SCENE I.--Rural scenery in the neighborhood of

Produced by David Widger

THE ROBBERS.

By Frederich Schiller

SCHILLER'S PREFACE.

AS PREFIXED TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THE ROBBERS

PUBLISHED IN 1781.

Now first translated into English.

This play is to be regarded merely as a dramatic narrative in which, for

the purpose of tracing out the innermost workings of the soul, advantage

has been taken of the dramatic method, without otherwise conforming to

the stringent rules of theatrical composition, or seeking the dubious

advantage of stage adaptation. 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 possible, in

the ordinary course of events, that three such remarkable 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 within the narrow limits

prescribed by Aristotle and Batteux.

It is, however, not so much the bulk of my play as its contents which

banish it from the stage. Its scheme and economy require that several

characters should appear who would offend the finer feelings of virtue

and shock the delicacy of our manners. Every delineator of human

character is placed in the same dilemma if he proposes to give a

faithful picture of the world as it really is, and not an ideal

phantasy, 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. Whoever proposes to discourage

vice and to vindicate religion, morality, and social order against their

enemies, must unveil crime in all its deformity, and place it before the

eyes of 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.

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 voice

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 endeavored to sketch a striking and lifelike portrait,

to hold up to abhorrence all the machinery of his scheme of vice, and to

test its strength by contrasting it with truth. How far my narrative is

successful in accomplishing these objects the reader is left to 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 which attaches to them, the energy which their

perpetration requires, and the dangers which attend them. A remarkable

and important personage, abundantly endowed with the power of becoming

either a Brutus or a Catiline, according as that power is directed. An

unhappy conjunction of circumstances determines him to choose the latter

for, his 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 and efficiency it needed but a

sarcastic bitterness against the unpoetic spirit of the age to complete

the strange Don Quixote whom, in the Robber Moor, we at once detest and

love, admire and pity. It is, I hope, unnecessary 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 nowadays so much the fashion to be witty at the expense of

religion that a man will hardly pass for a genius if he does not allow

his impious satire to run a tilt at its most sacred truths. The noble

simplicity of holy writ must needs be abused and turned into ridicule at

the daily assemblies 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 inconsiderable 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. I have made these said immoral characters to stand out

favorably 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 in some degree the impress 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 detestation. 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 crimes, a great and

wondrous woman, and Shakespeare's Richard III. 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 recognized till too

late. Besides this, a man who is so utterly depraved as to be without a

single redeeming point is no meet subject for art, and would disgust

rather than 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 ear the grating of

knives upon glass.

And for this reason I should have been ill-advised in attempting to

bring my drama on the stage. A certain strength of 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 him 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

shortsighted to reach 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, responsible for his simplicity.

Thus we have a _Da capo_ of the old story of Democritus and the

Abderitans, and our worthy Hippocrates would needs exhaust whole

plantations of hellebore, were it proposed to remedy this mischief by a

healing decoction.

[This alludes to the fable amusingly recorded by Wieland in his

Geschichte der Abderiten. The Abderitans, who were a byword among

the ancients for their extreme simplicity, are said to have sent

express for Hipocrates to cure their great townsman Democritus,

whom they believed to be out of his senses, because his sayings

were beyond their comprehension. Hippocrates, on conversing with

Democritus, having at once discovered that the cause lay with

themselves, assembled the senate and principal inhabitants in the

market-place with the promise of instructing them in the cure of

Democritus. He then banteringly advised them to import six

shiploads 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 they were bound

to have an extra supply of sense. By the time these worthies

discovered that they had been laughed at, Hippocrates was out of

their reach. The story in Wieland is infinitely more amusing than

this short quotation from memory enables me to show. H. G. B.]

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 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 morality, for crime meets at last with the punishment it

deserves; 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 admire the poet, but that he will esteem the

honest man.

SCHILLER.

EASTER FAIR, 1781.

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE ROBBERS.

AS COMMUNICATED BY SCHILLER TO DALBERG IN 1781, AND SUPPOSED TO HAVE

BEEN USED AS A PROLOGUE.

--This has never before been printed with any of the editions.--

The picture of a great, misguided soul, endowed with every gift of

excellence; yet lost in spite of all its gifts! Unbridled 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 horror, 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 Moor. 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 ungoverned passion. Here, too,

you will 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 perplexities of fate.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

The eight hundred copies of the first edition of my ROBBERS were

exhausted 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 fastidious part of the public. Such an

alteration, however, in the construction of the play as should satisfy

all the wishes of my friends and 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 indebted for this to an able composer,* who has performed

his task in so masterly a manner that the hearer is not unlikely to

forget the poet in the melody of the musician.

DR. SCHILLER.

STUTTGART, Jan. 5, 1782.

* Alluding to his friend Zumsteeg.--ED.

THE ROBBERS.

A TRAGEDY.

"Quae medicamenta non sanant, ferrum sanat; quae ferrum non

sanat, ignis sanat."--HIPPOCRATES.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MAXIMILIAN, COUNT VON MOOR.

CHARLES,|

FRANCIS,| his Sons.

AMELIA VON EDELREICH, his Niece.

SPIEGELBERG,|

SCHWEITZER, |

GRIMM, |

RAZMANN, | Libertines, afterwards Banditti

SCHUFTERLE, |

ROLLER, |

KOSINSKY, |

SCHWARTZ, |

HERMANN, the natural son of a Nobleman.

DANIEL, an old Servant of Count von Moor.

PASTOR MOSER.

FATHER DOMINIC, a Monk.

BAND OF ROBBERS, SERVANTS, ETC.

The scene is laid in Germany. Period of action about two years.

THE ROBBERS

ACT I.

SCENE I.--Franconia.

Apartment in the Castle of COUNT MOOR.

FRANCIS, OLD MOOR.

FRANCIS. But are you really well, father? You look so pale.

OLD MOOR. Quite well, my son--what have you to tell me?

FRANCIS. The post is arrived--a letter from our correspondent at

Leipsic.

OLD M. (eagerly). Any tidings of my son Charles?

FRANCIS. Hem! Hem!--Why, yes. But I fear--I know not--whether I dare

--your health.--Are you really quite well, father?

OLD M. As a fish in water.* Does he write of my son? What means this

anxiety about my health? You have asked me that question twice.

[*This is equivalent to our English saying "As sound as a roach."]

FRANCIS. If you are unwell--or are the least apprehensive of being so--

permit me to defer--I will speak to you at a fitter season.--(Half

aside.) These are no tidings for a feeble frame.

OLD M. Gracious Heavens? what am I doomed to hear?

FRANCIS. First let me retire and shed a tear of compassion for my lost

brother. Would that my lips might be forever sealed--for he is your

son! Would that I could throw an eternal veil over his shame--for he is

my brother! But to obey you is my first, though painful, duty--forgive

me, therefore.

OLD M. Oh, Charles! Charles! Didst thou but know what thorns thou

plantest in thy father's bosom! That one gladdening report of thee would

add ten years to my life! yes, bring back my youth! whilst now, alas,

each fresh intelligence but hurries me a step nearer to the grave!

FRANCIS. Is it so, old man, then farewell! for even this very day we

might all have to tear our hair over your coffin.*

[* This idiom is very common in Germany, and is used to express

affliction.]

OLD M. Stay! There remains but one short step more--let him have his

will! (He sits down.) The sins of the father shall be visited unto the

third and fourth generation--let him fulfil the decree.

FRANCIS (takes the letter out of his pocket). You know our

correspondent! See! I would give a finger of my right hand might I

pronounce him a liar--a base and slanderous liar! Compose yourself!

Forgive me if I do not let you read the letter yourself. You cannot,

must not, yet know all.

OLD M. All, all, my son. You will but spare me crutches.*

[* _Du ersparst mir die Krucke_; meaning that the contents of the

letter can but shorten his declining years, and so spare him the

necessity of crutches.]

FRANCIS (reads). "Leipsic, May 1. Were I not bound by an inviolable

promise to conceal nothing from you, not even the smallest particular,

that I am able to collect, respecting your brother's career, never, my

dearest friend, should my guiltless pen become an instrument of torture

to you. I can gather from a hundred of your letters how tidings such as

these must pierce your fraternal heart. It seems to me as though I saw

thee, for the sake of this worthless, this detestable"--(OLD M. covers

his face). Oh! my father, I am only reading you the mildest passages--

"this detestable man, shedding a thousand tears." Alas! mine flowed--ay,

gushed in torrents over these pitying cheeks. "I already picture to

myself your aged pious father, pale as death." Good Heavens! and so you

are, before you have heard anything.

OLD M. Go on! Go on!

FRANCIS. "Pale as death, sinking down on his chair, and cursing the day

when his ear was first greeted with the lisping cry of 'Father!' I have

not yet been able to discover all, and of the little I do know I dare

tell you only a part. Your brother now seems to have filled up the

measure of his infamy. I, at least, can imagine nothing beyond what he

has already accomplished; but possibly his genius may soar above my

conceptions. After having contracted debts to the amount of forty

thousand ducats, "--a good round sum for pocket-money, father" and having

dishonored the daughter of a rich banker, whose affianced lover, a

gallant youth of rank, he mortally wounded in a duel, he yesterday, in

the dead of night, took the desperate resolution of absconding from the

arm of justice, with seven companions whom he had corrupted to his own

vicious courses." Father? for heaven's sake, father! How do you feel?

OLD M. Enough. No more, my son, no more!

FRANCIS. I will spare your feelings. "The injured cry aloud for

satisfaction. Warrants have been issued for his apprehension--a price

is set on his head--the name of Moor"--No, these unhappy lips shall not

be guilty of a father's murder (he tears the letter). Believe it not,

my father, believe not a syllable.

OLD M. (weeps bitterly). My name--my unsullied name!

FRANCIS (throws himself on his neck). Infamous! most infamous Charles!

Oh, had I not my forebodings, when, even as a boy, he would scamper

after the girls, and ramble about over hill and common with ragamuffin

boys and all the vilest rabble; when he shunned the very sight of a

church as a malefactor shuns a gaol, and would throw the pence he had

wrung from your bounty into the hat of the first beggar he met, whilst

we at home were edifying ourselves with devout prayers and pious

homilies? Had I not my misgivings when he gave himself up to reading

the adventures of Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, and other

benighted heathens, in preference to the history of the penitent Tobias?

A hundred times over have I warned you--for my brotherly affection was

ever kept in subjection to filial duty--that this forward youth would

one day bring sorrow and disgrace on us all. Oh that he bore not the

name of Moor! that my heart beat less warmly for him! This sinful

affection, which I can not overcome, will one day rise up against me

before the judgment-seat of heaven.

OLD M. Oh! my prospects! my golden dreams!

FRANCIS. Ay, well I knew it. Exactly what I always feared. That fiery

spirit, you used to say, which is kindling in the boy, and renders him

so susceptible to impressions of the beautiful and grand--the

ingenuousness which reveals his whole soul in his eyes--the tenderness

of feeling which melts him into weeping sympathy at every tale of

sorrow--the manly courage which impels him to the summit of giant oaks,

and urges him over fosse and palisade and foaming torrents--that

youthful thirst of honor--that unconquerable resolution--all those

resplendent virtues which in the father's darling gave such promise--

would ripen into the warm and sincere friend--the excellent citizen--the

hero--the great, the very great man! Now, mark the result, father; the

fiery spirit has developed itself--expanded--and behold its precious

fruits. Observe this ingenuousness--how nicely it has changed into

effrontery;--this tenderness of soul--how it displays itself in

dalliance with coquettes, in susceptibility to the blandishments of a

courtesan! See this fiery genius, how in six short years it hath burnt

out the oil of life, and reduced his body to a living skeleton; so that

passing scoffers point at him with a sneer and exclaim--"_C'est l'amour

qui a fait cela_." Behold this bold, enterprising spirit--how it

conceives and executes plans, compared to which the deeds of a Cartouche

or a Howard sink into insignificance. And presently, when these

precious germs of excellence shall ripen into full maturity, what may

not be expected from the full development of such a boyhood? Perhaps,

father, you may yet live to see him at the head of some gallant band,

which assembles in the silent sanctuary of the forest, and kindly

relieves the weary traveller of his superfluous burden. Perhaps you may

yet have the opportunity, before you go to your own tomb, of making a

pilgrimage to the monument which he may erect for himself, somewhere

between earth and heaven! Perhaps,--oh, father--father, look out for

some other name, or the very peddlers and street boys who have seen the

effigy of your worthy son exhibited in the market-place at Leipsic will

point at you with the finger of scorn!

OLD M. And thou, too, my Francis, thou too? Oh, my children, how

unerringly your shafts are levelled at my heart.

FRANCIS. You see that I too have a spirit; but my spirit bears the

sting of a scorpion. And then it was "the dry commonplace, the cold,

the wooden Francis," and all the pretty little epithets which the

contrast between us suggested to your fatherly affection, when he was

sitting on your knee, or playfully patting your cheeks? "He would die,

forsooth, within the boundaries of his own domain, moulder away, and

soon be forgotten;" while the fame of this universal genius would spread

from pole to pole! Ah! the cold, dull, wooden Francis thanks thee,

heaven, with uplifted hands, that he bears no resemblance to his

brother.

