QUESTENBERG. Yes, yes! your travelling bills soon found their way to us! Too well I know we have still accounts to settle.

ILLO. War is violent trade; one cannot always Finish one's work by soft means; every trifle Must not be blackened into sacrilege. If we should wait till you, in solemn council, With due deliberation had selected The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, I' faith we should wait long— "Dash! and through with it!" That's the better watchword. Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature To make the best of a bad thing once past. A bitter and perplexed "what shall I do?" Is worse to man than worst necessity.

QUESTENBERG. Ay, doubtless, it is true; the duke does spare us The troublesome task of choosing.

BUTLER. Yes, the duke Cares with a father's feelings for his troops; But how the emperor feels for us, we see.

QUESTENBERG. His cares and feelings all ranks share alike, Nor will he offer one up to another.

ISOLANI. And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home.

QUESTENBERG (with a sneer). Count! this comparison you make, not I.

ILLO. Why, were we all the court supposes us 'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty.

QUESTENBERG (gravely). You have taken liberty—it was not given you, And therefore it becomes an urgent duty To rein it in with the curbs.

ILLO. Expect to find a restive steed in us.

QUESTENBERG. A better rider may be found to rule it.

ILLO. He only brooks the rider who has tamed him.

QUESTENBERG. Ay, tame him once, and then a child may lead him.

ILLO. The child, we know, is found for him already.

QUESTENBERG. Be duty, sir, your study, not a name.

BUTLER (who has stood aside with PICCOLOMINI, but with visible interest in the conversation, advances). Sir president, the emperor has in Germany A splendid host assembled; in this kingdom Full twenty thousand soldiers are cantoned, With sixteen thousand in Silesia; Ten regiments are posted on the Weser, The Rhine, and Maine; in Swabia there are six, And in Bavaria twelve, to face the Swedes; Without including in the account the garrisons Who on the frontiers hold the fortresses. This vast and mighty host is all obedient To Friedland's captains; and its brave commanders, Bred in one school, and nurtured with one milk, Are all excited by one heart and soul; They are as strangers on the soil they tread, The service is their only house and home. No zeal inspires then for their country's cause, For thousands like myself were born abroad; Nor care they for the emperor, for one half Deserting other service fled to ours, Indifferent what their banner, whether 'twere, The Double Eagle, Lily, or the Lion. Yet one sole man can rein this fiery host By equal rule, by equal love and fear; Blending the many-nationed whole in one; And like the lightning's fires securely led Down the conducting rod, e'en thus his power Rules all the mass, from guarded post to post, From where the sentry hears the Baltic roar, Or views the fertile vales of the Adige, E'en to the body-guard, who holds his watch Within the precincts of the imperial palace!

QUESTENBERG. What's the short meaning of this long harangue?

BUTLER. That the respect, the love, the confidence, Which makes us willing subjects of Duke Friedland, Are not to be transferred to the first comer That Austria's court may please to send to us. We have not yet so readily forgotten How the command came into Friedland's hands. Was it, forsooth, the emperor's majesty That gave the army ready to his hand, And only sought a leader for it? No. The army then had no existence. He, Friedland, it was who called it into being, And gave it to his sovereign—but receiving No army at his hand; nor did the emperor Give Wallenstein to us as general. No, It was from Wallenstein we first received The emperor as our master and our sovereign; And he, he only, binds us to our banners!

OCTAVIO (interposing and addressing QUESTENBERG). My noble friend, This is no more than a remembrancing That you are now in camp, and among warriors; The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. Could he act daringly, unless he dared Talk even so? One runs into the other. The boldness of this worthy officer, [Pointing to BUTLER. Which now is but mistaken in its mark, Preserved, when naught but boldness could preserve it, To the emperor, his capital city, Prague, In a most formidable mutiny Of the whole garrison. [Military music at a distance. Hah! here they come!

ILLO. The sentries are saluting them: this signal Announces the arrival of the duchess.

OCTAVIO (to QUESTENBERG). Then my son Max., too, has returned. 'Twas he Fetched and attended them from Caernthen hither.

ISOLANI (to ILLO). Shall we not go in company to greet them?

ILLO. Well, let us go—Ho! Colonel Butler, come. [To OCTAVIO. You'll not forget that yet ere noon we meet The noble envoy at the general's palace.

[Exeunt all but QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO.



SCENE III.

QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO.

QUESTENBERG (with signs of aversion and astonishment). What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio! What sentiments! what fierce, uncurbed defiance! And were this spirit universal——

OCTAVIO. Hm! You're now acquainted with three-fourths of the army.

QUESTENBERG. Where must we seek, then, for a second host To have the custody of this? That Illo Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then This Butler, too—he cannot even conceal The passionate workings of his ill intentions.

OCTAVIO. Quickness of temper—irritated pride; 'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler. I know a spell that will soon dispossess The evil spirit in him.

QUESTENBERG (walking up and down in evident disquiet). Friend, friend! O! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffered Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There We saw it only with a courtier's eyes, Eyes dazzled by the splendor of the throne. We had not seen the war-chief, the commander, The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here, 'Tis quite another thing. Here is no emperor more—the duke is emperor. Alas, my friend! alas, my noble friend! This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp Strikes my hopes prostrate.

OCTAVIO. Now you see yourself Of what a perilous kind the office is, Which you deliver to me from the court. The least suspicion of the general Costs me my freedom and my life, and would But hasten his most desperate enterprise.

QUESTENBERG. Where was our reason sleeping when we trusted This madman with the sword, and placed such power In such a hand? I tell you, he'll refuse, Flatly refuse to obey the imperial orders. Friend, he can do it, and what he can, he will. And then the impunity of his defiance— Oh! what a proclamation of our weakness!

OCTAVIO. D'ye think, too, he has brought his wife and daughter Without a purpose hither? Here in camp! And at the very point of time in which We're arming for the war? That he has taken These, the last pledges of his loyalty, Away from out the emperor's dominions— This is no doubtful token of the nearness Of some eruption.

QUESTENBERG. How shall we hold footing Beneath this tempest, which collects itself And threats us from all quarters? The enemy Of the empire on our borders, now already The master of the Danube, and still farther, And farther still, extending every hour! In our interior the alarum-bells Of insurrection—peasantry in arms— All orders discontented—and the army, Just in the moment of our expectation Of aidance from it—lo! this very army Seduced, run wild, lost to all discipline, Loosened, and rent asunder from the state And from their sovereign, the blind instrument Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon Of fearful power, which at his will he wields.

OCTAVIO. Nay, nay, friend! let us not despair too soon Men's words are even bolder than their deeds; And many a resolute, who now appears Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden, Find in his breast a heart he wot not of, Let but a single honest man speak out The true name of his crime! Remember, too, We stand not yet so wholly unprotected. Counts Altringer and Gallas have maintained Their little army faithful to its duty, And daily it becomes more numerous. Nor can he take us by surprise; you know I hold him all encompassed by my listeners. What'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing— No step so small, but instantly I hear it; Yea, his own mouth discloses it.

QUESTENBERG. 'Tis quite Incomprehensible, that he detects not The foe so near!

OCTAVIO. Beware, you do not think, That I, by lying arts, and complaisant Hypocrisy, have sulked into his graces, Or with the substance of smooth professions Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No— Compelled alike by prudence, and that duty Which we all owe our country and our sovereign, To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits!

QUESTENBERG. It is the visible ordinance of heaven.

OCTAVIO. I know not what it is that so attracts And links him both to me and to my son. Comrades and friends we always were—long habit, Adventurous deeds performed in company, And all those many and various incidents Which stores a soldier's memory with affections, Had bound us long and early to each other— Yet I can name the day, when all at once His heart rose on me, and his confidence Shot out into sudden growth. It was the morning Before the memorable fight at Luetzen. Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out, To press him to accept another charger. At a distance from the tents, beneath a tree, I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him And had related all my bodings to him, Long time he stared upon me, like a man Astounded: thereon fell upon my neck, And manifested to me an emotion That far outstripped the worth of that small service. Since then his confidence has followed me With the same pace that mine has fled from him.

QUESTENBERG. You lead your son into the secret?

OCTAVIO. No!

QUESTENBERG. What! and not warn him either, what bad hands His lot has placed him in?

OCTAVIO. I must perforce Leave him in wardship to his innocence. His young and open soul—dissimulation Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance Alone can keep alive the cheerful air, The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit, That makes the duke secure.

QUESTENBERG (anxiously). My honored friend! most highly do I deem Of Colonel Piccolomini—yet—if— Reflect a little——

OCTAVIO. I must venture it. Hush! There he comes!



SCENE IV.

MAX. PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG.

MAX. Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father!

[He embraces his father. As he turns round, he observes QUESTENBERG, and draws back with a cold and reserved air.

You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you.

OCTAVIO. How, Max.? Look closer at this visitor. Attention, Max., an old friend merits—reverence Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign.

MAX. (drily). Von Questenberg!—welcome—if you bring with you Aught good to our headquarters.

QUESTENBERG (seizing his hand). Nay, draw not Your hand away, Count Piccolimini! Not on my own account alone I seized it, And nothing common will I say therewith. [Taking the hands of both. Octavio—Max. Piccolomini! O savior names, and full of happy omen! Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria, While two such stars, with blessed influences Beaming protection, shine above her hosts.

MAX. Heh! Noble minister! You miss your part. You come not here to act a panegyric. You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us— I must not be beforehand with my comrades.

OCTAVIO (to MAX.). He comes from court, where people are not quite So well contented with the duke as here.

