Forgotten Masterpiece: "the Robbers"

[Bill Bucko]

Forgotten Masterpieces

THE ROBBERS

retold by Bill Bucko

How did the Romantic movement in literature begin? What was the first major work to champion man’s free will, to show him as “a being of self-made soul”?

Romanticism in literature began with the “Sturm und Drang” (“Storm and Stress”) movement in Germany, in the late 1700’s. Some see Goethe’s moody, sentimental novel The Sorrows of Young Werther as the first major Romantic work. (That, as you may have heard, was the book that provoked a rash of suicides throughout Europe, as dreamy young men imitated the pining, weak-willed hero.) Others, myself included, think the honor belongs to The Robbers (Die Räuber), a fiery melodrama that appeared in 1782. Its author, Friedrich Schiller (1759-1805), is not as widely known as he should be, though Miss Rand ranked him among the top level of Romanticists, on a level with Victor Hugo and Edmond Rostand.

According to an eyewitness account, at the premiere of The Robbers “the theater resembled a madhouse: rolling eyes, balled fists, heated outcries from the audience. Strangers fell sobbing into each other’s arms; women staggered to the door, nearly fainting.” The play was deemed so inflammatory that it was banned in some parts of Germany.

How did Schiller provoke such an intense reaction? What attitude toward values did he champion? Here is the story of The Robbers:

ACT I

“Are you well, Father? ... The news of our Karl, at school, isn’t the sort of news I should tell you, if you aren’t in good health.”

“What has happened?” demands the aged Count von Moor, trembling.

Franz, the younger brother, reports some real events—a duel, debts, wasteful living—and invents the rest, exaggerating his older brother’s faults. Full of envy, he tries to turn their father against Karl, who has always been the favorite. Franz hopes to win his brother’s inheritance, as well as his sweetheart, Amalia. And secretly he delights in his power to wrench the old man’s heart. He gains permission to write to Karl, instead of the old man doing it himself. “But—don’t write anything that would cause him to despair!” their father pleads.

Several hundred miles away, Karl von Moor sits in a tavern with his fellows, brooding. “I’m disgusted with the present century, when I read in Plutarch about great men of the past.” He is a great-souled, reckless young man yearning for something better than the boredom and mediocrity of everyday life, who has gotten into a few “scrapes.”

The eagerly-awaited letter from home arrives. Karl von Moor tears it open. Has his father forgiven him?

“Unhappy brother!” he reads.

“A pleasant beginning,” a friend remarks.

His father, he reads in his brother’s misleading letter, is unwilling to forgive, and has utterly disowned him. There is no way back into his favor; only the dungeon of the family castle awaits him, if he ever dares to return.

Disillusioned now with human nature, Karl decides to turn robber. Not a common robber, to be sure, but a “Robin Hood,” a champion of the oppressed, bent on righting wrongs. His libertine friends hail him as their chief.

ACT II

Back in the castle of Count von Moor, Amalia refuses to forget her long-lost love, even though Karl has been reported missing in battle. She sings the haunting, martial song they had shared in days gone by: the farewell of Hector, the Trojan hero, about to go out and meet his death at the hands of Achilles:

All my longing, all my thought,

Shall be drowned in Lethe’s black flood,

But my love shall not!

Hear! Wild Achilles rages at the walls now.

Gird me on my sword and leave off grieving—

Hector’s love dies not in Lethe’s flood!

The scene changes to the robber camp in the Bohemian Forest. A bandit notes that Moor doesn’t seem to care for money; he gives his share of the booty to orphans and poor students ... Suddenly a man rushes in with the news that Roller, Moor’s best friend, is about to be hanged at a nearby town. Roller was captured, and tortured on the rack to get him to reveal the chief’s whereabouts—but he refused to talk ... Karl von Moor rides like a demon, has his men set fire to the town’s powder magazine as a diversion, and rescues his friend from the very scaffold ... Later, back in the forest, Moor hears that 83 townspeople died in the raid. Shaken, he turns to his friend: “Roller, your life was very dearly bought.” “It’s no matter,” one of the robbers interposes, “most of the dead were just infants or young mothers or sick people who stayed at home, afraid to go see the hanging. I tossed a child into the flames, myself.” Moor turns on him, furiously: “From this moment you’re no longer one of my band.” Conscience-stricken and horrified, he knows that he cannot escape responsibility for his actions. He resolves to give up his life of crime.

But now hundreds of footsoldiers and horsemen, hot on the trail of the robbers, have followed them and have drawn a tight cordon around the woods. The robber band numbers only 80. In the last minutes before the impending battle, a priest comes to them as an emissary. He has a deal for them, he says, to avoid needless bloodshed.

“What are you offering?”

