Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) (247 page)
Read Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) Online
Authors: Washington Irving
This play was discovered in manuscript form over a hundred years after Irving’s death and was first published in 1924. It is an English adaptation of the great German opera
Der Freischütz
by Carl Maria von Weber, which premiered on 18 June 1821 and is now considered to be the first important German Romantic opera. Irving’s play features events different to all other adaptations of Weber’s opera. The plot is based on the German folk legend of Freischütz, a marksman who, by a contract with the devil, obtains a certain number of bullets destined to hit without fail whatever object he wishes. As the legend is usually told, six of the magic bullets are subservient to the marksman’s will, but the seventh is at the absolute disposal of the devil himself.
An 1822 depiction of the opening scene of the opera ‘Der Freischütz’
A scene from the Second Act
Albert,
a young huntsman, in love with Bertha
Andreas,
a foolish, boasting peasant
Conrad,
Head-Ranger to the Duke
Christopher,
an innkeeper
Marian,
Christopher’s daughter
Caspar,
who has bargained with Satan
Bertha,
Conrad’s daughter, in love with Albert
Nina,
Bertha’s sprightly confidante
Urian,
The Wild Huntsman (Satan)
The Hermit
The Duke
Various Hunters and Peasants
The action takes place in Bohemia, in the second half of the eighteenth century
ENTER HUNTERS, ETC.
[Scene shows a forest glade, with an inn]
All
Huzza, huzza! It’s done! Andreas forever! Huzza for the King of Sharpshooters!
Albert
Confusion! Vanquished again; and by that braggart Andreas! — (Strikes his forehead. Andreas comes forward with a swaggering air, followed by the crowd).
CHORUS — VICTORIA, ETC.
Albert
Am I then blind? Or has this arm lost all its steadiness? Sure — sure I never took a better aim — and yet continually to miss — (
Rises and crosses the stage).
PROCESSION AND MARCH
SONG
Andreas
Look at me and know your King,
Sir, I’m the lad a bird to wing, Sir.
Doff your hat, man, ’tis the law —
Tell me, will you? ha-ha-ha!
Star on breast and plume in bonnet,
I’m the lad that shot and won it.
Doff your hat then; ’tis the law —
What, have you won? ha-ha-ha!
Mighty Sir, excuse our joking,
Ne’er to hit is quite provoking.
You, who hit whate’er you saw,
Quite chapfallen — ha-ha-ha!
OR THIS
Mighty Sir, excuse our grinning;
You’re the lad were sure of winning.
Never missed whate’er you saw!
Never?
tell me — ha-ha-ha!
Albert
(Springing up and seizing Andreas by the collar)
This is not to be endured. Do you dare then to insult me, Sirrah?
Andreas
‘S-blood, man, stand off! Can’t ye take a joke and behanged to ye? (
Scuffle and tumult of the hunters, peasants, etc.).
Christopher
(Scrambling out of the affray)
To it boys — to it boys! — support the King, support the King of Sharpshooters!
ENTER CONRAD AND HUNTERS
Conrad
Hey! What’s all this? What! thirty upon one? For shame! for shame! Ah, you’re here, Master Andreas, are you? Ah then it’s no wonder. Wherever you are there’s sure to be uproar and mischief. But Albert too! What does this mean?
Christopher
Nothing but sport, Sir — nothing but sport. All in good humour. The lads have been shooting at the target — for the yearly prize. Andreas has won, so we are greeting him as King for the year, according to custom; and as Albert has missed every turn, why, according to custom we were joking him a little, you know; but all in good humour — all in good humour.
Andreas
Yes, but some people can’t take a joke; that’s all. Some people can’t bear being cut out; that’s all. Plague on’t, where’s the use of getting into a passion? I don’t get into a passion.
Christopher
Not when you win — that’s pretty clear.
Andreas
And then if one is a better marksman, where’s the use of quarreling with him about it? I can’t help it if I am a better shot; that’s all; consequentially —
Conrad
What do I hear? Who has missed every shot? Not Albert, surely. What! and surpassed by Andreas! It cannot be.
Andreas
Maybe not — maybe not — maybe one cannot shoot at all. Maybe one cannot hit a mark —— ask him yourself; that’s all — ask him yourself; but don’t joke, or you’ll put the gentleman in a passion; that’s all.
Conrad
Why Albert, is this true?
Albert
It is indeed too true. I have been continually unsuccessful.
Caspar
(Aside)
Urian has kept his word! The magic spell acts bravely.
Conrad
Can it be possible? What! you, the surest marksman of the forest then to fail! But now I bethink me — you have not sent a single head of game to the Forest House for many days What means this sudden change?
Albert
Indeed I know not; it seems as if all skill had left me. I feel cast down, disheartened.
Christopher
Ods-blood! Master Albert the case is plain —— thou’rt spellbound. Some one has been practicing witchcraft on thee. Thou’rt spellbound, as sure as thou’rt alive.
Conrad
A truce, good Christopher, to all such nonsense!
Christopher
Nonsense? Nay, nay, Master Grand Forester, there’s more truth in these matters than you think for. My good old grandmother who lived all her life in these forests, has told me many a story about the spells that used to be laid upon hunters to make them miss their aim. And then who has not heard of the Wild Huntsman!
Several Peasants
Ah, the Wild Huntsman! What of him?
