he accumulated soot
of a thousand years from their eyelashes, and myriads of horned heads
pop up from the smoking mouth of their sulphurous chimneys to welcome
our arrival! 'Up, comrades! (leaping up). Up! What in the world is
equal to this ecstacy of delight? Come along, comrades!

ROLLER. Gently, gently! Where are you going? Every beast must have a
head, boys!

SPIEGEL. (With bitterness). What is that incubus preaching about? Was
not the head already there before a single limb began to move? Follow
me, comrades!

ROLLER. Gently, I say! even liberty must have its master. Rome and
Sparta perished for want of a chief.

SPIEGEL. (in a wheedling manner). Yes,--stay--Roller is right. And he
must have an enlightened head. Do you understand? A keen, politic
head. Yes! when I think what you were only an hour ago, and what you
are now, and that it is all owing to one happy thought. Yes, of course,
you must have a chief, and you'll own that he who struck out this idea
may claim to have an enlightened and politic head?

ROLLER. If one could hope, if one could dream, but I fear he will not
consent.

SPIEGEL. Why not? Speak out boldly, friend! Difficult as it may be to
steer a laboring vessel against wind and tide, oppressive as may be the
weight of a crown, speak your thought without hesitation, Roller!
Perhaps he may be prevailed upon after all!

ROLLER. And if he does not the whole vessel will be crazy enough.
Without Moor we are a "body without a soul."

SPIEGEL. (turning angrily from him). Dolt! blockhead!

(Enter CHARLES VON MOOR in violent agitation, stalking backwards
and forwards, and speaking to himself.)

CHARLES VON M. Man--man! false, perfidious crocodile-brood! Your eyes
are all tears, but your hearts steel! Kisses on your lips, but daggers
couched in your bosoms! Even lions and tigers nourish their young.
Ravens feast their brood on carrion, and he--he Malice I have learned to
bear; and I can smile when my fellest enemy drinks to me in my own
heart's blood; but when kindred turn traitors, when a father's love
becomes a fury's hate; oh, then, let manly resignation give place to
raging fire! the gentle lamb become a tiger! and every nerve strain
itself to vengeance and destruction!

ROLLER. Hark ye, Moor! What think ye of it? A robber's life is
pleasanter, after all, than to lie rotting on bread and water in the
lowest dungeon of the castle?

CHARLES VON M. Why was not this spirit implanted in