No More Learning

blockhead!


(Enter CHARLES VON MOOR in violent agitation, stalking backwards
and forwards, and speaking to himself. )


CHARLES VON M. Man--man! false, perfidious crocodile-brood! Your eyes
are all tears, but your hearts steel! Kisses on your lips, but daggers
couched in your bosoms! Even lions and tigers nourish their young.
Ravens feast their brood on carrion, and he--he Malice I have learned to
bear; and I can smile when my fellest enemy drinks to me in my own
heart's blood; but when kindred turn traitors, when a father's love
becomes a fury's hate; oh, then, let manly resignation give place to
raging fire! the gentle lamb become a tiger! and every nerve strain
itself to vengeance and destruction!

ROLLER. Hark ye, Moor! What think ye of it? A robber's life is
pleasanter, after all, than to lie rotting on bread and water in the
lowest dungeon of the castle?

CHARLES VON M. Why was not this spirit implanted in a tiger which gluts
its raging jaws with human flesh? Is this a father's tenderness? Is
this love for love? Would I were a bear to rouse all the bears of the
north against this murderous race! Repentance, and no pardon! Oh, that
I could poison the ocean that men might drink death from every spring!
Contrition, implicit reliance, and no pardon!

ROLLER. But listen, Moor,--listen to what I am telling you!

CHARLES VON M. 'Tis incredible! 'tis a dream--a delusion! Such earnest
entreaty, such a vivid picture of misery and tearful penitence--a savage
beast would have been melted to compassion! stones would have wept, and
yet he--it would be thought a malicious libel upon human nature were I
to proclaim it--and yet, yet--oh, that I could sound the trumpet of
rebellion through all creation, and lead air, and earth, and sea into
battle array against this generation of hyenas!

GRIMM. Hear me, only hear me! You are deaf with raving.

CHARLES VON M. Avaunt, avaunt! Is not thy name man? Art thou not born
of woman? Out of my sight, thou thing with human visage! I loved him
so unutterably! --never son so loved a father; I would have sacrificed a
thousand lives for him (foaming and stamping the ground). Ha! where is
he that will put a sword into my hand that I may strike this generation
of vipers to the quick! Who will teach me how to reach their heart's
core, to crush, to annihilate the whole race? Such a man shall be my
friend, my angel, my god--him will I worship!

ROLLER. Such friends behold in us; be but advised!

SCHW. Come with us into the Bohemian forests! We will form a band of
robbers there, and you (MOOR stares at him).

SCHWEIT. You shall be our captain! you must be our captain!

SPIEGEL. (throws himself into a chair in a rage). Slaves and cowards!

CHARLES VON M. Who inspired thee with that thought? Hark, fellow!
(grasping ROLLER tightly) that human soul of thine did not produce it;
who suggested it to thee? Yes, by the thousand arms of death! that's
what we will, and what we must do! the thought's divine. He who
conceived it deserves to be canonized. Robbers and murderers! As my
soul lives, I am your captain!

ALL (with tumultuous shouts). Hurrah! long live our captain!

SPIEGEL. (starting up, aside). Till I give him his _coup de grace_!

CHARLES VON M. See, it falls like a film from my eyes! What a fool was
I to think of returning to be caged? My soul's athirst for deeds, my
spirit pants for freedom. Murderers, robbers! with these words I
trample the law underfoot--mankind threw off humanity when I appealed to
it. Away, then, with human sympathies and mercy! I no longer have a
father, no longer affections; blood and death shall teach me to forget
that anything was ever dear to me! Come! come! Oh, I will recreate
myself with some most fearful vengeance;--'tis resolved, I am your
captain! and success to him who Shall spread fire and slaughter the
widest and most savagely--I pledge myself He shall be right royally
rewarded. Stand around me, all of you, and swear to me fealty and
obedience unto death! Swear by this trusty right hand.

ALL (place their hands in his). We swear to thee fealty and obedience
unto death!

CHARLES VON M. And, by this same trusty right Hand, I here swear to you
to remain your captain, true and faithful unto death! This arm shall
make an instant corpse of him who doubts, or fears, or retreats. And
may the same befall me from your hands if I betray my oath! Are you
content?


[SPIEGELBERG runs up and down in a furious rage. ]


ALL (throwing up their hats). We are content!

CHARLES VON M. Well, then, let us be gone! Fear neither death nor
danger, for an unalterable destiny rules over us. Every man has his
doom, be it to die on the soft pillow of down, or in the field of blood,
or on the scaffold, or the wheel! One or the other of these must be our
lot! [Exeunt. ]

SPIEGEL. (looking after them after a pause). Your catalogue has a hole
in it. You have omitted poison.

