# The Robbers (Schiller)/Act V

ACT V.
SCENE, An Apartment in Moor's Castle.
Francis de Moor in a night-gown, rushes in, followed by Daniel.
Francis.
Betray'd! betray'd! The spirits of the dead rise from their graves—a countless host raised from eternal sleep to haunt the murderer.—Who's that?———
Daniel.
(Anxiously.) Heaven pity me! What! my dear Lord, is it possible it could be you who shriek'd so horribly as to waken us all out of our sleep?
Francis.
Your sleep? Who gave you leave to sleep? What! Sleep at this hour, when all should be awake?—Awake! Ay, armed and caparisoned.—Quick, quick, to arms, to arms.—Load every musket.—See'st thou not how they force their way through every door, and dart along yon vaulted passages?
Daniel.
Who, my Lord?
Francis.
Who? beast! Dost thou not see them? hear them? Are your senses gone? Demons and ghosts!——How goes the night?
Daniel.
The watch has just cried Two.
Francis.
No more? Will this eternal night last to the day of judgement? Heard you no noise without? No shouting? Cries of victory? Hark! horses at the gallop! Where is Char....... The Count, I mean?
Daniel.
I cannot tell, Sir.
Francis.
You cannot tell? You are of the plot!—I'll tread your villain's heart out.—You cannot tell?—The very beggars have conspired against me.—Heaven, earth, and hell, combined against me!
Daniel.
My Lord!
Francis.
Who said I trembled? No—'twas but a dream. The dead are in their graves—Tremble?—No—I am quite at ease.
Daniel.
You are not well, my Lord.—You are quite pale—Your voice is changed,—it faulters.——
Francis.
I am feverish.—I shall let blood to-morrow.
Daniel.
Indeed, Sir, you are ill—very ill.
Francis.
Yes, that is all.—It is so,—and illness affects the brain, and gives wild dreams.—What matter what one dreams!—'Tis indigestion makes us dream.—I had a pleasant dream just now. (He sinks down in a faint.)
Daniel.
Good God! What's here! George! Conrad! Bastian! Martin! Where are you all? Give but a sign of life. (He shakes him.) O Lord! they'll say I murdered him.
Francis.
(Disturbed.) Begone! Who shakes me there? Horrible spectre! Are the dead alive?
Daniel.
Merciful God! He has lost his reason!
Francis.
(Recovering himself gradually.) Where am I? Is it you, Daniel? What did I say?—What signifies it?—Don't mind it:—'Twas all a lie, whatever it was.—Come, help me—It was, I think, a fit of giddiness—from want of sleep.
Daniel.
I'll call assistance, Sir:—send for physicians.—
Francis.
Stop.—Sit down here:—You are a man of sense, Daniel—I'll tell you how I……
Daniel.
No, no, Sir,—Another time.—I'll see you put to bed—you have great need of rest.
Francis.
Nay, Daniel—I must tell you—'tis so odd.—You'll laugh, I promise you:—You must know I thought I had been feasting like a Prince, and I laid me down quite happy on one of the grassy banks of the garden—there I fell asleep, and all of a sudden—but you'll laugh when I tell you.———
Daniel.
All of a sudden——What?
Francis.
All of a sudden, I was waked by a clap of thunder,—I got upon my feet, and staggering, looked ​around me—when lo! the whole horizon seemed to be one great sheet of fire—the mountains, towns, and forests seemed to melt like wax in a furnace; and then a dreadful tempest arose, which drove before it the heavens, the earth, and the ocean.
Daniel.
Good God! It is the description of the day of judgement.
Francis.
Did you ever hear such ridiculous stuff? Then I saw a person come forward, who held in his right hand a brazen balance, which stretched from east to west.—He cried with a loud voice, "Approach, ye children of dust: I weigh the thoughts of the heart!"
Daniel.
God have mercy upon me!
Francis.
All seemed to be struck with terror; and every countenance was pale as ashes.—'Twas then I thought I heard my name in a dreadful voice that issued in thunder from a mountain,—a voice ​that froze the marrow in my bones, and made my teeth chatter as if they had been of iron.
Daniel.
O, may God forgive you!
Francis.
