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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:28:10 -0700 |
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diff --git a/6785-h/6785-h.htm b/6785-h/6785-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a79595 --- /dev/null +++ b/6785-h/6785-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2477 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + The Camp of Wallenstein + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Camp of Wallenstein, by Friedrich Schiller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Camp of Wallenstein + A Play + +Author: Friedrich Schiller + +Release Date: October 26, 2006 [EBook #6785] +Last Updated: November 6, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN *** + + + + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <h1> + THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Friedrich Schiller + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by James Churchill. + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + The Camp of Wallenstein is an introduction to the celebrated tragedy of + that name; and, by its vivid portraiture of the state of the general's + army, gives the best clue to the spell of his gigantic power. The blind + belief entertained in the unfailing success of his arms, and in the + supernatural agencies by which that success is secured to him; the + unrestrained indulgence of every passion, and utter disregard of all law, + save that of the camp; a hard oppression of the peasantry and plunder of + the country, have all swollen the soldiery with an idea of interminable + sway. But as we have translated the whole, we shall leave these reckless + marauders to speak for themselves. + </p> + <p> + Of Schiller's opinion concerning the Camp, as a necessary introduction to + the tragedy, the following passage taken from the prologue to the first + representation, will give a just idea, and may also serve as a motto to + the work:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Not he it is, who on the tragic scene + Will now appear—but in the fearless bands + Whom his command alone could sway, and whom + His spirit fired, you may his shadow see, + Until the bashful Muse shall dare to bring + Himself before you in a living form; + For power it was that bore his heart astray + His Camp, alone, elucidates his crime." +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN.</b></big> + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> DRAMATIS PERSONAE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> SCENE I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> SCENE II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> SCENE III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> SCENE IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> SCENE V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> SCENE VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> SCENE VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> SCENE VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> SCENE IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> SCENE X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> SCENE XI. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sergeant-Major | of a regiment of Recruit. + Trumpeter | Terzky's carabineers. Citizen. + Artilleryman, Peasant. + Sharpshooters. Peasant Boy. + Mounted Yagers, of Holk's corps. Capuchin. + Dragoons, of Butler's regiment. Regimental Schoolmaster. + Arquebusiers, of Tiefenbach's regiment. Sutler-Woman. + Cuirassier, of a Walloon regiment. Servant Girl. + Cuirassier, of a Lombard regiment. Soldiers' Boys. + Croats. Musicians. + Hulans. + + (SCENE.—The Camp before Pilsen, in Bohemia.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sutlers' tents—in front, a Slop-shop. Soldiers of all colors and + uniforms thronging about. Tables all filled. Croats and Hulans + cooking at a fire. Sutler-woman serving out wine. Soldier-boys + throwing dice on a drum-head. Singing heard from the tent. + + Enter a Peasant and his Son. + + SON. + Father, I fear it will come to harm, + So let us be off from this soldier swarm; + But boist'rous mates will ye find in the shoal— + 'Twere better to bolt while our skins are whole. + + FATHER. + How now, boy! the fellows wont eat us, though + They may be a little unruly, or so. + See, yonder, arriving a stranger train, + Fresh comers are they from the Saal and Mayne; + Much booty they bring of the rarest sort— + 'Tis ours, if we cleverly drive our sport. + A captain, who fell by his comrade's sword, + This pair of sure dice to me transferred; + To-day I'll just give them a trial to see + If their knack's as good as it used to be. + You must play the part of a pitiful devil, + For these roaring rogues, who so loosely revel, + Are easily smoothed, and tricked, and flattered, + And, free as it came, their gold is scattered. + But we—since by bushels our all is taken, + By spoonfuls must ladle it back again; + And, if with their swords they slash so highly, + We must look sharp, boy, and do them slyly. + + [Singing and shouting in the tent. + + Hark, how they shout! God help the day! + 'Tis the peasant's hide for their sport must pay. + Eight months in our beds and stalls have they + Been swarming here, until far around + Not a bird or a beast is longer found, + And the peasant, to quiet his craving maw, + Has nothing now left but his bones to gnaw. + Ne'er were we crushed with a heavier hand, + When the Saxon was lording it o'er the land: + And these are the Emperor's troops, they say! + + SON. + From the kitchen a couple are coming this way, + Not much shall we make by such blades as they. + + FATHER. + They're born Bohemian knaves—the two— + Belonging to Terzky's carabineers, + Who've lain in these quarters now for years; + The worst are they of the worthless crew. + Strutting, swaggering, proud and vain, + They seem to think they may well disdain + With the peasant a glass of his wine to drain + But, soft—to the left o' the fire I see + Three riflemen, who from the Tyrol should be + Emmerick, come, boy, to them will we. + Birds of this feather 'tis luck to find, + Whose trim's so spruce, and their purse well lined. + + [They move towards the tent. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The above—Sergeant-Major, Trumpeter, Hulan. + + TRUMPETER. + What would the boor? Out, rascal, away! + + PEASANT. + Some victuals and drink, worthy masters, I pray, + For not a warm morsel we've tasted to day. + + TRUMPETER. + Ay, guzzle and guttle—'tis always the way. + + HULAN (with a glass). + Not broken your fast! there—drink, ye hound! + + He leads the peasant to the tent—the others come forward. + + SERGEANT (to the Trumpeter). + Think ye they've done it without good ground? + Is it likely they double our pay to-day, + Merely that we may be jolly and gay? + + TRUMPETER. + Why, the duchess arrives to-day, we know, + And her daughter too— + + SERGEANT. + Tush! that's mere show— + 'Tis the troops collected from other lands + Who here at Pilsen have joined our bands— + We must do the best we can t' allure 'em, + With plentiful rations, and thus secure 'em. + Where such abundant fare they find, + A closer league with us to bind. + + TRUMPETER. + Yes!—there's something in the wind. + + SERGEANT. + The generals and commanders too— + + TRUMPETER. + A rather ominous sight, 'tis true. + + SERGEANT. + Who're met together so thickly here— + + TRUMPETER. + Have plenty of work on their hands, that's clear. + + SERGEANT. + The whispering and sending to and fro— + + TRUMPETER. + Ay! Ay! + + SERGEANT. + The big-wig from Vienna, I trow, + Who since yesterday's seen to prowl about + In his golden chain of office there— + Something's at the bottom of this, I'll swear. + + TRUMPETER. + A bloodhound is he beyond a doubt, + By whom the duke's to be hunted out. + + SERGEANT. + Mark ye well, man!