[Exit. ]




SCENE III. --MOOR'S Castle. --AMELIA'S Chamber.

FRANCIS, AMELIA.

FRANCIS. Your face is averted from me, Amelia? Am I less worthy than
he who is accursed of his father?

AMELIA. Away! Oh! what a loving, compassionate father, who abandons
his son a prey to wolves and monsters! In his own comfortable home he
pampers himself with delicious wines and stretches his palsied limbs on
down, while his noble son is starving. Shame upon you, inhuman
wretches! Shame upon you, ye souls of dragons, ye blots on humanity! --
his only son!

FRANCIS. I thought he had two.

AMELIA. Yes, he deserves to have such sons as you are. On his deathbed
he will in vain stretch out his withered hands for his Charles, and
recoil with a shudder when he feels the ice-cold hand of his Francis.
Oh, it is sweet, deliciously sweet, to be cursed by such a father! Tell
me, Francis, dear brotherly soul--tell me what must one do to be cursed
by him?

FRANCIS. You are raving, dearest; you are to be pitied.

AMELIA. Oh! indeed. Do you pity your brother? No, monster, you hate
him! I hope you hate me too.

FRANCIS. I love you as dearly as I love myself, Amelia!

AMELIA. If you love me you will not refuse me one little request.

FRANCIS. None, none! if you ask no more than my life.

AMELIA. Oh, if that is the case! then one request, which you will so
easily, so readily grant. (Loftily. ) Hate me! I should perforce blush
crimson if, whilst thinking of Charles, it should for a moment enter my
mind that you do not hate me. You promise me this? Now go, and leave
me; I so love to be alone!

FRANCIS. Lovely enthusiast! how greatly I admire your gentle,
affectionate heart. Here, here, Charles reigned sole monarch, like a
god within his temple; he stood before thee waking, he filled your
imaination dreaming; the whole creation seemed to thee to centre in
Charles, and to reflect him alone; it gave thee no other echo but of
him.

AMELIA (with emotion). Yes, verily, I own it. Despite of you all,
barbarians as you are, I will own it before all the world. I love him!

FRANCIS. Inhuman, cruel! So to requite a love like this! To forget
her--

AMELIA (starting). What! forget me?

FRANCIS. Did you not place a ring on his finger? --a diamond ring, the
pledge of your love? To be sure how is it possible for youth to resist
the fascinations of a wanton? Who can blame him for it, since he had
nothing else left to give away? and of course she repaid him with
interest by her caresses and embraces.

AMELIA (with indignation). My ring to a wanton?

FRANCIS. Fie, fie! it is disgraceful. 'Twould not be much, however, if
that were all. A ring, be it ever so costly, is, after all, a thing
which one may always buy of a Jew. Perhaps the fashion of it did not
please him, perhaps he exchanged it for one more beautiful.

AMELIA (with violence). But my ring, I say, my ring?

FRANCIS. Even yours, Amelia. Ha! such a brilliant, and on my finger;
and from Amelia! Death itself should not have plucked it hence. It is
not the costliness of the diamond, not the cunning of the pattern--it is
love which constitutes its value. Is it not so, Amelia? Dearest child,
you are weeping. Woe be to him who causes such precious drops to flow
from those heavenly eyes; ah, and if you knew all, if you could but see
him yourself, see him under that form?

AMELIA. Monster! what do you mean? What form do you speak of?

FRANCIS. Hush, hush, gentle soul, press me no further (as if
soliloquizing, yet aloud). If it had only some veil, that horrid vice,
under which it might shroud itself from the eye of the world! But there
it is, glaring horribly through the sallow, leaden eye; proclaiming
itself in the sunken, deathlike look; ghastly protruding bones; the
faltering, hollow voice; preaching audibly from the shattered, shaking
skeleton; piercing to the most vital marrow of the bones, and sapping
the manly strength of youth--faugh! the idea sickens me. Nose, eyes,
ears shrink from it.
You saw that miserable wretch, Amelia, in our
hospital, who was heavily breathing out his spirit; modesty seemed to
cast down her abashed eye as she passed him; you cried woe upon him.
Recall that hideous image to your mind, and your Charles stands before
you. His kisses are pestilence, his lips poison.

AMELIA (strikes him). Shameless liar!

