The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• Götz Von Berlichingen With the Iron Hand. a Drama.
• Dramatis PersonÆ
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: An Inn At Schwarzenberg In Franconia.
• Scene II.—: A Cottage In a Thick Forest.
• Scene III.—: An Apartment In Jaxthausen, the Castle of Goetz Von Berlichingen.
• Scene IV.—: The Bishop of Bamberg’s Palace.
• Scene V.—: Jaxthausen.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: Bamberg. a Hall.
• Scene II.—: Jaxthausen. a Hall In Goetz’s Castle.
• Scene III.—: The Bishop’s Palace At Bamberg.
• Scene IV.—: The Spessart.
• Scene V.—: The Bishop’s Palace. His Cabinet.
• Scene VI.—: Adelaide’s Apartment.
• Scene VII.—: An Ante-room.
• Scene VIII.—: The Spessart.
• Scene IX.—: Hall In the Bishop’s Palace At Bamberg.
• Scene X—: an Inn.
• Act III.
• Scene I.—: A Garden At Augsburg.
• Scene II.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene III.—: The Camp of the Party Sent to Execute the Imperial Mandate.
• Scene IV.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene V.—: Bamberg. Adelaide’s Chamber.
• Scene VI.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene VII.—: A Wood On the Borders of a Morass.
• Scene VIII.—: Camp of the Imperialists.
• Scene IX.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene X.—: The Imperial Camp.
• Scene XI.—: Mountains and a Wood.
• Scene XII.—: A Heath—on One Side an Eminence, With a Ruined Tower, On the Other the Forest.
• Scene XIII.—: The Camp.
• Scene XIV.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene XV.—: Camp.
• Scene XVI.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene XVII.—: The Kitchen.
• Scene XVIII.—: A Hall.
• Scene XIX.—: The Court of the Castle.
• Scene XX.: The Armory.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: An Inn In the City of Heilbronn
• Scene II.—: The Council-house At Heilbronn.
• Scene III.—: A Large Hall In the Council-house, Beset By Sickingen’s Troops.
• Scene IV.—: The Castle of Adelaide. Augsburg.
• Scene V.—: Jaxthausen.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: A Village Plundered By the Insurgent Peasantry. Shrieks and Tumult.
• Scene II.—: Open Country. In the Distance Two Villages and an Abbey Are Burning.
• Scene III.—: A Hill and Prospect of the Country. In the Flat Scene a Mill. a Body of Horsemen.
• Scene IV.—: Jaxthausen.
• Scene V.—: A Village.
• Scene VI.—: The Front of a Gypsy-hut In a Wild Forest.—night.—a Fire Before the Hut, At Which Are Seated the Mother of the Gypsies and a Girl.
• Scene VII.—: Inside the Hut.
• Scene VIII.—: Adelaide’s Bedchamber.
• Scene IX.—: Street Before the Prison At Heilbronn.
• Scene X.—: An Apartment In Weislingen’s Castle.
• Scene XI.—: A Narrow Vault Dimly Illuminated. the Judges of the Secret Tribunal Discovered Seated, All Muffled In Black Cloaks.
• Scene XII.—: The Court of an Inn.
• Scene XIII.—: The Prison At Heilbronn.
• Scene the Last. —: the Prison Garden.
• Iphigenia In Tauris a Drama
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: A Grove Before the Temple of Diana.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Act II.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Act III.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act V.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Scene VI.
• Torquato Tasso
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.: A Garden Adorned With Busts of the Epic Poets. to the Right a Bust of Virgil: to the Left, One of Ariosto.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: A Room.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act III.
• Scene I.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: A Chamber.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: A Garden.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Clavigo
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Scene I.—: Clavigo’s Dwelling.
• Scene II.—: Guilbert’s Dwelling.
• Act II.
• Scene I.—: Clavigo’s House.
• Act III.
• Scene I.—: Guilbert’s Abode.
• Act IV.
• Scene I.—: Clavigo’s Abode. Carlos, Alone.
• Scene II.—: Guilbert’s Abode.
• Act V.
• Scene I.—: The Street Before the House of Guilbert. Night.
• Scene II.
• Scene III.
• Scene IV.
• Scene V.
• Scene VI.
• Stella. a Tragedy.
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• Act I.
• Act II.
• Act III.
• Act IV.
• Act V.
• The Brother and Sister
• Dramatis PersonÆ.
• A Tale.
• The Good Women.
• Reynard the Fox.
• Chapter I.: The Accusation.
• Chapter II.: The First Summons.
• Chapter III.: The Second Summons.
• Chapter IV.: The Trial.
• Chapter V.: The Pardon.
• Chapter VI.: The Relapse.
• Chapter VII.: The Outlawry.
• Chapter VIII.: The Journey.
• Chapter IX.: The Advocacy.
• Chapter X.: The Second Pardon.
• Chapter XI.: The Defiance.
• Chapter XII.: The Battle.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.—

