e I ^'13 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026198626 Cornell University Library PT 2473.A4B67 1873 Early dramas and romances / 3 1924 026 198 626 BOrorS STANDARD LIBRARY. SCHILLEE'S EAELT PEAMAS AND EOMAKCES. THE WORKS TREDERICK SCHILLER. EARLY DRAMAS AW ROMANCES. rUE EOBBEES, FIESCO, LOVE AND INTEIGirE, DEMETKinS, THE GHOST-SEEK, AND THE SPOKT OF DESTINY. • TBAJtSLATKD FROM THE GKBSTAN, CmEFLY BT HENRY G. BOHN. LONDON : GEORGE BELL fc SONS, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1873. LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STKEET AND CHARING CROSS. PEEFACE BY THE PUBLISHER. The present volume, whicla forms the fourth of the series, comprises the three earliest of Schiller's dramas, the Bobbers, Fiesco, and Love and Intrigue, and his latest, Deme- trius, which, unfortunately, is little more than a fragment, the author not having lived to finish it. To these is added the Ghost Seer, now for the first time given to the English public as Schiller wrote it. The ROBBERS is more strongly associated vrith the name rnd fame of Schiller than any other of his works, arid is andoubtedly a very extraordinary production. " A strange, rugged, fiery melodrame, which seemed destined to announce md to animate the revolution of a world." " One sweeping, uncompromising defiance of the sober properties, in which the mature see decorum, and the youn^ dissimulation."* The germ of much of Schiller's^fter poetry may be traced in this early performance, and as an example of impassioned and rigorous diction, it is quite unsurpassed. "In perusing this olay,'' says Mr. Carlyle, " we are alternately shocked and in- spired ; there is a perpetual conflict between our understanding md our feelings. Yet the latter on the whole come off victorious. . rhe Robbers is a tragedy that will long find readers to istonish, and, with all its faults, to move. It stands, in our ' magination, like some ancient rugged pile of a barbarous age; rregular, fantastic, useless; but grand in its >height and nassiveness, and black frowning strength. It will long * Bulwer. X PREFACE. verse than prose. The specimens, however, show that to. make the lines it is sometimes necessary to mar the sense,- either by diluting or contracting it. Prose should be trans-j lated into prose and verse into verse, or the author is not' fairly represented. But all Schiller's prose is so poetical,; that freely translated it falls naturally into cadences ; indeed,* the conventional license of blank verse would facilitate the rendering of many a troublesome passage. ' , LOVE AND INTEIGUB, the last of Schiller's early plays *, has found only two previous translators in this country, Mr. Peter Colombine, in 1795, and Mat. Lewis, the celebrated] author of the Monk, in 1797. l Mr. Colombine very coolly omits the whole of the first three! scenes, "and substitutes some namby pamby of his own, pro fessing all the while to give the play entire. . He paraphrases ; rather than translates, and generally contrives to misunder-| Stand wherever there is a possibility; and even where he has caught an idea correctly, he has so Colombined it, that it ceases to be Schiller's. Indeed, there is scarcely a page vrithout a flagrant error. Lewis attacks him for some of these delin- quencies, and undertakes to give the perfect play, but himself i makes considerable omissions, even of whole scenes, and, on . the other hand, so extensively amplifies, that his author is! often lost in a mist. His characters, besides, are uniformlyj lifted on stilts, so that Miller and his wife talk in lofty heroics, ; instead of commonplace garrulity, somewhat spiced ; and all the shades of character which Schiller so carefully designedl are entirely obliterated. In one place, where Miller in a passion is disposed to behave rather ungallantly to his better ] \ialf, and uses some coarse expressions, Lewis makes him put tis hand to his head, and deliver a magniloquent oration.! A few passages, however, are vigorously rendered, and these, * Speaking of this drama^ a distinguished critic says, " As a traged\' oi common life we know of few rivals to it, certainly of no superior." PREFACE. XI where they do not depart from the author's meaning, have been engrafted with little or no alteration. Besides these translations of what is professed to be the entire play, detached scenes of the fifth act have been given by Dr. Taylor, in his History of German Poetry, (1830,) and by Dr. Ash, in the Speculator, (1795,) the former very badly, the latter very ably, though not always correctly. It should be observed, in deference to the fastidious reader, that in each of Schiller's three early plays, especially the Bobbers, passages occur which, taken separately, might be regarded as somewhat offensive ; but as these are invariably given in all the' present German editions, the publisher feels that he should not have been justified in omitting or even modifying them. Schiller must be judged of as a whole, and taste will preserve and cherish his beauties, whilst candour will " drop a tear over his faults and blot them out for ever." The GHOST-SEER, which closes this volume, was first published between 1783 and 1789, in the periodical work called the Thalia, and soon after (1789) in a separate volume. ' Schiller could never be prevailed on to finish it, but the denouement is to be gathered from a series of letters, published in the same ]^riodical Various Grub Street authors (for Germany, too, has its Grub Stieet), in- vented sequels, none of which have outlived their hour. The first English translation appeared in 1795, abridged, and without the letters, but well executed. The second in 1800, by the before-named Mr. Render, under the title of the Ar- menian, enlarged into four volumes (being one more than the true Minerva-press quantity). Of these four volumes nearly three are probably by the " University teacher " himself, — at any rate, they are not by Schiller, nor have they any pre- tensions to keep his company. This translation, no doubt in perfect innocence of the fact, has been republished in the " Standard Novels,'' continuation and all, as Schiller's, which XU TEEFACE. it becomes necessary to mention, lest mine, by comparison, ; should be thought imperfect. The task of translating and editing this volume to the^ extent stated, has been performed during snatches from hours of business ,or rest, by the publisher ; and, amid the pressure of his engrossing and more legitimate avocations, has been most trying. But he has been borne through it by an en- thusiastic admiration of the author, and if his readers reward his perseverance with their approbation, he may hope to for- get the sacrifice it has cost him in the pleasures of the re- compence. The unfinished tragedy of Demetrius is translated by Theodore Martin, Esq., who is already favourably known to the reader of these volumes. HENEY G. BOHN. ApfU, 1849 SCHILLER'S PREFACE^ AS PREFIXED TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THE BOBBEBS PUBLISHED IN 1781, ■ Now first translated into English. This play is to be regarded merely as a dramatic namitive, in wMoli, for the purpose of tracing out the innermost workings of , the soul, advantage has been taken of the dramatic method, without otherwise conformiag to the stringent rules of theatrical composition, or seeking the dubious advantage of stage adapta- tion. It must be admitted as somewhat inconsistent that three very remarkable people, whose acts are dependent on perhaps a- thousand contingencies, should be completely developed within three hours, considering that it would scarcely be pos- sible, in the ordinary course of events, that three such re- markable people should, even in twenty-four hours, fully reveal their characters to the most penetrating inquirer. A greater amount of incident is here crowded together than it' was possible for me to confine witmn the narrow limits pre- seribed by Aristotle and Batteux. ' It is, however, not so much the bulk of my play as its con- tents which banish it from the stage. Its scheme and eco- nomy require that several characters should appear, who would offend the finer feelings of virtue, and shock the de- licacy of our manners. Every delineator of human character is placed in the same dilemma, if he proposes to give a faith- ful picture of the world as it really is,, and not an ideal phan- tasy, a mere creation of his own. _ It is the course of mortal things that the good should be shadowed by the bad, and virtue shine the brightest when contrasted with vice. Who- ever proposes to discourage vice, and to vindicate religion, morality, and social order, against their adversaries, must un- veil crime in all its deformity, and place it before the eyes of XIV SCHILLER S PBEFACE. men in its colossal magnitude. He must diligently explore) its dark mazes, and make himself familiar with sentiments at the wickedness of which his soul revolts. ,j Vice is here exposed in its innermost workings. In Francis! it resolves all the confused terrors of conscience into wild abstractions, destroys virtuous sentiments by dissecting them,'^ and holds up the earnest voicte of religion to mockery and scorn. He who has gone so far (a distinction by no means enviable) as to quicken his understanding at the expense of his soul — to, him the holiest things are no longer holy — 'to him God and man are alike indifferent, and both worlds are as nothing. Of such a monster I have endeavoured to sketch a striking and lifelike portrait, to hold up to abhors rence all the machinery of his scheme of vice, and to test- its strength by contrasting it with truth. How far my nar- , rative is successful in accomplishing these objects, the reader is left td judge. My conviction is, that I have painted nature to the life. Next to this man (Francis) stands another, who would perhaps puzzle not a few of my readers. A mind for which , the greatest crimes have only charms through the glory vrhich attaches to them, the energy which their perpetrafj tion requires, and the dangers which attend them. A re-^i markable and important personage, abundantly endowed vvith the power of becoiliing either a Brutus or a Catiline, accord- ing as that power is directed. An unhappy conjunction of circumstances determines him to choose the 'latter for hia example, and it is only after a fearful straying that he is recalled to emulate the former. Erroneous notions of activity and power, an exuberance of strength which bursts through all the barriers of law, must of necessity conflict with the rules of social life. To these enthusiast dreams of greatness andi eificiency, it needed but a sarcastic bitterness against the un-? poetic spirit of the age, to complete the strange Don Quixote, whom, in the Eobber Moor, we at once detest and love, admire^ and pity. It is, I hope, unneeessary to remark, that I no more hold up this picture as a warning exclusively to robbers,, than the greatest Spanish satire was levelled exclusively at knight-errants. It is now-a-days so much the fashion to be witty at the expense of religion, thai a man will hardly pass for a genius SCHILL'feB'S PREFACE. XV if he does not allow his impious satire to run atUt at its most sacred truths. The noble simplicity of holy writ must needs be abused and turned into ridicule at the daily assem- blies of the so-called wits ; for what is there so holy and serious that will not raise a laugh if a false sense be attached to it? Let me hope that I shall have rendered no incon- siderable service to the cause of true religion and morality in holding up these wanton misbelievers to the detestation of society, under the form of the most despicable robbers. But still more. T have made these said immoral characters to stand out favourably in particular points, and even in some measure to compensate by qualities of the head for what they are 'deficient in those of the heart. Herein I have done no more than literally copy nature. Every" man, even the most depraved,' "bears iii some degree the inipress of the Almighty's image, and perhaps the greatest villain is not farther removed from the most upright man, than the petty offender ; for the moral forces keep even pace with the powers of the mind, and the greater the capacity bestowed on man, the greater and more enormous becomes his misapplication of it, the more responsible is he for his errors. — The " Adramelech " of Klopstock (in his Messiah) awakens in us a feeling in which admiration is blended with detesta- tion. We follow Milton's Satan with shuddering wonder through the pathless realms of chaos. The Medea of the old dramatists is, in spite of all her criipes, a great and wondrous woman, and ^akespeare's Kichard the Third is sure to excite the admiration of the reader, much as he would hate the! reality. If it is to be my task to portray men as they are,. I must at the same time include their good qualities, of which even the most vicious are never totally destitute,^'" If I would warn mankind against the tiger, I must not omit to describe his glossy, beautifully marked skin, lest, 'owing to this omission, the ferocious animal should not be re- cognised till too late. Besides this, a man who is so utterly depraved as to be withoui a single redeeming point, is no meet subject for art, and would disgust rather ttian excite the interest of the reader ; who would turn over with impatience the pages which concern him. A noble soul can no more endure a succession of moral discords, than the musical eai the grating of knives upon glass. XVI SfJHILLERS PllEFACE. And for this reason I should have heen ill advised in at- tempting to bring my drama on the stage. A certain strengths cf mind is required both on the part of the poet and the reader; in the former that he may not disguise vice, in the^ latter that he may not suffer brilliant qualities to beguile himi into admiration of what is essentially detestable. Whether the author has fulfilled his duty, he leaves others to judge, that his readers will perform theirs he by no means feels assured. The vulgar — among whom I would not be understood to mean merely the rabble — the vulgar, I say (between ourselves) ■extend their influence far around, and unfortunately — set the fashion. Too short-sighted to r^ach my full meaning, too narrow-minded to comprehend the largeness of my views, too disingenuous to admit ' my moral aim — they will, I fear, almost frustrate my good intentions, and pretend to discover in my work an apology for the very vice which it has been my object to condemn, and will perhaps make the poor poet, to whom anything rather than justice is usually accorded, re- sponsible for his simplicity. Thus we have a Da capo of the old story of Democritus and the Ahderitans*, and -our worthy Hippocrates would needs exhaust whole plantations of hellebore, were it proposed to remedy this mischief by a healing decoction. Let as many friends of truth as you will, instruct