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Thou speakest WALLENSTEIN (rises and strides across the saloon).
Of Piccolomini. What was his death? The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber. The courier had just left thee as I came. COUNTESS.
(WALLENSTEIN by a motion of his hand makes signs Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee!
to her to be silent. WALLENSTEIN (moves to the window). Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view, There is a busy motion in the Heaven,
Let us look forward into sunny days, The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower,
Welcome with joyous heart the victory, Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle' of the moon, Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day, Struggling, darts spatches of uncertain light.
For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead; No form of star is visible! That one
To thee he died, when first he parted from thee. White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder,
WALLENSTEIN. Is from Cassiopeia, and therein
This anguish will be wearied down,' I know; Is Jupiter. (A pause). But now
What pang is permanent with man? From the highest, The blackness of the troubled element hides him! As from the vilest thing of every day [lle sinks into profound melancholy, and looks va
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours cantly into the distance.
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost COUNTESS (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his In him. The bloom is vanish'd from my life. hand).
For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transform'd for me the real to a dream,
Clothing the palpable and the familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, He is the star of my nativity,
The beautiful is vanish'd-and returns not. And often marvellously hath his aspect
O be not treacherous to thy own power.
Thy heart is rich enough to vivify
Thou 'lt see him again. Itself. Thou lovest and prizest virtues in him, WALLENSTEIN (remains for a while with absent mind, The which thyself didst plant, thyself unfold. then assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly
WALLENSTEIN (stepping to the door). to the Countess).
Who interrupts us now at this late hour ? See him again? O never, never again!
It is the Governor. He brings the keys
Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister!
O't is so hard to me this night to leave thee-
A boding fear possesses me!
Shouldst thou depart this night, and we at waking He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finish'd!
Never more find thee! For him there is no longer any future,
WALLENSTEIN. His life is bright-bright without spot it was,
Fancies! And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
COUNTESS. Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap.
O my soul Far off is he, above desire and fear;
Has long been weigh'd down by these dark forebodings. No more submitted to the change and chance
And if I combat and repel them waking, Of the unsteady planets. O 't is well
They still rush down upon my heart in dreams, With him! but who knows what the coming hour
I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us?
Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired.
That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.
To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee
In thy own chamber. As I enter'd, lo! The word - moon-sickle,» reminds me of a passage in Harris, as It was no more a chamber : the Chartreuse quoted by Johnson, under the word « falated. The enlightened At Gitschin 't was, which thou thyself hast founded, part of the moon appears in the form of a sicklo or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the fall : but from full to a new again, the
"A very inadequate translation of the original. enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated.
Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,
What does not man grieve down?
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER.
And where it is thy will that thou shouldst be
I hear a boisterous music! and the Castle
Is lighted up. Who are the revellers ?
There is a banquet given at the Castle
In honour of the victory—This tribe
Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting. Yet I would not call them
[Rings. The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER enters. Voices of warning that announce to us
Unrube me. I will lay me down to sleep. Only the inevitable. As the sun,
(WALLENSTEIN takes the keys from GORDON. Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image
So we are guarded from all enemies, In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits
And shut in with sure friends. Of great events stride on before the events,
For all must cheat me, or a face like this And in to-day already walks 10-morrow.
[Fixing his eye on Gordon. That which we read of the fourth Henry's death Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask. Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale
[The Groom OF THE CHAMBER takes off his mantle, Of my own future destiny. The king
collar, and scarf. Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife,
WALLENSTEIN. Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.
Take care--what is that? His quiet mind forsook liim: the phantasma Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth Into the open air : like funeral knelis
The golden chain is snapped in two. Sounded that coronation festival;
WALLENSTEIN. And still with boding sense he heard the tread
Well, it has lasted long enough. Here-give it. Of those feel that even then were seeking him
[He takes and looks at the chain. Throughout the streets of Paris.
'T was the first present of the Emperor.
