The Robbers, Friedrich Schiller [tools of titans ebook .txt] 📗

'Twas thy fell sword that pierced thy father's heart! Now go - and at yon gates relate thy story - Say Brutus claims to be the chief in glory, 'Twas his fell sword that pierced his father's heart! Go - Now thou'rt told what staid me on this shore, Grim ferryman, push off, and swiftly ply thine oar.

BRUTUS. Stay, father, stay! Within the whole bright round Of Sol's diurnal course I knew but one Who to compare with Caesar could be found; And that one, Caesar, thou didst call thy son! 'Twas only Caesar could destroy a Rome; Brutus alone that Caesar could withstand - Where Brutus lives, must Caesar die! Thy home Be far from mine. I'll seek another land.

[He lays down his guitar, and walks to and
fro in deep meditation.]

Who will give me certainty! All is so dark - a confused labyrinth - no outlet - no guiding star. Were but all to end with this last gasp of breath. To end, like an empty puppet-show. But why then this burning thirst after happiness? Wherefore this ideal of unattained perfection? This looking to an hereafter for the fulfilment of our hopes? If the paltry pressure of this paltry thing (putting a pistol to his head) makes the wise man and the fool - the coward and the brave - the noble and the villain equal? - the harmony which pervades the inanimate world is so divinely perfect - why, then, should there be such discord in the intellectual? No! no! there must be something beyond, for I have not yet attained to happiness.

Think ye that I will tremble, spirits of my slaughtered victims? No, I will not tremble. (Trembling violently.) The shrieks of your dying agonies - your black, convulsive features - your ghastly bleeding wounds - what are they all but links of one indissoluble chain of destiny, which hung upon the temperament of my father, the life's blood of my mother, the humors of my nurses and tutors, and even upon the holiday pastimes of my childhood! (Shaking with horror.) Why has my Perillus made of me a brazen bull, whose burning entrails yearn after human flesh? (He lifts the pistol again to his head.)

Time and Eternity! - linked together by a single instant! Fearful key, which locks behind me the prisonhouse of life, and opens before me the habitations of eternal night - tell me - oh, tell me - whither - whither wilt thou lead me? Strange, unexplored land! Humanity is unnerved at the fearful thought, the elasticity of our finite nature is paralyzed, and fancy, that wanton ape of the senses, juggles our credulity with appalling phantoms. No! no! a man must be firm. Be what thou wilt, thou undefined futurity, so I remain but true to myself. Be what thou wilt, so I but take this inward self hence with me. External forms are but the trappings of the man. My heaven and my hell is within.

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