KOSINSKY. I was arrested, accused, criminally prosecuted, degraded, and-mark this- transported beyond the frontier, as a special favor. My estates were confiscated to the minister, and Amelia remained in the clutches of the tiger, where she weeps and mourns away her life, while my vengeance must keep a fast, and crouch submissively to the yoke of despotism.
SCHWEITZER (rising and whetting his sword). That is grist to our mill, captain! There is something here for the incendiaries!
CHARLES (who has been walking up and down in violent agitation, with a sudden start to the ROBBERS). I must see her. Up! collect your baggage-you'll stay with us, Kosinsky! Quick, pack up!
THE ROBBERS. Where to? What?
CHARLES. Where to? Who asks that question? (Fiercely to SCHWEITZER) Traitor, wouldst thou keep me back? But by the hope for heaven!
SCHWEITZER. I, a traitor? Lead on to hell and I will follow you!
CHARLES (falling on his neck). Dear brother! thou shalt follow me. She weeps, she mourns away her life. Up! quickly! all of you ! to Franconia! In a week we must be there.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I.-Rural scenery in the neighborhood of CHARLES VON MOOR'S castle.
CHARLES VON MOOR, KOSINSKY, at a distance.
CHARLES. Go forward, and announce me. You remember what you have to say?
KOSINSKY. You are Count Brand, you come from Mecklenburg. I am your groom. Do not fear, I shall take care to play my part. Farewell !
[Exit.]
CHARLES. Hail to thee, Earth of my Fatherland (kisses the earth.) Heaven of my Fatherland! Sun of my Fatherland! Ye meadows and hills, ye streams and woods! Hail, hail to ye all! How deliciously the breezes are wafted from my native hills? What streams of balmy perfume greet the poor fugitive! Elysium! Realms of poetry! Stay, Moor, thy foot has strayed into a holy temple. (Comes nearer.)
See there! the old swallow-nests in the castle yard!--and the little garden-gate!-and this corner of the fence where I so often watched in ambuscade to teaze old Towzer!-and down there in the green valley, where, as the great Alexander, I led my Macedonians to the battle of Arbela; and the grassy hillock yonder, from which I hurled the Persian satrap-and then waved on high my victorious banner! (He smiles.) The golden age of boyhood lives again in the soul of the outcast. I was then so happy, so wholly, so cloudlessly happy-and now- behold all my prospects a wreck! Here should I have presided, a great, a noble, an honored man-here have-lived over again the years of boyhood in the blooming-children of my Amelia-here!-here have been the idol of my people- but the foul fiend opposed it (Starting.) Why am I here? To feel like the captive when the clanking of his chains awakes him from his dream of liberty. No, let me return to my wretchedness! The captive had forgotten the light of day, but the dream of liberty flashes past his eyes like a blaze of lightning in the night, which leaves it darker than before. Farewell, ye native vales! once ye saw Charles as a boy, and then Charles was happy. Now ye have seen the man his happiness turned to despair! (He moves rapidly towards the most distant point of the landscape, where he suddenly stops and casts a melancholy look across to the castle.) Not to behold her! not even one look?-and only a wall between me and Amelia! No! see her I must!-and him too!-though it crush me! (He turns back.) Father! father! thy son approaches. Away with thee, black, reeking gore! Away with that grim, ghastly look of death! Oh, give me but this one hour free! Amelia! Father! thy Charles approaches! (He goes quickly towards the castle.) Torment me when the morning dawns-give me no rest with the coming night-beset me in frightful dreams! But, oh! poison not this my only hour of bliss! (He is standing at the gate.) What is it I feel? What means this, Moor? Be a man! These death-like shudders-foreboding terrors.
[Enters.]
SCENE II.*-Gallery in the Castle.
*[In some editions this is the third scene,
and there is no second.]
Enter CHARLES VON MOOR, AMELIA.
AMELIA. And are you sure that you should know his portrait among these pictures?
CHARLES. Oh, most certainly! his image has always been fresh in my memory. (Passing along thee pictures.) This is not it.
AMELIA. You are right! He was the first count, and received his patent of nobility from Frederic Barbarossa, to whom he rendered some service against the corsairs.
CHARLES (still reviewing the pictures). Neither is it this-nor this- nor that-it is not among these at all.
AMELIA. Nay! look more attentively! I thought you knew him.
CHARLES. As well as my own father! This picture wants the sweet expression around the mouth, which distinguished him from among a thousand. It is not he.
AMELIA. You surprise me. What! not seen him for eighteen years, and still-
CHARLES (quickly, with a hectic blush). Yes, this is he! (He stands as if struck by lightning.)
AMELIA. An excellent man!
CHARLES (absorbed in the contemplation of the picture). Father! father! forgive me! Yes, an excellent man! (He wipes his eyes.) A godlike man!
AMELIA. You seem to take a deep interest in him.
CHARLES. Oh, an excellent man! And he is gone, you say!
AMELIA. Gone! as our best joys perish. (Gently taking him by the hand.) Dear Sir, no happiness ripens in this world.
CHARLES. Most true, most true! And have you already proved this truth by sad experience? You, who can scarcely yet have seen your twenty- third year?
AMELIA. Yes, alas, I have proved it. Whatever lives, lives to die in sorrow. We engage our hearts, and grasp after the things of this world, only to undergo the pang of losing them.
CHARLES. What can you have lost, and yet so young?
AMELIA. Nothing-everything-nothing. Shall we go on, count?*
*[In the acting edition is added-
'MOOR. And would you learn forgetfulness in that holy garb there?
(Pointing to a nun's habit.)
'AMELIA. To-morrow I hope to do so. Shall we continue our walk,
sir?']
CHARLES. In such haste? Whose portrait is that on the right? There is an unhappy look about that countenance, methinks.
AMELIA. That portrait on the left is the son of the count, the present count. Come, let us pass on!
CHARLES. But this portrait on the right?
AMELIA. Will you not continue your walk, Sir?
CHARLES. But this portrait on the right hand? You are in tears, Amelia? [Exit AMELIA, in precipitation.]
CHARLES. She loves me, she loves me! Her whole being began to rebel, and the traitor tears rolled down her cheeks. She loves me! Wretch, hast thou deserved this at her hands? Stand I not here like a condemned criminal before the fatal block? Is this the couch on which we so often sat-where I have hung in rapture on her neck? Are these my ancestral halls? (Overcome by the sight of his father's portrait.) Thou-thou- Flames of