Clavigo’sabode.Carlos,alone.

Carlos.

It is praiseworthy to place under guardianship a man, who, by his dissipation or other follies, shows that his reason is deranged. If the magistrate does that, who otherwise does not much concern himself about us, why should not we do it for a friend? Clavigo, you are in a bad position; but there is still hope. And, provided that you retain a little of your former docility, there is time yet to keep you from a folly which, with your lively and sensitive character, will cause the misery of your life, and lead you to an untimely grave. He comes.

Clavigo.

(Thoughtful.) Good-day, Carlos.

Carlos.

A very sad, dull—. Good-day! Is that the mood in which you come from your bride?

Clavigo.

She is an angel! They are excellent people!

Carlos.

You will not so hasten with the wedding that we cannot get an embroidered dress for the occasion?

Clavigo.

Jest or earnest, at our wedding no embroidered dresses will make a parade.

Carlos.

I believe it indeed.

Clavigo.

Pleasure in each other’s society, friendly harmony shall constitute the splendor of this festival.

Carlos.

You will have a quiet little wedding.

Clavigo.

As those who feel that their happiness rests entirely with themselves.

Carlos.

In those circumstances it is very proper.

Clavigo.

Circumstances! What do you mean by “those circumstances”?

Carlos.

As the matter now stands and remains.

Clavigo.

Listen, Carlos, I cannot bear a tone of reserve between friends. I know you are not in favor of this marriage; notwithstanding, if you have aught to say against it, you may say it. Come, out with it. How then does the matter stand? how goes it?

Carlos.

More unexpected, strange things happen to one in life, and it were not well if all went quite smoothly. One would have nothing to wonder at, nothing to whisper in the ear, nothing to pull to pieces in society.

Clavigo.

It will make some stir.

Carlos.

Clavigo’s wedding! that is clear of course. How many a girl in Madrid waits patiently for thee, hopes for thee, and if you now play them this trick?

Clavigo.

That cannot be helped now.

Carlos.

’Tis strange, I have known few men who make so great and general an impression on women as you. In all ranks there are good girls who occupy their time with plans and projects to become yours. One relies on her beauty, another on her riches, another on her rank, another on her wit, and another on her connections. What compliments have been paid to me on your account! For, indeed, neither my flat nose, nor crisp hair, nor my known contempt for women can bring me such good luck.

Clavigo.

You mock.

Carlos.

As if I have not already had in my hands declarations, offers, written with their own white fond little fingers, as badly spelled as an original love-letter of a girl can only be! How many pretty duennas have come under my thumb on this account!

Clavigo.

And you did not say a word of all this?

Carlos.

I did not wish to trouble you with mere trifles, and I could not have advised you to take any such matter seriously. O Clavigo, my heart has watched over your fate as over my own! I have no other friend but you; all men are not to be tolerated, and you even begin to be unbearable.

Clavigo.

