RAZ. (aside to SPIEGELBERG). What are you driving at? Speak plainer.
SPIEGEL. Hush! hush! I know not what sort of a notion you and I have of liberty, that we should toil under the yoke like bullocks, while we are making such wonderful fine speeches about independence. I like it not.
SCHWEITZER (to GRIMM). What crotchet has that swaggering booby got in his numskull, I wonder?
RAZ. (aside to SPIEGELBERG). Is it the captain you mean?-
SPIEGEL. Hush! I tell you; hush! He has got his eavesdroppers all around us. Captain, did you say? Who made him captain over us? Has he not, in fact, usurped that title, which by right belongs to me? What? Is it for this that we stake our lives-that we endure all the splenetic caprices of fortunes-that we may in the end congratulate ourselves upon being the serfs of a slave? Serfs! When we might be princes? By heaven! Razmann, I could never brook it.
SCHWEITZER (overhearing him-to the others). Yes-there's a hero for you! He is just the man to do mighty execution upon frogs with stones. The very breath of his nostrils, when he sneezes, would blow you through the eye of a needle.
SPIEGEL. (to RAZMANN). Yes-and for years I have been intent upon it. There must be an alteration, Razmann. If you are the man I always took you for-Razmann! He is missing-he is almost given up-Razmann- methinks his hour is come. What? does not the color so much as mount to your cheek when you hear the chimes of liberty ringing in your ears? Have you not courage enough to take the hint?
RAZ. Ha! Satan! What bait art thou spreading for my soul?
SPIEGEL. Does it take? Good! then follow me! I have marked in what direction he slunk off. Come along! a brace of pistols seldom fail; and then-we shall be the first to strangle sucking babes. (He endeavors to draw him of.)
SCHWEITZER (enraged, draws his sword). Ha! caitiff! I have overheard you! You remind me, at the right moment, of the Bohemian forest! Were not you the coward that began to quail when the cry arose, "the enemy is coming!" I then swore by my soul-(They fight, SPIEGELBERG is killed.) To the devil with thee, assassin!
ROBBERS (in agitation). Murder! murder!-Schweitzer !-Spiegelberg!- Part them!
SCHWEITZER (throwing the sword on the body). There let him rot! Be still, my comrades! Don't let such a trifle disturb you. The brute has always been inveterate against the captain and has not a single scar on his whole body. Once more, be still. Ha, the scoundrel! He would stab a man behind his back-skulk and murder! Is it for this that the hot sweat has poured down us in streams? that we may sneak out of the world at last like contemptible wretches? The brute! Is it for this that we have lived in fire and brimstone? To perish at last like rats?
GRIMM. But what the devil, comrade, were you after? What were you quarreling about? The captain will be furious.
SCHWEITZER. Be that on my head. And you, wretch (to RAZMANN) you were his accomplice, you! Get out of my sight! Schufterle was another of your kidney, but he has met his deserts in Switzerland-has been hanged, as the captain prophesied. (A shot is heard.)
SCHWARZ (jumping up). Hark! a pistol shot! (Another shot is heard.) Another! Hallo! the captain!
GRIMM. Patience! If it be he, there will be a third. (The third shot is heard.)
SCHWARZ. 'Tis he! 'Tis the captain! Absent yourself awhile, Schweitzer-till we explain to him! (They fire.)
Enter CHARLES VON MOOR and KOSINSKY.
SCHWEITZER (running to meet them). Welcome, captain. I have been somewhat choleric in your absence. (He conducts him to the corpse.) Be you judge between him and me. He meant to waylay and assassinate you.
ROBBERS (in consternation). What; the captain?
CHARLES (after fixing his eyes for some time upon the corpse, with a sudden burst of feeling). Oh, incomprehensible finger of the avenging Nemesis! Was it not he whose siren song seduced me to be what I am? Let this sword be consecrated to the dark goddess of retribution! That was not thy deed, Schweitzer.
