The Robbers. Friedrich von Schiller

you to this mood? Come! let me tell you a little story of my youthful days. There was a ditch close to my house, eight feet wide at the least, which we boys were trying to leap over for a wager. But it was no go. Splash! there you lay sprawling, amidst hisses and roars of laughter, and a relentless shower of snowballs. By the side of my house a hunter's dog was lying chained, a savage beast, which would catch the girls by their petticoats with the quickness of lightning if they incautiously passed too near him. Now it was my greatest delight to tease this brute in every possible way; and it was enough to make one burst with laughing to see the beast fix his eyes on me with such fierceness that he seemed ready to tear me to pieces if he could but get at me. Well, what happened? Once, when I was amusing myself in this manner, I hit him such a bang in the ribs with a stone that in his fury he broke loose and ran right upon me. I tore away like lightning, but – devil take it! – that confounded ditch lay right in my way. What was to be done? The dog was close at my heels and quite furious; there was no time to deliberate. I took a spring and cleared the ditch. To that leap I was indebted for life and limb; the beast would have torn me to atoms.

      CHARLES VON M. And to what does all this tend?

      SPIEGEL. To this – that you may be taught that strength grows with the occasion. For which reason I never despair even when things are the worst. Courage grows with danger. Powers of resistance increase by pressure. It is evident by the obstacles she strews in my path that fate must have designed me for a great man.

      CHARLES VON M. (angrily). I am not aware of anything for which we still require courage, and have not already shown it.

      SPIEGEL. Indeed! And so you mean to let your gifts go to waste? To bury your talent? Do you think your paltry achievements at Leipsic amount to the ne plus ultra of genius? Let us but once get to the great world – Paris and London! where you get your ears boxed if you salute a man as honest. It is a real jubilee to practise one's handicraft there on a grand scale. How you will stare! How you will open your eyes! to see signatures forged; dice loaded; locks picked, and strong boxes gutted; all that you shall learn of Spiegelberg! The rascal deserves to be hanged on the first gallows that would rather starve than manipulate with his fingers.

      CHARLES VON M. (in a fit of absence). How now? I should not wonder if your proficiency went further still.

      SPIEGEL. I begin to think you mistrust me. Only wait till I have grown warm at it; you shall see wonders; your little brain shall whirl clean round in your pericranium when my teeming wit is delivered. (He rises excited.) How it clears up within me! Great thoughts are dawning in on my soul! Gigantic plans are fermenting in my creative brain. Cursed lethargy (striking his forehead), which has hitherto enchained my faculties, cramped and fettered my prospects! I awake; I feel what I am – and what I am to be!

      CHARLES VON M. You are a fool! The wine is swaggering in your brain.

      SPIEGEL. (more excited). Spiegelberg, they will say, art thou a magician, Spiegelberg? 'Tis a pity, the king will say, that thou wert not made a general, Spiegelberg, thou wouldst have thrust the Austrians through a buttonhole. Yes, I hear the doctors lamenting, 'tis a crying shame that he was not bred to medicine, he would have discovered the elixir vitae. Ay, and that he did not take to financiering, the Sullys will deplore in their cabinets, – he would have turned flints into louis-d'ors by his magic. And Spiegelberg will be the word from east to west; then down into the dirt with you, ye cowards, ye reptiles, while Spiegelberg soars with outspread wings to the temple of everlasting fame.

      CHARLES VON M. A pleasant journey to you! I leave you to climb to the summit of glory on the pillars of infamy. In the shade of my ancestral groves, in the arms of my Amelia, a nobler joy awaits me. I have already, last week, written to my father to implore his forgiveness, and have not concealed the least circumstance from him; and where there is sincerity there is compassion and help. Let us take leave of each other, Moritz. After this day we shall meet no more. The post has arrived. My father's forgiveness must already be within the walls of this town.

      Enter SCHWEITZER, GRIMM, ROLLER, SCHUFTERLE, and RAZMAN.

      ROLLER. Are you aware that they are on our track!

      GRIMM. That we are not for a moment safe from being taken?

      CHARLES VON M. I don't wonder at it. It must be as it will! Have none of you seen Schwarz? Did he say anything about having a letter for me?

      ROLLER. He has been long in search of you on some such errand, I suspect.

      CHARLES VON M. Where is he? where, where? (is about to rush off in haste).

      ROLLER. Stay! we have appointed him to come here. You tremble?

      CHARLES VON M. I do not tremble. Why should I tremble? Comrades, this letter – rejoice with me! I am the happiest man under the sun; why should I tremble?

      Enter SCHWARZ.

      CHARLES VON M. (rushes towards him). Brother, brother! the letter, the letter!

      SCHW. (gives him a letter, which he opens hastily). What's the matter? You have grown as pale as a whitewashed wall!

      CHARLES VON M. My brother's hand!

      SCHW. What the deuce is Spiegelberg about there?

      GRIMM. The fellow's mad. He jumps about as if he had St. Vitus' dance.

      SCHUF. His wits are gone a wool gathering! He's making verses, I'll be sworn!

      RAZ. Spiegelberg! Ho! Spiegelberg! The brute does not hear.

      GRIMM. (shakes him). Hallo! fellow! are you dreaming? or —

      SPIEGEL. (who has all this time been making gestures in a corner of the room, as if working out some great project, jumps up wildly). Your money or your life! (He catches SCHWEITZER by the throat, who very coolly flings him against the wall; Moor drops the letter and rushes out. A general sensation.)

      ROLLER. (calling after him). Moor! where are you going? What's the matter?

      GRIMM. What ails him? What has he been doing? He is as pale as death.

      SCHW. He must have got strange news. Just let us see!

      ROLLER. (picks up the letter from the ground, and reads). "Unfortunate brother!" – a pleasant beginning – "I have only briefly to inform you that you have nothing more to hope for. You may go, your father directs me to tell you, wherever your own vicious propensities lead. Nor are you to entertain, he says, any hope of ever gaining pardon by weeping at his feet, unless you are prepared to fare upon bread and water in the lowest dungeon of his castle until your hair shall outgrow eagles' feathers, and your nails the talons of a vulture. These are his very words. He commands me to close the letter. Farewell forever! I pity you.

      "FRANCIS VON MOOR"

      SCHW. A most amiable and loving brother, in good truth! And the scoundrel's name is Francis.

      SPIEGEL. (slinking forward). Bread and water! Is that it? A temperate diet! But I have made a better provision for you. Did I not say that I should have to think for you all at last?

      SCHWEIT. What does the blockhead say! The jackass is going to think for us all!

      SPIEGEL. Cowards, cripples, lame dogs are ye all if you have not courage enough to venture upon something great.

      ROLLER. Well, of course, so we should be, you are right; but will your proposed scheme get us out of this devil of a scrape? eh?

      SPIEGEL. (with a proud laugh). Poor thing! Get us out of this scrape? Ha, ha, ha! Get us out of the scrape! – and is that all your thimbleful of brain can reach? And with that you trot your mare back to the stable? Spiegelberg would have been a miserable bungler indeed if that were the extent of his aim. Heroes, I tell you, barons, princes, gods, it will make of you.

      RAZ. That's pretty well for one bout, truly! But no doubt it is some neck-breaking piece of business; it will cost a head or so at the least.

      SPIEGEL. It wants nothing but courage; as to the headwork, I take that entirely upon myself. Courage, I say, Schweitzer! Courage, Roller! Grimm! Razman! Schufterle! Courage!

      SCHW. Courage! If that is all, I have courage enough to walk through hell barefoot.

      SCHUFT.