I entreat you, be calm.

Carlos.

Burn the house of a man who has taken ten years to build it, and then send him a confessor to recommend Christian patience! A man ought to look out for no one but himself; people do not deserve—

Clavigo.

Are your misanthropic visions returning?

Carlos.

If I harp anew on that string, who is to blame but you? I said to myself: What would avail him at present the most advantageous marriage? him, who for an ordinary man has doubtless advanced far enough? But with his genius, with his gifts, it is not probable, it is not possible, that he can remain stationary. I concerted my plans. There are so few men at once so enterprising and so supple, so highly gifted and so diligent. He is well qualified in all departments. As recorder, he can rapidly acquire the most important knowledge; he will make himself necessary; and should a change take place, he becomes minister.

Clavigo.

I avow it. Often, too, were these my dreams.

Carlos.

Dreams! As surely as I should succeed in reaching the top of a tower, if I set off with the firm determination not to yield till I had carried my point, so surely would you have overcome all obstacles; and afterwards the rest would have given me no disquietude. You have no fortune from your family, so much the better! You would have become more zealous to acquire, more attentive to preserve. Besides, he who sits at the receipt of custom without enriching himself is a great fool; and I do not see why the country does not owe taxes to the minister as well as to the king. The latter gives his name, and the former the power. When I had arranged all that, I then sought out a fit match for you. I saw many a proud family which would have shut their eyes to your origin, many of the richest who would have gladly supported you in the maintenance of your rank, to share the dignity of the second king—and now—

Clavigo.

You are unjust, you lower my actual condition too much; and do you fancy then that I cannot rise higher, and make still further advances?

Carlos.

My dear friend, if you lop off the heart of a young plant, in vain will it afterwards and incessantly put forth countless shoots; it will form, perhaps, a large bush, but it is all over with the kingly attempt of its first growth. And think not that at the court this marriage is regarded with indifference. Have you forgotten what sort of men disapproved your attachment, your union with Marie? Have you forgotten who inspired you with the wise thought of abandoning her? Must I count them all on my fingers?

Clavigo.

This thought has already distressed me; yes, few will approve this step.

Carlos.

Nobody; and will not your powerful friends be indignant that you, without asking their leave, without consulting them, should have so hastily sacrificed yourself like a thoughtless child, who throws away his money in the market on worm-eaten nuts?

Clavigo.

That is impolite, Carlos, and exaggerated.

Carlos.

Not at all. Let one commit an egregious error through passion, I allow it. To marry a chambermaid because she is as beautiful as an angel! Well, the man is blamed, and yet people envy him.

Clavigo.

People, always the people!

Carlos.

You know I do not inquire very curiously after the success of others; but it is ever true that he who does nothing for others does nothing for himself; and if men do not wonder at or envy you, you too are not happy.

Clavigo.

The world judges by appearances. Oh! he who possesses Marie’s heart is to be envied.

Carlos.

Things appear what they are; but, frankly, I have always thought that there were hidden qualities that render your happiness enviable; for what one sees with his eyes and can comprehend with his understanding—

Clavigo.

You wish to make me desperate.

Carlos.

“How has that happened?” they will ask in the town. “How has that happened?” they will ask in the court. “But, good God! how has that happened? She is poor, without position. If Clavigo had not had an intrigue with her one would not have known that she was in the world; she is said to be well bred, agreeable, witty!” But who takes to himself a wife for that? That passes away in the first years of marriage. “Ah!” says some one, “she must be beautiful, charmingly, ravishingly beautiful.” “That explains the matter,” says another.

Clavigo.

(Troubled, lets a deep sigh escape.) Alas!

Carlos.

