University of Virginia Library

SCENE.

The Camp before Pilsen in Bohemia.
Sutler's tent, with booths. A moving crowd of soldiers of all colours and uniforms. All the tables are occupied. Croats and Uhlans cooking at a fire. A Sutler Woman serving wine. Soldier Boys throwing dice on a drum-head. Singing in the tent. A Peasant and his Son advance.
Peasant's Son.
Father, we'll better be off, I fear,
Out of this rabble of soldiers here.
They're a surly overbearing lot,
And as like to do us a mischief as not.

Peas.
Bah! Who's afraid, boy? They won't eat us,
Though they turn up a little bit rough and beat us.
See yonder new batch of recruits? They're all
Fresh from the banks of the Main and Saal.
They have lots of booty, things rich and rare,
All ours, if deftly we lay our snare.
A captain, through by a comrade stuck,
Left me two dice that had brought him luck.
I'll just have a trial to-day, to see
If their power be as great as it used to be.
To make a poor mouth must be our cue!
They're a happy-go-lucky rollicking crew;
If flattered, they're free with their cash, and so,
As lightly it came, make it lightly go.
If they plunder our goods by the bushel, why,
To regain them in spoonfuls we e'en must try;
With the sword if they ruthlessly hew and hack,
With craft and with wile we must pay them back.
(Singing and shouting from the tent.)
Mercy upon us, how they shout!
And the peasant's skin has to pay for all.
These last eight months this rabble rout
Have harried us out of both bed and stall.
For miles on miles the country round
Nowhere will feather or hoof be found,
All gone, so now for our hungry maw
We have only our own bones left to gnaw.
Things are as bad, ay, worse than when
The Saxons knocked us about like mad,
And yet they call themselves Kaiser's men!

Boy.
Here's two of them coming. Not much to be had
Out of them, to judge by their looks.

Peas.
Oh, they
Are thorough Bohemians, blood and bone,
Of the Carabineers, Count Tertzky's own.
They've been quartered here this many a day.
Of all the lot they are quite the worst.
They strut and they swagger as if they'd burst,
Too high and mighty, as they think,
To join the boor in a stoup of drink.
But yonder, away to the left, I see
Three Riflemen round a fire, and these,
I'd swear by their looks, are Tyrolese.
Come, Emmerich, come! To them will we.
Light-hearted fellows, ready to join
In any fun going, with lots of coin.

Enter Sergeant-Major, Trumpeter, and Uhlan.
Trump.
(to the Peasant).
What want you here? Clear out, I say!

Peas.
Kind sirs, a bit and sup! To-day
No morsel has crossed our lips!

Trump.
Bah! You
Must always be guzzling and swilling, too.

Uhl.
(with glass in hand).
Had nothing for breakfast? Drink, dog, drink!

(Goes off with the Peasant to the tent.)
Sergt.
(to the Trumpeter).
Was it for nothing, do you think,
This morning they dealt us double pay?
Only to give us a lark? What next?

Trump.
You know the Duchess comes here to-day
With the princess, her daughter.

Sergt.
A mere pretext!
The troops from foreign parts, that here
At Pilsen find themselves massed, 'tis clear,
Must be won over to share our luck
By lots of liquor and lots of tuck,
That, finding themselves in clover thus,
They may heartily cast in their lot with us.

Trump.
Ay! They're at their tricks again, no doubt!

Sergt.
These generals, commanders, all in full feather—

Trump.
What it all means I can't make out.

Sergt.
That here in such numbers have come together—

Trump.
Haven't taken such pains for mere sport. No, no!

Sergt.
These whisperings, these messages to and fro—

Trump.
Ay, ay!

Sergt.
And the bewigged old stager
From Vienna, with his gold chain, who's been
Prying all round since yestere'en,
He's not here for nothing, that I'll wager.

Trump.
Another of their bloodhounds sped
To lead the chase against the Duke.

Sergt.
Mark me! They trust us not. They dread
The Friedländer's close brooding look.
He has climbed too high for them, and so
They'd like, if they could, to bring him low.

Trump.
But we'll uphold him, that will we.
Ah, if all thought like you and me!

Sergt.
Our regiment, and the other four,
His brother-in-law Count Tertzky's corps,
The stoutest in the camp, are all
Resolved with him to stand or fall.
'Twas himself that brought us here. What's more,
The whole staff of captains were placed by him,
And to him they are bound with life and limb.

Enter a Croat, with a necklace, followed by Rifleman.
Rifle.
Where did you steal that necklace, Croat?
Will you deal? To you it's not worth a groat.
Take this brace of pistols for it?

Cro.
I won't.
You want to cozen me, but you don't!

Rifle.
Well, this blue cap, you shall have that, too.
Only just now in a raffle I won it.
There! Look, how smart! And quite brand-new.

Cro.
(holding up the necklace in the sun).
But this is all pearls and garnets fine.
How it sparkles, see, when the sun is on it!

Rifle.
(snatching the necklace).
I'll throw in with the lot this flask of mine.
(Examining the necklace.)
All I care for is its sparkle and shine.

Trump.
Good lord! How he bubbles the Croat! Absurd!
Half shares, old boy, and mum's the word.

Cro.
(who has put on the cap).
I like your cap.

Rifle.
(winking to the Trumpeter).
A bargain, then!
I call you to witness, gentlemen.

Enter Artilleryman.
Artil.
(to Sergeant).
How goes it, brother Carabineer?
Are we to go on loitering here,
Warming our hands, when the foe so near
His force in the field has already placed?

Sergt.
What? In the field? Why all this haste?
The roads are not yet open.

Artil.
For me,
Most certainly not. This life so free
Is altogether to my taste;
But a scout has come in hot-foot, with news
That Ratisbon has fallen.

