The Robbers | Page 5

first beggar he
met, whilst we at home were edifying ourselves with devout prayers
and pious homilies? Had I not my misgivings when he gave himself up
to reading the adventures of Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, and
other benighted heathens, in preference to the history of the penitent
Tobias? A hundred times over have I warned you--for my brotherly
affection was ever kept in subjection to filial duty--that this forward
youth would one day bring sorrow and disgrace on us all. Oh that he
bore not the name of Moor! that my heart beat less warmly for him!
This sinful affection, which I can not overcome, will one day rise up
against me before the judgment-seat of heaven.
OLD M. Oh! my prospects! my golden dreams!
FRANCIS. Ay, well I knew it. Exactly what I always feared. That fiery
spirit, you used to say, which is kindling in the boy, and renders him so
susceptible to impressions of the beautiful and grand--the
ingenuousness which reveals his whole soul in his eyes--the tenderness
of feeling which melts him into weeping sympathy at every tale of
sorrow--the manly courage which impels him to the summit of giant
oaks, and urges him over fosse and palisade and foaming torrents--that
youthful thirst of honor--that unconquerable resolution--all those
resplendent virtues which in the father's darling gave such promise--
would ripen into the warm and sincere friend--the excellent citizen--the
hero--the great, the very great man! Now, mark the result, father; the
fiery spirit has developed itself--expanded--and behold its precious
fruits. Observe this ingenuousness--how nicely it has changed into
effrontery;--this tenderness of soul--how it displays itself in dalliance

with coquettes, in susceptibility to the blandishments of a courtesan!
See this fiery genius, how in six short years it hath burnt out the oil of
life, and reduced his body to a living skeleton; so that passing scoffers
point at him with a sneer and exclaim--"C'est l'amour qui a fait cela."
Behold this bold, enterprising spirit--how it conceives and executes
plans, compared to which the deeds of a Cartouche or a Howard sink
into insignificance. And presently, when these precious germs of
excellence shall ripen into full maturity, what may not be expected
from the full development of such a boyhood? Perhaps, father, you may
yet live to see him at the head of some gallant band, which assembles
in the silent sanctuary of the forest, and kindly relieves the weary
traveller of his superfluous burden. Perhaps you may yet have the
opportunity, before you go to your own tomb, of making a pilgrimage
to the monument which he may erect for himself, somewhere between
earth and heaven! Perhaps,--oh, father--father, look out for some other
name, or the very peddlers and street boys who have seen the effigy of
your worthy son exhibited in the market-place at Leipsic will point at
you with the finger of scorn!
OLD M. And thou, too, my Francis, thou too? Oh, my children, how
unerringly your shafts are levelled at my heart.
FRANCIS. You see that I too have a spirit; but my spirit bears the sting
of a scorpion. And then it was "the dry commonplace, the cold, the
wooden Francis," and all the pretty little epithets which the contrast
between us suggested to your fatherly affection, when he was sitting on
your knee, or playfully patting your cheeks? "He would die, forsooth,
within the boundaries of his own domain, moulder away, and soon be
forgotten;" while the fame of this universal genius would spread from
pole to pole! Ah! the cold, dull, wooden Francis thanks thee, heaven,
with uplifted hands, that he bears no resemblance to his brother.
OLD M. Forgive me, my child! Reproach not thy unhappy father,
whose fondest hopes have proved visionary. The merciful God who,
through Charles, has sent these tears, will, through thee, my Francis,
wipe them from my eyes!
FRANCIS. Yes, father, we will wipe them from your eyes. Your

Francis will devote--his life to prolong yours. (Taking his hand with
affected tenderness.) Your life is the oracle which I will especially
consult on every undertaking--the mirror in which I will contemplate
everything. No duty so sacred but I am ready to violate it for the
preservation of your precious days. You believe me?
OLD M. Great are the duties which devolve on thee, my son--Heaven
bless thee for what thou has been, and wilt be to me.
FRANCIS. Now tell me frankly, father. Should you not be a happy
man, were you not obliged to call this son your own?
OLD M. In mercy, spare me! When the nurse first placed him in my
arms, I held him up to Heaven and exclaimed, "Am I not truly blest?"
FRANCIS. So you said then. Now, have you found it so? You may
envy the meanest