University of Virginia Library

THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN

A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS

PREFACE OF THE TRANSLATOR TO THE FIRST EDITION

The two Dramas, Piccolomini, or the first part of Wallenstein, and Wallenstein, are introduced in the original manuscript by a Prelude in one Act, entitled Wallenstein's Camp. This is written in rhyme, and in nine-syllable verse, in the same lilting metre (if that expression may be permitted) with the second Eclogue of Spenser's Shepherd's Calendar.

This Prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not deficient in character; but to have translated it into prose, or into any other metre than that of the original, would have given a false notion both of its style and purport; to have translated it into the same metre would have been incompatible with a faithful adherence to the sense of the German, from the comparative poverty of our language in rhymes; and it would have been unadvisable from the incongruity of those lax verses with the present taste of the English Public. Schiller's intention seems to have been merely to have prepared his reader for the Tragedies by a lively picture of the laxity of discipline, and the mutinous dispositions of Wallenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a preliminary explanation. For these reasons it has been thought expedient not to translate it.

The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their conception of that author from the Robbers, and the Cabal and Love, plays in which the main interest is produced by the excitement of curiosity, and in which the curiosity is excited by terrible and extraordinary incident, will not have perused without some portion of disappointment the Dramas, which it has been my employment to translate. They should, however, reflect that these are Historical Dramas, taken from a popular German History; that we must therefore judge of them in some measure with the feelings of Germans; or by analogy, with the interest excited in us by similar Dramas in our own language. Few, I trust, would be rash or ignorant enough to compare Schiller with Shakspeare yet, merely as illustration, I would say

that we should proceed to the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, but from Richard the Second, or the three parts of Henry the Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an Historical Drama; and many prolix speeches are pardoned from characters, whose names and actions have formed the most amusing tales of our early life. On the other hand, there exist in these plays more individual beauties, more passages the excellence of which will bear reflection, than in the former productions of Schiller. The description of the Astrological Tower, and the reflections of the Young Lover, which follow it, form in the original a fine poem; and my translation must have been wretched indeed, if it can have wholly overclouded the beauties of the Scene in the first Act of the first Play between Questenberg, Max, and Octavio Piccolomini. If we except the Scene of the setting sun in the Robbers, I know of no part in Schiller's Plays which equals the whole of the first Scene of the fifth Act of the concluding Play. It would be unbecoming in me to be more diffuse on this subject. A Translator stands connected with the original Author by a certain law of subordination, which makes it more decorous to point out excellencies than defects: indeed he is not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his own labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an afterview of the original. Even in the first perusal of a work in any foreign language which we understand, we are apt to attribute to it more excellence than it really possesses from our own pleasurable sense of difficulty overcome without effect. Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because the Translator must give a brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception, from which such brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But the translator of a living Author is encumbered with additional inconveniences. If he render his original faithfully, as to the sense of each passage, he must necessarily destroy a considerable portion of the spirit; if he endeavour to give a work executed according to laws of compensation, he subjects himself to imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I have thought it my duty to remain bound by the sense of my original, with as few exceptions as the nature of the languages rendered possible.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

• Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in the Thirty Years' War.
• Duchess of Friedland, Wife of Wallenstein.
• Thekla, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland.
• The Countess Tertsky, Sister of the Duchess.
• Lady Neubrunn.
• Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant-General.
• Max Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers.
• Count Tertsky, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law of Wallenstein.
• Illo, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's confidant.
• Butler, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons.
• Gordon, Governor of Egra.
• Major Geraldin.
• Captain Devereux.
• Captain Macdonald.
• Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-Camp to Tertsky.
• Swedish Captain.
• Seni.
• Burgomaster of Egra.
• Anspessade of the Cuirassiers.
• Groom of the Chamber, belonging to the Duke.
• A Page, belonging to the Duke.
• Cuirassiers, Dragoons, Servants.

ACT I

Scene I

Scene—A Chamber in the House of the Duchess of Friedland.
Countess Tertsky, Thekla, Lady Neubrunn (the two latter sit at the same table at work).
Countess
(watching them from the opposite side).
[The Countess rises and advances to her.

Thekla.
To-day and yesterday I have not seen him.

Countess.
And not heard from him either? Come, be open!

Thekla.
No syllable.

Countess.
And still you are so calm?

Thekla.
I am.

Countess.
May't please you, leave us, Lady Neubrunn!

[Exit Lady Neubrunn.

Scene II

The Countess, Thekla.
Countess.
It does not please me, Princess! that he holds
Himself so still, exactly at this time.

Thekla.
Exactly at this time?

Countess.
He now knows all.
'Twere now the moment to declare himself.

Thekla.
If I'm to understand you, speak less darkly.

Countess.
'Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us.
Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart
Is now no more in nonage: for you love,
And boldness dwells with love—that you have proved.
Your nature moulds itself upon your father's
More than your mother's spirit. Therefore may you
Hear, what were too much for her fortitude.

Thekla.
Enough! no further preface, I entreat you.
At once, out with it! Be it what it may,
It is not possible that it should torture me
More than this introduction. What have you
To say to me? Tell me the whole and briefly!

Countess.
You'll not be frightened—

Thekla.
Name it, I entreat you.

Countess.
It lies within your power to do your father
A weighty service—

Thekla.
Lies within my power?

Countess.
Max Piccolomini loves you. You can link him
Indissolubly to your father.

Thekla.
I?
What need of me for that? And is he not
Already linked to him?

Countess.
He was.

Thekla.
And wherefore
Should he not be so now—not be so always?

Countess.
He cleaves to the Emperor too.

Thekla.
Not more than duty
And honour may demand of him.

Countess.
We ask
Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honour.
Duty and honour!
Those are ambiguous words with many meanings.
You should interpret them for him: his love
Should be the sole definer of his honour.

Thekla.
How?

Countess.
The Emperor or you must he renounce.

Thekla.
He will accompany my father gladly
In his retirement. From himself you heard,
How much he wished to lay aside the sword.

Countess.
He must not lay the sword aside, we mean;
He must unsheath it in your father's cause.

Thekla.
He'll spend with gladness and alacrity
His life, his heart's blood in my father's cause,
If shame or injury be intended him.