their fellow-citizens in the pulpit and* on the stage, the vulgar will never cease to be vulgar, though the sun and moon may change their course, and " heaven and earth wax old as a garment." Perhaps, in order to please tender-hearted people, I might have * This alludes to the fahle amusingly recorded by Wieland in v his Geschichte der Abderiten. The Abderitans, who were a byword among the ■ancients for their extreme simplicity, are said to have sent express for Hippo- crates to cure their great townsman, Democritus, whom they believed to be out of his senses, because his sayings were beyond their comprehension. Hip- pocrates, on conversing with Democritus, having at once discovered that the icause lay with themselves, assembled the senate and principal inhabitants in the market-place, with the promise of instructing them in the cure of De- mocritus. He ^hen banteringly advised them to import six ship-loads of ^hellebore, of the very best quality ; and on its arrival to distribute it among ■the citizens, at least seven pounds per head, but to the senators double that quantity, as thSy were bound to have an extra supply of sense. By the itime these worthies discovered that they had been laughed at, Hippocrates was out of their reach. The story in Wieland is infinitely more amusinj than this short juotation from memory enables me to show. H, (i. B> SCHII.LEES PEEFAOE. XVll been less true to nature ; but if a certain beetle, of whom ' we have all heard, could, extract filth even from pearls, if we have examples that fire has destroyed and water deluged, shall therefore pearls, fire, and water be condemned. In consequence of the remarkable catastrophe which ends my play, I may justly claim for it a place among books of mo- rality, for crime meets at last with the punishment it de serves ; the lost one enters again within the pale of the law, and virtue is triumphant. Whoever will but be courteous enough towards me to read my work through with a desire to understand it, from him I may expect — not that he will ad- mire the poet, but that he will esteem the honest man. SCHILLER. Jamt/r Fair, ll&l. AL»VERTISEMENT TO THE ROBBERS, AS COMMUNICATED BY SCHILLER TO DALBEEG IN 178], AST) SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN USED AS A PKOLOGUE. This has Tiever he/ore been printed mth any of the editions. Thk picture of a great misguided soul, endowed with every vgift of excellence, yet lost in spite of all its gifts. Un- bridled passions and bad companionship corrupt his heart, urge him on from crime to crime, until at last he stands at the head of a band of murderers, heaps horror upon horrorj and plunges from precipice to precipice into the lowest depths of despair. Great and majestic in misfortune, by misfortune reclaimed, and led back to the paths of virtue. Such a man shall you pity and hate, abhor yet love, in the Robber Moob. You will likewise see a juggling, fiendish knave, unmasked^;; and blown to atoms in his own mines ; a fond, weak, and over-indulgent father; the sorrows of too enthusiastic love, and the tortures of ungdVefned passion. Here, too, you \vill witness, not without a shudder, the interior economy of vice; and from the stage be taught how all the tinsel of fortune fails to smother the inward worm, and how Terror, Anguish, Remorse, and Despair, tread close on the footsteps of guilt. Let the spectator weep to-day at our exhibition, and tremble, and learn to bend his passions to the laws of Religion and Reason ; let the youth behold with alarm the consequences of unbridled excess, nor let the man depart without imbibing the lesson, that the invisible hand of Providence makes even villains the instruments of its designs and judgments, and can marvellously unravel the most intricate perplejdties c& Fate. SCHILLER'S PREFACP: 10 THE SECOND KDITION OF THE KOBBEKS— 1782. The 800 copies of the first edition of my Eobbebs were ex- hausted before all the admirers of the piece were supplied. A second was therefore undertaken, which has been improved by greater care in printing, and by the omission of those equivocal sentences which were offensive to the more fas- tidious part of the public. Such an alteration, however, in the construction of tiie play, as should satisfy all the wishes of my friends and the critics, has not been my object. In this second edition the several songs have been arranged for the pianoforte, which will enhance its value to the musical part of the public. I am indebte* for this to an able com- poser *, who has performed his task in so masterly a manner, that the hearer is not unlikely to forget the poet in tho melody of the musician. DR. SCHILLER Stuttgart, Jan. 5th, 1782. * Alluding tu his friend ZumetCEg. — ^Ro, THE ROBBEES. A TRAGEDY. " (^sae medicamenta non sanant, feirum sanat ; quae ferrum non sanat, igriis sanat." — HippocKAIES. DRAMATIS PERSONS. lAhertmes, aftencwrds Banditn, Maximilian, Comii von Moor. ChABI;SS, Fbahois, Amelia yon Eselseice, his Niece. SPIEQELiHIlS, SOHWEITZEK, 0KIMM, Bazuann, SOHnriEKLE, BOLLEB, KosinsEY, SOHWABIZ, ' Hebmahit, the natural Son of a Nohltmum. Damiel, Amelia (starting). What ! forget me ? Fbaucis. Did you not place a ring on his finger ? — a dia- mond ring, the pledge of your love ? To be sure, how is it pos- sible for youth to resist the fascinations of a wanton ? Who can blame him for it, since he had nothing else left to give away; — and of covirse she repaid him with interest, by her caresses and embraces ? Amelia [with indignation). My ring to a wanton ? Fbancis. Fie, fie ! it is disgraceful. 'Twould not be much, however, if that were all. A ring, be it ever so costly," is, after all, a thing which one may always buy of a Jew. — ■ Perhaps the fashion of it did not please him, perhaps he ex- j changed it for one more beautiful. -/* Amelia (with violence). But my ring, I say, my ring? ||f; Feancis. Even yours, Amelia. — ^Ha ! such a brilliant,^} and on my finger, — and from Amelia ! — Death itself should not have plucked it hence.— It is not the costliness of the diamond, not the cunning of the pattern — ^it is love which constitutes its value. Is it not so, Amelia ? — Dearest child, you are weeping ? Woe be to him who causes such precious drops to flow from those heavenly eyes ; ah, and if you knew all, if you could but see him yourself, see him under that form? Amelia. Monster! what do you mean? What form do you speak of ? i Feancis. Hush, hush, gentle soul, press me no further! (as if soliloquizing, yet aloud.) 7 If it had only some veil, that horrid vice, under which it might shroud itself from the eye of the world ! But there it is, glaring horribly through the sallow, leaden eye; proclaiming itself in the sunken death- like look ; ghastly protruding bones ; the faltering, hollow voice ; preaching audibly from the shattered, shaking skele- S ton; piercing to the most vital marrow of the bones, and sapping the manly strength of youth — faugh I the idea sickens f ' me. Nose, eyes, ears, shrink from it. /You saw that miserable wretch, Amelia, in our hospital who was heavily breathing out his spirit ; modesty seemed to cast down her abashed eye as SC. 111.] THE BOBBERS. 27 she passed him — you cried woe upon him ^ Re call that hideou s i mage to your mind, and your Charles stands before you ! Hia kisses are p estilence , his lips poison . SMELiA'{sinA;es him). Snameless liar ! Francis. Does such a Charles inspire you with horror? Does the mere picture fill you with disgust? Go, then' gaze upon him yourself, your handsome, your angelic, your divine Charles !"' Go, drink his balmy breath, and revel in the ; ambrosial fumes which ascend from Ms throat ! The very ex- halations of his body will plunge you into that dark and deathlike dizziness which follows the smell of a bursting carcase, or the sight of a corpse-strewn battlefield. (Amelia turns away her face). What sensations of love ! What rapture in those embraces ! — But is it not unjust to condemn a man because of his diseased exterior ? Even in the most wretched lump of deformity a soul great and worthy of love may beam forth brightly, like a pearl on a dunghill. (With a malignant smile). Even from lips of corruption love may '^To be sure, if vice should undermine the very foundations of cha- racter, if with chastity virtue too should take her flight, as th& .fragrance departs from the faded rose — if with the body the soul too should be tainted and corrupted Amelia {rising joyfully). Ha ! Charles ! now I recognise thee again ! Thou art whole, whole ! It was all a lie ! Dost thou not know, miscreant, that it would be impossible for Charles to be the being you describe ? (Feancis remains standing for some time, lost in thcMght; then suddenly turns round to go away.) Whither are you going in such haste ? Are you flying from your own infamy? Fkancis [hiding his face). Let me go, let me go ! — ^to give free vent to my tears ! — ^tyrannical father, thus to abandon the best of your sons to misery and disgrace on every side ! Let me go, Amelia ! I will throw myself at his feet, on my knees will I conjure him to transfer to me the curse that he has pronounced — ^to disinherit me — ^to hate me — my blood — my life — my all Amelia (falls on his neck). Brother of my Charles ? Dearest, most excellent Francis ! Feancis. 0, Amelia ! how I love you for this unshakeu constancy to my brother. Forgive me for venturing to sub- ject your love to so severe a trial! How nobly you have £8 THE ROBBERS. [ACTI realised my wishes ! By those tears, those sighs, that divia indignation — and for me too, for me — our souls did so trulj harmonize. Amelia. Oh, no ! that they never did ! Francis. Alas ! they harmonized so truly, that I always thought we must he twins. And were it not for that un^ fortunate difference in person, to be twin-like which, it musi be admitted, would he to the disadvantage of Charles, w( should again and again be mistaken for each other. Thoi art, I often said to myself, thou art the very Charles, hif echo, his counterpart. Amelia {shakes her head). No, no ! by that chaste light of heaven ! not an atom of him, not the least spark of his soul. Francis. So entirely the same in our dispositions; the rose was his favourite flower, and what flower do I esteem above the rose ? He loved music beyond expression ; and y( are witnesses, ye stars ! how often you have listened to ni( playing on the harpsichord in the dead silence of night, whei all around lay buried in darkness and slumber ; and how is it possible for you, Amelia, still to doubt ? if our love meets ii one perfection, and if it is the self-same love, how can its fruits degenerate? (Amelia looks at him with astonishment.) Il was a calm serene evening, the last before his departm'e foi Leipzic, when he took me with him to the bower where yot so often sat together in dreams of love — we were long speechless ; — at last he seized my hand, and said, in a low voice, and with tears in his eyes, " I am leaving Amelia ; 1 know not, but I have a sad presentiment that it is for ever— forsake her not, brother — be her friend — her Charles — il Charles — should never — never return. (He throws himsel) down before her, and kisses her hand withfervour.) Never, never, never will he return ; and I stand pledged by a sacred oath to fulfil his behest ! Ameixa. {starting back). Traitor! Now thou art unmasked! In that very bower he conjured me, if he died, to admit no othei love. Dost thou see, how impious, how execrable thou Quit my sight ! Francis. You know me not, Amelia ; you do not knov luc in the least ! Ameija. Oh yes, I know you; from henceforth I knov ACT II., 3C. I.] THE BOBBEBS. 2S) you ; and you pretend to be like him ? You mean to say that he yrept for me in your presence ? Yours ? He would sooner have inscribed my name on the pillory! Be gone — this instant ! Fbancis. You insult me. Amelia. Go — I say. You have robbed me of a precious hour ; may it be deducted from your life. Fbakcis. You hate me, then ! Amelia. I despise you — away ! 'E-RKScis {stamping with fury). Only wait! you shall learn to tremble before me ! — To sacrifice me for a beggar ! \Eodt in anger. Amelia. Go, thou base villain ! Now, Charles, am I agaia thine own. BeggafTSid^he say nKen" is "tEe^woflcT turned upside down, beggars are'liings,' aiid"Krigs"are'Feggars ! I , would nof chaDge"'ffie'rags he wears for theTrQperialpurple.V The look with which he begs must, indeed, be a noble, a royal look — a look that withers into nought the glory, the pomp, the triumphs of the rich and great! Into, the dust with thee, glittering baubles ! {She tears her. pearls from her neck) Let the rich and the proud be condemned to bear the burthen of gold, and silver, and jewels ! Be they condemned to carouse at the tables of the voluptuous ! To pamper their limbs on the downy couch of luxury ! Charles ! Charles ! Thus am I worthy of thee ! [Exit. ACT II. Scene I. — Fbascis von Moob in his chamber — in meditation. F^^Ntas. It lasts too long — and the doctor even says he is recovering — an old man's JUaJs-a-^ery eternity ! The course would be free and plain before me, but for this troublesome, tough lump of flesh, which like the infernal demon-hound in ghost stories bars the way to my treasures. Must, then, my projects bend to the iron yoke of a me- chanical system ? — Is my soaring spirit to be chained dovm to the snail's pace of matter ? — 'To blow out a wick which is already flickering upon its last drop of oil — ^'tis nothing more. — And yet I would rather not do it myself, on account of what 80 THE ROBBERS. [ACT II. the world would say. I should not wish him to be killed, but merely disposed of. I should like to do what your clever physi-, cian does, only the reverse way — not stop Nature's course by running a bar across her path, but only help her to speed a little faster. Are we not able to prolong the conditions of Hfe ? Why, then, should we not also be able to shorten them ? Philosophers and physiologists teach us how close is the sympathy between the emotions of the mind and the move- ments of the bodily machine. Convulsive sensations are always accompanied by a disturbance of the mechanical vibra-. tions — passions injure the vital powers — an overburdened, spirit bursts its shell. Well then — what if one knew how to smooth this unbeaten path, for the easier entrance of death into the citadel of life? — to work the body's destruction, through the mind — ^ha ! an briginal device ! — who can accom- plish this? — a device without a parallel! — Think upon it, Moor ! — That were an art worthy of thee for its inventor. Has not poisoning been raised almost "to the rank of a regular science, and nature compelled, by the force of experiments, to define her limits, so that one may now calculate the heart's throbbings for years in advance, and say to the beating pulse, " So far, and no farther!" — Why should one not try one's skill in this line?