The Maid of Orleans (play) Read online

  The Maid of Orleans (play)

  Friedrich Schiller

  Schiller. The Maid of Orleans (play)

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

  THE MAID OF ORLEANS.

  By Frederich Schiller

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

  CHARLES THE SEVENTH, King of France.

  QUEEN ISABEL, his Mother.

  AGNES SOREL.

  PHILIP THE GOOD, Duke of Burgundy.

  EARL DUNOIS, Bastard of Orleans.

  LA HIRE, DUCRATEL, French Offers.

  ARCHBISHOP OF RHEIMS.

  CRATILLON, A Burgundian Knight.

  RAOUL, a Lotharingian Knight.

  TALBOT, the English General,

  LIONEL, FASTOLFE, English Officers.

  MONTGOMERY, a Welshman.

  COUNCILLORS OF ORLEANS.

  AN ENGLISH HERALD.

  THIBAUT D'ARC, a wealthy Countryman.

  MARGOT, LOUISON, JOHANNA, his Daughters.

  ETIENNE, CLAUDE MARIE, RAIMOND, their Suitors.

  BERTRAND, another Countryman.

  APPARITION OF A BLACK KNIGHT.

  CHARCOAL-BURNER AND HIS WIFE.

  Soldiers and People, Officers of the Crown, Bishops, Monks, Marshals,

  Magistrates, Courtiers, and other mute persons in the Coronation

  Procession.

  PROLOGUE.

  A rural District. To the right, a Chapel with an Image of the Virgin; to

  the left, an ancient Oak.

  SCENE I.

  THIBAUT D'ARC. His Three Daughters. Three young Shepherds,

  their Suitors.

  THIBAUT.

  Ay, my good neighbors! we at least to-day

  Are Frenchmen still, free citizens and lords

  Of the old soil which our forefathers tilled.

  Who knows whom we to-morrow must obey?

  For England her triumphal banner waves

  From every wall: the blooming fields of France

  Are trampled down beneath her chargers' hoofs;

  Paris hath yielded to her conquering arms,

  And with the ancient crown of Dagobert

  Adorns the scion of a foreign race.

  Our king's descendant, disinherited,

  Must steal in secret through his own domain;

  While his first peer and nearest relative

  Contends against him in the hostile ranks;

  Ay, his unnatural mother leads them on.

  Around us towns and peaceful hamlets burn.

  Near and more near the devastating fire

  Rolls toward these vales, which yet repose in peace.

  Therefore, good neighbors, I have now resolved,

  While God still grants us safety, to provide

  For my three daughters; for 'midst war's alarms

  Women require protection, and true love

  Hath power to render lighter every load.

  [To the first Shepherd.

  Come, Etienne! You seek my Margot's hand.

  Fields lying side by side and loving hearts

  Promise a happy union!

  [To the second.

  Claude! You're silent,

  And my Louison looks upon the ground?

  How, shall I separate two loving hearts

  Because you have no wealth to offer me?

  Who now has wealth? Our barns and homes afford

  Spoil to the foe, and fuel to the fires.

  In times like these a husband's faithful breast

  Affords the only shelter from the storm.

  LOUISON.

  My father!

  CLAUDE MARIE.

  My Louison!

  LOUISON (embracing JOHANNA).

  My dear sister!

  THIBAUT.

  I give to each a yard, a stall and herd,

  And also thirty acres; and as God

  Gave me his blessing, so I give you mine!

  MARGOT (embracing JOHANNA).

  Gladden our father-follow our example!

  Let this day see three unions ratified!

  THIBAUT.

  Now go; make all things ready; for the morn

  Shall see the wedding. Let our village friends

  Be all assembled for the festival.

  [The two couples retire arm in arm.

  SCENE II.

  THIBAUT, RAIMOND, JOHANNA.

  THIBAUT.

  Thy sisters, Joan, will soon be happy brides;

  I see them gladly; they rejoice my age;

  But thou, my youngest, giv'st me grief and pain.

  RAIMOND.

  What is the matter? Why upbraid thy child?

  THIBAUT.

  Here is this noble youth, the flower and pride

  Of all our village; he hath fixed on thee

  His fond affections, and for three long years

  Has wooed thee with respectful tenderness;

  But thou dost thrust him back with cold reserve.

  Nor is there one 'mong all our shepherd youths

  Who e'er can win a gracious smile from thee.

  I see thee blooming in thy youthful prime;

  Thy spring it is, the joyous time of hope;

  Thy person, like a tender flower, hath now

  Disclosed its beauty, but I vainly wait

  For love's sweet blossom genially to blow,

  And ripen joyously to golden fruit!

  Oh, that must ever grieve me, and betrays

  Some sad deficiency in nature's work!

