Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

When we met in the garden, what except Discovery in the act could make me know His death? Or had the Prince's household been

Then summon'd, would the cry for the police Been left to such a stranger? Or should I Have loiter'd on the way? Or could you, Werner,

The object of the Baron's hate and fears. Have fled - unless by many an hour before Suspicion woke? I sought and fathom'd you- | Doubting if you were false or feeble; I Perceived you were the latter; and yet so Confiding have I found you, that I doubted At times your weakness.

Siegend. Parricide! no less

Than common stabber! What deed of my life,

Or thought of mine, could make you deem me fit

For your accomplice?

Ulric. Father, do not raise

The devil you cannot lay, between us. This
Is time for union and for action, not
For family-disputes. While you were tor-
tured

Could I be calm? Think you that I have heard

This fellow's tale without some feeling? you Have taught me feeling for you and myself; For whom or what else did you ever teach it? Siegend. Oh! my dead father's curse!

'tis working now.

Ulric. Let it work on! the grave will keep it down!

Ashes are feeble foes: it is more easy
To baffle such, than countermine a mole,
Which winds its blind but living path
beneath you.

Yet hear me still! If you condemn me, yet
Remember who hath taught me once too

often

To listen to him! Who proclaim'd to me

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Wolves prowl in company. He hath the key That there were crimes made venial by the|(As I too) of the opposite door which leads

[blocks in formation]

Into the turret. Now then! or once more To be the father of fresh crimes no less Than of the criminal! Ho! Gabor! Gabor! [Exit into the turret, closing the door after him.

SCENE II-The Interior of the Turret. GABOR and SIEGENDORF.

Gabor. Who calls? Siegend. I-Siegendorf! Take these, and fly!

Lose not a moment!

[Tears off a diamond-star and other jewels, and thrusts them into Gabor's hand.

Gabor. What am I to do With these?

Siegend. Whate'er you will: sell them, or hoard,

And prosper; but delay not—or you are lost!

Gabor. You pledged your honour for my safety!

Siegend. And

Must thus redeem it. Fly! I am not master,
It seems, of my own castle-of my own
Retainers-nay, even of these very walls,
Or I would bid them fall and crush me! Fly!
Or you will be slain by -
Gabor. Is it even so?

-

Ulric. What! remain to be Denounced-dragg'd, it may be, în chatne; and all

By your inherent weakness, half-humanity,
Selfish remorse, and temporising pity,
That sacrifices your whole race to save
A wretch to profit by our ruin! No, Count,
Henceforth you have no son!
Siegend. I never had one;

Farewell, then! Recollect, however, Count, And would you ne'er had borne the useless

You sought this fatal interview!

Siegend. I did:

Let it not be more fatal still:-Begone!
Gabor. By the same path I enter'd?
Siegend. Yes; that's safe still:

But loiter not in Prague;—you do not|I
know

With whom you have to deal.

Gabor. I know too wellAnd knew it ere yourself, unhappy sire! Farewell! Exit Gabor. Siegend. (solus and listening) He hath clear'd the staircase. Ah! I hear The door sound loud behind him! He is safe! Safe! Oh, my father's spirit! I am faint― [He leans down upon a stone-seat, near the wall of the Tower, in a drooping posture.

Enter ULRIC, with others armed, and with
weapons drawn.

Ulrio. Despatch!—he's there!
Ludwig. The Count, my Lord!
Ulric (recognising Siegendorf).

here, Sir!

You

[blocks in formation]

name!

Where will you go? I would not send you forth

Without protection.

Ulric. Leave that unto me.

am not alone; nor merely the vain heir Of your domains: a thousand, ay, ten

thousand

Swords, hearts, and hands, are minc.
Siegend. The foresters!

With whom the Hungarian found you first
at Frankfort?

Ulric. Yes-men-who are worthy of
the name! Go tell

Your senators that they look well to Prague;
Their feast of peace was carly for the times;
There are more spirits abroad than have
been laid

With Wallenstein!

Enter JOSEPHINE and IDA. Josephine. What is't we hear? My Slegendorf!

Thank Heaven, I see you safe!
Siegend. Safe!

Ida. Yes, dear father!

Siegend. No, no; I have no children

[blocks in formation]

[Ida falls senseless-Josephine stands speechless with horror.

Siegend. The wretch hath slain Them both!-my Josephino! we are now alone!