* And how, then, must I too go to work, to dissever that sweet and peaceful vmion of soul and body ? What species of sensations should I seek to produce ? Which woxild the most fiercely assail the condition of life ? Anger t — that ravenous wolf is too quickly satiated. — Garef — ^that worm gnaws far too slowly. — Orief? — ^that viper creeps too lazily for me.-r- Fear! — hope destroys its power. — ^What! and are these the only executioners of man ? — Is the armoury of death so soon exhausted? — {In deep thought.) How now! — ^what! ho! — I have it! {Starting up). Terror! — What is proof against terror? — What powers have religion and reason under that giant's icy grasp ? — ^And yet — if he should withstand even this assault ! — * A woman in Paris, by means of a regularly performed series of experi- ments, carried the art of poisoning to snch perfection that she could predict, almost to a certainty, the day of death, however remote. Fie upon our phy- fiicians, who should blush to be outdone by a woman in their own province^ Beckmann, in his article on secret poisoning, has given a particular account of this woman, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers. — Set " History ot Inventione," Standard Library Edition, vol. i. pp. 47-63. £0>i.] THE ROBBEBS. 31 If he should ! — Oh, then, come Anguish to my aid ! and thou, gnawing Repentance! — ^furies of hell, burrowing snakes, who regorge your food, and feed upon your own excrements ; ye that are for ever destroying, and for ever reproducing your poison! And thou. Howling Remorse, that desolatest tiiine own habitation, and feedest upon thy mother. — And come ye, too, gentle Graces, to my aid ; even you, sweet smiling Memory, goddess of the past — and thou with thy overflowing horn of plenty, blooming Futurity ; show him, in your mir- ror, the joys of Paradise, while with fleeting foot you elude his eager grasp. — Thus will I work my battery of death, stroke after stroke, upon his fragile body, until the troop of furies close upon him with Despair ! Triumph ! triumph ! — the plan is complete — difficult and masterly beyond compare — sure — safe ; for then [with a sneer) the dissecting knife can find no trace of wound or of corrosive poison. {Resolutely.) Be it so! (E^iter Hermann.) Ha! Beus ex maehind ! Hermann ! Hermann. At your service, gracious sir ! Francis (shakes him by the hand). You will not find it that of an ungrateful master. Hermann. I have proofs of this. Francis. And you shall have more soon — very soon, Her- mann ! — I have something to say to thee, Hermann Hermann. I am all attention. Francis. I know thee — thou art a resolute fellow — a man of mettle. — To call thee smooth-tongued! — My father has greatly belied thee, Hermann. Hermann. The devil take me if I forget it ! Francis. Spoken like a man! Vengeance becomes a manly heart ! Thou art to my mind, Hermann. Take this purse, Hermann. It should be heavier were I master here. Hermann. That is my unceasing wish, most gracious sir. I thank you. Francis. Really, Hermann ! dost thou wish that I were master? — But my father has the marrow of a lion in his bones, and I am but a younger son. Hermann. I wish you were the eldest son, and that your. inthei were as marrowless as a girl sinking in a consumption. Francis. Ha ! how that elder son would recompense thee ! How he would raise thee from this grovelling condi- 22 THE B0BBEE3. [AOT II tion, so ill suited to thy spirit and noble birth, to be a light oi the age ! — Then shouldst thou be covered with gold from head to foot, and dash through the streets four in hand — verily thou shouldst ! — But I am losing sight of what I meant to say. — Have you already forgotten the Lady Amelia, Hermann ? Hermann. A curse upon it ! Why do you remind me ol her? Fbancis. My brother has filched her away from you. Hermann. He shall rue it. Francis. She gave you the sack. And, if I remember right, he kicked you down stairs. Hermann. For which I will kick him into hell. Francis. He used to say, it was whispered abroad, that your father could never look upon you without smiting his breast and sighing, " God be merciful to me, a sinner ! " Hermann [wildly). Thunder and lightning ! No more of this ! Francis. He advised you to sell your patent of nobility by auction, and to get your stockings mended with the pro- ceeds. Hermann. By all the devils in hell, I '11 scratch out his eyes with my own nails ! Francis. What ? you are growing angry ? What signifies your anger ? What harm can you ' do him ? What can a mouse like you do to such a lion ? Your rage only makes his triumph the sweeter. You can do nothing more than gnasL your teeth, and vent your rage upon a dry crust. Hermann {stamping). I will grind him to powder ! Francis (slapping his shoulder). Fie, Hermann! You are a gentleman. You must not put up with the affront You must not give up the lady, no, not for all the world Hermann ! By my soul, I would move heaven and eartl were I in your place. Hermann. I will not rest till I have him, and him too under ground. Francis. Not so violent, Hermann ! Come nearer — ^yoi shall have~Amelia. Hermann. That I must ; despite the devil himself, I wH have her. Francis. You shall have her, I tell you ; and that fron my hand. Come closer, I say. — You don't know, perhaps that Charles is as good as disinherited. SC. I.J THE K0BBEK5. 33 Hermann {going closer to him)'. Incredible ! The first I bave heard of it. Feancis. Be patient, and listen ! Another time you shal! hear more. — Yes, I tell you, as good as banished these eleven months. But the old man already begins to lament the hasty step, which, however, I flatter myself (ivith a smile), is not en- tirely his own. Amelia, too, is incessantly pursuing him with her tears and reproaches. Presently he will be having him searched for in every quarter of the world ; and if he iinds him ■^then it's all over with you, Hermann. You may perhaps have the honour of most obsequiously holding the coach door while he alights with the lady to get married. Hermann. I '11 strangle him at the altar first. Fbancis. His father will soon give up his estates to him, and live in retirement in his castle. Then the proud roysterer will have the reins in his own hands, and laugh his enemies to scorn ; — and I, who wished to make a great man of you — a man of consequence — I myself, Hermann, shall have to make my humble obeisance at his threshold , Hebmann [with fire). No, as sure as my name is Hermann, that shall never be ! If but the smallest spark of wit glimmer in this brain of mine, that shall never be ! , Fbancis. Will you be able to prevent it ? You, too, my good Hermann, vrill be made to feel his lash. He will spit in your face when he meets you in the streets ; and woe be to you should you venture to shrug your shoulders or to make a wry mouth. — Look, my friend !»this is all that your love- suit, your pupspects, and your mighty plans amount to. Hebmann. Tell me, what am I to do ? Fbancis. Well, then, listen, Hermann ! You see how I enter into your feelings, like a true friend. — Go — disguise yourself, so that no one may recognise you ; obtain audience of the old man ; p retend tn cnmp straight from Bohemia, t o have been at the battle of Prague along with my brother — to^have se en him b"r eajffi[e_.. hiFlast "on^th^ fiefd o^ battle "TlEEMANNr" Willhe believe meT™" '™™" Feancis. Ho ! ho I let that he my care ! Take this packet. There you will find your commission set forth at large ; and documents, to boot, which shall convince the most incredulous. — Only make haste to get away unobserved. Slip through the back gate into the yard, and then scale the garden S'i THE KOBBEES. [ACT. II wall. — The denouement of this tragi-comedy you may leavi to me! Hebmann. That, I suppose, will be, " Long live our ne\ baron, Francis von Moor ! " Feancis [patting his cheeks). How cunning you are ! — By this means, you see, we attain all our aims at once au( quickly. Amelia relinquishes all hope of him, — the old mai reproaches himself for the death of his son, and — he sickenj — a tottering edifice needs no earthquake to bring it down- he will not survive the intelligence — then am I his onlj son — Amelia loses every support, and becomes the playthinj of my will, and you may easUy guess — ^in short all will go a; we wish — but you must not flinch from your word. Hermann. What do you say? (Exultingly.) Sooner shal the ball turn back in its course, and bury itself in the entraUi of the marksman. — Depend upon me I Only let me to the work. — Adieu ! Francis (calling after him). The harvest is thine, deai Hermann ! — (Alone.) When the ox has drawn the com iutc the barn, he must put up with hay. A dairy-maid for thee, ■and no Amelia ! Scene II. — Old Moors Bedchamber. Old Mock asleep in an arm-chair ; Amelia. Amelia (approaching him on tip-toe). Softly ! Softly ! he slumbers. (She places herself hejore him.) How beautiful 1 how venerable ! — venerable as the picture of a saint. — No, 1 cannot be angry with thee, thou head with the silver locks ; 1 cannot be angry with thee ! Slumber on gently, wake up cheerfully — I alone will be the sufferer. Old M. (dreaming). My son ! my son ! my son ! Amelia (seizes his hand). Hark ! hark ! his son is in his dreams. Old M. Are you there ? Are you really there ? Alas ! how miserable you seem ! Fix not on me that mournful look ! I am wretched enough. Amelia (wakens him abruptly). Look up, dear old man! 'Twas but a dream. Collect yourself ! Old M. (half awake). Was he not here ? Did I not press Ms hands ? Cruel Frajicis ! wilt thou tear him even from mj dreams ? go n.] THE BOBBEBS. 33 Amelia {aside). Ha ! mark that, Amelia ! Old M. (rousing himself). Where is he ? Where ? Where am I ? You here, Amelia ? Ameli4. How do you find yourself? You have had a refreshing slumber. Old M. I was dreaming about my son. Why did I not dream on ? Perhaps I might have obtained forgiveness from his hps. Amelia. Angels bear no resentment^ — he forgives you. (Seizes his hand sorrowfully.) Father of my Charles ! I, too, forgive you. Old M. No, no, my child ! That deathlike paleness of thy cheek is the father's condemnation. Poor girl ! I have robbed thee of the happiness of thy youth. — Oh, do not curse me! Amelia (affectionately kissing his hand). I curse you ? Old M. Dost thou know this portrait, my daughter ? Amelia. Charles ! Old M. Such was he in his sixteenth year. But now, alas ! how changed. — Oh, it is raging within me. — That gen- tleness is now indignation; that smile despair.— It was his birth-day, was it not, Amelia — in the jessamine bovver — when you drew this picture of him ? — Oh, my daughter ! How happy was I in your loves. Amelia {with her eye still riveted upon the picture). No, no, it is not he ! By Heaven, that is not Charles ! — Here, (point- ing to her head and her heart), h&ce he is perfect ; and how different. The feeble pencil avails not to express that hea- venly spirit which reigned in his fiery eye. Away with it! This is a poor image, an ordinary man! I was a mere dauber. Old M. That kind, that cheering look ! — Had that been at my bedside, I should have lived in the midst of death. Never, never should I have died ! Amelia. No, you would never, never have died. It would have b6en but a leap, as we leap from one thought to another and a better. — That look would have lighted you across the tomb — that look would have lifted you beyond the stars ! Old M. It is hard ! it is sad ! I am dying, and my son Oharlos is not here — I am borne to my tomb, and he weeps 86 THE ItOBBERS. [AOT 11 not over my grave. — How sweet it is to be lulled into the sleep of death by a son's prayer — that is the true requiem Amelia {with enthusiasm). Yes, sweet it is, heavenly sweet, to be lulled into the sleep of death by the song of the beloved. — Perhaps our dreams continue in the grave — a long, eternal, never-ending dream of Charles — till the trumpet of resurrec- tion sounds — {rising in ecstasy) — and thenceforth and for ever in his arms ! {A pattse; she goes to the piano, and plays.) ANDROMACHE. Oh ! Hector, wilt thou go for evermore. Where fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained shore. Heaps countless victims o'er Patroolus' grave ? "Who then thy hapless orphan boy will leax. Teach him to praise the gods and hurl the spear, When thou art swallow'd up in Xanthus' wave? Old M. a beautiful song, my daughter. You must play that to me before I die. Amelia. It i3 the parting of Hector and Andromache. Charles and I used often to sing it together to the guitar. (She continues.) HECTOR. Beloved wife ! stem duty calls to arms — Go, fetch my lance ! and cease those vain alarms ! On me is cast the destiny of Troy ! Astyanax, my child, the Gods will shield. Should Hector fall upon the battle field ; And in Elysium we shall meet \\ith joy I Enter Daniel. Daniel. There is a man without, who craves to be ad- mitted to your presence, and says he brings tidings of im- portance. Old M. To me, there is but one thing in this world of importance ; thou knowest it, Amelia. — Perhaps it is some unfortunate creature who seeks assistance ? He shall not go hence in sorrow. ."ivtELiA. If it be a beggar, let him come up quickly. OiJD Mode. Amelia, Amelia ! spare me ! 60. II.] THE KOBBEHS. ST Amelia {continues to play aiid sing.) ANDBOMAOHE. Thy martial tread no more will grace thy hall — Thine arms shall hang sad relics on the wall — And Priam's race of godlike heroes fade I Oh, thou wilt go where Phoebus sheds no light — Where black Cocytus wails in endless night — Thy love will die in Lethe's gloomy shade. HECTOE. Though I in Lethe's darksome wave should sink, And cease on other mortal ties to think, Yet thy true love shall never be forgot ! Hark ! on the walls I hear the battle roar — Gird on my armour — and, oh, weep no more. Thy Hector's love in Lethe dieth not ! {Enter Francis, Hebmann in disguise, Daniel. 1 Fbancis. Here is the man. He says that he brings ter rible news. Can you bear the recital? Old M. I know but one thing terrible to hear. Come hither, friend, and spare me not! Hand him a cup of wine! Hebmann (m a feigned voice). Most gracious sir ! Let not a poor man be visited with your displeasure, if against his will he lacerates your heart. I am a stranger in these parts, but I know you well; you are the father of Charles von Moor. • Old M. How know you that ? Hebmann. I knew your son Amelia {starting up). He lives then ? He lives ? You know him? Where is he? Where? (About to rush out.) Old M. What know you about my son ? Heem.\nn. He was a student at the university of Leipzic. From thence he travelled about, I know not how far. He wandered all over Germany, and, as he told me himself, bare- foot and bareheaded, begging his bread from door to door After five months, the fatal war between Prussia and Austria broke out afresh, and as he had no hopes left in this world, the fame of Frederick's victorious banner drew him to Bohe- mia. Permit me, said he to the great Schwerin, to die on the bed of heroes, for I have no longer a father ! 