----

ANDREAS. Interrupt me not. Thou hast injured that most glorious work of
mine, the constitution, which I brought down from heaven for Genoa, which
cost me so many sleepless nights, so many dangers, and so much blood.
Before all Genoa thou hast cast a stain upon my honor, in violating my
institutions. Who will hold them sacred if my own blood despise them?
This folly thy uncle pardons thee.

GIANETTINO (offended). Sir, you educated me to be the Duke of Genoa.

ANDREAS. Be silent. Thou art a traitor to the state, and hast attacked
its vital principle. Mark me, boy! That principle is--subordination.
Because the shepherd retired in the evening from his labor, thoughtest
thou the flock deserted? Because Andreas' head is white with age,
thoughtest thou, like a villain, to trample on the laws?

GIANETTINO (insolently). Peace, Duke! In my veins also boils the blood
of that Andreas before whom France has trembled.

ANDREAS. Be silent! I command thee. When I speak the sea itself is
wont to pay attention. Thou hast insulted the majesty of justice in its
very sanctuary. Rebel! dost thou know what punishment that crime
demands? Now answer! (GIANETTINO appears struck, and fixes his eyes on
the ground without speaking). Wretched Andreas! In thy own heart hast
thou fostered the canker of thy renown. I built up a fabric for Genoa
which should mock the lapse of ages, and am myself the first to cast a
firebrand into it. Thank my gray head, which would be laid in the grave
by a relation's hand--thank my unjust love that, on the scaffold, I pour
not out thy rebellious blood to satisfy the violated laws.

                          [Exit.



SCENE XIV.

   GIANETTINO looks after the DUKE, speechless with anger, LOMELLINO
   entering, breathless and terrified.

LOMELLINO. What have I seen! What have I heard! Fly, prince! Fly
quickly! All is lost.

GIANETTINO (with inward rage). What was there to lose?

LOMELLINO. Genoa, prince: I come from the market-place. The people were
crowding round a Moor who was dragged along bound with cords. The Count
of Lavagna, with above three hundred nobles, followed to the criminal
court. The Moor had been employed to assassinate Fiesco, and in the
attempt was seized.

GIANETTINO (stamping violently on the ground). What, are all the devils
of hell let loose at once?

LOMELLINO. They questioned him most strictly concerning his employer.
The Moor confessed nothing. They tried the first degree of torture.
Still he confessed nothing. They put him to the second. Then he spoke--
he spoke. My gracious lord, how could you trust your honor to such a
villain?

GIANETTINO (fiercely). Ask me no question?

LOMELLINO. Hear the rest! Scarcely was the word Doria uttered--I would
sooner have seen my name inscribed in the infernal register than have
heard yours thus mentioned--scarcely was it uttered when Fiesco showed
himself to the people. You know the man--how winningly he pleads--how he
is wont to play the usurer with the hearts of the multitude. The whole
assembly hung upon his looks, breathless with indignation. He spoke
little, but bared his bleeding arm. The crowd contended for the falling
drops as if for sacred relics. The Moor was given up to his disposal--
and Fiesco--a mortal blow for us! Fiesco pardoned him. Now the confined
anger of the people burst forth in one tumultuous clamor. Each breath
annihilated a Doria, and Fiesco was borne home amidst a thousand joyful
acclamations.

GIANETTINO (with a ferocious laugh). Let the flood of tumult swell up to
my very throat. The emperor! That sound alone shall strike them to the
earth, so that not a murmur shall be heard in Genoa.

LOMELLINO. Bohemia is far from hence. If the emperor come speedily he
may perhaps be present at your funeral feast.

GIANETTINO (drawing forth a letter with a great seal). 'Tis fortunate
that he is here already. Art thou surprised at this? And didst thou
think me mad enough to brave the fury of enraged republicans had I not
known they were betrayed and sold?

LOMELLINO (with astonishment). I know not what to think!

GIANETTINO. But I have thought of something which thou couldst not know.
My plan is formed. Ere two days are past twelve senators must fall.
Doria becomes sovereign, and the Emperor Charles protects him. Thou
seemest astonished----

LOMELLINO. Twelve senators! My heart is too narrow to comprehend a
twelvefold murder.

