The Robbers - Friedrich Schiller (the first e reader TXT) 📗

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 nis 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 I 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,