He did not forgive me.—Behold, an old man appeared, bent to the ground with sorrow,—a horrible sight; for he had gnawed away one half of his arm from hunger.—None could bear to look upon him.—I knew him:—He cut off one of his grey locks, and threw it from him.—Then I heard a voice issue from the smoke of the mountain: "Mercy and forgiveness to all the sinners of the earth! Thou only art rejected." (After a long pause.) Why don't you laugh?
Daniel.
Laugh? at what makes my flesh creep?—Dreams come from God!
Francis.
Fy, fy! you must not say so.—Call me a fool, a child, an idiot,—any thing. But prithee laugh at me.
Daniel.
Dreams come from God.—I will go pray for you.
(Exit.
Francis.
No—'Tis popular superstition! All chimeras! If the past is past, who has decided that an eye above shall e'er look back upon it?—Does vengeance dwell above the stars? No, no:—Yet there is something here that tells in dreadful whispers to my soul, there is—a Judge above the stars!—Should I this night appear before him—No, 'tis all a jest—a miserable subterfuge for coward fear to grasp at.—But if it should be so—if that were true—and all were registered above—and this the night of reckoning.——Why this quaking of the joints? this fearful shuddering? To die!—that word congeals my blood—To give account! Ay, and when that reckoning comes, to face the Judge—should he do justice!
Enter a Servant hastily.
Servant.
Amelia has escaped.—The Count has suddenly gone off.
Enter Daniel, with a countenance of terror.
Daniel.
My Lord, there is a troop of horsemen riding up to the Castle at the full gallop, and crying, Murder, murder! The village is all in alarm.
Francis.
Go ring the bells, and summon all to church—to prayers I say.—I will have prayers said for me:—I'll set the prisoners free—make restitution to the poor five and six fold.—Go call my confessor, to give me absolution of my sins.—What! not yet gone? (The tumult increases.)
Daniel.
God forgive me all my sins! Are you serious, Sir? And do you really wish I should obey these orders?—You, who have always made a jest of prayers, and who so oft——
Francis.
No more! To die,—to die is dreadful.—It will be too late. (Switzer's cry is heard.) To prayers, to prayers!
Daniel.
'Tis what I always told you—but you mock'd at prayer.—And now, behold, Sir, when you are in trouble—when the flood overwhelms your soul———
Switzer's voice is heard in the court of the castle. Storm—break down the gates.—Yonder is a light!—they must be there!——
Francis.
(On his knees.) Hear my prayer, O God of heaven! It is the first.——Hear me, O God of heaven!
Switzer.
(Still in the court.) Strike them down, my lads.—It is the devil come from hell to seize him.—Where's Blackman with his troop? Surround the castle, Grimm!—Run! storm the ramparts.
Grimm.
Here! bring the firebrands!—Watch where he comes down:—We'll smoke him out!
Francis.
My God! I have been no common murderer—no miserable petty crimes committed!—
Daniel.
God have compassion on us! Even his prayers are sins!
(They fling stones and firebrands—the windows are broken in—the castle is set on fire.)
Francis.
I cannot pray.—Here, here, (beating on his breast,) all is choked up!—No, I will pray no more.——
Daniel.
Christ and his mother save us!—The whole castle is on fire!
Francis.
Here! take this sword! stab me behind!—thrust it into my bowels—that these villains may not come to make their sport of me. (The fire increases.)
Daniel.
God forbid!—I will send none to heaven before his time, far less to....... (He runs off.)
Francis.
(Looking after him.—A pause.) To hell, he would have said.—Yes, I feel he's right.——Are these their shouts of triumph?—that hissing there, is it hell's serpents? Hark, they are coming up!—they are at the door!—Why should I shudder at this sword's point?—Ha! the gate is down!—Now 'tis impossible to escape.—(He attempts to throw himself into the flames, and is pursued by the Robbers, who rush in, across the stage.)
SCENE, A Forest.—A ruined Tower, as in the end of the Fourth Act.
The Old Count de Moor seated upon a stone.—Charles de Moor in conversation with him.—Some of the band scattered through the forest.
Moor.
And was he dear to you, that other son?