88 THE BOBBEES. [AOT H. Old M. ! Amelia ! Look not on me ! Hebmann. They gave him a pair of colours. With the Prussians he flew on the wings of victory. We chanced to lie together, in the same tent. He talked much of his old father, and of happy days that were past — and of disappointed hopes^ — it brought the tears into our eyes. OiD M. {buries his face in his pillow). No more ! Oh, no more ! Hermann. A week after, the fierce battle of Prague was fought — I can assure you your son behaved like a brave soldier He performed prodigies that day in sight of the whole army. Five regiments were successively cut down by his side, and still he kept his ground. Fiery shells fell right and left, and still your son kept his ground. A ball shattered his right hand : he seized the colours with his left, and still he kept his ground Amelia (in transport). Hector, Hector ! do you hear ? He kept his ground Hekmann. On the evening of the battle I found him on the same spot. He had sunk down, amidst a shower of hiss- ing balls : with his left hand he was stanching the blood that flowed from a fearful wound ; his right he had buried in the earth. " Comrade !" cried he, when he saw me, " there has been a report through the ranks that the general fell an hour ago — ■ — " "He is fallen," I replied, "and thou? " " Well, then," he cried, withdrawing his left hand from the wound, " let every brave soldier follow his general ! " Soon after he breathed out his noble soul, to join his heroic leader. Francis (feigning to rush wildly on Hermann). May death seal thy accursed lips ! Art thou come here to give the death blow to our father? — Father ! Amelia ! father ! Hermann. It was the last wish of my expiring comrade. " Take this sword," faltered he, with his dying breath, " de liver it to my aged father ; his son's blood is upon it — he is avenged — ^let him rejoice. Tell him, that his curse drove me into battle and into death ; that 1 fell in despair." — His last sigh was " Amelia." Amelia (like one aroused from lethargy). His last sigh — Amelia ! Old M. (screaming horribly, and tearing his hair). My curse drove liim into death! He foil in despair 1 SC. II.] IBE R0BBEB3. Si) Francis [pacing up and down the room). Oh ! what havo you done, father ? My Charles ! my brother ! Hermann. Here is the sword ; and here, too, is a picture •which he drew from his breast at the same time. It is the very image of this young lady. " This for my brother Francis," he said — I know not what he meant by it. Francis {feigning astonishment). For me ? Amelia's pic- ture ? For me — Charles — Amelia ? For me ? Amelia {rushing violently upon Hermann). Thou venal, bribed impdstor ! {lays hold of him) Hermann. I am no impostor, noble lady. See yourself if it is not your picture. — It may be that you yourself gave it to him. Francis. By heaven! Amelia! your picture! It is in- deed. Amelia {returns him the picture). My picture, mine ! Oh ! heavens and earth ! Old M. {screaming, and tearing his face). "Woe, woe ! my curse drove him into death ! He fell in despair ! Francis. And he thought of me in the last and parting hour — of me! Angelic soul! — When the black banner of death already waved over him, he thought of me ! Old M. {stammering like an idiot). My curse drove him into death ! In despair my son perished ! Hermann. This is more than I can bear ! Farewell, old gentleman! {Aside to Francis^ How could you have the heart to do this? * [Exit in haste. Amelia {rises, and rushes after him). Stay ! stay ! What were his last words ? Hermann {calling back). His last sigh was "Amelia." [Exit. Amelia. His last sigh was Amelia! — No, thou art no im- postor ! It is too true — true — he is dead ! — dead ! — {stag- gering to and fro, till she sinks down) — dead — Charles is dead ! Francis. What do I see? What is this line on the sword ? — written with blood — Amelia ! Amelia. By him ? Francis. Do I see clearly, or am I dreaming? Behold, in characters of blood, " Francis, forsake not my Amelia!" And on the other side, " Amelia, all-powerful death has released thee from thy oath." Now do you see — do 40 THE BOBBERS. [ACT H. you see ? With hand stiffening in death he wrote it — with his warm life's blood he wrote it — wrote it on the solemn brink of eternity ! His spirit lingered ia its flight to umito Francis and Amelia. Amelia. Gracious heaven! it is his own hand. — He never loved me ! [Rushes off. Fbancis {stamping the ground). Confusion! her stubborn heart foils all my cunning. Old Mode. Woe, woe ! forsake me not, my daughter ! — Francis, Francis ! give me back my son ! Fbancis. Who was it that cursed him ? Who was it that drove his son into battle, and death, and despair? — Oh, he was an angel ! a jewel of heaven ! A curse on his destroyers ! A curse, a curse upon yourself ! Old Moor {strikes his breast and forehead with his clinched fist). He was an angel, a jewel of heaven ! A curse, a curse, perdition, a curse on myself ! I am the father who slew his noble son ! He loved me even to death ! — To expiate my vengeance, he rushed into battle and into death ! Monster, monster that I am I (He rages against himself.) Francis. He is gone ! What avail these tardy lament- ations ? {idth a Satanic sneer.) It is easier to murder than to restore to life. You • will never bring him back from his grave. Old Moob. Never, never, never bring him back from the grave ! — Gone ! lost for ever I — And you it was that beguiled my heart to curse him — you — ^you — Give me back my son ! Francis. Rouse not my fury, lest I forsake you even in the hour of death ! Old Moor. Monster ! inhuman monster ! Restore my son to me ! {Starts from the chair, and attempts to catch, Fbancis by the throat, who flings him back.) Francis. Feeble old dotard ! would you dare ? — Die I — despair ! [Exit. Old Moor. May the thunder of a thousand curses light upon thee ! thou hast robbed me of my son. (Throwing him- self about in his chair, full of despair.) — Alas ! alas ! to despair and yet not die ! — They fly, they forsake me in death — my guardian angels fly from me ; all the saints withdraw from the hoary murderer — ^ph, misery ! will no one support this head, no one release this struggling soul ? — No son ! ni; 60. U.] THE KOiiBERS. 41 daughter I — no friend ! — ^not one human being — will no one ? — ^Alone — forsaken — Wop! — woe! — To despair, yet not to die ! Enter Amelia, her eyes red with weeping. OiD Mode. Amelia ! messenger of heaven ! Art thou come to release my soul ? Amelia [in a gentle tone). You have lost a noble son. Old Mode. Mdhdeeed him, you mean. — With the weight of this impeachment I shall present myself before the judg- ment-seat of God. Amelia. Not so, old man! — Our heavenly Father has taken him to himself — We should have been too happy in this world. — Above, above, beyond the stars, we shall meet again. Old MooE. Meet again! Meet again! Oh! it will pierce my soul like a sword — should I, a saint, meet him among the saints. — In the midst of heaven the horrors of hell will strike through me*! — The remembrance of that deed will crush me in the presence of the Eternal : I have murdered my son I Amelia. Oh, his smiles will chase away the bitter re- membrance from your soul ! Cheer up, dear father ! I am quite cheerful. Has he not already sung the name of Amelia to listening angels on seraphic harps, and has not heaven's choir sweetly echoed it? — Was not his last sigh Amelia? And will not Amelia be his first accent of joy ? Old Mooe. Heavenly consol^on flows from your lips I He will smile upon me, you say? Tie will forgive me ? — You must stay with me, beloved of my Charles, when I die. Amelia. To die is to fly to his arms. Oh, how happy and enviable is your lot ! Would that my bones were de- cayed ! — that my hairs were gray ! — Woe upon the vigoiu: of youth ! — Welcome, deorepid age, nearer to heaven and my Charles ! Enter Francis. Old Mooe. Come near, my son ! Forgive me, if I spoke * This may be illustrated by a parallel from Shakspeare : — " When we shall meet at compt. This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And ilends will snatch at it." Otliello, Act T. sc. 2. 42 THE BOBBERS. [ACT II. too harshly to you just now ! I forgive you all. I wish to yield up my spirit in peace. Fkancis. Have you done weeping for your son? For aught that I see, you had but one. Old Mode. Jacob had twelve sons, but for his Joseph he wept tears of blood. Feanois. Hum ! Old Mode. Bring the Bible, my daughter, and read to me the story of Jacob and Joseph! It always appeared to me so touching, even before I myself became a Jacob. Amelia. What part shall I read to you? (TaJees the Bible, and turns over the leaves.) Old Mode. Bead to me the grief of the bereaved father, when he found his Joseph no more among his children; — when he sought him in vain amidst his eleven sons ; — and his lamentation when he heard that he was taken from him for ever. — Amelia (reads). " And they took Joseph's coat, and killed a kid of the goats, and dipped the coat in the blood; and they sent the coat of many colours, and they brought it to their father, and said, ' This have we found : know now whether it be thy son's coat or no ? ' (Exit Feancis suddenly.) And he knew it, and said, ' It is my son's coat ; an evil beast hath devoured him ; Joseph is without doubt rent in pieces ' " Old Moob (falls back upon the pillow). An evil beast hath devoured Joseph! Amelia [continues reading). " And Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days. And all his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him; but he refused to be comforted, and he said, ' For I will go down into the grave ' " Old Moob. Leave off! leave off! I feel very ill. AMELiA.(rM»inm(/ towards him, lets fall the book). . Heaven help us ! What is this ? Old Mook. It is Death — darkness — is waving — before my eyes — I pray thee — send for the minister — that he may — give me — the Holy Communion. — Where is — my son Francis ? • Amelia. He is fled. — God have mercy upon us ! Old Moob. Fled — fled from his father's death-bed? — ^And is that all — all — of two children full of promise — thou hast given — thou hast — taken away — thy name be EC. rir.] THE EOTiPSHS. 4,'} AM7.T.IA [udth a sudden cry). Dead ! both dead ! [Exit in despair. Enter Fbancis, dancing with joy. Francis. Dead, they cry, dead ! Now am I master. Through the whole castle it rings, dead ! — but stay, perchance he only sleeps ? — To be sure, yes, to be sure ! that certainly is a sleep after which no ' good morrow ' is ever said. — Sleep- and death are but twin brothers. "We wUl for once change- their names ! — Ex6ellent, welcome sleep ! We will call thee death ! [He closes the eyes of Old Mooe.) Who now will come forward and dare to accuse me at the bar, of justice,. or tell me to my face. Thou art a villain ? — ^Away, then, with; this troublesome mask of humility and virtue ! Now you shall see Francis as he is, and tremble ! My father was overJX gentle, in his demands; turned his domain into a family "circle; sat blandly smiling at the gate, and saluted his peasants as brethren and children. — My brows shall lour upon you like thunderclouds ; my lordly name shall hover over you like a threatening comet over the mountains ; my forehead shall be your weather-glass !— He would caress and fondle the child; that lifted its stubborn head against him. But fondling and caressing is not my mode. 1 will drive the rowels of the spur into' their flesh, and give the scom-ge a trial. — Under- my rule it shall be brought to pass, that potatoes and small beer shall be considered a holiday treat; and woe to him who meets my eye with the amilacious front of health. — Haggard want, and crouching fear, are my insignia ; and in this livery will I clothe ye. [Exit. Scene III. — ^The Bohemian Woods. Spiegelbekg, Eazman, a troop of Eobbees. Eaz. Are you come? Is it really you? Oh, let m& ueeze thee into a jelly, my dear heart's brother! Welcome to the Bohemian forests ! "Why, you are grown quite stout and jolly ! You have brought us recruits in right earnest, a little army of them ; you are the very prince of crimps. Spiegel. Eh, brother? Eh? And proper fellows they are ! — You must confess the blessing of heaven is visibly upon me ; I was a poor, hungry wretch, and had nothing but this staff when I went over the Jordan, and now thero 44 THE nOBBERS. [AOT II. are eight and seventy of us, mostly ruined shop-keepers, rejected masters of arts, and law-clerks from the Swabian pro- Tinces. They are a rare set of fellows, brother, capital fellows, I promise you ; they -will steal you the very buttons off each other's trpwsers in perfect security, although in the teeth of a loaded musket* — and they live in clover, and enjoy a reputa- tion for forty miles round, which is quite astonishing. There is not a newspaper in which you will not find some little feat or other of that cunning fellow, Spiegelherg ; I take in the papers for nothing else ; — they have described me from head to foot; — you would think you saw me ; — they have, not forgotten even my coat buttons. But we lead them gloriously by the nose. The other day I went to the printing-office, and pretended that I had seen the famous Spiegelberg, dictated to a penny-a-liner, who was sitting there, the exact image of a quack doctor in the town ; the matter gets wind, the fellow is arrested, put to the rack, and in his anguish and stupidity he confesses — the devil take me if he does not — confesses THAT HE IS Spiegelbeeg. — ^Fire smd fury! I was on the point of giving myself up to a magistrate, rather than have my fair fame marred by such a poltroon; — however, within three months he was hanged. I was obliged to stuff a right good pinch of snuff into my nose, as some time afterwards I was passing the gibbet, and saw the pseudo Spiegelberg parading there in all his glory; — and, while Spiegelberg's representative is dangling by the neck, the real Spiegelberg very quietly slips himself out of the noose, and makes jolly long noses behind the backs of these sagacious wiseacres of the law. Eaz. (laughing). You are still the same fellow you always were. Spiegei,. Ay, sure ! body and soul. — But I must tell you a bit of fun, my boy, which I had the other day in the nunnery of St. Austin. We fell in with the convent just about sun-set; and, as I had not fired a smgle cartridge' all day, — you know I hate the diem perdidi as I hate death itself, — I was determined to immortalize the night * The acting edition reads, " Hang your hat up in the sun, and I '11 take you a wager it 's gone the next minute, as clean out of sight as if the devil uiniself had walked off with it." SC 111.] THE ROBBERS. 