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

however, all is vain, for since the world a world was, no one has ever escaped his destiny!

      The Man. Are there any cartridges left?

      Jacob. Neither balls nor grapeshot: everything has its end!

      The Man. Bring then my son to me; I would embrace him once more!

      Exit Jacob.

      The smoke from the powder has dimmed my eyes; it seems to me as if the valley were swelling up to my feet, and again sinking back to its place; the socks crack, and cross each other at a thousand angles, and my thoughts wander, flicker, quiver in the most fantastic forms. (Seats himself upon a wall.) It is not worth the trouble to be a man—nor even an angel; the highest archangel must feel, after some centuries of existence, as we do after a few years of our fleeting life, utter weariness in his soul, and long, as we do, for mightier powers! Either one must be God—or nothing....

      Enter Jacob with George.

      Take some of the men with you, go through the castle, and drive all before you upon the walls!

      Jacob. Counts, princes, bankers?

      Exit Jacob.

      The Man. Come to me, my dearest son! place thy thin hands in mine, while I press my lips upon thy pure forehead; thy mother's brow was once as white and smooth!

      George. Before thy men took up their arms to-day, I heard mamma's voice; her words came floating to me as soft and sweet as perfumed air; she said to me: 'George, thou wilt come to me this very evening, and sit down beside me.'

      The Man. Did she name me to thee?

      George. She said: 'This very evening I expect my son.'

      The Man (aside). Is my strength to fail me, when I have almost reached the end of the weary way? No, God will not permit it! For one moment's fiery madness, I will be thy prisoner to all eternity!—(Aloud). Oh, my son! forgive—forgive the fatal gift of life! We part; and knowest thou for how long a time?

      George. Take me with thee, father, and leave me not! I love thee; oh, leave me not, my father—and I will draw thee on with me!

      The Man. Our paths are widely sundered. Amid the choirs of happy angels thou wilt forget thy father—thou wilt bring me down no drop of cooling dew. O George! George! my son! my son!

      George. What dreadful cries! I tremble, father. Louder and louder, nearer and nearer comes the thunder of the cannon; the last hour—the prophesied—draws near!

      The Man. Jacob! quick—quick—here!

      A band of counts and princes cross the courtyard. Jacob follows with the soldiers.

      A Voice. You give us broken arms, and force us to the combat!

      Another Voice. Henry, have mercy on thyself!

      Third Voice. Weak, wearied, famished, drive us not upon the walls!

      Fourth Voice. Where do they drive us? where?

      The Man. To death!—(To George, folding him in his arms.) With this embrace I would fain bind thee to my heart forever, George! Alas! I know our paths are widely sundered: it may not be, my son! my son!

      Struck by a ball, George sinks dying in his arms.

      Voice (from above). To me! to me! pure spirit! Up to me, my son!

      The Man. Ha! to my aid, soldiers! (He draws his sword, and holds it before the lips of the wounded boy.) The blade is crystal clear; no moisture dims the cold and glittering steel! Breath and life already gone! O George, my son!

      Ha! they are upon me! On I on! They are at last but a sword's length from me! Back! Back! into the abyss, ye sons of freedom. Back!

      Rushing on of man, confusion, struggle.

      Another part of the wall of the castle. Men in the distance in line of battle. Jacob is seen stretched out upon the wall: the Man, sprinkled with blood, hastily approaches him.

      The Man. Faithful old man, what has happened to you?

      Jacob. May the devil reward you in hell for your obstinacy, and my dying agonies!

      So help me God the Lord!

      Dies.

      The Man (throwing away his sword). I will need thee no longer, sword of my fathers! My son is in heaven—the very last of my retainers lies dead at my feet—the craven nobles have deserted their cause; already they kneel before the victor, and sue and howl for mercy! (Looking in every direction around him.) There still is time; as yet the enemy are not upon me! I will steal a moment's rest before....

      Ha! the New Men scale the northern tower; they shout 'Count Henry'—they seek him in every direction!

      Here I am! here I am! here I am! But you are not to pronounce sentence upon me; the dead have already given in their verdict. I go to meet the judgment and justice of my God! (He clambers up a steep cliff jutting out over the abyss.) I see thee, my eternity, as thou rapidly floatest on to meet me, black with the shadows of eternal night! shoreless, limitless, infinite! And in the midst of thy rayless gloom, like a burning sun, eternally shining, but illumining nothing, I see my God! (He takes some steps forward, and stands on the brink of the precipice.) Ha! they run, the New Men—they see me now! Jesus! Mary! O Poetry! be cursed by me, as I shall be to all eternity! Up, ye strong arms! cut through these waves of air!

      He springs into the abyss.

      The courtyard of the castle. Pancratius, Leonard; Bianchetti stands at the head of a regiment of soldiers. The remaining princes and counts, accompanied by their wives and children, file in before Pancratius.

      Pancratius. Your name?

      A Count. Christopher von Volsagen.

      Pancratius. You have pronounced it for the last time! And yours?

      A Prince. Wladislaus, Lord of Schwarzwald.

      Pancratius. It shall be heard on earth no more! And yours?

      A Baron. Alexander von Godalberg.

      Pancratius. It is already erased from the list of the living. Go!

      Bianchetti (to Leonard). They have repulsed us for two long months; their arms are wretched, and their accoutrements utterly worthless.

      Leonard. Are there many of them left?

      Pancratius. They are all given over to you for execution, that their blood may flow as an example to the world. But if there is one among them who can tell me where Count Henry hides, he shall have his life for his information!

      Many Voices. He vanished from our sight at last.

      The Godfather. Great Pancratius, I appear as mediator between you and your prisoners; spare these citizens of noble birth, because they have given up to you the keys and strongholds of the castle of the Holy Trinity!

      Pancratius. I have conquered by my own strength, and need no mediator. You will yourself take charge of their immediate execution!

      The Godfather. My whole life has been that of a good citizen. I have frequently given proof of true patriotism. When I joined your cause, Pancratius, it was not with the intention of leading my own noble brethren to—....

      Pancratius (interrupting him). Seize the old pedant! away with him! let him join his noble brethren!

      The soldiers surround the Godfather and the prisoners.

      Where is Count Henry? Has