No More Learning

" 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, and saluted his peasants as brethren and
children. My brows shall lower upon you like thunderclouds; my lordly
name shall hover over you like a threatening comet over the mountains;
my forehead shall be your weather-glass! He would caress and fondle
the child that lifted its stubborn head against him. But fondling and
caressing is not my mode. I will drive the rowels of the spur into
their flesh, and give the scourge a trial. Under my rule it shall be
brought to pass that potatoes and small-beer shall be considered a
holiday treat; and woe to him who meets my eye with the audacious front
of health. Haggard want and crouching fear are my insignia; and in this
livery I will clothe ye.
[Exit. ]




SCENE III. --THE BOHEMIAN WOODS.

SPIEGELBERG, RAZMAN, A Troop Of ROBBERS.


RAZ. Are you come? Is it really you? Oh, let me squeeze thee into a
jelly, my dear heart's brother! Welcome to the Bohemian forests! Why,
you are grown quite stout and jolly! You have brought us recruits in
right earnest, a little army of them; you are the very prince of crimps.

SPIEGEL. Eh, brother? Eli? And proper fellows they are! You must
confess the blessing of heaven is visibly upon me; I was a poor, hungry
wretch, and had nothing but this staff when I went over the Jordan, and
now there are eight-and-seventy of us, mostly ruined shopkeepers,
rejected masters of arts, and law-clerks from the Swabian provinces.
They are a rare set of fellows, brother, capital fellows, I promise you;
they will steal you the very buttons off each other's trousers in
perfect security, although in the teeth of a loaded musket,* and they
live in clover and enjoy a reputation for forty miles round, which is
quite astonishing.

*[The acting edition reads, "Hang your hat up in the sun, and I'll
take you a wager it's gone the next minute, as clean out of sight
as if the devil himself had walked off with it. "]

There is not a newspaper in which you will not find some little feat or
other of that cunning fellow, Spiegelberg; I take in the papers for
nothing else; they have described me from head to foot; you would think
you saw me; they have not forgotten even my coat-buttons. But we lead
them gloriously by the nose. The other day I went to the
printing-office and pretended that I had seen the famous Spiegelberg,
dictated to a penny-a-liner who was sitting there the exact image of a
quack doctor in the town; the matter gets wind, the fellow is arrested,
put to the rack, and in his anguish and stupidity he confesses the devil
take me if he does not--confesses that he is Spiegelberg. Fire and fury!
I was on the point of giving myself up to a magistrate rather than have
my fair fame marred by such a poltroon; however, within three months he
was hanged. I was obliged to stuff a right good pinch of snuff into my
nose as some time afterwards I was passing the gibbet and saw the
pseudo-Spiegelberg parading there in all his glory; and, while
Spiegelberg's representative is dangling by the neck, the real
Spiegelberg very quietly slips himself out of the noose, and makes jolly
long noses behind the backs of these sagacious wiseacres of the law.

RAZ. (laughing). You are still the same fellow you always were.

SPIEGEL. Ay, sure! body and soul. But I must tell you a bit of fun,
my boy, which I had the other day in the nunnery of St. Austin. We fell
in with the convent just about sunset; and as I had not fired a single
cartridge all day,--you know I hate the _diem perdidi_ as I hate death
itself,--I was determined to immortalize the night by some glorious
exploit, even though it should cost the devil one of his ears! We kept
quite quiet till late in the night. At last all is as still as a mouse
--the lights are extinguished. We fancy the nuns must be comfortably
tucked up. So I take brother Grimm along with me, and order the others
to wait at the gate till they hear my whistle--I secure the watchman,
take the keys from him, creep into the maid-servants' dormitory, take.
away all their clothes, and whisk the bundle out at the window. We go
on from cell to cell, take away the clothes of one sister after another,
and lastly those of the lady-abbess herself. Then I sound my whistle,
and my fellows outside begin to storm and halloo as if doomsday was at
hand, and away they rush with the devil's own uproar into the cells of
the sisters! Ha, ha, ha! You should have seen the game--how the poor
creatures were groping about in the dark for their petticoats, and how
they took on when they found they were gone; and we, in the meantime, at
'em like very devils; and now, terrified and amazed, they wriggled under
their bedclothes, or cowered together like cats behind the stoves.
There was such shrieking and lamentation; and then the old beldame of an
abbess--you know, brother, there is nothing in the world I hate so much
as a spider and an old woman--so you may just fancy that wrinkled old
hag standing naked before me, conjuring me by her maiden modesty
forsooth! Well, I was determined to make short work of it; either, said
I, out with your plate and your convent jewels and all your shining
dollars, or--my fellows knew what I meant. The end of it was I brought
away more than a thousand dollars' worth out of the convent, to say
nothing of the fun, which will tell its own story in due time.

RAZ. (stamping on the ground). Hang it, that I should be absent on
such an occasion.