MAX. What now have they contrived to find out in him? That he alone determines for himself What he himself alone doth understand! Well, therein he does right, and will persist in't Heaven never meant him for that passive thing That can be struck and hammered out to suit Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance To every tune of every minister. It goes against his nature—he can't do it, He is possessed by a commanding spirit, And his, too, is the station of command. And well for us it is so! There exist Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use Their intellects intelligently. Then Well for the whole, if there be found a man Who makes himself what nature destined him, The pause, the central point, to thousand thousands Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column, Where all may press with joy and confidence— Now such a man is Wallenstein; and if Another better suits the court—no other But such a one as he can serve the army.

QUESTENBERG. The army? Doubtless!

MAX. What delight to observe How he incites and strengthens all around him, Infusing life and vigor. Every power Seems as it were redoubled by his presence He draws forth every latent energy, Showing to each his own peculiar talent, Yet leaving all to be what nature made them, And watching only that they be naught else In the right place and time; and he has skill To mould the power's of all to his own end.

QUESTENBERG. But who denies his knowledge of mankind, And skill to use it? Our complaint is this: That in the master he forgets the servant, As if he claimed by birth his present honors.

MAX. And does he not so? Is he not endowed With every gift and power to carry out The high intents of nature, and to win A ruler's station by a ruler's talent?

QUESTENBERG. So then it seems to rest with him alone What is the worth of all mankind beside!

MAX. Uncommon men require no common trust; Give him but scope and he will set the bounds.

QUESTENBERG. The proof is yet to come.

MAX. Thus are ye ever. Ye shrink from every thing of depth, and think Yourselves are only safe while ye're in shallows.

OCTAVIO (to QUESTENBERG). 'Twere best to yield with a good grace, my friend; Of him there you'll make nothing.

MAX. (continuing). In their fear They call a spirit up, and when he comes, Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him More than the ills for which they called him up. The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be Like things of every day. But in the field, Ay, there the Present Being makes itself felt. The personal must command, the actual eye Examine. If to be the chieftain asks All that is great in nature, let it be Likewise his privilege to move and act In all the correspondences of greatness. The oracle within him, that which lives, He must invoke and question—not dead books, Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers.

OCTAVIO. My son! of those old narrow ordinances Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights Of priceless value, which oppressed mankind, Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. For always formidable was the League And partnership of free power with free will. The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds, Is yet no devious path. Straight forward goes The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies, and rapid; Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches, My son, the road the human being travels, That, on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow The river's course, the valley's playful windings, Curves round the cornfield and the hill of vines, Honoring the holy bounds of property! And thus secure, though late, leads to its end.

QUESTENBERG. Oh, hear your father, noble youth! hear him Who is at once the hero and the man.

OCTAVIO. My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee! A war of fifteen years Hath been thy education and thy school. Peace hast thou never witnessed! There exists An higher than the warrior's excellence. In war itself war is no ultimate purpose, The vast and sudden deeds of violence, Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment, These are not they, my son, that generate The calm, the blissful, and the enduring mighty! Lo there! the soldier, rapid architect! Builds his light town of canvas, and at once The whole scene moves and bustles momently. With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel The motley market fills; the roads, the streams Are crowded with new freights; trade stirs and hurries, But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, The tents drop down, the horde renews its march. Dreary, and solitary as a churchyard; The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie, And the year's harvest is gone utterly.

MAX. Oh, let the emperor make peace, my father! Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel For the first violet [5] of the leafless spring, Plucked in those quiet fields where I have journeyed.

OCTAVIO. What ails thee? What so moves thee all at once?

MAX. Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it. From thence am I come hither: oh, that sight, It glimmers still before me, like some landscape Left in the distance,—some delicious landscape! My road conducted me through countries where The war has not yet reached. Life, life, my father— My venerable father, life has charms Which we have never experienced. We have been But voyaging along its barren coasts, Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates, That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship, House on the wild sea with wild usages, Nor know aught of the mainland, but the bays Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing. Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals Of fair and exquisite, oh, nothing, nothing, Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.

OCTAVIO (attentive, with an appearance of uneasiness). And so your journey has revealed this to you?

MAX. 'Twas the first leisure of my life. O tell me, What is the meed and purpose of the toil, The painful toil which robbed me of my youth, Left me a heart unsouled and solitary, A spirit uninformed, unornamented! For the camp's stir, and crowd, and ceaseless larum, The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet, The unvaried, still returning hour of duty, Word of command, and exercise of arms— There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this, To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart! Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not— This cannot be the sole felicity, These cannot be man's best and only pleasures!

OCTAVIO. Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey.

MAX. Oh day, thrice lovely! when at length the soldier Returns home into life; when he becomes A fellow-man among his fellow-men. The colors are unfurled, the cavalcade Mashals, and now the buzz is hushed, and hark! Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home! The caps and helmet are all garlanded With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields. The city gates fly open of themselves, They need no longer the petard to tear them. The ramparts are all filled with men and women, With peaceful men and women, that send onwards. Kisses and welcomings upon the air, Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures. From all the towers rings out the merry peal, The joyous vespers of a bloody day. O happy man, O fortunate! for whom The well-known door, the faithful arms are open, The faithful tender arms with mute embracing.

QUESTENBERG (apparently much affected). O that you should speak Of such a distant, distant time, and not Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day.

MAX. (turning round to him quick and vehement). Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna! I will deal openly with you, Questenberg. Just now, as first I saw you standing here (I'll own it to you freely), indignation Crowded and pressed my inmost soul together. 'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye!—and the warrior, It is the warrior that must force it from you. Ye fret the general's life out, blacken him, Hold him up as a rebel, and heaven knows What else still worse, because he spares the Saxons, And tries to awaken confidence in the enemy; Which yet's the only way to peace: for if War intermit not during war, how then And whence can peace come? Your own plagues fall on you! Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you. And here I make this vow, here pledge myself, My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein, And my heart drain off, drop by drop, ere ye Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin. [Exit.



SCENE V.

QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI.

QUESTENBERG. Alas! alas! and stands it so? [Then in pressing and impatient tones. What friend! and do we let him go away In this delusion—let him go away? Not call him back immediately, not open His eyes, upon the spot?

OCTAVIO (recovering himself out of a deep study). He has now opened mine, And I see more than pleases me.

QUESTENBERG. What is it?

OCTAVIO. Curse on this journey!

QUESTENBERG. But why so? What is it?

OCTAVIO. Come, come along, friend! I must follow up The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes Are opened now, and I must use them. Come!

[Draws QUESTENBERG on with him.

QUESTENBERG. What now? Where go you then?

OCTAVIO. To her herself.

QUESTENBERG. To——

OCTAVIO (interrupting him and correcting himself). To the duke. Come, let us go 'Tis done, 'tis done, I see the net that is thrown over him. Oh! he returns not to me as he went.

QUESTENBERG. Nay, but explain yourself.

OCTAVIO. And that I should not Foresee it, not prevent this journey! Wherefore Did I keep it from him? You were in the right. I should have warned him. Now it is too late.

QUESTENBERG. But what's too late? Bethink yourself, my friend, That you are talking absolute riddles to me.

OCTAVIO (more collected). Come I to the duke's. 'Tis close upon the hour Which he appointed you for audience. Come! A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey!

[He leads QUESTENBERG off.



ACT II.

SCENE I.

Changes to a spacious chamber in the house of the Duke of Friedland. Servants employed in putting the tables and chairs in order. During this enters SENI, like an old Italian doctor, in black, and clothed somewhat fantastically. He carries a white staff, with which he marks out the quarters of the heavens.

FIRST SERVANT. Come—to it, lads, to it! Make an end of it. I hear the sentry call out, "Stand to your arms!" They will be here in a minute.

SECOND SERVANT. Why were we not told before that the audience would be held here? Nothing prepared—no orders—no instructions.

THIRD SERVANT. Ay, and why was the balcony chamber countermanded, that with the great worked carpet? There one can look about one.

FIRST SERVANT. Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. He says it is an unlucky chamber.

SECOND SERVANT. Poh! stuff and nonsense! that's what I call a hum. A chamber is a chamber; what much can the place signify in the affair?

SENI (with gravity). My son, there's nothing insignificant, Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing, First and most principal is place and time.

FIRST SERVANT (to the second). Say nothing to him, Nat. The duke himself must let him have his own will.

SENI (counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till he comes to eleven, which he repeats). Eleven! an evil number! Set twelve chairs. Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven, The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve.

SECOND SERVANT. And what may you have to object against eleven? I should like to know that now.

SENI. Eleven is transgression; eleven oversteps The ten commandments.

SECOND SERVANT. That's good? and why do you call five a holy number?

SENI. Five is the soul of man: for even as man Is mingled up of good and evil, so The five is the first number that's made up Of even and odd.

SECOND SERVANT. The foolish old coxcomb!

FIRST SERVANT. Ay! let him alone though. I like to hear him; there is more in his words than can be seen at first sight.

THIRD SERVANT. Off, they come.

SECOND SERVANT. There! Out at the side-door.

[They hurry off: SENI follows slowly. A page brings the staff of command on a red cushion, and places it on the table, near the duke's chair. They are announced from without, and the wings of the door fly open.



SCENE II.

WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS.

WALLENSTEIN. You went, then, through Vienna, were presented To the Queen of Hungary?

DUCHESS. Yes; and to the empress, too, And by both majesties were we admitted To kiss the hand.

WALLENSTEIN. And how was it received, That I had sent for wife and daughter hither To the camp, in winter-time?

DUCHESS. I did even that Which you commissioned me to do. I told them You had determined on our daughter's marriage, And wished, ere yet you went into the field, To show the elected husband his betrothed.

WALLENSTEIN. And did they guess the choice which I had made?

DUCHESS. They only hoped and wished it may have fallen Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble.

WALLENSTEIN. And you—what do you wish, Elizabeth?

DUCHESS. Your will, you know, was always mine.