Countess.
You will not understand me. Well, hear then!
Your father has fallen off from the Emperor,
And is about to join the enemy
With the whole soldiery—

Thekla.
Alas, my mother!

Countess.
There needs a great example to draw on
The army after him. The Piccolomini
Possess the love and reverence of the troops;
They govern all opinions, and wherever
They lead the way, none hesitate to follow.
The son secures the father to our interests—
You've much in your hands at this moment.

Thekla.
Ah,
My miserable mother! what a death-stroke
Awaits thee!—No! She never will survive it.

Countess.
She will accommodate her soul to that
Which is and must be. I do know your mother.
The far-off future weights upon her heart
With torture of anxiety; but is it
Unalterably, actually present,
She soon resigns herself, and bears it calmly.

Thekla.
O my fore-boding bosom! Even now,
E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror!
And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp;
I knew it well—no sooner had I entered,
A heavy ominous presentiment
Revealed to me, that spirits of death were hovering
Over my happy fortune. But why think I
First of myself? My mother! O my mother!

Countess.
Calm yourself! Break not out in vain lamenting!
Preserve you for your father the firm friend,
And for yourself the lover, all will yet
Prove good and fortunate.

Thekla.
Prove good? What good?
Must we not part? Part ne'er to meet again?

Countess.
He parts not from you! He can not part from you.

Thekla.
Alas for his sore anguish! It will rend
His heart asunder.

Countess.
If indeed he loves you,
His resolution will be speedily taken.

Thekla.
His resolution will be speedily taken—
O do not doubt of that! A resolution!
Does there remain one to be taken?

Countess.
Hush!
Collect yourself! I hear your mother coming.

Thekla.
How shall I bear to see her?

Countess.
Collect yourself.

Scene III

To them enter the Duchess.
Duchess
(to the Countess).
Who was here, sister? I heard some one talking,
And passionately too.

Countess.
Nay! There was no one.

Duchess.
I am grown so timorous, every trifling noise
Scatters my spirits, and announces to me
The footstep of some messenger of evil.
And can you tell me, sister, what the event is?
Will he agree to do the Emperor's pleasure,
And send the horse-regiments to the Cardinal?
Tell me, has he dismissed Von Questenberg
With a favourable answer?

Countess.
No, he has not.

Duchess.
Alas! then all is lost! I see it coming,
The worst that can come! Yes, they will depose him;
The accurséd business of the Regenspurg diet
Will all be acted o'er again!

Countess.
No! never!
Make your heart easy, sister, as to that.

[Thekla throws herself upon her mother, and enfolds her in her arms, weeping.
Duchess.
Yes, my poor child!
Thou too hast lost a most affectionate godmother
In the Empress. O that stern unbending man!
In this unhappy marriage what have I
Not suffered, not endured. For ev'n as if
I had been linked on to some wheel of fire
That restless, ceaseless, whirls impetuous onward,
I have passed a life of frights and horrors with him,
And ever to the brink of some abyss
With dizzy headlong violence he whirls me.
Nay, do not weep, my child! Let not my sufferings
Presignify unhappiness to thee,
Nor blacken with their shade the fate that waits thee.
There lives no second Friedland: thou, my child,
Hast not to fear thy mother's destiny.

Thekla.
O let us supplicate him, dearest mother!
Quick! quick! here's no abiding-place for us.
Here every coming hour broods into life
Some new affrightful monster.

Duchess.
Thou wilt share
An easier, calmer lot, my child! We too,
I and thy father, witnessed happy days.
Still think I with delight of those first years,
When he was making progress with glad effort,
When his ambition was a genial fire,
Not that consuming flame which now it is.
The Emperor loved him, trusted him: and all
He undertook could not but be successful.
But since that ill-starred day at Regenspurg,
Which plunged him headlong from his dignity,
A gloomy uncompanionable spirit,
Unsteady and suspicious, has possessed him.
His quiet mind forsook him, and no longer
Did he yield up himself in joy and faith
To his old luck, and individual power;
But thenceforth turned his heart and best affections
All to those cloudy sciences, which never
Have yet made happy him who followed them.

Countess.
You see it, sister! as your eyes permit you.
But surely this is not the conversation
To pass the time in which we are waiting for him.
You know he will be soon here. Would you have him
Find her in this condition?

Duchess.
Come, my child!
Come, wipe away thy tears, and shew thy father
A cheerful countenance. See, the tie-knot here
Is off—this hair must not hang so dishevelled.
Come, dearest! dry thy tears up. They deform
Thy gentle eye—well now—what was I saying?
Yes, in good truth, this Piccolomini
Is a most noble and deserving gentleman.

Countess.
That is he, sister!

Thekla
(to the Countess).
Aunt, you will excuse me?

[Is going.
Countess.
But whither? See, your father comes.

Thekla.
I cannot see him now.

Countess.
Nay, but bethink you.

Thekla.
Believe me, I cannot sustain his presence.

Countess.
But he will miss you, will ask after you.

Duchess.
What now? Why is she going?

Countess.
She's not well.

Duchess.
What ails then my beloved child?

[Both follow the Princess, and endeavour to detain her. During this Wallenstein appears, engaged in conversation with Illo.

Scene IV

Wallenstein, Illo, Countess, Duchess, Thekla.
Wallenstein.
All quiet in the camp?

Illo.
It is all quiet.

Wallenstein.
In a few hours may couriers come from Prague
With tidings, that this capital is ours.
Then we may drop the mask, and to the troops
Assembled in this town make known the measure
And its result together. In such cases
Example does the whole. Whoever is foremost
Still leads the herd. An imitative creature
Is man. The troops at Prague conceive no other,
Than that the Pilsen army has gone through
The forms of homage to us; and in Pilsen
They shall swear fealty to us, because
The example has been given them by Prague.
Butler, you tell me, has declared himself.

Illo.
At his own bidding, unsolicited,
He came to offer you himself and regiment.