OLD M. Forgive me, my child! Reproach not thy unhappy father, whose

fondest hopes have proved visionary. The merciful God who, through

Charles, has sent these tears, will, through thee, my Francis, wipe them

from my eyes!

FRANCIS. Yes, father, we will wipe them from your eyes. Your Francis

will devote--his life to prolong yours. (Taking his hand with affected

tenderness.) Your life is the oracle which I will especially consult on

every undertaking--the mirror in which I will contemplate everything.

No duty so sacred but I am ready to violate it for the preservation of

your precious days. You believe me?

OLD M. Great are the duties which devolve on thee, my son--Heaven bless

thee for what thou has been, and wilt be to me.

FRANCIS. Now tell me frankly, father. Should you not be a happy man,

were you not obliged to call this son your own?

OLD M. In mercy, spare me! When the nurse first placed him in my arms,

I held him up to Heaven and exclaimed, "Am I not truly blest?"

FRANCIS. So you said then. Now, have you found it so? You may envy

the meanest peasant on your estate in this, that he is not the father of

such a son. So long as you call him yours you are wretched. Your

misery will grow with his years--it will lay you in your grave.

OLD M. Oh! he has already reduced me to the decrepitude of fourscore.

FRANCIS. Well, then--suppose you were to disown this son.

OLD M. (startled). Francis! Francis! what hast thou said!

FRANCIS. Is not your love for him the source of all your grief? Root

out this love, and he concerns you no longer. But for this weak and

reprehensible affection he would be dead to you;--as though he had never

been born. It is not flesh and blood, it is the heart that makes us

sons and fathers! Love him no more, and this monster ceases to be your

son, though he were cut out of your flesh. He has till now been the

apple of your eye; but if thine eye offend you, says Scripture, pluck it

out. It is better to enter heaven with one eye than hell with two! "It

is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell." These are the words of

the Bible!

OLD M. Wouldst thou have me curse my son?

FRANCIS. By no means, father. God forbid! But whom do you call your

son? Him to whom you have given life, and who in return does his utmost

to shorten yours.

OLD M. Oh, it is all too true! it is a judgment upon me. The Lord has

chosen him as his instrument.

FRANCIS. See how filially your bosom child behaves. He destroys you by

your own excess of paternal sympathy; murders you by means of the very

love you bear him--has coiled round a father's heart to crush it. When

you are laid beneath the turf he becomes lord of your possessions, and

master of his own will. That barrier removed, and the torrent of his

profligacy will rush on without control. Imagine yourself in his place.

How often he must wish his father under ground--and how often, too, his

brother--who so unmercifully impede the free course of his excesses.

But call you this a requital of love? Is this filial gratitude for a

father's tenderness? to sacrifice ten years of your life to the lewd

pleasures of an hour? in one voluptuous moment to stake the honor of an

ancestry which has stood unspotted through seven centuries? Do you call

this a son? Answer? Do you call this your son?

OLD M. An undutiful son! Alas! but still my child! my child!

FRANCIS. A most amiable and precious child--whose constant study is to

get rid of his father. Oh, that you could learn to see clearly! that

the film might be removed from your eyes! But your indulgence must

confirm him in his vices! your assistance tend to justify them.

Doubtless you will avert the curse of Heaven from his head, but on your

own, father--on yours--will it fall with twofold vengeance.

OLD M. Just! most just! Mine, mine be all the guilt!

FRANCIS. How many thousands who have drained the voluptuous bowl of

pleasure to the dregs have been reclaimed by suffering! And is not the

bodily pain which follows every excess a manifest declaration of the

divine will! And shall man dare to thwart this by an impious exercise

of affection? Shall a father ruin forever the pledge committed to his

charge? Consider, father, if you abandon him for a time to the pressure

of want will not he be obliged to turn from his wickedness and repent?

Otherwise, untaught even in the great school of adversity, he must

remain a confirmed reprobate? And then--woe to the father who by a

culpable tenderness bath frustrated the ordinances of a higher wisdom!

Well, father?

OLD M. I will write to him that I withdraw my protection.

FRANCIS. That would be wise and prudent.

OLD M. That he must never come into my sight again

FRANCIS. 'Twill have a most salutary effect.

OLD M. (tenderly). Until he reforms.

FRANCIS. Right, quite right. But suppose that he comes disguised in

the hypocrite's mask, implores your compassion with tears, and wheedles

from you a pardon, then quits you again on the morrow, and jests at your

weakness in the arms of his harlot. No, my father! He will return of

his own accord, when his conscience awakens him to repentance.

OLD M. I will write to him, on the spot, to that effect.

FRANCIS. Stop, father, one word more. Your just indignation might

prompt reproaches too severe, words which might break his heart--and

then--do you not think that your deigning to write with your own hand

might be construed into an act of forgiveness? It would be better, I

think, that you should commit the task to me?

OLD M. Do it, my son. Ah! it would, indeed, have broken my heart!

Write to him that--

FRANCIS (quickly). That's agreed, then?

OLD M. Say that he has caused me a thousand bitter tears--a thousand

sleepless nights--but, oh! do not drive my son to despair!

FRANCIS. Had you not better retire to rest, father? This affects you

too strongly.

OLD M. Write to him that a father's heart--But I charge you, drive him

not to despair. [Exit in sadness.]

FRANCIS (looking after him with a chuckle). Make thyself easy, old

dotard! thou wilt never more press thy darling to thy bosom--there is a

gulf between thee and him impassable as heaven is from hell. He was

torn from thy arms before even thou couldst have dreamed it possible to

decree the separation. Why, what a sorry bungler should I be had I not

skill enough to pluck a son from a father's heart; ay, though he were

riveted there with hooks of steel! I have drawn around thee a magic

circle of curses which he cannot overleap. Good speed to thee, Master

Francis. Papa's darling is disposed of--the course is clear. I must

carefully pick up all the scraps of paper, for how easily might my

handwriting be recognized. (He gathers the fragments of the letter.)

And grief will soon make an end of the old gentleman. And as for her--

I must tear this Charles from her heart, though half her life come with

him.

No small cause have I for being dissatisfied with Dame Nature, and, by

my honor, I will have amends! Why did I not crawl the first from my

mother's womb? why not the only one? why has she heaped on me this

burden of deformity? on me especially? Just as if she had spawned me

from her refuse.* Why to me in particular this snub of the Laplander?

these negro lips? these Hottentot eyes? On my word, the lady seems to

have collected from all the race of mankind whatever was loathsome into

a heap, and kneaded the mass into my particular person. Death and

destruction! who empowered her to deny to me what she accorded to him?

Could a man pay his court to her before he was born? or offend her

before he existed? Why went she to work in such a partial spirit?

No! no! I do her injustice--she bestowed inventive faculty, and set us

naked and helpless on the shore of this great ocean, the world--let

those swim who can--the heavy** may sink. To me she gave naught else,

and how to make the best use of my endowment is my present business.

Men's natural rights are equal; claim is met by claim, effort by effort,

and force by force--right is with the strongest--the limits of our power

constitute our laws.

It is true there are certain organized conventions, which men have

devised to keep up what is called the social compact. Honor! truly a

very convenient coin, which those who know how to pass it may lay out

with great advantage.*** Conscience! oh yes, a useful scarecrow to

frighten sparrows away from cherry-trees; it is something like a fairly

written bill of exchange with which your bankrupt merchant staves off

the evil day.

* See Richard III., Act I, Sc. 1, line 17.

**Heavy is used in a double meaning; the German word is plump,

which Means lumpish clumsy awkward.

***So Falstaff, Hen. IV., Pt. I., Act V., Sc. 1, "Honor is a mere

scutcheon."

Well! these are all most admirable institutions for keeping fools in

awe, and holding the mob underfoot, that the cunning may live the more

at their ease. Rare institutions, doubtless. They are something like

the fences my boors plant so closely to keep out the hares--yes

I' faith, not a hare can trespass on the enclosure, but my lord claps

spurs to his hunter, and away he gallops over the teeming harvest!

Poor hare! thou playest but a sorry part in this world's drama, but your

worshipful lords must needs have hares!

*[This may help to illustrate a passage in Shakespeare which

puzzles the commentators--"Cupid is a good hare-finder."--Much ADO,

Act I., Sc. 1.

The hare, in Germany, is considered an emblem of abject submission

and cowardice. The word may also be rendered "Simpleton,"

"Sawney," or any other of the numerous epithets which imply a soft

condition.]

Then courage, and onward, Francis. The man who fears nothing is as

powerful as he who is feared by everybody. It is now the mode to wear

buckles on your smallclothes, that you may loosen or tighten them at

pleasure. I will be measured for a conscience after the newest fashion,

one that will stretch handsomely as occasion may require. Am I to

blame? It is the tailor's affair? I have heard a great deal of twaddle

about the so-called ties of blood--enough to make a sober man beside

himself. He is your brother, they say; which interpreted, means that he

was manufactured in the same mould, and for that reason he must needs be

sacred in your eyes! To what absurd conclusions must this notion of a

sympathy of souls, derived from the propinquity of bodies, inevitably

tend? A common source of being is to produce community of sentiment;

identity of matter, identity of impulse! Then again,--he is thy father!

He gave thee life, thou art his flesh and blood--and therefore he must

be sacred to thee! Again a most inconsequential deduction! I should

like to know why he begot me;** certainly not out of love for me--for I

must first have existed!

**[The reader of Sterne will remember a very similar passage in the

first chapter of Tristram Shandy.]

Could he know me before I had being, or did he think of me during my

begetting? or did he wish for me at the moment? Did he know what I

should be? If so I would not advise him to acknowledge it or I should

pay him off for his feat. Am I to be thankful to him that I am a man?

As little as I should have had a right to blame him if he had made me a

woman. Can I acknowledge an affection which is not based on any

personal regard? Could personal regard be present before the existence

of its object? In what, then, consists the sacredness of paternity?

Is it in the act itself out of which existence arose? as though this

were aught else than an animal process to appease animal desires. Or

does it lie, perhaps, in the result of this act, which is nothing more

after all than one of iron necessity, and which men would gladly

dispense with, were it not at the cost of flesh and blood? Do I then

owe him thanks for his affection? Why, what is it but a piece of

vanity, the besetting sin of the artist who admires his own works,

however hideous they may be? Look you, this is the whole juggle,

wrapped up in a mystic veil to work on our fears. And shall I, too, be

fooled like an infant? Up then! and to thy work manfully. I will root

up from my path whatever obstructs my progress towards becoming the

master. Master I must be, that I may extort by force what I cannot win

by affection.*

*[This soliloquy in some parts resembles that of Richard, Duke of

Gloster, in Shakespeare's Henry VI., Act V. Sc. 6.]

[Exit.]

SCENE II.--A Tavern on the Frontier of Saxony.

CHARLES VON MOOR intent on a book; SPIEGELBERG drinking at the table.

CHARLES VON M. (lays the book aside). I am disgusted with this age of

puny scribblers when I read of great men in my Plutarch.

SPIEGEL. (places a glass before him, and drinks). Josephus is the book

you should read.

CHARLES VON M. The glowing spark of Prometheus is burnt out, and now

they substitute for it the flash of lycopodium,* a stage-fire which will

not so much as light a pipe. The present generation may be compared to

rats crawling about the club of Hercules.**

*[Lycopodium (in German Barlappen-mehl), vulgarly known as the

Devil's Puff-ball or Witchmeal, is used on the stage, as well in

England as on the continent, to produce flashes of fire. It is

made of the pollen of common club moss, or wolf's claw (Lycopodium

clavatum), the capsules of which contain a highly inflammable

powder. Translators have uniformly failed in rendering this

passage.]

**[This simile brings to mind Shakespeare's:

"We petty men

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about."

JULIUS CAESAR, Act I., Sc. 2.]

A French abbe lays it down that Alexander was a poltroon; a phthisicky

professor, holding at every word a bottle of sal volatile to his nose,

lectures on strength. Fellows who faint at the veriest trifle criticise

the tactics of Hannibal; whimpering boys store themselves with phrases

out of the slaughter at Canna; and blubber over the victories of Scipio,

because they are obliged to construe them.

SPIEGEL. Spouted in true Alexandrian style.

CHARLES VON M. A brilliant reward for your sweat in the battle-field

truly to have your existence perpetuated in gymnasiums, and your

immortality laboriously dragged about in a schoolboy's satchel. A

precious recompense for your lavished blood to be wrapped round

gingerbread by some Nuremberg chandler, or, if you have great luck, to

be screwed upon stilts by a French playwright, and be made to move on

wires! Ha, ha, ha!

SPIEGEL. (drinks). Read Josephus, I tell you.

CHARLES VON M. Fie! fie upon this weak, effeminate age, fit for nothing

but to ponder over the deeds of former times, and torture the heroes of

antiquity with commentaries, or mangle them in tragedies. The vigor of

its loins is dried up, and the propagation of the human species has

become dependent on potations of malt liquor.

SPIEGEL. Tea, brother! tea!