  The heart I like not which, severe and cold,

  Expands not in the genial years of youth.

  RAIMOND.

  Forbear, good father! Cease to urge her thus!

  A noble, tender fruit of heavenly growth

  Is my Johanna's love, and time alone

  Bringeth the costly to maturity!

  Still she delights to range among the hills,

  And fears descending from the wild, free heath,

  To tarry 'neath the lowly roofs of men,

  Where dwell the narrow cares of humble life.

  From the deep vale, with silent wonder, oft

  I mark her, when, upon a lofty hill

  Surrounded by her flock, erect she stands,

  With noble port, and bends her earnest gaze

  Down on the small domains of earth. To me

  She looketh then, as if from other times

  She came, foreboding things of import high.

  THIBAUT.

  'Tis that precisely which displeases me!

  She shuns her sisters' gay companionship;

  Seeks out the desert mountains, leaves her couch

  Before the crowing of the morning cock,

  And in the dreadful hour, when men are wont

  Confidingly to seek their fellow-men,

  She, like the solitary bird, creeps forth,

  And in the fearful spirit-realm of night,

  To yon crossway repairs, and there alone

  Holds secret commune with the mountain wind.

  Wherefore this place precisely doth she choose?

  Why hither always doth she drive her flock?

  For hours together I have seen her sit

  In dreamy musing 'neath the Druid tree,

  Which every happy creature shuns with awe.

  For 'tis not holy there; an evil spirit

  Hath since the fearful pagan days of old

  Beneath its branches fixed his dread abode.

  The oldest of our villagers relate

  Strange tales of horror of the Druid tree;

  Mysterious voices of unearthly sound

  From its unhallowed shade oft meet the ear.

  Myself, when in the gloom
y twilight hour

  My path once chanced to lead me near this tree,

  Beheld a spectral figure sitting there,

  Which slowly from its long and ample robe

  Stretched forth its withered hand, and beckoned me.

  But on I went with speed, nor looked behind,

  And to the care of God consigned my soul.

  RAIMOND (pointing to the image of the Virgin).

  Yon holy image of the Virgin blest,

  Whose presence heavenly peace diffuseth round,

  Not Satan's work, leadeth thy daughter here.

  THIBAUT.

  No! not in vain hath it in fearful dreams

  And apparitions strange revealed itself.

  For three successive nights I have beheld

  Johanna sitting on the throne at Rheims,

  A sparkling diadem of seven stars

  Upon her brow, the sceptre in her hand,

  From which three lilies sprung, and I, her sire,

  With her two sisters, and the noble peers,

  The earls, archbishops, and the king himself,

  Bowed down before her. In my humble home

  How could this splendor enter my poor brain?

  Oh, 'tis the prelude to some fearful fall!

  This warning dream, in pictured show, reveals

  The vain and sinful longing of her heart.

  She looks with shame upon her lowly birth.

  Because with richer beauty God hath graced

  Her form, and dowered her with wondrous gifts

  Above the other maidens of this vale,

  She in her heart indulges sinful pride,

  And pride it is through which the angels fell,

  By which the fiend of hell seduces man.

  RAIMOND.

  Who cherishes a purer, humbler mind

  Than doth thy pious daughter? Does she not

  With cheerful spirit work her sisters' will?

  She is more highly gifted far than they,

  Yet, like a servant maiden, it is she

  Who silently performs the humblest tasks.

  Beneath her guiding hands prosperity

  Attendeth still thy harvest and thy flocks;

  And around all she does there ceaseless flows

  A blessing, rare and unaccountable.

  THIBAUT.

  Ah truly! Unaccountable indeed!

  Sad horror at this blessing seizes me!

  But now no more; henceforth I will be silent.

  Shall I accuse my own beloved child?

  I can do naught but warn and pray for her.

  Yet warn I must. Oh, shun the Druid tree!

  Stay not alone, and in the midnight hour

  Break not the ground for roots, no drinks prepare,

  No characters inscribe upon the sand!

  'Tis easy to unlock the realm of spirits;

  Listening each sound, beneath a film of earth

  They lay in wait, ready to rush aloft.

  Stay not alone, for in the wilderness

  The prince of darkness tempted e'en the Lord.

  SCENE III.

  THIBAUT, RAIMOND, JOHANNA.

  BERTRAND enters, a helmet in his hand.

  RAIMOND.

  Hush! here is Bertrand coming back from town;

  What bears he in his hand?

  BERTRAND.

  You look at me

  With wondering gaze; no doubt you are surprised

  To see this martial helm!

  THIBAUT.

  We are indeed!

  Come, tell us how you come by it? Why bring

  This fearful omen to our peaceful vale?

  [JOHANNA, who has remained indifferent during the two

  previous scenes, becomes attentive, and steps nearer.

