Masters of the Theatre

by Delphi Classics

  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 sinew
s 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.)