Výrava (Wildly).—But not alive! (Attempts to hurl himself upon Charvát. The soldiers seize him and throw him to the ground.)
Charvát.—More slowly, fellow.
Jeroným (Rushes forward).—Mercy! Mercy! Mercy on my father!
Muffled cries.—Jeroným!
(The servants bring hazel-rods and give them to the soldiers who form a lane extending into the wings so that only three soldiers with sticks are on the stage.)
Výrava.—You here—you alive! I did not shoot you? Oh, thanks to God!—But are you still with these blood-thirsty murderers of ours, are you still in the service of the nobles? You opposed me when I marched against the castle? You the catchpoll of our tyrants. . . .
Jeroným.—Terror of God! Father!
Výrava.—Back, you vultures! (Casts both soldiers off and steps up to the table to Charvát.) Will you have me killed—won’t you remit the flogging?
Charvát.—Bind him and lead him by force through the lane! (The soldiers hurl themselves on Výrava. They tear off his coat and tie his arms in front of him.)
Výrava. (More to himself than aloud).—Immortal God, do not permit this shame to fall on me, do not suffer me to be delivered up to mockery before the people. Dear God, grant me this prayer! Grant it!
Charvát.—Forward! (The soldiers push Výrava towards the soldiers with the sticks. Výrava staggers. The first soldier strikes him across the back with a stick.)
Výrava (Screams and falls).—Thus—Father in Heaven—I praise you. (Falls dead to the ground.)
Václav.—Father!
Earl.—He has fallen! Stop!
Charvát.—A swoon? (Steps up to him and quickly feels his hands and heart.) By the Lord—the man is no longer alive—his heart is not beating!
Earl.—Apoplexy!
Charvát.—The devil take the luck!
Jeroným.—My father dead? Father, father! (All step back from the corpse, Jeroným throws himself down upon it.) Father mine! (A moment without a movement.) Murderers!
