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 III.

          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 IV.

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.]