GIANETTINO. Fool that thou art! The throne will absolve the deed. I
consulted with the ministers of Charles on the strong party which France
still has in Genoa, and by which she might a second time seize on it
unless they should be rooted out. This worked upon the emperor--he
approved my projects--and thou shalt write what I will dictate to thee.

LOMELLINO. I know not yet your purpose.

GIANETTINO. Sit down and write----

LOMELLINO. But what am I to write? (Seats himself.)

GIANETTINO. The names of the twelve candidates for death--Francis
Zenturione.

LOMELLINO (writes). In gratitude for his vote he leads the funeral
procession.

GIANETTINO. Cornelio Calva.

LOMELLINO. Calva.

GIANETTINO. Michael Zibo.

LOMELLINO. To cool him after his disappointment in the procuratorship.

GIANETTINO. Thomas Asserato and his three brothers. (LOMELLINO stops.)

GIANETTINO (forcibly). And his three brothers----

LOMELLINO (writes). Go on.

GIANETTINO. Fiesco of Lavagna.

LOMELLINO. Have a care! Have a care! That black stone will yet prove
fatal to you.

GIANETTINO. Scipio Bourgognino.

LOMELLINO. He may celebrate elsewhere his wedding----

GIANETTINO. Ay, where I shall be director of the nuptials. Raphael
Sacco.

LOMELLINO. I should intercede for his life until he shall have paid my
five thousand crowns. (Writes.) Death strikes the balance.

GIANETTINO. Vincent Calcagno.

LOMELLINO. Calcagno. The twelfth I write at my own risk, unless our
mortal enemy be overlooked.

GIANETTINO. The end crowns all--Joseph Verrina.

LOMELLINO. He is the very head of the viper that threatens us. (Rises
and presents the paper to GIANETTINO.) Two days hence death shall make a
splendid feast, at which twelve of the chief of Genoa's nobles will be
present.

GIANETTINO (signs the paper). 'Tis done. Two days hence will be the
ducal election. When the senate shall be assembled for that purpose
these twelve shall, on the signal of a handkerchief, be suddenly laid
low. My two hundred Germans will have surrounded the senate-house. At
that moment I enter and claim homage as the Duke. (Rings the bell.)

LOMELLINO. And what of Andreas?

GIANETTINO (contemptuously). He is an old man. (Enter a servant.) If
the Duke should ask for me say I am gone to mass. (Exit servant.) I
must conceal the devil that's within beneath a saintly garb.

LOMELLINO. But, my lord, the paper?

GIANETTINO. Take it, and let it be circulated among our party. This
letter must be dispatched by express to Levanto. 'Tis to inform Spinola
of our intended plan, and bid him reach the capital early in the morning.
(Going.)

LOMELLINO. Stop, prince. There is an error in our calculation. Fiesco
does not attend the senate.

GIANETTINO (looking back). Genoa will easily supply one more assassin.
I'll see to that.

                       [Exeunt different ways.



SCENE XV.-An Ante-chamber in FIESCO'S Palace.

   FIESCO, with papers before him, and MOOR.

FIESCO. Four galleys have entered the harbor, dost say?

MOOR. Yes, they're at anchor in the port.

FIESCO. That's well. Whence are these expresses?

MOOR. From Rome, Placentia, and France.

FIESCO (opens the letters and runs over them). Welcome! welcome news!
(In high spirits.) Let the messengers be treated in a princely manner.

MOOR. Hem! (Going.).

FIESCO. Stop, stop! Here's work for thee in plenty.

MOOR. Command me. I am ready to act the setter or the bloodhound.

FIESCO. I only want at present the voice of the decoy-bird. To-morrow
early two thousand men will enter the city in disguise to engage in my
service. Distribute thy assistants at the gates, and let them keep a
watchful eye upon the strangers that arrive. Some will be dressed like
pilgrims on their journey to Loretto, others like mendicant friars, or
Savoyards, or actors; some as peddlers and musicians; but the most as
disbanded soldiers coming to seek a livelihood in Genoa. Let every one
be asked where he takes up his lodging. If he answer at the Golden
Snake, let him be treated as a friend and shown my habitation. But
remember, sirrah, I rely upon thy prudence.