O. Moor.
Heaven knows how dear he was to me! O why did my weak heart ever listen to those artful tales of basest calumny? I was so happy! above all fathers blest in the fair promise of my childrens youth.—But, Oh accursed hour! the spirit of a fiend possessed the youngest of my sons—I trusted to the serpent's wiles, and lost—both my children! (Hides his face with his hands. Moor goes to a little distance.) How deeply now I feel the truth of those sad words Amelia uttered, "In vain, when on your death-bed, you shall stretch your feeble hands to grasp your Charles—he never will approach your bed—never more comfort you." (Moor, turning away his head, gives him his hand.) Oh were this my Charles's hand! But he is gone!—He's in the narrow house! he sleeps the sleep of death!—He cannot hear the voice of my complaint!—I must die amidst the strangers—No son have I to close my eyes!
Moor.
(In great agitation.) It must be so—it must this moment. (To the Robbers.) Leave us alone!—And yet—can I bring back his son?—I never can bring back that son!—No, no, it must not be.—No, never, never!——
O. Moor.
What dost thou say?—What dost thou mutter to thyself?
Moor.
Thy son!—Yes, old man, (hesitating), thy son is lost for ever!
O. Moor.
For ever?
Moor.
Ask me no more!—For ever!
O. Moor.
Why did you take me from yon hideous dungeon?
Moor.
But stay—If I could now but get his blessing—steal it from him like a thief, and so escape with that celestial treasure! (He throws himself at his feet.) I broke the iron bolts of the dungeon.—blessed old man! I ask thy kiss for that.
O. Moor.
(Pressing him to his bosom.) Take this, and think it is a father's kiss—and I will dream I hold my Charles to my breast.—What? can you weep?
Moor.
(With great emotion.) I thought it was a father's kiss. (Throws himself on his neck.—A confused noise is heard, and a light is seen of torches approaching. Moor rises hastily.) Hark! 'tis vengeance comes!——Yonder they come! (Looks earnestly at the old man, and then raises his eyes to heaven, with an expression of deliberate fury.) Thou suffering Lamb! enflame me with the tyger's fury! The sacrifice must now be offered up! and such a victim, that the stars shall hide their heads in darkness, and universal nature be appalled! (The torches are seen, the noise encreases, and several pistol-shots are heard.)
O. Moor.
Alas! alas! what is that horrid noise? Who is a-coming?—Are these my son's confederates come to drag me from the dungeon to the scaffold?
Moor.
(Raising his hands to heaven.) O Judge of heaven and earth! hear a murderer's prayer! Give him ten thousand lives! may life return a-new, and every dagger's stroke refresh him for eternal agonies!
O. Moor.
What is't you mutter there?—'tis horrible!—
Moor.
I say my prayers! (The wild music of the Robbers is heard.)
O. Moor.
O think of Francis in your prayers!
Moor.
(In a voice choked with rage.) He is not forgotten!———
O. Moor.
That's not the voice of one who prays!—O cease!—Such prayers make me all shudder!—
(Enter Switzer with a party of Robbers:—Francis de Moor, handcuffed, in the middle of them.)
Switzer.
Triumph! Captain.—Here he is!—I have fulfilled my word.
Grimm.
We tore him out of the flames of his castle:—His vassals all took to flight.
Kozinski
The castle is in ashes—and even the memory of his name annihilated. (A dreadful pause.—Moor comes slowly forward.)
Moor.
(With a stern voice to Francis.) Dost thou know me?
Francis.
(Without answering, fixes his eyes immoveably on the ground, while Charles leads him towards the old man.) Dost thou know that man?
Francis.
(Starting back with horror.) Thunder of heaven! It is my father!
O. Moor.
(Turns away shuddering.) Go! May God forgive you.—I have forgotten——
Moor.
(With stern severity.) And may my curse accompany that prayer, and clog it with a milstone's weight, that it may never reach the mercy-seat of God!—Do you know that dungeon?
Francis.
(To Herman.) Monster! Has your inveterate enmity to our blood, pursued my poor father even to this dungeon?
Herman.
Bravo! Bravo! Where a lie is wanted, the devil will never desert his own.
Moor.