Trump.
The deuce!
Ha! Then we shall soon be jogging, too.

Sergt.
Indeed! For the Bavarian, who
Has to our Prince been never true?
Not likely for him we should sweat our fat.

Artil.
You think so? I'd not be too sure of that.

Enter two Jägers, Sutler Woman, Soldier Boys, Schoolmaster, Servant Girl.
First Jäger.
See, see!
We've lighted on jolly good company.

Trump.
Who are these green-coats? Can you tell?
Smart fellows, and carry themselves right well.

Sergt.
Holk's Jägers. That silver lace was ne'er
Honestly come by at Leipzig Fair.

Sut. Wom.
Here's luck, and welcome, sirs!

First Jäger.
What! You!
Gustel of Blasewitz! Can this be true?

Sut. Wom.
Ay, right you are! And mossoo, I know,
Is long-legged Peter of Itzeho,
Who in one night, on revel bent,
His father's golden ducats spent
At Glückstadt with our regiment.

First Jäger.
And for the rifle dropped the pen.

Sut. Wom.
So, so! We are old acquaintance, then?

First Jäger.
And here in Bohemia meet again.

Sut. Wom.
To-day here, yonder to-morrow, as war
With its thorny besom from place to place
Sweeps us along at a rattling pace.
Oh, since that day I have wandered far.

First Jäger.
No doubt, no doubt! That's very plain.

Sut. Wom.
I trooped as far up as Temeswar,
Jolting along with the baggage train,
When we hunted the Mansfeldt with might and main.
Before Stralsund a tent I had,
But my business there went all to the bad;
To Mantua with the reliefs I went,
With the de Feria came out again,
And then with a regiment from Spain
I made an excursion as far as Ghent.
Now in Bohemia here am I,
To recover old debts,—at least, I'll try,
If the Duke would but lend me a helping hand,—
And there is my tent at your command.

First Jäger.
Never fear! You'll get every copper, old girl.
But what have you done with that Scottish churl,
You had in tow with you there?

Sut. Wom.
What! He!
The scoundrel! He played a fine trick on me.
Bolted, and took with him all the tin
I had worn myself to the bones to win.
All he left me was this young lazy lout.

(Pointing to the boy.)
Sol. Boy
(running up to her).
Is it father, mammy, you're talking about?

First Jäger.
Well, well, the Kaiser must feed the lad.
Recruits for the army must be had.

Sch.
(coming up).
Off to the camp-school, march!

First Jäger.
He, too,
Has a horror of stuffy rooms, like you.

Serv. Girl
(entering).
They want to be off, aunt.

Sut. Wom.
Coming, straight!

First Jäger.
Ha! Who is this little rogue?

Sut. Wom.
Oh, she
Is my sister's child, well-born, sedate.

First Jäger.
A favourite niece—I see, I see.

(Exit Sutler Woman.)
Sec. Jäger
(taking hold of the Girl).
Stay, pretty maid, with us! Do, now! Stay!

Girl.
Can't! Customers waiting over the way.

(Disengages herself, and exit.)
First Jäger.
That girl is a toothsome morsel, egad!
And that aunt of hers, zounds, I can recall,
How the topping swells of our regiment all
For her comely face would fight like mad.
The heaps of queer people that one has known,
And oh, since then, how the time has flown!
And who can tell what may yet befall?
(To the Sergeant and Trumpeter.)
Your health, sirs! An we might presume,
We'd be glad to have a place here too.

Sergt.
With all my heart, we can make room,
And so to Bohemia welcome you.

First Jäger.
Snug quarters here! We had sorry fare
In the enemy's country—pinched and spare.

Trump.
You don't look like it. You're in fine feather.

Sergt.
Ay, ay, on the Saal, and in Meissen, too,
They don't speak loudly in praise of you.

Sec. Jäger.
All bosh! About nothing to make a fuss!
With the Croats it was different altogether;
'Twas only the gleanings were left for us.

Trump.
Why, you have a brand-new lace cravat,
And your hose, how handsomely they sit!
And your linen so fine, and your feathered hat,
All speak of the good things on which you lit.
Some folks, 'tis plain, have been in luck's way,
And that is what not one of us can say.

Sergt.
But then, as the Duke's own regiment,
Respect and honour are both our due.

First Jäger.
For us, that's a scurvy compliment.
We bear the Duke's name as well as you.

Sergt.
Ah, but you belong to the common rout!

First Jäger.
And you're of a special brand, no doubt!
'Tis only the coat that is different,
And I with my own am well content.

Sergt.
Sir Jäger, I'm sorry for you, I own,
To be so mixed up with the boorish scum;
You only can learn high style and tone,
When close to the General's self you come.

First Jäger.
Small good to you has that teaching done.
His style of spitting, his style of cough,
Fairly enough you hit them off,
But his genius, his spirit, are not displayed,—
To my thinking, at least,—on the grand parade.

Sec. Jäger.
Look you! Ask after us where you may;
Friedland's Wild Huntsmen, the people say!
And we shame not the name, for on we go
Slap-dash through the country of friend and foe;
Across the seed-field, through the yellow corn—
Well do they know Holk's hunting-horn!
In a moment's flash, be it near or far,
Swift as the deluge, there we are,—
Like flaming fire, that at midnight deep
Sweeps into men's homes, as they're locked in sleep,—
When we come, nor fight nor flight avails.
Order we scoff at, and discipline fails,—
In our sinewy arms both mistress and maid
Are helpless, for war is a ruthless trade.
'Tis no brag; just ask, and you'll find it truth;
In Voigtland, Westphalia, and in Baireuth,
Any place where we have but once passed through,—
There children, and children's children too,
When hundreds of years have gone by, and more,
Will be telling of Holk and his Jäger corps.

