The Life of Friedrich Schiller Part 13

Prepare yourselves, while I prepare the rest! [_She hastens out_

[_Trumpets sound with a piercing tone, and while the scene is changing pa.s.s into a wild tumultuous sound of battle._]

SCENE VI.

[_The scene changes to an open s.p.a.ce encircled with trees. During the music, soldiers are seen hastily retreating across the background._]

TALBOT, _leaning upon_ FASTOLF, _and accompanied by_ Soldiers. _Soon after_, LIONEL.

TALBOT. Here set me down beneath this tree, and you Betake yourselves again to battle: quick!

I need no help to die.

FASTOLF. O day of woe! [_Lionel enters._ Look, what a sight awaits you, Lionel!

Our General expiring of his wounds!

LIONEL. Now G.o.d forbid! Rise, n.o.ble Talbot! This Is not a time for you to faint and sink.

Yield not to Death; force faltering Nature By your strength of soul, that life depart not!

TALBOT. In vain! The day of Destiny is come That prostrates with the dust our power in France.

In vain, in the fierce clash of desp'rate battle, Have I risk'd our utmost to withstand it: The bolt has smote and crush'd me, and I lie To rise no more forever. Rheims is lost; Make haste to rescue Paris.

LIONEL. Paris has surrender'd To the Dauphin: an express is just arriv'd With tidings.

TALBOT [_tears away his bandages_].

Then flow out, ye life-streams; I am grown to loathe this Sun.

LIONEL. They want me!

Fastolf, bear him to a place of safety: We can hold this post few instants longer, The coward knaves are giving way on all sides, Irresistible the Witch is pressing on.

TALBOT. Madness, thou conquerest, and I must yield: Stupidity can baffle the very G.o.ds.

High Reason, radiant Daughter of G.o.d's Head, Wise Foundress of the system of the Universe, Conductress of the stars, who art thou, then, If, tied to th' tail o' th' wild horse Superst.i.tion, Thou must plunge, eyes open, vainly shrieking, Sheer down with that drunk Beast to the Abyss?

Cursed who sets his life upon the great And dignified; and with forecasting spirit Forms wise projects! The Fool-king rules this world.

LIONEL. O, Death is near you! Think of your Creator!

TALBOT. Had we as brave men been defeated By brave men, we might have consoled ourselves With common thoughts of Fortune's fickleness: But that a sorry farce should be our ruin!- Did our earnest toilsome struggle merit No graver end than this?

LIONEL [_grasps his hand_]. Talbot, farewell!

The meed of bitter tears I'll duly pay you, When the fight is done, should I outlive it.

Now Fate calls me to the field, where yet She wav'ring sits, and shakes her doubtful urn.

Farewell! we meet beyond the unseen sh.o.r.e.

Brief parting for long friends.h.i.+p! G.o.d be with you! [_Exit._

TALBOT. Soon it is over, and to th' Earth I render, To the everlasting Sun, the atoms, Which for pain and pleasure join'd to form me; And of the mighty Talbot, whose renown Once fill'd the world, remains nought but a handful Of light dust. Thus man comes to his end; And our one conquest in this fight of life Is the conviction of life's nothingness, And deep disdain of all that sorry stuff We once thought lofty and desirable.

SCENE VII.

_Enter_ CHARLES; BURGUNDY; DUNOIS; DU CHATEL; _and_ Soldiers.

BURGUN. The trench is storm'd.

DUNOIS. The victory is ours.

CHARLES [_observing Talbot_].

Ha! who is this that to the light of day Is bidding his constrained and sad farewell?

His bearing speaks no common man: go, haste, a.s.sist him, if a.s.sistance yet avail.

[_Soldiers from the Dauphin's suite step forward._

FASTOLF. Back! Keep away! Approach not the Departing, Whom in life ye never wish'd too near you.

BURGUN. What do I see? Lord Talbot in his blood!

[_He goes towards him. Talbot gazes fixedly at him, and dies._

FASTOLF. Off, Burgundy! With th' aspect of a traitor Poison not the last look of a hero.

DUNOIS. Dreaded Talbot! stern, unconquerable!

Dost thou content thee with a s.p.a.ce so narrow, And the wide domains of France once could not Stay the striving of thy giant spirit?- Now for the first time, Sire, I call you King: The crown but totter'd on your head, so long As in this body dwelt a soul.

CHARLES [_after looking at the dead in silence_]. It was A higher hand that conquer'd him, not we.

Here on the soil of France he sleeps, as does A hero on the s.h.i.+eld he would not quit.

Bring him away. [_Soldiers lift the corpse, and carry it off._ And peace be with his dust!

A fair memorial shall arise to him I' th' midst of France: here, where the hero's course And life were finished, let his bones repose.

Thus far no other foe has e'er advanced.

His epitaph shall be the place he fell on.

SCENE IX.

_Another empty s.p.a.ce in the field of battle. In the distance are seen the towers of Rheims illuminated by the sun._

_A Knight, cased in black armour, with his visor shut._ JOANNA _follows him to the front of the scene, where he stops and awaits her._

JOANNA. Deceiver! Now I see thy craft. Thou hast, By seeming flight, enticed me from the battle, And warded death and destiny from off the head Of many a Briton. Now they reach thy own.

KNIGHT. Why dost thou follow me, and track my stops With murd'rous fury? I am not appointed To die by thee.

JOANNA. Deep in my lowest soul I hate thee as the Night, which is thy colour.

To sweep thee from the face of Earth, I feel Some irresistible desire impelling me.

Who art thou? Lift thy visor: had not I Seen Talbot fall, I should have named thee Talbot.

KNIGHT. Speaks not the prophesying Spirit in thee?