45 by some glorious exploit, evea though it should cost the devil one of his ears * ! — We kept quite quiet till late in the night. At last, all is as still as a mouse — the lights are extinguished. We fancy the nuns must be comfortably tucked up. So I take brother Grimm along -with me, and order the others to wait at the gate till they hear my whistle — I secure the watchman, take the keys from him, creep into the maid- servants' dormitory, take away all their clothes, and whisk the bundle out at the window. — z_ffi£_go_jon_from cell to cel L_take away the clothes of one sister after* anotKeTrahd lastly ]^ose of .the lady abbess herself. — Then I sound my whistle, and my fellows~'oulside begiu to storm and halloo as if doomsday was at hand, and away they rush with the devil's own uproar into the cells of the sisters ! —Ha, ha, ha ! — You should have seen the game — how the poor creatures were groping about in the dark for their petticoats, and how they took on when they found they were gone;_andwe, in the mean time, at 'em like very devilsj andjiow, terfSflnd and amazed,^ t£ej"wriggle3 under tEeir bed-clotties, or' cowered together," like" cats, behind"' the stoves^ 'There was such shrieking and lamentation; and then, the old beldame of an abbess — you know, brother, there is nothing in the wide world I hate so much as a spider and an old woman — so you may just fancy that wrinkled old hag standing naked before me, conjuring me by her maiden modesty forsooth. — Well, I was determined to make short work of it — either, said T, out with your plate, and ^ur convent jewels, and all your shining dollars, or my fellows knew what I meant. — The end of it was, I brought away more than a thousand dollars' worth out of the convent, to say nothing of the fun, which wiU tell its own story iu due time. Raz. (stamping on the ground). Hang it! that I should be absent on such an occasioiv— . Spiegel. Do you see? iNow tell me, is not that life? "Tis that which keeps one fresh and hale, and braces the body so that it swells hourly like an abbot's paunch ; — I don't know, but I think I must be endowed mth some magnetic property, which attracts all the vagabonds on the face of the earth towards me, like steel and iron. • A saying equivalent to " at all hazards ; " or, " come what w ill ofit." i& THE HOBBEES. [aCT tl Eaz. a precious magnet, indeed ! But I should like to know, I'll be hanged if I' shouldn't, what witchcraft you use ? Spiegel. Witchcraft ? No need of witchcraft. — All it wants is a head — a certain practical capacity, which, of course, is not taken in with every spoonful of barley meal ; — for you know I have always said that an honest man may be carved out of any wUlow stump, but to make a rogue you must have brains ; — besides which, it requires a national genius — a certain EASCAL-OLIMATE SO tO Speak *. Eaz. Brother! I have heard Italy celebrated for it's artists. SfiisaEi;. Yes, j'es ! Give the devil his due. Italy makes a very noble figure ; and if Germany goes on as it has begun, and if the Bible gets fairly kicked out, of which there is every ..prospect, Germany, too, may in time arrive at something / respectable ; — but I should tell you, that climate does not, after all, do such a wonderful deal; genius thrives everywhere; and as for the rest, brother, — a crab, you know, will never become a pine-apple, not even in paradise. — But to pursue our subject — where did I leave off? Eaz. You were going to tell me about your stratagems. Spiegel. Ah, yes ! my stratagems. Well, when you get into a town, the first thing is to fish out from the beadles, watchmen, and turnkeys, who are their best customers, and for these, accordingly, you must look out : — then ensconce yourself snugly in coffee-houses, brothels, and beer-shops, and observe who cry out most against the cheapness of the times, the reduced five per cents., and the increasing nuisance of I police regulations ; who rail the loudest against government, or decry physiognomical science, and such like ! These are the right sort of fellows, brother ! Their honesty is as loose as a hollow tooth ; you have only to apply your pincers — Or a shorter and even better plan is, to drop a full purse in the public highway, conceal yourself somewhere neai-, and mark who finds * In the first (and suppressed) edition was added, " Go to the Gh-isons, for instance ; that is wliat I call tJie thief's Athens" , This obnoxious passage has been carefully expunged from all the subsequent editions. It g:ive mor- tal offence to the Grisons magistrates, who made a formal complaint of the insult, and caused Schiller to be severely rebuked by the Grand Duke. Thia incident forms one of the epochs in our author's history. so. lU.] THE KOBBEKS. i'l it. — Presently after you come running up, search, proclaim your loss aloud^ and ask him, as it were casually, " Have you perchance picked up a purse, sir?" If he says "Yes," — why then the devil fails you. But if he denies it, with a " Par- don me, sir, — I remember, — I am sorry, sir " [he jumps up), — ^then, brother, you've done the trick ! — Extinguish your lantern, cunning Diogenes, you have found your match ! Raz. You are an accomplished practitioner. Spiegel. My God ! As if that had ever been doubted. — Well, then, when you have got your man into the net, yea must take great care to land him cleverly! — You see, my son, the way I have managed is thus : — as soon as I was on the scent, I stuck to my candidate like a leech ; I drank brother- hood with him, and, noia bene, you must always pay the score! That costs a pretty penny it is true, but never mind that. You must go further; introduce him to gaming-houses and brothels ; entangle him in broils and rogueries till he becomes bankrupt in health and strength, in purse, conscience, and reputation; for I must tell you, by the way, that you will make nothing of it unless you ruin both body and soul. — Be- lieve me, brother, and I have experienced it more than fifty times in my extensive practice, that when the honest man is once ousted from his stronghold, the devil has it all his own way — the transition is then as easy as from a wbore to , a devotee. — But hark ! What bang was that ? Eaz. It was thunder ; go on. Spiegel. Or, there is a yet shorty and stUl better way. You strip, your man of all he has, even to his very shirt, and then he will come to you of his own accord ; — you won't teach me to suck eggs, brother, — ask that copper-faced fellow there. My eyes ! how neatly I got him into my meshes. I showed him forty ducats, which I promised to give him if he would bring me an impression, in wax, of his master's keys! — Only think! the stupid brute not only does this, but actually brings me — I'll be hanged if he did not— the keys themselves ; and then thinks to get the money. — " Sirrah," said I, " are you aware that I am going to carry these keys straight to the lieutenanS of police, and to bespeak a place for you on the gibbet?" — By the powers ! you should have seen how the simpleton opened his eyes, and began to shake from head to foot, like a dripping poodle. — " For heaven's sake, sir, do but consider ! I will — ■ 48 THE EOBBEES. ' [AOf U ■will" "What will you? Will you at once cut your stick and go to tlie devil with me?" — "Oh, with all my heart, with great pleasure ! " — Ha, ha, ha ! my fine fellow ; toasted cheese is the thing to catch mice with — do have a good laugh at him, Razmann — ha, ha, ha ! Kaz. Yes, yes, I must confess — I shall insci-ihe that lesson in letters of gold upon the tablet of my brain. Satan must know his people right well to have chosen you for his factor. Spiegel. Eh, brother? Eh? And if I help him to half a score of fellows, he will, of course, let me off scot-free — pub- lishers, you Imow, always give one copy in ten gratis to those who collect subscribers for them ; why should the devil be more of a Jew ? — Razmann ! I smell powder. Raz. Zounds ! I smelt it long ago. — You may depend upon it there has been something going forward hereabouts ? — ^Yes, yes ! I can tell you, Spiegelberg, you will be welcome to our captain with your recruits ; — he, too, has got hold of some brave fellows. Spie&el. But look at mine ! at mine here ! — bah ! Raz. Well, well ! they may be tolerably expert in the finger department, — ^but, I tell j'ou, the fame of our captain has tempted even some honourable men to join his staff. Spiegel. So much the worse. /Raz. Without joking ! And they are not ashamed to serve "•'under such a leader. He does not commit murder, as we do, for the sake of plunder — and as to money, as soon as he had plenty of it at command, he did not seem to care a straw for it ; and his third of the booty, which belongs to him of right, he gives away to orphans, or supports promising young men with it, at college. But should he happen to get a country squire into his clutches, who grinds down his peasants like cattle, or some gold-laced villain, who warps the law to his own purposes, and hoodwinks the eyes of justice with his gold, — or any other chap of that kidney, — then, my boy, he is in his element, and rages like a very devil, as if every fibre in his body were a fury. Spiegel. Humph ! Raz. The other day, we were told, at a tavern, that a rich count from Ratisbon was about to pass through, who had gained the day in a suit worth a million of money, by the craftiness of his lawyer. The captain was just sitting down so. ni.] THE BOBBEBS. 49 to a game at backgammon. — " How many ot us are there?" said he to me, rising in haste. J. saw him bite his nether lip, which he never does except when he is very determined. — " Not more than five," I replied. — "That 's enough," he said ; threw his score on the table, left the wine he had ordered un- touched, and off we went. The whole time he did not utter a syllable, but walked aloof and alone, only asking us from time to time whether we heard anything, and now and then desiring us to lay our ears to the ground. At last the count came in sight, his carriage heavily laden, the lawyer seated by his side, an outrider in advance, and two horsemen riding behind. Then you should have seen the man. With a pistol in each hand he ran before us to the carriage, — and the voice with which he thundered, '"Halt!" — The coach man, who would not halt, was soon toppled from his box ; the count fired out of the carriage and missed — ^the horsemen ^ fled. — " Your money, rascal ! " cried Moor, with his stentorian voice. The count lay like a bullock under the axe : — "And are you the rogue who turns justice into a venal prostitute?" The lawyer shook till his teeth chattered again ; — and a dag- ger soon stuck in his body, like a stake in a vineyard. — " I have done my part," cried the captain, turning proudly away; " the plunder is your affair.J — And with this he vanished into the forest. Spiegel. Hum ! hum ! Brother, what I told you just now remains between ourselves ; there is no occasion for ht- knowing it. You understand me ?• ,t Raz. Yes, yes, I understand ! ly Spiegel. You know the man ! He has his own notioDny You understand me ? Raz. Oh, yes, I quite understand. tell the (Enter Schwabz at full speed.) -^r Who's there? What is the matter? Any travellers in forest? ' ScHWAEZ. Quick, quick ! Where are the others ? — Zounds ! there you stand gossiping ! — Don't you know — do you know nothing of it ? — that poor Roller Eaz. What of him ? What of him ? Schwabz He 's hang'd, that 's all, and four others with him. 50 THE EOBBEES. [ACT II Eaz. KoUerhaiig'd? S'death! whea? — How do you know SoHWABZ. He has been in limbo more than three weeks and we knew nothing of it. He was brought up for exami nation three several days, and still we heard nothing. Thei put him to the rack to make him tell where the captain wai to be found— but the brave fellow would not split. Yesterdaj he got his sentence, and this morning was despatched expresi to the devil Raz. Confound it ! Does the captain know ? /'BcHWARZ. He heard of it only yesterday. He foamec ..'like a wild boar. You know that Roller was always an espe i cial favourite ; and then t he back ! — Ropes and scaling-lad I ders were conveyed to the~prison, but in vain. Moor himsel ' got access to him disguised as a Capuchin monk, and proposec to change clothes with him ; but RoUer resolutely refused whereupon the captain swore an oath that made our verj flesh creep. He vo wed that he would lig ht a funeral pil( for him, such as had~Eever yet graced theBIer of royalty "oSTTEarsEom'a-tfCtm-TihgBr aip toj^ cm^gsTT fear tor th( I city. He has long owed" it "a gruiJge for its intolerable bigotjry ' and you know, when he says "I'll do it," the thing is ai good as done. Raz. That is true! I know the captain. If, he hac .pledged his word to the devil to go to hell, he would nevei ^oray again, though half a paUr-noster would take him to hea "'en. — Alas ! poor Roller ! — ^poor Roller ! P Spiegel. Memento mori! But it does not concern mo ?* '{urns a tune.) ■fi Should I happen to pass the gallows stone, • I shall just take a sight with one eye, rattl ^^^ think to myself, you may dangle alone. Who now, sir, 's the fool, you or I ? own J •' CToldj' iZ. (jumping up). Hark ! a shot ! {Firing and noise i ' behind the scenes.) Spiegel. Another ! Raz. And another ! The captain ! {Voices behind the scenes are heard singing.) The Niirnbergers deem it the wisest plan. Never to hang till they 've caught their man Dx aajM (1^1^^ :C HI. J THE EOBBEHS. Si ScHWKiTZER and Eolleb [beJdnd the scenes). Holla, ho ! Holla, ho ! Kaz. Eoller ! by all the devils ! Roller ! Schweitzer and Rolleb [still behind the scenes). Eazmann ! Schwarz ! Spiegelberg ! Razmann ! Raz. Roller ! Schweitzer ! Thunder and lightning ! Fire and fury ! {They run towards him.) Enter Charles von Moob [on liorseback), Schweitze'e, Roller, Geimm, Schdfteelb, and a troop of Robbers {covered with dust and mud). • Charles (leaping from his horse). Liberty ! Liberty ! Thou art on terra firma, Roller ! — Take my horse, Schweitzer, and wash him with wine. [Throws himself on the ground.) That was hot work ! Raz. (to Roller). Well, by the fires of Pluto ! Art thou risen from the wheel ? ScHWARz. Art thou his ghost ? or am I a fool ? or art thou really the man ? Roller [still breathless). The identical — alive — whole. — Where do you think I come from ? , SoHWARz. It would puzzle a witch to tell ! The staff was already broken over you. Roller. Ay, that it was, and more than that ! I come straightway from the gallows. Only let me get my breath. Schweitzer will tell you all. Give me a glass of brandy ! — You there too, Spiegelberg ? I tlftught we should have met again in another place. — But give me a glass of brandy ! my bones are tumbling to pieces. — Oh, my captain ! Where is my captain? ScHWARZ. Have patience, man, have patience. Just tell me — say — come, let 's hear — how did you escape ? In the name of wonder how came we to get you back again ? My brain is bewildered. — From the gallows, you say ? Roller [swallows a flask of brandy). Ah, that is capital ! that warms the inside ! — Straight from the gallows, I tell you. You stand there and stare as if that was impossible. — I can assure you, I was not more than three paces from that blessed ladder, on which I was to mount to Abraham's bosom — so near, so very near, that I was sold, skin and all, to the dissecting room! — The fee-simple of my life was not 'e a A 69 THE BOBBERS [ACT IJ worth a pinch of sfluff. — To the captain I am indebted for breath, and liberty, and life. ScHWEiTZEE. It was a trick worth the telling. We had heard the day before, through our spies, that Roller was in the devil's own pickle ; and unless the vault of heaven fell in sud- denly, he would, on the morrow — that is, to-day — go the way of all flesh. — Up ! says the captain, and follow me — what is not a friend worth ? Whether we save him or not, we will at least light him up a funeral pile such as never yet honoured royalty; one which shall burn them black and blue. — The whole troop was summoned. We sent EoUer a trusty messenger, who conveyed the notice to him in a little billet, which he slipped into his porridge EoLLEE. I had but small hope of success. Schweitzer. We waited till the thoroughfares were clear.