Sergt.
Very like! But, riot and revel, are they
All that go to make up the good soldier, eh?
Or the far-seeing eye, the mind, the tact
To perceive the how and the when to act?

First Jäger.
'Tis freedom makes him! Cut that stuff!
We've had of that rubbish quite enough.
Fled I from school, and from bookman's lore,
To drudge like a galley-slave at the oar?
Left I the counting-house, desk, and pen,
To meet with them all in the camp again?
No! An idle life and a jolly for me,
Something new every day to see,
Trust frankly to what the moment may bring,
Not one glance backward or forward fling,—
'Twas for this to the Kaiser I sold my skin,
Flung care to the devil, come loss, come win.
Order me where the shot is thickest;
Over the Rhine, at its deepest, quickest,
Where every third man is done for, and I
Will not be the man to shirk or shy,
But, by your leave, about anything more
People mustn't torment me, or worry, or bore.

Sergt.
Well, well, if that be all that you lack, it
Is safe to be found 'neath the soldier's jacket.

First Jäger.
What damnable torture and grind we dree'd
With that plague of his people, Gustavus the Swede!
He made a church of his camp, decreed
Set hours for prayers, neither short nor few,
At morning réveillé and evening tattoo.
And if we'd been going the pace, good lack!
Preached at us himself from his charger's back.

Sergt.
A God-fearing gentleman, to be sure!

First Jäger.
The light-heeled hussies he would not stand.
Off to church they must pack, to be wed out of hand;
So I cut—that was more than I could endure.

Sergt.
Things are different there now, I hear say.

First Jäger.
Then to the Leaguers I trotted away,
Who on Magdeburg were preparing to move.
Ah, things ran there in a different groove;
Revel and mirth were all to the fore,
Wine and wassail, and wenches galore.
By my faith, we had lots of frolic and fun,
For Tilly knew how men's hearts are won;
He pinched himself, but he left his men
Their swing, without asking the how and when;
And if on his purse-strings you did not pull,
“Live and let live!” was his motto and rule.
But fortune from Tilly slipped away
After that fatal Leipzig day.
Everything then got out of joint,
Every plan we made somehow missed its point;
Wherever we showed, wherever we knocked,
Men scowled at us, and doors were locked;
From place to place we were hustled on,
But the awe we used to inspire was gone;
So service I with the Saxon took,
For that, I thought, would just suit my book.

Sergt.
Well! And you joined in the nick to share
Bohemia's spoils.

First Jäger.
I did badly there.
Strict discipline was the rule, nor could
We sack and rack as an enemy should.
The Kaiser's castles we had to guard,
To bow and to beck, and to speak by the card.
Warfare like that was a farce, a jest,
A sickly half-hearted business at best;
A downright rupture they did not want;
Booty and honour, in short, were scant,
So I soon grew tired, and was minded then
To take to my scrivener's desk again,
When I heard the tuck of Duke Friedland's drum,
Inviting stout hearts to his flag to come.

Sergt.
And here how long do you think you'll stay?

First Jäger.
Pshaw, man! So long as he rules the day.
By my soul, I'll stick to him, never fear!
Could a soldier be better off than here?
Here war is waged, as war should be,
On a scale that is grandly planned and free,
And the soul, that quickens the mass all through,
Sweeps with the force of a driving gale
The meanest trooper along with it, too.
Here I cock my bonnet, and never quail,
Can over your burgher swagger and stride,
Just as Friedland treads down the Princes' pride.
Here things go, as in old times they went,
When all to the might of the sabre bent;
Here only one crime or offence is known,
'Gainst orders given to kick or groan,
What's not forbidden you're free to do,
And no one asks, “Of what creed are you?”
In a word, of things there are only two,
What belongs to the army, and what does not,
And I with the colours cast in my lot.

Sergt.
Ha, now you speak to the purpose! Good!
Just as a trooper of Friedland's should.

First Jäger.
Not merely official is his command,
A power derived from the Kaiser's hand.
For the Kaiser's service he cares not a rap.
What good has he for the Kaiser won?
With all his vast power, what has he done,
To shield the land from wrong and mishap?
A soldier's kingdom, at that he aims,
For that he would set the world in flames;
For that he would ruthlessly trample down
Order and law, peer, burgher, and clown.

Sergt.
Hush, hush! What whirling words are these?

First Jäger.
What I think I will speak, when and how I please.
Speech, says the General, speech is free.

Sergt.
That's true. He was standing close by me,
And I heard him say it: “Speech is free,
Action is mute, obedience blind!”
These were his very words, I mind.

First Jäger.
I wot not, whether they were or no,
But whatever the words, the fact is so.

Sec. Jäger.
He never has known defeat or shame
As other men have so often done.
Tilly himself outlived his fame.
But under the Friedländer's flag to fight
Is as good as to say, there's a victory won.
He holds luck bound by a spell of might
To stand fast by him through wrong, through right:
Under his banner who fights, in short,
Has powers at his back of no common sort,
For all the world knows full well,
The Friedländer keeps in his private pay
A devil he's conjured out of hell.

Sergt.
Ay, his life is charmed,—no doubt of that.
For all through Lützen's bloody fray
He rode, and never was seen to quail,
Up and down through the fiery hail.
Riddled with bullets was his hat,
The balls they whizzed through boots and cravat,
They left their mark for all to see,
But not e'en a scratch on the skin had he,
Because it was shielded and salved so well
By the ointment he gets from that imp of hell.

First Jäger.
What cock-and-bull stories are these you tell?
He wears an elk-skin jacket, and no
Bullet through that could ever go.

Sergt.
'Tis the ointment does it, with wizard spell
From herbs unholy distilled and brewed.

Trump.
Whatever does it, it can't be good.

