The Robbers

  The Robbers

  Friedrich Schiller

  Frederich Schiller. The Robbers

  This etext was produced by David Widger widger@cecomet.net

  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 comprehensi
on. 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 band 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.

  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.