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!

Francis Monologue from The Robbers

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