CHARLES VON M. They curb honest nature with absurd conventionalities;

have scarcely the heart to charge a glass, because they are tasked to

drink a health in it; fawn upon the lackey that he may put in a word for

them with His Grace, and bully the unfortunate wight from whom they have

nothing to fear. They worship any one for a dinner, and are just as

ready to poison him should he chance to outbid them for a feather-bed

at an auction. They damn the Sadducee who fails to come regularly to

church, although their own devotion consists in reckoning up their

usurious gains at the very altar. They cast themselves on their knees

that they may have an opportunity of displaying their mantles, and

hardly take their eyes off the parson from their anxiety to see how his

wig is frizzled. They swoon at the sight of a bleeding goose, yet clap

their hands with joy when they see their rival driven bankrupt from the

Exchange. Warmly as I pressed their hands,--"Only one more day." In

vain! To prison with the dog! Entreaties! Vows! Tears! (stamping

the ground). Hell and the devil!

SPIEGEL. And all for a few thousand paltry ducats!

CHARLES VON M. No, I hate to think of it. Am I to squeeze my body into

stays, and straight-lace my will in the trammels of law. What might

have risen to an eagle's flight has been reduced to a snail's pace by

law. Never yet has law formed a great man; 'tis liberty that breeds

giants and heroes. Oh! that the spirit of Herman* still glowed in his

ashes!

*[Herman is the German for Armin or Arminius, the celebrated

deliverer of Germany from the Roman yoke. See Menzel's History,

vol. i., p. 85, etc.]

Set me at the head of an army of fellows like myself, and out of Germany

shall spring a republic compared to which Rome and Sparta will be but as

nunneries. (Rises and flings his sword upon the table.)

SPIEGEL. (jumping up). Bravo! Bravissimo! you are coming to the right

key now. I have something for your ear, Moor, which has long been on my

mind, and you are the very man for it--drink, brother, drink! What if

we turned Jews and brought the kingdom of Jerusalem again on the tapis?

But tell me is it not a clever scheme? We send forth a manifesto to the

four quarters of the world, and summon to Palestine all that do not eat

Swineflesh. Then I prove by incontestable documents that Herod the

Tetrarch was my direct ancestor, and so forth. There will be a victory,

my fine fellow, when they return and are restored to their lands, and

are able to rebuild Jerusalem. Then make a clean sweep of the Turks out

of Asia while the iron is hot, hew cedars in Lebanon, build ships, and

then the whole nation shall chaffer with old clothes and old lace

throughout the world. Meanwhile--

CHARLES VON M. (smiles and takes him by the hand). Comrade! There must

be an end now of our fooleries.

SPIEGEL. (with surprise). Fie! you are not going to play the prodigal

son!--a fellow like you who with his sword has scratched more

hieroglyhics on other men's faces than three quill-drivers could

inscribe in their daybooks in a leap-year! Shall I tell you the story

of the great dog funeral? Ha! I must just bring back your own picture

to your mind; that will kindle fire in your veins, if nothing else has

power to inspire you. Do you remember how the heads of the college

caused your dog's leg to be shot off, and you, by way of revenge,

proclaimed a fast through the whole town? They fumed and fretted at

your edict. But you, without losing time, ordered all the meat to be

bought up in Leipsic, so that in the course of eight hours there was not

a bone left to pick all over the place, and even fish began to rise in

price. The magistrates and the town council vowed vengeance. But we

students turned out lustily, seventeen hundred of us, with you at our

head, and butchers and tailors and haberdashers at our backs, besides

publicans, barbers, and rabble of all sorts, swearing that the town

should be sacked if a single hair of a student's head was injured. And

so the affair went off like the shooting at Hornberg,* and they were

obliged to be off with their tails between their legs.

*[The "shooting at Hornberg" is a proverbial expression in Germany

for any expedition from which, through lack of courage, the parties

retire without firing a shot.]

You sent for doctors--a whole posse of them--and offered three ducats to

any one who would write a prescription for your dog. We were afraid the

gentlemen would stand too much upon honor and refuse, and had already

made up our minds to use force. But this was quite unnecessary; the

doctors got to fisticuffs for the three ducats, and their competition

brought down the price to three groats; in the course of an hour a dozen

prescriptions were written, of which, of course, the poor beast very

soon died.

CHARLES VON M. The vile rascals.

SPIEGEL. The funeral procession was arranged with all due pomp; odes

for the dog were indited by the gross; and at night we all turned out,

near a thousand of us, a lantern in one hand and our rapier in the

other, and so proceeded through the town, the bells chiming and ringing,

till the dog was entombed. Then came a feed which lasted till broad

daylight, when you sent your acknowledgments to the college dons for

their kind sympathy, and ordered the meat to be sold at half-price.

_Mort de ma vie_, if we had not as great a respect for you as a garrison

for the conqueror of a fortress.

CHARLES VON M. And are you not ashamed to boast of these things? Have

you not shame enough in you to blush even at the recollection of such

pranks?

SPIEGEL. Come, come! You are no longer the same Moor. Do you remember

how, a thousand times, bottle in hand, you made game of the miserly old

governor, bidding him by all means rake and scrape together as much as

he could, for that you would swill it all down your throat? Don't you

remember, eh?--don't you remember?' O you good-for-nothing, miserable

braggart! that was speaking like a man, and a gentleman, but--

CHARLES VON M. A curse on you for reminding me of it! A curse on myself

for what I said! But it was done in the fumes of wine, and my heart

knew not what my tongue uttered.

SPIEGEL. (shakes his head). No, no! that cannot be! Impossible,

brother! You are not in earnest! Tell me! most sweet brother, is it

not poverty which has brought you to this mood? Come! let me tell you a

little story of my youthful days. There was a ditch close to my house,

eight feet wide at the least, which we boys were trying to leap over for

a wager. But it was no go. Splash! there you lay sprawling, amidst

hisses and roars of laughter, and a relentless shower of snowballs. By

the side of my house a hunter's dog was lying chained, a savage beast,

which would catch the girls by their petticoats with the quickness of

lightning if they incautiously passed too near him. Now it was my

greatest delight to tease this brute in every possible way; and it was

enough to make one burst with laughing to see the beast fix his eyes on

me with such fierceness that he seemed ready to tear me to pieces if he

could but get at me. Well, what happened? Once, when I was amusing

myself in this manner, I hit him such a bang in the ribs with a stone

that in his fury he broke loose and ran right upon me. I tore away like

lightning, but--devil take it!--that confounded ditch lay right in my

way. What was to be done? The dog was close at my heels and quite

furious; there was no time to deliberate. I took a spring and cleared

the ditch. To that leap I was indebted for life and limb; the beast

would have torn me to atoms.

CHARLES VON M. And to what does all this tend?

SPIEGEL. To this--that you may be taught that strength grows with the

occasion. For which reason I never despair even when things are the

worst. Courage grows with danger. Powers of resistance increase by

pressure. It is evident by the obstacles she strews in my path that

fate must have designed me for a great man.

CHARLES VON M. (angrily). I am not aware of anything for which we still

require courage, and have not already shown it.

SPIEGEL. Indeed! And so you mean to let your gifts go to waste? To

bury your talent? Do you think your paltry achievements at Leipsic

amount to the _ne plus ultra_ of genius? Let us but once get to the

great world--Paris and London! where you get your ears boxed if you

salute a man as honest. It is a real jubilee to practise one's

handicraft there on a grand scale. How you will stare! How you will

open your eyes! to see signatures forged; dice loaded; locks picked,

and strong boxes gutted; all that you shall learn of Spiegelberg! The

rascal deserves to be hanged on the first gallows that would rather

starve than manipulate with his fingers.

CHARLES VON M. (in a fit of absence). How now? I should not wonder if

your proficiency went further still.

SPIEGEL. I begin to think you mistrust me. Only wait till I have grown

warm at it; you shall see wonders; your little brain shall whirl clean

round in your pericranium when my teeming wit is delivered. (He rises

excited.) How it clears up within me! Great thoughts are dawning in on

my soul! Gigantic plans are fermenting in my creative brain. Cursed

lethargy (striking his forehead), which has hitherto enchained my

faculties, cramped and fettered my prospects! I awake; I feel what I

am--and what I am to be!

CHARLES VON M. You are a fool! The wine is swaggering in your brain.

SPIEGEL. (more excited). Spiegelberg, they will say, art thou a

magician, Spiegelberg? 'Tis a pity, the king will say, that thou wert

not made a general, Spiegelberg, thou wouldst have thrust the Austrians

through a buttonhole. Yes, I hear the doctors lamenting, 'tis a crying

shame that he was not bred to medicine, he would have discovered the

_elixir vitae_. Ay, and that he did not take to financiering, the

Sullys will deplore in their cabinets,--he would have turned flints into

louis-d'ors by his magic. And Spiegelberg will be the word from east to

west; then down into the dirt with you, ye cowards, ye reptiles, while

Spiegelberg soars with outspread wings to the temple of everlasting

fame.

CHARLES VON M. A pleasant journey to you! I leave you to climb to the

summit of glory on the pillars of infamy. In the shade of my ancestral

groves, in the arms of my Amelia, a nobler joy awaits me. I have

already, last week, written to my father to implore his forgiveness, and

have not concealed the least circumstance from him; and where there is

sincerity there is compassion and help. Let us take leave of each

other, Moritz. After this day we shall meet no more. The post has

arrived. My father's forgiveness must already be within the walls of

this town.

Enter SCHWEITZER, GRIMM, ROLLER, SCHUFTERLE, and RAZMAN.

ROLLER. Are you aware that they are on our track!

GRIMM. That we are not for a moment safe from being taken?

CHARLES VON M. I don't wonder at it. It must be as it will! Have none

of you seen Schwarz? Did he say anything about having a letter for me?

ROLLER. He has been long in search of you on some such errand, I

suspect.

CHARLES VON M. Where is he? where, where? (is about to rush off in

haste).

ROLLER. Stay! we have appointed him to come here. You tremble?

CHARLES VON M. I do not tremble. Why should I tremble? Comrades, this

letter--rejoice with me! I am the happiest man under the sun; why

should I tremble?

Enter SCHWARZ.

CHARLES VON M. (rushes towards him). Brother, brother! the letter, the

letter!

SCHW. (gives him a letter, which he opens hastily). What's the matter?

You have grown as pale as a whitewashed wall!

CHARLES VON M. My brother's hand!

SCHW. What the deuce is Spiegelberg about there?

GRIMM. The fellow's mad. He jumps about as if he had St. Vitus' dance.

SCHUF. His wits are gone a wool gathering! He's making verses, I'll be

sworn!

RAZ. Spiegelberg! Ho! Spiegelberg! The brute does not hear.

GRIMM. (shakes him). Hallo! fellow! are you dreaming? or--

SPIEGEL. (who has all this time been making gestures in a corner of the

room, as if working out some great project, jumps up wildly). Your

money or your life! (He catches SCHWEITZER by the throat, who very

coolly flings him against the wall; Moor drops the letter and rushes

out. A general sensation.)

ROLLER. (calling after him). Moor! where are you going? What's the

matter?

GRIMM. What ails him? What has he been doing? He is as pale as death.

SCHW. He must have got strange news. Just let us see!

ROLLER. (picks up the letter from the ground, and reads). "Unfortunate

brother!"--a pleasant beginning--"I have only briefly to inform you that

you have nothing more to hope for. You may go, your father directs me

to tell you, wherever your own vicious propensities lead. Nor are you

to entertain, he says, any hope of ever gaining pardon by weeping at his

feet, unless you are prepared to fare upon bread and water in the lowest

dungeon of his castle until your hair shall outgrow eagles' feathers,

and your nails the talons of a vulture. These are his very words. He

commands me to close the letter. Farewell forever! I pity you.

"FRANCIS VON MOOR"

SCHW. A most amiable and loving brother, in good truth! And the

scoundrel's name is Francis.

SPIEGEL. (slinking forward). Bread and water! Is that it? A

temperate diet! But I have made a better provision for you. Did I not

say that I should have to think for you all at last?

SCHWEIT. What does the blockhead say! The jackass is going to think

for us all!

SPIEGEL. Cowards, cripples, lame dogs are ye all if you have not

courage enough to venture upon something great.

ROLLER. Well, of course, so we should be, you are right; but will your

proposed scheme get us out of this devil of a scrape? eh?

SPIEGEL. (with a proud laugh). Poor thing! Get us out of this scrape?

Ha, ha, ha! Get us out of the scrape!--and is that all your thimbleful

of brain can reach? And with that you trot your mare back to the

stable? Spiegelberg would have been a miserable bungler indeed if that

were the extent of his aim. Heroes, I tell you, barons, princes, gods,

it will make of you.

RAZ. That's pretty well for one bout, truly! But no doubt it is some

neck-breaking piece of business; it will cost a head or so at the least.

SPIEGEL. It wants nothing but courage; as to the headwork, I take that

entirely upon myself. Courage, I say, Schweitzer! Courage, Roller!

Grimm! Razman! Schufterle! Courage!

SCHW. Courage! If that is all, I have courage enough to walk through

hell barefoot.

SCHUFT. And I courage enough to fight the very devil himself under the

open gallows for the rescue of any poor sinner.

SPIEGEL. That's just what it should be! If ye have courage, let any

one of you step forward and say he has still something to lose, and not

everything to gain?

SCHW. Verily, I should have a good deal to lose, if I were to lose all

that I have yet to win!

