The Robbers

by Friedrich Schiller

  What if Thou shouldst doom me to be sole inhabitant of some burnt-out world which thou hast banished from thy sight, where darkness and never- ending desolation were all my prospect; then would my creative brain people the silent waste with its own images, and I should have eternity for leisure to unravel the complicated picture of universal wretchedness. Or wilt thou make me pass through ever-repeated births and ever-changing scenes of misery, stage by stage*-to annihilation?

  [This and other passages will remind the reader of Cato's soliloquy

  "It must be so, Plato; thou reasonest well." But the whole bears a

  strong resemblance to Hamlet's "To be or not to be;" and some

  passages in Measure for Measure, Act iii, Sc. 1.]

  Can I not burst asunder the life-threads woven for me in another world as easily as I do these? Thou mayest reduce me into nothing; but Thou canst not take from me this power. (He loads the pistol, and then suddenly pauses.) And shall I then rush into death from a coward fear of the ills of life? Shall I yield to misery the palm of victory over myself? No! I will endure it! (He flings the pistol away.) Misery shall blunt its edge against my pride! Be my destiny fulfilled! (It grows darker and darker.)

  HERMANN (coming through the forest). Hark! hark! the owl screeches horribly-the village clock strikes twelve. Well, well-villainy is asleep-no listeners in these wilds. (He goes to the castle and knocks.) Come forth, thou man of sorrow! tenant of the miserable dungeon! thy meal awaits thee.

  CHARLES (stepping gently back, unperceived). What means this?

  VOICE (from within the castle). Who knocks? Is it you, Hermann, my raven?

  HERMANN. Yes, 'tis Hermann, your raven. Come to the grating and eat. (Owls are screeching.) Your night companions make a horrid noise, old man! Do you relish your repast?

  VOICE. Yes-I was very hungry. Thanks to thee, thou merciful sender of ravens, for this thy bread in the wilderness! And how is my dear child, Hermann?

  HERMANN. Hush!-hark!-A noise like snoring! Don't you hear something?

  VOICE. What? Do you hear anything?

  HERMANN. 'Tis the whistling of the wind through the crannies of the tower-a serenading which makes one's teeth chatter, and one's nails turn blue. Hark! tis there again. I still fancy I hear snoring. You have company, old man. Ugh! ugh! ugh!

  VOICE. Do you see anything?

  HERMANN. Farewell! farewell! this is a fearful place. Go down into your bole,-thy deliverer, thy avenger is above. Oh! accursed son! (Is about to fly.)

  CHARLES (stepping forth with horror). Stand!

  HERMANN (screaming). Oh, me!*

  *[In the acting edition Hermann, instead of this, says,-

  'Tis one of his spies for certain, I have lost all fear (draws his

  sword). Villain, defend yourself! You have a man before you.]

  MOOR. I'll have an answer (strikes the sword out of his hand).

  What boots this childish sword-play? Didst thou not speak of

  vengeance? Vengeance belongs especially to me-of all men on

  earth. Who dares interfere with my vocation?

  HERMANN (starts back in affright). By heaven! That man was not

  born of woman. His touch withers like the stroke of death.

  VOICE. Alas, Hermann! to whom are you speaking?

  MOOR. What! still those sounds? What is going on there? (Runs

  towards the tower.) Some horrible mystery, no doubt, lies concealed

  in that tower. This sword shall bring it to light.

  HERMANN (comes forward trembling). Terrible stranger! art thou

  the demon of this fearful desert-or perhaps 'one of the ministers

  of that unfathonable retribution who make their circuit in this

  lower world, and take account of all the deeds of darkness? Oh !

  if thou art, be welcome to this tower of horrors!

  MOOR. Well guessed, wanderer of the night! You have divined my

  function. Exterminating Angel is my name; but I am flesh and blood

  like thee. Is this some miserable wretch, cast out of men, and

  buried in this dungeon? I will loosen his chains. Once more,

  speak! thou voice of terror Where is the door?

  HERMANN. As soon could Satan force the gates of heaven as thou

  that door. Retire, thou man of might! The genius of the wicked is

  beyond the ordinary powers of man.

  MOOR. But not the craft of robbers. (He takes some pass-keys from

  his pocket.) For once I thank heaven I've learned that craft!

  These keys would mock hell's foresight. (He takes a key, and opens

  the gate of the tower. An old man comes from below emaciated like

  a skeleton. MOOR springs back with of right.) Horrible spectre !

  my father!