He hung it round me in the war of Friule,
He being then Archduke; and I have worn it
Till now from habit-
From superstition, if you will. Belike,
Nothing It was to be a Talisman to me; Be wholly tranquil.
And while I wore it on my
neck in faith, COUNTESS.
It was to chain to me my
life long And another time
The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was.
Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune
(Groom OF THE CHAMBER retires with the vestments. When on a sudden did I feel myself
WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride across the Grasp'd from behind-the band was cold, that grasp'd
room, and stands at last before Gordon in a
posture of meditation. 'Twas thou, and thou didst kiss and there seem'd
How the old time relurns upon me! I
Behold myself once more at Burgau, where
We two were Pages of the Court together.
We oftentimes disputed: thy intention
Was ever good; but thou wert wont to play
The Moralist and Preacher, and wouldst rail at meWho standest now before me in the fulness
That I strove after things too high for me,
[She falls on his breast and weeps. Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams,
And still extol to me the golden mean.
-Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend Alphabets wound not-and he finds no hands.
To thy own self. See, it has made thee early
A superannuated man, and (but
my munificent stars will intervene) I bear about me my support and refuge.
Would let thee in some miserable corner
With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat,
And watches from the shore the lofty ship
Stranded amid the storm.
Art thou already
In harbour then, old man? Well! I am not.
SENI. The unconquer'd spirit drives me o'er life's billows;
Flee ere the day-break! My plaoks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly. Trust not thy person to the Swedes! Hope is my goddess still, and Youth my in mate;
WALLENSTEIN, And while we stand thus front to front almost,
What now I might presume to say, that the swift years
Is in thy thoughts? Have passed by powerless o'er my upblanched hair.
SENI (with louder voice). [lle moves with long strides across the Saloon, and i Trust not thy person to these Swedes. remains' on the opposite side over-against
What is it then? Who now persists in calling Fortune false?
SENI (still more urgently).
O wait not the arrival of these Swedes!
An evil near at hand is threatening thee Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.
From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror! Nothing is common in my destiny,
Near, near at band the net-work of perditionNor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares
Yea, even now 't is being cast around thee!
Baptista, thou art dreaming !--Fear befools thee.
Believe not that an empty fear deludes me.
Come, read it in the planetary aspects; The fountain of my fortune, wbich now stops
Read it thyself, that ruia threatens thee Repress'd and bound by some malicious star,
From false friends! Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.
From the falseness of my friends And yet remember I the good old proverb,
Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. • Let the night come before we praise the day. »
The warning should have come before! At present I would be slow from long continued fortune
I need no revelation from the stars
To know that.
Come and see! trust thine own eyes!
A fearful sign stands in the house of life-
An enemy; a fiend lurks close behind
Deliver not thyself up to these heathens,
To wage a war against our. holy church.
WALLENSTEIN (laughing gently).
The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now
I recollect. This junction with the Swedes To themselves injuries, so to alone
Did never please thee-lay thyself to sleep,
Baprista! Signs like these I do not fear.
GORDON (who during the whole of this dialogue has
shown marks of extreme agitution, and now turns to [After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued
My Duke and General! May 1 dare presume?
What if 't were no mere creation
And made that mouth its organ?
Ye 're both feverish!
How can mishap come to me from the Swedes ?
They sought this junction with me,'t is their interest. Is not that Seni? and beside himself,
GORDON (with difficulty suppressing his emotion). If one may trust his looks? What brings thee bitlier But what if the arrival of these SwedesAt this late hour, Baptista?
What if this were the very thing that wing'd
The ruin that is flying to your temples?
[Flings himself at his feet. On thy account
There is yet time, my Prince.
O hear him! hear him!
Gordon, BUTLER (at first behind the scenes).
BUTLER (not yet come into view of the stage). But this I say; he 'll find his own destruction
Here stand in silence till I give the signal. With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner
GORDON (starts up). Than weary down the valour of our spirit.
'T is he, he has already brought the murderers.
The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep.
What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him?
BUTLER (appears, but scarcely on the stage).