“Beautiful? Oh,” says one lady, “very good! I have not seen her for six years.” “She may well be altered,” says another. “One must, however, see her; he will soon take her out,” says a third. People ask, look, are eager, wait, and are impatient; they recall the ever-proud Clavigo, who never let himself be seen in public without leading out in triumph a stately, splendid, haughty Spanish lady, whose full breast, blooming cheeks, impassioned eyes—all, all seemed to ask the world encircling her: “Am I not worthy of my companion?” and who in her pride lets flaunt so widely in the breeze the train of her silken robe, to render her appearance more imposing and remarkable.—And now appears the gentleman—and surprise renders the people dumb—he comes accompanied by his tripping little Frenchwoman, whose hollow eyes, whose whole appearance announces consumption, in spite of the red and white with which she has daubed her death-pale countenance. Yes, brother! I become frantic, I run away, when people stop me now and ask, and question, and say they cannot understand—

Clavigo.

(Seizing his hand.) My friend, my brother, I am in a frightful position. I tell you, I avow I was horror-struck, when I saw Marie again. How changed she is!—how pale and exhausted! Oh! it is my fault, my treacheries!—

Carlos.

Follies! visions! She was in consumption when the romance of your love was still unfolding. I told you a thousand times, and— But you lovers have your eyes, nay, all your senses closed. Clavigo, it is a shame. All, yes, all to forget thus! A sick wife, who will plague all your posterity, so that all your children and grandchildren will in a few years be politely extinguished, like the sorry lamp of a beggar.—A man who could have been the founder of a family, which perhaps in future—Ah! I am becoming a fool, my reason fails me.

Clavigo.

Carlos, what shall I say to thee? When I saw her again, in the first transport, my heart went out towards her; and alas! when that was gone, compassion—a deep, heartfelt pity was breathed into me: but love—Lo! in the warm fulness of joy, I seemed to feel on my neck the cold hand of death. I strove to be cheerful; to play the part of a happy man again, in presence of those who surrounded me: it was all gone, all so stiff, so painfully anxious! Had they not somewhat lost their self-possession, they would have remarked it.

Carlos.

Hell! death and devil! and you are going to marry her! (Clavigoremains absorbed, without giving any answer.) It is all over with thee; lost forever. Farewell, brother, and let me forget all; let me, all the rest of my solitary life, furiously curse your fatal blindness. Ah! to sacrifice all, to render one’s self despicable in the eyes of the world, and not even then satisfy thereby a passion, a desire! To contract a malady voluntarily which, while undermining your inmost strength, will make you hideous in the eyes of men!

Clavigo.

Carlos! Carlos!

Carlos.

Would that you had never been elevated, at least you would never have fallen! With what eyes will they look on all this! “There is the brother,” they will say; “he must be a lad of spirit; he has put to the last shift Clavigo, who dared not draw the sword.” “Ah!” our flaunting courtesans will say, “one saw all along that he was not a gentleman.” “Ah, ah!” exclaims another, while drawing his hat over his eyes, “the Frenchman should have come to me!” And he claps himself on the paunch—a fellow, who perhaps were not worthy of being your groom!

Clavigo.

(Expresses the most acute distress, and falls into the arms ofCarlosamid a torrent of tears.) Save me! My friend! my best friend, save me! Save me from a double perjury! from an unutterable disgrace, from myself. I am done for!

Carlos.

Poor, hapless one! I hoped that these youthful furies, these stormy tears, this absorbing melancholy would have been gone; I hoped to behold you, as a man, agitated no more, no more plunged in that overwhelming sorrow, which in other days you so often uttered on my breast with tears. Be a man, Clavigo; quit yourself like a man!

Clavigo.

Let me weep! (Throws himself into a chair.)

Carlos.