— The whole town was out after the sight ; equestrians, pedes- trians, carriages, all pell-mell ; the noise and the gibbet-psalm sounded far and wide. Now, says the captain, light up, light ; up ! — We all flew like darts ; t hey set fire to t hfi-otaMB-three- and-thirt^^laces at once ; threw burni^ jBrebrands on the powder magazine,~'an3~inEo 'the"cEiifches and granaries. — Morbleu! in less than a' quarter of anTTiour a north-easter, which, like us, must have owed a grudge to the city, came seasonably to our aid, and helped to lift the flames up to the highest gables. Meanwhile we ran up and down the streets like furies, crying, fire ! ho ! fire ! ho ! in every direction. — There was such howling — screaming — tumult — fire-bells tolling. ^AndjresentljL the powder-iriagazine, blew up into the air with a crash as if tEe~earth were rent in twam^Jiea- venburst to shi vers, and h ell sunk ten thousand fathoms deeper. " EoiZiR. Nowmy^piards- looked. . behind J;hem-:dthere lay the city, Uke. So^lgmr^iLGomorrahrrrthe whoje^^ was one mass of fire, brimstone, and smoke ; and forty hills echoed and reflected the infernal prank far and wide. — ^A panic seized them all — I take advantage of the moment, and, quick as lightning — my fetters had been taken off, so nearly was my time come — while my guards were looking away petrified, like Hvi's wife — I shot off— tore through the crowd — and away ! — After running some sixty paces I throw off my clothes, plunge into the river, and svrim along under water till I think they have lost sight of me. — My captain stood ready, with horses »a. III.] THE EOBBERS. 53 and clothes — and here I am. — Moor ! Moor ! I only wish that vou may soon get into just such another scrape, that I may requite you in like manner. Eaz. a brutal wish, for which you deserve to be hanged. — Tt was a glorious prank, though. Roller. It was help in need ; you cannot judge of it. — You should have marched, like me, with a rope round your neck, travelling to your grave in the living body, and seen their horrid sacramental forms and hangman's ceremonies — ^ and then, at every reluctant step, as the struggling feet were thrust forward, to see the infernal machine, on which I was to be elevated, glaring more and more hideously in the blaze of a noon-day sun — and the hangman's rascallions watching for their prey — and the horrible psalm singing — the cursed twang still rings in my ears — and the screeching hungry ravens, a whole flight of them, who were hovering over the half-rotten carcase of my predecessor. — To see all this — ay, more, to haVe a foretaste of the blessedness which was in store for me.!^ — Brother, brother ! — ^And then, all of a sudden, the signal of deliverance. — It was an expl osion as if the vault ofjieayen were rent in twain. — Harkye, fellows ! I tell you, if a man "were to leap out of a fiery furnace into a freezing lake, he could not feel the contrast half so strongly as I did when I gained the opposite shore. Spiegel, {laughs). Poor wretch ! Well, you have got over it. {Pledges him.) Here 's to a happy regeneration ! RoLLEB {flings away his glass)p No, by all the treasures of Mammon, I should not like to go through it a second time. Death is something more than a harlequin's leap, and its terrors are even worse than death itself. Spiegel. And the powder magazine leaping into the air ! — Don 't you see it now, Razmann ? — That was the reason the air Btunk so, for miles round, of brimstone, as if the whole ward- robe of Moloch was being aired under the open firmament. — It was a master-stroke, captain ! I envy you for it. Schweitzer. If the town makes it a holiday treat to see our comrade killed like a baited bog, why the devil should we scruple to sacrifice the city for the rescue of our comrade ? J And, by the way, our fellows had the extra treat of being ablo to plunder worse than the old emperor. — Tell me, what have you sacked ? 54 THE EOBBEHS. [ACT U One of the Tboop. I crept into St. Stephen's church dur- ing the hubbuh, and tore the gold lace from the altar cloth The patron saint, thought I to myself, can make gold lace out of packthread. Schweitzer. 'Twas well done. — ^What is the use of such rubbish in a church ? They offer it to the Creator, who de- spises such trumpery, while they leave his creatures to die of hunger. — And you, Sprazeler— where did you throw your net? A Second. I and Brizal broke into a merchant's store, and have brought stuffs enough with us to serve fifty men. A Third. I have filched two gold watches and a dozei^ silver spoons. Schweitzer. Well done, well done ! And we have lighted them a bonfire that Will take a fortnight to put out again. And, to get rid of the fire, they must ruin the city with water. — Do you know, Schufterle, how many lives have been lost? ScHUF. Eighty-three, they say. The powder-magazine alone blew threescore to atoms. Charles {very seriously). Eoller, thou art dearly bought. ScHDF. Bah ! bah ! What of that ? — If they had but been men, it would have been another matter — but they were babes in swaddling clothes, and shrivelled old nurses that kept the flies from them, and dried-up stove-squatters who could not crawl to the door — patients ■whining for the doctor, who, with his stately gravity, was marching to the sport. — All that had the use of theii: legs had gone forth to the sight, and nothing remained at home but the dregs of the city. Charles. Alas, for the poor creatures ! Sick people, sayest thou ? old men and infants ? ScHUF. Ay, the devil go with them ! And lying in women into the bargain ; and women far gone with child, who were afraid of miscarrying under the gibbet ; and young mothers, ■who thought the sight might do them a mischief, and mark the gallows upon the foreheads of their unborn babes — poor poets, without a shoe, because their only pair had been sent to the cobbler to mend — and other such vermin, not worth the trouble of mentioning. — As X chanced to pass by a cotJage, I heard„a~great. squalling insTdk_ I loolfeTin; an3j__ when^"* camejo exaraine, ■what do you think ijfwSs? Why,"'an infant— a plump and ruddy urchin — lying on the floor under a table so. III.] THE EOBBEES. 55 w hich was just begmni ng.to bum.- — Poor little wretch ! s aid I, you wi ll be cold there, and with th at i threw it into tb5 BaSie o'~~"" ~~ " —^- ■———„_»_. CHaeles. Indeed, Schufterle? — Then may those flames bum in thy bosom to all eternity ! — Avaunt, monster ! Never let me see thee again in my troop ! What ! Do you murmur? — Do you hesitate? — ^Who dares hesitate when I command ? — Away with him, I say ! — And there are others among you ripe for my vengeance. — I know thee, Spiegelberg. — But I will step in among you ere long, and hold a fearful muSter-roll. [Exeunt, trembling. Chaeles (alone, walking up and down m great agitation). Hear them not, thou avenger in heaven ! — llow can I avert it? Art thou to blame, great God, if thy engines, pestilence, i and famine, and floods, overwhelm the just with the unjust ? Who can stay the flame, which is kindled to destroy the hornet's nest, from extending to the blessed harvest ? — Oh ! fie on the slaughter of women, and children, and the sick ! — How this deed weighs me down ! It has poisoned my fairest achievements ! — There he stands, poor fool, abashed and dis- graced in the sight of heaven; the boy that presumed to wield Jove's thunder, and overthrew pigmies when he should have crushed Titans.— Go, go ! 'tis not for thee, puny son of clay, to wield the avenging sword of sovereign justice ! Thou didst fail at thy first essay. — Here, then, I renounce the audacious scheme. — I go to hide myself in some deep cleft of the earth, where no daylight will be witness of my shame. [He is about to fly.) Enter a Robbee, hurriedly. EoBBEE. Look out, captain ! There is mischief in the wind ! Whole detachments of Bohemian cavalry are scouring the forest. — That infernal bailifi' must have betrayed us. — Enter more Robbees. 2nd Eobbee. Captain ! captain ! they have tracked us ! — Some thousands of them are forming a cordon round the middle forest. Enter more Robbees again. 3kd Robbee. Woe, woe, woe ! we are all taken, hanged, dra\vn and quartered ! — Thousands of hussars, dragoons, an(? 59 TSE EOBBERS. [■*^CT U chasseure, are musteriug on the heights, and guard all the passes. lEadt Chaeles von Moor. Enter Schweitzer, Gsimm, Roller, Schwaez, Schufterlb, Spiegelberg, Plazmann, and the whole troop. Schweitzer. Ha ! have we routed them out of their fea- ther beds at last? Come, be jolly, Roller! I have long wished to have a bout with these knights of the bread basket. — Where is the captain ? Is the whole troop assembled ? I hope we have powder enough? Raz. Powder, I believe you ; but we are only eighty in all, and therefore scarcely one to twenty. Schweitzer. So much the better! And though there were fifty against my great toe nail — fellows who have waited till we lit the straw under their very seats — Brother, brother, there is nothing to fear. They sell their life for tenpence ; . ^-iand are not we fighting for our necks and our liberty?— We will pour into them like a deluge, and fire volleys upon their heads like crashes of thunder. — But where the devil is the captain ? Spiegel. He forsakes us in this extremity. — Is there no hope of escape ? Schweitzer. Escape ? Spiegel. Oh, that I had tarried in Jerusalem ! Schweitzer. I wish you were choked in a cesspool, you paltry coward I — ^With defenceless nuns you are a mighty man ; but, at sight of a pair of fists, a confirmed sneak ! — Now, shew your courage, or you shall be sewn up alive in an ass's hide and baited to death with dogs. Raz. The captain ! the captain ! Enter Charles [speaking slowly to himself). Charles. I have allowed them to be hemmed in on every side. Now they must fight with the energy of despair. {Aloud.) Now, my boys ! now for it ! We must fightJ^e woujidadbMxs^otJKe-aKgjitteriy lost ! ~~' .— —— Schweitzer. Ha! I '11 np them open with my tusks,- till their entrails protrude by the yard ! — Lead on, captain I we will follow you into the very jaws of death. Charles. Charge all your arms ! You've plenty of pow- der, I hope ? EC lir.] THE KOBBEKS 57 Schweitzer {with energy). Powder ? ay, enough to blow the earth up to the moon. Eaz. Every one of us has five brace of pistols, ready loaded, and three carbines to boot. ■ Charles. Good! good! Now some of you must climb up the trees, or conceal yourselves in the thickets, and some fire upon them in ambush ScHWEiTZEE. That part will suit you, Spiegelberg. Charles. The rest will follow me, and fall upon their flanks like furies. Schweitzer. There will I be ! Charles. At the same time let every man make his whistle ring through the forest, and gallop about in every direction, so that our numbers may appear the more formi- dable. And let all the dogs be unchained, and set on upon their ranks, that they may be broken and dispersed, and run in the way, of our fire. We three, Eoller, Schweitzer, and myself, will fight wherever the fray is hottest. Schweitzer. Masterly ! excellent ! — We will so bewilder them with balls, that they shall not know whence the salutes are coming. I have more than once shot away a cherry from the mouth. — Only let them come on! (Sceufterlb is pulling Schweitzer; the latter takes the captain aside, and entreats him in a low voice.) Charles. Silence ! Schweitzer. I entreat you Charles. Away!- Let him ftive the benefit of his dis- grace; it has saved him. He shall not die on the same field with myself, my Schweitzer, and my Roller. Let him change his apparel, and I will say he is a traveller whom I have plundered. — Make yourself easy, Schweitzer. Take my word for it, he will be hanged' yet. Enter Father Dominic. Father Dom. {to himself, starts). Is this the dragon's nest? — With your leave, Sirs! I am a servant of the church; and yonder are seventeen hundred men, who guard every hair of my head Schweitzer. Bravo ! bravo ! Well spoken to keep bis courage warm. 53 THE EOBBEES. [aC'.T II. Chables. Silence, comrade ! — Will you tell us briefly, good father, what is your errand here ? Fathek Dom. I am delegated by the high justices, on whose sentence hangs life or death — ye thieves — ye incen- diaries — ^ye villains-^ye venomous generation of vipers, crawl- ing about in the dark, and stinging in secret — ye refuse of humanity — brood of hell — food for ravens and wonns — colonists for the gallows and the wheel ScHWEiTZEB. Dog! a trucc with your foul tonguo ! or {He holds the butt-end of his gun before Father Dominic 's/ace.) Chaeles. Fie, fie, Schweitzer! You cut the thread of his discourse. — He has got his sermon so nicely by heart. — Pray go on, sir I — " for the gallows and the wheel ? " Fatheb Dom. And thou, their precious captain ! — comr mander-in chief of cut-purses ! — king of sharpers ! — Grand Mogul of all the rogues under the sun ! — great prototype of that first hellish ringleader who imbued a thousand legions of innocent angels with the flame of rebellion, and drew them down with him into the bottomless pit of damnation ! The agonizing ci'ies of bereaved mothers pursue thy foot- steps ! — Thou drinkest blood like water ! and thy murderous knife holds men cheaper than air-bubbles ! Chables. Very true — exceedingly true ! Pray proceed, sir! Fatheb Dom. What do you mean ? Very tnie — exceed- ingly true ! Is that an answer ? Chables. How, sir ? You were not prepared for that, it seems ? Go on — by all means go on. — What more were you going to say? Fatheb Dom. (heated^. Abominable wretch ! Avaunt I Does not the blood of a murdered count of the empire cling to thy accursed fingers? Hast thou not, with sacrilegious hands, dared to break into the Lord's sanctuary, and carry off the consecrated vessels of the sanctissimum ? Hast thou not flung firebrands into our godly city, and brought down the powder-magazine upon the heads of devout Chris- tians? (Clasps his hands.) Horrible, horible wickedness! that stinketh in the nostrils of Heaven, and provoketh tho day of judgment to burst upon you suddenly ! — ripe for retri- bution — rushing headlong to the last trump ! Chables. Masterly guesses thus far! But now, sir, to so III.] THE ROBISEBS. 