WALLENSTEIN (after a pause). Well, then,— And in all else, of what kind and complexion Was your reception at the court? [The DUCHESS casts her eyes on the ground, and remains silent. Hide nothing from me. How were you received?

DUCHESS. O! my dear lord, all is not what it was. A canker-worm, my lord, a canker-worm Has stolen into the bud.

WALLENSTEIN. Ay! is it so? What, they were lax? they failed of the old respect?

DUCHESS. Not of respect. No honors were omitted, No outward courtesy; but in the place Of condescending, confidential kindness, Familiar and endearing, there were given me Only these honors and that solemn courtesy. Ah! and the tenderness which was put on, It was the guise of pity, not of favor. No! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife, Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so— Not wholly so should she have been received.

WALLENSTEIN. Yes, yes; they have taken offence. My latest conduct They railed at it, no doubt.

DUCHESS. O that they had! I have been long accustomed to defend you, To heal and pacify distempered spirits. No; no one railed at you. They wrapped them up, O Heaven! in such oppressive, solemn silence! Here is no every-day misunderstanding, No transient pique, no cloud that passes over; Something most luckless, most unhealable, Has taken place. The Queen of Hungary Used formerly to call me her dear aunt, And ever at departure to embrace me——

WALLENSTEIN. Now she omitted it?

DUCHESS (wiping away her tears after a pause). She did embrace me, But then first when I had already taken My formal leave, and when the door already Had closed upon me, then did she come out In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself, And pressed me to her bosom, more with anguish Than tenderness.

WALLENSTEIN (seizes her hand soothingly). Nay, now collect yourself. And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein, And of our other friends there?

DUCHESS (shaking her head). I saw none.

WALLENSTEIN. The ambassador from Spain, who once was wont To plead so warmly for me?

DUCHESS. Silent, silent!

WALLENSTEIN. These suns then are eclipsed for us. Henceforward Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light.

DUCHESS. And were it—were it, my dear lord, in that Which moved about the court in buzz and whisper, But in the country let itself be heard Aloud—in that which Father Lanormain In sundry hints and——

WALLENSTEIN (eagerly). Lanormain! what said he?

DUCHESS. That you're accused of having daringly O'erstepped the powers intrusted to you, charged With traitorous contempt of the emperor And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian, He and the Spaniards stand up your accusers— That there's a storm collecting over you Of far more fearful menace than the former one Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg. And people talk, said he, of——Ah! [Stifling extreme emotion.

WALLENSTEIN. Proceed!

DUCHESS. I cannot utter it!

WALLENSTEIN. Proceed!

DUCHESS. They talk——

WALLENSTEIN. Well!

DUCHESS. Of a second—— (catches her voice and hesitates.)

WALLENSTEIN. Second——

DUCHESS. Most disgraceful Dismission.

WALLENSTEIN. Talk they? [Strides across the chamber in vehement agitation. Oh! they force, they thrust me With violence, against my own will, onward!

DUCHESS (presses near him in entreaty). Oh! if there yet be time, my husband, if By giving way and by submission, this Can be averted—my dear Lord, give way! Win down your proud heart to it! Tell the heart, It is your sovereign lord, your emperor, Before whom you retreat. Oh! no longer Low trickling malice blacken your good meaning With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up Shielded and helmed and weaponed with the truth, And drive before you into uttermost shame These slanderous liars! Few firm friends have we— You know it! The swift growth of our good fortune It hath but set us up a mark for hatred. What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favor Stand not before us!



SCENE III.

Enter the Countess TERZKY, leading in her hand the Princess THEKLA, richly adorned with brilliants.

COUNTESS, TEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS.

COUNTESS. How sister? What, already upon business? [Observing the countenance of the DUCHESS. And business of no pleasing kind I see, Ere he has gladdened at his child. The first Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland! father! This is thy daughter.

[THEKLA approaches with a shy and timid air, and bends herself as about to kiss his hand. He receives her in his arms, and remains standing for some time lost in the feeling of her presence.

WALLENSTEIN. Yes! pure and lovely hath hope risen on me, I take her as the pledge of greater fortune.

DUCHESS. 'Twas but a little child when you departed To raise up that great army for the emperor And after, at the close of the campaign, When you returned home out of Pomerania, Your daughter was already in the convent, Wherein she has remained till now.

WALLENSTEIN. The while We in the field here gave our cares and toils To make her great, and fight her a free way To the loftiest earthly good; lo! mother Nature Within the peaceful, silent convent walls, Has done her part, and out of her free grace Hath she bestowed on the beloved child The god-like; and now leads her thus adorned To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope.

DUCHESS (to THEKLA). Thou wouldst not now have recognized thy father, Wouldst thou, my child? She counted scarce eight years When last she saw your face.

THEKLA. O yes, yes, mother! At the first glance! My father has not altered. The form that stands before me falsifies No feature of the image that hath lived So long within me!

WALLENSTEIN. The voice of my child! [Then after a pause. I was indignant at my destiny, That it denied me a man-child, to be Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune, And re-illume my soon-extinguished being In a proud line of princes. I wronged my destiny. Here upon this head, So lovely in its maiden bloom, will I Let fall the garland of a life of war, Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it, Transmuted to a regal ornament, Around these beauteous brows.

[He clasps her in his arms as PICCOLOMINI enters.



SCENE IV.

Enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI, and some time after COUNT TERZKY, the others remaining as before.

COUNTESS. There comes the Paladin who protected us.

WALLENSTEIN. Max.! Welcome, ever welcome! Always wert thou The morning star of my best joys!

MAX. My general——

WALLENSTEIN. Till now it was the emperor who rewarded thee, I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound The father to thee, Max.! the fortunate father, And this debt Friedland's self must pay.

MAX. My prince! You made no common hurry to transfer it. I come with shame: yea, not without a pang! For scarce have I arrived here, scarce delivered The mother and the daughter to your arms, But there is brought to me from your equerry [6] A splendid richly-plated hunting dress So to remunerate me for my troubles— Yes, yes, remunerate me,—since a trouble It must be, a mere office, not a favor Which I leaped forward to receive, and which I came with grateful heart to thank you for. No! 'twas not so intended, that my business Should be my highest best good fortune!

[TERZKY enters; and delivers letters to the DUKE, which he breaks open hurriedly.

COUNTESS (to MAX.). Remunerate your trouble! For his joy, He makes you recompense. 'Tis not unfitting For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel So tenderly—my brother it beseems To show himself forever great and princely.

THEKLA. Then I too must have scruples of his love: For his munificent hands did ornament me Ere yet the father's heart had spoken to me.

MAX Yes; 'tis his nature ever to be giving And making happy. [He grasps the hand of the DUCHESS with still increasing warmth. How my heart pours out Its all of thanks to him! O! how I seem To utter all things in the dear name—Friedland. While I shall live, so long will I remain The captive of this name: in it shall bloom My every fortune, every lovely hope. Inextricably as in some magic ring In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me!

COUNTESS (who during this time has been anxiously watching the DUKE, and remarks that he is lost in thought over the letters). My brother wishes us to leave him. Come.

WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round quick, collects himself, and speaks with cheerfulness to the DUCHESS). Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp, Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max., Will now again administer your old office, While we perform the sovereign's business here.

[MAX. PICCOLOMINI offers the DUCHESS his arm; the COUNTESS accompanies the PRINCESS.

TERZKY (calling after him). Max., we depend on seeing you at the meeting.



SCENE V.

WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERZKY.

WALLENSTEIN (in deep thought, to himself). She has seen all things as they are—it is so, And squares completely with my other notices, They have determined finally in Vienna, Have given me my successor already; It is the King of Hungary, Ferdinand, The emperor's delicate son! he's now their savior, He's the new star that's rising now! Of us They think themselves already fairly rid, And as we were deceased, the heir already Is entering on possession—Therefore—despatch!

[As he turns round he observes TERZKY, and gives him a letter.

Count Altringer will have himself excused, And Gallas too—I like not this!

TERZKY. And if Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away, One following the other.

WALLENSTEIN. Altringer Is master of the Tyrol passes. I must forthwith Send some one to him, that he let not in The Spaniards on me from the Milanese. —Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader In contraband negotiations, he Has shown himself again of late. What brings he From the Count Thur?

TERZKY. The count communicates He has found out the Swedish chancellor At Halberstadt, where the convention's held, Who says, you've tired him out, and that he'll have No further dealings with you.

WALLENSTEIN. And why so?

TERZKY. He says, you are never in earnest in your speeches; That you decoy the Swedes—to make fools of them; Will league yourself with Saxony against them, And at last make yourself a riddance of them With a paltry sum of money.

WALLENSTEIN. So then, doubtless, Yes, doubtless, this same modest Swede expects That I shall yield him some fair German tract For his prey and booty, that ourselves at last On our own soil and native territory May be no longer our own lords and masters! An excellent scheme! No, no! They must be off, Off, off! away! we want no such neighbors.

TERZKY. Nay, yield them up that dot, that speck of land— It goes not from your portion. If you win The game, what matters it to you who pays it?

WALLENSTEIN. Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this. Never shall it be said of me, I parcelled My native land away, dismembered Germany, Betrayed it to a foreigner, in order To come with stealthy tread, and filch away My own share of the plunder—Never! never! No foreign power shall strike root in the empire, And least of all these Goths! these hungry wolves! Who send such envious, hot, and greedy glances Toward the rich blessings of our German lands! I'll have their aid to cast and draw my nets, But not a single fish of all the draught Shall they come in for.

TERZKY. You will deal, however, More fairly with the Saxons? they lose patience While you shift round and make so many curves. Say, to what purpose all these masks? Your friends Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you. There's Oxenstiern, there's Arnheim—neither knows What he should think of your procrastinations, And in the end I prove the liar; all Passes through me. I've not even your handwriting.

WALLENSTEIN. I never give handwriting; and thou knowest it.

