LINENOTES:

Neubrunn.How can we pass the gates?Thekla.Gold opens them.Go, do but go.Neubrunn.Should we be recognized—Thekla.In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive,Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland.Neubrunn.And where procure we horses for our flight?35Thekla.My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him.Neubrunn.Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord?Thekla.He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer.Neubrunn.Dear lady! and your mother?Thekla.Oh! my mother!Neubrunn.So much as she has suffered too already;40Your tender mother—Ah! how ill preparedFor this last anguish!Thekla.Woe is me! my mother![Pauses.Go instantly.Neubrunn.But think what you are doing!Thekla.What can be thought, already has been thought.Neubrunn.And being there, what purpose you to do?45Thekla.There a divinity will prompt my soul.Neubrunn.Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted!And this is not the way that leads to quiet.Thekla.To a deep quiet, such as he has found.It draws me on, I know not what to name it,50Resistless does it draw me to his grave.There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow.O hasten, make no further questioning!There is no rest for me till I have leftThese walls—they fall in on me—A dim power55Drives me from hence—Oh mercy! What a feeling!What pale and hollow forms are those! They fill,They crowd the place! I have no longer room here!Mercy! Still more! More still! The hideous swarm!They press on me; they chase me from these walls—60Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men!Neubrunn.You frighten me so, lady, that no longerI dare stay here myself. I go and callRosenberg instantly.[ExitLady Neubrunn.

Neubrunn.How can we pass the gates?

Thekla.Gold opens them.Go, do but go.

Neubrunn.Should we be recognized—

Thekla.In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive,Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland.

Neubrunn.And where procure we horses for our flight?35

Thekla.My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him.

Neubrunn.Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord?

Thekla.He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer.

Neubrunn.Dear lady! and your mother?

Thekla.Oh! my mother!

Neubrunn.So much as she has suffered too already;40Your tender mother—Ah! how ill preparedFor this last anguish!

Thekla.Woe is me! my mother![Pauses.Go instantly.

Neubrunn.But think what you are doing!

Thekla.What can be thought, already has been thought.

Neubrunn.And being there, what purpose you to do?45

Thekla.There a divinity will prompt my soul.

Neubrunn.Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted!And this is not the way that leads to quiet.

Thekla.To a deep quiet, such as he has found.It draws me on, I know not what to name it,50Resistless does it draw me to his grave.There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow.O hasten, make no further questioning!There is no rest for me till I have leftThese walls—they fall in on me—A dim power55Drives me from hence—Oh mercy! What a feeling!What pale and hollow forms are those! They fill,They crowd the place! I have no longer room here!Mercy! Still more! More still! The hideous swarm!They press on me; they chase me from these walls—60Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men!

Neubrunn.You frighten me so, lady, that no longerI dare stay here myself. I go and callRosenberg instantly.[ExitLady Neubrunn.

[22]arms] arm1800,1828,1829.

arms] arm1800,1828,1829.

[44]can1800,1828,1829.

can1800,1828,1829.

Thekla.His spirit 'tis that calls me: 'tis the troopOf his true followers, who offered upThemselves to avenge his death: and they accuse meOf an ignoble loitering—they would notForsake their leader even in his death—they died for him!5And shall I live?——For me too was that laurel-garland twinedThat decks his bier. Life is an empty casket:I throw it from me. O! my only hope;—To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds—10That is the lot of heroes upon earth![ExitThekla.[793:1]

(The curtain drops.)

[793:1]The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty lines, twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without injury to the play.1800,1828,1829.

[4]they1800,1828,1829.

they1800,1828,1829.

[5]they1800,1828,1829.

they1800,1828,1829.

[6]I1800,1828,1829.

I1800,1828,1829.

Scene—A Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends far into the back-ground.Wallensteinsitting at a table. TheSwedish Captainstanding before him.

Wallenstein.Commend me to your lord. I sympathizeIn his good fortune; and if you have seen meDeficient in the expressions of that joyWhich such a victory might well demand,Attribute it to no lack of good will,5For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell,And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrowThe citadel shall be surrendered to youOn your arrival.