Sergt.
He reads in the stars, too, so they say,
What's coming, both near and far away.
But I know better, how that betides.
A little grey man to his chamber glides
Through lockfast doors at the dead of night,—
The sentries have many times challenged the wight,—
And something of moment was sure to fall out,
When that little grey doublet was seen about.

Sec. Jäger.
Yes! He has sold himself to the devil, that's clear.
So we, too, make a good time of it here.

Enter a Recruit from the tent, with a tin cap on his head, and a wine-flask in his hand; a Citizen and a Dragoon.
Rec.
Love to father and uncle! I
Am a soldier,—have bid them a long good-bye.

First Jäger.
See there! A younker, and freshly caught!

Cit.
Oh, Franz, reflect! You'll rue it, you ought.

Rec.
(sings).
Fifing and drumming,
Music of war!
Ranging and roaming
Near and afar;
Careering on steed
Of mettle and speed;
Good sword on side,
On, far and wide,
Frolic and light
As a finch in its flight,
Over thicket and tree
Through the air go we!
Huzzah! The Friedländer's banner for me!

Sec. Jäger.
A jolly good fellow, 'tis plain to see.

Cit.
He comes of good people. Oh, set him free!

First Jäger.
Were we picked up in the gutter? Not we.

Cit.
He has money, I tell you, and means not small.
Just feel the fine stuff his jerkin is made of.

Trump.
The Kaiser's coat is the finest of all.

Cit.
A small cap factory he'll have the trade of.

Sec. Jäger.
Here he'll do what he likes, and none be afraid of.

Cit.
His grandmother's shop will be his, and her wares.

First Jäger.
Pooh! To traffic in brimstone matches who cares?

Cit.
His godfather's tap will be his, beside;
A cellar with twenty stout butts of wine.

Trump.
These with his comrades he'll divide.

Sec. Jäger.
Come! For a tent have a share of mine!

Cit.
In tears and anguish he leaves a bride.

First Jäger.
Good! Of his iron heart a sign!

Cit.
His grandam will die in sheer despair.

Sec. Jäger.
All the better! He'll sooner come in as heir.

Sergt.
(advances with a solemn air and lays his hand upon the Recruit's metal cap).
Mark now! You've weighed well what you do;
You have doffed the old man, and donned the new;
With your helmet and fighting gear you claim
A place among men that are known to fame.
You must show among them a noble bearing.

First Jäger.
Above all, of your cash you must not be sparing.

Sergt.
Your ship is launched, and your sails are set,
The wind of good fortune's breezes to get;
The world is before you, its wealth, its tares;
What can he hope for, who nothing dares?
Your cit jogs on, all drowze and fag,
In one dull round, like the dyer's nag.
The soldier may rise,—who can tell, how far?—
For nowadays everything's settled by war.
Just look at me! In the coat I wear
The Kaiser's baton, pray, mark, I bear.
All earthly sway, it is meet you know,
Of a surety must from the baton flow;
The sceptre itself in the monarch's hand
Is only a baton, all understand.
Rise to be corporal, then you may deem
Your foot's on the ladder of power supreme,
And you, too, may rise to that great height.

First Jäger.
Provided you only can read and write.

Sergt.
This I'll prove to you by a case I know,—
To myself it happened not long ago.
There's Buttler, the chief of our corps, I vow,
Some thirty years back, at Cöln on the Rhine,
He served with me in the ranks of the line,
And they call him major-general now.
How was this? To the front himself he flung,
Till with his exploits the whole world rung;
But my deserts in the background hung.
What's more, e'en Friedland's self, you see,
Our leader—and who has such might as he?—
Whom all men humble themselves before,
Was once a poor noble, and nothing more;
But he threw in his lot with the Goddess of War,
So built up his fortunes to what they are;
Stands next to the Kaiser in honour, and who
Can say what he'll rise to, what miss, what do?
(With a sly look.)
For the Judgment Day we've not yet come to.

First Jäger.
He began in a small way, and now is so great!
For at Altdorf, in his student days,
He indulged,—the truth by your leave to state,—
In rather rollicking madcap ways.
Very early he knocked his famulus down,
On which the gentry of Nürnberg town,
Nothing would stop them, but straight they must
Into jail the young brawler thrust;
It had just been built, and whoever came
Into it first, 'twas to bear his name.
Now, what did he do, the clever rogue?
Why, he lets his poodle run on before;
So to this day they call it after the dog.
By this you can see the wild brain he bore:
Of all our master's great deeds not one
Delights me so much as this stroke of fun.

(During this speech the Servant Girl has been standing by; the Second Jäger begins toying with her.)
Dra.
Comrade, you drop it! I say no more.

Sec. Jäger.
Why the devil should you thrust in your oar?

Dra.
Drop it, I tell you! The wench is mine.

First Jäger.
The tit-bit yours only? Pooh! All very fine.
Dragoon, you're demented. All yours, forsooth!

Sec. Jäger.
Wants something, he does, for his private tooth!
A wench's pretty face must be
To the general camp as sunshine free.

(Kisses her.)
Dra.
(drags her away).
I say I won't have it. You, cut and run!

First Jäger.
Huzzah, the pipers! Let's have some fun!

Sec. Jäger
(to the Dragoon).
Do you mean business? Well, I'm your man!

Sergt.
Peace, masters! He's free to kiss who can!

Enter Bohemian bagpipers, who play a waltz, first slowly, then faster and faster. The First Jäger dances with the Servant Girl, the Sutler Woman with the Recruit. The Girl runs off, followed by the Jäger, who catches in his arms a Capuchin Monk, as he enters.
Capu.

First Jäger.
Sir Priest, you may rail at us, rank and file,
But our General, him you shall not revile.

Capu.
Ne custodias gregem meam!
An Ahab he is, a Jerobeam,
That leads men from the one true way
To heresy and false gods astray.