TERZKY. But how can it be known that you are in earnest, If the act follows not upon the word? You must yourself acknowledge, that in all Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy, You might have done with safety all you have done. Had you meant nothing further than to gull him For the emperor's service.

WALLENSTEIN (after a pause, during which he looks narrowly on TERZKY). And from whence dost thou know That I'm not gulling him for the emperor's service? Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you? Dost thou know me so well? When made I thee The intendant of my secret purposes? I am not conscious that I ever opened My inmost thoughts to thee. The emperor, it is true, Hath dealt with me amiss; and if I would I could repay him with usurious interest For the evil he hath done me. It delights me To know my power; but whether I shall use it, Of that I should have thought that thou couldst speak No wiser than thy fellows.

TERZKY. So hast thou always played thy game with us.

[Enter ILLO.



SCENE VI.

ILLO, WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY.

WALLENSTEIN. How stand affairs without? Are they prepared?

ILLO. You'll find them in the very mood you wish. They know about the emperor's requisition, And are tumultuous.

WALLENSTEIN. How hath Isolani declared himself?

ILLO. He's yours, both soul and body, Since you built up again his faro-bank.

WALLENSTEIN. And which way doth Kolatto bend? Hast thou Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodati?

ILLO. What Piccolomini does that they do too.

WALLENSTEIN. You mean, then, I may venture somewhat with them?

ILLO. If you are assured of the Piccolomini.

WALLENSTEIN. Not more assured of mine own self.

TERZKY. And yet I would you trusted not so much to Octavio, The fox!

WALLENSTEIN. Thou teachest me to know my man? Sixteen campaigns I have made with that old warrior. Besides, I have his horoscope; We both are born beneath like stars—in short, [With an air of mystery. To this belongs its own peculiar aspect, If therefore thou canst warrant me the rest——

ILLO. There is among them all but this one voice, You must not lay down the command. I hear They mean to send a deputation to you.

WALLENSTEIN. If I'm in aught to bind myself to them They too must bind themselves to me.

ILLO. Of course.

WALLENSTEIN. Their words of honor they must give, their oaths, Give them in writing to me, promising Devotion to my service unconditional.

ILLO. Why not?

TERZKY. Devotion unconditional? The exception of their duties towards Austria They'll always place among the premises. With this reserve——

WALLENSTEIN (shaking his head). All unconditional; No premises, no reserves.

ILLO. A thought has struck me. Does not Count Terzky give us a set banquet This evening?

TERZKY. Yes; and all the generals Have been invited.

ILLO (to WALLENSTEIN). Say, will you here fully Commission me to use my own discretion? I'll gain for you the generals' word of honor, Even as you wish.

WALLENSTEIN. Gain me their signatures! How you come by them that is your concern.

ILLO. And if I bring it to you in black on white, That all the leaders who are present here Give themselves up to you, without condition; Say, will you then—then will you show yourself In earnest, and with some decisive action Try your fortune.

WALLENSTEIN. Get but the signatures!

ILLO. Think what thou dost, thou canst not execute The emperor's orders, nor reduce thine army, Nor send the regiments to the Spaniards' aid, Unless thou wouldst resign thy power forever. Think on the other hand—thou canst not spurn The emperor's high commands and solemn orders, Nor longer temporize, nor seek evasion, Wouldst thou avoid a rupture with the court. Resolve then! Wilt thou now by one bold act Anticipate their ends, or, doubting still, Await the extremity?

WALLENSTEIN. There's time before The extremity arrives.

ILLO. Seize, seize the hour, Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty. To make a great decision possible, O! many things, all transient and all rapid, Must meet at once: and, haply, they thus met May by that confluence be enforced to pause Time long-enough for wisdom, though too short, Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple! This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, Our best, our noblest, are assembled round you, Their king-like leader! On your nod they wait. The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune Hath woven together in one potent web Instinct with destiny, O! let them not Unravel of themselves. If you permit These chiefs to separate, so unanimous Bring you them not a second time together. 'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship, And every individual's spirit waxes In the great stream of multitudes. Behold They are still here, here still! But soon the war Bursts them once more asunder, and in small Particular anxieties and interests Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy Of each man with the whole. He who to-day Forgets himself, forced onward with the stream, Will become sober, seeing but himself. Feel only his own weakness, and with speed Will face about, and march on in the old High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road, And seek but to make shelter in good plight.

WALLENSTEIN. The time is not yet come.

TERZKY. So you say always. But when will it be time?

WALLENSTEIN. When I shall say it.

ILLO. You'll wait upon the stars, and on their hours, Till the earthly hour escapes you. Oh, believe me, In your own bosom are your destiny's stars. Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution, This is your Venus! and the sole malignant, The only one that harmeth you is doubt.

WALLENSTEIN. Thou speakest as thou understandest. How oft And many a time I've told thee Jupiter, That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth. Thy visual power subdues no mysteries; Mole-eyed thou mayest but burrow in the earth, Blind as the subterrestrial, who with wan Lead-colored shine lighted thee into life. The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see, With serviceable cunning knit together, The nearest with the nearest; and therein I trust thee and believe thee! but whate'er Full of mysterious import Nature weaves, And fashions in the depths—the spirit's ladder, That from this gross and visible world of dust, Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds, Builds itself up; on which the unseen powers Move up and down on heavenly ministries— The circles in the circles, that approach The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit— These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye, Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre.

[He walks across the chamber, then returns, and standing still, proceeds.

The heavenly constellations make not merely The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely Signify to the husbandman the seasons Of sowing and of harvest. Human action, That is the seed, too, of contingencies, Strewed on the dark land of futurity In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time, To watch the stars, select their proper hours, And trace with searching eye the heavenly houses, Whether the enemy of growth and thriving Hide himself not, malignant, in his corner. Therefore permit me my own time. Meanwhile Do you your part. As yet I cannot say What I shall do—only, give way I will not, Depose me, too, they shall not. On these points You may rely.

PAGE (entering). My lords, the generals.

WALLENSTEIN. Let them come in.

TERZKY. Shall all the chiefs be present?

WALLENSTEIN. 'Twere needless. Both the Piccolomini Maradas, Butler, Forgoetsch, Deodati, Karaffa, Isolani—these may come.

[TERZKY goes out with the PAGE.

WALLENSTEIN (to ILLO). Hast thou taken heed that Questenberg was watched? Had he no means of secret intercourse?

ILLO. I have watched him closely—and he spoke with none But with Octavio.



SCENE VII.

WALLENSTRIN, TERZKY, ILLO.—To them enter QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO, and MAX. PICCOLOMINI, BUTLER, ISOLANI, MARADAS, and three other Generals. WALLENSTEIN Motions QUESTENBERG, who in consequence takes the chair directly opposite to him; the others follow, arranging themselves according to their rank. There reigns a momentary silence.

WALLENSTEIN. I have understood, 'Tis true, the sum and import, Questenberg, Of your instructions. I have weighed them well, And formed my final, absolute resolve; Yet it seems fitting that the generals Should hear the will of the emperor from your mouth. May it please you then to open your commission Before these noble chieftains?

QUESTENBERG. I am ready To obey you; but will first entreat your highness, And all these noble chieftains, to consider, The imperial dignity and sovereign right Speaks from my mouth, and not my own presumption.

WALLENSTEIN. We excuse all preface.

QUESTENBERG. When his majesty The emperor to his courageous armies Presented in the person of Duke Friedland A most experienced and renowned commander, He did it in glad hope and confidence To give thereby to the fortune of the war A rapid and auspicious change. The onset Was favorable to his royal wishes. Bohemia was delivered from the Saxons, The Swede's career of conquest checked! These lands Began to draw breath freely, as Duke Friedland From all the streams of Germany forced hither The scattered armies of the enemy; Hither invoked as round one magic circle The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, Oxenstiern, Yea, and the never-conquered king himself; Here finally, before the eye of Nuernberg, The fearful game of battle to decide.

WALLENSTEIN. To the point, so please you.

QUESTENBERG. A new spirit At once proclaimed to us the new commander. No longer strove blind rage with rage more blind; But in the enlightened field of skill was shown How fortitude can triumph over boldness, And scientific art outweary courage. In vain they tempt him to the fight. He only Entrenches him still deeper in his hold, As if to build an everlasting fortress. At length grown desperate, now, the king resolves To storm the camp and lead his wasted legions, Who daily fall by famine and by plague, To quicker deaths and hunger and disease. Through lines of barricades behind whose fence Death lurks within a thousand mouths of fire, He yet unconquered strives to storm his way. There was attack, and there resistance, such As mortal eye had never seen before; Repulsed at last, the king withdrew his troops From this so murderous field, and not a foot Of ground was gained by all that fearful slaughter.

WALLENSTEIN. Pray spare us these recitals from gazettes, Which we ourselves beheld with deepest horror.

QUESTENBERG. In Nuernberg's camp the Swedish monarch left His fame—in Luetzen's plains his life. But who Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland After this day of triumph, this proud day, Marched toward Bohemia with the speed of flight, And vanished from the theatre of war? While the young Weimar hero [7] forced his way Into Franconia, to the Danube, like Some delving winter-stream, which, where it rushes, Makes its own channel; with such sudden speed He marched, and now at once 'fore Regensburg Stood to the affright of all good Catholic Christians. Then did Bavaria's well-deserving prince Entreat swift aidance in his extreme need; The emperor sends seven horsemen to Duke Friedland, Seven horsemen couriers sends he with the entreaty He superadds his own, and supplicates Where as the sovereign lord he can command. In vain his supplication! At this moment The duke hears only his old hate and grudge, Barters the general good to gratify Private revenge—and so falls Regensburg.

WALLENSTEIN. Max., to what period of the war alludes he? My recollection fails me here.