[TheSwedish Captainretires.Wallensteinsits lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head sustained by his hand. TheCountess Tertskyenters, stands before him awhile, unobserved by him; at length he starts, sees her, and recollects himself.

Wallenstein.Com'st thou from her? Is she restored? How is she?10Countess.My sister tells me, she was more collectedAfter her conversation with the Swede.She has now retired to rest.Wallenstein.The pang will soften,She will shed tears.Countess.I find thee altered too,My brother! After such a victory15I had expected to have found in theeA cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm!Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art,Our sun.Wallenstein.Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where'sThy husband?Countess.At a banquet—he and Illo.20Wallenstein (rises).The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.Countess.Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee!Wallenstein (moves to the window).There is a busy motion in the Heaven,The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower,Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle[794:1]of the moon,25Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light.No form of star is visible! That one[795]White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder,Is from Cassiopeia, and thereinIs Jupiter. (A pause.) But now30The blackness of the troubled element hides him![He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance.Countess (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand).What art thou brooding on?Wallenstein.Methinks,If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me.He, is the star of my nativity,And often marvellously hath his aspect35Shot strength into my heart.Countess.Thou'lt see him again.Wallenstein.See him again? O never, never again.Countess.How?Wallenstein.He is gone—is dust.Countess.Whom meanest thou then?Wallenstein.He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished!For him there is no longer any future,40His life is bright—bright without spot it was,And cannot cease to be. No ominous hourKnocks at his door with tidings of mishap.Far off is he, above desire and fear;No more submitted to the change and chance45Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis wellWith him! but who knows what the coming hourVeil'd in thick darkness brings for us!Countess.Thou speakestOf Piccolomini. What was his death?The courier had just left thee as I came.50[Wallensteinby a motion of his hand makes signs to her to be silent.Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view,Let us look forward into sunny days,Welcome with joyous heart the victory,Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day,For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead;55To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

Wallenstein.Com'st thou from her? Is she restored? How is she?10

Countess.My sister tells me, she was more collectedAfter her conversation with the Swede.She has now retired to rest.

Wallenstein.The pang will soften,She will shed tears.

Countess.I find thee altered too,My brother! After such a victory15I had expected to have found in theeA cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm!Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art,Our sun.

Wallenstein.Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where'sThy husband?

Countess.At a banquet—he and Illo.20

Wallenstein (rises).The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.

Countess.Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee!

Wallenstein (moves to the window).There is a busy motion in the Heaven,The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower,Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle[794:1]of the moon,25Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light.No form of star is visible! That one[795]White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder,Is from Cassiopeia, and thereinIs Jupiter. (A pause.) But now30The blackness of the troubled element hides him![He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance.

Countess (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand).What art thou brooding on?

Wallenstein.Methinks,If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me.He, is the star of my nativity,And often marvellously hath his aspect35Shot strength into my heart.

Countess.Thou'lt see him again.

Wallenstein.See him again? O never, never again.

Countess.How?

Wallenstein.He is gone—is dust.

Countess.Whom meanest thou then?

Wallenstein.He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished!For him there is no longer any future,40His life is bright—bright without spot it was,And cannot cease to be. No ominous hourKnocks at his door with tidings of mishap.Far off is he, above desire and fear;No more submitted to the change and chance45Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis wellWith him! but who knows what the coming hourVeil'd in thick darkness brings for us!

Countess.Thou speakestOf Piccolomini. What was his death?The courier had just left thee as I came.50[Wallensteinby a motion of his hand makes signs to her to be silent.Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view,Let us look forward into sunny days,Welcome with joyous heart the victory,Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day,For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead;55To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

Wallenstein.I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious.What does not man grieve down? From the highest,As from the vilest thing of every dayHe learns to wean himself: for the strong hours60Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lostIn him. The bloom is vanished from my life.For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,Transformed for me the real to a dream,Clothing the palpable and familiar65With golden exhalations of the dawn.Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,The beautiful is vanished—and returns not.Countess.O be not treacherous to thy own power.Thy heart is rich enough to vivify70Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him,The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold.Wallenstein (stepping to the door).Who interrupts us now at this late hour?It is the Governor. He brings the keysOf the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister!75Countess.O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee—A boding fear possesses me!Wallenstein.Fear? Wherefore?Countess.Should'st thou depart this night, and we at wakingNever more find thee!Wallenstein.Fancies!Countess.O my soulHas long been weighed down by these dark forebodings.80And if I combat and repel them waking,They still rush down upon my heart in dreams,I saw thee yesternight with thy first wifeSit at a banquet gorgeously attired.

