The Maid of Orleans. Фридрих Шиллер

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       Of Saintrailles, and La Hire, and brave Dunois,

       Of France the bulwark, that the haughty foe

       With such impetuous force thus onward rushed?

       Where is the king? Can he supinely see

       His kingdom's peril and his cities' fall?

       BERTRAND.

       The king at Chinon holds his court; he lacks

       Soldiers to keep the field. Of what avail

       The leader's courage, and the hero's arm,

       When pallid fear doth paralyze the host?

       A sudden panic, as if sent from God,

       Unnerves the courage of the bravest men.

       In vain the summons of the king resounds

       As when the howling of the wolf is heard,

       The sheep in terror gather side by side,

       So Frenchmen, careless of their ancient fame,

       Seek only now the shelter of the towns.

       One knight alone, I have been told, has brought

       A feeble company, and joins the king

       With sixteen banners.

       JOHANNA (quickly).

       What's the hero's name?

       BERTRAND.

       'Tis Baudricour. But much I fear the knight

       Will not be able to elude the foe,

       Who track him closely with too numerous hosts.

       JOHANNA.

       Where halts the knight? Pray tell me, if you know.

       BERTRAND.

       About a one day's march from Vaucouleurs.

       THIBAUT (to JOHANNA).

       Why, what is that to thee? Thou dost inquire

       Concerning matters which become thee not.

       BERTRAND.

       The foe being now so strong, and from the king

       No safety to be hoped, at Vaucouleurs

       They have with unanimity resolved

       To yield them to the Duke of Burgundy.

       Thus we avoid the foreign yoke, and still

       Continue by our ancient royal line;

       Ay, to the ancient crown we may fall back

       Should France and Burgundy be reconciled.

       JOHANNA (as if inspired).

       Speak not of treaty! Speak not of surrender!

       The savior comes, he arms him for the fight.

       The fortunes of the foe before the walls

       Of Orleans shall be wrecked! His hour is come,

       He now is ready for the reaper's hand,

       And with her sickle will the maid appear,

       And mow to earth the harvest of his pride.

       She from the heavens will tear his glory down,

       Which he had hung aloft among the stars;

       Despair not! Fly not! for ere yonder corn

       Assumes its golden hue, or ere the moon

       Displays her perfect orb, no English horse

       Shall drink the rolling waters of the Loire.

       BERTRAND.

       Alas! no miracle will happen now!

       JOHANNA.

       Yes, there shall yet be one—a snow-white dove

       Shall fly, and with the eagle's boldness, tear

       The birds of prey which rend her fatherland.

       She shall o'erthrow this haughty Burgundy,

       Betrayer of the kingdom; Talbot, too,

       The hundred-handed, heaven-defying scourge;

       This Salisbury, who violates our fanes,

       And all these island robbers shall she drive

       Before her like a flock of timid lambs.

       The Lord will be with her, the God of battle;

       A weak and trembling creature he will choose,

       And through a tender maid proclaim his power,

       For he is the Almighty!

       THIBAULT.

       What strange power

       Hath seized the maiden?

       RAIMOND.

       Doubtless 'tis the helmet

       Which doth inspire her with such martial thoughts.

       Look at your daughter. Mark her flashing eye,

       Her glowing cheek, which kindles as with fire.

       JOHANNA.

       This realm shall fall! This ancient land of fame,

       The fairest that, in his majestic course,

       The eternal sun surveys—this paradise,

       Which, as the apple of his eye, God loves—

       Endure the fetters of a foreign yoke?

       Here were the heathen scattered, and the cross

       And holy image first were planted here;

       Here rest St. Louis' ashes, and from hence

       The troops went forth who set Jerusalem free.

       BERTRAND (in astonishment).

       Hark how she speaks! Why, whence can she obtain

       This glorious revelation? Father Arc!

       A wondrous daughter God hath given you!

       JOHANNA.

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