Old Moor Monologue from The Robbers

From The Robbers by Friedrich Schiller

male · anguished · 1:10 min

Oh, deeply do I feel the words of Amelia. The spirit of vengeance spoke from her lips. "In vain wilt thou stretch forth thy dying hands after a son, in vain fancy thou art grasping the warm hands of thy Charles,--he will never more stand by thy bedside." (CHARLES stretches out his hand to him with averted face.) Oh, that this were the hand of my Charles! But he is laid far away in the narrow house--he is sleeping the iron sleep--he hears not the voice of my lamentation. Woe is me! to die in the arms of a stranger? No son left--no son left to close my eyes! CHARLES (in violent emotion). It must be so--the moment has arrived. Leave me--(to the ROBBERS.) And yet--can I restore his son to him? Alas! No! I cannot restore him that son! No! I will not think of it.

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