Christopher
Hush! whisht! — Be quiet, can’t ye! Is this a time and place to be gabbling so loud about him? Who knows but he is at your elbow this very moment.
A Hunter
But what of him, good Christopher? I know you have a thousand stories to tell about him.
Christopher
But I’m in no story telling mood, look ye — or I might tell you how I have heard him scouring through the woods like a storm at midnight; and clattering along in the air, with whoop and hound and horse. Well — well — be he what he may — goblin or wizard — they say he casts spells upon all that displease him, and gives magic balls to his favorites.
A Hunter
Magic balls! What are they?
Christopher
Why — balls that never miss the mark, be it ever so far off. But then they say he always gives one ball that flies where he pleases, and does mischief.
Caspar
Old wives’ gossip! The slanders of bad marksmen, with which they seek to deny the skill of their betters. A quick eye and a steady aim — that’s your only witchcraft.
Conrad
Enough of all this prattle! But hearken, my good Albert — this sudden loss of skill distresses me. Recollect, tomorrow you shoot before the Duke for the place of Ranger of the Forest. I have staked my judgment on your success. Nay more, in my confidence in your skill I have consented that your marriage with my daughter should immediately follow. Have a care then, Albert. Remember that I hold a place which from earliest days has been hereditary in my family. I never can give my daughter’s hand to any but the man who is to follow me in office. Tomorrow will determine whether or not you are that man. Should you fail tomorrow — think it not hard — but it is impossible the marriage should take place.
Albert
Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Is then my future, my love, my happiness, all cast upon one chance —— and I so luckless!
Conrad
I feel for you, my son. Would I had not been so confident. Would that we could put the trial off until this singular spell of ill fortune were past. But the Duke is punctilious and would think we trifled with him.
(Encouraging with cheery manner)
— Rouse thee then, Albert; shake off this heartless desponding mood, which is the whole cause of thy ill luck; rouse thee and be thyself, and the event is certain! And now, brother Huntsmen, remember — the place of rendezvous for tomorrow’s hunt is in the meadow by the mill. His Grace will be there by sunrise — we’ll show him sport, I’ll warrant; and make the forest echo with the music of our horns. chorus
Conrad
Now let’s away! Albert, we’ll go together. Come, be of good heart, man — courage and success go hand in hand.
(Exeunt Conrad and Albert).
A Peasant
A worthy gentleman as ever breathed is our Grand Forester.
Christopher
Why, yes — a worthy kind of dry virtuous man; but I don’t altogether relish your men of dry virtue — they’re bad customers to us publicans. Give me a moist spongy old age that soaks up good liquor by the flaggon — that’s the kind of virtue to thrive by.
Marian
Oh Father, but then the Grand Forester’s daughter, Miss Bertha — what an angel she is — so kind and affable — and so fond of Mr. Albert too!
Caspar
Aye, there’s more of that witchcraft that your father prated about. For sure the girl’s bewitched to dote on such a spark as Albert — a smooth-tongued Sir that takes the lead of all the stout lads of the forest, and yet when it comes to the test cannot hit a target.
A Hunter
Come, come, Master Caspar, there’s not a wittier fellow in all Bohemia. He is a favorite with us all — and till lately he was the very best of marksmen. Why he has failed, heaven only knows.
Caspar
(Aside)
I might give a reason for that too perhaps.
A Peasant
Girl
But we all know why Caspar is no friend of Albert.
Marian
Oh yes, ’twas because Bertha rejected you for Albert, Mr. Caspar! We’ve noticed that you’ve borne him a grudge ever since.
Caspar
Pish! out on your nonsense!
(Aside, with bitterness
) — Must I be constantly stung thus with sneers, twitted with women’s taunts? Sure, of all nettles, thorns and thistles there is no curse on earth so teasing to the soul as woman’s tongue!
(Exit into the Inn).
Andreas
(Conies bustling forward)
Come, no more of this snapping and wrangling. What the deuce! — am I to have nothing but brawling on the day of my coming to the Crown? Come lads and lasses — I’m king of the year and egad, will have a merry reign of it; so strike up music, every man to his partner, and hey for a dance to round all off cheerily.
DANCE, ETC.
EXEUNT. — ENTER CASPAR FROM THE INN
Caspar
Are they then gone? So — my spirit is free again. Curse on their piping and their dancing, their shallow, broad-mouthed merriment! Ever more music — ever more frolick — as if ‘twere done to mad me. And I must go about with civil look, but fretting festering heart — a cursed being in a happy world — a lost one — a hopeless crawler upon earth. No matter, — still I
am
on earth. Still, still I breathe this cooling air of heaven. Better be here, however bad, than
elsewhere.
But how to keep here — that’s the question. This very night my term of compact ends, and ere tomorrow’s sun this unknown being claims me for his own, unless I sooth him with another votary. Strange magic bond in which I have involved myself! Little did that dotard think when prating about magic spells, how near he touched upon the truth. The Wild Huntsman! Inexplicable being! Still he has kept his word, and Albert, spellbound by his arts, is driven to despair. Thus far my project thrives. Yes, yes, Albert is in the very state of mind that suits my purpose. Now to work on him, to tempt him to the scene of incantation and throw him into the Wild Huntsman’s power! But should he shun the snare! Then some other victim must be had — no time is to be lost. Why, a little wine and flattery will make an easy dupe of that poor [peasant, Andreas.]