Countess.O be not treacherous to thy own power.Thy heart is rich enough to vivify70Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him,The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold.

Wallenstein (stepping to the door).Who interrupts us now at this late hour?It is the Governor. He brings the keysOf the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister!75

Countess.O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee—A boding fear possesses me!

Wallenstein.Fear? Wherefore?

Countess.Should'st thou depart this night, and we at wakingNever more find thee!

Wallenstein.Fancies!

Countess.O my soulHas long been weighed down by these dark forebodings.80And if I combat and repel them waking,They still rush down upon my heart in dreams,I saw thee yesternight with thy first wifeSit at a banquet gorgeously attired.

Wallenstein.This was a dream of favourable omen,85That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.Countess.To-day I dreamt that I was seeking theeIn thy own chamber. As I entered, lo!It was no more a chamber; the ChartreuseAt Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded,90And where it is thy will that thou should'st beInterred.Wallenstein.Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.Countess.What dost thou not believe that oft in dreamsA voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?Wallenstein.There is no doubt that there exist such voices.95Yet I would not call themVoices of warning that announce to usOnly the inevitable. As the sun,Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its imageIn the atmosphere, so often do the spirits100Of great events stride on before the events,And in to-day already walks to-morrow.That which we read of the fourth Henry's deathDid ever vex and haunt me like a taleOf my own future destiny. The King105Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife,Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasmaStarted him in his Louvre, chased him forthInto the open air: like funeral knells110Sounded that coronation festival;And still with boding sense he heard the treadOf those feet that ev'n then were seeking himThroughout the streets of Paris.Countess.And to theeThe voice within thy soul bodes nothing?Wallenstein.Nothing.115Be wholly tranquil.Countess.And another timeI hastened after thee, and thou ran'st from meThrough a long suite, through many a spacious hall,There seemed no end of it: doors creaked and clapped;I followed panting, but could not o'ertake thee;120When on a sudden did I feel myselfGrasped from behind—the hand was cold that grasped me—'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed[798]A crimson covering to envelop us.Wallenstein.That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber.125Countess (gazing on him).If it should come to that—if I should see thee,Who standest now before me in the fulnessOf life—[She falls on his breast and weeps.Wallenstein.The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee—Alphabets wound not—and he finds no hands.130Countess.If he should find them, my resolve is taken—I bear about me my support and refuge.[ExitCountess.

Wallenstein.This was a dream of favourable omen,85That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.

Countess.To-day I dreamt that I was seeking theeIn thy own chamber. As I entered, lo!It was no more a chamber; the ChartreuseAt Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded,90And where it is thy will that thou should'st beInterred.

Wallenstein.Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.

Countess.What dost thou not believe that oft in dreamsA voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?

Wallenstein.There is no doubt that there exist such voices.95Yet I would not call themVoices of warning that announce to usOnly the inevitable. As the sun,Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its imageIn the atmosphere, so often do the spirits100Of great events stride on before the events,And in to-day already walks to-morrow.That which we read of the fourth Henry's deathDid ever vex and haunt me like a taleOf my own future destiny. The King105Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife,Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasmaStarted him in his Louvre, chased him forthInto the open air: like funeral knells110Sounded that coronation festival;And still with boding sense he heard the treadOf those feet that ev'n then were seeking himThroughout the streets of Paris.

Countess.And to theeThe voice within thy soul bodes nothing?

Wallenstein.Nothing.115Be wholly tranquil.