The priest answers: “Better than you deserve, incendiaries! Look around you; there’s no place left for you to run ... But hear how merciful, how kind the law will be with you criminals. If you embrace the cross on your knees and beg for grace, see, the strength of the law will turn to pity, and become as a loving mother to you—she will close her eyes to fully half your crimes and be content—just think of it! —merely to have you broken on the wheel! ”*

The robbers scoff and threaten; but Moor forbids them to harm the priest. Moor boasts of his misdeeds: he’s robbed bigots in their churches, and killed a nobleman who sold offices to the highest bidder. With his own hands he strangled a preacher who was calling for the Inquisition to be revived ... Seeing his terms rejected, the priest makes a final offer. They can all escape with a full pardon, he says—all but one. All they have to do is turn in their chief—alive.

Moor points out that that is a bargain worth taking advantage of. He urges his men to be reasonable and accept; he will not hold it against them. But they are still unwilling. So he ties his wrist to a tree. The robber band, now worked up to fever pitch, untie Moor, shouting: “Save the chief! Save him!” They still have their freedom, and will fight to the death for it. None of them will be taken alive, they vow. They advance on the surrounding army with drawn daggers.

ACT III

The battle is over. The robbers have fought like men possessed. They lie exhausted under the trees, now, near the Danube, slowly recovering. In spite of the overwhelming odds only one of them has lost his life.

Who is the dead bandit? It turns out to be Roller, the chief’s best friend. Moor turns solemnly to his followers, who have fought so bravely for him. He raises his dagger: “I will never forsake you.” “Don’t say that,” a robber warns, “you may regret it someday.” “By the ashes of my Roller,” Moor swears again, “I WILL NEVER FORSAKE YOU!” And with that fateful oath, his future is sealed.

A man enters, seeking to join the robber band. Moor does his best to discourage him, telling him of the life of the hunted criminal, the lawless existence from day to day, the bitter regrets for lost innocence ... but the newcomer will not be dissuaded. Grimly, he tells them his story. On the morning of his wedding, he says, he was arrested on a trumped-up charge of treason. He was imprisoned for a month. Then, mysteriously, he was released; and he could find no sign of his beloved—until someone threw down a note from the palace window. It was from his betrothed. The prince wanted her ... for himself, he explains. And to save his life, his beloved bought his freedom—the only way she could ... He describes how he grabbed a sword, tried to storm the castle in his despair, but was beaten and chased away, helpless to avenge his wrong. “You see why I’m in despair. So don’t tell me I shouldn’t cast my lot with you and become an outlaw!”

This tale reminds Moor of his own Amalia, whom he hasn’t seen for several years. What has become of her? And could she possibly still be waiting for him, after everything that has happened? Is there any chance of that? ... He sets off on the gallop for his father’s castle.

ACT IV

Amalia still lives, and so does the envious, scheming brother Franz—who has tried, but failed, to make her his mistress. Karl visits them, in disguise. The old count, he is told, is in his tomb. He collapsed after being told his favorite son Karl was dead.

The faithful Amalia, in her grief, takes up a lute and begins singing the stirring old song of “Hector’s Farewell:”

Wilt thou, Hector, tear thyself from me,

And go to face the deadly enemy ...?

She breaks off sorrowfully, remembering her lost love, unable to continue. Karl von Moor picks up the lute and sings the reply:

Dear woman, fetch my deadly lance,

Let me go forth to the wild dance of war—

—then flees, overcome by emotion.

That night, back with his robber band at their camp near an old tower, he makes a horrifying discovery. The aged Count von Moor is not dead, after all. The treacherous Franz, impatient to assume the title, has imprisoned their father in the tower, where he is slowly starving him to death. Karl, still unrecognized, frees his father, and listens in shock to his tale ... Apparently dead, the count had been placed in his coffin. Hours later he came to his senses in the darkness, and signaled for help. The unnatural Franz lifted the coffin’s lid, cried, “What? Are you going to live forever? ”, then slammed it shut again ... The robber chief vows revenge on his monstrous brother.

ACT V

The villainous Franz, tortured by nightmares of the Last Judgment, is unable to pray. He orders the local priest to come to the castle. The priest tells him to repent, for God can still forgive even him; he has oppressed his subjects without mercy, true, but at least he hasn’t committed the worst of all sins: parricide or fratricide ... The robber band storms the castle and sets it on fire. In despair, Franz kills himself to avoid falling into their hands.

Back at the tower, the old man expresses his gratitude to his rescuers. But Karl von Moor is through pretending, once and for all. He stands before his father. “These your saviors are robbers and murderers,” he tells him bluntly. “Your Karl is their chief.” In his weakened condition the old man cannot stand the shock. He dies.

