The Camp of Wallenstein (play) Read online

  The Camp of Wallenstein (play)

  Friedrich Schiller

  Schiller. The Camp of Wallenstein (play)

  This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger, [email protected]

  Translated by James Churchill.

  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.

  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:-

  "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."

  THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 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.)

  SCENE I

  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.

  SCENE II.

  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.

  SCENE III.

  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.

  SCENE IV.

  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.

  SCENE V.

  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?

  SCENE VI.

  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.
<
br />   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,