  CHARLES. Stand! I say.

  HERMANN. Woe! woe! woe! now all is discovered!

  CHARLES. Speak! Who art thou? What brought thee here? Speak!

  HERMANN. Mercy, mercy! gracious sir! Hear but one word before you kill me.

  CHARLES (drawing his sword). What am I to hear?

  HERMANN. 'Tis true, he forbade me at the peril of my life-but I could not help it-I dare not do otherwise-a God in heaven-your own venerable father there-pity for him overcame me. Kill me, if you will!

  CHARLES. There's some mystery here-Out with it! Speak! I must know all.

  VOICE (from the castle). Woe! woe! Is it you, Hermann, that are speaking? To whom are you speaking, Hermann?

  CHARLES. Some one else down there? What is the meaning of all this? (Runs towards the castle.) It is some prisoner whom mankind have cast off! I will loosen his chains. Voice! Speak! Where is the door?

  HERMANN. Oh, have mercy, sir-seek no further, I entreat-for mercy's sake desist! (He stops his way.)

  CHARLES. Locks, bolts, and bars, away! It must come out. Now, for the first time, come to my aid, thief-craft! (He opens the grated iron door with, housebreaking tools. An OLD MAN, reduced to a skeleton, comes up from below.)

  THE OLD MAN. Mercy on a poor wretch! Mercy!

  CHARLES (starts back in terror). That is my father's voice!

  OLD MOOR. I thank thee, merciful Heaven! The hour of deliverance has arrived.

  CHARLES. Shade of the aged Moor! what has disturbed thee in thy grave? Has thy soul left this earth charged with some foul crime that bars the gates of Paradise against thee? Say?-I will have masses read, to send thy wandering spirit to its home. Hast thou buried in the earth the gold of widows and orphans, that thou art driven to wander howling through the midnight hour? I will snatch the hidden treasure from the clutches of the infernal dragon, though he should vomit a thousand redhot flames upon me, and gnash his sharp teeth against my sword. Or comest thou, at my request, to reveal to me the mysteries of eternity? Speak, thou! speak! I am not the man to blanch with fear!

  OLD MOOR. I am not a spirit. Touch me-I live but oh! a life indeed of misery!

  CHARLES. What! hast thou not been buried?

  OLD MOOR. I was buried-that is to say, a dead dog lies in the vault of my ancestors, and I have been pining for three long moons in this dark and loathsome dungeon, where no sunbeam shines, no warm breeze penetrates, where no friend is seen, where the hoarse raven croaks and owls screech their midnight concert.

  CHARLES. Heaven and earth! Who has done this?

  OLD MOOR. Curse him not! 'Tis my son, Francis, who did this.

  CHARLES. Francis? Francis? Oh, eternal chaos!

  OLD MOOR. If thou art a man, and hast a human heart-oh! my unknown deliverer-then listen to a father's miseries which his own sons have heaped upon him. For three long moons I have moaned my pitiful tale to these flinty walls-but all my answer was an empty echo, that seemed to mock my wailings. Therefore, if thou art a man, and hast a human heart-

  CHARLES. That appeal might move even wild beasts to pity.

  OLD MOOR. I lay upon a sick bed, and had scarcely begun to recover a little strength, after a dangerous
illness, when a man was brought to me, who pretended that my first-born had fallen in battle. He brought a sword stained with his blood, and his last farewell-and said that my curse had driven him into battle, and death, and despair.

  CHARLES (turning away in violent agitation). The light breaks in upon me!

  OLD MOOR. Hear me on! I fainted at the dreadful news. They must have thought me dead; for, when I recovered my senses, I was already in my coffin, shrouded like a corpse. I scratched against the lid. It was opened-'twas in the dead of night-my son Francis stood before me- "What!" said he, with a tremendous voice, "wilt thou then live forever?" -and with this he slammed-to the lid of the coffin. The thunder of these words bereft me of my senses; when I awoke again, I felt that the coffin was in motion, and being borne on wheels. At last it was opened -I found myself at the entrance of this dungeon-my son stood before me, and the man, too, who had brought me the bloody sword from Charles. I fell at my son's feet, and ten times I embraced his knees, and wept, and conjured, and supplicated, but the supplications of a father reached not his flinty heart. "Down with the old carcass!" said he, with a voice of thunder, "he has lived too long;"-and I was thrust down without mercy, and my son Francis closed the door upon Me.