But then I break my oath to the Emperor; WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains If be escape and strengthen the enemy, silent awhile, betraying strong emotion). Do I not hereby call down on my head
All the dread consequences ? Gordon--your zeal and fervour lead far.
you Well, well- an old friend has a privilege. .
BUTLER (stepping forward). Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never
Hark! Who speaks there! Can the Emperor pardon me: and if he could, Yet I-I ne'er could let myself be pardon'd.
'T is better, I resign it to the hands Had I foreknown what now has taken place,
Of providence. For what am I, that I That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, . Should take upon myself so great a deed? My first death-offering : and had the heart
I have not murder'd him, if he be murder'd; Spoken to me, as now it has done-Gordon,
But all his rescue were my act and deed;
Mine-and whatever be the consequences,
I should know that voice. Let it then have its course.
[Stepping to the window. All dark and silent-at the castle too All is now hush'd-Light me, Chamberlain !
'T is Gordon. What do you want here? [The Groom of the Chamber, who had entered Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you ? during the last dialogue, and had been stand
Your hand bound up and in a scarf? ing at a distance and listening to it with vi
BUTLER. »sible expressions of the deepest interest, ad
'Tis wounded. vances in extreme agitation, and throws
That Illo fought as he was frantic, till
At last we threw him on the ground.
Is he in bed ?
Is he? speak.
He shall not perish! Not through you! The Heaven And then go over to thy Emperor.
See-'t is wounded !-
BUTLER. Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil
There is no need of
arm. Of this last day or two was great. May 't please you! Take care that they awake me not too early.
The most guilty (Exit Wallenstein, the Groom OF THE CHAMBER Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice. lighting him. Seni follows, GORDON remains
[The GROOM OF THE CHamber advances from the on the darkened stage, following the Duke
gallery with his finger on his mouth, comwith his eye, till he disappears at the farther
No! he shall dic awake.
COUNTESS TERTSKY (with a light).
Her bed-chamber is empty; she herself
Is no where to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watch'd by her, is missing. If she should
Be flown--But whither flown? We must call up
Every soul in the house. How will the Duke
Bear up against these worst had tidings? Q
The next moment
If that my husband now were but return'd
Home from the banquet!--Hark, I wonder whether
The Duke is still awake! I thought I heard
go Unhold me! What And listen at the door. Hark! what is that? Can that short respite profit him?
"T is hastening up the steps !
0-Time Works miracles. In one hour
SCENE VII. thousands
GORDON (rushes in out of breath).
'T is a mistake! His heart may change its purpose-some new tidings May come; some fortunate event, decisive,
'T is not the Swedes-Ye must proceed no further
Butler!-0 God! where is he? May fall from Heaven and rescue him. O what
GORDON (observing the Countess).
Countess ! Say--
You are come then from the castle? Where's my husHow precious every minute is!
band ? (He stamps on the floor.
GORDON (in an agony of affright).
Your husband !--Ask not !-- To the Duke--
You have discover'd to me-
On this moment
Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the Duke. I will not live to see the accursed deed!
While we are speaking--
(Calling loudly, Weak-hearted dotard!
Butler! Butler!. God! [Trumpets are heard in the distance.
Why, he is at the castle with my husband.
[BUTLER comes from the Gallery The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten! GORDON (rushes out).
'T was a mistake—'T is not the Swedes-it is 0, God of Mercy!
The Imperialist's Lieutenant-General
Has sent me hither—will be here himself
Instantly.-You must not proceed.
Too late. (GORDON dashes himself against the wall. Friend, it is time now to make larum.
O God of mercy!
What too late?
Who will be here himself 7 Octavio
[She rushes to the Gallery. Jesus Maria! BUTLER.
SCENE VIII. Burst the doors
open. [They rush over the body into the gallery-two (Servants run across the Stage full of terror. The whole
doors are heard to crash one after the other, Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses.) Voices deadened by the distance-Clash of
SENI (from the Gallery). arms—then all at once a profound silence. O bloody frightful deed!