The Robbers Read online

  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, yo
u 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.]

  SCENE II.*-Gallery in the Castle.

  *[In some editions this is the third scene,

  and there is no second.]

  Enter CHARLES VON MOOR, AMELIA.

  AMELIA. And are you sure that you should know his portrait among these pictures?

  CHARLES. Oh, most certainly! his image has always been fresh in my memory. (Passing along thee pictures.) This is not it.

  AMELIA. You are right! He was the first count, and received his patent of nobility from Frederic Barbarossa, to whom he rendered some service against the corsairs.

  CHARLES (still reviewing the pictures). Neither is it this-nor this- nor that-it is not among these at all.

  AMELIA. Nay! look more attentively! I thought you knew him.

  CHARLES. As well as my own father! This picture wants the sweet expression around the mouth, which distinguished him from among a thousand. It is not he.

  AMELIA. You surprise me. What! not seen him for eighteen years, and still-

  CHARLES (quickly, with a hectic blush). Yes, this is he! (He stands as if struck by lightning.)

  AMELIA. An excellent man!

  CHARLES (absorbed in the contemplation of the picture). Father! father! forgive me! Yes, an excellent man! (He wipes his eyes.) A godlike man!

  AMELIA. You seem to take a deep interest in him.

  CHARLES. Oh, an excellent man! And he is gone, you say!

  AMELIA. Gone! as our best joys perish. (Gently taking him by the hand.) Dear Sir, no happiness ripens in this world.

  CHARLES. Most true, most true! And have you already proved this truth by sad experience? You, who can scarcely yet have seen your twenty- third year?

  AMELIA. Yes, alas, I have proved it. Whatever lives, lives to die in sorrow. We engage our hearts, and grasp after the things of this world, only to undergo the pang of losing them.

  CHARLES. What can you have lost, and yet so young?

  AMELIA. Nothing-everything-nothing. Shall we go on, count?*

  *[In the acting edition is added-

  "MOOR. And would you learn forgetfulness in that holy garb there?

  (Pointing to a nun's habit.)

  "AMELIA. To-morrow I hope to do so. Shall we continue our walk,

  sir?"]

  CHARLES. In such haste? Whose portrait is that on the right? There is an unhappy look about that countenance, methinks.

  AMELIA. That portrait on the left is the son of the count, the present count. Come, let us pass on!

  CHARLES. But this portrait on the right?

  AMELIA. Will you not continue your walk, Sir?

  CHARLES. But this portrait on the right hand? You are in tears, Amelia? [Exit AMELIA, in precipitation.]

  CHARLES. She loves me, she loves me! Her whole being began to rebel, and the traitor tears rolled down her cheeks. She loves me! Wretch, hast thou deserved this at her hands? Stand I not here like a condemned criminal before the fatal block? Is this the couch on which we so often sat-where I have hung in rapture on her neck? Are these my ancestral halls? (Overcome by the sight of his father's portrait.) Thou-thou- Flames of fire darting from thine eyes-His curse-His curse-He disowns me-Where am I? My sight grows dim-Horrors of the living God-'Twas I, 'twas I that killed my father!

  [He rushes off]

  Enter FRANCIS VON MOOR, in deep thought.

  FRANCIS. Away with that image! Away with it! Craven heart! Why dost thou tremble, and before whom? Have I not felt, during the few hours that the count has been within these walls as if a spy from hell were gliding at my heels. Methinks I should know him! There is something so lofty, so familiar, in his wild, sunburnt features, which makes me tremble. Amelia, too, is not indifferent towards him! Does she not dart eager, languishing looks at the fellow looks of which she is so chary to all the world beside? Did I not see her drop those stealthy tears into the wine, which, behind my back, he quaffed so eagerly that he seemed to swallow the very glass? Yes, I saw it-I saw it in the mirror with my own eyes. Take care, Francis! Look about you! Some destruction-brooding monster is lurking beneath all this! (He stops, with a searching look, before the portrait of CHARLES.)

  His long, crane-like neck-his black, fire-sparkling eyes-hem ! hem!- his dark, overhanging, bushy eyebrows. (Suddenly starting back.) Malicious hell! dost thou send me this suspicion? It is Charles! Yes, all his features are reviving before me. It is he! despite his mask! it is he! Death and damnation! (Goes up and down with agitated steps.) Is it for this that I have sacrificed my nights-that I have mowed down mountains and filled up chasms? For this that I have turned rebel against all the instincts of humanity? To have this vagabond outcast blunder in at last, and destroy all my cunningly devised fabric. But gently! gently! What remains to be done is but child's play. Have I not already waded up to my very ears in mortal sin? Seeing how far the shore lies behind me, it would be madness to attempt to swim back. To return is now out of the question. Grace itself would be beggared, and infinite mercy become bankrupt, were they to be responsible for all my liabilities. Then onward like a man. (He rings the bell.) Let him be gathered to the spirit of his father, and now come on! For the dead I care not! Daniel! Ho! Daniel! I'd wager a trifle they have already inveigled him too into the plot against me! He looks so full of mystery !

  Enter DANIEL.

  DANIEL. What is your pleasure, my master?

  FRANCIS. Nothing. Go, fill this goblet with wine, and quickly ! (Exit DANIEL.) Wait a little, old man! I shall find you out! I will fix my eye upon you so keenly that your stricken conscience shall betray itself through your mask! He shall die! He is but a sorry bungler who leaves his work half finished, and then looks on idly, trusting to
chance for what may come of it.

  Enter DANIEL, with the wine.

  Bring it here! Look me steadfastly in the face! How your knees knock together! How you tremble! Confess, old man! what have you been doing?

  DANIEL. Nothing, my honored master, by heaven and my poor soul!

  FRANCIS. Drink this wine! What? you hesitate? Out with it quickly! What have you put into the wine?

  DANIEL. Heaven help me! What! I in the wine?

  FRANCIS. You have poisoned it! Are you not as white as snow? Confess, confess! Who gave it you? The count? Is it not so? The count gave it you?

  DANIEL. The count? Jesu Maria! The count has not given me anything.

  FRANCIS (grasping him tight). I will throttle you till you are black in the face, you hoary-headed liar! Nothing? Why, then, are you so often closeted together? He, and you, and Amelia? And what are you always whispering about? Out with it! What secrets, eh? What secrets has he confided to you?

  DANIEL. I call the Almighty to witness that he has not confided any secrets to me.

  FRANCIS. Do you mean to deny it? What schemes have you been hatching to get rid of me? Am I to be smothered in my sleep? or is my throat to be cut in shaving? or am I to be poisoned in wine or chocolate? Eh? Out with it, out with it! Or am I to have my quietus administered in my soup? Out with it! I know it all!

  DANIEL. May heaven so help me in the hour of need as I now tell you the truth, and nothing but the pure, unvarnished truth!

  FRANCIS. Well, this time I will forgive you. But the money! he most certainly put money into your purse? And he pressed your hand more warmly than is customary? something in the manner of an old acquaintance?

  DANIEL. Never, indeed, Sir.

  FRANCIS. He told you, for instance, that he had known you before? that you ought to know him? that the scales would some day fall from your eyes? that-what? Do you mean to say that he never spoke thus to you?