Countess.And another timeI hastened after thee, and thou ran'st from meThrough a long suite, through many a spacious hall,There seemed no end of it: doors creaked and clapped;I followed panting, but could not o'ertake thee;120When on a sudden did I feel myselfGrasped from behind—the hand was cold that grasped me—'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed[798]A crimson covering to envelop us.

Wallenstein.That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber.125

Countess (gazing on him).If it should come to that—if I should see thee,Who standest now before me in the fulnessOf life—[She falls on his breast and weeps.

Wallenstein.The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee—Alphabets wound not—and he finds no hands.130

Countess.If he should find them, my resolve is taken—I bear about me my support and refuge.[ExitCountess.

[794:1]These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity.'Am Himmel ist geschäftige Bewegung,Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell gehtDer Wolken Zug,die Mondessichel wankt,Und durch die Nacht zeucht ungewisse Helle.'The word 'moon-sickle' reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word 'falcated'. 'The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full: but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the darkfalcated.'The words 'wanken' and 'schweben' are not easily translated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. So 'der Wolken Zug'—The Draft, the Procession of Clouds.—The Masses of the Clouds sweep onward in swiftstream.

[794:1]These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity.

'Am Himmel ist geschäftige Bewegung,Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell gehtDer Wolken Zug,die Mondessichel wankt,Und durch die Nacht zeucht ungewisse Helle.'

The word 'moon-sickle' reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word 'falcated'. 'The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full: but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the darkfalcated.'

The words 'wanken' and 'schweben' are not easily translated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. So 'der Wolken Zug'—The Draft, the Procession of Clouds.—The Masses of the Clouds sweep onward in swiftstream.

[17]thou1800,1828,1829.

thou1800,1828,1829.

Before21Wallenstein (rises and strides across the saloon).1800,1828,1829.

[25]sweep] fly1800: sailMS. R.

sweep] fly1800: sailMS. R.

Before37Wallenstein (remains for a while with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly to the Countess).1800,1828,1829.

[41]was1800,1828,1829.

was1800,1828,1829.

[47]him1800,1828,1829.

him1800,1828,1829.

[57, 58]This anguish will be wearied down, I know;What pang is permanent with man?A very inadequate translation of the original.'Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!'Literally—I shallgrieve downthis blow, of that I'm conscious:What does not man grieve down?1800,1828,1829.Note.In 1834 theliteraltranslation of ll. 57, 58 was substituted for the text of the variant and the footnote was omitted.

This anguish will be wearied down, I know;What pang is permanent with man?

A very inadequate translation of the original.

'Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!'

Literally—

I shallgrieve downthis blow, of that I'm conscious:What does not man grieve down?

1800,1828,1829.

Note.In 1834 theliteraltranslation of ll. 57, 58 was substituted for the text of the variant and the footnote was omitted.

[65]Clothing the palpable and the familiar1800,1828,1829.

Clothing the palpable and the familiar1800,1828,1829.

[68]beautiful1800,1828,1829.

beautiful1800,1828,1829.

[96]them1800,1828,1829.

them1800,1828,1829.

[114]thee1800,1828,1829.

thee1800,1828,1829.

[131]should1800,1828,1829.

should1800,1828,1829.

Wallenstein, Gordon.

Wallenstein.All quiet in the town?Gordon.The town is quiet.Wallenstein.I hear a boisterous music! and the CastleIs lighted up. Who are the revellers?Gordon.There is a banquet given at the CastleTo the Count Tertsky, and Field Marshal Illo.5Wallenstein.In honour of the victory.—This tribeCan shew their joy in nothing else but feasting.[Rings. TheGroom of the Chamberenters.Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.[Wallensteintakes the keys fromGordon.So we are guarded from all enemies,And shut in with sure friends.10For all must cheat me, or a face like this[Fixing his eye onGordon.Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.

Wallenstein.All quiet in the town?

Gordon.The town is quiet.

Wallenstein.I hear a boisterous music! and the CastleIs lighted up. Who are the revellers?

Gordon.There is a banquet given at the CastleTo the Count Tertsky, and Field Marshal Illo.5

Wallenstein.In honour of the victory.—This tribeCan shew their joy in nothing else but feasting.[Rings. TheGroom of the Chamberenters.Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.[Wallensteintakes the keys fromGordon.So we are guarded from all enemies,And shut in with sure friends.10For all must cheat me, or a face like this[Fixing his eye onGordon.Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.

