The Continental Monthly, Vol. 6, No. 6, December 1864

The Man. Not all, unless your courage fail before the time.

The Count. Before what time?

The Man. Before death!

A Baron (leading him off on the other side). It is reported that you have seen and spoken with our dreadful foe, Count Henry. If we should fall into his hands, will he have the least compassion upon us?

The Man. To tell you the truth, such compassion as our fathers never dreamed could be shown to them: 'the gallows!'

The Baron. We must guard against that to the utmost of our power!

The Man. What says your excellency?

Prince. I must speak a few words alone with you, (He draws Count Henry aside.) It is all very well to encourage our people, but you must surely be aware that we can hold out no longer.

The Man. What else is left us, prince?

Prince. As you have been appointed chief, it is for you to propose the terms of capitulation.

The Man. Not so loud....

Prince. Why not?

The Man. Because your excellency would thus forfeit your own life! (He turns to the men thronging around him.) He who speaks of surrender will be punished with death!

Baron, Count, and Prince (together.) He who speaks of surrender will be punished with death!

All. With death! With death! Vivat! vivat!

Exeunt.

The gallery of the tower. The Man. Jacob.

The Man. Where is my son, Jacob?

Jacob. He is in the north tower, seated on the threshold of the old vault and dungeon, singing strange songs of prophecy.

The Man. Man the Leonoren bastion as strongly as possible, stir not from the spot, and make constant use of the best glass to observe what movements are going on among the forces of the besiegers.

Jacob. So help me God the Lord!

It were well to give a glass of brandy to our troops to keep up their sinking courage.

The Man. If necessary, open the cellars of our counts and princes.

Exit Jacob.

The Man (mounting some feet higher, and standing wider the banner upon a small terrace). With the whole power of my eyes I trace your plans; with the concentrated hatred of my soul I surround you, my enemies! No longer with a single voice, or with a vain enthusiasm, am I to meet you; but with the sharp swords and strength of men governed by my will I seek our last encounter!

It is a noble thing to be the leader in this contest; to look even from the bed of death, if so it must be, upon the strange power added to my own single arm through the many wills subjected to my rule; and glorious to gaze thus down upon you, my enemies, lying far below in the abyss and crying up to me from the depths, as the damned cry up to heaven!

Yet a few hours more of time, and then I, with thousands of the miserable wretches who have forgotten and renounced their God, will be no more forever—but come what will, one day of life at least is left me—I will enjoy it to the utmost—I will rule—combat—live! Is this my last song?

The sun sets behind the cliffs; sinks in a long, dark shroud of vapor—on every side his rays pour blood into the valley. Foreshadow of my bloody death, I greet thee with a more sincere and faithful heart than I was wont to salute the allurements of pleasure, deception, enchantment, love, in the past days of my youth!

Not through low intrigue, through cunning skill, through laborious effort, have I attained the fulfilment of my wishes; but suddenly and unlocked for, as I have ever dreamed I would!

Ruler over those who were but yesterday my equals, I have reached the aim of my ambition: I stand on the very threshold of the eternal sleep!

A hall in the castle lighted with torches; George reclining upon a bed; the Man enters, and places his weapons upon a table.

The Man. Let a hundred men keep guard upon the bulwarks, the remainder may repose after our long and exhausting combat!

Voice (without). So help me God the Lord!

The Man. You must have been frightened, George, with the noise of our attack, the firing of musketry, the cries of the soldiers!

But keep up your courage, my child; we shall not be taken to-day, nor to-morrow.

George. I have indeed heard it all distinctly, but it is not that which strikes terror to my heart; the thunder of the cannon flies on and is here no longer—it is something else that haunts me, that appals me, father!

The Man. You fear for me, George?

George. No. I know your hour has not yet struck.

The Man. A heavy weight has fallen from my heart to-day, for in the plain below, scattered like autumn leaves, lie the corpses of our foes, foiled in their fierce attack.

Come, George, we are alone, come! tell me all thy thronging thoughts; I will listen to thee once more as of old in our own home!

George (hurriedly). Follow me, then—follow me, father! A dreadful trial—sentence—is reëchoed here every night. Oh come with me!

He goes to a door in the wall hidden by a heavy fall of tapestry, and opens it.

The Man. George! where art thou going? Who has made known to thee this secret passage into endless vaults covered with eternal darkness? to this black charnel house, where moulder the bones of earlier and countless victims?

George. Where thine eye, accustomed to the sunshine, has no power to pierce, my spirit presses forward.

Gloom roll on to gloom—and darkness gather unto darkness!

He enters the door, followed by his father, and rapidly descends into the vault.

A long, vaulted, subterranean dungeon. Grates, bars, chains, and broken instruments of torture. The Man, with a torch in his hand, stands at the base of a great block of granite, on the top of which stands George.

The Man. Come down to me, George, I implore!

George. Hearest thou not these voices? Seest thou not these forms?

The Man. All is still as the grave—and almost as dark. The light of the torch is instantly swallowed up by the damp chill gloom around us!