Enough.—Lead this old man a little on into the forest.—I need no father's tears to prompt to what remains. (They lead off the old Count, who is in a state of insensibility.) Approach ye felons! (They form a semicircle round the two brothers, and look sternly on, resting upon their muskets.) Now, not a breath be heard! As sure as I now hope for heaven's mercy—the first who moves his lips to utter a sound, I blow his brains out.—Hush!
Francis.
(To Herman, in a transport of rage.) Wretch! that I could spit my poisonous foam in torrents on that face!—This is gall! (Gnawing his chains, and weeping from rage.)
Moor.
(With great dignity.) I stand commissioned here as minister of heaven's Almighty King, the Judge of right and wrong;—and from your mouths I shall announce a doom, which the most pure and upright court on earth would sanction and approve.—The guilty are assembled here as judges, and I of all most guilty am their chief.—He, who on scrutiny of his own conscience, and strict review of all his past offences, does not appear pure as the innocent child, and spotless when compared with this enormous and most horrible wretch, let him withdraw from this assembly, and break his poniard as a token! (All the Robbers throw away their poniards, without breaking them, and remain in the same posture.) Now, Moor, be proud indeed! for thou hast this day changed the scarlet sinners to the spotless angels.—There's still a poniard wanting. (He draws his poniard, and ​a pause ensues.) His mother was mine too! (To Kozinski and Switzer.) Be judges! (In great emotion he breaks his poniard, and retires to a side.)
Switzer.
(After a pause.) Stand I not here like some poor dunce at school, bewildered and amazed,—my faculties locked up.—What, not a new invention to be found of torment.—While life is lavish in variety of pleasures, is death so niggardly in choice of tortures? (Striking the ground impatiently.) Speak thou, for I have lost all faculty of invention.
Kozinski.
Think on his gray hairs:—Cast your eyes on that dungeon:—Let these suggest! Should I, a scholar, thus instruct his master?
Switzer.
Accustomed as I am to scenes of horror, I'm poor in such invention.—Was not this dungeon the chief scene of his atrocious crimes?—Sit we not now in judgement before this dungeon? Down with him into the vault! There let him rot alive!
The Robbers.
(Applauding tumultuously.) Down with him! Down with him! (They go to lay hold of him.)
Francis.
(Springing into the arms of his brother.) Save me from the claws of these murderers! Save me, brother!
Moor.
Thou hast made me chief of these murderers. (Francis starts back with terror.) Wilt thou entreat me now?
The Robbers.
(Still more tumultuous.) Down with him! Down with him!
Moor.
(With a dignified expression of grief.) Son of my father! Thou hast robbed me of Heaven's bliss—Be that sin blotted out! Perdition is thy lot!—I do forgive thee, brother! (He embraces him, and goes out, while the Robbers put Francis down into the dungeon, laughing in a savage manner.)
Moor.
(Returning, plunged in a deep reverie.) It is accomplished! O God who rulest all! accept my thanks.—It is accomplished! (In deep meditation.) If this dungeon should be the limit of my course, to which thou hast led me through paths of blood and horror: If for that end thou hast decreed I should become the chief of these foul Murderers: Eternal Providence! I bend me to thy will with awe and reverence—I tremble and adore!—Thus let it be—and here I terminate the work.—His battle o'er, the soldier falls with dignity. Thus let me vanish with the night, and end my course as breaks yon purple dawn!—Bring in my father! (Some of the Robbers go out, and return with the old man.)
O. Moor.
O whither do you lead me? Where is my son?
Moor.
(With dignified composure.) The planet and the grain of sand hath each its place allotted in ​this scene of things: Thy son hath likewise his.—Be seated there!
O. Moor.
(Breaks out into tears.) Oh, I have no children! None!
Moor.
Peace, peace! Be seated there!
O. Moor.
O cruel in your kindness! You have saved a dying wretch, and dragged him back to life, only to tell him that his children are no more! Shew mercy yet, and bury me again in that dark tower!
Moor.
(Seizes his hand, and raises it with transport to heaven.) Do not blaspheme, old man! Blaspheme not Him, before whose righteous throne I have this day prayed with confidence—To day, the wicked have approached the throne of mercy.
O. Moor.
And have they there been taught to murder?
Moor.
