ADVERTISEMENT.

This production is founded partly on the story of a Novel, called «The Three Brothers,» published many years ago, from which M. G. Lewis's « Wood Demon>> was also taken—and partly on the «< Faust >> of the great Goethe. The present publication contains the first two Parts only, and the opening chorus of the third. The rest may perhaps appear hereafter.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN.

STRANGER, afterwards CESAR.

ARNOLD.

BOURBON.

PHILIBERT.

CELLINI.

WOMEN.

BERTHA. OLIMPIA.

As is the hedgehog's, Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds The nipple next day sore and udder dry. Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out! [Exit BERTHA

ARNOLD (solus).

Oh mother!--She is gone, and I must do
Her bidding-wearily but willingly
I would fulfil it, could I only hope

A kind word in return. What shall I do?

[ARNOLD begins to cut wood: in doing this he wounds one of his hands.

My labour for the day is over now.

Accursed be this blood that flows so fast;

For double curses will be my meed now

At home. What home? I have no home, no kin,
No kind-not made like other creatures, or

To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed too
Like them? Oh that each drop which falls to earth
Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me!
Or that the devil, to whom they liken me,
Would aid his likeness? If I must partake
His form, why not his power? Is it because
I have not his will too? For one kind word
From her who bore me would still reconcile me
Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash
The wound.

[ARNOLD goes to a spring and stoops to wash

his hand: he starts back.

They are right; and Nature's mirror shows me
What she hath made me. I will not look on it
Again, and scarce dare think on 't. Hideous wretch
That I am! The very waters mock me with
My horrid shadow-like a demon placed
Deep in the fountain to scare back the cattle
From drinking therein.

And shall I live on,

[He pauses.

A burthen to the earth, myself, and shame
Unto what brought me into life? Thou blood,
Which flowest so freely from a scratch, let me
Try if thou wilt not in a fuller stream
Pour forth my woes for ever with thyself
On earth, to which I will restore at once
This hateful compound of her atoms, and
Resolve back to her elements, and take
The shape of any reptile save myself,

And make a world for myriads of new worms!
This knife! now let me prove if it will sever
This wither'd slip of nature's nightshade-my
Vile form-from the creation, as it hath

The

green bough from the forest.

Were I to taunt a buffalo with this
Cloven foot of thine, or the swift dromedary

the point upwards.

Now 't is set, And I can fall upon it. Yet one glance On the fair day, which sees no foul thing like Myself, and the sweet sun, which warm'd me, but In vain. The birds--how joyously they sing! So let them, for I would not be lamented: But let their merriest notes be Arnold's knell; The falling leaves my monument; the murmur Of the near fountain my sole elegy. Now, knife, stand firmly, as I fain would fall! [As he rushes to throw himself upon the knife, his eye is suddenly caught by the fountain,

which seems in motion.

The fountain moves without a wind: but shall
The ripple of a spring change my resolve?
No. Yet it moves again! The waters stir,
Not as with air, but by some subterrane
And rocking power of the internal world.
What's here? A mist! No more?--

[4 cloud comes from the fountain. He stands
gazing upon it: it is dispelled, and a tall
black man comes towards him.

ARNOLD.

Would revel in the compliment. And yet

Both beings are more swift, more strong, more mighty
In action and endurance than thyself,
And all the fierce and fair of the same kind
With thee. Thy form is natural: 't was only
Nature's mistaken largess to bestow
The gifts which are of others upon man.

STRANGER.

As man is both, why not

Spirit or man?

Say both in one?

Thou canst not yet speak mine), the forester
Hunts not the wretched coney, but the boar,
Or wolf, or lion, leaving paltry game

To petty burghers, who leave once a-year
Their walls, to fill their household caldrons with
Such scullion
prey. The meanest gibe at thee,-
Now I can mock the mightiest.

ARNOLD.

Then waste not

Thy time on me: I seek thee not.

STRANGER.

Your thoughts Are not far from me. Do not send me back: I am not so easily recall'd to do Good service.

ARNOLD.

What wilt thou do for me? STRANGER.

Change

Shapes with you, if you will, since yours so irks you; Or form you to your wish in any shape.

ARNOLD.

Oh! then you are indeed the demon, for Nought else would wittingly wear mine.