Wallenstein.
I find we must not give implicit credence
To every warning voice that makes itself
Be listened to in the heart. To hold us back,
Oft does the lying spirit counterfeit
The voice of Truth and inward Revelation,
Scattering false oracles. And thus have I
To intreat forgiveness, for that secretly
I've wrong'd this honourable gallant man,
This Butler: for a feeling, of the which
I am not master (fear I would not call it),
Creeps o'er me instantly, with sense of shuddering,
At his approach, and stops love's joyous motion.
And this same man, against whom I am warned,
This honest man is he, who reaches to me
The first pledge of my fortune.

Illo.
And doubt not
That his example will win over to you
The best men in the army.

Wallenstein.
Go and send
Isolani hither. Send him immediately.
He is under recent obligations to me.
With him will I commence the trial. Go.

[Illo exit.
Wallenstein
(turns himself round to the females).
Lo, there the mother with the darling daughter!
For once we'll have an interval of rest—
Come! my heart yearns to live a cloudless hour
In the beloved circle of my family.

Countess.
'Tis long since we've been thus together, brother.

Wallenstein
(to the Countess aside).
Can she sustain the news? Is she prepared?

Countess.
Not yet.

Wallenstein.
Come here, my sweet girl! Seat thee by me,
For there is a good spirit on thy lips.
Thy mother praised to me thy ready skill:
She says a voice of melody dwells in thee,
Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice
Will drive away from me the evil demon
That beats his black wings close above my head.

Duchess.
Where is thy lute, my daughter? Let thy father
Hear some small trial of thy skill.

Thekla.
My mother!
I—

Duchess.
Trembling? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer
Thy father.

Thekla.
O my mother! I—I cannot.

Countess.
How, what is that, niece?

Thekla
(to the Countess).
O spare me—sing—now—in this sore anxiety,
Of the o'erburthen'd soul—to sing to him,
Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong
Into her grave!

Duchess.
How, Thekla? Humoursome?
What! shall thy father have expressed a wish
In vain?

Countess.
Here is the lute.

Thekla.
My God! how can I—

[The orchestra plays. During the ritornello Thekla expresses in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings: and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument down, and retires abruptly.
Duchess.
My child! O she is ill—

Wallenstein.
What ails the maiden?
Say, is she often so?

Countess.
Since then herself
Has now betrayed it, I too must no longer
Conceal it.

Wallenstein.
What?

Countess.
She loves him!

Wallenstein.
Loves him! Whom?

Countess.
Max does she love! Max Piccolomini.
Hast thou ne'er noticed it? Nor yet my sister?

Duchess.
Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart?
God's blessing on thee, my sweet child! Thou needest
Never take shame upon thee for thy choice.

Countess.
This journey, if 'twere not thy aim, ascribe it
To thine own self. Thou shouldest have chosen another
To have attended her.

Wallenstein.
And does he know it?

Countess.
Yes, and he hopes to win her.

Wallenstein.
Hopes to win her!
Is the boy mad?

Countess.
Well—hear it from themselves.

Wallenstein.
He thinks to carry off Duke Friedland's daughter!
Aye?—The thought pleases me.
The young man has no grovelling spirit.

Countess.
Since
Such and such constant favour you have shewn him—

Wallenstein.
He chooses finally to be my heir.
And true it is, I love the youth; yea, honour him.
But must he therefore be my daughter's husband!
Is it daughters only? Is it only children
That we must shew our favour by?

Duchess.
His noble disposition and his manners—

Wallenstein.
Win him my heart, but not my daughter.

Duchess.
Then
His rank, his ancestors—

Wallenstein.
Ancestors! What?
He is a subject, and my son-in-law
I will seek out upon the thrones of Europe.

Duchess.
O dearest Albrecht! Climb we not too high,
Lest we should fall too low.

Wallenstein.
What? have I paid
A price so heavy to ascend this eminence,
And jut out high above the common herd,
Only to close the mighty part I play
In Life's great drama, with a common kinsman?
Have I for this— [pause.]
She is the only thing
That will remain behind of me on earth;
And I will see a crown around her head,
Or die in the attempt to place it there.
I hazard all—all! and for this alone,
To lift her into greatness—
Yea, in this moment, in the which we are speaking—
[pause.
And I must now, like a soft-hearted father,
Couple together in good peasant fashion
The pair, that chance to suit each other's liking—
And I must do it now, even now, when I
Am stretching out the wreath that is to twine
My full accomplished work—no! she is the jewel,
Which I have treasured long, my last, my noblest,
And 'tis my purpose not to let her from me
For less than a king's sceptre.

Duchess.
O my husband!
You're ever building, building to the clouds,
Still building higher, and still higher building,
And ne'er reflect, that the poor narrow basis
Cannot sustain the giddy tottering column.

Wallenstein
(to the Countess).
Have you announced the place of residence
Which I have destined for her?

Countess.
No! not yet.
'Twere better you yourself disclosed it to her.

Duchess.
How? Do we not return to Karn then?

Wallenstein.
No.

Duchess.
And to no other of your lands or seats?

Wallenstein.
You would not be secure there.

Duchess.
Not secure
In the Emperor's realms, beneath the Emperor's
Protection?

Wallenstein.
Friedland's wife may be permitted
No longer to hope that.

Duchess.
O God in heaven!
And have you brought it even to this?

Wallenstein.
In Holland
You'll find protection.

Duchess.
In a Lutheran country?
What? And you send us into Lutheran countries?

Wallenstein.
Duke Franz of Lauenburg conducts you thither.

Duchess.
Duke Franz of Lauenburg?
The ally of Sweden, the Emperor's enemy.

Wallenstein.
The Emperor's enemies are mine no longer.

Duchess
(casting a look of terror on the Duke and the Countess).
Is it then true? It is. You are degraded?
Deposed from the command? O God in heaven!

Countess
(aside to the Duke).
Leave her in this belief. Thou seest she cannot
Support the real truth.

Scene V

To them enter Count Tertsky.
Countess.
—Tertsky!
What ails him? What an image of affright!
He looks as he had seen a ghost.

Tertsky
(leading Wallenstein aside).
Is it thy command that all the Croats—

Wallenstein.
Mine!

Tertsky.
We are betrayed.

Wallenstein.
What?

Tertsky.
They are off! This night
The Jägers likewise—all the villages
In the whole round are empty.

Wallenstein.
Isolani?

Tertsky.
Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely.

Wallenstein.
I?