(With a voice of indignation.) Old man, no more! (In a calmer tone.) If his divinity thus stirs within the sinner's breast, is it for saints to quench that holy fire? Where could you now find words to express contrition or to sue forgiveness, if this day He should baptise for thee—a son?
O. Moor.
Are sons baptised in blood?
Moor.
What dost thou say? Is truth revealed by the tongue of despair?—Yes, old man, it is possible for Providence to baptise even with blood.—This day He has baptised for thee with blood.—Fearful and wonderful are His ways.—But in the end are tears of joy.
O. Moor.
Where shall those tears be shed?
Moor.
Upon thy Charles's heart! (Throws himself into his arms.)
O. Moor.
(In a transport of joy.) My Charles alive!
Moor.
Yes! he's alive! sent here to save—to avenge his father.—Thus by thy favourite son thy kindness recompensed. (Pointing to the tower.) Thus by the prodigal revenged! (Presses him more warmly to his breast.)
The Robbers.
Hark! there are voices in the forest!
Moor.
Call in the band! (The Robbers go out.) 'Tis time, O heart! time to remove the cup of pleasure from the lips, before it turn to poison.
O. Moor.
Are these men thy friends? I dread to look at them.
Moor.
Ask any thing but that!—That has no answer.
Enter Amelia, with her hair dishevelled. All the band follow, and range themselves in the back ground of the scene.
Amelia.
They say the dead have arisen at his voice—that my uncle is alive—saved from that tower!—My Charles, where are you? Where is my uncle?
Moor.
(Starting back.) Oh! what a picture for an eye like mine!
O. Moor.
(Rises trembling.) Amelia! my dear niece!
Amelia.
(Throwing herself into the old man's arms.) My father, O once more,—my Charles!—my all!
O. Moor.
My Charles alive!—and I!—and all! My Charles alive!——
Moor.
(With fury, to the band.) Let us be gone, my friends! The arch-fiend has betrayed me!
Amelia.
(Disengaging herself from the embrace of the old man, flies into the arms of Charles, and embraces him with transport.) I have him here! O heavens, I have him here!
Moor.
Tear her from my arms!—Kill her!—and him—and me too—and all!—Let nature go to wreck!
Amelia.
My husband! Oh my husband! Transported quite! he is in extasy.—Why am I thus poor in transport? cold, insensible, 'midst this tumultuous joy?
O. Moor.
Come, my children!——Here, Charles, thy hand—and thine, Amelia! A happiness like this I never looked for on this side the grave.—Here let me bless your union—and for ever———
Amelia.
For ever his! For ever! and he mine! O Powers of heaven! abate this torrent of delight! It kills with pleasure!
Moor.
(Tearing himself from the arms of Amelia.) Away! away! dear wretch! most miserable of brides!—Look there!—ask of these men!—and hear them!—Hear them, O most unhappy of all fathers!—Let me be gone for ever!
Amelia.
What wouldst thou do?—where go?—Here's love and happiness eternal! What mean those dreadful words?
O. Moor.
Where would he go? My son! my only son! What does he mean?
Moor.
It is too late!—In vain!——Thy curse, my father!—Ask me no more.—I am—I have—thy curse—believed, at least, thy curse!——(With firmness.) Die, wretched Emily!—Father, by me twice slain!—these thy deliverers—are robbers!—robbers and assassins!—Thy son—their Captain!
O. Moor.
O God!——My children!—Oh! (He dies.)
(Amelia remains motionless as a statue.—The band preserve a dreadful silence.)
Moor.
(Running to dash his head against an oak, stops suddenly.) The spirits of those I murdered in their sleep—or in the bed of love!—Hark! yon dreadful explosion, which crush'd to death the mother and her infant!—The flames, which lick'd the cradles of the babes!—Ay, that's the nuptial torch—and these the wedding songs!—— Oh! He has not forgotten.—He knows to crave his debt.—Then, Love, be gone for ever.—Here is my doom—and this my just award!—'Tis retribution.
Amelia.
(Who recovers, as if from a thunder-stroke.) Father of heaven! 'tis true!—He has said it!—It is true.—But what have I done?—I, an innocent lamb!—I have loved this Man!
Moor.