MAX. He means When we were in Silesia.

WALLENSTEIN. Ay! is it so! But what had we to do there?

MAX. To beat out The Swedes and Saxons from the province.

WALLENSTEIN. True; In that description which the minister gave, I seemed to have forgotten the whole war. [TO QUESTENBERG. Well, but proceed a little.

QUESTENBERG. We hoped upon the Oder to regain What on the Danube shamefully was lost. We looked for deeds of all-astounding grandeur Upon a theatre of war, on which A Friedland led in person to the field, And the famed rival of the great Gustavus Had but a Thurn and Arnheim to oppose him! Yet the encounter of their mighty hosts Served but to feast and entertain each other. Our country groaned beneath the woes of war, Yet naught but peace prevailed in Friedland's camp!

WALLENSTEIN. Full many a bloody strife is fought in vain, Because its youthful general needs a victory. But 'tis the privilege of the old commander To spare the costs of fighting useless battles Merely to show that he knows how to conquer. It would have little helped my fame to boast Of conquest o'er an Arnheim; but far more Would my forbearance have availed my country, Had I succeeded to dissolve the alliance Existing 'twixt the Saxon and the Swede.

QUESTENBERG. But you did not succeed, and so commenced The fearful strife anew. And here at length, Beside the river Oder did the duke Assert his ancient fame. Upon the fields Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down their arms, Subdued without a blow. And here, with others, The righteousness of heaven to his avenger Delivered that long-practised stirrer-up Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch And kindler of this war, Matthias Thurn. But he had fallen into magnanimous hands Instead of punishment he found reward, And with rich presents did the duke dismiss The arch-foe of his emperor.

WALLENSTEIN (laughs). I know, I know you had already in Vienna Your windows and your balconies forestalled To see him on the executioner's cart. I might have lost the battle, lost it too With infamy, and still retained your graces— But, to have cheated them of a spectacle, Oh! that the good folks of Vienna never, No, never can forgive me!

QUESTENBERG. So Silesia Was freed, and all things loudly called the duke Into Bavaria, now pressed hard on all sides. And he did put his troops in motion: slowly, Quite at his ease, and by the longest road He traverses Bohemia; but ere ever He hath once seen the enemy, faces round, Breaks up the march, and takes to winter-quarters.

WALLENSTEIN. The troops were pitiably destitute Of every necessary, every comfort, The winter came. What thinks his majesty His troops are made of? Aren't we men; subjected Like other men to wet, and cold, and all The circumstances of necessity? Oh, miserable lot of the poor soldier! Wherever he comes in all flee before him, And when he goes away the general curse Follows him on his route. All must be seized. Nothing is given him. And compelled to seize From every man he's every man's abhorrence. Behold, here stand my generals. Karaffa! Count Deodati! Butler! Tell this man How long the soldier's pay is in arrears.

BUTLER. Already a full year.

WALLENSTEIN. And 'tis the hire That constitutes the hireling's name and duties, The soldier's pay is the soldier's covenant. [8]

QUESTENBERG. Ah! this is a far other tone from that In which the duke spoke eight, nine years ago.

WALLENSTEIN. Yes! 'tis my fault, I know it: I myself Have spoilt the emperor by indulging him. Nine years ago, during the Danish war, I raised him up a force, a mighty force, Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him Of his own purse no doit. Through Saxony The fury goddess of the war marched on, E'en to the surf-rocks of the Baltic, bearing The terrors of his name. That was a time! In the whole imperial realm no name like mine Honored with festival and celebration— And Albrecht Wallenstein, it was the title Of the third jewel in his crown! But at the Diet, when the princes met At Regensburg, there, there the whole broke out, There 'twas laid open, there it was made known Out of what money-bag I had paid the host, And what were now my thanks, what had I now That I, a faithful servant of the sovereign, Had loaded on myself the people's curses, And let the princes of the empire pay The expenses of this war that aggrandizes The emperor alone. What thanks had I? What? I was offered up to their complaint Dismissed, degraded!

QUESTENBERG. But your highness knows What little freedom he possessed of action In that disastrous Diet.

WALLENSTEIN. Death and hell! I had that which could have procured him freedom No! since 'twas proved so inauspicious to me To serve the emperor at the empire's cost, I have been taught far other trains of thinking Of the empire and the Diet of the empire. From the emperor, doubtless, I received this staff, But now I hold it as the empire's general,— For the common weal, the universal interest, And no more for that one man's aggrandizement! But to the point. What is it that's desired of me?

QUESTENBERG. First, his imperial majesty hath willed That without pretexts of delay the army Evacuate Bohemia.

WALLENSTEIN. In this season? And to what quarter wills the emperor That we direct our course?

QUESTENBERG. To the enemy. His majesty resolves, that Regensburg Be purified from the enemy ere Easter, That Lutheranism may be no longer preached In that cathedral, nor heretical Defilement desecrate the celebration Of that pure festival.

WALLENSTEIN. My generals, Can this be realized?

ILLO. 'Tis not possible.

BUTLER. It can't be realized.

QUESTENBERG. The emperor Already hath commanded Colonel Suys To advance towards Bavaria.

WALLENSTEIN. What did Suys?

QUESTENBERG. That which his duty prompted. He advanced.

WALLENSTEIN. What! he advanced? And I, his general, Had given him orders, peremptory orders Not to desert his station! Stands it thus With my authority? Is this the obedience Due to my office, which being thrown aside, No war can be conducted? Chieftains, speak You be the judges, generals. What deserves That officer who, of his oath neglectful, Is guilty of contempt of orders?

ILLO. Death.

WALLENSTEIN (raising his voice, as all but ILLO had remained silent and seemingly scrupulous). Count Piccolomini! what has he deserved?

MAX. PICCOLOMINI (after a long pause). According to the letter of the law, Death.

ISOLANI. Death.

BUTLER. Death, by the laws of war.

[QUESTENBERG rises from his seat, WALLENSTEIN follows, all the rest rise.

WALLENSTEIN. To this the law condemns him, and not I. And if I show him favor, 'twill arise From the reverence that I owe my emperor.

QUESTENBERG. If so, I can say nothing further—here!

WALLENSTEIN. I accepted the command but on conditions! And this the first, that to the diminution Of my authority no human being, Not even the emperor's self, should be entitled To do aught, or to say aught, with the army. If I stand warranter of the event, Placing my honor and my head in pledge, Needs must I have full mastery in all The means thereto. What rendered this Gustavus Resistless, and unconquered upon earth? This—that he was the monarch in his army! A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch, Was never yet subdued but by his equal. But to the point! The best is yet to come, Attend now, generals!

QUESTENBERG. The Prince Cardinal Begins his route at the approach of spring From the Milanese; and leads a Spanish army Through Germany into the Netherlands. That he may march secure and unimpeded, 'Tis the emperor's will you grant him a detachment Of eight horse-regiments from the army here.

WALLENSTEIN. Yes, yes! I understand! Eight regiments! Well, Right well concerted, Father Lanormain! Eight thousand horse! Yes, yes! 'tis as it should be I see it coming.

QUESTENBERG. There is nothing coming. All stands in front: the counsel of state-prudence, The dictate of necessity!

WALLENSTEIN. What then? What, my lord envoy? May I not be suffered To understand that folks are tired of seeing The sword's hilt in my grasp, and that your court Snatch eagerly at this pretence, and use The Spanish title, and drain off my forces, To lead into the empire a new army Unsubjected to my control? To throw me Plumply aside,—I am still too powerful for you To venture that. My stipulation runs, That all the imperial forces shall obey me Where'er the German is the native language. Of Spanish troops and of prince cardinals, That take their route as visitors, through the empire, There stands no syllable in my stipulation. No syllable! And so the politic court Steals in on tiptoe, and creeps round behind it; First makes me weaker, then to be dispensed with, Till it dares strike at length a bolder blow, And make short work with me. What need of all these crooked ways, lord envoy? Straightforward, man! his compact with me pinches The emperor. He would that I moved off! Well! I will gratify him! [Here there commences an agitation among the generals, which increases continually. It grieves me for my noble officers' sakes; I see not yet by what means they will come at The moneys they have advanced, or how obtain The recompense their services demand. Still a new leader brings new claimants forward, And prior merit superannuates quickly. There serve here many foreigners in the army, And were the man in all else brave and gallant, I was not wont to make nice scrutiny After his pedigree or catechism. This will be otherwise i' the time to come. Well; me no longer it concerns. [He seats himself. Forbid it, Heaven, that it should come to this! Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation— The emperor is abused—it cannot be.

ISOLANI. It cannot be; all goes to instant wreck.

WALLENSTEIN. Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani! What we with toil and foresight have built up Will go to wreck—all go to instant wreck. What then? Another chieftain is soon found, Another army likewise (who dares doubt it?) Will flock from all sides to the emperor, At the first beat of his recruiting drum.

[During this speech, ISOLANI, TERZKY, ILLO, and MARADAS talk confusedly with great agitation.

MAX. PICCOLOMINI (busily and passionately going from one to another, and soothing them). Hear, my commander' Hear me, generals! Let me conjure you, duke! Determine nothing, Till we have met and represented to you Our joint remonstrances! Nay, calmer! Friends! I hope all may yet be set right again.

TERZKY. Away! let us away! in the antechamber Find we the others. [They go.

BUTLER (to QUESTENBERG). If good counsel gain Due audience from your wisdom, my lord envoy, You will be cautious how you show yourself In public for some hours to come—or hardly Will that gold key protect you from maltreatment.

[Commotions heard from without.

WALLENSTEIN. A salutary counsel—Thou, Octavio! Wilt answer for the safety of our guest. Farewell, von Questenberg! [QUESTENBURG is about to speak. Nay, not a word. Not one word more of that detested subject! You have performed your duty. We know now To separate the office from the man.