59 the point 1 What is it that the right worshipful justices wish to convey to me through you ? Father Dom. What you are not worthy to receive. — Look around you, incendiary ! As far as your eye can reach, you are environed by our liorsemen — ^tiiere is no chance of escape. — ^As surely as cherries grow on these oaks, and peaches on these firs, so surely shall you turn your backs upon these oaks and these firs in safety Charles. Do you hear that, Schweitzer? — But go on ! Father Dom. Hear, then, what mercy and forbearance justice shews towards such miscreants. If you instantly prostrate yourselves in submission, and sue for mercy and forgiveness, then severity itself will relent to compassion, and justice be to thee an indulgent mother. — She will shut one I eye upon your horrible crimes, and be satisfied — only think ! | TO LET YOU BE BROKEH ON THE WHEEL. I Schweitzer. Did you hear that, captain ? Shall I throttle , this well-trained shepherd's cur, till the red blood spurts from every pore ? EoLLEB. Captain! — Fire and fury! — Captain! — How he bites his lip ! Shall I topple this fellow upside down like a ninepin ? Schweitzer. Mine, mine be the job ! Let me kneel to you, captain— let me implore you! — I beseech you to grant me the delight of pounding him to a jelly ! (Father Dominic screams.) Charles. Touch him not ! feet no one lay a finger on ^ him ! — [To Father Dominic, drawing his sword.) Hark ye, sir father! Here stand nine and seventy men, of whom I am the captain, and not one of them has been taught to trot at a signal, or learned to dance to the music of ar- tillery; while yonder stand seventeen hundred men grown grey under the musket. — But now listen ! Thus says Moor, the captain of incendiaries. — It is true I have slain a count of the empire, burnt and plundered the church of St. Dcminic, flung firebrands into your bigoted city, and brought dowii the powder-magazine upon the h^ads of devout Christians. — But that is not all — I have done more. [He holds out hi* right hand.) Do you observe these four costly rings, one on each finger? — Go and report punctually to their worships, on, whose sentence hangs life or death, what you shall hear aui 60 THE ROBBERS. [ACT IT. eee. — This ruty I drew from the finger of a minister, whom I stretched at the feet of his prince, during the chase. He had fawned himself up from the lowest dnegs, to be the first favourite ; — the ruin of his neighbour was Ms ladder to great- ^ ness — orphans' tears helped him to mount it. — This diamond I took from a lord treasurer, who sold offices of honour and trust to the highest bidder, and drove the sorrowing patridt from his door. — This opal I wear in honour of a priest of your cloth, whom I despatched with my own hand, after be had publicly deplored in his pulpit the waning power of ths Inquisition. — I could tell you more stories about my rings, but that I repent the words I have already wasted upon v^U Father Dom. Pharaoh ! Pharaoh ! Charles. Do you hear it? Did you mark that sigh? 'Does he not stand there as if he were imploring fire from heaven to descend and destroy this troop of Korah? He pronounces judgment with a shrug of the shoulders, and eternal damnation with a Christian "alas!" — Is it possible ' for humanity to be so utterly blind? He who has the hun dred eyes of Argus to spy out the faulte. of- his^iother — can he be so totally blind to his own ?— ffhe^Tthunder forth from their clouds about gentleness and forbearance, while they sacrifice human victims to the God of love as if he were the fiery Moloch. — They preach the love of one's neighbour, while they drive the aged and blind vrith curses from their door. — They rave against covetousness ; yet for the sake of gold they have depopulated Peru, and yoked the natives, like cattle, to their chariots. — They rack their brains in wonder to account for the creation of a Judas Iscariot, yet the best if them would betray the whole Trinity for ten shekels. (Out upon you, Pharisees! ye falsifiers of truth! ye apes of deity u You are not ashamed to kneel before crucifixes and altars ; you lacerate your backs with thongs, and mortify your flesh with fasting ; and with these pitiful mummeries you think, fools as you are, to veil the eyes of Him whom, with the same breath, you address as the Omniscient, just as the great are the most bitterly mocked by those who flatter them ■while they pretend to hate flatterers. You boast of your honesty and your exemplary conduct ; but the God who sees through your hearts would be vrroth with Him that made yoiS 8C. 111.] THE R0BBEB8. 61 were He not the same that had also created the monsters of the Nile. — Away with him out of my sight ! Father Dom. That such a miscreant should be so proud 2 Charles. That 's not all. — Now I will speak proudly. Go and tell the right worshipful justices — who set men's lives upon the cast of a die— I am not one of those thieves who conspire with sleep and midnight, and play the hero and the lordling on a scahng ladder. — ^What I have done I shall no doubt hereafter be doomed to read in the register of heaven ; but with his miserable ministers of earth I will waste no more words. — Tell your masters that my trade is retri- bution — vengeance my occupation ! [He turns his back upon him.) Father Dom. Then you despise mercy and forbearance ?^ Be it so, I have done with you. {Turning to the troop.) Now then, sirs, you shall hear what the high powers direct me to make known to you ! — If you will instantly deliver up to me this condemned malefactor, bound hand and foot, you shall receive a full pardon — ^your enormities shall be entirely blotted out, even from memory. — The holy church will receive you, like lost sheep, with renewed love, into her maternal bosom, and the road to honourable employment shall be open to you all. [With a triumphant s)ni/e.)— Now, sir! how does your majesty relish this ? — Come on ! bind him ! and you are free ! Charles. Do you hear that? Do you hear it? Whatt^'' startles you ? Why do you hesitate ? They offer you freedom — you that are already their prisoners. — They grant you your lives, and that is no idle pretence, for it is clear you are already condemned felons. — They promise you honour and emolument; and, on the other hand, what can you hope for, even should you be victorious to-day, but disgrace, and curses, and persecution? — They ensure you the pardon of Heaven ; you that are actually damned. — There is not a single hair on any one of you that is not already bespoke in hell. — Do you still hesitate? are you staggered? Is it so difficult, then, to choose between heaven and hell ? — Do put in a word, father ! Father Dom. [aside). Is the fellow crazy? — [Alorid.) Perhaps you are afraid that this is a trap to catch you alive?— Read it yourselves ! Here is the general pardon fully signed. (He hands a paper to Schweitzer.) Can you still doubt ? 62 IHE ROBBERS. [AOT II Charles. Only see ! only see f What more can you re- quire? — Signed with their own hands! — It is mercy beyond all bounds ! — Or are you afraid of their breaking their word, because you have heard it said that no faith need be kept with traitors ? — Dismiss that fear ! Policy alone would constrain them to keep their word, even though it should merely have been pledged to Old Nick. Who hereafter would believe them? How could they trade with it a second time ? — I would take my oath upon it that they mean it sin- cerely. They know that I am the man who has goaded you on and incited you; they believe you innocent. They look upon your crimes as so many juvenile errors — exaberances of rashness. It is I alone they want — I must pay the penalty.- — Is it not so, father? Father Dom. What devil incarnate is it that speaks out of him ? — Of course it is so — of course. — The fellow turns my brain Charles. What! no answer yet? Do you think it pos- eible to cut your way through yon phalanx? Only look round you! just look round ! You surely do not reckon upon that; that were indeed a childish conceit ! — Or do you flatter yomrselves that you will fall like heroes, because you saw that I* rejoiced in the prospect of the fight ? — Oh, do not console yourselves with the thought ! You are not MooB ! — ^You are miserable thieves ! wretched tools of my great designs ! de- spicable as the rope in the hand of the hangman ! — No, no ! Thieves do not fall like heroes. Life must be the hope of thieves, for something fearful has to follow. — Thieves may well be allowed to quake at the fear of death. — Hark ! Do you hear their horns echoing through the forest ? — See there ! how their glittering sabres threaten! — What? are you still irresolute? are you mad ? are you insane ? — It is unpardonable. Do you imagine I shall thank you for my life ? I disdain your sacri- fice! Father Dom. {in titter amazement). I shall go mad ! I must be gone ! Was^the like evpr heard of? Charles. Or are you afraid that I shall stab myself, and ^0 by suicide put an end to the bargain, which only holds good if I am given up alive ? No, comrades ! that is a vain fear. Here I fling away my dagger, and my pistoils, and this phial of poison, which might have been a treasure to me. — ACT. lU.] THE BOBBERS. 63 I am so wretched that I have lost the power even over my o^;*!! life. — What ! still in suspense ? Or do you think, perhaps, that I shall stand on my defence when you try to seize me ? See here ! I hind my right hand to this oak-hranch — ^now I am quite defenceless, a child may overpower me. — Who is the first to desert his captain in the hour of need ? EoLLER {with wild energy). And what though hell encircle us with ninefold coils ! (Brandishing his sword.) Who is the coward that will betray his captain ! ScHWEiTZEB {tears the pardon, and flings the pieces into Fatheb Dominic's face). Pardon be in our bullets ! Away with thee, rascal ! Tell your senate that you could not find a single traitor in all Moor's camp.^ — Huzza ! Huzza ! — Save the captain ! All {shouting). Huzza ! Save the captain ! Save him ! -Save our jao ble captain ! ^,^„„^.„™.,..™_~,„.^„... — ,_,_,, Charles {reUasmgJiis hand from the tree, joyfully). Now we are free, comrades ! — I feel a host in this single arm ! — ~~Death oTTiberty ! At the least they shall not take a man _jaLus alive-! ■ ^— — - .. . — . \They sound the signal for attack; noise and tumult Exeunt with drawn swords. ACT III. Scene I. — Amelia in the gamen, playing the guitar Bright as an angel from Walhalla's hall. More beautiful than aught of earth was he ! Heav'n-mild his look, as sunbeams when they fall, E«flected fi'om a calm cerulean sea. His warm embrace — oh, ravishing delight ! With heart to heart the fiery pulses danced — Our every sense wrapp'd in ecstatic night — Our souls in blissful harmony entranced. His kisses-^oh, what paradise of feeling ! E'en as two flames which round each other twine- Or flood of seraph harp tones gently stealing, In one soft swell, away to realms divine ! 64 THE BOBBERS. [ACI HC, They rushed, commingled, melted, soul in soul ! Lips glued to lips, with burning tremor bound ! Cold earth dissolved, and love without control Absorb'd all sense of wordly things arouwd ! He 's gone ! — for ever gone ! — Alas ! in vain My bleeding heart in bitter anguish sighs ; — To me is left alone this world of pain. And mortal life in hopeless sorrow dies. Enter Feancis. Fbancis. Here again already, perverse enthusiast? You stole away from the festive banquet, and marred the mirthful pleasures of my guests. Amelia. 'Tis pity, truly, to mar such innocent pleasures I Shame on them! The funeral knell that tolled over yoiir father's grave must still be ringing in your ears Fbancis. Wilt thou sorrow, then, for ever? Let the dead sleep in peace, and do thou make the living happy ! I come Amelia. And when do you go again ? Fbancis. Alas! Look not on me thus scornfully! You wound me, Amelia. I come to tell you Amelia. To tell me, I suppose, that Francis von Moor has become lord and master here. Fbancis. Precisely so ; that is the very subject on which I wish to communicate with you. — Maximilian von Moor is gone to the tomb of his ancestors. I am master. But I wish to be so in the fullest sense, Amelia. — You know what you have been to our house ; always regarded as Moor's daughter, his love for you will survive even death itself; that, assuredly, you will never forget ? Amelia. Never, never ! Who could be so unfeeling as to drown the memory of it in festive banqueting ? Fbancis. It is your duty to repay the love of the father to his sons ; and Charles is dead. — Ha ! you are struck with amazement— dizzy with the thought? — To be sure 'tis a flattering and an elating prospect, which may well overpower the .pride of a woman. — Francis tramples under foot the hopes of the noblest and the richest, and offers his heart, his hand, and with them all his gold, his castles, and his forests, to a 60. I.] THE liOBBEES. 