Читать книгу The Maid of Orleans - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 10

   My Agnes! Oh, my love! My dearest life!

   Thou comest here to snatch me from despair!

   Refuge I take within thy loving arms!

   Possessing thee I feel that nothing is lost.

   My king, beloved!

Dunois! Say, is it true,

   Duchatel?

         'Tis, alas!

               So great the need?

   No treasure left? The soldiers will disband?

   Alas! It is too true!

               Here-here is gold,

   Here too are jewels! Melt my silver down!

   Sell, pledge my castles – on my fair domains

   In Provence – treasure raise, turn all to gold,

   Appease the troops! No time to be lost!

   Well now, Dunois! Duchatel! Do ye still

   Account me poor, when I possess the crown

   Of womankind? She's nobly born as I;

   The royal blood of Valois not more pure;

   The most exalted throne she would adorn —

   Yet she rejects it with disdain, and claims

   No other title than to be my love.

   No gift more costly will she e'er receive

   Than early flower in winter, or rare fruit!

   No sacrifice on my part she permits,

   Yet sacrificeth all she had to me!

   With generous spirit she doth venture all

   Her wealth and fortune in my sinking bark.

   Ay, she is mad indeed, my king, as thou;

   She throws her all into a burning house,

   And draweth water in the leaky vessel

   Of the Danaides. Thee she will not save,

   And in thy ruin but involve herself.

   Believe him not! Full many a time he hath

   Perilled his life for thee, and now, forsooth,

   Chafeth because I risk my worthless gold!

   How? Have I freely sacrificed to thee

   What is esteemed far more than gold and pearls,

   And shall I now hold back the gifts of fortune?

   Oh, come! Let my example challenge thee

   To noble self-denial! Let's at once

   Cast off the needless ornaments of life!

   Thy courtiers metamorphose into soldiers;

   Thy gold transmute to iron; all thou hast,

   With resolute daring, venture for thy crown!

   Peril and want we will participate!

   Let us bestride the war-horse, and expose

   Our tender person to the fiery glow

   Of the hot sun, take for our canopy

   The clouds above, and make the stones our pillow.

   The rudest warrior, when he sees his king

   Bear hardship and privation like the meanest

   Will patiently endure his own hard lot!

   Ay! now is realized an ancient word

   Of prophesy, once uttered by a nun

   Of Clairmont, in prophetic mood, who said,

   That through a woman's aid I o'er my foes

   Should triumph, and achieve my father's crown.

   Far off I sought her in the English camp;

   I strove to reconcile a mother's heart;

   Here stands the heroine – my guide to Rheims!

   My Agnes! I shall triumph through thy love!

   Thou'lt triumph through the valiant swords of friends.

   And from my foes' dissensions much I hope

   For sure intelligence hath reached mine ear,

   That 'twixt these English lords and Burgundy

   Things do not stand precisely as they did;

   Hence to the duke I have despatched La Hire,

   To try if he can lead my angry vassal

   Back to his ancient loyalty and faith:

   Each moment now I look for his return.

   A knight e'en now dismounteth in the court.

   A welcome messenger! We soon shall learn

   Whether we're doomed to conquer or to yield.