Kitabı oku: «The Robbers», sayfa 6
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 urder. 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.
