The Works of Frederick Schiller - LightNovelsOnl.com
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CHARLES.
Thou'rt in a pleasant humor; undisturbed I'll leave thee to enjoy it. Hark, Duchatel!
Amba.s.sadors are here from old King Rene, Of tuneful songs the master, far renowned.
Let them as honored guests be entertained, And unto each present a chain of gold.
[To the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
Why smilest thou, Dunois?
DUNOIS.
That from thy mouth Thou shakest golden chains.
DUCHATEL.
Alas! my king!
No gold existeth in thy treasury.
CHARLES.
Then gold must be procured. It must not be That bards unhonored from our court depart.
'Tis they who make our barren sceptre bloom, 'Tis they who wreath around our fruitless crown Life's joyous branch of never-fading green.
Reigning, they justly rank themselves as kings, Of gentle wishes they erect their throne, Their harmless realm existeth not in s.p.a.ce; Hence should the bard accompany the king, Life's higher sphere the heritage of both!
DUCHATEL.
My royal liege! I sought to spare thine ear So long as aid and counsel could be found; Now dire necessity doth loose my tongue.
Naught hast thou now in presents to bestow, Thou hast not wherewithal to live to-morrow!
The spring-tide of thy fortune is run out, And lowest ebb is in thy treasury!
The soldiers, disappointed of their pay, With sullen murmurs, threaten to retire.
My counsel faileth, not with royal splendor But meagerly, to furnish out thy household.
CHARLES.
My royal customs pledge, and borrow gold From the Lombardians.
DUCHATEL.
Sire, thy revenues, Thy royal customs are for three years pledged.
DUNOIS.
And pledge meanwhile and kingdom both are lost.
CHARLES.
Still many rich and beauteous lands are ours.
DUNOIS.
So long as G.o.d and Talbot's sword permit!
When Orleans falleth into English hands Then with King Rene thou may'st tend thy sheep!
CHARLES.
Still at this king thou lov'st to point thy jest; Yet 'tis this lackland monarch who to-day Hath with a princely crown invested me.
DUNOIS.
Not, in the name of heaven, with that of Naples, Which is for sale, I hear, since he kept sheep.
CHARLES.
It is a sportive festival, a jest, Wherein he giveth to his fancy play, To found a world all innocent and pure In this barbaric, rude reality.
Yet n.o.ble--ay, right royal is his aim!
He will again restore the golden age, When gentle manners reigned, when faithful love The heroic hearts of valiant knights inspired, And n.o.ble women, whose accomplished taste Diffuseth grace around, in judgment sat.
The old man dwelleth in those bygone times, And in our workday world would realize The dreams of ancient bards, who picture life 'Mid bowers celestial, throned on golden clouds.
He hath established hence a court of love Where valiant knights may dwell, and homage yield To n.o.ble women, who are there enthroned, And where pure love and true may find a home.
Me he hath chosen as the prince of love.
DUNOIS.
I am not such a base, degenerate churl As love's dominion rudely to a.s.sail.
I am her son, from her derive my name, And in her kingdom lies my heritage.
The Prince of Orleans was my sire, and while No woman's heart was proof against his love, No hostile fortress could withstand his shock!
Wilt thou, indeed, with honor name thyself The prince of love--be bravest of the brave!
As I have read in those old chronicles, Love aye went coupled with heroic deeds, And valiant heroes, not inglorious shepherds, So legends tell us, graced King Arthur's board.
The man whose valor is not beauty's s.h.i.+eld Is all unworthy of her golden prize.
Here the arena! combat for the crown, Thy royal heritage! With knightly sword Thy lady's honor and thy realm defend-- And hast thou with hot valor s.n.a.t.c.hed the crown From streams of hostile blood,--then is the time, And it would well become thee as a prince, Love's myrtle chaplet round thy brows to wreathe.
CHARLES (to a PAGE, who enters).
What is the matter?
PAGE.
Senators from Orleans Entreat an audience, sire.
CHARLES.
Conduct them hither!
[PAGE retires.
Doubtless they succor need; what can I do, Myself all-succorless!
SCENE III.
The same. Three SENATORS.
CHARLES.
Welcome, my trusty citizens of Orleans!
What tidings bring ye from my faithful town?
Doth she continue with her wonted zeal Still bravely to withstand the leaguering foe?
SENATOR.
Ah, sire! the city's peril is extreme; And giant ruin, waxing hour by hour, Still onward strides. The bulwarks are destroyed-- The foe at each a.s.sault advantage gains; Bare of defenders are the city walls, For with rash valor forth our soldiers rush, While few, alas! return to view their homes, And famine's scourge impendeth o'er the town.
In this extremity the n.o.ble Count Of Rochepierre, commander of the town, Hath made a compact with the enemy, According to old custom, to yield up, On the twelfth day, the city to the foe, Unless, meanwhile, before the town appear A host of magnitude to raise the siege.
[DUNOIS manifests the strongest indignation.
CHARLES.
The interval is brief.
SENATOR.
We hither come, Attended by a hostile retinue, To implore thee, sire, to pity thy poor town, And to send succor ere the appointed day, When, if still unrelieved, she must surrender.
