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!
George. Listen! Ever nearer! ever clearer! One after another they are slowly filing on from the depths of the narrow vaults—they are solemnly seating themselves below, far in the background; behind thee, father!
The Man. Thy madness is my damnation! Thy mind is wandering, my poor child; thou art destroying the strength which I now so sorely need!
George. I see their pale and stately forms as they collect for fearful judgment! I see the prisoner approach the dreadful bar, his tall form seems.... I cannot discern his features—they float and flow like morning mist! Hark!
Chorus of Voices. We, once chained, beaten, tormented, choked with dust and broken with stones, through the Power now given to our hands, proceed in our turn to sentence!
We too will judge and torture; try and condemn; Satan himself will delight to assume the execution of our sentence.
The Man. George, what dost thou see?
George. The prisoner! the prisoner, father! He wring his hands—O father! father!
A Voice. With thee dies out the accursed race; all its power, all its passions, all its pride, have joined in thee to perish!
Chorus of Voices. Because thou hast loved nothing—revered nothing save thyself and thine own thoughts—thou art condemned—art damned to all eternity!
The Man. I see nothing, but I hear from every side—above—below—sighs and wails—judgment, threatening, and eternal doom!
George. The prisoner! he raises his haughty head as thou dost, father, when thou art angered! He answers with proud words, as thou dost, when thou scornest—father!
Chorus of Voices. In vain! thou plead'st in vain! there is no redemption for him more, in earth or heaven!
A Voice. Yet another day of passing earthly glory, of all share in which thine ancestors have robbed me and my brethren—and then thou fallest forever—thou, with thy brethren!
Your burials will be, as once were ours, without the toll of holy knells, without tears, sobs, or wailing mourners, without friends, without relations, and you will die transfixed upon the same rock of universal human pain!
The Man. I know you, wretched ghosts! wandering stars amid the angelic hosts!
He goes forward into the darkness.
George. Father! go not into that fearful gloom! Father! in the name of Jesus Christ—I implore—I conjure thee—father!
The Man (turning toward his son). Whom do you see below? Speak, and tell me truly, George!
George. The prisoner—he is thyself, my father!
He is white as snow—gagged—chained—they drag him on—they torture thee, my father!
I hear thy gasping breath—thy groans—thy sobs! (He falls upon his knees.) Forgive me, father! My mother shines through the dark—and commands me to....
He falls back in a fainting fit.
The Man (catching the falling boy in his arms). This alone was wanting! Ha! my own, my only child has led me to the brink of hell!
Mary—inexorable spirit! God!!
And thou, second Mary, to whom I have so often prayed!
Here then is the beginning of eternal darkness, eternal torture!…
Back! back into life! one day of glory is at least still left me! First must I combat with my fellow men—and then for my eternal struggle!
Chorus of Spirits (dying away in the distance). Because thou hast loved nothing, revered nothing, save thyself and thine own thoughts—thou art, damned to all eternity!
A large hall in the castle of the Holy Trinity; arms and armor hang upon the walls, with various Gothic ornaments. The Man; women, children, some old men, and nobles are kneeling at his feet. The Godfather stands in the centre of the hall, and crowds of men are in the background.
The Man. No, no. By my son—by the memory of my wife—never! never!
Voices of Women. Have mercy upon us! Hunger gnaws our bowels; our children die of famine; fear is upon us day and night; have pity upon us!
Voices of Men. It still is time! Listen to the herald—dismiss not the envoy!
Godfather. I regard not your reproaches, Count Henry, for my whole life has been that of a good citizen.
If I have assumed the office of ambassador, which I am at this moment fulfilling, it is because I understand the age in which we live, and estimate our times aright.
Pancratius is, if I may so express myself, the representative of the people....
The Man. Out of my sight, old man!—(Aside to Jacob.) Bring a detachment of soldiers hither!
Exit Jacob.
The women rise from their knees weeping and sobbing, and the men draw back a few paces.
A Baron.—We are all lost, and through you alone, Count Henry!
Second Baron. We renounce all further obedience.
A Prince. Let us arrange for ourselves the terms of the surrender of this castle with the worthy envoy!
Godfather. The great man who sent me here secures life to you all, if you will enter into a league with him and acknowledge the justice of the struggle of the century.
Many Voices. We acknowledge it.
The Man. You have sworn to me, and I have sworn to you, to die upon these walls; I intend to keep my oath, and you shall
