University of Virginia Library

Scene XI

Illo, Wallenstein, Tertsky.
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 requisitions,
And are tumultuous.

Wallenstein.
How hath Isolan
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 Deodate?

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.

Tertsky.
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
To this belongs its own particular 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 honour they must give, their oaths,
Give them in writing to me, promising
Devotion to my service unconditional.

Illo.
Why not?

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

Wallenstein.
All unconditional!
No premises, no reserves.

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

Tertsky.
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' words of honour,
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, 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 shew yourself
In earnest, and with some decisive action
Make trial of your luck?

Wallenstein.
The signatures!
Gain me the signatures.

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 around you,
Their kinglike 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.

Tertsky.
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. O, 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 understand'st. 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 that subterrestrial, who with wan,
Lead-coloured 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.