SCHWEITZER. By heaven, it was mine, though! and, as the devil lives, it is not the worst deed I have done in my time. (Turns away moodily.)
CHARLES (absorbed in thought). I comprehend-Great Ruler in heaven- I comprehend. The leaves fall from the trees, and my autumn is come. Remove this object from my sight! (The corpse of SPIEGELBERG is carried out.)
GRIMM. Give us your orders, captain! What shall we do next?
CHARLES. Soon-very soon-all will be accomplished. Hand me my lute; I have lost myself since I have been there. My lute, I say-I must nurse up my strength again. Leave me!
ROBBERS. 'Tis midnight, captain.
CHARLES. They were only stage tears after all. Let me bring to memory the song of the old Roman, that my slumbering genius may wake up again. Hand me my lute. Midnight, say you?
SCHWARZ. Yes, and past, too! Our eyes are as heavy as lead. For three days we have not slept a wink.
CHARLES. What? does balmy sleep visit the eyes of murderers? Why doth it flee mine? I never was a coward, nor a villain. Lay yourselves to rest. At day-break we march.
ROBBERS. Good night, captain. (They stretch them selves on the ground and fall asleep.)
Profound silence. CHARLES VON MOOR takes up his
guitar, and plays.
BRUTUS. Oh, be ye welcome, realms of peace and rest! Receive the last of all the sons of Rome! From dread Philippi's field, where all the best Fell bleeding in her cause, I wearied come. Cassius, no more! And Rome now prostrate laid! My brethren all lie weltering in their gore! No refuge left but Hades' gloomy shade; No hope remains !-No world for Brutus more!
CAESAR. Who's he that, with a hero's lofty bearing, Comes striding o'er yon mountain's rocky bed? Unless my eyes deceive, that noble daring Bespeaks the Roman warrior's fearless tread. Whence, son of Tiber, do thy footsteps bend! Say, stands the seven-billed city firmly yet? No Caesar there, to be the soldiers friend! Full oft has he that orphaned city wept.
BRUTUS. Ha! thou of three-and-twenty wounds! Avaunt! Thou unblest shade, what calls thee back to light? Down with thee, down, to Pluto's deepest haunt, And shroud thy form in black, eternal night, Proud mourner! triumph not to learn our fall! Phillippi's altars reek with freedom's blood? The bier of Brutus is Rome's funeral pall; He Minos seeks. Hence to thy Stygian flood!
CAESAR. That death-stroke, Brutus, which thy weapon hurled! Thou, too, Brutus?-that thou shouldst be my foe! Oh, son! It was thy father! Son! The world Was thine by heritage! Now proudly go, Well mayst thou claim to be the chief in glory, 'Twas thy fell sword that pierced thy father's heart! Now go-and at yon gates relate thy story- Say Brutus claims to be the chief in glory, 'Twas his fell sword that pierced his father's heart! Go-Now thou'rt told what staid me on this shore, Grim ferryman, push off, and swiftly ply thine oar.
BRUTUS. Stay, father, stay! Within the whole bright round Of Sol's diurnal course I knew but one Who to compare with Caesar could be found; And that one, Caesar, thou didst call thy son! 'Twas only Caesar could destroy a Rome; Brutus alone that Caesar could withstand- Where Brutus lives, must Caesar die! Thy home Be far from mine. I'll seek another land.
[He lays down his guitar, and walks to and
fro in deep meditation.]
Who will give me certainty! All is so dark-a confused labyrinth-no outlet-no guiding star. Were but all to end with this last gasp of breath. To end, like an empty puppet-show. But why then this burning thirst after happiness? Wherefore this ideal of unattained perfection? This looking to an hereafter for the fulfilment of our hopes? If the paltry pressure of this paltry thing (putting a pistol to his head) makes the wise man and the fool-the coward and the brave-the noble and the villain equal?-the harmony which pervades the inanimate world is so divinely perfect-why, then, should there be such discord in the intellectual? No! no! there must be something beyond, for I have not yet attained to happiness.