Alas for you that you have entered on a career which you will not pursue to the end! With vour heart, with your sentiments, which would make a tranquil citizen happy, you must unite this unhappy hankering after greatness! And what is greatness, Clavigo? To raise one’s self above others in rank and consequence? Believe it not. If your heart is not greater than that of others; if you are not able to place yourself calmly above the circumstances which would embarrass an ordinary man, then with all your ribbons, all your stars, even with the crown itself, you are but an ordinary man. Take heart, compose your mind! (Clavigorises, looks onCarlos,and holds out his hand, whichCarloseagerly seizes.) Come, come, my friend! make up your mind. Look, I will put everything aside, and will say to you: Here lie two proposals on equal scales; either you marry Marie and find your happiness in a quiet citizen-like life, in tranquil homely joys; or you bend your steps along the path of honor to a near goal.—I will put all aside, and say: The beam of the balance is in equilibrium; your decision will settle which of the two scales will carry the day! Good! But decide! There is nothing in the world so pitiable as an undecided man, who wavers between two feelings, hoping to reconcile them, and does not understand that nothing can unite them except the doubt, the disquietude, which rack him. Go, and give Marie your hand, act as an honorable man, who, to keep his word, sacrifices the happiness of his life, who regards it as a duty to repair the wrong he has committed; but who, too, has never extended the sphere of his passions and activity further than to be in a position to repair the wrong he has committed; and thus enjoy the happiness of a tranquil retirement, the approval of a peaceful conscience, and all the blessedness belonging to those who are able to create their own happiness and provide the joy of their families. Decide, and then shall I say—You are every inch a man.

Clavigo.

Carlos! Oh, for a spark of your strength—of your courage!

Carlos.

It slumbers in thee, and I will blow till it gives vent to flames. Behold on the one side the fortune and the greatness which await you. I shall not set off this future with the variegated hues of poetry; represent it to yourself with such vivacity as it clearly appeared before your mind, till the hot-headed Frenchman made you lose your wits. But there too, Clavigo, be a man thoroughly, and take your way straight, without looking to the right or left. May your soul expand, and this great idea become deeply rooted there, that extraordinary men are extraordinary precisely because their duties differ from the duties of ordinary men; that he, whose task it is to watch over, to govern, to preserve a great whole, needs not reproach himself with having overlooked trifling circumstances, with having sacrificed small matters to the good of the whole. Thus acts the Creator in nature, and the king in the state; why should not we do the same, in order to resemble them?

Clavigo.

Carlos, I am a little man.

Carlos.

We are not little when circumstances trouble us, only when they overpower us. Yet another breath, and you are yourself again. Cast away the remnant of a pitiable passion, which in these days as little becomes you as the little gray jacket and modest mien with which you arrived at Madrid. What the poor girl has done for you, you have long ago returned; and that your first friendly reception was from her hands.—Oh! another, for the pleasure of your acquaintance, would have done as much and more, without putting forth such pretensions. And would you take it into your head to give your schoolmaster the half of your fortune because he taught you the alphabet thirty years ago? What say you, Clavigo!

Clavigo.

That is all very well. On the whole you may be right, it may be so; only how are we to get out of the embarrassment in which we stick fast? Advise me there, help me there, and then lecture.

Carlos.

Good! Do you wish it so?

Clavigo.

Give me the power and I shall exert it. I am not able to think; think for me.

Carlos.

Thus then. First you will go and meet this person, and then you will demand, sword in hand, the vindication which you inconsiderately and involuntarily gave.

Clavigo.

I have it already; he tore it and returned it to me.

Carlos.

Excellent! excellent! That step taken already—and you have let me speak so long?—Your course is so much the shorter! Write him quite coolly: “You find it inconvenient to marry his sister; the reason he can learn if he will repair to-night to a certain place, attended by a friend, and armed with any weapons he likes.” And then follows the signature.—Come, Clavigo, write that; I shall be your second—and the devil is in it if—(Clavigoapproaches the table.) Listen! A word! If I think aright of it, it is an extravagant proposal. Who are we to risk our lives with a mad adventurer? Besides, the man’s conduct, his standing, do not deserve that we regard him as an equal. Listen then! Now if I made a criminal charge against him, that he arrived secretly at Madrid, got himself announced under a pseudonym with an accomplice, at first gained your confidence with friendly words, and thereafter fell upon you all of a sudden, forcibly obtained a declaration, and afterwards went off to spread it abroad—that will prove his ruin: he shall learn what that means—to invade the tranquillity of a Spaniard under his own roof.