SPIEGEL. Do you see? Now tell me, is not that life? 'Tis that which
keeps one fresh and hale, and braces the body so that it swells hourly
like an abbot's paunch; I don't know, but I think I must be endowed with
some magnetic property, which attracts all the vagabonds on the face of
the earth towards me like steel and iron.

RAZ. A precious magnet, indeed. But I should like to know, I'll be
hanged if I shouldn't, what witchcraft you use?

SPIEGEL. Witchcraft? No need of witchcraft. All it wants is a head--a
certain practical capacity which, of course, is not taken in with every
spoonful of barley meal; for you know I have always said that an honest
man may be carved out of any willow stump, but to make a rogue you must
have brains; besides which it requires a national genius--a certain
rascal-climate--so to speak. *

*[In the first (and suppressed) edition was added, "Go to the
Grisons, for instance; that is what I call the thief's Athens. "
This obnoxious passage has been carefully expunged from all the
subsequent editions. It gave mortal offence to the Grison
magistrates, who made a formal complaint of the insult and caused
Schiller to be severely rebuked by the Grand Duke. This incident
forms one of the epochs in our author's history. ]

RAZ. Brother, I have heard Italy celebrated for its artists.

SPIEGEL. Yes, yes! Give the devil his due. Italy makes a very noble
figure; and if Germany goes on as it has begun, and if the Bible gets
fairly kicked out, of which there is every prospect, Germany, too, may
in time arrive at something respectable; but I should tell you that
climate does not, after all, do such a wonderful deal; genius thrives
everywhere; and as for the rest, brother, a crab, you know, will never
become a pineapple, not even in Paradise. But to pursue our subject,
where did I leave off?

RAZ. You were going to tell me about your stratagems.

SPIEGEL. Ah, yes! my stratagems. Well, when you get into a town, the
first thing is to fish out from the beadles, watchmen, and turnkeys, who
are their best customers, and for these, accordingly, you must look out;
then ensconce yourself snugly in coffee-houses, brothels, and
beer-shops, and observe who cry out most against the cheapness of the
times, the reduced five per cents. , and the increasing nuisance of police
regulations; who rail the loudest against government, or decry
physiognomical science, and such like? These are the right sort of
fellows, brother. Their honesty is as loose as a hollow tooth; you have
only to apply your pincers. Or a shorter and even better plan is to drop
a full purse in the public highway, conceal yourself somewhere near, and
mark who finds it. Presently after you come running up, search, proclaim
your loss aloud, and ask him, as it were casually, "Have you perchance
picked up a purse, sir? " If he says "Yes," why then the devil fails you.
But if he denies it, with a "pardon me, sir, I remember, I am sorry,
sir," (he jumps up), then, brother, you've done the trick. Extinguish
your lantern, cunning Diogenes, you have found your match.

RAZ. You are an accomplished practitioner.

SPIEGEL. My God! As if that had ever been doubted. Well, then, when
you have got your man into the net, you must take great care to land him
cleverly. You see, my son, the way I have managed is thus: as soon as I
was on the scent I stuck to my candidate like a leech; I drank
brotherhood with him, and, _nota bene_, you must always pay the score.
That costs a pretty penny, it is true, but never mind that. You must go
further; introduce him to gaming-houses and brothels; entangle him in
broils and rogueries till he becomes bankrupt in health and strength, in
purse, conscience, and reputation; for I must tell you, by the way, that
you will make nothing of it unless you ruin both body and soul. Believe
me, brother, and I have experienced it more than fifty times in my
extensive practice, that when the honest man is once ousted from his
stronghold, the devil has it all his own way--the transition is then as
easy as from a whore to a devotee. But hark! What bang was that?

RAZ. It was thunder; go on.

SPIEGEL. Or, there is a yet shorter and still better way. You strip
your man of all he has, even to his very shirt, and then he will come to
you of his own accord; you won't teach me to suck eggs, brother; ask
that copper-faced fellow there. My eyes, how neatly I got him into my
meshes. I showed him forty ducats, which I promised to give him if he
would bring me an impression in wax of his master's keys. Only think,
the stupid brute not only does this, but actually brings me--I'll be
hanged if he did not--the keys themselves; and then thinks to get the
money. "Sirrah," said I, "are you aware that I am going to carry these
keys straight to the lieutenant of police, and to bespeak a place for
you on the gibbet? " By the powers! you should have seen how the
simpleton opened his eyes, and began to shake from head to foot like a
dripping poodle. "For heaven's sake, sir, do but consider. I will--
will--" "What will you? Will you at once cut your stick and go to the
devil with me? " "Oh, with all my heart, with great pleasure. " Ha! ha!
ha! my fine fellow; toasted cheese is the thing to catch mice with; do
have a good laugh at him, Razman; ha! ha! ha!