FRANCIS. Does such a Charles inspire you with horror? Does the mere
picture fill you with disgust? Go, then! gaze upon him yourself, your
handsome, your angelic, your divine Charles! Go, drink his balmy
breath, and revel in the ambrosial fumes which ascend from his throat!
The very exhalations of his body will plunge you into that dark and
deathlike dizziness which follows the smell of a bursting carcase, or
the sight of a corpse-strewn battle-field. (AMELIA turns away her
face. ) What sensations of love! What rapture in those embraces! But is
it not unjust to condemn a man because of his diseased exterior? Even
in the most wretched lump of deformity a soul great and worthy of love
may beam forth brightly like a pearl on a dunghill. ( With a malignant
smile. ) Even from lips of corruption love may----. To be sure if vice
should undermine the very foundations of character, if with chastity
virtue too should take her flight as the fragrance departs from the
faded rose--if with the body the soul too should be tainted and
corrupted.

AMELIA (rising joyfully). Ha! Charles! now I recognize thee again!
Thou art whole, whole! It was all a lie! Dost thou not know,
miscreant, that it would be impossible for Charles to be the being you
describe? (FRANCIS remains standing for some time, lost in thought,
then suddenly turns round to go away. ) Whither are you going in such
haste? Are you flying from your own infamy?

FRANCIS (hiding his face). Let me go, let me go! to give free vent to
my tears! tyrannical father, thus to abandon the best of your sons to
misery and disgrace on every side! Let me go, Amelia! I will throw
myself at his feet, on my knees I will conjure him to transfer to me the
curse that he has pronounced, to disinherit me, to hate me, my blood, my
life, my all----.

AMELIA (falls on his neck). Brother of my Charles! Dearest, most
excellent Francis!

FRANCIS. Oh, Amelia! how I love you for this unshaken constancy to my
brother. Forgive me for venturing to subject your love to so severe a
trial! How nobly you have realized my wishes! By those tears, those
sighs, that divine indignation--and for me too, for me--our souls did so
truly harmonize.

AMELIA. Oh, no! that they never did!

FRANCIS. Alas! they harmonized so truly that I always thought we must
be twins. And were it not for that unfortunate difference in person, to
be twin-like, which, it must be admitted, would be to the disadvantage
of Charles, we should again and again be mistaken for each other. Thou
art, I often said to myself, thou art the very Charles, his echo, his
counterpart.

AMELIA (shakes her head). No, no! by that chaste light of heaven! not
an atom of him, not the least spark of his soul.

FRANCIS. So entirely the same in our dispositions; the rose was his
favorite flower, and what flower do I esteem above the rose? He loved
music beyond expression; and ye are witnesses, ye stars! how often you
have listened to me playing on the harpsichord in the dead silence of
night, when all around lay buried in darkness and slumber; and how is it
possible for you, Amelia, still to doubt? if our love meets in one
perfection, and if it is the self-same love, how can its fruits
degenerate? (AMELIA looks at him with astonishment. ) It was a calm,
serene evening, the last before his departure for Leipzic, when he took
me with him to the bower where you so often sat together in dreams of
love,--we were long speechless; at last he seized my hand, and said, in
a low voice, and with tears in his eyes, "I am leaving Amelia; I know
not, but I have a sad presentiment that it is forever; forsake her not,
brother; be her friend, her Charles--if Charles--should never--never
return. " (He throws himself down before her, and kisses her hand with
fervor. ) Never, never, never will he return; and I stand pledged by a
sacred oath to fulfil his behest!

AMELIA (starting back). Traitor! Now thou art unmasked! In that very
bower he conjured me, if he died, to admit no other love. Dost thou see
how impious, how execrable----. Quit my sight!

FRANCIS. You know me not, Amelia; you do not know me in the least!

AMELIA. Oh, yes, I know you; from henceforth I know you; and you
pretend to be like him? You mean to say that he wept for me in your
presence? Yours? He would sooner have inscribed my name on the
pillory? Begone--this instant!

FRANCIS. You insult me.

AMELIA. Go--I say. You have robbed me of a precious hour; may it be
deducted from your life.

FRANCIS. You hate me then!

AMELIA. I despise you--away!

FRANCIS (stamping with fury). Only wait! you shall learn to tremble
before me! --To sacrifice me for a beggar!
[Exit in anger. ]

AMELIA. Go, thou base villain! Now, Charles, am I again thine own.
Beggar, did he say! then is the world turned upside down, beggars are
kings, and kings are beggars! I would not change the rags he wears for
the imperial purple. The look with which he begs must, indeed, be a
noble, a royal look, a look that withers into naught the glory, the
pomp, the triumphs of the rich and great! Into the dust with thee,
glittering baubles! (She tears her pearls from her neck. ) Let the rich
and the proud be condemned to bear the burden of gold, and silver, and
jewels! Be they condemned to carouse at the tables of the voluptuous!
To pamper their limbs on the downy couch of luxury! Charles! Charles!
Thus am I worthy of thee!
[Exit. ]




ACT II.