Tertsky.
No! Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodate?
They are vanished both of them.

Scene VI

To them enter Illo.
Illo.
Has Tertsky told thee?

Tertsky.
He knows all.

Illo.
And likewise
That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz,
Kolatto, Palfi, have forsaken thee?

Tertsky.
Damnation!

Wallenstein
(winks at them).
Hush!

Countess
(who has been watching them anxiously from the distance and now advances to them).
Tertsky! Heaven! What is it? What has happened?

Wallenstein
(scarcely suppressing his emotions).
Nothing! let us be gone!

Tertsky
(following him).
Theresa, it is nothing.

Countess
(holding him back).
Nothing? Do I not see, that all the lifeblood
Has left your cheeks—look you not like a ghost?
That even my brother but affects a calmness?

Page
(enters).
An Aid-de-Camp enquires for the Count Tertsky.

[Tertsky follows the Page.
Wallenstein.
[To Illo.

Illo.
'Twas Tiefenbach.

Wallenstein.
[Illo is going.

Illo.
Him I met.
He will be here himself immediately.
Butler remains unshaken.

[Illo exit. Wallenstein is following him.
Countess.
Let him not leave thee, sister! go, detain him!
There's some misfortune.

Duchess
(clinging to him).
Gracious heaven! What is it?

Wallenstein.
Be tranquil! leave me, sister! dearest wife!
We are in camp, and this is nought unusual;
Here storm and sunshine follow one another
With rapid interchanges. These fierce spirits
Champ the curb angrily, and never yet
Did quiet bless the temples of the leader.
If I am to stay, go you. The plaints of women
Ill suit the scene where men must act.

[He is going: Tertsky returns.
Tertsky.
Remain here. From this window must we see it.

Wallenstein
(to the Countess).
Sister, retire!

Countess.
No—never.

Wallenstein.
'Tis my will.

Tertsky
(leads the Countess aside, and drawing her attention to the Duchess).
Theresa!

Duchess.
Sister, come! since he commands it.

Scene VII

Wallenstein, Tertsky.
Wallenstein
(stepping to the window).
What now, then?

Tertsky.
There are strange movements among all the troops,
And no one knows the cause. Mysteriously,
With gloomy silentness, the several corps
Marshal themselves, each under its own banners.
Tiefenbach's corps makes threatening movements; only
The Pappenheimers still remain aloof
In their own quarters, and let no one enter.

Wallenstein.
Does Piccolomini appear among them?

Tertsky.
We are seeking him: he is no where to be met with.

Wallenstein.
What did the Aid-de-Camp deliver to you?

Tertsky.
My regiments had dispatched him; yet once more
They swear fidelity to thee, and wait
The shout for onset, all prepared, and eager.

Wallenstein.
But whence arose this larum in the camp?
It should have been kept secret from the army,
Till fortune had decided for us at Prague.

Tertsky.
O that thou hadst believed me! Yester evening
Did we conjure thee not to let that skulker,
That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen.
Thou gav'st him thy own horses to flee from thee.

Wallenstein.
The old tune still! Now, once for all, no more
Of this suspicion—it is doting folly.

Tertsky.
Thou did'st confide in Isolani too;
And lo! he was the first that did desert thee.

Wallenstein.
It was but yesterday I rescued him
From abject wretchedness. Let that go by.
I never reckon'd yet on gratitude.
And wherein doth he wrong in going from me?
He follows still the god whom all his life
He has worshipped at the gaming table. With
My Fortune, and my seeming destiny,
He made the bond, and broke it not with me.
I am but the ship in which his hopes were stowed,
And with the which well-pleased and confident
He traversed the open sea; now he beholds it
In imminent jeopardy among the coast-rocks,
And hurries to preserve his wares. As light
As the free bird from the hospitable twig
Where it had nested, he flies off from me:
No human tie is snapped betwixt us two.
Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived,
Who seeks a heart in the unthinking man.
Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life
Impress their characters on the smooth forehead,
Nought sinks into the bosom's silent depth:
Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure
Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul
Warmeth the inner frame.

Tertsky.
Yet, would I rather
Trust the smooth brow than that deep furrowed one.

Scene VIII

Wallenstein, Tertsky, Illo.
Illo.
Treason and mutiny!

Tertsky.
And what further now?

Illo.
Tiefenbach's soldiers, when I gave the orders
To go off guard—Mutinous villains!

Tertsky.
Well!

Wallenstein.
What followed?

Illo.
They refused obedience to them.

Tertsky.
Fire on them instantly! Give out the order.

Wallenstein.
Gently! what cause did they assign?

Illo.
No other,
They said, had right to issue orders but
Lieutenant-General Piccolomini.

Wallenstein.
What? How is that?

Illo.
He takes that office on him by commission,
Under sign-manual of the Emperor.

Tertsky.
From the Emperor—hear'st thou, Duke?

Illo.
At his incitement
The Generals made that stealthy flight—

Tertsky.
Duke! hearest thou?

Illo.
Caraffa too, and Montecuculi,
Are missing, with six other Generals,
All whom he had induced to follow him.
This plot he has long had in writing by him
From the Emperor; but 'twas finally concluded
With all the detail of the operation
Some days ago with the Envoy Questenberg.

[Wallenstein sinks down into a chair and covers his face.
Tertsky.
O hadst thou but believed me!

Scene IX

To them enter the Countess.
Countess.
This suspense,
This horrid fear—I can no longer bear it.
For heaven's sake, tell me, what has taken place.

Illo.
The regiments are all falling off from us.

Tertsky.
Octavio Piccolomini is a traitor.

Countess.
O my foreboding!

[Rushes out of the room.
Tertsky.
Hadst thou but believed me!
Now seest thou how the stars have lied to thee.

Wallenstein.
The stars lie not; but we have here a work
Wrought counter to the stars and destiny.
The science is still honest: this false heart
Forces a lie on the truth-telling heaven.
On a divine law divination rests;
Where nature deviates from that law, and stumbles
Out of her limits, there all science errs.
True, I did not suspect! Were it superstition
Never by such suspicion t' have affronted
The human form, O may that time ne'er come
In which I shame me of the infirmity.
The wildest savage drinks not with the victim
Into whose breast he means to plunge the sword.
This, this, Octavio, was no hero's deed:
'Twas not thy prudence that did conquer mine;
A bad heart triumphed o'er an honest one.
No shield received the assassin stroke; thou plungest
Thy weapon on an unprotected breast—
Against such weapons I am but a child.