[TheGroom of the Chambertakes off his mantle, collar and scarf.

Wallenstein.Take care—what is that?Groom of the Chamber.The golden chain is snapped in two.Wallenstein.Well, it has lasted long enough. Here—give it.[He takes and looks at the chain.'Twas the first present of the Emperor.15He hung it round me in the war of Friule,He being then Archduke; and I have worn itTill now from habit——From superstition if you will. Belike,It was to be a talisman to me,20[799]And while I wore it on my neck in faith,It was to chain to me all my life longThe volatile fortune whose first pledge it was.Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortuneMust spring up for me; for the potency25Of this charm is dissolved.

Wallenstein.Take care—what is that?

Groom of the Chamber.The golden chain is snapped in two.

Wallenstein.Well, it has lasted long enough. Here—give it.[He takes and looks at the chain.'Twas the first present of the Emperor.15He hung it round me in the war of Friule,He being then Archduke; and I have worn itTill now from habit——From superstition if you will. Belike,It was to be a talisman to me,20[799]And while I wore it on my neck in faith,It was to chain to me all my life longThe volatile fortune whose first pledge it was.Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortuneMust spring up for me; for the potency25Of this charm is dissolved.

[Groom of the Chamberretires with the vestments.Wallensteinrises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last beforeGordonin a posture of meditation.

How the old time returns upon me! IBehold myself once more at Burgau, whereWe two were pages of the Court together.We oftentimes disputed: thy intention30Was ever good; but thou wert wont to playThe moralist and preacher, and would'st rail at meThat I strove after things too high for me,Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams,And still extol to me the golden mean.35—Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friendTo thy own self. See, it has made thee earlyA superannuated man, and (butThat my munificent stars will intervene)Would let thee in some miserable corner40Go out like an untended lamp.Gordon.My Prince!With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat,And watches from the shore the lofty shipStranded amid the storm.Wallenstein.Art thou alreadyIn harbour then, old man? Well! I am not.45The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows;My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly.Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate;And while we stand thus front to front almost,I might presume to say, that the swift years50Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over againstGordon.Who now persists in calling Fortune false?To me she has proved faithful, with fond loveTook me from out the common ranks of men,And like a mother goddess, with strong arm55Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.[800]Nothing is common in my destiny,Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who daresInterpret then my life for me as 'twereOne of the undistinguishable many?60True in this present moment I appearFallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.The high flood will soon follow on this ebb;The fountain of my fortune, which now stopsRepressed and bound by some malicious star,65Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.Gordon.And yet remember I the good old proverb,'Let the night come before we praise the day.'I would be slow from long-continued fortuneTo gather hope: for hope is the companion70Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven.Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men,For still unsteady are the scales of fate.Wallenstein (smiling).I hear the very Gordon that of oldWas wont to preach to me, now once more preaching;75I know well, that all sublunary thingsAre still the vassals of vicissitude.The unpropitious gods demand their tribute.This long ago the ancient Pagans knew:And therefore of their own accord they offered80To themselves injuries, so to atoneThe jealousy of their divinities:And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner.I too have sacrific'd to him—For meThere fell the dearest friend, and through my fault85He fell! No joy from favourable fortuneCan overweigh the anguish of this stroke.The envy of my destiny is glutted:Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightningWas drawn off which would else have shattered me.90

Gordon.My Prince!With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat,And watches from the shore the lofty shipStranded amid the storm.

Wallenstein.Art thou alreadyIn harbour then, old man? Well! I am not.45The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows;My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly.Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate;And while we stand thus front to front almost,I might presume to say, that the swift years50Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over againstGordon.Who now persists in calling Fortune false?To me she has proved faithful, with fond loveTook me from out the common ranks of men,And like a mother goddess, with strong arm55Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.[800]Nothing is common in my destiny,Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who daresInterpret then my life for me as 'twereOne of the undistinguishable many?60True in this present moment I appearFallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.The high flood will soon follow on this ebb;The fountain of my fortune, which now stopsRepressed and bound by some malicious star,65Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.