—they doubt us now, + And they fear the duke's mysterious brow; + He hath clomb too high for them, and fain + Would they beat him down from his perch again. + + TRUMPETER. + But we will hold him still on high— + That all would think as you and I! + + SERGEANT. + Our regiment, and the other four + Which Terzky leads—the bravest corps + Throughout the camp, are the General's own, + And have been trained to the trade by himself alone + The officers hold their command of him, + And are all his own, or for life or limb. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Enter Croat with a necklace. Sharpshooter following him. + The above. + + SHARPSHOOTER. + Croat, where stole you that necklace, say? + Get rid of it man—for thee 'tis unmeet: + Come, take these pistols in change, I pray. + + CROAT. + Nay, nay, Master Shooter, you're trying to cheat. + + SHARPSHOOTER. + Then I'll give you this fine blue cap as well, + A lottery prize which just I've won: + Look at the cut of it—quite the swell! + + CROAT (twirling the Necklace in the Sun). + But this is of pearls and of garnets bright, + See, how it plays in the sunny light! + + SHARPSHOOTER (taking the Necklace). + Well, I'll give you to boot, my own canteen— + I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen. + [Looks at it. + + TRUMPETER. + See, now!—how cleanly the Croat is done + Snacks! Master Shooter, and mum's the word. + + CROAT (having put on the cap). + I think your cap is a smartish one. + + SHARPSHOOTER (winking to the Trumpeter). + 'Tis a regular swop, as these gents have heard. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The above. An Artilleryman. + + ARTILLERYMAN (to the Sergeant). + How is this I pray, brother carabineer? + Shall we longer stay here, our fingers warming, + While the foe in the field around is swarming? + + SERGEANT. + Art thou, indeed, in such hasty fret? + Why the roads, as I think, are scarce passable yet. + + ARTILLERYMAN. + For me they are not—I'm snug enough here— + But a courier's come, our wits to waken + With the precious news that Ratisbon's taken. + + TRUMPETER. + Ha! then we soon shall have work in hand. + + SERGEANT. + Indeed! to protect the Bavarian's land, + Who hates the duke, as we understand, + We won't put ourselves in a violent sweat. + + ARTILLERYMAN. + Heyday!—you'll find you're a wiseacre yet. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The above—Two Yagers. Afterwards Sutler-woman, + Soldier-boy, Schoolmaster, Servant-girl. + + FIRST YAGER. + See! see! + Here meet we a jovial company! + + TRUMPETER. + Who can these greencoats be, I wonder, + That strut so gay and sprucely yonder! + + SERGEANT. + They're the Yagers of Holk—and the lace they wear, + I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair. + + SUTLER-WOMAN (bringing wine). + Welcome, good sirs! + + FIRST YAGER. + Zounds, how now? + Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow! + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + The same in sooth—and you I know, + Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho: + Who at Glueckstadt once, in revelling night, + With the wags of our regiment, put to flight + All his father's shiners—then crowned the fun— + + FIRST YAGER. + By changing his pen for a rifle-gun. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear. + + FIRST YAGER. + And to think we should meet in Bohemia here! + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Oh, here to-day—to-morrow yonder— + As the rude war-broom, in restless trace, + Scatters and sweeps us from place to place. + Meanwhile I've been doomed far round to wander. + + FIRST YAGER. + So one would think, by the look of your face. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Up the country I've rambled to Temsewar, + Whither I went with the baggage-car, + When Mansfeld before us we chased away; + With the duke near Stralsund next we lay, + Where trade went all to pot, I may say. + I jogged with the succors to Mantua; + And back again came, under Feria: + Then, joining a Spanish regiment, + I took a short cut across to Ghent; + And now to Bohemia I'm come to get + Old scores paid off, that are standing yet, + If a helping hand by the duke be lent— + And yonder you see my sutler's tent. + + FIRST YAGER. + Well, all things seem in a flourishing way, + But what have you done with the Scotchman, say, + Who once in the camp was your constant flame? + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + A villain, who tricked me clean, that same + He bolted, and took to himself whate'er + I'd managed to scrape together, or spare, + Leaving me naught but the urchin there. + + SOLDIER-BOY (springing forward). + Mother, is it my papa you name? + + FIRST YAGER. + Well, the emperor now must father this elf, + For the army must ever recruit itself. + + SCHOOLMASTER. + Forth to the school, ye rogue—d'ye hear? + + FIRST YAGER. + He, too, of a narrow room has fear. + + SERVANT GIRL (entering). + Aunt, they'll be off. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + I come apace. + + FIRST YAGER. + What gypsy is that with the roguish face? + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + My sister's child from the south, is she. + + FIRST YAGER. + Ay, ay, a sweet little niece—I see. + + SECOND YAGER (holding the girl). + Softly, my pretty one! stay with me. + + GIRL. + The customers wait, sir, and I must go. + [Disengages herself, and exit. + + FIRST YAGER. + That maiden's a dainty morsel, I trow! + And her aunt—by heaven! I mind me well,— + When the best of the regiment loved her so, + To blows for her beautiful face they fell. + What different folks one's doomed to know! + How time glows off with a ceaseless flow! + And what sights as yet we may live to see! + (To the Sergeant and Trumpeter.) + Your health, good sirs, may we be free, + A seat beside you here to take? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Yagers, Sergeant, and Trumpeter. + + SERGEANT. + We thank ye—and room will gladly make. + To Bohemia welcome. + + FIRST YAGER. + Snug enough here! + In the land of the foe our quarters were queer. + + TRUMPETER. + You haven't the look on't—you're spruce to view. + + SERGEANT. + Ay, faith, on the Saal, and in Meissen, too, + Your praises are heard from the lips of few. + + SECOND YAGER. + Tush, man! why, what the plague d'ye mean? + The Croat had swept the fields so clean, + There was little or nothing for us to glean. + + TRUMPETER. + Yet your pointed collar is clean and sightly, + And, then, your hose that sit so tightly! + Your linen so fine, with the hat and feather, + Make a show of smartness altogether! + (To Sergeant.) + That fortune should upon younkers shine— + While nothing in your way comes, or mine. + + SERGEANT. + But then we're the Friedlander's regiment + And, thus, may honor and homage claim. + + FIRST YAGER. + For us, now, that's no great compliment, + We, also, bear the Friedlander's name. + + SERGEANT. + True—you form part of the general mass. + + FIRST YAGER. + And you, I suppose, are a separate class! + The difference lies in the coats we wear, + And I have no wish to change with you there. + + SERGEANT. + Sir Yager, I can't but with pity melt, + When I think how much among boors you've dwelt. + The clever knack and the proper tone, + Are caught by the general's side alone. + + FIRST YAGER. + Then the lesson is wofully thrown away,— + How he hawks and spits, indeed, I may say + You've copied and caught in the cleverest way; + But his spirit, his genius—oh, these I ween, + On your guard parade are but seldom seen. + + SECOND YAGER. + Why, zounds! ask for us wherever you