University of Virginia Library

Scene VII

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 shew 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.
Well, then?
And in all else, of what kind and complexion
Was your reception at the court?
Hide nothing from me. How were you received?

Duchess.
O! my dear lord, all is not what it was.
A cankerworm, my lord, a cankerworm
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 honours were omitted,
No outward courtesy; but in the place
Of condescending, confidential kindness,
Familiar and endearing, there were given me
Only these honours and that solemn courtesy.
Ah! and the tenderness which was put on,
It was the guise of pity, not of favour.
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 ta'en 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.
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.
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 Lamormain
In sundry hints and—

Wallenstein.
Lamormain! what said he?

Duchess.
That you're accused of having daringly
O'erstepped the powers entrusted 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 that former one
Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg.
And people talk, said he, of—Ah!—

Wallenstein.
Proceed!

Duchess.
I cannot utter it!

Wallenstein.
Proceed!

Duchess.
They talk—

Wallenstein.
Well!

Duchess.
Of a second—

Wallenstein.
Second—

Duchess.
More disgraceful
—Dismission.

Wallenstein.
Talk they?
O! they force, they thrust me
With violence, against my own will, onward!

Duchess.
O! 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 that heart
It is your sovereign lord, your Emperor
Before whom you retreat. O let no longer
Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning
With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up
Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd 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 favour
Stand not before us?