  CHARLES. Impossible!-impossible! Your memory or senses deceive you.

  OLD MOOR. Oh, that it were so! But hear me on, and restrain your rage! There I lay for twenty hours, and not a soul cared for my misery. No human footstep treads this solitary wild, for 'tis commonly believed that the ghosts of my ancestors drag clanking chains through these ruins, and chant their funeral dirge at the hour of midnight. At last I heard the door creak again on its hinges; this man opened it, and brought me bread and water. He told me that I had been condemned to die of hunger, and that his life was in danger should it be discovered that he fed me. Thus has my miserable existence been till now sustained-but the unceasing cold-the foul air of my filthy dungeon-my incurable grief-have exhausted my strength, and reduced my body to a skeleton. A thousand times have I implored heaven, with tears, to put an end to my sufferings-but doubtless the measure of my punishment is not fulfilled,-or some happiness must be yet in store for me, for which he deigns thus miraculously to preserve me. But I suffer justly-my Charles! my Charles!-and before there was even a gray hair on his Head!

  CHARLES. Enough! Rise! ye stocks, ye lumps of ice! ye lazy unfeeling sleepers! Up! will none of you awake? (He fires a pistol over their heads.)

  THE ROBBERS (starting up). Ho! hallo! hallo! what is the matter?

  CHARLES. Has not that tale shaken you out of your sleep? 'Tis enough to break the sleep eternal! See here, see here! The laws of the world have become mere dice-play; the bonds of nature are burst asunder; the Demon of Discord has broken loose, and stalks abroad triumphant! the Son has slain his Father!

  THE ROBBERS. What does the captain say?

  CHARLES. Slain! did I say? No, that is too mild a term! A son has a thousand-fold broken his own father on the wheel,-impaled, racked, flayed him alive!-but all these words are too feeble to express what would make sin itself blush and cannibals shudder. For ages, no devil ever conceived a deed so horrible. His own father!-but see, see him! he has fainted away! His own father-the son-into this dungeon-cold- naked-hungry-athirst-Oh! see, I pray you, see!-'tis my own father, in very truth it is.

  THE ROBBERS (come running and surround the old man). Your father? Yours?

  SCHWEITZER (approaches him reverently, and falls on his knees before him). Father of my captain! let me kiss thy feet! My dagger is at thy command.

  CHARLES. Revenge, revenge, revenge! thou horribly injured, profaned old man! Thus, from this moment, and forever, I rend in twain all ties of fraternity. (He rends his garment from top to bottom.) Here, in the face of heaven, I curse him-curse every drop of blood which flows in his veins! Hear me, O moon and stars! and thou black canopy of night, that lookest down upon this horror! Hear me, thrice terrible avenger. Thou who reignest above yon pallid orb, who sittest an avenger and a judge above the stars, and dartest thy fiery bolts through darkness on the head of guilt! Behold me on my knees behold me raise this hand aloft in the gloom of night-and hear my oath-and may nature vomit me forth as some horrible abortion from out the circle of her works if I break that oath! Here I swear that I will never more greet the light of day, till the blood of that foul parricide, spilt upon this stone, reeks in misty vapor towards heaven. (He rises.)

  ROBBERS. 'Tis a deed of hell! After this, who shall call us villains? No! by all the dragons of darkness we never have done anything half so horrible.

  CHARLES. True! and by all the fearful groans of those whom your daggers have despatched-of those who on that terrible day were consumed by fire, or crushed by the falling tower-no thought of murder or rapine shall be harbored in your breast, till every man among you has dyed his garments scarlet in this monster's blood. It never, I should think, entered your dreams, that it would fall to your lot to execute the great decrees of heaven? The tangled web of our destiny is unravelled! To-day, to-day, an invisible power has ennobled our craft! Worship Him who has called you to this high destiny, who has conducted you hither, and deemed ye worthy to be the terrible angels of his inscrutable judgments! Uncover your heads! Bow down and kiss the dust, and rise up sanctified. (They kneel.)

  SCHWEITZER. Now, captain, issue your commands! What shall we do?

  CHARLES. Rise, Schweitzer! and touch these sacred locks! (Leading him to his father, and putting a lock of hair in his hand.) Do you remember still, how you, cleft the skull of that Bohemian trooper, at the moment his sabre was descending on my head, and I had sunk down on my knees, breathless and exhausted? 'Twas then I promised thee a reward that should be right royal. But to this hour I have never been able to discharge that debt.