will, + Friedland's wild hunt is our title still! + Never shaming the name, all undaunted we go + Alike through the field of a friend, or a foe; + Through the rising stalk, or the yellow corn, + Well know they the blast of Holk's Yager horn. + In the flash of an eye, we are far or near, + Swift as the deluge, or there or here— + As at midnight dark, when the flames outbreak + In the silent dwelling where none awake; + Vain is the hope in weapons or flight, + Nor order nor discipline thwart its might. + Then struggles the maid in our sinewy arms, + But war hath no pity, and scorns alarms. + Go, ask—I speak not with boastful tongue— + In Bareuth, Westphalia, Voigtland, where'er + Our troops have traversed—go, ask them there— + Children and children's children long, + When hundreds and hundreds of years are o'er, + Of Holk will tell and his Yager corps. + + SERGEANT. + Why, hark! Must a soldier then be made + By driving this riotous, roaring trade! + 'Tis drilling that makes him, skill and sense— + Perception—thought—intelligence. + + FIRST YAGER. + 'Tis liberty makes him! Here's a fuss! + That I should such twaddle as this discuss. + Was it for this that I left the school? + That the scribbling desk, and the slavish rule, + And the narrow walls, that our spirits cramp, + Should be met with again in the midst of the camp? + No! Idle and heedless, I'll take my way, + Hunting for novelty every day; + Trust to the moment with dauntless mind, + And give not a glance or before or behind. + For this to the emperor I sold my hide, + That no other care I might have to bide. + Through the foe's fierce firing bid me ride, + Through fathomless Rhine, in his roaring flow, + Where ev'ry third man to the devil may go, + At no bar will you find me boggling there; + But, farther than this, 'tis my special prayer, + That I may not be bothered with aught like care. + + SERGEANT. + If this be your wish, you needn't lack it, + 'Tis granted to all with the soldier's jacket. + + FIRST YAGER. + What a fuss and a bother, forsooth, was made + By that man-tormentor, Gustavus, the Swede, + Whose camp was a church, where prayers were said + At morning reveille and evening tattoo; + And, whenever it chanced that we frisky grew, + A sermon himself from the saddle he'd read. + + SERGEANT. + Ay, that was a man with the fear of God. + + FIRST YAGER. + Girls he detested; and what's rather odd, + If caught with a wench you in wedlock were tacked,— + I could stand it no longer, so off I packed. + + SERGEANT. + Their discipline now has a trifle slacked. + + FIRST YAGER. + Well, next to the League I rode over; their men + Were mustering in haste against Magdeburg then. + Ha! that was another guess sort of a thing! + In frolic and fun we'd a glorious swing; + With gaming, and drinking, and girls at call, + I'faith, sirs, our sport was by no means small. + For Tilly knew how to command, that's plain; + He held himself in but gave us the rein; + And, long as he hadn't the bother of paying, + "Live and let live!" was the general's saying. + But fortune soon gave him the slip; and ne'er + Since the day of that villanous Leipzig affair + Would aught go aright. 'Twas of little avail + That we tried, for our plans were sure to fail. + If now we drew nigh and rapped at the door, + No greeting awaited, 'twas opened no more; + From place to place we went sneaking about, + And found that their stock of respect was out; + Then touched I the Saxon bounty, and thought + Their service with fortune must needs be fraught. + + SERGEANT. + You joined them then just in the nick to share + Bohemia's plunder? + + FIRST YAGER. + I'd small luck there. + Strict discipline sternly ruled the day, + Nor dared we a foeman's force display; + They set us to guard the imperial forts, + And plagued us all with the farce of the courts. + War they waged as a jest 'twere thought— + And but half a heart to the business brought, + They would break with none; and thus 'twas plain + Small honor among them could a soldier gain. + So heartily sick in the end grew I + That my mind was the desk again to try; + When suddenly, rattling near and far, + The Friedlander's drum was heard to war. + + SERGEANT. + And how long here may you mean to stay? + + FIRST YAGER. + You jest, man. So long as he bears the sway, + By my soul! not a thought of change have I; + Where better than here could the soldier lie? + Here the true fashion of war is found, + And the cut of power's on all things round; + While the spirit whereby the movement's given + Mightily stirs, like the winds of heaven, + The meanest trooper in all the throng. + With a hearty step shall I tramp along + On a burgher's neck as undaunted tread + As our general does on the prince's head. + As 'twas in the times of old 'tis now, + The sword is the sceptre, and all must bow. + One crime alone can I understand, + And that's to oppose the word of command. + What's not forbidden to do make bold, + And none will ask you what creed you hold. + Of just two things in this world I wot, + What belongs to the army and what does not, + To the banner alone is my service brought. + + SERGEANT. + Thus, Yager, I like thee—thou speakest, I vow, + With the tone of a Friedland trooper now. + + FIRST YAGER. + 'Tis not as an office he holds command, + Or a power received from the emperor's hand; + For the emperor's service what should he care, + What better for him does the emperor fare? + With the mighty power he wields at will, + Has ever he sheltered the land from ill? + No; a soldier-kingdom he seeks to raise, + And for this would set the world in a blaze, + Daring to risk and to compass all— + + TRUMPETER. + Hush—who shall such words as these let fall? + + FIRST YAGER. + Whatever I think may be said by me, + For the general tells us the word is free. + + SERGEANT. + True—that he said so I fully agree, + I was standing by. "The word is free— + The deed is dumb—obedience blind!" + His very words I can call to mind. + + FIRST YAGER. + I know not if these were his words or no, + But he said the thing, and 'tis even so. + + SECOND YAGER. + Victory ne'er will his flag forsake, + Though she's apt from others a turn to take: + Old Tilly outlived his fame's decline, + But under the banner of Wallenstein, + There am I certain that victory's mine! + Fortune is spell-bound to him, and must yield; + Whoe'er under Friedland shall take the field + Is sure of a supernatural shield: + For, as all the world is aware full well, + The duke has a devil in hire from hell. + + SERGEANT. + In truth that he's charmed is past a doubt, + For we know how, at Luetzen's bloody affair, + Where firing was thickest he still was there, + As coolly as might be, sirs, riding about. + The hat on his head was shot thro' and thro', + In coat and boots the bullets that flew + Left traces full clear to all men's view; + But none got so far as to scratch off his skin, + For the ointment of hell was too well rubbed in. + + FIRST YAGER. + What wonders so strange can you all see there? + An elk-skin jacket he happens to wear, + And through it the bullets can make no way. + + SERGEANT. + 'Tis an ointment of witches' herbs, I say, + Kneaded and cooked by unholy spell. + + TRUMPETER. + No doubt 'tis the work of the powers of hell. + + SERGEANT. + That he reads in the stars we also hear, + Where the future he sees—distant or near— + But I know better the truth of the case + A little gray man, at the dead of night, + Through bolted doors to him will pace— + The sentinels oft have hailed the sight, + And something great was sure to be nigh, + When this little gray-coat had glided by. + + FIRST YAGER. + Ay, ay, he's sold himself to the devil, + Wherefore, my lads, let's feast and revel. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The above—Recruit, Citizen, Dragoon. + + (The Recruit advances from the tent, wearing a tin cap + on his head, and carrying a wine-flask.) + + RECRUIT. + To father and uncle pray make my bow, + And bid 'em good-by—I'm a soldier now. + + FIRST YAGER. + See, yonder they're bringing us something new, + + CITIZEN. + Oh, Franz, remember, this day you'll rue. + + RECRUIT (sings). + The drum and the fife, + War's rattling throng, + And a wandering life + The world along! + Swift steed—and a hand + To curb and command— + With a blade by the side, + We're off far and wide. + As jolly and free, + As the finch in its glee, + On thicket or tree, + Under heaven's wide hollow— + Hurrah! for the Friedlander's banner I'll follow! + + SECOND YAGER. + Foregad! a jolly companion, though. + + [They salute him. + + CITIZEN. + He comes of good kin; now pray let him go. + + FIRST YAGER. + And we wern't found in the streets you must know. + + CITIZEN. + I tell you his wealth is a plentiful stock; + Just feel the fine stuff that he wears for a frock. + + TRUMPETER. + The emperor's coat is the best he can wear. + + CITIZEN. + To a cap manufactory he is the heir. + + SECOND YAGER. + The will of a man is his fortune alone. + + CITIZEN. + His grandmother's shop will soon be his own. + + FIRST YAGER. + Pish! traffic in matches! who would do't? + + CITIZEN. + A wine-shop his grandfather leaves, to boot, + A cellar with twenty casks of wine. + + TRUMPETER. + These with his comrades he'll surely share. + + SECOND YAGER. + Hark ye, lad—be a camp-brother of mine. + + CITIZEN. + A bride he leaves sitting, in tears, apart. + + FIRST YAGER. + Good—that now's a proof of an iron heart. + + CITIZEN. + His grandmother's sure to die with sorrow. + + SECOND YAGER. + The better—for then he'll inherit to-morrow. + + SERGEANT (advances gravely, and lays his hand on the + Recruit's tin cap). + The matter no doubt you have duly weighed, + And here a new man of yourself have made; + With hanger and helm, sir, you now belong + To a nobler and more distinguished throng. + Thus, a loftier spirit 'twere well to uphold— + + FIRST YAGER. + And, specially, never be sparing of gold. + + SERGEANT. + In Fortune's ship, with an onward gale, + My friend, you have made up your mind to sail. + The earth-ball is open before you—yet there + Naught's to be gained, but by those who dare. + Stupid and sluggish your citizen's found, + Like a dyer's dull jade, in his ceaseless round, + While the soldier can be whatever he will, + For war o'er the earth is the watchword still. + Just look now at me, and the coat I wear, + You see that the emperor's baton I bear— + And all good government, over the earth, + You must know from the baton alone has birth; + For the sceptre that's swayed by the kingly hand + Is naught but a baton, we understand. + And he who has corporal's rank obtained, + Stands on the ladder where all's to be gained, + And you, like another, may mount to that height— + + FIRST YAGER. + Provided you can but read and write. + + SERGEANT. + Now, hark to an instance of this from me, + And one, which I've lived myself to see + There's Butler, the chief of dragoons, why he, + Whose rank was not higher a whit than mine, + Some thirty years since, at Cologne on Rhine, + Is a major-general now—because + He put himself forward and gained applause; + Filling the world with his martial fame, + While slept my merits without a name. + And even the Friedlander's self—I've heard— + Our general and all-commanding lord, + Who now can do what he will at a word, + Had at first but a private squire's degree; + In the goddess of war yet trusting free, + He reared the greatness which now you see, + And, after the emperor, next is he. + Who knows what more he may mean or get? + (Slyly.) + For all-day's evening isn't come yet. + + FIRST YAGER. + He was little at first, though now so great— + For at Altorf, in student's gown he played + By your leave, the part of a roaring blade, + And rattled away at a queerish rate. + His fag he had well nigh killed by a blow, + And their Nur'mburg worships swore he should go + To jail for his pains—if he liked it or no. + 'Twas a new-built nest to be christened by him + Who first should be lodged. Well, what was his whim? + Why, he sent his dog forward to lead the way, + And they call the jail from the dog to this day. + That was the game a brave fellow should play, + And of all the great deeds of the general, none + E'er tickled my fancy, like this one. + + [During this speech, the second Yager has begun toying + with the girl who has been in waiting.] + + DRAGOON (stepping between them). + Comrade—give over this sport, I pray. + + SECOND YAGER. + Why, who the devil shall say me nay! + + DRAGOON. + I've only to tell you the girl's my own. + + FIRST YAGER. + Such a morsel as this, for himself alone!— + Dragoon, why say, art thou crazy grown? + + SECOND YAGER. + In the camp to be keeping a wench for one! + No! the light of a pretty girl's face must fall, + Like the beams of the sun, to gladden us all. + (Kisses her.) + DRAGOON (tears her away). + I tell you again, that it shan't be done. + + FIRST YAGER. + The pipers are coming, lads! now for fun! + + SECOND YAGER (to Dragoon). + I shan't be far off, should you look for me. + + SERGEANT. + Peace, my good fellows!—a kiss goes free. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Enter Miners, and play a waltz—at first slowly, and + afterwards quicker. The first Yager dances with the girl, + the Sutler-woman with the recruit. The girl springs away, + and the Yager, pursuing her, seizes hold of a Capuchin + Friar just entering. + + CAPUCHIN. + Hurrah! halloo! tol, lol, de rol, le! + The fun's at its height! I'll not be away! + Is't an army of Christians that join in such works? + Or are we all turned Anabaptists and Turks? + Is the Sabbath a day for this sport in the land, + As though the great God had the gout in his hand, + And thus couldn't smite in the midst of your band? + Say, is this a time for your revelling shouts, + For your banquetings, feasts, and holiday bouts? + Quid hic statis otiosi? declare + Why, folding your arms, stand ye lazily there? + While the furies of war on the Danube now fare + And Bavaria's bulwark is lying full low, + And Ratisbon's fast in the clutch of the foe. + Yet, the army lies here in Bohemia still, + And caring for naught, so their paunches they fill! + Bottles far rather than battles you'll get, + And your bills than your broad-swords more readily wet; + With the wenches, I ween, is your dearest concern, + And you'd rather roast oxen than Oxenstiern. + In sackcloth and ashes while Christendom's grieving, + No thought has the soldier his guzzle of leaving. + 'Tis a time of misery, groans, and tears! + Portentous the face of the heavens appears! + And forth from the clouds behold blood-red, + The Lord's war-mantle is downward spread— + While the comet is thrust as a threatening rod, + From the window of heaven by the hand of God. + The world is but one vast house of woe, + The ark of the church stems a bloody flow, + The Holy Empire—God help the same! + Has wretchedly sunk to a hollow name. + The Rhine's gay stream has a gory gleam, + The cloister's nests are robbed by roysters; + The church-lands now are changed to lurch-lands; + Abbacies, and all other holy foundations + Now are but robber-sees—rogues' habitations. + And thus is each once-blest German state, + Deep sunk in the gloom of the desolate! + Whence comes all this? Oh, that will I tell— + It comes of your doings, of sin, and of hell; + Of the horrible, heathenish lives ye lead, + Soldiers and officers, all of a breed. + For sin is the magnet, on every hand, + That draws your steel throughout the land! + As the onion causes the tear to flow, + So vice must ever be followed by woe— + The W