Scene X

To these enter Butler.
Tertsky
(meeting him).
O look there! Butler! Here we've still a friend!

Wallenstein
(meets him with outspread arms, and embraces him with warmth).
Come to my heart, old comrade! Not the sun
Looks out upon us more revivingly
In the earliest month of spring,
Than a friend's countenance in such an hour.

Butler.
My General: I come—

Wallenstein
(leaning on Butler's shoulders).
Know'st thou already?
That old man has betrayed me to the Emperor.
What say'st thou? Thirty years have we together
Lived out, and held out, sharing joy and hardship.
We have slept in one camp-bed, drunk from one glass,
One morsel shared! I leaned myself on him,
As now I lean me on thy faithful shoulder.
And now in the very moment, when, all love,
All confidence, my bosom beat to his,
He sees and takes the advantage, stabs the knife
Slowly into my heart.

[He hides his face on Butler's breast.
Butler.
Forget the false one.
What is your present purpose?

Wallenstein.
Well remembered!
Courage my soul! I am still rich in friends,
Still loved by Destiny; for in the moment,
That it unmasks the plotting hypocrite,
It sends and proves to me one faithful heart.
Of the hypocrite no more! Think not, his loss
Was that which struck the pang: O no! his treason
Is that which strikes this pang! No more of him!
Dear to my heart, and honoured were they both,
And the young man—yes—he did truly love me,
He—he—has not deceived me. But enough,
Enough of this—Swift counsel now beseems us.
The Courier, whom Count Kinsky sent from Prague
I expect him every moment: and whatever
He may bring with him, we must take good care
To keep it from the mutineers. Quick, then!
Dispatch some messenger you can rely on
To meet him, and conduct him to me.

[Illo is going.
Butler
(detaining him).
My General, whom expect you then?

Wallenstein.
The Courier
Who brings me word of the event at Prague.

Butler
(hesitating).
Hem!

Wallenstein.
And what now?

Butler.
You do not know it?

Wallenstein.
Well?

Butler.
From what that larum in the camp arose?

Wallenstein.
From what?

Butler.
That Courier.

Wallenstein.
Well?

Butler.
Is already here.

Tertsky and Illo
(at the same time).
Already here?

Wallenstein.
My Courier?

Butler.
For some hours.

Wallenstein.
And I not know it?

Butler.
The centinels detain him
In custody.

Illo.
Damnation!

Butler.
And his letter
Was broken open, and is circulated
Through the whole camp.

Wallenstein.
You know what it contains?

Butler.
Question me not.

Tertsky.
Illo! alas for us.

Wallenstein.
Hide nothing from me—I can hear the worst.
Prague then is lost. It is. Confess it freely.

Butler.
Yes! Prague is lost. And all the several regiments
At Budweiss, Tabor, Brannau, Konigingratz,
At Brun and Znaym, have forsaken you,
And ta'en the oaths of fealty anew
To the Emperor. Yourself, with Kinsky, Tertsky,
And Illo have been sentenced.

[Tertsky and Illo express alarm and fury. Wallenstein remains firm and collected.
Wallenstein.
'Tis decided!
'Tis well! I have received a sudden cure
From all the pangs of doubt: with steady stream
Once more my life-blood flows! My soul's secure!
In the night only Friedland's stars can beam.
Lingering irresolute, with fitful fears
I drew the sword—'twas with an inward strife,
While yet the choice was mine. The murderous knife
Is lifted for my heart! Doubt disappears!
I fight now for my head and for my life.

[Exit Wallenstein; the others follow him.

Scene XI

Countess Tertsky
(enters from a side room).
[Looks around her.

Scene XII

Countess, Duchess, Thekla.
Thekla
(endeavouring to hold back the Duchess).
Dear mother, do stay here!

Duchess.
No! Here is yet
Some frightful mystery that is hidden from me.
Why does my sister shun me? Don't I see her
Full of suspense and anguish roam about
From room to room?—Art thou not full of terror?
And what import these silent nods and gestures
Which stealthwise thou exchangest with her?

Thekla.
Nothing:
Nothing, dear Mother!

Duchess
(to the Countess).
Sister, I will know.

Countess.
What boots it now to hide it from her? Sooner
Or later she must learn to hear and bear it.
'Tis not the time now to indulge infirmity,
Courage beseems us now, a heart collected,
And exercise and previous discipline
Of fortitude. One word, and over with it!
Sister, you are deluded. You believe,
The Duke has been deposed—The Duke is not
Deposed—he is—

Thekla
(going to the Countess).
What? do you wish to kill her?

Countess.
The Duke is—

Thekla
(throwing her arms round her mother).
O stand firm! stand firm, my mother!

Countess.
Revolted is the Duke, he is preparing
To join the enemy, the army leave him,
And all has failed.

ACT II

Scene I

Scene—A spacious Room in the Duke of Friedland's Palace.
Wallensten
(in armour).
(Illo and Tertsky enter.)

Scene II

Wallenstein, Illo, Tertsky. (To them enter Neumann, who leads Tertsky aside, and talks with him.)
Tertsky.
What do they want?

Wallenstein.
What now?

Tertsky.
Ten Cuirassiers
From Pappenheim request leave to address you
In the name of the regiment.

Wallenstein
(hastily to Neumann).
Let them enter.
[Exit Neumann.
This
May end in something. Mark you. They are still
Doubtful, and may be won.

Scene III

Wallenstein, Tertsky, Illo, Ten Cuirassiers (led by an Anspessade, march up and arrange themselves, after the word of command, in one front before the Duke, and make their obeisance. He takes his hat off, and immediately covers himself again).
Anspessade.

Halt! Front! Present!

Wallenstein
(after he has run through them with his eye, to the Anspessade).

I know thee well. Thou art out of Brüggin in Flanders: Thy name is Mercy.

Anspessade.

Henry Mercy.

Wallenstein.

