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?
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