Category Archives: Wallenstein


Schiller: “Wallenstein”

Excerpt, “The Death of Wallenstein,” by Friedrich Schiller.

wallenstein

WALLENSTEIN IN SOLILOQUY
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Is it possible?
Is't so? I can no longer what I would?
No longer draw back at my liking? I
Must do the deed, because I thought of it?
And fed this heart here with a dream?
.
Because I did not scowl temptation from my presence,
Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfillment,
Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain,
And only kept the road, the access open?
By the great God of Heaven! It was not
My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolved.
.
I but amused myself with thinking of it.
The free-will tempted me, the power to do
Or not to do.
.
 Was it criminal
To make the fancy minister to hope,
To fill the air with pretty toys of air,
And clutch fantastic sceptres moving toward me?
Was not the will kept free? Beheld I not
The road of duty close beside me—but
One little step, and once more I was in it!
.
Where am I? Whither have I been transported?
No road, no track behind me, but a wall,
Impenetrable, insurmountable,
Rises obedient to the spells I muttered
And meant not—my own doings tower behind me.
.
Pauses and remains in deep thought.
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A punishable man I seem, the guilt,
Try what I will, I cannot roll off from me;
The equivocal demeanor of my life
Bears witness on my prosecutor's party.
And even my purest acts from purest motives
Suspicion poisons with malicious gloss.
.
Were I that thing for which I pass, that traitor,
A goodly outside I had sure reserved,
Had drawn the coverings thick and double round me,
Been calm and chary of my utterance;
But being conscious of the innocence
Of my intent, my uncorrupted will,
I gave way to my humors, to my passion:
.
Bold were my words, because my deeds were not.
Now every planless measure, chance event,
The threat of rage, the vaunt of joy and triumph,
And all the May-games of a heart o’erflowing,
Will they connect, and weave them all together
Into one web of treason; all will be plan,
My eye ne'er absent from the far-off mark,
Step tracing step, each step a politic progress;
.
And out of all they'll fabricate a charge
So specious, that I must myself stand dumb.
I am caught in my own net, and only force,
Naught but a sudden rent can liberate me.
.
Pauses again.
.
How else! Since that the heart's unbiased instinct
Impelled me to the daring deed, which now
Necessity, self-preservation, orders.
Stern is the on-look of necessity,
Not without shudder may a human hand
Grasp the mysterious urn of destiny.
.
My deed was mine, remaining in my bosom;
Once suffered to escape from its safe corner
Within the heart, its nursery and birthplace,
Sent forth into the foreign, it belongs
Forever to those sly malicious powers
Whom never art of man conciliated.
.
Paces in agitation through the chamber, then
 pauses, and, after the pause, breaks out again
 into audible soliloquy.
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What is thy enterprise? Thy aim? Thy object?
Hast honestly confessed it to thyself?
Power seated on a quiet throne thou'dst shake,
Power on an ancient, consecrated throne,
Strong in possession, founded in all custom;
Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots
Fixed to the people's pious nursery faith.
.
This, this will be no strife of strength with strength.
That feared I not. I brave each combatant,
Whom I can look on, fixing eye to eye,
Who, full himself of courage, kindles courage
In me too. 'Tis a foe invisible
The which I fear—a fearful enemy,
Which in the human heart opposes me,
By its coward fear alone made fearful to me.
.
Not that, which full of life, instinct with power,
Makes known its present being; that is not
The true, the perilously formidable.
O no! it is the common, the quite common,
The thing of an eternal yesterday.
Whatever was, and evermore returns,
Sterling to-morrow, for to-day 'twas sterling!
.
For of the wholly common is man made,
And custom is his nurse! Woe then to them
Who lay irreverent hands upon his old
House furniture, the dear inheritance
From his forefathers! For time consecrates;
And what is gray with age becomes religion.
Be in possession, and thou hast the right,
And sacred will the many guard it for thee!

wallenstein2
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Schiller: “Arouse ye, my comrades, to horse! to horse!”

Excerpt, “The Camp of Wallenstein,” by Friedrich Schiller. From Scene XI. Translated by James Churchill.

wallenstein's camp

.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.

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[The soldiers from the background have come forward during the singing

of this verse and form the chorus.]

.

CHORUS.

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No help to him by another is shown,

He stands for himself and himself alone.

.

DRAGOON.

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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.

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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.

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‘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.

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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,

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[Unbidden they join the Scene]

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Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove;

By storm he carries the prize of love!

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CHORUS.

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Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove;

By storm he carries the prize of love!

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SECOND CUIRASSIER.

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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!