Thou wert cut off on the march. surrounded by the Hessians, and didst fight thy way with a hundred and eighty men through their thousand.

Anspessade.

'Twas even so, General!

Wallenstein.

What reward hadst thou for this gallant exploit?

Anspessade.

That which I asked for: the honour to serve in this corps.

Wallenstein
(turning to a second).

Thou wert among the

volunteers that seized and made booty of the Swedish battery at Altenburg.

Second Cuirassier.

Yes, General!

Wallenstein.

I forget no one with whom I have exchanged words. (A pause).
Who sends you?

Anspessade.

Your noble regiment, the Cuirassiers of Piccolomini.

Wallenstein.

Why does not your colonel deliver in your request, according to the custom of service?

Anspessade.

Because we would first know whom we serve.

Wallenstein.

Begin your address.

Anspessade
(giving the word of command).

Shoulder your arms!

Wallenstein
(turning to a third).

Thy name is Risbeck, Cologne is thy birthplace.

Third Cuirassier.

Risbeck of Cologne.

Wallenstein.

It was thou that broughtest in the Swedish colonel, Diebald, prisoner, in the camp at Nuremberg.

Third Cuirassier.

It was not I, General!

Wallenstein.

Perfectly right! It was thy elder brother: thou hadst a younger brother too: Where did he stay?

Third Cuirassier.

He is stationed at Olmutz with the Imperial army.

Wallenstein
(to the Anspessade).

Now then—begin.

Anspessade.
There came to hand a letter from the Emperor
Commanding us—

Wallenstein.
Who chose you?

Anspessade.
Every company
Drew its own man by lot.

Wallenstein.
Now! to the business.

Anspessade.
There came to hand a letter from the Emperor
Commanding us collectively, from thee
All duties of obedience to withdraw,
Because thou wert an enemy and traitor.

Wallenstein.
And what did you determine?

Anspessade.
All our comrades
At Brannau, Budweiss, Prague and Olmutz, have
Obeyed already, and the regiments here,
Tiefenbach and Toscana, instantly
Did follow their example. But—but we
Do not believe that thou art an enemy
And traitor to thy country, hold it merely
For lie and trick, and a trumped-up Spanish story!
Thyself shalt tell us what thy purpose is,
For we have found thee still sincere and true:
No mouth shall interpose itself betwixt
The gallant General and the gallant troops.

Wallenstein.
Therein I recognize my Pappenheimers.

Anspessade.
And this proposal makes thy regiment to thee:
Is it thy purpose merely to preserve
In thy own hands this military sceptre,
Which so becomes thee, which the Emperor
Made over to thee by a covenant?
Is it thy purpose merely to remain
Supreme commander of the Austrian armies?—
We will stand by thee, General! and guarantee
Thy honest rights against all opposition.
And should it chance, that all the other regiments
Turn from thee, by ourselves will we stand forth
Thy faithful soldiers, and, as is our duty,
Far rather let ourselves be cut to pieces,
Than suffer thee to fall. But if it be
As the Emperor's letter says, if it be true,
That thou in traitorous wise wilt lead us over
To the enemy, which God in heaven forbid!
Then we too will forsake thee, and obey
That letter—

Wallenstein.
Hear me, children!

Anspessade.
Yes, or no!
There needs no other answer.

Wallenstein.
Yield attention.
You're men of sense, examine for yourselves;
Ye think, and do not follow with the herd:
And therefore have I always shewn you honour
Above all others, suffered you to reason;
Have treated you as free men, and my orders
Were but the echoes of your prior suffrage.—

Anspessade.
Most fair and noble has thy conduct been
To us, my General! With thy confidence
Thou hast honoured us, and shewn us grace and favour
Beyond all other regiments; and thou seest
We follow not the common herd. We will
Stand by thee faithfully. Speak but one word—
Thy word shall satisfy us, that it is not
A treason which thou meditatest—that
Thou meanest not to lead the army over
To the enemy; nor e'er betray thy country.

Wallenstein.
Me, me are they betraying. The Emperor
Hath sacrificed me to my enemies,
And I must fall, unless my gallant troops
Will rescue me. See! I confide in you.
And be your hearts my strong hold! At this breast
The aim is taken, at this hoary head.
This is your Spanish gratitude, this is our
Requital for that murderous fight at Lutzen!
For this we threw the naked breast against
The halbert, made for this the frozen earth
Our bed, and the hard stone our pillow! never stream
Too rapid for us, nor wood too impervious:
With cheerful spirit we pursued that Mansfield
Through all the turns and windings of his flight;
Yea, our whole life was but one restless march;
And homeless, as the stirring wind, we travelled
O'er the war-wasted earth. And now, even now,
That we have well-nigh finished the hard toil,
The unthankful, the curse-laden toil of weapons,
With faithful indefatigable arm
Have rolled the heavy war-load up the hill,
Behold! this boy of the Emperor's bears away
The honours of the peace, an easy prize!
He'll weave, forsooth, into his flaxen locks
The olive branch, the hard-earn'd ornament
Of this grey head, grown grey beneath the helmet.

Anspessade.
That shall he not, while we can hinder it!
No one, but thou, who hast conducted it
With fame, shall end this war, this frightful war.
Thou led'st us out into the bloody field
Of death, thou and no other shalt conduct us home,
Rejoicing, to the lovely plains of peace—
Shalt share with us the fruits of the long toil—

Wallenstein.
[The Cuirassiers express agitation by their gestures.

Anspessade.
'Tis then but mere appearances which thou
Dost put on with the Swede? Thou'lt not betray
The Emperor? Wilt not turn us into Swedes?
This is the only thing which we desire
To learn from thee.

Wallenstein.
What care I for the Swedes?
I hate them as I hate the pit of hell,
And under Providence I trust right soon
To chase them to their homes across their Baltic.
My cares are only for the whole: I have
A heart—it bleeds within me for the miseries
And piteous groaning of my fellow-Germans.
Ye are but common men, but yet ye think
With minds not common; ye appear to me
Worthy before all others, that I whisper ye
A little word or two in confidence!
See now! already for full fifteen years
The war-torch has continued burning, yet
No rest, no pause of conflict. Swede and German,
Papist and Lutheran! neither will give way
To the other, every hand's against the other.
Each one is party and no one a judge.
Where shall this end? Where's he that will unravel
This tangle, ever tangling more and more.
It must be cut asunder.
I feel that I am the man of destiny,
And trust, with your assistance, to accomplish it.