PAZ. Yes, by Jove! and I much to win, if I could win all that I have

not got to lose.

SCHUFT. Were I to lose what I carry on my back on trust I should at any

rate have nothing to lose on the morrow.

SPIEGEL. Very well then! (He takes his place in the middle of them,

and says in solemn adjuration)--if but a drop of the heroic blood of the

ancient Germans still flow in your veins--come! We will fix our abode

in the Bohemian forests, draw together a band of robbers, and--What are

you gaping at? Has your slender stock of courage oozed out already?

ROLLER. You are not the first rogue by many that has defied the

gallows;--and yet what other choice have we?

SPIEGEL. Choice? You have no choice. Do you want to lie rotting in

the debtor's jail and beat hemp till you are bailed by the last trumpet?

Would you toil with pick-axe and spade for a morsel of dry bread? or

earn a pitiful alms by singing doleful ditties under people's windows?

Or will you be sworn at the drumhead--and then comes the question,

whether anybody would trust your hang-dog visages--and so under the

splenetic humor of some despotic sergeant serve your time of purgatory

in advance? Would you like to run the gauntlet to the beat of the drum?

or be doomed to drag after you, like a galley-slave, the whole iron

store of Vulcan? Behold your choice. You have before you the complete

catalogue of all that you may choose from!

ROLLER. Spiegelberg is not altogether wrong! I, too, have been

concocting plans, but they come much to the same thing. How would it

be, thought I, were we to club our wits together, and dish up a

pocketbook, or an almanac, or something of that sort, and write reviews

at a penny a line, as is now the fashion?

SCHUFT. The devil's in you! you are pretty nearly hitting on my own

schemes. I have been thinking to myself how would it answer were I to

turn Methodist, and hold weekly prayer-meetings?

GRIMM. Capital! and, if that fails, turn atheist! We might fall foul of

the four Gospels, get our book burned by the hangman, and then it would

sell at a prodigious rate.

RAZ. Or we might take the field to cure a fashionable ailment. I know

a quack doctor who has built himself a house with nothing but mercury,

as the motto over his door implies.

SCHWEIT. (rises and holds out his hand to Spiegelberg). Spiegelberg,

thou art a great man! or else a blind hog has by chance found an acorn.

SCHW. Excellent schemes! Honorable professions! How great minds

sympathize! All that seems wanting to complete the list is that we

should turn pimps and bawds.

SPIEGEL. Pooh! Pooh! Nonsense. And what is to prevent our combining

most of these occupations in one person? My plan will exalt you the

most, and it holds out glory and immortality into the bargain.

Remember, too, ye sorry varlets, and it is a matter worthy of

consideration: one's fame hereafter--the sweet thought of immortality--

ROLLER. And that at the very head of the muster-roll of honorable

names! You are a master of eloquence, Spiegelberg, when the question is

how to convert an honest man into a scoundrel. But does any one know

what has become of Moor?

SPIEGEL. Honest, say you? Do you think you'll be less honest then than

you are now? What do you call honest? To relieve rich misers of half

of those cares which only scare golden sleep from their eyelids; to

force hoarded coin into circulation; to restore the equalization of

property; in one word, to bring back the golden age; to relieve

Providence of many a burdensome pensioner, and so save it the trouble of

sending war, pestilence, famine, and above all, doctors--that is what I

call honesty, d'ye see; that's what I call being a worthy instrument in

the hand of Providence,--and then, at every meal you eat, to have the

sweet reflection: this is what thy own ingenuity, thy lion boldness, thy

night watchings, have procured for thee--to command the respect both of

great and small!

ROLLER. And at last to mount towards heaven in the living body, and in

spite of wind and storm, in spite of the greedy maw of old father Time,

to be hovering beneath the sun and moon and all the stars of the

firmament, where even the unreasoning birds of heaven, attracted by

noble instinct, chant their seraphic music, and angels with tails hold

their most holy councils? Don't you see? And, while monarchs and

potentates become a prey to moths and worms, to have the honor of

receiving visits from the royal bird of Jove. Moritz, Moritz, Moritz!

beware of the three-legged beast.*

*[The gallows, which in Germany is formed of three posts.]

SPIEGEL. And does that fright thee, craven-heart? Has not many a

universal genius, who might have reformed the world, rotted upon the

gallows? And does not the renown of such a man live for hundreds and

thousands of years, whereas many a king and elector would be passed over

in history, were not historians obliged to give him a niche to complete

the line of succession, or that the mention of him did not swell the

volume a few octavo pages, for which he counts upon hard cash from the

publisher. And when the wayfarer sees you swinging to and fro in the

breeze he will mutter to himself, "That fellow's brains had no water in

them, I'll warrant me," and then groan over the hardship of the times.

SCHWEIT. (slaps him on the shoulder). Well said, Spiegelberg! Well

said! Why the devil do we stand here hesitating?

SCHW. And suppose it is called disgrace--what then? Cannot one, in

case of need, always carry a small powder about one, which quietly

smooths the weary traveller's passage across the Styx, where no

cock-crowing will disturb his rest? No, brother Moritz! Your scheme is

good; so at least says my creed.

SCHUFT. Zounds! and mine too! Spiegelberg, I am your recruit.

RAZ. Like a second Orpheus, Spiegelberg, you have charmed to sleep that

howling beast, conscience! Take me as I stand, I am yours entirely!

GRIMMM. _Si omnes consentiunt ego non dissentio_;* mind, without a

comma. There is an auction going on in my head--methodists--quack

doctors--reviewers--rogues;--the highest bidder has me. Here is my

hand, Moritz!

*[The joke is explained by placing a comma after non.]

ROLLER. And you too, Schweitzer? (he gives his right hand to

SPIEGELBERG). Thus I consign my soul to the devil.

SPIEGEL. And your name to the stars! What does it signify where the

soul goes to? If crowds of _avantcouriers_ give notice of our descent

that the devils may put on their holiday gear, wipe the accumulated soot

of a thousand years from their eyelashes, and myriads of horned heads

pop up from the smoking mouth of their sulphurous chimneys to welcome

our arrival! 'Up, comrades! (leaping up). Up! What in the world is

equal to this ecstacy of delight? Come along, comrades!

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

head, boys!

SPIEGEL. (With bitterness). What is that incubus preaching about? Was

not the head already there before a single limb began to move? Follow

me, comrades!

ROLLER. Gently, I say! even liberty must have its master. Rome and

Sparta perished for want of a chief.

SPIEGEL. (in a wheedling manner). Yes,--stay--Roller is right. And he

must have an enlightened head. Do you understand? A keen, politic

head. Yes! when I think what you were only an hour ago, and what you

are now, and that it is all owing to one happy thought. Yes, of course,

you must have a chief, and you'll own that he who struck out this idea

may claim to have an enlightened and politic head?

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

consent.

SPIEGEL. Why not? Speak out boldly, friend! Difficult as it may be to

steer a laboring vessel against wind and tide, oppressive as may be the

weight of a crown, speak your thought without hesitation, Roller!

Perhaps he may be prevailed upon after all!

ROLLER. And if he does not the whole vessel will be crazy enough.

Without Moor we are a "body without a soul."

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

(Enter CHARLES VON MOOR in violent agitation, stalking backwards

and forwards, and speaking to himself.)

CHARLES VON M. Man--man! false, perfidious crocodile-brood! Your eyes

are all tears, but your hearts steel! Kisses on your lips, but daggers

couched in your bosoms! Even lions and tigers nourish their young.

Ravens feast their brood on carrion, and he--he Malice I have learned to

bear; and I can smile when my fellest enemy drinks to me in my own

heart's blood; but when kindred turn traitors, when a father's love

becomes a fury's hate; oh, then, let manly resignation give place to

raging fire! the gentle lamb become a tiger! and every nerve strain

itself to vengeance and destruction!

ROLLER. Hark ye, Moor! What think ye of it? A robber's life is

pleasanter, after all, than to lie rotting on bread and water in the

lowest dungeon of the castle?

CHARLES VON M. Why was not this spirit implanted in a tiger which gluts

its raging jaws with human flesh? Is this a father's tenderness? Is

this love for love? Would I were a bear to rouse all the bears of the

north against this murderous race! Repentance, and no pardon! Oh, that

I could poison the ocean that men might drink death from every spring!

Contrition, implicit reliance, and no pardon!

ROLLER. But listen, Moor,--listen to what I am telling you!

CHARLES VON M. 'Tis incredible! 'tis a dream--a delusion! Such earnest

entreaty, such a vivid picture of misery and tearful penitence--a savage

beast would have been melted to compassion! stones would have wept, and

yet he--it would be thought a malicious libel upon human nature were I

to proclaim it--and yet, yet--oh, that I could sound the trumpet of

rebellion through all creation, and lead air, and earth, and sea into

battle array against this generation of hyenas!

GRIMM. Hear me, only hear me! You are deaf with raving.

CHARLES VON M. Avaunt, avaunt! Is not thy name man? Art thou not born

of woman? Out of my sight, thou thing with human visage! I loved him

so unutterably!--never son so loved a father; I would have sacrificed a

thousand lives for him (foaming and stamping the ground). Ha! where is

he that will put a sword into my hand that I may strike this generation

of vipers to the quick! Who will teach me how to reach their heart's

core, to crush, to annihilate the whole race? Such a man shall be my

friend, my angel, my god--him will I worship!

ROLLER. Such friends behold in us; be but advised!

SCHW. Come with us into the Bohemian forests! We will form a band of

robbers there, and you (MOOR stares at him).

SCHWEIT. You shall be our captain! you must be our captain!

SPIEGEL. (throws himself into a chair in a rage). Slaves and cowards!

CHARLES VON M. Who inspired thee with that thought? Hark, fellow!

(grasping ROLLER tightly) that human soul of thine did not produce it;

who suggested it to thee? Yes, by the thousand arms of death! that's

what we will, and what we must do! the thought's divine. He who

conceived it deserves to be canonized. Robbers and murderers! As my

soul lives, I am your captain!

ALL (with tumultuous shouts). Hurrah! long live our captain!

SPIEGEL. (starting up, aside). Till I give him his _coup de grace_!

CHARLES VON M. See, it falls like a film from my eyes! What a fool was

I to think of returning to be caged? My soul's athirst for deeds, my

spirit pants for freedom. Murderers, robbers! with these words I

trample the law underfoot--mankind threw off humanity when I appealed to

it. Away, then, with human sympathies and mercy! I no longer have a

father, no longer affections; blood and death shall teach me to forget

that anything was ever dear to me! Come! come! Oh, I will recreate

myself with some most fearful vengeance;--'tis resolved, I am your

captain! and success to him who Shall spread fire and slaughter the

widest and most savagely--I pledge myself He shall be right royally

rewarded. Stand around me, all of you, and swear to me fealty and

obedience unto death! Swear by this trusty right hand.

ALL (place their hands in his). We swear to thee fealty and obedience

unto death!

CHARLES VON M. And, by this same trusty right Hand, I here swear to you

to remain your captain, true and faithful unto death! This arm shall

make an instant corpse of him who doubts, or fears, or retreats. And

may the same befall me from your hands if I betray my oath! Are you

content?

[SPIEGELBERG runs up and down in a furious rage.]

ALL (throwing up their hats). We are content!

CHARLES VON M. Well, then, let us be gone! Fear neither death nor

danger, for an unalterable destiny rules over us. Every man has his

doom, be it to die on the soft pillow of down, or in the field of blood,

or on the scaffold, or the wheel! One or the other of these must be our

lot! [Exeunt.]

SPIEGEL. (looking after them after a pause). Your catalogue has a hole

in it. You have omitted poison.

[Exit.]

SCENE III.--MOOR'S Castle.--AMELIA'S Chamber.

FRANCIS, AMELIA.

FRANCIS. Your face is averted from me, Amelia? Am I less worthy than

he who is accursed of his father?

AMELIA. Away! Oh! what a loving, compassionate father, who abandons

his son a prey to wolves and monsters! In his own comfortable home he

pampers himself with delicious wines and stretches his palsied limbs on

down, while his noble son is starving. Shame upon you, inhuman

wretches! Shame upon you, ye souls of dragons, ye blots on humanity!--

his only son!

FRANCIS. I thought he had two.

AMELIA. Yes, he deserves to have such sons as you are. On his deathbed

he will in vain stretch out his withered hands for his Charles, and

recoil with a shudder when he feels the ice-cold hand of his Francis.

Oh, it is sweet, deliciously sweet, to be cursed by such a father! Tell

me, Francis, dear brotherly soul--tell me what must one do to be cursed

by him?

FRANCIS. You are raving, dearest; you are to be pitied.

AMELIA. Oh! indeed. Do you pity your brother? No, monster, you hate

him! I hope you hate me too.

FRANCIS. I love you as dearly as I love myself, Amelia!

AMELIA. If you love me you will not refuse me one little request.

FRANCIS. None, none! if you ask no more than my life.

AMELIA. Oh, if that is the case! then one request, which you will so

easily, so readily grant. (Loftily.) Hate me! I should perforce blush

crimson if, whilst thinking of Charles, it should for a moment enter my

mind that you do not hate me. You promise me this? Now go, and leave

me; I so love to be alone!