Clavigo.

You are right.

Carlos.

But till the law-suit has begun, in which interval the gentleman might play all sorts of tricks, if now we could meanwhile play a dead-sure game, and seize him tight by the head.

Clavigo.

I understand, and know you are the man to carry it out.

Carlos.

Ah! well! if I, who have been at it for five-and-twenty years, and have witnessed tears of anguish trickling down the cheeks of the foremost men, if I cannot unravel such child’s play! So then, give me full power; you need do nothing, write nothing. He, who orders the imprisonment of the brother, pantomimically intimates that he will have nothing to do with the sister.

Clavigo.

No, Carlos! Let it go as it may, I cannot, I will not suffer that. Beaumarchais is a worthy man, and he shall not languish in an ignominious prison on account of his righteous cause. Another plan, Carlos, another!

Carlos.

Bah! bah! Stuff and nonsense! We will not devour him. He will be well lodged and well cared for, and thereafter he cannot hold out long: for, observe, when he perceives that it is in earnest, all his theatrical rage will cease; he will come to terms, return smartly to France, and be only too thankful, if we secure a yearly pension for his sister—perhaps the only thing he cared a straw about.

Clavigo.

So be it then! Only let him be kindly dealt with.

Carlos.

Leave that to me.—One precaution more! We cannot know but that it may be blabbed out—that the thing may get wind, and then he gets over you, and all is lost. Therefore, leave your house, so that your very servant does not know where you have gone. Take with you only absolute necessaries. I shall despatch you a fellow who will conduct you and bring you to a place where the holy Hermandad herself will not find you. I have always in readiness a few of these mouseholes. Adieu!

Clavigo.

Good-by!

Carlos.

Cheer up! cheerily! When it is all over, brother, we will enjoy ourselves.

[Exit.

SCENE II.—

Guilbert’sabode.

Sophie Guilbert, Marie Beaumarchaisat work.

Marie.

With such violence did Buenco depart?

Sophie.

It was natural. He loves you, and how could he endure the sight of the man whom he must doubly hate?

Marie.

He is the best, most upright citizen whom I have ever known. (Showing her work to her sister.) It seems to me I must do it thus. I shall take in that and turn the end up. That will do nicely.

Sophie.

Very well. And I am going to put a straw-colored ribbon on my bonnet; it becomes me best. Do you smile?

Marie.

I am laughing at myself. We girls are wonderful people, I must say: hardly are our spirits but a little raised than straightway we are busy with finery and ribbons.

Sophie.

You cannot find fault with yourself at all; from the moment Clavigo forsook you, nothing could give you the least pleasure. (Mariestarts up and looks towards the door.) What is the matter?

Marie.

(Anxious.) I thought some one was coming! My poor heart! Oh, it will destroy me yet! Feel how it beats with groundless terrors!

Sophie.

You look pale. Be calm, I beseech you, my love!

Marie.

(Pointing to her breast.) I feel here an oppression—a sudden pain. It will kill me.

Sophie.

Be careful.

Marie.

I am a foolish, hapless girl. Pain and joy with all their force have undermined my poor life. I tell you, ’tis but half a joy that I have him again. Little shall I enjoy the happiness that awaits me in his arms; perhaps not at all.

Sophie.

My sister, my only love! You are wearing yourself out with these visions.

Marie.

Why shall I deceive myself?

Sophie.

You are young and happy, and can hope for all.

Marie.

Hope! Oh, the only sweet balm of life! How often it charms my soul! Happy youthful dreams hover before me and accompany the beloved form of the peerless one, who now is mine again. O Sophie, he is so winsome! Whilst I saw him not, he has—I know not how I shall express it;—all the qualities, which in former days lay hid in him through his diffidence, have unfolded themselves. He has become a man, and must with this pure feeling of his, with which he advances, that is so entirely devoid of pride and vanity—he must captivate all hearts.—And he shall be mine? No, my sister, I was not worthy of him—and now I am much less so!