Gordon.And yet remember I the good old proverb,'Let the night come before we praise the day.'I would be slow from long-continued fortuneTo gather hope: for hope is the companion70Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven.Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men,For still unsteady are the scales of fate.

Wallenstein (smiling).I hear the very Gordon that of oldWas wont to preach to me, now once more preaching;75I know well, that all sublunary thingsAre still the vassals of vicissitude.The unpropitious gods demand their tribute.This long ago the ancient Pagans knew:And therefore of their own accord they offered80To themselves injuries, so to atoneThe jealousy of their divinities:And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner.I too have sacrific'd to him—For meThere fell the dearest friend, and through my fault85He fell! No joy from favourable fortuneCan overweigh the anguish of this stroke.The envy of my destiny is glutted:Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightningWas drawn off which would else have shattered me.90

To these enterSeni.

Wallenstein.Is not that Seni? and beside himself,If one may trust his looks! What brings thee hitherAt this late hour, Baptista?Seni.Terror, Duke![801]On thy account.Wallenstein.What now?Seni.Flee ere the day-break!Trust not thy person to the Swedes!Wallenstein.What now5Is in thy thoughts?Seni (with louder voice).Trust not thy person to these Swedes.Wallenstein.What is it then?Seni (still more urgently).O wait not the arrival of these Swedes!An evil near at hand is threatening theeFrom false friends. All the signs stand full of horror!10Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition—Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!Wallenstein.Baptista, thou art dreaming!—Fear befools thee.Seni.Believe not that an empty fear deludes me.Come, read it in the planetary aspects;15Read it thyself, that ruin threatens theeFrom false friends!Wallenstein.From the falseness of my friendsHas risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes.The warning should have come before! At presentI need no revelation from the stars20To know that.Seni.Come and see! trust thine own eyes!A fearful sign stands in the house of life;An enemy, a fiend lurks close behindThe radiance of thy planet—O be warned!Deliver not thyself up to these heathens25To wage a war against our holy church.Wallenstein (laughing gently).The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! NowI recollect. This junction with the SwedesDid never please thee—lay thyself to sleep,Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.30Gordon (who during the whole of this dialogue has shewn marks of extreme agitation, and now turns to Wallenstein).My Duke and General! May I dare presume?Wallenstein.Speak freely.Gordon.What if 'twere no mere creationOf fear, if God's high providence vouchsaf'dTo interpose its aid for your deliverance,And made that mouth its organ.

Wallenstein.Is not that Seni? and beside himself,If one may trust his looks! What brings thee hitherAt this late hour, Baptista?

Seni.Terror, Duke![801]On thy account.

Wallenstein.What now?

Seni.Flee ere the day-break!Trust not thy person to the Swedes!

Wallenstein.What now5Is in thy thoughts?

Seni (with louder voice).Trust not thy person to these Swedes.

Wallenstein.What is it then?

Seni (still more urgently).O wait not the arrival of these Swedes!An evil near at hand is threatening theeFrom false friends. All the signs stand full of horror!10Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition—Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!

Wallenstein.Baptista, thou art dreaming!—Fear befools thee.

Seni.Believe not that an empty fear deludes me.Come, read it in the planetary aspects;15Read it thyself, that ruin threatens theeFrom false friends!

Wallenstein.From the falseness of my friendsHas risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes.The warning should have come before! At presentI need no revelation from the stars20To know that.

Seni.Come and see! trust thine own eyes!A fearful sign stands in the house of life;An enemy, a fiend lurks close behindThe radiance of thy planet—O be warned!Deliver not thyself up to these heathens25To wage a war against our holy church.

Wallenstein (laughing gently).The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! NowI recollect. This junction with the SwedesDid never please thee—lay thyself to sleep,Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.30

Gordon (who during the whole of this dialogue has shewn marks of extreme agitation, and now turns to Wallenstein).My Duke and General! May I dare presume?

Wallenstein.Speak freely.