FRANCIS. Lovely enthusiast! how greatly I admire your gentle,

affectionate heart. Here, here, Charles reigned sole monarch, like a

god within his temple; he stood before thee waking, he filled your

imaination dreaming; the whole creation seemed to thee to centre in

Charles, and to reflect him alone; it gave thee no other echo but of

him.

AMELIA (with emotion). Yes, verily, I own it. Despite of you all,

barbarians as you are, I will own it before all the world. I love him!

FRANCIS. Inhuman, cruel! So to requite a love like this! To forget

her--

AMELIA (starting). What! forget me?

FRANCIS. Did you not place a ring on his finger?--a diamond ring, the

pledge of your love? To be sure how is it possible 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 course she repaid him with

interest by her caresses and embraces.

AMELIA (with indignation). My ring to a wanton?

FRANCIS. 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 exchanged it for one more beautiful.

AMELIA (with violence). But my ring, I say, my ring?

FRANCIS. 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?

FRANCIS. Hush, hush, gentle soul, press me no further (as if

soliloquizing, yet aloud). 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, deathlike look; ghastly protruding bones; the

faltering, hollow voice; preaching audibly from the shattered, shaking

skeleton; piercing to the most vital marrow of the bones, and sapping

the manly strength of youth--faugh! the idea sickens 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 she passed him; you cried woe upon him.

Recall that hideous image to your mind, and your Charles stands before

you. His kisses are pestilence, his lips poison.

AMELIA (strikes him). Shameless 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 his throat!

The very exhalations 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 battle-field. (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 character, if with chastity

virtue too should take her flight as the 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 recognize 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? (FRANCIS remains standing for some time, lost in thought,

then suddenly turns round to go away.) Whither are you going in such

haste? Are you flying from your own infamy?

FRANCIS (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 I will 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!

FRANCIS. Oh, Amelia! how I love you for this unshaken constancy to my

brother. Forgive me for venturing to subject your love to so severe a

trial! How nobly you have realized my wishes! By those tears, those

sighs, that divine indignation--and for me too, for me--our souls did so

truly harmonize.

AMELIA. Oh, no! that they never did!

FRANCIS. Alas! they harmonized so truly that I always thought we must

be twins. And were it not for that unfortunate difference in person, to

be twin-like, which, it must be admitted, would be to the disadvantage

of Charles, we should again and again be mistaken for each other. Thou

art, I often said to myself, thou art the very Charles, his 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

favorite flower, and what flower do I esteem above the rose? He loved

music beyond expression; and ye are witnesses, ye stars! how often you

have listened to me playing on the harpsichord in the dead silence of

night, when all around lay buried in darkness and slumber; and how is it

possible for you, Amelia, still to doubt? if our love meets in one

perfection, and if it is the self-same love, how can its fruits

degenerate? (AMELIA looks at him with astonishment.) It was a calm,

serene evening, the last before his departure for Leipzic, when he took

me with him to the bower where you 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; I know

not, but I have a sad presentiment that it is forever; forsake her not,

brother; be her friend, her Charles--if Charles--should never--never

return." (He throws himself down before her, and kisses her hand with

fervor.) Never, never, never will he return; and I stand pledged by a

sacred oath to fulfil his behest!

AMELIA (starting back). Traitor! Now thou art unmasked! In that very

bower he conjured me, if he died, to admit no other love. Dost thou see

how impious, how execrable----. Quit my sight!

FRANCIS. You know me not, Amelia; you do not know me in the least!

AMELIA. Oh, yes, I know you; from henceforth I know you; and you

pretend to be like him? You mean to say that he wept for me in your

presence? Yours? He would sooner have inscribed my name on the

pillory? Begone--this instant!

FRANCIS. You insult me.

AMELIA. Go--I say. You have robbed me of a precious hour; may it be

deducted from your life.

FRANCIS. You hate me then!

AMELIA. I despise you--away!

FRANCIS (stamping with fury). Only wait! you shall learn to tremble

before me!--To sacrifice me for a beggar!

[Exit in anger.]

AMELIA. Go, thou base villain! Now, Charles, am I again thine own.

Beggar, did he say! then is the world turned upside down, beggars are

kings, and kings are beggars! I would not change the rags he wears for

the imperial purple. The look with which he begs must, indeed, be a

noble, a royal look, a look that withers into naught 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 burden 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.--FRANCIS VON MOOR in his chamber--in meditation.

FRANCIS. It lasts too long-and the doctor even says is recovering--an

old man's life is a very 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 mechanical system?

Is my soaring spirit to be chained down 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 the world would say. I should not wish him to be

killed, but merely disposed of. I should like to do what your clever

physician 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 life? 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 movements of the bodily machine. Convulsive sensations

are always accompanied by a disturbance of the mechanical vibrations--

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 original device!--who can

accomplish 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 not one

try one's skill in this line?*

*[A woman in Paris, by means of a regularly performed series of

experiments, carried the art of poisoning to such perfection that

she could predict almost to a certainty the day of death, however

remote. Fie upon our physicians, 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.--See "History of Inventions," Standard

Library Edition, vol. i, pp. 47-63.]

And how, then, must I, too, go to work to dissever that sweet and

peaceful union of soul and body? What species of sensations should I

seek to produce? Which would most fiercely assail the condition of

life? Anger?--that ravenous wolf is too quickly satiated. Care? that

worm gnaws far too slowly. Grief?--that viper creeps too lazily for me.

Fear?--hope destroys its power. What! and are these the only

executioners of man? is the armory 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? 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 forever destroying,

and forever reproducing your poison! And thou, howling Remorse, that

desolatest thine 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 mirror 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! (Enter HERMANN.) Ha! _Deus ex machina_!

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, Hermann!--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 father 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 condition, so ill suited to thy spirit

and noble birth, to be a light of 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 of her?

FRANCIS. 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 proceeds.

HERMANN. By all the devils in hell, I'll 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

gnash 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

earth 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--you shall have Amelia.

HERMANN. That I must; despite the devil himself, I will have her.

FRANCIS. You shall have her, I tell you; and that from my hand. Come

closer, I say.--You don't know, perhaps, that Charles is as good as

disinherited.

HERMANN (going closer to him). Incredible! The first I have heard of

it.

FRANCIS. Be patient, and listen! Another time you shall 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 (with a smile) is not entirely 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

finds him--then it's all over with you, Hermann. You may perhaps have

the honor of most obsequiously holding the coach-door while he alights

with the lady to get married.

HERMANN. I'll strangle him at the altar first.

FRANCIS. 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.

HERMANN (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!

FRANCIS. Will you be able to prevent it? You, too, my good Hermann,

will 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 lovesuit, your prospects, and your mighty plans amount to.

HERMANN. Tell me, what am I to do?

FRANCIS. Well, then, listen, Hermann! You see how I enter into your

feelings, like a true friend. Go--disguise yourself, so that no one may

recognize you; obtain audience of the old man; pretend to come straight

from Bohemia, to have been at the battle of Prague along with my

brother--to have seen him breathe his last on the field of battle!

HERMANN. Will he believe me?

FRANCIS. Ho! ho! let that be 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 wall.--The denouement of this tragicomedy you may leave to

me!

HERMANN. That, I suppose, will be, "Long live our new baron, Francis

von Moor!"

FRANCIS (patting his cheeks). How cunning you are! By this means, you

see, we attain all our aims at once and quickly. Amelia relinquishes

all hope of him,--the old man reproaches himself for the death of his

son, and--he sickens--a tottering edifice needs no earthquake to bring

it down--he will not survive the intelligence--then am I his only son,

--Amelia loses every support, and becomes the plaything of my will, and

you may easily guess--in short, all will go as we wish--but you must not

flinch from your word.

HERMANN. What do you say? (Exultingly.) Sooner shall the ball turn

back in its course, and bury itself in the entrails of the marksman.

Depend upon me! Only let me to the work. Adieu!

FRANCIS (calling after him). The harvest is thine, dear Hermann!

(Alone.) When the ox has drawn the corn into the barn, he must put up

with hay. A dairy maid for thee, and no Amelia!

SCENE II.--Old Moor's Bedchamber.

OLD MOOR asleep in an arm-chair; AMELIA.

AMELIA (approaching him on tip-toe). Softly! Softly! He slumbers.

(She places herself before him.) How beautiful! how venerable!--

venerable as the picture of a saint. No, I cannot be angry with thee,

thou head with the silver locks; I 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 (awakens him abruptly). Look up, dear old man! 'Twas but a

dream. Collect yourself!

OLD M. (half awake). Was he not there? Did I not press his hands?

Cruel Francis! wilt thou tear him even from my dreams?

AMELIA (aside). Ha! mark that, Amelia!

OLD M. (rousing himself). Where is he? Where? Where am I? You here,

Amelia?

AMELIA. 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 lips.

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 death-like 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 gentleness is now indignation; that

smile despair. It was his birthday, was it not, Amelia--in the

jessamine bower--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 (pointing to her head and her

heart), here he is perfect; and how different. The feeble pencil avails

not to express that heavenly 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 been 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 Charles is not

here--I am borne to my tomb, and he weeps 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 resurrection sounds--(rising in ecstasy)

--and thenceforth and forever in his arms! (A pause; she goes to the

piano and plays.)

ANDROMACHE.

Oh, Hector, wilt thou go for evermore,

When fierce Achilles, on the blood-stained shore,

Heaps countless victims o'er Patroclus' grave?

When then thy hapless orphan boy will rear,

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 is the parting of Hector and Andromache. Charles and I used

often to sing it together to the guitar. (She continues.)

HECTOR.

Beloved wife! stern 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 with joy!

Enter DANIEL.

DANIEL. There is a man without, who craves to be admitted to your

presence, and says he brings tidings of importance.

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.

AMELIA.--If it is a beggar, let him come up quickly.

OLD M. Amelia, Amelia! spare me!

AMELIA (continues to play and sing.)

ANDROMACHE.

Thy martial tread no more will grace my hall--

Thine arms shall hang sad relics on the wall--

And Priam's race of godlike heroes fade!

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.

HECTOR.

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 armor--and, oh, weep no more.

Thy Hector's love in Lethe dieth not!

(Enter FRANCIS, HERMANN in disguise, DANIEL.)

FRANCIS. Here is the man. He says that he brings terrible 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!

HERMANN (in 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?

HERMANN. 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?

HERMANN. 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, barefoot 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 Bohemia. Permit me,

said he to the great Schwerin, to die on the bed of heroes, for I have

no longer a father!--

OLD M. O! Amelia! Look not on me!

HERMANN. They gave him a pair of colors. 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.

OLD 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 colors with his left, and still

he kept his ground!

AMELIA (in transport). Hector, Hector! do you hear? He kept his

ground!

HERMANN. On the evening of the battle I found him on the same spot. He

had sunk down, amidst a shower of hissing balls: with his left hand he

was staunching 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, "deliver 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 I 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 him

into death! He fell in despair!

FRANCIS (pacing up and down the room). Oh! what have 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 picture? For me--

Charles--Amelia? For me?

AMELIA (rushing violently upon HERMANN). Thou venal, bribed impostor!

(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, indeed.

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 impostor. It is too

true--true--he is dead--dead! (staggering 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 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 in his flight to unite Francis and

Amelia.

AMELIA. Gracious heaven! it is his own hand. He never loved me.

[Rushes off]

FRANCIS (stamping the ground). Confusion! her stubborn heart foils all

my cunning!

OLD MOOR. Woe, woe! forsake me not, my daughter! Francis, Francis!

give me back my son!

FRANCIS. 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 clenched 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! (He rages against himself.)

FRANCIS. He is gone. What avail these tardy lamentations? (with a

satanic sneer.) It is easier to murder than to restore to life. You

will never bring him back from his grave.

OLD Moon. Never, never, never bring him back from the grave! Gone!

lost for ever! 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 FRANCIS by the throat, who flings

him back.)

FRANCIS. Feeble old dotard I would you dare? Die! despair!

[Exit.]

OLD MOOR. May the thunder of a thousand curses light upon thee! thou

hast robbed me of my son. (Throwing himself 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. Oh, misery! will no one support this

head, no one release this struggling soul? No son, no daughter, no

friend, not one human being--will no one? Alone--forsaken. Woe, woe!

To despair, yet not to die!

Enter AMELIA, her eyes red with weeping.

OLD MOOR. Amelia! messenger of heaven! Art thou come to release my

soul?

AMELIA (in a gentle tone). You have lost a noble son.

OLD MOOR. Murdered him, you mean. With the weight of this impeachment

I shall present myself before the judgment-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 MOOR. 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!

AMELIA. Oh, his smiles will chase away the bitter remembrance 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 MOOR. Heavenly consolation flows from your lips! He will smile

upon me, you say? He will forgive me? You must stay with my 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 decayed!--that my hairs were gray!

Woe upon the vigor of youth! Welcome, decrepid age, nearer to heaven

and my Charles!

Enter FRANCIS.

OLD MOOR. Come near, my son! Forgive me if I spoke too harshly to you

just now! I forgive you all. I wish to yield up my spirit in peace.

FRANCIS. Have you done weeping for your son? For aught that I see you

had but one.

OLD MOOR. Jacob had twelve sons, but for his Joseph he wept tears of

blood.