duly succeeds the V, + This is the order of A, B, C. + Ubi erit victoriae spes, + Si offenditur Deus? which says, + How, pray ye, shall victory e'er come to pass, + If thus you play truant from sermon and mass, + And do nothing but lazily loll o'er the glass? + The woman, we're told in the Testament, + Found the penny in search whereof she went. + Saul met with his father's asses again, + And Joseph his precious fraternal train, + But he, who 'mong soldiers shall hope to see + God's fear, or shame, or discipline—he + From his toil, beyond doubt, will baffled return, + Though a hundred lamps in the search he burn. + To the wilderness preacher, th' Evangelist says, + The soldiers, too, thronged to repent of their ways, + And had themselves christened in former days. + Quid faciemus nos? they said: + Toward Abraham's bosom what path must we tread? + Et ait illis, and, said he, + Neminem concutiatis; + From bother and wrongs leave your neighbors free. + Neque calumniam faciatis; + And deal nor in slander nor lies, d'ye see? + Contenti estote—content ye, pray, + Stipendiis vestris—with your pay— + And curse forever each evil way. + There is a command—thou shalt not utter + The name of the Lord thy God in vain; + But, where is it men most blasphemies mutter? + Why here, in Duke Friedland's headquarters, 'tie plain + If for every thunder, and every blast, + Which blazing ye from your tongue-points cast, + The bells were but rung, in the country round, + Not a bellman, I ween, would there soon be found; + And if for each and every unholy prayer + Which to vent from your jabbering jaws you dare, + From your noddles were plucked but the smallest hair, + Ev'ry crop would be smoothed ere the sun went down, + Though at morn 'twere as bushy as Absalom's crown. + Now, Joshua, methinks, was a soldier as well— + By the arm of King David the Philistine fell; + But where do we find it written, I pray, + That they ever blasphemed in this villanous way? + One would think ye need stretch your jaws no more, + To cry, "God help us!" than "Zounds!" to roar. + But, by the liquor that's poured in the cask, we know + With what it will bubble and overflow. + Again, it is written—thou shalt not steal, + And this you follow, i'faith! to the letter, + For open-faced robbery suits ye better. + The gripe of your vulture claws you fix + On all—and your wiles and rascally tricks + Make the gold unhid in our coffers now, + And the calf unsafe while yet in the cow— + Ye take both the egg and the hen, I vow. + Contenti estote—the preacher said; + Which means—be content with your army bread. + But how should the slaves not from duty swerve? + The mischief begins with the lord they serve, + Just like the members so is the head. + I should like to know who can tell me his creed. + + FIRST YAGER. + Sir priest, 'gainst ourselves rail on as you will— + Of the general we warn you to breathe no ill. + + CAPUCHIN. + Ne custodias gregem meam! + An Ahab is he, and a Jerobeam, + Who the people from faith's unerring way, + To the worship of idols would turn astray, + + TRUMPETER and RECRUIT. + Let us not hear that again, we pray. + + CAPUCHIN. + Such a Bramarbas, whose iron tooth + Would seize all the strongholds of earth forsooth! + Did he not boast, with ungodly tongue, + That Stralsund must needs to his grasp be wrung, + Though to heaven itself with a chain 'twere strung? + + TRUMPETER. + Will none put a stop to his slanderous bawl? + + CAPUCHIN. + A wizard he is!—and a sorcerer Saul!— + Holofernes!—a Jehu!—denying, we know, + Like St. Peter, his Master and Lord below; + And hence must he quail when the cock doth crow— + + BOTH YAGERS. + Now, parson, prepare; for thy doom is nigh. + + CAPUCHIN. + A fox more cunning than Herod, I trow— + + TRUMPETER and both YAGERS (pressing against him). + Silence, again,—if thou wouldst not die! + + CROATS (interfering.) + Stick to it, father; we'll shield you, ne'er fear; + The close of your preachment now let's hear. + + CAPUCHIN (still louder). + A Nebuchadnezzar in towering pride! + And a vile and heretic sinner beside! + He calls himself rightly the stone of a wall; + For faith! he's a stumbling-stone to us all. + And ne'er can the emperor have peace indeed, + Till of Friedland himself the land is freed. + + [During the last passages which he pronounces in an elevated + voice, he has been gradually retreating, the Croats keeping + the other soldiers off. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The above, without the Capuchin. + + FIRST YAGER (to the Sergeant). + + But, tell us, what meant he about chanticleer; + Whose crowing the general dares to hear? + No doubt it was uttered in spite and scorn. + + SERGEANT. + Listen—'Tis not so untrue as it appears; + For Friedland was rather mysteriously born, + And is 'specially troubled with ticklish ears; + He can never suffer the mew of a cat; + And when the cock crows he starts thereat. + + FIRST YAGER. + He's one and the same with the lion in that. + + SERGEANT. + Mouse-still must all around him creep, + Strict watch in this the sentinels keep, + For he ponders on matters most grave and deep. + [Voices in the tent. A tumult. + Seize the rascal! Lay on! lay on! + + PEASANT'S VOICE. + Help!—mercy—help! + + OTHERS. + Peace! peace! begone! + + FIRST YAGER. + Deuce take me, but yonder the swords are out! + + SECOND YAGER. + Then I must be off, and see what 'tis about. + + [Yagers enter the tent. + + SUTLER-WOMAN (comes forward). + A scandalous villain!—a scurvy thief! + + TRUMPETER. + Good hostess, the cause of this clamorous grief? + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + A cut-purse! a scoundrel! the-villain I call. + That the like in my tent should ever befall! + I'm disgraced and undone with the officers all. + + SERGEANT. + Well, coz, what is it? + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Why, what should it be? + But a peasant they've taken just now with me— + A rogue with false dice, to favor his play. + + TRUMPETER. + See I they're bringing the boor and his son this way. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Soldiers dragging in the peasant, bound. + + FIRST YAGER. + He must hang! + + SHARPSHOOTERS and DRAGOONS. + To the provost, come on! + + SERGEANT. + 'Tis the latest order that forth has gone. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + In an hour I hope to behold him swinging! + + SERGEANT. + Bad work bad wages will needs be bringing. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER (to the others). + This comes of their desperation. We + First ruin them out and out, d'ye see; + Which tempts them to steal, as it seems to me. + + TRUMPETER. + How now! the rascal's cause would you plead? + The cur! the devil is in you indeed! + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + The boor is a man—as a body may say. + + FIRST YAGER (to the Trumpeter). + Let 'em go! they're of Tiefenbach's corps, the railers, + A glorious train of glovers and tailors! + At Brieg, in garrison, long they lay; + What should they know about camps, I pray? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCENE XI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The above.—Cuirassiers. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Peace! what's amiss with the boor, may I crave? + + FIRST SHARPSHOOTER. + He has cheated at play, the cozening knave! + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + But say, has he cheated you, man, of aught? + + FIRST SHARPHOOTER. + Just cleaned me out—and not left me a groat. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + And can you, who've the rank of a Friedland man, + So shamefully cast yourself away, + As to try your luck with the boor at play? + Let him run off, so that run he can. + + [The peasant escapes, the others throng together. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + He makes short work—is of resolute mood— + And that with such fellows as these is good. + Who is he? not of Bohemia, that's clear. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + He's a Walloon—and respect, I trow, + Is due to the Pappenheim cuirassier! + + FIRST DRAGOON (joining). + Young Piccolomini leads them now, + Whom they chose as colonel, of their own free might, + When Pappenheim fell in Luetzen's fight. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + Durst they, indeed, presume so far? + + FIRST DRAGOON. + This regiment is something above the rest. + It has ever been foremost through the war, + And may manage its laws, as it pleases best; + Besides, 'tis by Friedland himself caressed. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER (to the Second.) + Is't so in truth, man? Who averred it? + + SECOND CUIRASSIER. + From the lips of the colonel himself I heard it. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + The devil! we're not their dogs, I weep! + + FIRST YAGER. + How now, what's wrong? You're swollen with spleen! + + SECOND YAGER. + Is it anything, comrades, may us concern? + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + 'Tis what none need be wondrous glad to learn. + + The Soldiers press round him. + + To the Netherlands they would lend us now— + Cuirassiers, Yagers, and Shooters away, + Eight thousand in all must march, they say. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + What! What! again the old wandering way— + I got back from Flanders but yesterday! + + SECOND CUIRASSIER (to the Dragoons). + You of Butler's corps must tramp with the rest. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + And we, the Walloons, must doubtless be gone. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Why, of all our squadrons these are the best. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + To march where that Milanese fellow leads on. + + FIRST YAGER. + The infant? that's queer enough in its way. + + SECOND YAGER. + The priest—then, egad! there's the devil to pay. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Shall we then leave the Friedlander's train, + Who so nobly his soldiers doth entertain— + And drag to the field with this fellow from Spain! + A niggard whom we in our souls disdain! + That'll never go down—I'm off, I swear. + + TRUMPETER. + Why, what the devil should we do there? + We sold our blood to the emperor—ne'er + For this Spanish red hat a drop we'll spare! + + SECOND YAGER. + On the Friedlander's word and credit alone + We ranged ourselves in the trooper line, + And, but for our love to Wallenstein, + Ferdinand ne'er had our service known. + + FIRST DRAGOON. + Was it not Friedland that formed our force? + His fortune shall still be the star of our course. + + SERGEANT. + Silence, good comrades, to me give ear— + Talking does little to help us here. + Much farther in this I can see than you all, + And a trap has been laid in which we're to fall; + + FIRST YAGER. + List to the order-book! hush—be still! + + SERGEANT. + But first, Cousin Gustel, I pray thee fill + A glass of Melneck, as my stomach's but weak + When I've tossed it off, my mind I'll speak. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Take it, good sergeant. I quake for fear— + Think you that mischief is hidden here? + + SERGEANT. + Look ye, my friends, 'tis fit and clear + That each should consider what's most near. + But as the general says, say I, + One should always the whole of a case descry. + We call ourselves all the Friedlander's troops; + The burgher, on whom we're billeted, stoops + Our wants to supply, and cooks our soups. + His ox, or his horse, the peasant must chain + To our baggage-car, and may grumble in vain. + Just let a lance-corp'ral, with seven good men, + Tow'rd a village from far but come within ken, + You're sure he'll be prince of the place, and may + Cut what capers he will, with unquestioned sway. + Why, zounds! lads, they heartily hate us all— + And would rather the devil should give them a call, + Than our yellow collars. And why don't they fall + On us fairly at once and get rid of our lumber? + They're more than our match in point of number, + And carry the cudgel as we do the sword. + Why can we laugh them to scorn? By my word + Because we make up here a terrible horde. + + FIRST YAGER. + Ay, ay, in the mass lies the spell of our might, + And the Friedlander judged the matter aright, + When, some eight or nine years ago, he brought + The emperor's army together. They thought + Twelve thousand enough for the general. In vain, + Said he, such a force I can never maintain. + Sixty thousand I'll bring ye into the plain, + And they, I'll be sworn, won't of hunger die, + And thus were we Wallenstein's men, say I. + + SERGEANT. + For example, cut one of my fingers off, + This little one here from my right hand doff. + Is the taking my finger then all you've done? + No, no, to the devil my hand is gone! + 'Tis a stump—no more—and use has none. + The eight thousand horse they wish to disband + May be but a finger of our army's hand. + But when they're once gone may we understand + We are but one-fifth the less? Oh, no— + By the Lord, the whole to the devil will go! + All terror, respect, and awe will be over, + And the peasant will swell his crest once more; + And the Board of Vienna will order us where + Our troops must be quartered and how we must fare, + As of old in the days of their beggarly care. + Yes, and how long it will be who can say + Ere the general himself they may take away? + For they don't much like him at court I learn? + And then it's all up with the whole concern! + For who, to our pay, will be left to aid us? + And see that they keep the promise they made us? + Who has the energy—who the mind— + The flashing thought—and the fearless hand— + Together to bring, and thus fastly bind + The fragments that form our close-knit band. + For example, dragoon—just answer us now, + From which of the countries of earth art thou? + + DRAGOON. + From distant Erin came I here. + + SERGEANT (to the two Cuirassiers). + You're a Walloon, my friend, that's clear, + And you, an Italian, as all may hear. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Who I may be, faith! I never could say; + In my infant years they stole me away. + + SERGEANT. + And you, from what far land may you be? + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + I come from Buchau—on the Feder Sea. + + SERGEANT. + Neighbor, and you? + + SECOND ARQUEBUSIER. + I am a Swiss. + + SERGEANT (to the second Yager). + And Yager, let's hear where your country is? + + SECOND YAGER. + Up above Wismar my fathers dwell. + + SERGEANT (pointing to the Trumpeter). + And he's from Eger—and I as well: + And now, my comrades, I ask you whether, + Would any one think, when looking at us, + That we, from the North and South, had thus + Been hitherward drifted and blown together? + Do we not seem as hewn from one mass? + Stand we not close against the foe + As though we were glued or moulded so? + Like mill-work don't we move, d'ye think! + 'Mong ourselves in the nick, at a word or wink. + Who has thus cast us here all as one, + Now to be severed again by none? + Who? why, no other than Wallenstein! + + FIRST YAGER. + In my life it ne'er was a thought of mine + Whether we suited each other or not, + I let myself go with the rest of the lot. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + I quite agree in the sergeant's opinion— + They'd fain have an end of our camp dominion, + And trample the soldier down, that they + May govern alone in their own good way. + 'Tis a conspiration—a plot, I say! + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + A conspiration—God help the day! + Then my customers won't have cash to pay. + + SERGEANT. + Why, faith, we shall all be bankrupts made; + The captains and generals, most of them, paid + The costs of the regiments with private cash, + And, wishing, 'bove all, to cut a dash, + Went a little beyond their means—but thought, + No doubt, that they thus had a bargain bought. + Now they'll be cheated, sirs, one and all, + Should our chief, our head, the general fall. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Oh, Heaven! this curse I never can brook + Why, half of the army stand in my book. + Two hundred dollars I've trusted madly + That Count Isolani who pays so badly. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Well, comrades, let's fix on what's to be done— + Of the ways to save us, I see but one; + If we hold together we need not fear; + So let us stand out as one man here; + And then they may order and send as they will, + Fast planted we'll stick in Bohemia still. + We'll never give in—no, nor march an inch, + We stand on our honor, and must not flinch. + + SECOND YAGER. + We're not to be driven the country about, + Let 'em come here, and they'll find it out. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + Good sirs, 'twere well to bethink ye still, + That such is the emperor's sovereign will. + + TRUMPETER. + Oh, as to the emperor, we needn't be nice. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + Let me not hear you say so twice. + + TRUMPETER. + Why, 'tis even so—as I just have said. + + FIRST YAGER. + True, man—I've always heard 'em say, + 'Tis Friedland, alone, you've here to obey. + + SERGEANT. + By our bargain with him it should be so, + Absolute power is his, you must know, + We've war, or peace, but as he may please, + Or gold or goods he has power to seize, + And hanging or pardon his will decrees. + Captains and colonels he makes—and he, + In short, by the imperial seal is free, + To hold all the marks of sovereignty. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + The duke is high and of mighty will, + But yet must remain, for good or for ill, + Like us all, but the emperor's servant still. + + SERGEANT. + Not like us all—I there disagree— + Friedland is quite independent and free, + The Bavarian is no more a prince than he + For, was I not by myself to see, + When on duty at Brandeis, how the emperor said, + He wished him to cover his princely head. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + That was because of the Mecklenburgh land, + Which he held in pawn from the emperor's hand. + + FIRST YAGER (to the Sergeant). + In the emperor's presence, man! say you so? + That, beyond doubt, was a wonderful go! + + SERGEANT (feels in his pocket). + If you question my word in what I have told, + I can give you something to grasp and hold. + [Showing a coin. + Whose image and stamp d'ye here behold? + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Oh! that is a Wallenstein's, sure! + + SERGEANT-MAJOR. + Well, there, you have it—what doubt can rest + Is he not prince, just as good as the best? + Coins he not money like Ferdinand? + Hath he not his own subjects and land? + Is he not called your highness, I pray? + And why should he not have his soldiers in? + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + That no one has ever meant to gainsay; + But we're still at the emperor's beck and call, + For his majesty 'tis who pays us all. + + TRUMPETER. + In your teeth I deny it—and will again— + His majesty 'tis who pays us not, + For this forty weeks, say, what have we got + But a promise to pay, believed in vain? + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + What then! 'tis kept in safe hands, I suppose. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Peace, good sirs, will you come to blows? + Have you a quarrel and squabble to know + If the emperor be our master or no? + 'Tis because of our rank, as his soldiers brave, + That we scorn the lot of the herded slave; + And will not be driven from place to place, + As priest or puppies our path may trace. + And, tell me, is't not the sovereign's gain, + If the soldiers their dignity will maintain? + Who but his soldiers give him the state + Of a mighty, wide-ruling potentate? + Make and preserve for him, far and near, + The voice which Christendom quakes to hear? + Well enough they may his yoke-chain bear, + Who feast on his favors, and daily share, + In golden chambers, his sumptuous fare. + We—we of his splendors have no part, + Naught but hard wearying toil and care, + And the pride that lives in a soldier's heart. + + SECOND YAGER. + All great tyrants and kings have shown + Their wit, as I take it, in what they've done; + They've trampled all others with stern command, + But the soldier they've led with a gentle hand. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + The soldier his worth must understand; + Whoe'er doesn't nobly drive the trade, + 'Twere best from the business far he'd stayed. + If I cheerily set my life on a throw, + Something still better than life I'll know; + Or I'll stand to be slain for the paltry pelf, + As the Croat still does—and scorn myself. + + BOTH PAGERS. + Yes—honor is dearer than life itself. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + The sword is no plough, nor delving tool, + He, who would till with it, is but a fool. + For us, neither grass nor grain doth grow, + Houseless the soldier is doomed to go, + A changeful wanderer over the earth, + Ne'er knowing the warmth of a home-lit hearth. + The city glances—he halts—not there— + Nor in village meadows, so green and fair; + The vintage and harvest wreath are twined + He sees, but must leave them far behind. + Then, tell me, what hath the soldier left, + If he's once of his self-esteem bereft? + Something he must have his own to call, + Or on slaughter and burnings at once he'll fall. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + God knows, 'tis a wretched life to live! + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Yet one, which I, for no other would give, + Look ye—far round in the world I've been, + And all of its different service seen. + The Venetian Republic—the Kings of Spain + And Naples I've served, and served in vain. + Fortune still frowned—and merchant and knight, + Craftsmen and Jesuit, have met my sight; + Yet, of all their jackets, not one have I known + To please me like this steel coat of my own. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + Well—that now is what I can scarcely say. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + In the world, a man who would make his way, + Must plague and bestir himself night and day. + To honor and place if he choose the road, + He must bend his back to the golden load. + And if home-delights should his fancy please, + With children and grandchildren round his knees, + Let him follow an honest trade in peace. + I've no taste for this kind of life—not I! + Free will I live, and as freely die. + No man's spoiler nor heir will I be— + But, throned on my nag, I will smile to see + The coil of the crowd that is under me. + + FIRST YAGER. + Bravo!—that's as I've always done. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + In truth, sirs, it may be far better fun + To trample thus over your neighbor's crown. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Comrade, the times are bad of late— + The sword and the scales live separate. + But do not then blame that I've preferred, + Of the two, to lean, as I have, to the sword. + For mercy in war I will yield to none, + Though I never will stoop to be drummed upon. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. + Who but the soldier the blame should bear + That the laboring poor so hardly fare? + The war with its plagues, which all have blasted + Now sixteen years in the land hath lasted. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Why, brother, the blessed God above + Can't have from us all an equal love. + One prays for the sun, at which t'other will fret + One is for dry weather-t'other for wet. + What you, now, regard as with misery rife, + Is to me the unclouded sun of life. + If 'tis at the cost of the burgher and boor, + I really am sorry that they must endure; + But how can I help it? Here, you must know, + 'Tis just like a cavalry charge 'gainst the foe: + The steeds loud snorting, and on they go! + Whoever may lie in the mid-career— + Be it my brother or son so dear, + Should his dying groan my heart divide, + Yet over his body I needs must ride, + Nor pitying stop to drag him aside. + + FIRST YAGER. + True—who ever asks how another may bide? + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Thus, my lads, 'tis my counsel, while + On the soldier Dame Fortune deigns to smile, + That we with both hands her bounty clasp, + For it may not be much longer left to our grasp. + Peace will be coming some over-night, + And then there's an end of our martial might. + The soldier unhorsed, and fresh mounted to boor, + Ere you can think it 'twill be as before. + As yet we're together firm bound in the land, + The hilt is yet fast in the soldier's hand. + But let 'em divide us, and soon we shall find, + Short commons is all that remains behind. + + FIRST YAGER. + No, no, by the Lord! That won't do for me. + Come, come, lads, let's all now, as one, agree. + + SECOND YAGER. + Yes, let us resolve on what 'tis to be. + + FIRST ARQUEBUSIER (To the Sutler-woman, drawing out his leather purse). + Hostess, tell us how high you've scored. + + SUTLER-WOMAN. + Oh, 'tis unworthy a single word. + + [They settle. + + TRUMPETER. + You do well, sirs, to take a further walk, + Your company only disturbs our talk. + + [Exeunt Arquebusiers. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Plague take the fellows—they're brave, I know. + + FIRST YAGER. + They haven't a soul 'bove a soapboiler's, though. + + SECOND YAGER. + We're now alone, so teach us who can + How best we may meet and mar their plan. + + TRUMPETER. + How? Why, let's tell them we will not go! + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Despising all discipline! No, my lads, no, + Rather his corps let each of us seek, + And quietly then with his comrades speak, + That every soldier may clearly know, + It were not for his good so far to go; + For my Walloons to answer I'm free, + Every man of 'em thinks and acts with me. + + SERGEANT. + The Terzky regiments, both horse and foot, + Will thus resolve, and will keep them to't. + + SECOND CUIRASSIER (joining the first). + The Walloons and the Lombards one intent. + + FIRST YAGER. + Freedom is Yagers' own element. + + SECOND YAGER. + Freedom must ever with might entwine— + I live and will die by Wallenstein. + + FIRST SHARPSHOOTER. + The Lorrainers go on with the strongest tide, + Where spirits are light and courage tried. + + DRAGOON. + An Irishman follows his fortune's star. + + SECOND SHARPSHOOTER. + The Tyrolese for their sovereign war. + + FIRST CUIRASSIER. + Then, comrades, let each of our corps agree + A pro memoria to sign—that we, + In spite of all force or fraud, will be + To the fortunes of Friedland firmly bound, + For in him is the soldier's father found. + This we will humbly present, when done, + To Piccolomini—I mean the son— + Who understands these kind of affairs, + And the Friedlander's highest favor shares; + Besides, with the emperor's self, they say + He holds a capital card to play. + + SECOND YAGER. + Well, then, in this, let us all agree, + That the colonel shall our spokesman be! + + ALL (going). + Good! the colonel shall our spokesman be. + + SERGEANT. + Hold, sirs—just toss off a glass with me + To the health of Piccolomini. + + SUTLER-WOMAN (brings a flask). + This shall not go to the list of scores, + I gladly give it—success be yours! + + CUIRASSIER. + The soldier shall sway! + + BOTH YAGERS. + The peasant shall pay + + DRAGOONS and SHARPSHOOTERS. + The army shall flourishing stand! + + TRUMPETER and SERGEANT. + And the Friedlander keep the command! + + SECOND CUIRASSIER (sings). + + Arouse ye, my comrades, to horse! to horse! + To the field and to freedom we guide! + For there a man feels the pride of his force + And there is the heart of him tried. + No help to him there by another is shown, + He stands for himself and himself alone. + + [The soldiers from the background have come forward during the singing + of this verse and form the chorus. + + CHORUS. + + No help to him by another is shown, + He stands for himself and himself alone. + + DRAGOON. + + Now freedom hath fled from the world, we find + But lords and their bondsmen vile + And nothing holds sway in the breast of mankind + Save falsehood and cowardly guile. + Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow, + The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. + + CHORUS. + + Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow, + The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. + + FIRST YAGER. + + With the troubles of life he ne'er bothers his pate, + And feels neither fear nor sorrow; + But boldly rides onward to meet with his fate— + He may meet it to-day, or to-morrow! + And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say, + Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day! + + CHORUS. + + And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say, + Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day! + + [The glasses are here refilled, and all drink. + + SERGEANT. + + 'Tis from heaven his jovial lot has birth; + Nor needs he to strive or toil. + The peasant may grope in the bowels of earth, + And for treasure may greedily moil + He digs and he delves through life for the pelf, + And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself. + + CHORUS. + + He digs and he delves through life for the pelf, + And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself. + + FIRST YAGER. + + The rider and lightning steed—a pair + Of terrible guests, I ween! + From the bridal-hall, as the torches glare, + Unbidden they join the +SCENE; + Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove; + By storm he carries the prize of love! + + CHORUS. + + Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove; + By storm he carries the prize of love! + + SECOND CUIRASSIER. + + Why mourns the wench with so sorrowful face? + Away, girl, the soldier must go! + No spot on the earth is his resting-place; + And your true love he never can know. + Still onward driven by fate's rude wind, + He nowhere may leave his peace behind. + + CHORUS. + + Still onward driven by fate's rude wind, + He nowhere may leave his peace behind. + + FIRST YAGER. + He takes the two next to him by the hand—the others do the same—and + form a large semi-circle. + + Then rouse ye, my comrades—to horse! to horse! + In battle the breast doth swell! + Youth boils—the life-cup foams in its force— + Up! ere time can dew dispel! + And deep be the stake, as the prize is high— + Who life would win, he must dare to die! + + CHORUS. + + And deep be the stake, as the prize is high— + Who life would win, he must dare to die! + + [The curtain falls before the chorus has finished. +</pre> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Camp of Wallenstein, by Friedrich Schiller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN *** + +***** This file should be named 6785-h.htm or 6785-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/7/8/6785/ + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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