Scene IV

To these enter Butler.
Butler
(passionately).
General! This is not right!

Wallenstein.
What is not right?

Butler.
It must needs injure us with all honest men.

Wallenstein.
But what?

Butler.
It is an open proclamation
Of insurrection.

Wallenstein.
Well, well—but what is it?

Butler.
Count Tertsky's regiments tear the Imperial Eagle
From off the banners, and instead of it,
Have reared aloft thy arms.

Anspessade
(abruptly to the Cuirassiers).
Right about! March!

Wallenstein.
Cursed be this counsel, and accursed who gave it!
[To the Cuirassiers, who are retiring.
Halt, children, halt! There's some mistake in this;
Hark!—I will punish it severely. Stop!
They do not hear. (To Illo.)
Go after them, assure them,
And bring them back to me, cost what it may.
[Illo hurries out.
This hurls us headlong. Butler! Butler!
You are my evil genius, wherefore must you
Announce it in their presence? It was all
In a fair way. They were half won, those madmen
With their improvident over-readiness—
A cruel game is fortune playing with me.
The zeal of friends it is that razes me,
And not the hate of enemies.

Scene V

To these enter the Duchess, who rushes into the Chamber. Thekla and the Countess follow her.
Duchess.
O Albrecht!
What hast thou done?

Wallenstein.
And now comes this beside.

Countess.
Forgive me, brother! It was not in my power.
They know all.

Duchess.
What hast thou done?

Countess
(to Tertsky).
Is there no hope? Is all lost utterly?

Tertsky.
All lost. No hope. Prague in the Emperor's hands,
The soldiery have ta'en their oaths anew.

Countess.
That lurking hypocrite. Octavio!
Count Max is off too?

Tertsky.
Where can he be? He's
Gone over to the Emperor with his father.

[Thekla rushes out into the arms of her mother, hiding her face in her bosom.
Duchess
(enfolding her in her arms).
Unhappy child! and more unhappy mother!

Wallenstein
(aside to Tertsky).
Quick! Let a carriage stand in readiness
In the court behind the palace. Scherfenberg
Be their attendant; he is faithful to us;
To Egra he'll conduct them, and we follow.
[To Illo, who returns.
Thou hast not brought them back?

Illo.
Hear'st thou the uproar?
The whole corps of the Pappenheimers is
Drawn out: the younger Piccolomini,
Their colonel, they require; for they affirm,
That he is in the palace here, a prisoner;
And if thou dost not instantly deliver him,
They will find means to free him with the sword.

Tertsky.
What shall we make of this?

Wallenstein.
Said I not so?
O my prophetic heart! he is still here.
He has not betrayed me—he could not betray me.
I never doubted of it.

Countess.
If he be
Still here, then all goes well; for I know what
[Embracing Thekla.
Will keep him here for ever.

Tertsky.
It can't be.
His father has betrayed us, is gone over
To the Emperor—the son could not have ventured
To stay behind.

Thekla
(her eye fixed on the door).
There he is!

Scene VI

To these enter Max Piccolomini.
Max.
Yes! here he is! I can endure no longer
To creep on tiptoe round this house, and lurk
In ambush for a favourable moment.
This loitering, this suspense exceeds my powers.
[Advancing to Thekla.
Turn not thine eyes away. O look upon me!
Confess it freely before all. Fear no one,
Let who will hear that we both love each other.
Wherefore continue to conceal it? Secrecy
Is for the happy—misery, hopeless misery,
Needeth no veil! Beneath a thousand suns
It dares act openly.
[He observes the Countess looking on Thekla with expressions of triumph.
No, Lady! No!
Expect not, hope it not. I am not come
To stay: to bid farewell, farewell for ever.
For this I come! 'Tis over! I must leave thee!
Thekla, I must—must leave thee! Yet thy hatred
Let me not take with me. I pray thee, grant me
One look of sympathy, only one look.
Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it to me, Thekla!
[Grasps her hand.
O God! I cannot leave this spot—I cannot!
Cannot let go this hand. O tell me, Thekla!
That thou dost suffer with me, art convinced
That I cannot act otherwise.
[Thekla, avoiding his look, points with her hand to her father. Max turns round to the Duke, whom he had not till then perceived.
Thou here? It was not thou, whom here I sought.
I trusted never more to have beheld thee.
My business is with her alone. Here will I
Receive a full acquittal from this heart—
For any other I am no more concerned.

Wallenstein.
Think'st thou, that fool-like, I shall let thee go,
And act the mock-magnanimous with thee?
Thy father is become a villain to me;
I hold thee for his son, and nothing more:
Nor to no purpose shalt thou have been given
Into my power. Think not, that I will honour
That ancient love, which so remorselessly
He mangled. They are now past by, those hours
Of friendship and forgiveness. Hate and vengeance
Succeed—'tis now their turn—I too can throw
All feelings of the man aside—can prove
Myself as much a monster as thy father!

Max.
Thou wilt proceed with me, as thou hast power.
Thou know'st, I neither brave nor fear thy rage.
What has detained me here, that too thou know'st.
[Taking Thekla by the hand.
See, Duke! All—all would I have owed to thee,
Would have received from thy paternal hand
The lot of blessed spirits. This hast thou
Laid waste for ever—that concerns not thee.
Indifferent thou tramplest in the dust
Their happiness, who most are thine. The god
Whom thou dost serve, is no benignant deity.
Like as the blind irreconcileable
Fierce element, incapable of compact,
Thy heart's wild impulse only dost thou follow.

Wallenstein.
Thou art describing thy own father's heart.
The adder! O, the charms of hell o'erpowered me.
He dwelt within me, to my inmost soul
Still to and fro he passed, suspected never!
On the wide ocean, in the starry heaven
Did mine eyes seek the enemy, whom I
In my heart's heart had folded! Had I been
To Ferdinand what Octavio was to me,
War had I ne'er denounced against him. No,
I never could have done it. The Emperor was
My austere master only, not my friend.
There was already war 'twixt him and me
When he delivered the Commander's Staff
Into my hands; for there's a natural
Unceasing war 'twixt cunning and suspicion;
Peace exists only betwixt confidence
And faith. Who poisons confidence, he murders
The future generations.