[AS QUESTENBERG is going off with OCTAVIO, GOETZ, TIEFENBACH, KOLATTO, press in, several other generals following them.

GOETZ. Where's he who means to rob us of our general?

TIEFENBACH (at the same time). What are we forced to bear? That thou wilt leave us?

KOLATTO (at the same time). We will live with thee, we will die with thee.

WALLENSTEIN (with stateliness, and pointing to ILLO). There! the field-marshal knows our will. [Exit.

[While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops.



ACT III.

SCENE I.

A Small Chamber.

ILLO and TERZKY.

TERZKY. Now for this evening's business! How intend you To manage with the generals at the banquet?

ILLO. Attend! We frame a formal declaration, Wherein we to the duke consign ourselves Collectively, to be and to remain His, both with life and limb, and not to spare The last drop of our blood for him, provided, So doing we infringe no oath or duty We may be under to the emperor. Mark! This reservation we expressly make In a particular clause, and save the conscience. Now hear! this formula so framed and worded Will be presented to them for perusal Before the banquet. No one will find in it Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further! After the feast, when now the vapering wine Opens the heart, and shuts the eyes, we let A counterfeited paper, in the which This one particular clause has been left out, Go round for signatures.

TERZKY. How! think you then That they'll believe themselves bound by an oath, Which we have tricked them into by a juggle?

ILLO. We shall have caught and caged them! Let them then Beat their wings bare against the wires, and rave Loud as they may against our treachery; At court their signatures will be believed Far more than their most holy affirmations. Traitors they are, and must be; therefore wisely Will make a virtue of necessity.

TERZKY. Well, well, it shall content me: let but something Be done, let only some decisive blow Set us in motion.

ILLO. Besides, 'tis of subordinate importance How, or how far, we may thereby propel The generals. 'Tis enough that we persuade The duke that they are his. Let him but act In his determined mood, as if he had them, And he will have them. Where he plunges in, He makes a whirlpool, and all stream down to it.

TERZKY. His policy is such a labyrinth, That many a time when I have thought myself Close at his side, he's gone at once, and left me Ignorant of the ground where I was standing. He lends the enemy his ear, permits me To write to them, to Arnheim; to Sesina Himself comes forward blank and undisguised; Talks with us by the hour about his plans, And when I think I have him—off at once— He has slipped from me, and appears as if He had no scheme, but to retain his place.

ILLO. He give up his old plans! I'll tell you, friend! His soul is occupied with nothing else, Even in his sleep—they are his thoughts, his dreams, That day by day he questions for this purpose The motions of the planets——

TERZKY. Ah! you know This night, that is now coming, he with Seni, Shuts himself up in the astrological tower To make joint observations—for I hear It is to be a night of weight and crisis; And something great, and of long expectation, Takes place in heaven.

ILLO. O that it might take place On earth! The generals are full of zeal, And would with ease be led to anything Rather than lose their chief. Observe, too, that We have at last a fair excuse before us To form a close alliance 'gainst the court, Yet innocent its title, bearing simply That we support him only in command. But in the ardor of pursuit thou knowest Men soon forget the goal from which they started. The object I've in view is that the prince Shall either find them, or believe them ready For every hazard. Opportunity Will tempt him on. Be the great step once taken, Which at Vienna's court can ne'er be pardoned, The force of circumstances will lead him onward The farther still and farther. 'Tis the choice That makes him undecisive—come but need, And all his powers and wisdom will come with it.

TERZKY. 'Tis this alone the enemy awaits To change their chief and join their force with ours.

ILLO. Come! be we bold and make despatch. The work In this next day or two must thrive and grow More than it has for years. And let but only Things first turn up auspicious here below— Mark what I say—the right stars, too, will show themselves. Come to the generals. All is in the glow, And must be beaten while 'tis malleable.

TERZKY. Do you go thither, Illo? I must stay And wait here for the Countess Terzky. Know That we, too, are not idle. Break one string, A second is in readiness.

ILLO. Yes! yes! I saw your lady smile with such sly meaning. What's in the wind?

TERZKY. A secret. Hush! she comes.

[Exit ILLO.



SCENE II.

The COUNTESS steps out from a closet.

COUNT and COUNTESS TERZKY.

TERZKY. Well—is she coming? I can keep him back No longer.

COUNTESS. She will be here instantly, You only send him.

TERZKY. I am not quite certain, I must confess it, countess, whether or not We are earning the duke's thanks hereby. You know No ray has broke out from him on this point. You have o'erruled me, and yourself know best How far you dare proceed.

COUNTESS. I take it on me. [Talking to herself while she is advancing. Here's no heed of full powers and commissions; My cloudy duke! we understand each other— And without words. What could I not unriddle, Wherefore the daughter should be sent for hither, Why first he, and no other should be chosen To fetch her hither? This sham of betrothing her To a bridegroom [9], whom no one knows—No! no! This may blind others! I see through thee, brother! But it beseems thee not to draw a card At such a game. Not yet! It all remains Mutely delivered up to my finessing. Well—thou shalt not have been deceived, Duke Friedland, In her who is thy sister.

SERVANT (enters). The commanders! [Exit.

TERZKY (to the COUNTESS). Take care you heat his fancy and affections— Possess him with a reverie, and send him, Absent and dreaming to the banquet; that He may not boggle at the signature.

COUNTESS. Take care of your guests! Go, send him hither.

TERZKY. All rests upon his undersigning.

COUNTESS (interrupting him). Go to your guests! Go——

ILLO (comes back). Where art staying, Terzky? The house is full, and all expecting you.

TERZKY. Instantly! instantly! [To the COUNTESS. And let him not Stay here too long. It might awake suspicion In the old man——

COUNTESS. A truce with your precautions!

[Exeunt TERZKY and ILLO.



SCENE III.

COUNTESS, MAX. PICCOLOMINI.

MAX. (peeping in on the stage slyly). Aunt Terzky! may I venture? [Advances to the middle of the stage, and looks around him with uneasiness. She's not here! Where is she?

COUNTESS. Look but somewhat narrowly In yonder corner, lest perhaps she lie Concealed behind that screen.

MAX. There lie her gloves!

[Snatches at them, but the COUNTESS takes them herself.

You unkind lady! You refuse me this, You make it an amusement to torment me.

COUNTESS. And this the thanks you give me for my trouble?

MAX. O, if you felt the oppression at my heart! Since we've been here, so to constrain myself With such poor stealth to hazard words and glances. These, these are not my habits!

COUNTESS. You have still Many new habits to acquire, young friend! But on this proof of your obedient temper I must continue to insist; and only On this condition can I play the agent For your concerns.

MAX. But wherefore comes she not? Where is she?

COUNTESS. Into my hands you must place it Whole and entire. Whom could you find, indeed, More zealously affected to your interest? No soul on earth must know it—not your father; He must not, above all.

MAX. Alas! what danger? Here is no face on which I might concentre All the enraptured soul stirs up within me. O lady! tell me, is all changed around me? Or is it only I? I find myself, As among strangers! Not a trace is left Of all my former wishes, former joys. Where has it vanished to? There was a time When even, methought, with such a world as this, I was not discontented. Now how flat! How stale! No life, no bloom, no flavor in it! My comrades are intolerable to me. My father—even to him I can say nothing. My arms, my military duties—O! They are such wearying toys!

COUNTESS. But gentle friend! I must entreat it of your condescension, You would be pleased to sink your eye, and favor With one short glance or two this poor stale world, Where even now much, and of much moment, Is on the eve of its completion.

MAX. Something, I can't but know is going forward round me. I see it gathering, crowding, driving on, In wild uncustomary movements. Well, In due time, doubtless, it will reach even me. Where think you I have been, dear lady? Nay, No raillery. The turmoil of the camp, The spring-tide of acquaintance rolling in, The pointless jest, the empty conversation, Oppressed and stifled me. I gasped for air— I could not breathe—I was constrained to fly, To seek a silence out for my full heart; And a pure spot wherein to feel my happiness. No smiling, countess! In the church was I. There is a cloister here "To the heaven's gate," [10] Thither I went, there found myself alone. Over the altar hung a holy mother; A wretched painting 'twas, yet 'twas the friend That I was seeking in this moment. Ah, How oft have I beheld that glorious form In splendor, 'mid ecstatic worshippers; Yet, still it moved me not! and now at once Was my devotion cloudless as my love.

COUNTESS. Enjoy your fortune and felicity! Forget the world around you. Meantime, friendship Shall keep strict vigils for you, anxious, active. Only be manageable when that friendship Points you the road to full accomplishment.

MAX. But where abides she then? Oh, golden time Of travel, when each morning sun united And but the coming night divided us; Then ran no sand, then struck no hour for us, And time, in our excess of happiness, Seemed on its course eternal to stand still. Oh, he hath fallen from out his heaven of bliss Who can descend to count the changing hours, No clock strikes ever for the happy!

COUNTESS. How long is it since you declared your passion?

MAX. This morning did I hazard the first word.

COUNTESS. This morning the first time in twenty days?

MAX. 'Twas at that hunting-castle, betwixt here And Nepomuck, where you had joined us, and That was the last relay of the whole journey; In a balcony we were standing mute, And gazing out upon the dreary field Before us the dragoons were riding onward, The safeguard which the duke had sent us—heavy; The inquietude of parting lay upon me, And trembling ventured at length these words: This all reminds me, noble maiden, that To-day I must take leave of my good fortune. A few hours more, and you will find a father, Will see yourself surrounded by new friends, And I henceforth shall be but as a stranger, Lost in the many—"Speak with my Aunt Terzky!" With hurrying voice she interrupted me. She faltered. I beheld a glowing red Possess her beautiful cheeks, and from the ground Raised slowly up her eye met mine—no longer Did I control myself. [The Princess THEKLA appears at the door, and remains standing, observed by the COUNTESS, but not by PICCOLOMINI. With instant boldness I caught her in my arms, my lips touched hers; There was a rustling in the room close by; It parted us—'Twas you. What since has happened You know.