FRANCIS. Hum!

OLD MOOR. 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? (Takes the Bible and turns over

the leaves.)

OLD MOOR. Read 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 forever.

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

colors, 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 FRANCIS

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 MOOR (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 MOOR. Leave off! leave off. I feel very ill.

AMELIA (running towards him, lets fall the book). Heaven help us! What

is this?

OLD MOOR. 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 MOOR. Fled--fled from his father's deathbed? And is that all--all

--of two children full of promise--thou hast given--thou hast--taken

away--thy name be--

AMELIA (with a sudden cry). Dead! both dead!

[Exit in despair.]

Enter FRANCIS, 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 will for once

change their names! Excellent, welcome sleep! We will call thee death!

(He closes the eyes of OLD MOOR.) 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

overgentle 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 lower 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. I will drive the rowels of the spur into

their flesh, and give the scourge 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 audacious front

of health. Haggard want and crouching fear are my insignia; and in this

livery I will clothe ye.

[Exit.]

SCENE III.--THE BOHEMIAN WOODS.

SPIEGELBERG, RAZMAN, A Troop Of ROBBERS.

RAZ. Are you come? Is it really you? Oh, let me squeeze 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? Eli? 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 there are eight-and-seventy of us, mostly ruined shopkeepers,

rejected masters of arts, and law-clerks from the Swabian provinces.

They are a rare set of fellows, brother, capital fellows, I promise you;

they will steal you the very buttons off each other's trousers in

perfect security, although in the teeth of a loaded musket,* and they

live in clover and enjoy a reputation for forty miles round, which is

quite astonishing.

*[The acting edition reads, "Hang your hat up in the sun, and I'll

take you a wager it's gone the next minute, as clean out of sight

as if the devil himself had walked off with it."]

There is not a newspaper in which you will not find some little feat or

other of that cunning fellow, Spiegelberg; 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 Spiegelberg. Fire and 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.

RAZ. (laughing). You are still the same fellow you always were.

SPIEGEL. 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 sunset; and as I had not fired a single

cartridge all day,--you know I hate the _diem perdidi_ as I hate death

itself,--I was determined to immortalize the night by some glorious

exploit, even 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. We go

on from cell to cell, take away the clothes of one sister after another,

and lastly those of the lady-abbess herself. Then I sound my whistle,

and my fellows outside begin 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; and we, in the meantime, at

'em like very devils; and now, terrified and amazed, they wriggled under

their bedclothes, 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 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

I, out with your plate and your 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 will tell its own story in due time.

RAZ. (stamping on the ground). Hang it, that I should be absent on

such an occasion.

SPIEGEL. Do you see? Now 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 with

some magnetic property, which attracts all the vagabonds on the face of

the earth towards me like steel and iron.

RAZ. 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 willow stump, but to make a rogue you must

have brains; besides which it requires a national genius--a certain

rascal-climate--so to speak.*

*[In the first (and suppressed) edition was added, "Go to the

Grisons, for instance; that is what I call the thief's Athens."

This obnoxious passage has been carefully expunged from all the

subsequent editions. It gave mortal offence to the Grison

magistrates, who made a formal complaint of the insult and caused

Schiller to be severely rebuked by the Grand Duke. This incident

forms one of the epochs in our author's history.]

RAZ. Brother, I have heard Italy celebrated for its artists.

SPIEGEL. Yes, yes! 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 pineapple, not even in Paradise. But to pursue our subject,

where did I leave off?

RAZ. 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 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 near, and

mark who finds 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 "pardon 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, you 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

brotherhood with him, and, _nota 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. Believe

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 whore to a devotee. But hark! What bang was that?

RAZ. It was thunder; go on.

SPIEGEL. Or, there is a yet shorter and still 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 lieutenant 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--

will--" "What will you? Will you at once cut your stick and go to the

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, Razman; ha! ha! ha!

RAZ. Yes, yes, I must confess. I shall inscribe 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? Eli? And if I help him to half a score of

fellows he will, of course, let me off scot-free--publishers, you know,

always give one copy in ten gratis to those who collect subscribers for

them; why should the devil be more of a Jew? Razman, I smell powder.

RAZ. Zounds! I smelt it long ago. You may depend upon it there has

being 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.

SPIEGEL. But look at mine! at mine here, bah!

RAZ. Well, well! they may be tolerably expert in the finger

department, but, I tell you, the fame of our captain has tempted even

some honorable 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 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 to a game of backgammon. "How many of us are

there?" said he to me, rising in haste. I 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 untouched, 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 coachman,

who would not halt, was soon toppled from his box; the count fired out

of the carriage and missed--the horseman 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

dagger 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." 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 his knowing it. You understand me?

RAZ. Yes, yes, I understand!

SPIEGEL. You know the man! He has his own notions! You understand me?

RAZ. Oh, I quite understand.

(Enter SCHWARZ at full speed).

Who's there? What is the matter? Any travellers in the forest?

SCHWARZ. Quick, quick! Where are the others? Zounds! there you stand

gossiping! Don't you know--do you know nothing of it?--that poor

Roller--

PAZ. What of him? What of him?

SCHWARZ. He's hanged, that's all, and four others with him--

RAz. Roller hanged? S'death! when? How do you know?

SCHWARZ. He has been in limbo more than three weeks, and we knew

nothing of it. He was brought up for examination three several days,

and still we heard nothing. They put him to the rack to make him tell

where the captain was to be found--but the brave fellow would not slip.

Yesterday he got his sentence, and this morning was dispatched express

to the devil!

RAZ. Confound it! Does the captain know?

SCHWARZ. He heard of it only yesterday. He foamed like a wild boar.

You know that Roller was always an especial favorite; and then the rack!

Ropes and scaling-ladders were conveyed to the prison, but in vain.

Moor himself got access to him disguised as a Capuchin monk, and

proposed to change clothes with him; but Roller absolutely refused;

whereupon the captain swore an oath that made our very flesh creep. He

vowed that he would light a funeral pile for him, such as had never yet

graced the bier of royalty, one that should burn them all to cinders. I

fear for the city. He has long owed it a grudge for its intolerable

bigotry; and you know, when he says, "I'll do it," the thing is as good

as done.

RAZ. That is true! I know the captain. If he had pledged his word to

the devil to go to hell he never would pray again, though half a

pater-noster would take him to heaven. Alas! poor Roller!--poor Roller!

SPIEGEL. _Memento mori_! But it does not concern me. (Hums a tune).

Should I happen to pass the gallows stone,

I shall just take a sight with one eye,

And think to myself, you may dangle alone,

Who now, sir, 's the fool, you or I?

RAZ. (Jumping up). Hark! a shot! (Firing and noise is heard behind the

scenes).

SPIEGEL. Another!

RAZ. And another! The captain!

(Voices behind the scenes are heard singing).

The Nurnbergers deem it the wisest plan,

Never to hang till they've caught their man.

_Da capo_.

SCHWEITZER and ROLLER (behind the scenes). Holla, ho! Holla, ho!

RAZ. Roller! by all the devils! Roller!

SCHWEITZER and ROLLER (still behind the scenes).

Razman! Schwarz! Spiegelberg! Razman!

RAZ. Roller! Schweitzer! Thunder and lightning!

Fire and fury! (They run towards him.)

Enter CHARLES VON MOOR (on horseback), SCHWEITZER, ROLLER, GRIMM,

SCHUFTERLE, 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?

SCHWARZ. 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 thought 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

amid 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 worth a pinch

of snuff. To the captain I am indebted for breath, and liberty, and

life.

SCHWEITZER. 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 suddenly 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 honored

royalty; one which shall burn them black and blue. The whole troop was

summoned. We sent Roller a trusty messenger, who conveyed the notice to

him in a little billet, which he slipped into his porridge.

ROLLER. I had but small hope of success.

SCHWEITZER. We waited till the thoroughfares were clear. The whole

town was out after the sight; equestrians, pedestrians, 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; they set

fire to the city in three-and-thirty places at once; threw burning

firebrands on the powder-magazine, and into the churches and granaries.

Morbleu! in less than a quarter of an hour a northeaster, 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. And presently the powder-magazine blew up into the air with a

crash as if the earth were rent in twain, heaven burst to shivers, and

hell sunk ten thousand fathoms deeper.

ROLLER. Now my guards looked behind them--there lay the city, like

Sodom and Gomorrah--the whole horizon 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 Lot'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 swim along

under water till I think they have lost sight of me. My captain stood

ready, with horses and clothes--and here I am. Moor! Moor! I only

wish that you may soon get into just such another scrape that I may

requite you in like manner.

RAZ. A brutal wish, for which you deserve to be hanged. It 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 noonday sun--and the hangman's rapscallions 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 carcass 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 explosion as if the vault of heaven were rent

in twain. Hark ye, 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!

ROLLER (flings away his glass). 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, Razman? That was the reason the air stunk so, for miles round,

of brimstone, as if the whole wardrobe 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 by a baited hog, why the devil should we scruple to sacrifice the

city for the rescue of our comrade? And, by the way, our fellows had

the extra treat of being able to plunder worse than the old emperor.

Tell me, what have you sacked?

ONE OF THE TROOP. I crept into St. Stephen's church during the hubbub,

and tore the gold lace from the altarcloth. 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 despises 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 dozen 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). Roller, thou art dearly bought.

SCHUF. 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 their legs had gone forth in 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 I chanced to pass by a cottage I heard a great squalling

inside. I looked in; and, when I came to examine, what do you think it

was? Why, an infant--a plump and ruddy urchin--lying on the floor under

a table which was just beginning to burn. Poor little wretch! said I,

you will be cold there, and with that I threw it into the flames!

CHARLES. Indeed, Schufterle? Then may those flames burn 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.]

CHARLES (alone, walking up and down in great agitation). Hear them not,

thou avenger in heaven! How can I avert it? Art thou to blame, great

God, if thy engines, pestilence, 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 disgraced 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 ROBBER hurriedly.

ROBBER. Look out, captain! There is mischief in the wind! Whole

detachments of Bohemian cavalry are scouring the forests. That infernal

bailiff must have betrayed us.

Enter more ROBBERS.

2D ROBBER. Captain! captain! they have tracked us! Some thousands of

them are forming a cordon round the middle forest.

Enter more ROBBERS again.

3D ROBBER. Woe, woe, woe! we are all taken, hanged drawn, and

quartered. Thousands of hussars, dragoons, and chasseurs are mustering

on the heights, and guard all the passes.

[Exit CHARLES VON MOOR.]

Enter SCHWEITZER, GRIMM, ROLLER, SCHWARZ, SCHUFTERLE,

SPIEGELBERG, RAZMAN, and the whole troop.

SCHWEITZER. Ha! Have we routed them out of their feather-beds at last?

Come, be jolly, Roller! I have long wished to have a bout with those

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 lives for tenpence; and are we not fighting for our necks?

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!

With defenceless nuns you are a mighty man; but at sight of a pair of

fists a confirmed sneak! Now show 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 fight like wounded boars, or we are utterly lost!

SCHWEITZER. Ha! I'll rip them open with my tusks, till their entrails

protrude by the yard! Lead on, captain! we will follow you into the

very jaws of death.

CHARLES. Charge all your arms! You've plenty of powder, I hope?

SCHWEITZER (with energy). Powder? ay, enough to blow the earth up to

the moon.

RAZ. 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--

SCHWEITZER. 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 formidable. 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, Roller, 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

(SCHUFTERLE 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 have the benefit of his disgrace; 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 his courage warm.

CHARLES. Silence, comrade! Will you tell us briefly, good father, what

is your errand here?

FATHER Dom. I am delegated by the high justices, on whose sentence

hangs life or death--ye thieves--ye incendiaries--ye villains--ye

venomous generation of vipers, crawling about in the dark, and stinging

in secret--ye refuse of humanity--brood of hell--food for ravens and

worms--colonists for the gallows and the wheel--

SCHWEITZER. Dog! a truce with your foul tongue! or ------

(He holds the butt-end of his gun before FATHER DOMINIC'S face.)

CHARLES. Fie, fie, Schweitzer! You cut the thread of his discourse.

He has got his sermon so nicely by heart. Pray go on, Sir! "for the

gallows and the wheel?"

FATHER Dom. And thou, their precious captain!--commander-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 cries of bereaved mothers pursue thy footsteps! Thou drinkest

blood like water! and thy murderous knife holds men cheaper than

air-bubbles!

CHARLES. Very true--exceedingly true! Pray proceed, Sir!

FATHER DOM. What do you mean? Very true--exceedingly true! Is that an

answer?

CHARLES. How, Sir? You were not prepared for that, it seems? Go on--

by all means go on. What more were you going to say?

FATHER DOM. (heated). Abominable wretch! Avaunt! 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 Christians? (Clasps his

hands). Horrible, horrible wickedness! that stinketh in the nostrils of

Heaven, and provoketh the day of judgment to burst upon you suddenly!

ripe for retribution--rushing headlong to the last trump!

CHARLES. Masterly guesses thus far! But now, sir, to the point! 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

horsemen--there 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 shows

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 eye upon your horrible crimes, and be satisfied--only

think!--to let you be broken on the wheel.