Trump. and Rec.
You'd better stop talking like that, I say!

Capu.
A swaggering, blustering braggart he is,
That intends to make all the strong places his;
With his godless mouth he has vowed that he
Of Stralsund town must the master be,
Though with chains it were bound to heaven withal.

Trump.
Will nobody stop his slanderous squall?

Capu.
A wizard, a raiser of devils, a Saul,
A Holofernes, a Jehu, abhorred
For denying, like Peter, his Master and Lord,
So he cannot abide to hear the cock crow.

Both Jägers.
You've done for yourself by that last blow.

Capu.
A cunning fox of a Herod he!

Trump. and the two Jägers
(rushing in upon him).
Shut up! or a dead man soon you'll be!

Croats
(interposing to stop them).
Stay where you are, priest! Never fear!
Finish up your sermon! We want to hear.

Capu.
(raising his voice).
A proud Nebuchadnezzar from head to foot,
A heretical father of lies, to boot!
He goes by the name of Wallenstone,
And truly he is to us all a stone
Of offence and stumbling, and that alone;
And in Friedland there ne'er can be peace indeed,
Till of Friedland's self the land is freed.

(While speaking these last words, raising his voice as he speaks, he has been gradually moving away, while the Croats keep the rest of the soldiers from getting at him.)
First Jäger
(to the Sergeant).
What he meant by the cock, I'd like to know,
Makes the General shake, when he hears it crow.
'Twas meant, eh? in scorn and ridicule solely?

Sergt.
There I can help you. No, not wholly.
By birth the General's rather queer,
He has an especially sensitive ear,
He's clean upset, if a cat but mew,
And if a cock crows, it makes him grue.

First Jäger.
The lion in that is the same as he.

Serg.
Mouse-quiet must everything round him be.
This rule the sentries have all to keep;
He has things to think of so many and deep.

Voices
(heard in the tent: uproar).
Seize him, the rascal! The rogue, to try it!

Peas.
(heard from the tent).
Help! Mercy! Help!

Other Voices.
Stand back! Be quiet!

First Jäger.
Deuce take me, yonder there's fighting afoot!

Sec. Jäger.
Then I'll be in it.

(The Jägers exeunt into the tent, as the Sutler Woman comes from it.)
Sut. Wom.
The thief, the brute!

Trump.
Hilloa, dame! What's put you in such a heat?

Sut. Wom.
The scoundrel, runagate, cut-purse, cheat!
In my tent that this should have come to pass!
To shame me before all the camp! Alas!

Sergt.
Gossip, what's up?

Sut. Wom.
Oh, such a row!
They caught a rascal peasant just now,
With the loaded dice on him, by which he won.

Sergt.
And here they are bringing him, with his son.

Enter Soldiers, dragging in the Peasant.
First Jäger.
He must swing!

Sharpshooters and Dragoons.
To the Provost! Bring him along!

Sergt.
Doom follows fast on the heels of wrong.

Sut. Wom.
In an hour he'll be capering in the air.

Sergt.
An evil trade brings evil pay.

First Arquebusier.
This comes of driving men to despair.
For, look ye, we ruin them first, so they
Betake them to stealing, and well they may.

Trump.
How! What? Speak up for him? The cur!
Has the devil set all your wits astir?

First Ar.
Well, the boor is a man—in a sort of way.

First Jäger.
Don't mind them. They're some of Tiefenbach's corps;
Sons of tailors and glovers, that's what they are.
At Brieg they saw barrack life,—nothing more.
What should they know of the ways of war?

Enter Cuirassiers.
First Cuir.
Peace! Why are you knocking the boor about?

First Sha.
A swindling knave! Caught cheating at play.

First Cuir.
And has cheated you to some purpose, eh?

First Sha.
He has. Yes, thoroughly cleaned me out.

First Cuir.
How? You, sir, you a Friedländer's man,
And could let yourself so very far down
As to try your luck with a boorish clown!
(To the Peasant.)
Run, fellow! Be off as fast as you can.

(Peasant runs away, the others draw together.)
First Ar.
He makes short work—he is firm as steel.
The right way that with such folk to deal.
Where hails he from? No Bohemian he.

Sut. Wom.
A Walloon. A man to respect, you see.
A Pappenheim cuirassier, I trow.

First Dra.
(advancing).
The young Piccolomini leads them now!
On the field of Lützen him they took
For colonel, did it off their own hook,
When Pappenheim fell in the mêlée there.

First Ar.
A step so venturous did they dare?

First Dra.
This regiment is exceptional quite.
It never was foremost in the fight,
It has rules of its own by which to steer,
And the Friedländer holds it especially dear.

First Cuir.
(to his comrade).
Can the news be true? How was it heard?

Sec. Cuir.
I have it upon our Colonel's word.

First Cuir.
We're not their dogs, to be treated thus.

First Jäger.
What's wrong there? They seem to be much put out.

Sec. Jäger.
Is it anything, masters, that touches us?

First Cuir.
Something you'll none of you smile about.
(Soldiers gather round him.)
They to the Netherlands want to lend us,
Jägers, cuirassiers, riflemen,
Eight thousand strong they propose to send us.

Sut. Wom.
What! Off on the trot there once again!
'Twas only yesterday I got back.

Sec. Cuir.
(to the Dragoons).
You Buttler's men must saddle too.

First Cuir.
And we Walloons are told off with you.

Sut. Wom.
The very best squadrons of all the pack!

First Cuir.
We have to escort him from Milan.

First Jäger.
The Infanta? Maddening! Such a man!

Sec. Jäger.
That swindling priest! The devil and all!

First Cuir.
What! Leave the Friedländer, the best,
The kindest of generals to his men,
To take with the Spaniard the field again,
The skinflint, whom we in our hearts detest!
No, that won't work. We shall rather bolt.