Would we had ever been so!-All is over
For me!-Now open wide, my sire, thy grave;
Thy curse hath dug it deeper for thy son
In mine!--The race of Siegendorf is past'

[blocks in formation]

ACT I

SCENE I-A Forcst.

Enter ARNOLD and his mother BERTHA.

Bertha. Our, hunchback!
Arnold. I was born so, mother!
Bertha. Out!

Thou Incubus! Thou Nightmare! Of seven

sons

The sole abortion!

Arnold. Would that I had been so, And never seen the light!

Bertha. I would so too!

But as thou hast-hence, hence - and do thy best.

That back of thine may bear its burthen; 'tis
More high, if not so broad as that of others.
Arnold. It bears its burthen;-but, my
heart! Will it

Sustain that which you lay upon it, mother?
I love, or at the least, I loved you: nothing,
Save you, in nature, can love aught like me.
You nursed me-do not kill mc.
Bertha. Yes-I nursed thee,

As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out! [Exit Bertha. Arnold (solus). Oh mother! - She is gone, and I must do

Her bidding; wearily but willingly I would fulfil it, could I only hope A kind word in return. What shall I do? [Arnold begins to cut wood: in doing this he wounds one of his hands. My labour for the day is over now. Accursed be this blood that flows so fast; For double curses will be my meed now At home. What home? I have no home, no kin,

No kind-not made like other creatures, or To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed too

them? Oh that cach drop which falls

to earth

Like Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me!

Or that the devil, to whom they liken me, Would aid his likeness! If I must partake His form, why not his power? Is it because

Because thou wert my first-born, and II have not his will too? For one kind word

knew not

If there would be another unlike thee, That monstrous sport of nature. But get hence,

And gather wood!

Arnold. I will: but when I bring it, Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are So beautiful and lusty, and as free As the free chase they follow, do not

spurn me:

Our milk has been the same.

Bertha. As is the hedgehog's, Which sucks at midnight from the whole

some dam

Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds The nipple next day sore and udder dry. Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was

From her who bore me, would still recon

[blocks in formation]

Unto what brought me into life? Thou blood, | You deem, a single moment would bave Which flowest so freely from a scratch,

let me

Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream
Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself
On earth, to which I will restore at once
This hateful compound of her atoms, and
Resolve back to her elements, and take
The shape of any reptile save myself,
And make a world for myriads of new
worms!

This knife! now let me prove if it will sever
This wither'd slip of nature's nightshade—

my

Vile form-from the creation, as it hath
The green bough from the forest.

[Arnold places the knife in the ground,
with the point upwards.

Now 'tis set,
And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance
On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like
Myself, and the sweet sun, which warmed
me, but

In vain. The birds-how joyously they sing!
So let them, for I would not be lamented:
But let their merriest notes be Arnold's
knell ;

The falling leaves my monument; the

murmur

Of the near fountain my sole elegy.
Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would
fall!

[As he rushes to throw himself upon
the knife, his eye is suddenly caught
by the fountain, which seems in
motion.

The fountain moves without a wind: but
shall

The ripple of a spring change my resolve?
No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir,
Not as with air, but by some subterrane
And rocking power of the internal world.
What's here? A mist! No more?-

made you

Mine, and for ever, by your suicide;
And yet my coming saves you.
Arnold. I said not

You were the demon, but that your approach
Was like one.

Stranger. Unless you keep company With him (and you seem scarce used to such high

Society) you can't tell how he approaches;
And for his aspect, look upon the fountain,
And then on me, and judge which of us
twain

Looks likest what the boors believe to be
Their cloven-footed terror.

Arnold. Do you – dare you

To taunt me with my born deformity?
Stranger. Were I to taunt a buffalo with
this

Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary
With thy sublime of humps, the animals
Would revel in the compliment. And yet
Both beings are more swift, more strong.
more mighty

In action and endurance than thyself,
And all the fierce and fair of the same kind
With thee. Thy form is natural: 'twas only
Nature's mistaken largess to bestow
The gifts which are of others upon man.
Arnold. Give me the strength then of

the buffalo's foot,

When he spurns high the dust,beholding his
Near enemy; or let me have the long
And patient swiftness of the desert-ship.
The helm-less dromedary ;-and I'll bear
Thy fiendish sarcasm with a saintly patience.
Stranger. I will.

Arnold (with surprise). Thou canst?
Stranger. Perhaps. Would you aught else?
Arnold. Thout mockest me.