RAZ. Yes, yes, I must confess. I shall inscribe that lesson in letters
of gold upon the tablet of my brain. Satan must know his people right
well to have chosen you for his factor.

SPIEGEL. Eh, brother? Eli? And if I help him to half a score of
fellows he will, of course, let me off scot-free--publishers, you know,
always give one copy in ten gratis to those who collect subscribers for
them; why should the devil be more of a Jew? Razman, I smell powder.

RAZ. Zounds! I smelt it long ago. You may depend upon it there has
being something going forward hereabouts. Yes, yes! I can tell you,
Spiegelberg, you will be welcome to our captain with your recruits; he,
too, has got hold of some brave fellows.

SPIEGEL. But look at mine! at mine here, bah!

RAZ. Well, well! they may be tolerably expert in the finger
department, but, I tell you, the fame of our captain has tempted even
some honorable men to join his staff.

SPIEGEL. So much the worse.

RAZ. Without joking. And they are not ashamed to serve under such a
leader. He does not commit murder as we do for the sake of plunder; and
as to money, as soon as he had plenty of it at command, he did not seem
to care a straw for it; and his third of the booty, which belongs to him
of right, he gives away to orphans, or supports promising young men with
it at college. But should he happen to get a country squire into his
clutches who grinds down his peasants like cattle, or some gold-laced
villain, who warps the law to his own purposes, and hoodwinks the eyes
of justice with his gold, or any chap of that kidney; then, my boy, he
is in his element, and rages like a very devil, as if every fibre in his
body were a fury.

SPIEGEL. Humph!

RAZ. The other day we were told at a tavern that a rich count from
Ratisbon was about to pass through, who had gained the day in a suit
worth a million of money by the craftiness of his lawyer. The captain
was just sitting down to a game of backgammon. "How many of us are
there? " said he to me, rising in haste. I saw him bite his nether lip,
which he never does except when he is very determined. "Not more than
five," I replied. "That's enough," he said; threw his score on the
table, left the wine he had ordered untouched, and off we went. The
whole time he did not utter a syllable, but walked aloof and alone, only
asking us from time to time whether we heard anything, and now and then
desiring us to lay our ears to the ground. At last the count came in
sight, his carriage heavily laden, the lawyer, seated by his side, an
outrider in advance, and two horsemen riding behind. Then you should
have seen the man. With a pistol in each hand he ran before us to the
carriage,--and the voice with which he thundered, "Halt! " The coachman,
who would not halt, was soon toppled from his box; the count fired out
of the carriage and missed--the horseman fled. "Your money, rascal! "
cried Moor, with his stentorian voice. The count lay like a bullock
under the axe: "And are you the rogue who turns justice into a venal
prostitute? " The lawyer shook till his teeth chattered again; and a
dagger soon stuck in his body, like a stake in a vineyard. "I have done
my part," cried the captain, turning proudly away; "the plunder is your
affair. " And with this he vanished into the forest.

SPIEGEL. Hum! hum! Brother, what I told you just now remains between
ourselves; there is no occasion for his knowing it. You understand me?

RAZ. Yes, yes, I understand!

SPIEGEL. You know the man! He has his own notions! You understand me?

RAZ. Oh, I quite understand.

(Enter SCHWARZ at full speed).

Who's there? What is the matter? Any travellers in the forest?

SCHWARZ. Quick, quick! Where are the others? Zounds! there you stand
gossiping! Don't you know--do you know nothing of it? --that poor
Roller--

PAZ. What of him? What of him?

SCHWARZ. He's hanged, that's all, and four others with him--

RAz. Roller hanged? S'death! when? How do you know?

SCHWARZ. He has been in limbo more than three weeks, and we knew
nothing of it. He was brought up for examination three several days,
and still we heard nothing. They put him to the rack to make him tell
where the captain was to be found--but the brave fellow would not slip.
Yesterday he got his sentence, and this morning was dispatched express
to the devil!

RAZ. Confound it! Does the captain know?

SCHWARZ. He heard of it only yesterday. He foamed like a wild boar.
You know that Roller was always an especial favorite; and then the rack!
Ropes and scaling-ladders were conveyed to the prison, but in vain.
Moor himself got access to him disguised as a Capuchin monk, and
proposed to change clothes with him; but Roller absolutely refused;
whereupon the captain swore an oath that made our very flesh creep. He
vowed that he would light a funeral pile for him, such as had never yet
graced the bier of royalty, one that should burn them all to cinders. I
fear for the city. He has long owed it a grudge for its intolerable
bigotry; and you know, when he says, "I'll do it," the thing is as good
as done.

RAZ. That is true! I know the captain. If he had pledged his word to
the devil to go to hell he never would pray again, though half a
pater-noster would take him to heaven. Alas! poor Roller! --poor Roller!

SPIEGEL.