Sophie.

Take him, however, and be happy. I hear your brother!

Beaumarchaisenters.

Beaumarchais.

Where is Guilbert?

Sophie.

He has been gone some time; he cannot be much longer.

Marie.

What is the matter, brother? (Springing up and falling on his neck.) Dear brother, what is the matter?

Beaumarchais.

Nothing! nothing at all, my Marie!

Marie.

If I am thy Marie, do tell me what is on thy mind!

Sophie.

Let him be. Men often look vexed without having aught particular on their mind.

Marie.

No, no. I see thy face only a little while; but already I read all thy thoughts, all the feelings of thy pure and sincere soul are stamped on thy brow. There is somewhat which makes thee anxious. Speak, what is it?

Beaumarchais.

It is nothing, my love. I hope that at bottom it is nothing. Clavigo—

Marie.

How?

Beaumarchais.

I was at Clavigo’s house. He is not at home.

Sophie.

And does that perplex you?

Beaumarchais.

His hall-servant says he has gone he knows not where; no one knows how long. If he should be hiding himself! If he be really gone! Whither? for what reason?

Marie.

We will wait.

Beaumarchais.

Thy tongue lies. Ah! the paleness of thy cheeks, the trembling of thy limbs, all speak and testify that thou canst not wait. Dear sister! (Clasps her in his arms.) On this beating, painfully trembling heart I vow.—hear me, O God, who art righteous! hear me, all His saints!—thou shalt be avenged, if he—my senses abandon me at the thought—if he fail, if he make himself guilty of a frightful, double perjury; if he mock at our misery— No, it is, it is not possible, not possible—thou shalt be avenged.

Sophie.

All too soon, too precipitate. Be careful of her health. I beseech you, my brother. (Mariesits down.) What ails thee? You are fainting.

Marie.

No, no. You are so anxious.

Sophie.

(Gives her water.) Take this glass.

Marie.

No, no! what avails that? Well, for my own sake, give it me.

Beaumarchais.

Where is Guilbert? Where is Buenco? Send after them, I entreat you. (Sophieexit.) How dost thou feel, Marie?

Marie.

Well, quite well! Think’st thou then, brother—

Beaumarchais.

What, my love?

Marie.

Ah!

Beaumarchais.

Is your breathing painful?

Marie.

The disordered beating of my heart oppresses me.

Beaumarchais.

Have you then no remedy? Do you use no anodyne?

Marie.

I know of only one remedy, and for that I have prayed to God many a time and oft.

Beaumarchais.

Thou shalt have it, and I hope from my hand.

Marie.

That will do well.

Sophieenters.

Sophie.

A courier has just brought this letter; he comes from Aranjuez.

Beaumarchais.

That is the seal and the hand of our ambassador.

Sophie.

I bade him dismount and take some refreshment; he would not, because he had yet more despatches.

Marie.

Will you, my love, send the servant for the physician?

Sophie.

Are you ill? Holy God! what ails thee?

Marie.

You will make me so anxious that at last I shall scarcely dare ask for a glass of water. Sophie! Brother!—What is in the letter? See, how he trembles! how all courage leaves him!

Sophie.

Brother, my brother! (Beaumarchaisthrows himself speechless into a chair and lets the letter fall.) My brother! (Lifts up the letter and reads it.)

Marie.

Let me see it! I must—(tries to rise.) Alas! I feel it. It is the last. O sister, spare not for mercy’s sake the last quick death-stroke!—He betrays us!

Beaumarchais.

(Springing up.) He betrays us! (Beating on his brow and breast.) Here! here! All is as dumb, as dead before my soul, as if a thunder-clap had disordered my senses. Marie! Marie! thou art betrayed!—and I stand here! Whither?—What?—I see nothing, nothing! no way, no safety! (Throws himself into a seat.)