Trump.
The deuce! To be led by that priest-ridden dolt!
We sold our blood to the Kaiser, that
We did, but not to the Spanish red hat.

Sec. Jäger.
'Twas on Friedland's word and credit, in fine,
That we took troopers' service, and
But for our love for the Wallenstein,
He'd never have got us, this Ferdinand.

First Dra.
Did Friedland not make us the troops we are?
We shall steer, shall we not, by his fortune's star?

Sergt.
Steady, friends, steady! To me give ear.
Talking will be of no service here.
I see a bit farther than any of you.
There's a trick in all this, and a dark one too.

First Jäger.
Stand at attention! All be still!

Sergt.
First, gossip Gustel, for me fill
A nip of good liquor, to wet my throat,
And then you shall hear what I'd have you note.

Sut. Wom.
(serving out).
Here it is, Master Sergeant. You gave me a fright.
Things won't be so bad, eh,—not ruinous quite?

Sergt.
Look, sirs, 'tis right that every man
On what's under his nose should form his plan;
Still we must, as our General used to say,
Look about us, and things as a whole survey.
The Friedländer's troops is the name we bear;
The burgher, he quarters us everywhere,
Warms us and feeds us, and makes us good cheer;
The boor, he must yoke his horse and steer
To haul our baggage-waggons, although
He kick ever so much against doing so.
Let a corporal only with some seven men
Be seen riding on to a village, why then
He is owned as chief magistrate there, and may
Make every soul his commands obey.
Yet, confound them! they like us not, not they,
And rather would see the devil's own face,
Than our buff jerkins about the place.
Thunder and 'ounds! why don't they chase
Us out of the country, since that's the case?
In numbers they're more than our match, the knaves,
And if we have swords, they have their staves.
To laugh at them, then, why are we able?
Because, massed as we are, we are formidable!

First Jäger.
Ay, ay! In the mass, the power lies there.
Duke Friedland made proof that this was so
When he raised for the Kaiser,—some eight years ago
Or nine,—this great army from everywhere.
Of only twelve thousand at first would they hear;
These, he said, I can never feed;
But give me sixty, and then, indeed,
Of their starving I'll have not the slightest fear.
And so we became soldiers of Wallenstein.

Sergt.
For example, from this right hand of mine
Chop a finger, one of the five I own,
Though it were but the little one, do you opine,
That you've taken that finger, and that alone?
No, by Jove! with my hand you have played the deuce!
'Tis only a stump, of no further use.
Now, these eight thousand horse, which they
To Flanders purpose to draft away,
Are the army's little finger. Yes!
Do you flatter yourselves, if them we lose,
That our force is only one-fifth the less?
No, bless you! A general smash ensues.
Away go respect, awe, terror, too,
The boor's cockscomb swells up anew.
In the Vienna Chancery they'll prepare
Our billets for us, and prescribe our fare,
And we'll be poor beggars, as once we were.
And how long it will be, say, who can tell,
Ere they take our General away as well?
He's not in high favour at Court, and then
We should all be clean done for, gentlemen.
Who then would help us to get our pay,
Or see that they kept to our contracts, eh?
Who has the brain, the nerve to command,
The quick keen eye, and the resolute hand,
This hotch-potch army to keep in control,
And weld it together in one great whole?
Now, by way of example, speak, Dragoon,
What might your native country be?

First Dra.
I am from Ireland, far over the sea.

Sergt.
(to the two Cuirassiers).
You, sir, I know, are a Walloon;
A Lombard you, we can tell by your tongue.

First Cuir.
Who am I? That's what I could never find out;
I was stolen, when I was so very young.

Sergt.
You also don't hail from hereabout.

First Ar.
From Buchau I, on the Federstrand.

Sergt.
Neighbour, and you?

Sec. Ar.
From Switzerland.

Sergt.
(to Second Jäger).
And what is your mother country, Jäger?

Sec. Jäger.
Hard by Wismar my parents dwell.

Sergt.
(pointing to the Trumpeter).
And he there and I, we come from Eger.
Now, I put it to you, could any one tell,
That we from North and from South were so
Together drifted, like flakes of snow?
Do we not look, as though our whole stock
Were all chipped out of the self-same block?
Against the foe do we not stand fast,
Like metal in one mould run and cast?
Do we not fit in together, clean
As the teeth of the wheels of some great machine?
And who has welded us all so well,
That one from another no man can tell?
Who, who, but he, the Wallenstein?

First Jäger.
It would never have struck this pate of mine,
How we came to fit in so well as we seem;
I was always content to float with the stream.

First Cuir.
That's quite my view—the Sergeant's right.
Fain would they strike at the army's might,
So they'd keep us soldiers down, that they
Alone may have sovereign rule and sway.
Yes, 'tis a conspiracy, a plot!

Sut. Wom.
Conspiracy! God grant, 'tis not!
I'll not get a rap of what's due to me.

Sergt.
Just so. All round 'twill be bankruptcy.
Lots of the captains and generals too,
In order to raise their regiments, drew
From their private coffers the needful cash;
They wanted, moreover, to cut a dash,
So greatly beyond their means they went,
In hopes to make profit on what they spent.
But they'll lose every stiver, yes, one and all,
If their leader, and ours, the Duke, should fall.

Sut. Wom.
I'll be ruined, O Lord, and to such an amount!
Half the army is down in my books. The Count
Isolani, that bad paymaster, is here
Two hundred dollars at least in arrear.

First Cuir.
Now, comrades all, what's to be done?
One course can serve us, and only one.
United they cannot harm us; our plan
Is to stick together, then, all as one man.
Let them issue their orders! Here we stand,
Rooted fast in Bohemian land.
We'll not march out of it anyhow.
The soldier fights for his honour now.