'Tis more than man can bear! I have heard the yell of death poured from a thousand mouths, ​and never shrunk! Shall I now quake before a woman?—be myself a woman! No, no!——No woman e'er shall move to weakness this man's heart.—I must have blood!—This will wear off! I'll drink of blood—and then I'll brave my fate! (Is going off.)
Amelia.
(Rushes into his arms.) Murderer! fiend! whate'er thou art—angel to me! I will not let thee go!
Moor.
Is this a dream? a frenzy of the brain? or new device of hell, to make its game of me? See how she clings—clings to the murderer's neck!
Amelia.
Ay—fast!—for ever!
Moor.
She loves me!—loves me still.—Then I am spotless as the light!—She loves me.—With all my crimes, she loves me;—an angel weeps on a fiend's neck—a fiend restored to grace.—Here let the serpents of the Furies die—hell sink to nothing—I am happy! (Hiding his face on the bosom of Amelia.)
Grimm.
(Furiously.) Stop, Traitor! leave her arms this instant!—or I will speak a word that shall appal you to the soul!
Switzer.
(Interposes his sword between Moor and Grimm.) Think on the forest of Bohemia! Mark'st thou that? Think on the forest of Bohemia! Traitor! Where are thy oaths?—Are all our wounds forgot? our fortune, honour, life, despised for thee? our sufferings, more than mortal, set at nought! Didst thou not then lift up that hand to heaven, and swear—swear never to forsake us—never to desert those who have been true to thee?—Foul, faithless, basest traitor!—To sell us for a woman's tears!
The Robbers,
(Murmuring confusedly, uncover their breasts.) Look here! look at these wounds!—We bought thee with our blood! Thou art our bondman—ours thou art!—If the Archangel Michael should seek to wrest thee from the Prince of hell—thou art ours.—Come! come along! a victim for a victim! a woman for the band!
Moor.
(Disengaging himself from Amelia's arms.) 'Tis done!—I would have fain gone back.—But He that is in heaven has said, No! Look not thus dark upon me, Emily! He has no need of me.—Has he not millions of his creatures? He can spare one!—I am that one.—Come, friends, let us be gone! (Turning to the band.)
Amelia.
(Holding him fast.) Stop, stop! one single stroke!—a mortal stroke! Again abandoned!—O draw that sword in mercy!
Moor.
Mercy is in the tyger's heart.—I cannot kill.
Amelia.
(Embracing his knees.) O, for the love of God!—for mercy!—I ask thee not for love.—I know we are curst by Fate.—Death! death's my only prayer!—See, my hand shakes.—I cannot touch the sword—its gleaming terrifies me!—O, to thee it were so easy! inured to death.—Strike, strike, and I will bless thee!
Moor.
(With sternness.) Wouldst thou alone be happy? Begone! I cannot kill a woman!
Amelia.
Murderer! thou kill'st the happy only—but the wretch who longs for death, thy barbarous pity spares. (To the band.) Have mercy on me! kindest ministers of death!—O pity me! Yes, those savage looks are comfort to the wretch!—They thirst for blood.—Dispatch me quick!—In mercy kill me! Your master is a coward—a mere braggart! (Some of the Robbers present their pieces at her.)
Moor.
(In fury.) Begone, you harpies! (Places himself between them and Amelia.) Dare but a soul of you to violate this sanctuary!—She is mine! (Encircling her waste with his arm.) Let heaven and hell combine their powers to force her from this hold!—Love is above all oaths! (He lifts her from the ground, and shews her triumphantly to all the band.) What Nature has united, who shall dare to part?
The Robbers.
(Levelling their muskets, and taking aim at both.) We shall dare!
Moor.