  BERTRAND.

  I scarce can tell you how I came by it.

  I had procured some tools at Vaucouleurs;

  A crowd was gathered in the market-place,

  For fugitives were just arrived in haste

  From Orleans, bringing most disastrous news.

  In tumult all the town together flocked,

  And as I forced a passage through the crowds,

  A brown Bohemian woman, with this helm,

  Approached me, eyed me narrowly, and said:

  "Fellow, you seek a helm; I know it well.

  Take this one! For a trifle it is yours."

  "Go with it to the soldiers," I replied,

  "I am a husbandman, and want no helm."

  She would not cease, however, and went on:

  "None knoweth if he may not want a helm.

  A roof of metal for the Head just now

  Is of more value than a house of stone."

  Thus she pursued me closely through the streets,

  Still offering the helm, which I refused.

  I marked it well, and saw that it was bright,

  And fair and worthy of a knightly head;

  And when in doubt I weighed it in my hand,

  The strangeness of the incident revolving,

  The woman disappeared, for suddenly

  The rushing crowd had carried her away.

  And I was left the helmet in my hand.

  JOHANNA (attempting eagerly to seize it).

  Give me the helmet!

  BERTRAND.

  Why, what boots it you?

  It is not suited to a maiden's head.

  JOHANNA (seizing it from him).

  Mine is the helmet-it belongs to me!

  THIBAUT.

  What whim is this?

  RAIMOND.

  Nay, let her have her way!

  This warlike ornament becomes her well,

  For in her bosom beats a manly heart.

  Remember how she once subdued the wolf,

  The savage monster which destroyed our herds,

  And filled the neighb'ring shepherds with dismay.

  She all alone-the lion-hearted maid

  Fought with the wolf, and from him snatched the lamb

  Which he was bearing in his bloody jaws.

  How brave soe'er the head this helm adorned,

  It cannot grace a worthier one than hers!

  THIBAUT (to BERTRAND).

  Relate what new disasters have occurred.

  What tidings brought the fugitives?

  BERTRAND.

  May God

  Have pity on our land, and save the king!

  In two great battles we have lost the day;

  Our foes are stationed in the heart of France,

  Far as the river Loire our lands are theirs-

  Now their whole force they have combined, and lay

  Close siege to Orleans.

  THIBAUT.

  God protect the king!

  BERTRAND.

  Artillery is brought from every side,

  And as the dusky squadrons of the bees

  Swarm round the hive upon a summer day,

  As clouds of locusts from the sultry air

  Descend and shroud the country round for miles,

  So doth the cloud of war, o'er Orleans' fields,

  Pour forth its many-nationed multitudes,

  Whose varied speech, in wild confusion blent,

  With strange and hollow murmurs fill the air.

  For Burgundy, the mighty potentate,

  Conducts his motley host; the Hennegarians,

  The men of Liege and of Luxemburg,

  The people of Namur, and those who dwell

  In fair Brabant; the wealthy men of Ghent,

  Who boast their velvets, and their costly silks;

  The Zealanders, whose cleanly towns appear

  Emerging from the ocean; Hollanders

  Who milk the lowing herds; men from Utrecht,

  And even from West Friesland's distant realm,

  Who look towards the ice-pole-all combine,

  Beneath the banner of the powerful duke,

  Together to accomplish Orleans' fall.

  THIBAUT. />
  Oh, the unblest, the lamentable strife,

  Which turns the arms of France against itself!

  BERTRAND.

  E'en she, the mother-queen, proud Isabel

  Bavaria's haughty princess-may be seen,

  Arrayed in armor, riding through the camp;

  With poisonous words of irony she fires

  The hostile troops to fury 'gainst her son,

  Whom she hath clasped to her maternal breast.

  THIBAUT.

  A curse upon her, and may God prepare

  For her a death like haughty Jezebel's!

  BERTRAND.

  The fearful Salisbury conducts the siege,

  The town-destroyer; with him Lionel,

  The brother of the lion; Talbot, too,

  Who, with his murd'rous weapon, moweth down

  The people in the battle: they have sworn,

  With ruthless insolence to doom to shame

  The hapless maidens, and to sacrifice

  All who the sword have wielded, with the sword.

  Four lofty watch-towers, to o'ertop the town,

  They have upreared; Earl Salisbury from on high

  Casteth abroad his cruel, murd'rous glance,

  And marks the rapid wanderers in the streets.

  Thousands of cannon-balls, of pond'rous weight,

  Are hurled into the city. Churches lie

  In ruined heaps, and Notre Dame's royal tower

  Begins at length to bow its lofty head.

  They also have formed powder-vaults below,

  And thus, above a subterranean hell,

  The timid city every hour expects,