Guilbertenters.

Sophie.

Guilbert! Counsel! Help! We are lost!

Guilbert.

My wife!

Sophie.

Read! read! The ambassador makes known to our brother: that Clavigo has made a criminal complaint against him, under the pretext that he introduced himself into his house under a false name; and that taking him by surprise in bed and presenting a pistol, he compelled him to sign a disgraceful vindication; and if he do not quickly withdraw from the kingdom, they will get him thrown into prison, from which the ambassador himself perhaps will not be able to deliver him.

Beaumarchais.

(Springing up.) Indeed, they shall do so! they shall do so! shall get me imprisoned; but from his corpse, from the place where I shall have glutted my vengeance with his blood. Ah! the stern, frightful thirst after his blood fills my whole soul. Thanks to Thee, God in heaven, that Thou vouchsafest to man, amid burning, insupportable wrongs, a solace, a refreshment! What a thirst for vengeance I feel in my breast! how the glorious feeling, the lust for his blood, raises me out of my utter dejection, out of my sluggish indecision; raises me above myself! Vengeance! How I rejoice in it! how all within me strives after him, to seize him, to destroy him!

Sophie.

Thou art terrible, brother!

Beaumarchais.

So much the better.—Ah! No sword, no weapon! with these hands will I strangle him, that the triumph may be mine! all my own the feeling: I have destroyed him!

Marie.

My heart! my heart!

Beaumarchais.

I have not been able to save thee, so thou shalt be avenged. I pant after his footsteps, my teeth lust after his flesh, my gums after his blood. Have I become a frantic wild beast! There burns in every vein, there glows in every nerve, the desire after him, after him!—I could hate him forever, who should make away with him by poison, who should rid me of him by assassination. Oh, help me, Guilbert, to seek him out. Where is Buenco? Help me to find him!

Guilbert.

Save yourself! save yourself! you have lost your reason.

Marie.

Flee, my brother!

Sophie.

Take him away; he will cause his sister’s death.

Buencoappears.

Buenco.

Up, sir! away! I saw it before. I gave heed to all. And now they are in hot pursuit; you are lost if you do not leave the town this moment.

Beaumarchais.

Never more! Where is Clavigo?

Buenco.

I do not know.

Beaumarchais.

Thou knowest. I entreat you on my knees, tell me.

Sophie.

For God’s sake, Buenco!

Marie.

Ah! air! air! (Falls back.) Clavigo!—

Buenco.

Help, she is dying!

Sophie.

Forsake us not, God in heaven! Hence! my brother, away!

Beaumarchais.

(Falls down before Marie, who despite every aid does not recover.) To forsake thee! to forsake thee!

Sophie.

Stay, then, and ruin us all, as you have killed Marie. You are gone, then, O my sister, through the heedlessness of your own brother!

Beaumarchais.

Stop, sister!

Sophie.

(Mocking.) Saviour!—Avenger!—help yourself!

Beaumarchais.

Do I deserve this?

Sophie.

Give her to me again! And then go to the prison, to the stake; go, pour forth thy blood and give me her again.

Beaumarchais.

Sophie!

Sophie.

Ha! and she is gone, she is dead—save yourself for us! (Falling on his neck.) My brother, for us! for our father! Haste, haste! That was her fate! she has met it! And there is a God in heaven, to Him leave vengeance.

Buenco.

Hence! away! Come with me; I will hide you till we find means to get you out of the kingdom.

Beaumarchais.

(Falls onMarieand kisses her.) Sister dear! (They tear him away, he claspsSophie,she disengages herself. They removeMarie,andBuencoandBeaumarchaisretire.)

Guilbert,aPhysician.

Sophie.

(Returning from the room to which they had takenMarie.) Too late! She is gone! she is dead!

Guilbert.

Come in, sir! See for yourself! It is not possible!

[Exit.