Sec. Jäger.
We'll not be driven round the country so.
Let them come, and that they shall quickly know!

First Ar.
Good sirs, mind what you're after. This
The Kaiser's wish and order is.

Trump.
Oh, much for the Kaiser do we care!

First Ar.
Don't say that again! You had best beware.

Trump.
But what I said is the simple fact.

First Jäger.
True! I've always been given to understand,
That the Friedländer here has sole command.

Sergt.
So he has! 'Twas the bargain he made, and pact;
He has absolute power, you must be told,
To carry on war, to conclude a peace;
He can confiscate any man's gear and gold,
Can hang and can pardon, with power of police,
Can make officers, colonels even,—in short,
No honour, but he has authority for't.
And this he has under the Kaiser's hand.

First Ar.
The Duke is able, a man for command,
But what is he else, come great come small,
But the Kaiser's servant, as we are all?

Sergt.
As we! You are greatly mistaken. He
Is a prince of the Empire, direct and free,
No better Bavaria's self can be.
Did these eyes not see,—you'll believe me now,—
When I was on guard at Brandeis, how
The Kaiser allowed him in presence there
His hat on his princely head to wear!

First Ar.
That was for Mecklenburg, we may surmise, sir,
Which then he held in pawn from the Kaiser.

First Jäger
(to the Sergeant).
How! Even in the presence he wore his hat?
There's something uncommonly strange in that.

Sergt.
(feeling in his pocket).
If my word you doubt, in what I've told,
Here is something to prove it, your hand can hold.
(Showing a coin.)
Whose image and superscription is this?

Sut. Wom.
Show me! A Wallenstein piece it is.

Sergt.
There you have it! Can anything clearer be?
What Prince is more of a Prince than he?
Don't he coin his own money, like Ferdinand?
Has he not his own subjects, and his own land?
Is he not as his Highness by all men known?
Has he not, then, the right to have troops of his own?

First Ar.
That right will by nobody be denied;
But we're to the Kaiser by duty tied,
And the Kaiser it is who pays us.

Trump.
What!
There in your teeth I say you lie.
The Kaiser it is who pays us not.
Is it not now forty weeks gone by,
That they've kept on promising day by day,
But not a rap have we seen of our pay?

First Ar.
'Tis in very good hands, we may suppose!

First Cuir.
Peace, masters, peace! Would you come to blows?
What madness is this, to be quarrelling so,
As to whether the Kaiser's our master or no?
Why, 'tis just because it's our pride to show,
That we must be treated with due respect
As his trusty troopers, that we object
To be shifted and shunted wherever he wants,
At the nod of priests and of sycophants.
Say yourselves, is it not for your master's gain,
That his soldiers their dignity should maintain?
Who but they can raise and uphold his state,
As that of a mighty potentate?
Can make throughout Christendom far and near
His word felt as something for men to fear?
Let those submit to his yoke and thrall,
To whom the bulk of his favours fall.
We, who in none of his splendours share,
Toil only is ours, hard blows, hard fare,
And the pride that within our hearts we bear.

First Jäger.
Every great tyrant, and every great Kaiser,
Saw things in that light, and were very much wiser.
All others they worried, and taxed, and oppressed,
But took care that their soldiers should have of the best.

First Cuir.
The soldier must be to his worth awake.
If he plies not his craft with a noble aim,
He'd better keep out of it. In the game,
If I am to play with my life for stake,
I must count for something, or in the strife
I become a mere butcher, like your born
Croât, and look down on myself with scorn.

Both Jägers.
Yes, honour is more, much more than life!

First Cuir.
The sword is neither a spade nor plough.
'Twere folly to till with it anyhow.
For us there ripens nor corn nor grass,
Homeless, the soldier is doomed to pass
From country to country far and wide;
Warm himself he may not at his own fireside;
Away from fair cities he needs must roam,
Away from the sports of the village green,
Away from the vintage, the harvest home;
These are only by him from the distance seen.
Let him lose his self-respect, and then
What's left him to boast of, gentlemen?
He must have something to call his own,
Or back on mere murder and rapine be thrown.

First Ar.
'Tis a wretched, wretched life, God wot!

First Cuir.
And yet for another I'd change it not.
I have been round the world a deal, and had
Experience of all sorts, good and bad;
I've served in my time the King of Spain,
With the Venice Republic have service ta'en,
Also with the kingdom of Napoli,
But none of them all brought luck to me.
With merchant, too, and knight I've been,
Of craftsman and Jesuit taken note,
But of all the doublets that I have seen,
None pleased me so much as my own steel-coat.

First Ar.
Well, so much as that I can scarcely say.

First Cuir.
Who wants in this world to make his way,
Must be stirring and worrying night and day;
To place and high honours whoever would tend,
'Neath the golden load his back must bend;
Whoe'er would enjoy a father's blessing,
And his children's and children's children's caressing,
Some honest trade let him calmly ply;
But no mind for that sort of thing have I.
Free would I live, and would die as free,
Will rob no man, will be no man's heir,
And down from my nag look, all devil-may-care,
On the hurly-burly under me.

First Jäger.
Bravo! My sentiments to a T.

First Ar.
To you, then, it seems the best of jokes
To ride roughshod over other folks?

First Cuir.
The times are hard: nor is the sword
With justice always in strict accord,
But let no one say that the fault is mine,
If I somewhat to the sword incline.
Humane in war I would gladly be,
But I'll not let any one drum on me.

First Ar.
Who is to blame but we soldiers—yes, we,
That the people are sunk in such misery?
This wretched war, with its want and woe,
Is like into sixteen years to go.