(With a contemptuous smile.) Poor, impotent, and weak! (He places Amelia, who is almost insensible, on a stone.) Look up, my bride! No priest shall bless our union—no hallowed prayer be said!—I know what's better. (Takes the handkerchief from Amelia's neck, and discovers her bosom.) Gaze on this beauteous sight! if ye be men! Felons! have ye hearts of stone?—Behold me here! I'm young—I've felt the power of love! I was beloved! betroth'd!——I had reached the gate of paradise! (In a tone of tender supplication.) and shall my brothers force me thence? (The Robbers smile.)—It is enough! (With firmness.) Thus far has Nature spoke!—Now the Man's part begins!——I am a murderer, like you!—a robber, and incendiary!—I am——(advancing to the band with an air of inexpressible majesty)—your Captain!—and will you thus, ye felons! sword in hand, thus treat, thus parley with your Captain? Down with your arms! it is your master who ​commands! (They lay down their arms.) There! what are you now, but children, and I—am free!—Moor must be free, in order to be great! Now, I would not exchange this triumph for an elysium of love! (He draws his sword.) Poor wretches! your mean souls reach not this height.—Whate'er is great seems frenzy in your eyes.—The spirit of despair outstrips your snail-paced wisdom. On deeds like these we pause not till they are done!——I'll think on this—hereafter!
(He stabs Amelia.)
The Robbers.
(Clapping their hands.) Bravo! most worthy Captain! Thy honour is discharg'd!—Thou Prince of Robbers!
Moor.
Now she is mine! She's mine!—Or that hereafter is but the dream of fools!——I have soil'd my destiny!—In spite of fate, I have brought home my bride:—And with this sword, have seal'd our wedding vows.—Thousands of years shall pass, and seasons roll, e'er the bright sun shall witness such a deed.——(To Amelia with tenderness.) Was it not sweet, my Emily, to die thus by thy bridegroom's hand?
Amelia.
(Stretching out her hand to him.) Oh most sweet!
(She dies.)
Moor.
(To the band.) And now, my friends! warm-hearted, pitying friends! Did your poor felon-souls look for a deed like this? What was your sacrifice to me? a life stain'd deep with infamy, spotted with crimes—blasted with sin and shame.—I sacrificed to you a spotless angel! (Throws his sword to them with contempt.) Now, felons, we are even! This bleeding corpse cancels my bond for ever.—From yours, I set you free!
The Robbers.
(Crowding to him.) We are your slaves till death!
Moor.
No, no!—All is accomplished! My genius tells me, "Here must be thy bourn:—Thus far could nature go! No further!"——Here, take this bloody plume! (Throws his plume at their feet.) He that will be your Captain now, may take it up!
The Robbers.
Oh spiritless! Where are your mighty plans! Air-bubbles all! burst with a woman's breath!
Moor.
(With dignity.) What Moor has done, who dares to question?—Hear my last command!—Come hither!—Stand around, and hearken to your dying Captain's words! (Looking at them for a long time.) You have been devoted to me—faithful beyond example.—Had virtue been the bond of your attachment, you had been heroes:—your memories had been revered, your names pronounced with rapture by mankind.—Go, and devote what yet remains of life to mankind's service, to your country's cause. Go, serve a gracious king, who wages war to vindicate the rights of man! This be my benediction! Hence!—Farewel.——Stop, Switzer and Kozinski!
(The band goes out, leaving Switzer and Kozinski with Moor.)
Moor.
Give me thy hand, Kozinski! Thine too, ​Switzer! (Taking their hands, and placing himself between them.) Young man! (To Kozinski.) Thou art yet unspotted—amongst the guilty, only guiltless! (To Switzer.) These hands I have deep imbrued in blood! That be my offence, not thine! Here with this grasp I take what is mine own.—Now, Switzer, thou art pure! (Raises their hands to heaven with fervour.) Father of heaven! here I give them up! lost sheep restored! They will be now more fervently thine own than those who never fell! (Switzer and Kozinski fall on each other's neck.) Not now, my friends! O spare me—in this decisive hour!——An earldom is mine by heritage, a rich domain, on which no malediction rests.—Share it between you:—Become good men! good citizens! And if for ten whom I have destroyed you make but one man blest, my soul may yet be saved!—Go! quick! while yet my fortitude remains! (Switzer and Kozinski go out, hiding their faces.)
Good citizen! And am not I too worthy of that name? What law so terrible as that which I have obeyed? What vengeance or atonement of offence that's like to mine?——Be my fate fulfilled!—Hard by I have observed a wretch ​who labours by the day, an officer.—He has eleven children.—To him who shall deliver up the Robber Moor, a high reward is now proclaimed.—He and his babes shall have it!
THE END.