COUNTESS (after a pause, with a stolen glance at THEKLA). And is it your excess of modesty Or are you so incurious, that you do not Ask me too of my secret?

MAX. Of your secret?

COUNTESS. Why, yes! When in the instant after you I stepped into the room, and found my niece there; What she in this first moment of the heart Taken with surprise——

MAX. (with eagerness). Well?



SCENE IV.

THEKLA (hurries forward), COUNTESS, MAX. PICCOLOMINI.

THEKLA (to the COUNTESS). Spare yourself the trouble: That hears he better from myself.

MAX. (stepping backward). My princess! What have you let her hear me say, Aunt Terzky?

THEKLA (to the COUNTESS). Has he been here long?

COUNTESS. Yes; and soon must go, Where have you stayed so long?

THEKLA. Alas! my mother, Wept so again! and I—I see her suffer, Yet cannot keep myself from being happy.

MAX. Now once again I have courage to look on you. To-day at noon I could not. The dazzle of the jewels that played round you Hid the beloved from me.

THEKLA. Then you saw me With your eye only—and not with your heart?

MAX. This morning, when I found you in the circle Of all your kindred, in your father's arms, Beheld myself an alien in this circle, O! what an impulse felt I in that moment To fall upon his neck, to call him father! But his stern eye o'erpowered the swelling passion, It dared not but be silent. And those brilliants, That like a crown of stars enwreathed your brows, They scared me too! O wherefore, wherefore should be At the first meeting spread as 'twere the ban Of excommunication round you,—wherefore Dress up the angel as for sacrifice. And cast upon the light and joyous heart The mournful burden of his station? Fitly May love dare woo for love; but such a splendor Might none but monarchs venture to approach.

THEKLA. Hush! not a word more of this mummery; You see how soon the burden is thrown off. [To the COUNTESS. He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not? 'Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy! He had quite another nature on the journey— So calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent. [To MAX. It was my wish to see you always so, And never otherwise!

MAX. You find yourself In your great father's arms, beloved lady! All in a new world, which does homage to you, And which, were't only by its novelty, Delights your eye.

THEKLA. Yes; I confess to you That many things delight me here: this camp, This motley stage of warriors, which renews So manifold the image of my fancy, And binds to life, binds to reality, What hitherto had but been present to me As a sweet dream!

MAX. Alas! not so to me. It makes a dream of my reality. Upon some island in the ethereal heights I've lived for these last days. This mass of men Forces me down to earth. It is a bridge That, reconducting to my former life, Divides me and my heaven.

THEKLA. The game of life Looks cheerful, when one carries in one's heart The unalienable treasure. 'Tis a game, Which, having once reviewed, I turn more joyous Back to my deeper and appropriate bliss. [Breaking off, and in a sportive tone. In this short time that I've been present here. What new unheard-of things have I not seen; And yet they all must give place to the wond Which this mysterious castle guards.

COUNTESS (recollecting). And what Can this be then? Methought I was acquainted With all the dusky corners of this house.

THEKLA (smiling). Ay, but the road thereto is watched by spirits, Two griffins still stand sentry at the door.

COUNTESS (laughs). The astrological tower! How happens it That this same sanctuary, whose access Is to all others so impracticable, Opens before you even at your approach?

THEKLA. A dwarfish old man with a friendly face And snow-white hairs, whose gracious services Were mine at first sight, opened me the doors.

MAX. That is the duke's astrologer, old Seni.

THEKLA. He questioned me on many points; for instance, When I was born, what month, and on what day, Whether by day or in the night.

COUNTESS. He wished To erect a figure for your horoscope.

THEKLA. My hand too he examined, shook his head With much sad meaning, and the lines, methought, Did not square over truly with his wishes.

COUNTESS. Well, princess, and what found you in this tower? My highest privilege has been to snatch A side-glance, and away!

THEKLA. It was a strange Sensation that came o'er me, when at first From the broad sunshine I stepped in; and now The narrowing line of daylight, that ran after The closing door, was gone; and all about me 'Twas pale and dusky night, with many shadows Fantastically cast. Here six or seven Colossal statues, and all kings, stood round me In a half-circle. Each one in his hand A sceptre bore, and on his head a star; And in the tower no other light was there But from these stars all seemed to come from them. "These are the planets," said that low old man, "They govern worldly fates, and for that cause Are imaged here as kings. He farthest from you, Spiteful and cold, an old man melancholy, With bent and yellow forehead, he is Saturn. He opposite, the king with the red light, An armed man for the battle, that is Mars; And both these bring but little luck to man." But at his side a lovely lady stood, The star upon her head was soft and bright, Oh, that was Venus, the bright star of joy. And the left hand, lo! Mercury, with wings Quite in the middle glittered silver bright. A cheerful man, and with a monarch's mien; And this was Jupiter, my father's star And at his side I saw the Sun and Moon.

MAX. Oh, never rudely will I blame his faith In the might of stars and angels. 'Tis not merely The human being's pride that peoples space With life and mystical predominance; Since likewise for the stricken heart of love This visible nature, and this common world, Is all too narrow; yea, a deeper import Lurks in the legend told my infant years Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. For fable is love's world, his home, his birth-place; Delightedly dwells he among fays and talismans, And spirits; and delightedly believes Divinities, being himself divine The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms, and watery depths, all these have vanished. They live no longer in the faith of reason! But still the heart doth need a language, still Doth the old instinct bring back the old names; And to yon starry world they now are gone, Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth With man as with their friend [11], and to the lover Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky Shoot influence down: and even at this day 'This Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, And Venus who brings everything that's fair!

THEKLA. And if this be the science of the stars, I, too, with glad and zealous industry, Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith. It is a gentle and affectionate thought, That in immeasurable heights above us, At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven, With sparkling stars for flowers.

COUNTESS. Not only roses And thorns too hath the heaven, and well for you Leave they your wreath of love inviolate: What Venus twined, the bearer of glad fortune, The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces.

MAX. Soon will this gloomy empire reach its close. Blest be the general's zeal: into the laurel Will he inweave the olive-branch, presenting Peace to the shouting nations. Then no wish Will have remained for his great heart. Enough Has he performed for glory, and can now Live for himself and his. To his domains will He retire; he has a stately seat Of fairest view at Gitschin, Reichenberg, And Friedland Castle, both lie pleasantly; Even to the foot of the huge mountains here Stretches the chase and covers of his forests: His ruling passion to create the splendid He can indulge without restraint; can give A princely patronage to every art, And to all worth a sovereign's protection. Can build, can plant, can watch the starry courses——

COUNTESS. Yet I would have you look, and look again, Before you lay aside your arms, young friend! A gentle bride, as she is, is well worth it, That you should woo and win her with the sword.

MAX. Oh, that the sword could win her!

COUNTESS. What was that? Did you hear nothing? Seemed as if I heard Tumult and larum in the banquet-room.

[Exit COUNTESS.



SCENE V.

THEKLA and MAX. PICCOLOMINI.

THEKLA (as soon as the COUNTESS is out of sight, in a quick, low voice to PICCOLOMINI). Don't trust them! They are false!

MAX. Impossible!

THEKLA. Trust no one here but me. I saw at once, They had a purpose.

MAX. Purpose! but what purpose? And how can we be instrumental to it?

THEKLA. I know no more than you; but yet believe me There's some design in this; to make us happy, To realize our union—trust me, love! They but pretend to wish it.

MAX. But these Terzkys— Why use we them at all? Why not your mother? Excellent creature! She deserves from us A full and filial confidence.

THEKLA. She doth love you, Doth rate you high before all others—but— But such a secret—she would never have The courage to conceal it from my father. For her own peace of mind we must preserve it A secret from her too.

MAX. Why any secret? I love not secrets. Mark what I will do. I'll throw me at your father's feet—let him Decide upon my fortune! He is true, He wears no mask—he hates all crooked ways— He is so good, so noble!

THEKLA. (falls on his neck). That are you!

MAX. You knew him only from this morn! But I Have lived ten years already in his presence; And who knows whether in this very moment He is not merely waiting for us both To own our loves in order to unite us? You are silent! You look at me with such a hopelessness! What have you to object against your father?

THEKLA. I? Nothing. Only he's so occupied— He has no leisure time to think about The happiness of us two. [Taking his hand tenderly. Follow me Let us not place too great a faith in men. These Terzkys—we will still be grateful to them For every kindness, but not trust them further Than they deserve;—and in all else rely On our own hearts!

MAX. O! shall we e'er be happy?

THEKLA. Are we not happy now? Art thou not mine? Am I not thine? There lives within my soul A lofty courage—'tis love gives it me! I ought to be less open—ought to hide My heart more from thee—so decorum dictates: But where in this place couldst thou seek for truth, If in my mouth thou didst not find it? We now have met, then let us hold each other Clasped in a lasting and a firm embrace. Believe me this was more than their intent. Then be our loves like some blest relic kept Within the deep recesses of the heart. From heaven alone the love has been bestowed, To heaven alone our gratitude is due; It can work wonders for us still.



SCENE VI.

To them enters the COUNTESS TERZKY.

COUNTESS (in a pressing manner). Come, come! My husband sends me for you. It is now The latest moment. [They not appearing to attend to what she says, she steps between them. Part you!

THEKLA. Oh, not yet! It has been scarce a moment.

COUNTESS. Ay! Then time Flies swiftly with your highness, princess niece!

MAX. There is no hurry, aunt.

COUNTESS. Away! Away! The folks begin to miss you. Twice already His father has asked for him.