First Cuir.
Brother, all men cannot in one note praise
The dear God above us, and His ways.
One wants the sun, it makes others fret,
This wants dry weather, and that wants wet.
Where you see nothing but want and woe,
Life seems to me all sunshine and glow.
If boors and burghers are made to smart,
I really pity them from my heart;
But I can't mend matters; 'tis like when we
Are ordered to charge the enemy.
Away with a snort our chargers rush,
No matter what lies in their way to crush;
Be it brother, or son, my very own,
My soul may be rent by his agonised groan,
But on I must dash o'er his body, nor stay
One moment to carry him out of the fray.

First Jäger.
Ay, mind number one, that's the only way!

First Cuir.
And since it so happens, that for the while
The soldier is favoured by fortune's smile,
Let us clutch with both hands the goods she sends;
Our day will be short, for we have no friends.
Of a sudden a peace will be hurried on,
And then is our occupation gone;
Out packs the soldier, in stalks the boor,
And all will be then as it was of yore.
Now here we are still a united band,
And here we have still the upmost hand;
But once let our ranks be broken, I'll swear,
We shall soon be starving on Lenten fare.

First Jäger.
No, that must never be. Let us
Stand all as one man united thus!

Sec. Jäger.
Yes! Let us be one! 'Tis the proper thing!

First Ar.
(taking out his leathern purse).
Well, mistress, how much have we got to pay?

Sut. Wom.
Oh, a trifle scarcely worth mentioning.

(They settle.)
Trump.
It's a right good job that you're going away.
You'd only make mischief, were you to stay.

(Exeunt Arquebusiers.)
First Cuir.
I'm sorry. They are else good fellows enough.

First Jäger.
But to talk such pitiful puling stuff!

Sec. Jäger.
Now we're here by ourselves, let us think how we are
This new device best to meet and mar.

Trump.
How best! Why, simply refuse to stir.

First Cuir.
No, nothing that is against discipline, sir.
Let each of us now to his corps away,
And the matter before his comrades lay,
And show them the reasons, why we are
Resolved we shall not be moved off so far.
I'll answer for my Walloons. They'll do
Exactly as I do through and through.

Sergt.
Count Tertzky's regiment, horse and foot,
To a man, I'll be sworn, will follow suit.

Sec. Cuir.
(posting himself beside the first).
Lombard and Walloon stick side by side.

First Jäger.
Freedom's the Jäger's life and pride.

Sec. Jäger.
Freedom must rest upon might, so I
With Wallenstein shall live and die.

First Sha.
The man of Lorraine with the tide will swim;
Where sport's to be had you are sure of him.

Dra.
Success is the Irishman's guiding star.

Sec. Sha.
Tyrolese follow only their liege lord in war.

First Cuir.
So therefore let every regiment
Write out a memorial, and plainly say,
That here together we mean to stay,
That neither force nor craft, away
From Friedland shall drive us soldiers of his,
Who to us a very father is.
Hand this, with profound respect, when done,
To Piccolomini,—I mean the son,—
Who's right well up to this sort of thing.
With Duke Friedland he just what he likes can do,
And he stands in the highest favour, too,
At Court with the Kaiser and the King.

Sec. Jäger.
Come, stick to that text! Let us all agree!
Piccolomini shall our spokesman be.

All Together.
Piccolomini shall our spokesman be!

(Are about to leave.)
Sergt.
A glass, friends, before you go, with me!
Here's a health to the Piccolomini!

Sut. Wom.
(fetches a flask).
No scores for this! 'Tis free to you all,
And the best of good luck your plan befall!

Cuir.
The soldier shall rule the day!

Both Jägers.
The peasant shall pay!

Dragoons and Sharpshooters.
The army shall flourish, you'll see!

Trump. and Sergt.
And Friedland shall its commander be!

Second Cuirassier
(sings).
Up, comrades, to horse! Up, saddle and mount!
To the field! What shall we be afraid of?
There still doth a true man for something count,
There his heart shows what mettle it's made of.
No other for him can answer there,
All alone by himself he must do and dare.
(Whilst he is singing, the Soldiers advance from the background and sing in chorus)—
No other for him can answer there,
All alone by himself he must do and dare.

Dragoon.
From the earth fair freedom away has flown,
We see but the master and mastered,
And falsehood and cunning, they triumph alone
In a world grown slavish and dastard.
Who has to look death in the face, and can,
The soldier alone is the true free man!
Chorus.
Who has to look death in the face, and can,
The soldier alone is the true free man!

First Jäger.
The troubles of life he daffs aside,
Of care he recks nothing, nor sorrow,
To encounter his fate he will boldly ride,
If it come not to-day, 'twill to-morrow,
And if to-morrow, why then to-day
With his lass and his glass let him sport and play.

(Chorus as before. The glasses are replenished.)
Sergeant.
They drop down from heaven, his pleasant gains,
Without either straining or struggle,
The farmer out of earth's bosom strains
His pitiful pittance to juggle.
He digs and he shovels, till life is past,
And digs till he digs his own grave at last.

(Chorus as before.)
First Jäger.
A dreaded guest is the trooper tall,
With his swift horse swiftly ridden.
When the lamps are bright in the bridal hall,
He comes to the feast unbidden;
He woos not with vows, he woos not with gold,
But bears off the bride like a reiver bold!

(Chorus as before.)
Second Cuirassier.
Why weeps the wench! The soldier must roam;
Let him push on ahead and forget her!
He has upon earth no abiding home,
His fancy no true love can fetter.
He is kept on the move by his restless lot,
His heart may be touched, but he loses it not.

(Chorus as before.)
First Jäger
(takes the two next him by the hand; the others do the same, and all form a semicirle).
Then up, comrades, up! To the field away!
There a man may breathe freely and lightly.
Youth boils in your veins, life bubbles up gay,
Up, then, while it sparkles still brightly!
Who fears to venture his life on a throw,
What life is that craven will never know.

(Chorus as before.)
(The curtain falls while they are yet singing.)