Gordon.What if 'twere no mere creationOf fear, if God's high providence vouchsaf'dTo interpose its aid for your deliverance,And made that mouth its organ.

Wallenstein.Ye're both feverish!35How can mishap come to me from the Swedes?They sought this junction with me—'tis their interest.Gordon (with difficulty suppressing his emotion).But what if the arrival of these Swedes—What if this were the very thing that wingedThe ruin that is flying to your temples?40[Flings himself at his feet.There is yet time, my Prince.Seni.O hear him! hear him!Gordon (rises).The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders,This citadel shall close its gates upon him.If then he will besiege us, let him try it.But this I say; he'll find his own destruction45With his whole force before these ramparts, soonerThan weary down the valour of our spirit.He shall experience what a band of heroes,Inspirited by an heroic leader,Is able to perform. And if indeed50It be thy serious wish to make amendsFor that which thou hast done amiss,—this, thisWill touch and reconcile the Emperor,Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy,And Friedland, who returns repentant to him,55Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour,Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.Wallenstein (contemplates him with surprise, remains silentawhile, betraying strong emotion).Gordon—your zeal and fervour lead you far.Well, well—an old friend has a privilege.Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never60Can the Emperor pardon me: and if he could,Yet I—I ne'er could let myself be pardoned.Had I foreknown what now has taken place,That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me,My first death-offering: and had the heart65Spoken to me, as now it has done—Gordon,It may be, I might have bethought myself.It may be too, I might not. Might or might not,Is now an idle question. All too seriouslyHas it begun to end in nothing, Gordon!70[803]Let it then have its course.[Stepping to the window.All dark and silent—at the castle tooAll is now hushed—Light me, Chamberlain!

Wallenstein.Ye're both feverish!35How can mishap come to me from the Swedes?They sought this junction with me—'tis their interest.

Gordon (with difficulty suppressing his emotion).But what if the arrival of these Swedes—What if this were the very thing that wingedThe ruin that is flying to your temples?40[Flings himself at his feet.There is yet time, my Prince.

Seni.O hear him! hear him!

Gordon (rises).The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders,This citadel shall close its gates upon him.If then he will besiege us, let him try it.But this I say; he'll find his own destruction45With his whole force before these ramparts, soonerThan weary down the valour of our spirit.He shall experience what a band of heroes,Inspirited by an heroic leader,Is able to perform. And if indeed50It be thy serious wish to make amendsFor that which thou hast done amiss,—this, thisWill touch and reconcile the Emperor,Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy,And Friedland, who returns repentant to him,55Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour,Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.

Wallenstein (contemplates him with surprise, remains silentawhile, betraying strong emotion).Gordon—your zeal and fervour lead you far.Well, well—an old friend has a privilege.Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never60Can the Emperor pardon me: and if he could,Yet I—I ne'er could let myself be pardoned.Had I foreknown what now has taken place,That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me,My first death-offering: and had the heart65Spoken to me, as now it has done—Gordon,It may be, I might have bethought myself.It may be too, I might not. Might or might not,Is now an idle question. All too seriouslyHas it begun to end in nothing, Gordon!70[803]Let it then have its course.[Stepping to the window.All dark and silent—at the castle tooAll is now hushed—Light me, Chamberlain!

[TheGroom of the Chamber,who had entered during the last dialogue, and had been standing at a distance and listening to it with visible expressions of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation, and throws himself at theDuke'sfeet.

And thou too! But I know why thou dost wishMy reconcilement with the Emperor.75Poor man! he hath a small estate in Cärnthen,And fears it will be forfeited becauseHe's in my service. Am I then so poor,That I no longer can indemnifyMy servants? Well! To no one I employ80Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy beliefThat fortune has fled from me, go! Forsake me.This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me,And then go over to thy Emperor.Gordon, good night! I think to make a long85Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoilOf this last day or two were great. May't please you!Take care that they awake me not too early.

[ExitWallenstein, theGroom of the Chamberlighting him.Senifollows.Gordonremains on the darkened stage, following theDukewith his eye, till he disappears at the farther end of the gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish, and stands leaning against a pillar.

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