THEKLA. Ha! His father! COUNTESS. You understand that, niece!

THEKLA. Why needs he To go at all to that society? 'Tis not his proper company. They may Be worthy men, but he's too young for them; In brief, he suits not such society.

COUNTESS. You mean, you'd rather keep him wholly here?

THEKLA (with energy). Yes! You have hit it aunt! That is my meaning, Leave him here wholly! Tell the company——

COUNTESS. What! have you lost your senses, niece? Count, you remember the conditions. Come!

MAX (to THEKLA). Lady, I must obey. Fairwell, dear lady! [THEKLA turns away from him with a quick motion. What say you then, dear lady?

THEKLA (without looking at him). Nothing. Go!

MAX. Can I when you are angry——

[He draws up to her, their eyes meet, she stands silent a moment, then throws herself into his arms; he presses her fast to his heart.

COUNTESS. Off! Heavens! if any one should come! Hark! What's that noise! It comes this way. Off!

[MAX. tears himself away out of her arms and goes. The COUNTESS accompanies him. THEKLA follows him with her eyes at first, walks restlessly across the room, then stops, and remains standing, lost in thought. A guitar lies on the table, she seizes it as by a sudden emotion, and after she has played awhile an irregular and melancholy symphony, she falls gradually into the music and sings.



SCENE VII.

THEKLA (plays and sings).

The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar, The damsel paces along the shore; The billows, they tumble with might, with might; And she flings out her voice to the darksome night; Her bosom is swelling with sorrow; The world it is empty, the heart will die, There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky Thou Holy One, call thy child away! I've lived and loved, and that was to-day; Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow. [12]



SCENE VIII.

COUNTESS (returns), THEKLA.

COUNTESS. Fie, lady niece! to throw yourself upon him Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it, And so must be flung after him! For you, Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself More chary of your person.

THEKLA (rising). And what mean you?

DUCHESS. I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten Who you are, and who he is. But perchance That never once occurred to you.

THEKLA. What then?

COUNTESS. That you're the daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland.

THEKLA. Well, and what farther?

DUCHESS. What? A pretty question!

THEKLA. He was born that which we have but become. He's of an ancient Lombard family, Son of a reigning princess.

COUNTESS. Are you dreaming? Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth! We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him To honor with his hand the richest heiress In Europe.

THEKLA. That will not be necessary.

COUNTESS. Methinks 'twere well, though, not to run the hazard.

THEHLA. His father loves him; Count Octavio Will interpose no difficulty——

COUNTESS. His! His father! His! But yours, niece, what of yours?

THERLA. Why, I begin to think you fear his father, So anxiously you hide it from the man! His father, his, I mean.

COUNTESS (looks at her as scrutinizing). Niece, you are false.

THEBLA. Are you then wounded? O, be friends with me!

COUNTESS. You hold your game for won already. Do not Triumph too soon!

THEKLA (interrupting her, and attempting to soothe her). Nay now, be friends with me.

COUNTESS. It is not yet so far gone.

THEKLA. I believe you.

COUNTESS. Did you suppose your father had laid out His most important life in toils of war, Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss, Had banished slumbers from his tent, devoted His noble head to care, and for this only, To make a happier pair of you? At length To draw you from your convent, and conduct In easy triumph to your arms the man That chanced to please your eyes! All this, methinks, He might have purchased at a cheaper rate.

THEKLA. That which he did not plant for me might yet Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord. And if my friendly and affectionate fate, Out of his fearful and enormous being, Will but prepare the joys of life for me——

COUNTESS. Thou seest it with a lovelorn maiden's eyes, Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art;— Into no house of joyance hast thou stepped, For no espousals dost thou find the walls Decked out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing; Here is no splendor but of arms. Or thinkest thou That all these thousands are here congregated To lead up the long dances at thy wedding! Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought, Thy mother's eye in tears: upon the balance Lies the great destiny of all our house. Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling; Oh, thrust it far behind thee! Give thou proof Thou'rt the daughter of the mighty—his Who where he moves creates the wonderful. Not to herself the woman must belong, Annexed and bound to alien destinies. But she performs the best part, she the wisest, Who can transmute the alien into self, Meet and disarm necessity by choice; And what must be, take freely to her heart, And bear and foster it with mother's love.

THEKLA. Such ever was my lesson in the convent. I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself Only as his—his daughter—his, the mighty! His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me From the far distance, weakened in my soul No other thought than this—I am appointed To offer myself up in passiveness to him.

COUNTESS. That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it— I and thy mother gave thee the example.

THEKLA. My fate hath shown me him, to whom behoves it That I should offer up myself. In gladness Him will I follow.

COUNTESS. Not thy fate hath shown him! Thy heart, say rather—'twas thy heart, my child!

THEKLA. Faith hath no voice but the heart's impulses. I am all his! His present—his alone. Is this new life, which lives in me? He hath A right to his own creature. What was I Ere his fair love infused a soul into me?

COUNTESS. Thou wouldst oppose thy father, then, should he Have otherwise determined with thy person? [THEKLA remains silent. The COUNTESS continues. Thou meanest to force him to thy liking? Child, His name is Friedland.

THEKLA. My name too is Friedland. He shall have found a genuine daughter in me.

COUNTESS. What! he has vanquished all impediment, And in the wilful mood of his own daughter Shall a new struggle rise for him? Child! child! As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone; The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child, I will not frighten thee. To that extreme, I trust it ne'er shall come. His will is yet Unknown to me; 'tis possible his aims May have the same direction as thy wish. But this can never, never be his will, That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes, Shouldest e'er demean thee as a lovesick maiden And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever Be destined to await him, yet with sacrifices The highest love can bring, must pay for it.

[Exit COUNTESS.



SCENE IX.

THEKLA (who during the last speech had been standing evidently lost in her reflections). I thank thee for the hint. It turns My sad presentiment to certainty. And it is so! Not one friend have we here, Not one true heart! we've nothing but ourselves! Oh, she said rightly—no auspicious signs Beam on this covenant of our affections. This is no theatre where hope abides The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here, And love himself, as he were armed in steel, Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death. [Music from the banquet-room is heard. There's a dark spirit walking in our house. And swiftly will the destiny close on us. It drove me hither from my calm asylum, It mocks my soul with charming witchery, It lures me forward in a seraph's shape, I see it near, I see it nearer floating, It draws, it pulls me with a godlike power— And lo! the abyss—and thither am I moving— I have no power within me not to move! [The music from the banquet-room becomes louder. Oh, when a house is, doomed in fire to perish, Many and dark Heaven drives his clouds together, Yea, shoots his lightnings down from sunny heights, Flames burst from out the subterraneous chasms, And fiends and angels, mingling in their fury, Sling firebrands at the burning edifice. [13]

[Exit THEKLA.



ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A large saloon lighted up with festal splendor; in the midst of it, and in the centre of the stage a table richly set out, at which eight generals are sitting, among whom are OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, TERZKY, and MARADAS. Right and left of this, but further back, two other tables, at each of which six persons are placed. The middle door, which is standing open, gives to the prospect a fourth table with the same number of persons. More forward stands the sideboard. The whole front of the stage is kept open, for the pages and servants-in-waiting. All is in motion. The band of music belonging to TERZKY's regiment march across the stage, and draw up around the tables. Before they are quite off from the front of the stage, MAX. PICCOLOMINI appears, TERZKY advances towards him with a paper, ISOLANI comes up to meet him with a beaker, or service-cup.

TERZKY, ISOLANI, MAX. PICCOLOMINI.

ISOLANI. Here, brother, what we love! Why, where hast been? Off to thy place—quick! Terzky here has given The mother's holiday wine up to free booty. Here it goes on as at the Heidelberg castle. Already hast thou lost the best. They're giving At yonder table ducal crowns in shares; There Sternberg's lands and chattels are put up, With Eggenberg's, Stawata's, Lichtenstein's, And all the great Bohemian feudalities. Be nimble, lad! and something may turn up For thee, who knows? off—to thy place! quick! march!

TIEFENBACH and GOETZ (call out from the second and third tables). Count Piccolomini!

TERZKY. Stop, ye shall have him in an instant. Read This oath here, whether as 'tis here set forth, The wording satisfies you. They've all read it, Each in his turn, and each one will subscribe His individual signature.

MAX. (reads). "Ingratis servire nefas."

ISOLANI. That sounds to my ears very much like Latin, And being interpreted, pray what may it mean?

TERZKY. No honest man will serve a thankless master.

MAX. "Inasmuch as our supreme commander, the illustrious Duke of Friedland, in consequence of the manifold affronts and grievances which he has received, had expressed his determination to quit the emperor, but on our unanimous entreaty has graciously consented to remain still with the army, and not to part from us without our approbation thereof, so we, collectively and each in particular, in the stead of an oath personally taken, do, hereby oblige ourselves—likewise by him honorably and faithfully to hold, and in nowise whatsoever from him to part, and to be ready to shed for his interests the last drop of our blood, so far, namely, as our oath to the emperor will permit it. (These last words are repeated by ISOLANI.) In testimony of which we subscribe our names."

TERZKY. Now! are you willing to subscribe to this paper?

ISOLANI. Why should he not? All officers of honor Can do it, ay, must do it. Pen and ink here!

TERZKY. Nay, let it rest till after meal.

ISOLANI (drawing MAX. along). Come, Max!

[Both seat themselves at their table.



SCENE II.

TERZKY, NEUMANN.

TERZKY (beckons to NEUMANN, who is waiting at the side-table and steps forward with him to the edge of the stage). Have you the copy with you, Neumann? Give it. It may be changed for the other?

NEUMANN. I have copied it Letter by letter, line by line; no eye Would e'er discover other difference, Save only the omission of that clause, According to your excellency's order.