03 poor, and, but for him, destitute orphan. — Francis — the^ feared — voluntarily declares himself Amelia's slave ^^ Amelia. Why does not a thunderbolt cleave the impious tongue which utters the criminal proposal ! Thou hast mur- dered my beloved Charles ; and shall Amelia, his betrothed, call thee husband ? Thou ? Feanois. Be not po violent, most gracious princess ! — It is true that Francis does not come before you like a whining Celadon — 'tis true he has not learned, like a love-sick swain of Arcadia, to sigh forth his amorous plaints to the echo of caves and rocks. — Francis speaks — and, when not answered, he — COMMANDS ! /" Amelia. Commands ? thou reptile ! Command me ? And what if I laughed your command to scorn ? Feancis. That you will hardly do. There are means, too, which I know of, admirably adapted to humble the pride of a capricious, stubborn girl — cloisters and walls ! Amelia. Excellent ! delightful ! to be for ever secm-e within cloisters and walls from thy basilisk look, and to have abundant leisure to think and dream of Charles. — Welcome with your cloister ! welcome your walls ! Francis. Ha ! Is that it ? — Beware ! Now you have taught me the art of tormenting you. — The sight of me shall, like a fiery-haired fury, drive out of your head these eternal phantasies of Charles. — Fbanois shall be the dread ~I phantorj ever lurking behind the image of your beloved, like the fiend-dog that guards the subterranean treasure. — I will S drag you to church by the hair, and sword in hand wring the { nuptial vow from your soul. By main force will I ascend [ yo ur virginal couch, a nd storm your haughty modesty wiili J sSrt greater haugh tiness. ~ " Amelia (giives him a slap in the face). Then take that first by way of dowry ! Francis. Ha! I will be tenfold, and twice tenfold re- venged for this ! — My wife ! — No, that honour you shall never enjoy. — ^You shall be my mistress, my strumpet ! The honest peasant's wife shall point her finger at you as she passes you in the street. Ay, gnash your teeth as fiercely as you please — scatter fire and destruction from your eyes — the fury of a woman piques my fancy — it makes you more beautiful, more tempting. — Come, this resistance will garnish my tri- 66 THE ROBBERS. [AOT III. umph, and your straggles give zest to my embraces. — Come, oome to my chamber — I burn -with desire. — Come this instant. — {Attempts to drag her away). Amelia [falls on his neck). Forgive me, Francis ! {As he is about to clasp her in his arms, she suddenly draws the sword at his side, and hastily disengages herself). Do you see now, miscreant, how I am able to deal with you? — I am only a woman, but a woman enraged. — Dare to approach, and this steel shall strike your lascivious heart to the core — the spirit of my uncle will guide my hand. Avaunt, this instant ! {She drives him away). Ah ! how different I feel ! — Now I breathe again — I feel strong as the snorting steed, ferocious as the tigress when she springs upon the ruthless destroyer of her cubs. — To a clois- ter, did he say ? — ^I thank thee for the happy thought ! — Now has disappointed love found a place of refuge — the cloister — the Eedeemer's bosom is the sanctuary of disappointed love. {She is on the point of going.) * * In the acting edition the following scene occurs between Hermann and Francis, immediately before that with Amelia. As Schiller himself thought this among the happiest of his additions, and regretted that it was "entirely and very unfortunately overlooked in the first edition," it seems desirable to introduce it here, as well as the soliloquy immediately following, which has acquired some celebrity. SOBWE Till. Enter Heemahit. Franois. Ha ! Welcome, my Euryalus ! My prompt and trusty in- strument ! Hbrmahn (abruptly and peevishly). Tou sent for me, count. Why 1 Feahois. That you might put the seal to your master-piece. Hekmahh {gruffly). Indeed? Fkahois. Give the picture its finishing touch. Hekmann. Poh I Pob ! Feanois (startkd). Shall I call the carriage ? We '11 arrange the business during the drive ? Hekmann {scornfully). No ceremony, sir, if you please. For any busi- ness we may have to arrange there is room enough within these four walls. — At all events I '11 just say a few words to you by way of prefece, which may save your lungs some unnecessary exertion. Francis {reservedly). Hum ! — And what may those words be 1 Hekmann {with litter irony). " You shall have Amelia — and that from iny hand -" Fbanois (vntA aiiomihment). Hermann 1 6C. I.] THE K0B3EBS. 07 Enter Hermaun, timidly. Hebmann. Lady Amelia! Lady Amelia ! Amelia. Unhappy man ! why dost thou disturb me ? Hekmanh {as lefore, mth Ms hacle twmed on Fkahois). " Amelia will become the plaything of my will — and you may easily guess the rest — in short; all will gd as we wish." — {BreaJcs into an indignant laughj and then turns haughtily to Francis.) Now, Count von Moor, what have you to say to me? Feanois {evasively). To thee? Nothing. — I had something to say to Hermann. Hermann. No evasion. — Why was I sent for hither? — Was it to be your dupe a second time, and to hold the ladder for a thief to mount ? to sell my soul for a hangman's fee ? What else did you want with me ? Francis {as if recollecting). Ha ! It just occurs to me ! We must not forget the main point. — Did not my steward mention it to you ? — I wanted to talk to you ahout the dowry. Hermann. This is mere mockery, sir; or, if not mockery, something worse. Moor ! take care of yourself — ^beware how you kindle my fury. Moor. We are alone ! And 1 have stUl an unsullied name to stake against yours. Trust not the devil, although he be of your own raising. Francis {with dignity). Does this deportment become thee towards thy sovereign and gracious master ? — Tremble, slave ! Hermann {ironically). For fear of your displeasm'e, I suppose ? — What signifies your displeasure to a man who is at war with himself? Fie, Moor! I already abhor you as a villain ; let me not despise you for a fool. I can open graves, and restore the dead to life I — Which of us now is the slave ? Francis {in a conciliating tone). Come, my good friend, be discreet, and do not prove faithless. Hermann. Pshaw ! To expose a wretch like you is here the best dis- cretion — to keep faith with you woiUd be an utter want of sense.—Faith I with whom ? Faith with the prince of iSrs? — Oh, I shudder at the thought of such faith. — \ very little timely faithlessness would have almost made a saint of me. — But patience 1 patience 1 Kevenge is cunning in resources. Francis. Ah ! by the by, I just remember. Tou lately lost a purse witli a hundred louis in it, in this apartment. I had almost forgotten it. Herc^ my good friend 1 take back what belongs to you. {Offers him a pnrse.) Hermann (^hrows it scornf%lly at his feet). A curse on your Judas bribe! It is the earnest money of hell. — Tou once before thought to make wj poverty a pander to my conscience — but you were mistaken, fcount ! egr*- giously mistaken. — That purse of gold came most opportunely — to maintain CERTAIN PERSONS. Francis {terrified). Hermann! Hermann! Let me not suspect certaui things of you. — Should you have done anything contrary to my instructieok — ^you would be the vilest of traitors ! Hermann (eruMingly). Should I ? Should I really ! Well, then, counv let me give you a little piece of information ! {Significantly.) I will fattev up your infamy, and add fuel to your doom. The book of your misdeed* chall one day be served up as a banquet, and all the world be invited to pa^ 68 THE ROBBEES. [ACT III. Hermann. I must throw this weight from my soul before it drags it down to hell. [Palls down before her.) Pardon ! pardon ! I have grievously injured you, Lady Amelia ! take of it. {Contemptuoiisly.) Do you understand me now, my most sovereign, gracious, and excellent master? Pranois {starts wp, losing all command of Mrnself). Ha ! Deril ! De- ceitful impostor ! {Striking his forehead.) To think that I should stake my fortune on the caprice of an idiot ! — That was madness ! {Throws him- self j in great excitement, on a couch.) Hekmann {whistles through his fingers). Wheugh, the titer bit ! Francis {biting his lip). But it is true, and ever will be true — that there is no thread so feebly spun, or which snaps asunder so readily, as that which weaves the bands of guilt ! Hermahn. Gently ! Gently I Are angels, then, superseded, that devils turn moralists 'i Francis {starts up abruptly; to Hermann, with a malignant langh). And certain persons will no doubt acquire much honour by making the discovery? Hermann {clapping his hands). Masterly ! Inimitable ! You play your part to admiration ! First you lure the credulous fool into the slougb, and then chuckle at the success of your malice, and cry " Woe be to you, sinner ! "- {Laughing and clenching his teeth.) Oh, how cleverly these imps of the devil manoeuvre. — But, count {clapping him on Hie shoulder), you have not yet got your lesson q^uite perfect— by Heavens ! You must first learn what the losing gamester will hazard. — Set fire to the powder-magazine, says the pirate, and blow all^to hell — both friend and foe ! Francis {runs to the wall, and takes down a pistol). Here is treason ! — I must be resolute • Hermann {draws a pistol as quichly from his pocket, and presents it ai him).. Don't trouble yourself — one must be prepared for everything with you. Francis {lets the pistol fall, and throws himself on the sofa in great con- fusion). Only keep my counsel till — till I have collected my thoughts Hermann. I suppose till you have hired a dozen assassins to sileHce my tongue for ever ? Is it not so 1 — But {in his ear) the secret is committed td paper, which my heirs will publish. [Exit. Scene 12. Francis, solus. Francis. Francis ! .Francis ! What is all this? Where was thy courage? — where thy once so fertile wit ? — Woe ! Woe ! And to be betrayed by thy own instruments ! — The pillars of my good fortune are tottering to their fell, the fences are broken down, and the raging enemy is already bursting in upon me. — Well I this calls for some bold and sudden resolve ! — What if I went in person — and secretly plunged this sword in his body ? — A wounded man is but a child. — Quick ! I '11 do it. {He walks with a resolute step to the end of the stags, but stops suddenly as if overcome hy sensations of horror). — Who are these gliding behind me ? {Rolling his eyes fearfully) — Faces such as I have never yet beheld. — What hideous yells do I hear !-^I feel that I have courage — courage ! oh yes, to overflowing ! — But if a mirror should betray me ? or my shadow S or the whistling of the murderous stroke I SC. 11.] THE BOBBEBS. 69 Amelia. Arise ! depart ! I will hear nothing. (Going.) Hebmann (detaining her). No; stay! In the name of Heaven ! In the name of the Eternal ! You must know all ! Amelia. Not another word. — I forgive you. — Depart in peace. (In the act of going.) Hebmann. Only one word-.-listen ! — It will restore all your peace of mind. Amelia (turning back and looking at him with astonishment). How, friend? — Who in heaven or on earth can restore my peace of mind ? Hermann. One word from my lips can do it ! — Hear me ' Amelia (seizing his hand with compassion). Good sir ! — Can one word from thy lips burst asunder the portals of eternity ? Hermann (rising). Charles lives ! Amelia (screaming). Wretch ! Hebmann. Even so. — And one word more — Your uncle Amelia (rushing upon him). Thou liest ! Hermann. Your uncle Ameija. Charles lives ? Hermann. And your uncle Amelia. Charles lives ? Hermann. And your uncle too — Betray me not! (Her MANN runs off.) Amelia (stands a long while like one petrified ; after which she ttarts up wildly, and rushes after Jebmann). Charles lives ! Scene II. — Country near the Danube. The Kobbebs (encamped on a i-ising ground, under trees, their horses are grazing below). Charles. Here must I lie (throwing himself on the ground), I feel as if my limbs were all shattered. My tongue is as dry ■ — Ugh I Ugh ! — How my hair bristles ! — A shudder creeps through my frame. {Ke lets a ^oigTiiard fall from under Ids clothes.) I am no coward ■ — perhaps somewhat too tender-hearted. — Yes ! that is it ! — These are the last struggles of expiring virtue. — I revere them. — I should indeed be a monster were I to become the murderer of my own brother. — No ! no ! no ! That thought be far from me I — Let me cherish this vestige of humanity. — I will not murder. — Nature, thou hast conquered. — I still feel something here that seems like — aifection.. — He shall live. [ExiL rO THE BOBBERS, [aCT III as a potsherd. (Schweitzer disappears unperceived.) I Would ask one of you to bring me a handful of water from that stream, but you are all tired to death; ScHWAEz. Our wine-flasks too are all empty. Charles. See how beautiful the harvest looks ! — The trees are breaking with the weight of their fruit. — The vines are full of promise. Geimm. It is a fruitful year. Charles. Do you think so ? — Then, at least, one toil in the world will be repaid. One ? — Yet in the night a hail- storm may come and destroy it all. : ScHWABz. That is very possible. It naay all be destroyed an hour before the reaping. Charles. Just what 1 say. — All will be destroyed. j Why should man prosper in that which he has in common I with the ant, while he fails in that which places him on a j level with the gods ? — Or is this the aim and limit of his destiny ? Schwaez. I know not. Charles. Thou hast said well ; and wilt have done bet- ter, if thou never seekest to know ! — Brother, I have looked on men, their insect cares and their giant projects, — their god-like plans and mouse-like occupations, their intensely eager race after happiness — one trusting to the fleetness of his horse, — another to the nose of his ass, — a third to ' his own legs ; this chequered lottery of life, in which so many stake their innocence and their Heaven to snatch a prize, and--blanks are all they draw — for they find, too late, that there was no prize in the wheel. It is a drama, brother, enough to bring tears into your eyes, while it shakes your sides with laughter. ~~SciwARg„„.Bfl51_ gloriously the sun is setting yonder ! A Uharles {absorbed in the scene). So dies a hero ! — Worth • of adoration. Schwaez. You seem deeply moved. Charles. When I was but a boy — it was my darling thought to live like him, like him to die — {vjith suppressed grief). — It was a boyish thought! Geimm. It was indeed. Charles. There was a time — {pressing Ids hat down upon his face) — I would be alone, comrades S'J. II.] THE ROBBEES. 71 ScHWABz. Moor! Moor! Why what the deuce ! How his colour changes. Grimm. By all the devils ! What ails him? Is he ill? Charles. There was a time when I could not have slept, had I forgotten my evening prayers Geimm. Are you heside yourself? Would you let the remembrance of your boyish years school you now ? Charles [lays his head upon the breast of Gs,imm). Brother! Brother ! Grimm. Come ! Don't play the child — I pray you Charles. Oh that I were — that I were again a child! Grimm. Fie ! fie ! SchWabz. Cheer up ! Behold this smiling landscape — this delicious evening! Charles. Yes, friends, this world is very lovely — Schwarz. Come, now, that was well said. Charles. This earth so glorious ! — Grimm. Eight — right — I love to hear you talk thus. Charles (sinking bach). And I so hideous in this lovely world — a monster on this glorious earth ! Grimm. Oh dear I oh dear ! Charles. My innocence ! g ive me back my innqcence ; Behold, every TTmigTEingTi'graeTorSrtoTal^mlE^ ing rays of the vernal sun— why must I alone inhale the tor- ments of hell out of the joys of heaven ? — All are so happy, all so united in brotherly love, by the Spirit of peace I — The whole world one family, and one Father above — but He not MY father I — I alone the outcast, I alone rg^cted from the ranks_of the blessed — the STCet~iiame of child is not for me — never for me the soul-thrilling glance of her I love — never, never the bosom friend's embrace — (starting back wildly) — sur- rounded by murderers — hemmed in by hissing vipers — ^riveted to vice with iron fetters — whirling headlong on the frail reed of sin to the gulf of perdition — amid the blooming flowers of a glad world, a howling Abaddon ! " Schwarz (to the others). How strange ! I never saw him thus before. Charles (with melancholy). Ohj_thatJLmighrtj;eturn again .to my mother's womb! Tb gtf might be bomaTBeggar ! — ■ IsEoiin' desire no more, — no "more, oh heaven ! — but that I might' ~Ee likeaFone of those poor labourers ! — Oh, I would ''/9 THE ROBBEBS. [aCT III. ^"ij. I'V t.>ifl Tilnnd streamed dam urffi temples.^tgjmy-myself the_juxui2_jofwie guiltless slumber — th£_blesse