But in spite of the horrors of his life Karl finds that Amalia still loves him. All his crimes have not been able to destroy that. Perhaps with her help he can resume a normal existence, and escape his past ...

But he cannot. “Think of the Bohemian woods,” his followers threaten, gathering around him. “What was it you promised us? Were those just idle words? Where is your oath now? Where is your honor?”

Amalia cannot bear to be without her lover, any longer; and she cannot join him as an outlaw ... She asks to die, if that is to be Moor’s fate. Passionately, she begs the robbers for a sword-thrust or a dagger: “You who have killed so many, make me happy now!” When they refuse, she steels herself, prepared to take her own life.

“Hold,” Moor commands firmly. “That’s not for you to do. Moor’s beloved shall die only by his own hand.” And he strikes her dead.

The robber band, though inured to desperate deeds, is shocked. And Moor now realizes he can sum up the meaning of everything he has done, of his entire life, and weigh himself in the balance. “I tried to establish justice, through lawlessness ... But I forgot that vengeance was not mine to exact ... I stand now at the boundary of a horrifying life, and understand for the first time that two men like me would be enough to destroy the whole structure of the civilized world! ... I cannot undo the past. But there’s still one thing I can do ... They shall have me. Alive. I’ll make what amends I can. I’m going to deliver myself into the hands of the law.”

“Tie him up! He’s lost his senses!” some of the robbers cry.

“Let him go,” another concludes. “He’s just bemused again with that old yearning of his, for great deeds. He’s throwing his life away for an idle bit of foolishness.”

“You can believe that if you like.” Moor pauses, thinking. “I remember a poor laborer I saw on the way here, with eleven children to support. There’s a thousand gold pieces offered to the one who turns in the great robber. That man can use the reward.” Moor walks off, to face his death.

* * *

Schiller followed this adolescent shocker with more mature masterpieces: Don Carlos (the passionate struggle of a prince to free Europe from the tyranny of his father, Philip II of Spain);** Wallenstein (the conspiracy and assassination of a general during the 30 Years’ War); The Maid of Orleans (the play that made the little-known Joan of Arc famous); and his most popular drama, another stirring cry for freedom, William Tell. These are the kind of works that inspired Ayn Rand in her youth—and that later made her write: “Romantic art is the fuel and the spark plug of a man’s soul; its task is to set a soul on fire and never let it go out.” With The Robbers, I think you’ll agree, the Romantic movement had a worthy and exciting beginning.

Copyright © 1993 by Bill Bucko

Footnotes:

* This was a medieval mode of execution in which the victim, tied to a wheel, has all his bones broken with an iron bar, and is then left to die of exposure.

** This play was discussed by Leonard Peikoff in his course “7 Great Plays.”

[Amber]

“Hold,” Moor commands firmly. “That’s not for you to do. Moor’s beloved shall die only by his own hand.” And he strikes her dead.

:shock: :shock:

No wonder the audience went crazy after the play ... a man killing his lover after she waited for him faithfully ... a man they were made to feel sorry for ... therefore cannot brandish him as evil, but knowing full well that they want to and should .....

This play seems to be about anarchy, and meant to make you feel the cold despair of lawlessness .... powerful, but not sure I like it.

Edited February 14, 2005 by Amber

[softwareNerd]

For those who may be interested, english translations of Schiller's plays are available online at "Project Gutenberg".

[Felix]

I live in Germany and here Schiller is a classic. Which means that you are forced to read it at school.

I hated it. My sister now has to read Don Carlos. And she hates it, too.

Who reads screenplays anyway. This is sick. If I want to know a screenplay, I'll watch it performed.

Reading it can be such a bore, especially when nothing happens for five pages and everyone is just rhyming some pathetic romantic garbage. Why do you have to put important philosophical issues into the garment of cheesy romance novels?

I understand why Rand liked Romanticism. It was because people live by ideals and principles.

But why do most romantic books have to be so cheesy.

I mean, it's like those romance novels you can buy a dime a dozen about some doctor or pirate conquering the heart of a woman. This completely ridicules the important principles that are supposed to be conveyed.

This is the only thing I don't like about Romanticism.

This is something I have never understood. It would be nice if someone would explain this to me.

[Moderator's note: This spawned a separate thread.]

Edited September 20, 2005 by softwareNerd

[Schefflera Arboricola]

:shock: :shock:

No wonder the audience went crazy after the play ... a man killing his lover after she waited for him faithfully ...

I thought Karl killed Amelia to prevent her death at the hands of another robber. Not that that makes it any better. I just think that detail might be different from the way it was in the retelling.

Schiller himself wasn't too fond of <i>The Robbers.</i>

--Schefflera