Stranger. Not I. Why should I mock What all are mocking? That's poor sport methinks.

[A cloud comes from the fountain. He
stands gazing upon it: it is dis-To talk to thee in human language (for
pelled, and a tall black man comes Thou canst not yet speak mine), the forester
towards him.
Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar,
Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game
To petty burghers, who leave once a year
Their walls, to fill their household-cal-
drons with

Arnold. What would you? Speak! Spirit or man?

Stranger. As man is both, why not Say both in one?

Arnold. Your form is man's, and yet You may be devil.

Stranger. So many men are that Which is so called or thought, that you may add me

To which you please, without much wrong to either.

But come: you wish to kill yourself;

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Arnold. Oh! then you are indeed the demon, for

Nought else would wittingly wear mine. Stranger. I'll show thee

The brightest which the world e'er bore, and give thee

Thy choice.

Arnold. On what condition?

Stranger. There's a question!

An hour ago you would have given your soul To look like other men, and now you pause To wear the form of heroes.

Arnold. No; I will not.

I must not compromise my soul.
Stranger. What soul,

Worth naming so, would dwell in such a carcass?

Arnold. 'Tis an aspiring one, whate'er the tenement

In which it is mislodged. But name your compact:

Must it be signed in blood?

Stranger. Not in your own.
Arnold. Whose blood then?

Stranger. We will talk of that hercafter. But I'll be moderate with you, for I see Great things within you. You shall have no bond

But your own will, no contract save your deeds.

Are you content?

Arnold. I take thee at thy word.
Stranger. Now then!-

[The Stranger approaches the fountain,
and turns to Arnold.

A little of your blood,
Arnold. For what?
Stranger. To mingle with the magic
of the waters,

And make the charm effective.

Arnold (holding out his wounded arm).
Take it all.

Stranger. Not now. A few drops will
suffice for this.

[The Stranger takes some of Arnold's
blood in his hand, and casts it into
the fountain.
Shadows of Beauty!

Shadows of Power!

Rise to your duty

This is the hour!

Walk lovely and pliant

From the depth of this fountain,
As the cloud-shapen giant

Bestrides the Hartz-mountain.
Come as ye were,

That our eyes may behold

The model in air

Of the form I will mould,

Bright as the Iris

|

The form of the Stoic
Or Sophist of yore-
Or the shape of each Victor,
From Macedon's boy

To each high Roman's picture,
Who breathed to destroy-
Shadows of Beauty!

Shadows of Power! Up to your dutyThis is the hour!

[Various Phantoms arise from the waters and pass in succession before the Stranger and Arnold.

Arnold. What do I see?

Stranger. The black-eyed Roman, with The eagle's beak between those eyes which ne'er

Beheld a conqueror, or look'd along The land he made not Rome's, while Rome became

His, and all theirs who heir'd his very name. Arnold. The Phantom's bald; my quest is beauty. Could I

Inherit but his fame with his defects! Stranger. His brow was girt with laurels more than hairs.

You see his aspect-choose it or reject.
I can but promise you his form; his fame
Must be long sought and fought for.
Arnold. I will fight too,

But not as a mock- Cæsar. Let him pass;
His aspect may be fair, but suits me not.
Stranger. Then you are far more diffi-
cult to please

Than Cato's sister, or than Brutus' mother,
Or Cleopatra at sixteen-an age
When love is not less in the eye than heart.
But be it so! Shadow, pass on!

[The Phantom of Julius Cæsar disappears. Arnold. And can it

Be, that the man who shook the earth is gone And left no footstep?

Stranger. There you err. His substance Left graves enough, and woes enough, and fame

More than enough to track his memory;
But for his shadow, 'tis no more than yours,
Except a little longer and less crooked
I' the sun.
Behold another!

[A second Phantom passes. Arnold. Who is he?

Stranger. He was the fairest and the bravest of

Athenians. Look upon him well.
Arnold. He is

More lovely than the last. How beautiful!
Stranger. Such was the curled son of
Clinias ;-wouldst thou

Invest thee with his form?
Arnold. Would that I had

Such his desire is, [Pointing to Arnold. | Been born with it! But since I may choose

When ether is spann'd ;—

Such my command!

Demons who wore

Demons heroic-

further,

I will look further.

[The Shade of Alcibiades disappears

« AnteriorContinuar »