SCHWEITZER. Did you hear that, captain? Shall I throttle this

well-trained shepherd's cur till the red blood spurts from every pore?

ROLLER. 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! Let 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

artillery; while yonder stand seventeen hundred men grown gray 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. Dominic, flung firebrands into your bigoted city, and

brought down the powder-magazine upon the heads of devout Christians. But

that is not all,--I have done more. (He holds out his 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 and see. This ruby 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 dregs, to be the first favorite;--the

ruin of his neighbor was his ladder to greatness--orphans' tears helped

him to mount it. This diamond I took from a lord treasurer, who sold

offices of honor and trust to the highest bidder, and drove the sorrowing

patriot from his door. This opal I wear in honor of a priest of your

cloth, whom I dispatched with my own hand, after he had publicly deplored

in his pulpit the waning power of the Inquisition. I could tell you more

stories about my rings, but that I repent the words I have already wasted

upon you--

FATHER DOM. O 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 hundred

eyes of Argus to spy out the faults of his brother--can he be so totally

blind to his own? They thunder 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 neighbor,

while they drive the aged and blind with 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 of them would betray the whole Trinity for ten

shekels. Out upon you, Pharisees! ye falsifiers of truth! ye apes of

Deity! 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 wroth with Him that made you, 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!

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 scaling-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 retribution--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

honorable employment shall be open to you all. (With a triumphant

smile.) 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? What 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 honor

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 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? (Aloud.) 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?

CHARLES. Only see! only see! What more can you require? 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 sincerely. 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--exuberances 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 possible 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 yourselves that you will fall like heroes, because you saw that

I rejoiced in the prospect of the fight? Oh, do not console yourself

with the thought! You are not MOOR. You are miserable thieves!

wretched tools of my great designs! despicable 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 sacrifice!

FATHER DOM. (in utter amazement). I shall go mad! I must be gone!

Was the like ever heard of?

CHARLES. Or are you afraid that I shall stab myself, and so 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

pistols, and this phial of poison, which might have been a treasure to

me. I am so wretched that I have lost the power even over my own 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 bind my right hand

to this oak-branch; now I am quite defenceless, a child may overpower

me. Who is the first to desert his captain in the hour of need?

ROLLER (with wild energy). And what though hell encircle us with

ninefold coils! (Brandishing his sword.) Who is the coward that will

betray his captain?

SCHWEITZER (tears the pardon and flings the pieces into FATHER 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 noble

captain!

CHARLES (releasing his hand from the tree, joyfully). Now we are free,

comrades! I feel a host in this single arm! Death or liberty! At the

least they shall not take a man of us alive!

[They sound the signal for attack; noise and tumult.

Exeunt with drawn swords.]

ACT III.

SCENE I.--AMELIA in the garden, playing the guitar.

Bright as an angel from Walhalla's hall,

More beautiful than aught of earth was he!

Heaven-mild his look, as sunbeams when they fall,

Reflected from a calm cerulean sea.

His warm embrace--oh, ravishing delight!

With heart to heart the fiery pulses danced--

Our every sense wrap'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!

They rushed, commingled, melted, soul in soul!

Lips glued to lips, with burning tremor bound!

Cold earth dissolved, and love without control

Absorbed all sense of worldly things around!

He's gone!--forever 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 FRANCIS.

FRANCIS. 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! Shame on

them! The funeral knell that tolled over your father's grave must still

be ringing in your ears--

FRANCIS. Wilt thou sorrow, then, forever? Let the dead sleep in peace,

and do thou make the living happy! I come--

AMELIA. And when do you go again?

FRANCIS. Alas! Look not on me thus sorrowfully! 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.

FRANCIS. 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?

FRANCIS. 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 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 murdered my beloved Charles;

and shall Amelia, his betrothed, call thee husband? Thou?

FRANCIS. Be not so 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 lovesick swain of Arcadia, to sigh forth his

amorous plaints to the echo of caves and rocks. Francis speaks--and,

when not answered, commands!

AMELIA. Commands? thou reptile! Command me? And what if I laughed

your command to scorn?

FRANCIS. 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 forever secure 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. Francis shall be

the dread phantom ever lurking behind the image of your beloved, like

the fiend-dog that guards the subterranean treasure. I will drag you to

church by the hair, and sword in hand wring the nuptial vow from your

soul. By main force will I ascend your virginal couch, and storm your

haughty modesty with still greater haughtiness.

AMELIA (gives him a slap in the face). Then take that first by way of

dowry!

FRANCIS. Ha! I will be tenfold, and twice tenfold revenged for this!

My wife! No, that honor 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 triumph, and your

struggles give zest to my embraces. Come, come 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 cloister, did he say? I thank

thee for the happy thought! Now has disappointed love found a place of

refuge--the cloister--the Redeemer's bosom is the sanctuary of

disappointed love. (She is on the point going).

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In the acting edition the following scene occurs between Herman 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.

SCENE VIII.

Enter HERMANN.

FRANCIS. Ha! Welcome, my Euryalus! My prompt and trusty instrument!

HERMANN (abruptly and peevishly). You sent for me, count--why?

FRANCIS. That you might put the seal to your master-piece.

HERMANN (gruffly). Indeed?

FRANCIS. Give the picture its finishing touch.

HERMANN. Poh! Poh!

FRANCIS (startled). Shall I call the carriage? We'll arrange the

business during the drive?

HERMANN (scornfully). No ceremony, sir, if you please. For any

business we may have to arrange there is room enough between these four

walls. At all events I'll just say a few words to you by way of

preface, which may save your lungs some unnecessary exertion.

FRANCIS (reservedly). Hum! And what may those words be?

HERMANN (with bitter irony). "You shall have Amelia--and that from my

hand--"

FRANCIS (with astonishment). Hermann!

HERMANN (as before, with his back turned on FRANCIS). "Amelia will

become the plaything of my will--and you may easily guess the rest-in

short all will go as we wish" (Breaks into an indignant laugh, and then

turns haughtily to FRANCIS.) Now, Count von Moor, what have you to say

to me?

FRANCIS (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 about 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 I have still 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 displeasure, 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! 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

discretion--to keep faith with you would be an utter want of sense.

Faith? with whom? Faith with the prince of liars? Oh, I shudder at the

thought of such faith. A very little timely faithlessness would have

almost made a saint of me. But patience! patience! Revenge is cunning

in resources.

FRANCIS. Ah, by-the-by, I just remember. You lately lost a purse with

a hundred louis in it, in this apartment. I had almost forgotten it.

Here, my good friend! take back what belongs to you. (Offers him a

purse).

HERMANN (throws it scornfully at his feet). A curse on your Judas

bribe! It is the earnest-money of hell. You once before thought to

make my poverty a pander to my conscience--but you were mistaken, count!

egregiously mistaken. That purse of gold came most opportunely--to

maintain certain persons.

FRANCIS (terrified). Hermann! Hermann! Let me not suspect certain

things of you. Should you have done anything contrary to my

instructions--you would be the vilest of traitors!

HERMANN (exultingly). Should I? Should I really? Well then count,

let me give you a little piece of information! (Significantly.) I will

fatten up your infamy, and add fuel to your doom. The book of your

misdeeds shall one day be served up as a banquet, and all the world be

invited to partake of it. (Contemptuously.) Do you understand me now,

my most sovereign, gracious, and excellent master?

FRANCIS (starts up, losing all command of himself). Ha! Devil!

Deceitful impostor! (Striking his forehead.) To think that I should

stake my fortune on the caprice of an idiot! That was madness! (Throws

himself, in great excitement, on a couch.)

HERMANN (whistles through his fingers). Wheugh! the biter 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!--

HERMANN. Gently! Gently! Are angels, then, superseded, that devils

turn moralists?

FRANCIS (starts up abruptly; to HERMANN with a malignant laugh). And

certain persons will no doubt acquire much honor by making the

discovery?

HERMANN (clapping his hands). Masterly! Inimitable! You play your

part to admiration! First you lure the credulous fool into the slough,

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 off the devil manoeuvre. But, count (clapping him on the shoulder)

you have not yet got your lesson quite perfect--by Heavens! You 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 quickly from his pocket, and presents it at

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

confusion). Only keep my council till--till I have collected my

thoughts.

HERMANN. I suppose till you have hired a dozen assassins to silence my

tongue forever! Is it not so! But (in his ear) the secret is committed

to paper, which my heirs will publish.

[Exit.]

SCENE IX.

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

fall, the fences are broken down, and the raging enemy is already

bursting in upon me. Well! 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'll do it. (He walks with a

resolute step to the end of the stage, but stops suddenly as if overcome

by 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! or the

whistling of the murderous stroke! Ugh! Ugh! How my hair bristles! A

shudder creeps through my frame. (He lets a poigniard fall from under

his clothes.) I am no coward--perhaps somewhat too tenderhearted. 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! Let me cherish

this vestige of humanity. I will not murder. Nature, thou hast

conquered. I still feel something here that seems like--affection. He

shall live.

[Exit.]

Enter HERMANN, timidly.

HERMANN. Lady Amelia! Lady Amelia!

AMELIA. Unhappy man! why dost thou disturb me?

HERMANN. I must throw this weight from my soul before it drags it down

to hell. (Falls down before her.) Pardon! pardon! I have grievously

injured you, Lady Amelia!

AMELIA. Arise! depart! I will hear nothing. (Going.)

HERMANN (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.)

HERMANN. 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!

HERMANN. Even so. And one word more. Your uncle--

AMELIA. (rushing upon him). Thou liest!

HERMANN. Your uncle--

AMELIA. Charles lives?

HERMANN. And your uncle--

AMELIA. Charles lives?

HERMANN. And your uncle too--betray me not!

(HERMANN runs off)

AMELIA (stands a long while like one petrified; after which she starts

up wildly, and rushes after HERMANN.) Charles lives!

SCENE II.--Country near the Danube.

THE ROBBERS (encamped on a rising ground, under trees,

their horses are grazing below.)

CHARLES. Here must I lie (throwing himself upon the ground). I feel as

if my limbs were all shattered. My tongue is as dry 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.

SCHWARZ. 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.

GRIMM. 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 hailstorm may come and destroy it all.

SCHWARZ. That is very possible. It all may be destroyed an hour before

the reaping.

CHARLES. Just what I say. All will be destroyed. Why should man

prosper in that which he has in common with the ant, while he fails in

that which places him on a level with the gods. Or is this the aim and

limit of his destiny?

SCHWARZ. I know not.

CHARLES. Thou hast said well; and wilt have done better, 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 checkered lottery of life, in which so many stake their

innocence and their leaven 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.

SCHWARZ. How gloriously the sun is setting yonder!

CHARLES (absorbed in the scene). So dies a hero! Worthy of adoration!

SCHWARZ. You seem deeply moved.

CHARLES. When I, was but a boy--it was my darling thought to live like

him, like him to die--(with suppressed grief.) It was a boyish thought!

GRIMM. It was, indeed.

CHARLES. There was a time--(pressing his hat down upon his face).

I would be alone, comrades.

SCHWARZ. Moor! Moor! Why, what the deuce! How his color 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.

GRIMM. Are you beside yourself? Would you let the remembrances of your

boyish years school you now?

CHARLES (lays his head upon the breast of GRIMM). 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!

SCHWARZ. 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. Right--right--I love to hear you talk thus.

CHARLES. (sinking back). And I so hideous in' this lovely world--

a monster on this glorious earth!

GRIMM. Oh dear! oh dear!

CHARLES. My innocence! give me back my innocence! Behold, every living

thing is gone forth to bask in the cheering rays of the vernal sun--why

must I alone inhale the torments of hell out of the joys of heaven? All

are so happy, all so united in brotherly love, by the spirit of peace!

The whole world one family, and one Father above--but He not my father!

I alone the outcast, I alone rejected from the ranks of the blessed--the

sweet name 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)--surrounded 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). Oh, that I might return again to my mother's

womb. That I might be born a beggar! I should desire no more,--no

more, oh heaven!--but that I might be like one of those poor laborers!

Oh, I would toil till the blood streamed down my temples--to buy myself

the luxury of one guiltless slumber--the blessedness of a single tear.

GRIMM (to the others). A little patience--the paroxysm is nearly over.

CHARLES. There was a time when my tears flowed so freely. Oh, those

days of peace! Dear home of my fathers--ye verdant halcyon vales!

O all ye Elysian scenes of my childhood!--will you never return?--will

your delicious breezes never cool my burning bosom? Mourn with me,

Nature, mourn! They will never return! never will their delicious

breezes cool my burning bosom! They are gone! gone! irrevocably gone!

Enter SCHWEITZER with water in his hat.

SCHWEITZER (offering him water in his hat). Drink, captain; here is

plenty of water, and cold as ice.

SCHWARZ. You are bleeding! What have you been doing?

SCHWEITZER. A bit of a freak, you fool, which had well-nigh cost me two

legs and a neck. As I was frolicking along the steep sandbanks of the

river, plump, in a moment, the whole concern slid from under me, and I

after it, some ten fathoms deep;--there I lay, and, as I was recovering

my five senses, lo and behold, the most sparkling water in the gravel!

Not so much amiss this time, said I to myself, for the caper I have cut.

The captain will be sure to relish a drink.