  SCHWEITZER. You swore that much to me, 'tis true; but let me call you my debtor forever!

  CHARLES. No; now will I repay thee, Schweitzer! No mortal has yet been honored as thou shalt be. I appoint thee avenger of my father's wrongs! (SCHWEITZER rises.)

  SCHWEITZER. Mighty captain! this day you have, for the first time, made me truly proud! Say, when, where, how shall I smite him?

  CHARLES. The minutes are sacred. You must hasten to the work. Choose the best of the band, and lead them straight to the count's castle! Drag him from his bed, though he sleep, or he folded in the arms of pleasure! Drag him from the table, though he be drunk! Tear him from the crucifix, though he lie on his knees before it! But mark my words- I charge thee, deliver him into my hands alive! I will hew that man to pieces, and feed the hungry vultures with his flesh, who dares but graze his skin, or injure a single hair of his head! I must have him whole. Bring him to me whole and alive, and a million shall be thy reward. I'll plunder kings at the risk of my life, but thou shalt have it, and go free as air. Thou hast my purpose-see it done!

  SCHWEITZER. Enough, captain! here is my hand upon it. You shall see both of us, or neither. Come, Schweitzer's destroying angels, follow me! (Exit with a troop.)

  CHARLES. The rest of you disperse in the forest-I remain here.

  ACT V.

  SCENE I. A vista of rooms. Dark night.

  Enter DANIEL, with a lantern and a bundle.

  DANIEL. Farewell, dear home! How many happy days have I enjoyed within these walls, while my old master lived. Tears to thy memory, thou whom the grave has long since devoured! He deserves this tribute from an old servant. His roof was the asylum of orphans, the refuge of the destitute, but this son has made it a den of murderers. Farewell, thou dear floor! How often has old Daniel scrubbed thee! Farewell, dear stove, old Daniel takes a heavy leave of thee. All things had grown so familiar to thee,-thou wilt feel it sorely, old Eleazar. But heaven preserve me through grace from the wiles and assault of the tempter. Empty I came hither-empty I will depart,-but my soul is saved! (He is in the act of going out, when he is met by FRANCIS, rushing in, in his dressing-gown.) Heaven help me! Master! (He puts out his lantern.)

  FRANCIS. Betrayed! betrayed!
The spirit of the dead are vomited from their graves. The realm of death, shaken out of its eternal slumber, roars at me, "Murderer, murderer!" Who moves there?

  DANIEL (frightened). Help, holy Virgin! help! Is it you, my gracious master, whose shrieks echo so terribly through the castle that every one is aroused out of his sleep?

  FRANCIS. Sleep? And who gave thee leave to sleep? Go, get lights! (Exit DANIEL. Enter another servant.) No one shall sleep at this hour. Do you hear? All shall be awake-in arms-let the guns be loaded! Did you not see them rushing through yon vaulted passages?

  SERVANT. See whom, my lord?

  FRANCIS. Whom? you dolt, slave! And do you, with a cold and vacant stare, ask me whom? Have they not beset me almost to madness? Whom? blockhead! whom? Ghosts and demons! How far is the night advanced?

  SERVANT. The watch has just called two.

  FRANCIS. What? will this eternal night last till doomsday? Did you hear no tumult near? no shout of victory? no trampling of horses? Where is Char-the Count, I would say?

  SERVANT. I know not, my lord.

  FRANCIS. You know not? And are you too one of his gang? I'll tread your villain's heart out through your ribs for that infernal "I know not!" Begone, fetch the minister!

  SERVANT. My lord!

  FRANCIS. What! Do you grumble? Do you demur? (Exit servant hastily.) Do my very slaves conspire against me? Heaven, earth, and hell-all conspire against me!

  DANIEL (returns with a lighted candle). My lord!

  FRANCIS. Who said I trembled? No!-'twas but a dream. The dead still rest in their graves! Tremble! or pale? No, no! I am calm-quite tranquil.

  DANIEL. You are as pale as death, my lord; your voice is weak and faltering.

  FRANCIS. I am somewhat feverish. When the minister comes be sure you say I am in a fever. Say that I intend to be bled in the morning.

  DANIEL. Shall I give you some drops of the balsam of life on sugar?

  FRANCIS. Yes, balsam of life on sugar! The minister will not be here just yet. My voice is weak and faltering. Give me of the balsam of life on sugar!