SCENE I. --FRANCIS VON MOOR in his chamber--in meditation.

FRANCIS. It lasts too long-and the doctor even says is recovering--an
old man's life is a very eternity! The course would be free and plain
before me, but for this troublesome, tough lump of flesh, which, like
the infernal demon-hound in ghost stories, bars the way to my treasures.

Must, then, my projects bend to the iron yoke of a mechanical system?
Is my soaring spirit to be chained down to the snail's pace of matter?
To blow out a wick which is already flickering upon its last drop of
oil--'tis nothing more. And yet I would rather not do it myself, on
account of what the world would say. I should not wish him to be
killed, but merely disposed of. I should like to do what your clever
physician does, only the reverse way--not stop Nature's course by
running a bar across her path, but only help her to speed a little
faster. Are we not able to prolong the conditions of life? Why,
then, should we not also be able to shorten them? Philosophers and
physiologists teach us how close is the sympathy between the emotions of
the mind and the movements of the bodily machine. Convulsive sensations
are always accompanied by a disturbance of the mechanical vibrations--
passions injure the vital powers--an overburdened spirit bursts its
shell. Well, then--what if one knew how to smooth this unbeaten path,
for the easier entrance of death into the citadel of life? --to work the
body's destruction through the mind--ha! an original device! --who can
accomplish this? --a device without a parallel! Think upon it, Moor!
That were an art worthy of thee for its inventor. Has not poisoning
been raised almost to the rank of a regular science, and Nature
compelled, by the force of experiments, to define her limits, so that
one may now calculate the heart's throbbings for years in advance, and
say to the beating pulse, "So far, and no farther"? Why should not one
try one's skill in this line? *

*[A woman in Paris, by means of a regularly performed series of
experiments, carried the art of poisoning to such perfection that
she could predict almost to a certainty the day of death, however
remote. Fie upon our physicians, who should blush to be outdone by
a woman in their own province. Beckmann, in his article on secret
poisoning, has given a particular account of this woman, the
Marchioness de Brinvilliers. --See "History of Inventions," Standard
Library Edition, vol. i, pp. 47-63. ]

And how, then, must I, too, go to work to dissever that sweet and
peaceful union of soul and body? What species of sensations should I
seek to produce? Which would most fiercely assail the condition of
life? Anger? --that ravenous wolf is too quickly satiated. Care? that
worm gnaws far too slowly. Grief? --that viper creeps too lazily for me.
Fear? --hope destroys its power. What! and are these the only
executioners of man? is the armory of death so soon exhausted? (In deep
thought. ) How now! what! ho! I have it! (Starting up. ) Terror! What
is proof against terror? What powers have religion and reason under
that giant's icy grasp! And yet--if he should withstand even this
assault? If he should! Oh, then, come Anguish to my aid! and thou,
gnawing Repentance! --furies of hell, burrowing snakes who regorge your
food, and feed upon your own excrements; ye that are forever destroying,
and forever reproducing your poison! And thou, howling Remorse, that
desolatest thine own habitation, and feedest upon thy mother. And come
ye, too, gentle Graces, to my aid; even you, sweet smiling Memory,
goddess of the past--and thou, with thy overflowing horn of plenty,
blooming Futurity; show him in your mirror the joys of Paradise, while
with fleeting foot you elude his eager grasp. Thus will I work my
battery of death, stroke after stroke, upon his fragile body, until the
troop of furies close upon him with Despair! Triumph! triumph! --the
plan is complete--difficult and masterly beyond compare--sure--safe; for
then (with a sneer) the dissecting knife can find no trace of wound or
of corrosive poison.

(Resolutely. ) Be it so! (Enter HERMANN. ) Ha! _Deus ex machina_!
Hermann!

HERMANN. At your service, gracious sir!

FRANCIS (shakes him by the hand). You will not find it that of an
ungrateful master.

HERMANN. I have proofs of this.

FRANCIS. And you shall have more soon--very soon, Hermann! --I have
something to say to thee, Hermann.

HERMANN. I am all attention.

FRANCIS. I know thee--thou art a resolute fellow--a man of mettle. --To
call thee smooth-tongued! My father has greatly belied thee, Hermann.

HERMANN. The devil take me if I forget it!

FRANCIS. Spoken like a man! Vengeance becomes a manly heart!