CHARLES (returns him the hat and wipes his face). But you are covered

with mud, Schweitzer, and we can't see the scar which the Bohemian

horseman marked on your forehead--your water was good, Schweitzer--and

those scars become you well.

SCHWEITZER. Bah! There's room for a score or two more yet.

CHARLES. Yes, boys--it was a hot day's work--and only one man lost.

Poor Roller! he died a noble death. A marble monument would be erected

to his memory had he died in any other cause than mine. Let this

suffice. (He wipes the tears from his eyes.) How many, did you say, of

the enemy were left on the field?

SCHWEITZER. A hundred and sixty huzzars, ninety-three dragoons, some

forty chasseurs--in all about three hundred.

CHARLES. Three hundred for one! Every one of you has a claim upon this

head. (He bares his head.) By this uplifted dagger! As my Soul liveth,

I will never forsake you!

SCHWEITZER. Swear not! You do not know but you may yet be happy, and

repent your oath.

CHARLES. By the ashes of my Roller! I will never forsake you.

Enter KOSINSKY.

KOSINSKY (aside). Hereabouts, they say, I shall find him. Ha! What

faces are these? Should they be--if these--they must be the men! Yes,

'tis they,'tis they! I will accost them.

SCHWARZ. Take heed! Who goes there?

KOSINSKY. Pardon, sirs. I know not whether I am going right or wrong.

CHARLES. Suppose right, whom do you take us to be?

KOSINSKY. Men!

SCHWEITZER. I wonder, captain, whether we have given any proof of that?

KOSINSKY. I am in search of men who can look death in the face, and let

danger play around then like a tamed snake; who prize liberty above life

or honor; whose very names, hailed by the poor and the oppressed, appal

the boldest, and make tyrants tremble.

SCHWEITZER (to the Captain). I like that fellow. Hark ye, friend! You

have found your men.

KOSINSKY. So I should think, and I hope soon to find them brothers.

You can direct me to the man I am looking for. 'Tis your captain, the

great Count von Moor.

SCHWEITZER (taking him warmly by the hand). There's a good lad. You

and I must be chums.

CHARLES (coming nearer). Do you know the captain?

KOSINSKY. Thou art he!--in those features--that air--who can look at

thee, and doubt it? (Looks earnestly at him for some time). I have

always wished to see the man with the annihilating look, as he sat on

the ruins of Carthage.* That wish is realized.

*[Alluding to Caius Marius. See Plutarch's Lives.]

SCHWEITZER. A mettlesome fellow!--

CHARLES. And what brings you to me?

KOSINSKY. Oh, captain! my more than cruel fate. I have suffered

shipwrecked on the stormy ocean of the world; I have seen all my fondest

hopes perish; and nought remains to me but a remembrance of the bitter

past, which would drive me to madness, were I not to drown it by

directing my energies to new objects.

CHARLES. Another arraignment of the ways of Providence! Proceed.

KOSINSKY. I became a soldier. Misfortune still followed me in the

army. I made a venture to the Indies, and my ship was shivered on the

rocks--nothing but frustrated hopes! At last, I heard tell far and wide

of your valiant deeds, incendiarisms, as they called them, and I came

straightway hither, a distance of thirty leagues, firmly resolved to

serve under you, if you will deign to accept my services. I entreat

thee, noble captain, refuse me not!

SCHWEITZER (with a leap into the air). Hurrah! Hurrah! Our Roller

replaced ten hundred-fold! An out-and-out brother cut-throat for our

troop.

CHARLES. What is your name?

KOSINSKY. Kosinsky.

CHARLES. What? Kosinsky! And do you know that you are but a

thoughtless boy, and are embarking on the most weighty passage of your

life as heedlessly as a giddy girl? You will find no playing at bowls

or ninepins here, as you probably imagine.

KOSINSKY. I understand you, sir. I am,'tis true, but four-and-twenty

years old, but I have seen swords glittering, and have heard balls

whistling around me.

CHARLES. Indeed, young gentleman? And was it for this that you took

fencing lessons, to run poor travellers through the body for the sake of

a dollar, or stab women in the back? Go! go! You have played truant to

your nurse because she shook the rod at you.

SCHWEITZER. Why, what the devil, captain! what are you about? Do you

mean to turn away such a Hercules? Does he not look as if he could

baste Marechal Saxe across the Ganges with a ladle?

CHARLES. Because your silly schemes miscarry, you come here to turn

rogue and assassin! Murder, boy, do you know the meaning of that word?

You may have slumbered in peace after cropping a few poppy-heads, but to

have a murder on your soul--

KOSINSKY. All the murders you bid me commit be upon my head!

CHARLES. What! Are you so nimble-witted? Do you take measure of a man

to catch him by flattery? How do you know that I am not haunted by

terrific dreams, or that I shall not tremble on my death-bed?--How much

have you already done of which you have considered the responsibility?

KOSINSKY. Very little, I must confess; excepting this long journey to

you, noble count--

CHARLES. Has your tutor let the story of Robin Hood--get into your

hands? Such careless rascals ought to be sent to the galleys. And has

it heated your childish fancy, and infected you with the mania of

becoming a hero? Are you thirsting for honor and fame? Would you buy

immortality by deeds of incendiarism? Mark me, ambitious youth! No

laurel blooms for the incendiary. No triumph awaits the victories of

the bandit--nothing but curses, danger, death, disgrace. Do you see the

gibbet yonder on the hill?

SPIEGEL (going up and down indignantly). Oh, how stupid! How

abominably, unpardonably stupid! That's not the way. I went to work

in a very different manner.

KOSINSKY. What should he fear, who fears not death?

CHARLES. Bravo! Capital! You have made good use of your time at

school; you have got your Seneca cleverly by heart. But, my good

friend, you will not be able with these fine phrases to cajole nature

in the hour of suffering; they will never blunt the biting tooth of

remorse. Ponder on it well, my son! (Takes him by the hand.) I advise

you as a father. First learn the depth of the abyss before you plunge

headlong into it. If in this world you can catch a single glimpse of

happiness--moments may come when you-awake,--and then--it may be too

late. Here you step out as it were beyond the pale of humanity--you

must either be more than human or a demon. Once more, my son! if but

a single spark of hope glimmer for you elsewhere, fly this fearful

compact, where nought but despair enters, unless a higher wisdom has so

ordained it. You may deceive yourself--believe me, it is possible to

mistake that for strength of mind which in reality is nothing more than

despair. Take my counsel! mine! and depart quickly.

KOSINSKY. No! I will not stir. If my entreaties fail to move you, hear

but the story of my misfortunes. And then you will force the dagger

into my hand as eagerly as you now seek to withhold it. Seat yourselves

awhile on the grass and listen.

CHARLES. I will hear your story.

KOSINSKY. Know, then, that I am a Bohemian nobleman. By the early

death of my father I became master of large possessions. The scene of

my domain was a paradise; for it contained an angel--a maid adorned with

all the charms of blooming youth, and chaste as the light of heaven.

But to whom do I talk of this? It falls unheeded on your cars--ye never

loved, ye were never beloved--

SCHWEITZER. Gently, gently! The captain grows red as fire.

CHARLES. No more! I'll hear you some other time--to-morrow,--or

by-and-by, or--after I have seen blood.

KOSINSKY. Blood, blood! Only hear on! Blood will fill your whole

soul. She was of citizen birth, a German--but her look dissolved all

the prejudices of aristocracy. With blushing modesty she received the

bridal ring from my hand, and on the morrow I was to have led my AMELIA

to the altar. (CHARLES rises suddenly.) In the midst of my intoxicating

dream of happiness, and while our nuptials were preparing, an express

summoned me to court. I obeyed the summons. Letters were shown me

which I was said to have written, full of treasonable matter. I grew

scarlet with indignation at such malice; they deprived me of my sword,

thrust me into prison, and all my senses forsook me.

SCHWEITZER. And in the meantime--go on! I already scent the game.

KOSINSKY. There I lay a whole month, and knew not what was taking

place. I was full of anxiety for my Amelia, who I was sure would suffer

the pangs of death every moment in apprehension of my fate. At last the

prime minister makes his appearance,--congratulates me in honey-sweet

words on the establishment of my innocence,--reads to me a warrant of

discharge,--and returns me my sword. I flew in triumph to my castle, to

the arms of my Amelia, but she had disappeared! She had been carried

off, it was said, at midnight, no one knew whither, and no eye had

beheld her since. A suspicion instantly flashed across my mind. I

rushed to the capital--I made inquiries at court--all eyes were upon

me,--no one would give me information. At last I discovered her through

a grated window of the palace--she threw me a small billet.

SCHWEITZER. Did I not say so?

KOSINSKY. Death and destruction! The contents were these! They had

given her the choice between seeing me put to death, and becoming the

mistress of the prince. In the struggle between honor and love she

chose the latter, and (with a bitter smile) I was saved.

SCHWEITZER. And what did you do then?

KOSINSKY. Then I stood like one transfixed with a thunderbolt! Blood

was my first thought, blood my last! Foaming at the mouth, I ran to my

quarters, armed myself with a two-edged sword, and, with all haste,

rushed to the minister's house, for he--he alone--had been the fiendish

pander. They must have observed me in the street, for, as I went up, I

found all the doors fastened. I searched, I enquired. He was gone,

they said, to the prince. I went straight thither, but nobody there

would know anything about him. I return, force the doors, find the base

wretch, and was on the point when five or six servants suddenly rushed

on me from behind, and wrenched the weapon from my hands.

SCHWEITZER (stamping the ground). And so the fellow got off clear, and

you lost your labor?

KOSINSKY. I was arrested, accused, criminally prosecuted, degraded,

and--mark this--transported beyond the frontier, as a special favor. My

estates were confiscated to the minister, and Amelia remained in the

clutches of the tiger, where she weeps and mourns away her life, while

my vengeance must keep a fast, and crouch submissively to the yoke of

despotism.

SCHWEITZER (rising and whetting his sword). That is grist to our mill,

captain! There is something here for the incendiaries!

CHARLES (who has been walking up and down in violent agitation, with a

sudden start to the ROBBERS). I must see her. Up! collect your

baggage--you'll stay with us, Kosinsky! Quick, pack up!

THE ROBBERS. Where to? What?

CHARLES. Where to? Who asks that question? (Fiercely to SCHWEITZER)

Traitor, wouldst thou keep me back? But by the hope for heaven!

SCHWEITZER. I, a traitor? Lead on to hell and I will follow you!

CHARLES (falling on his neck). Dear brother! thou shalt follow me. She

weeps, she mourns away her life. Up! quickly! all of you! to

Franconia! In a week we must be there.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--Rural scenery in the neighborhood of

CHARLES VON MOOR'S castle.

CHARLES VON MOOR, KOSINSKY, at a distance.

CHARLES. Go forward, and announce me. You remember what you have to

say?

KOSINSKY. You are Count Brand, you come from Mecklenburg. I am your

groom. Do not fear, I shall take care to play my part. Farewell!

[Exit.]

CHARLES. Hail to thee, Earth of my Fatherland (kisses the earth.)

Heaven of my Fatherland! Sun of my Fatherland! Ye meadows and hills,

ye streams and woods! Hail, hail to ye all! How deliciously the

breezes are wafted from my native hills? What streams of balmy perfume

greet the poor fugitive! Elysium! Realms of poetry! Stay, Moor, thy

foot has strayed into a holy temple. (Comes nearer.)

See there! the old swallow-nests in the castle yard!---and the little

garden-gate!--and this corner of the fence where I so often watched in

ambuscade to teaze old Towzer!--and down there in the green valley,

where, as the great Alexander, I led my Macedonians to the battle of

Arbela; and the grassy hillock yonder, from which I hurled the Persian

satrap--and then waved on high my victorious banner! (He smiles.) The

golden age of boyhood lives again in the soul of the outcast. I was

then so happy, so wholly, so cloudlessly happy--and now--behold all my

prospects a wreck! Here should I have presided, a great, a noble, an

honored man--here have--lived over again the years of boyhood in the

blooming--children of my Amelia--here!--here have been the idol of my

people--but the foul fiend opposed it (Starting.) Why am I here? To

feel like the captive when the clanking of his chains awakes him from

his dream of liberty. No, let me return to my wretchedness! The

captive had forgotten the light of day, but the dream of liberty flashes

past his eyes like a blaze of lightning in the night, which leaves it

darker than before. Farewell, ye native vales! once ye saw Charles as a

boy, and then Charles was happy. Now ye have seen the man his happiness

turned to despair! (He moves rapidly towards the most distant point of

the landscape, where he suddenly stops and casts a melancholy look

across to the castle.) Not to behold her! not even one look?--and only

a wall between me and Amelia! No! see her I must!--and him too!--though

it crush me! (He turns back.) Father! father! thy son approaches. Away

with thee, black, reeking gore! Away with that grim, ghastly look of

death! Oh, give me but this one hour free! Amelia! Father! thy

Charles approaches! (He goes quickly towards the castle.) Torment me

when the morning dawns--give me no rest with the coming night--beset me

in frightful dreams! But, oh! poison not this my only hour of bliss!

(He is standing at the gate.) What is it I feel? What means this, Moor?

Be a man! These death-like shudders--foreboding terrors.

[Enters.]