The Death of Wallenstein. Friedrich von Schiller

The Austrian has a country, ay, and loves it,

        And has good cause to love it – but this army

        That calls itself the imperial, this that houses

        Here in Bohemia, this has none – no country;

        This is an outcast of all foreign lands,

        Unclaimed by town or tribe, to whom belongs

        Nothing except the universal sun.

        And this Bohemian land for which we fight

        Loves not the master whom the chance of war,

        Not its own choice or will, hath given to it.

        Men murmur at the oppression of their conscience,

        And power hath only awed but not appeased them.

        A glowing and avenging memory lives

        Of cruel deeds committed on these plains;

        How can the son forget that here his father

        Was hunted by the bloodhound to the mass?

        A people thus oppressed must still be feared,

        Whether they suffer or avenge their wrongs.

WRANGEL

        But then the nobles and the officers?

        Such a desertion, such a felony,

        It is without example, my lord duke,

        In the world's history.

WALLENSTEIN

                     They are all mine —

        Mine unconditionally – mine on all terms.

        Not me, your own eyes you must trust.

           [He gives him the paper containing the written oath. WRANGEL reads

           it through, and, having read it, lays it on the table, – remaining

           silent.

                            So then;

        Now comprehend you?

WRANGEL

                   Comprehend who can!

        My lord duke, I will let the mask drop – yes!

        I've full powers for a final settlement.

        The Rhinegrave stands but four days' march from here

        With fifteen thousand men, and only waits

        For orders to proceed and join your army.

        These orders I give out immediately

        We're compromised.

WALLENSTEIN

                  What asks the chancellor?

WRANGEL (considerately)

        Twelve regiments, every man a Swede – my head

        The warranty – and all might prove at last

        Only false play —

WALLENSTEIN (starting)

                  Sir Swede!

WRANGEL (calmly proceeding)

                        Am therefore forced

        To insist thereon, that he do formally,

        Irrevocably break with the emperor,

        Else not a Swede is trusted to Duke Friedland.

WALLENSTEIN

        Come, brief and open! What is the demand?

WRANGEL

        That he forthwith disarm the Spanish regiments

        Attached to the emperor, that he seize on Prague,

        And to the Swedes give up that city, with

        The strong pass Egra.

WALLENSTEIN

                    That is much indeed!

        Prague! – Egra's granted – but – but Prague! 'Twon't do.

        I give you every security

        Which you may ask of me in common reason —

        But Prague – Bohemia – these, sir general,

        I can myself protect.

WRANGEL

                    We doubt it not.

        But 'tis not the protection that is now

        Our sole concern. We want security,

        That we shall not expend our men and money

        All to no purpose.

WALLENSTEIN

                  'Tis but reasonable.

WRANGEL

        And till we are indemnified, so long

        Stays Prague in pledge.

WALLENSTEIN

                     Then trust you us so little?

WRANGEL (rising)

        The Swede, if he would treat well with the German,

        Must keep a sharp lookout. We have been called

        Over the Baltic, we have saved the empire

        From ruin – with our best blood have we sealed

        The liberty of faith and gospel truth.

        But now already is the benefaction

        No longer felt, the load alone is felt.

        Ye look askance with evil eye upon us,

        As foreigners, intruders in the empire,

        And would fain send us with some paltry sum

        Of money, home again to our old forests.

        No, no! my lord duke! it never was

        For Judas' pay, for chinking gold and silver,

      That we did leave our king by the Great Stone.1 No, not for gold and silver have there bled

        So many of our Swedish nobles – neither

        Will we, with empty laurels for our payment,

        Hoist sail for our own country. Citizens

        Will we remain upon the soil, the which

        Our monarch conquered for himself and died.

WALLENSTEIN

        Help to keep down the common enemy,

        And the fair border land must needs be yours.

WRANGEL

        But when the common enemy lies vanquished,

        Who knits together our new friendship then?

        We know, Duke Friedland! though perhaps the Swede

        Ought not to have known it, that you carry on

        Secret negotiations with the Saxons.

        Who is our warranty that we are not

        The sacrifices in those articles

        Which 'tis thought needful to conceal from us?

WALLENSTEIN (rises)

        Think you of something better, Gustave Wrangel!

        Of Prague no more.

WRANGEL

                 

1

A great stone near Luetzen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body of their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the battle in which he lost his life.