Max.

Wallenstein.
Max, remain with me.
Go you not from me, Max! Hark! I will tell thee—
How when at Prague, our winter quarters, thou
Wert brought into my tent a tender boy,
Not yet accustomed to the German winters;
Thy hand was frozen to the heavy colours;
Thou would'st not let them go.—
At that time did I take thee in my arms,
And with my mantle did I cover thee;
I was thy nurse, no woman could have been
A kinder to thee; I was not ashamed
To do for thee all little offices,
However strange to me; I tended thee
Till life returned; and when thine eyes first opened,
I had thee in my arms. Since then, when have I
Altered my feelings towards thee? Many thousands
Have I made rich, presented them with lands;
Rewarded them with dignities and honours;
Thee have I loved: my heart, my self, I gave
To thee! They all were aliens: thou wert
Our child and inmate. Max! Thou canst not leave me;
It cannot be; I may not, will not think
That Max can leave me.

Max.
O my God!

Wallenstein.
I have
Held and sustained thee from thy tottering childhood.
What holy bond is there of natural love?
What human tie, that does not knit thee to me?
I love thee, Max! What did thy father for thee,
Which I too have not done, to the height of duty?
Go hence, forsake me, serve thy Emperor;
He will reward thee with a pretty chain
Of gold; with his ram's fleece will he reward thee;
For that the friend, the father of thy youth,
For that the holiest feeling of humanity,
Was nothing worth to thee.

Max.
O God! how can I
Do otherwise? Am I not forced to do it?
My oath—my duty—honour—

Wallenstein.
How? Thy duty?
Duty to whom? Who art thou? Max! bethink thee
What duties may'st thou have? If I am acting
A criminal part toward the Emperor,
It is my crime, not thine. Dost thou belong
To thine own self? Art thou thine own commander?
Stand'st thou, like me, a freeman in the world,
That in thy actions thou should'st plead free agency?
On me thou'rt planted, I am thy Emperor;
To obey me, to belong to me, this is
Thy honour, this a law of nature to thee!
And if the planet, on the which thou liv'st
And hast thy dwelling, from its orbit starts,
It is not in thy choice, whether or no
Thou'lt follow it. Unfelt it whirls thee onward
Together with his ring and all his moons.
With little guilt stepp'st thou into this contest,
Thee will the world not censure, it will praise thee,
For that thou heldst thy friend more worth to thee
Than names and influences more removed.
For justice is the virtue of the ruler,
Affection and fidelity the subject's.
Not every one doth it beseem to question
The far-off high Arcturus. Most securely
Wilt thou pursue the nearest duty—let
The pilot fix his eye upon the pole-star.

Scene VII

To these enter Neumann.
Wallenstein.
What now?

Neumann.
The Pappenheimers are dismounted,
And are advancing now on foot, determined
With sword in hand to storm the house, and free
The Count, their colonel.

Wallenstein
(to Tertsky).
Have the cannon planted.
I will receive them with chain-shot.
[Exit Tertsky.
Prescribe to me with sword in hand! Go, Neumann!
'Tis my command that they retreat this moment,
And in their ranks in silence wait my pleasure.

[Neumann exit. Illo steps to the window.
Countess.
Let him go, I entreat thee, let him go.

Illo
(at the window).
Hell and perdition!

Wallenstein.
What is it?

Illo.
They scale the council-house, the roof's uncovered.
They level at this house the cannon—

Max.
Madmen!

Illo.
They are making preparations now to fire on us.

Duchess and Countess.
Merciful Heaven!

Max
(to Wallenstein).
Let me go to them!

Wallenstein.
Not a step!

Max
(pointing to Thekla and the Duchess).
But their life! Thine!

Wallenstein.
What tidings bring'st thou, Tertsky?

Scene VIII

To these Tertsky (returning).
Tertsky.
Message and greeting from our faithful regiments.
Their ardour may no longer be curbed in.
They intreat permission to commence the attack,
And if thou would'st but give the word of onset,
They could now charge the enemy in rear,
Into the city wedge them, and with ease
O'erpower them in the narrow streets.

Illo.
O come!
Let not their ardour cool. The soldiery
Of Butler's corps stand by us faithfully;
We are the greater number. Let us charge them,
And finish here in Pilsen the revolt.

Wallenstein.
[Turns to Max.

Countess.
Is it then,
Can it have come to this?—What! Cousin, Cousin!
Have you the heart?

Max.
The regiments that are trusted to my care
I have pledged my troth to bring away from Pilsen
True to the Emperor, and this promise will I
Make good, or perish. More than this no duty
Requires of me. I will not fight against thee,
Unless compelled; for though an enemy,
Thy head is holy to me still.

[Two reports of cannon. Illo and Tertsky hurry to the window.
Wallenstein.
What's that?

Tertsky.
He falls.

Wallenstein.
Falls! Who?

Illo.
Tiefenbach's corps
Discharged the ordnance.

Wallenstein.
Upon whom?

Illo.
On Neumann,
Your messenger.

Wallenstein
(starting up).
Ha! Death and hell! I will—

Tertsky.
Expose thyself to their blind frenzy?

Duchess and Countess.
No!
For God's sake, no!

Illo.
Not yet, my General!

Countess.
O, hold him! hold him!

Wallenstein.
Leave me—

Max.
Do it not
Not yet! This rash and bloody deed has thrown them
Into a frenzy-fit—allow them time—

Wallenstein.
Away! too long already have I loitered.
They are emboldened to these outrages,
Beholding not my face. They shall behold
My countenance, shall hear my voice—
Are they not my troops? Am I not their General,
And their long-feared commander? Let me see,
Whether indeed they do no longer know
That countenance, which was their sun in battle!
From the balcony (mark!) I shew myself
To these rebellious forces, and at once
Revolt is mounded, and the high-swoln current
Shrinks back into the old bed of obedience.

[Exit Wallenstein; Illo, Tertsky, and Butler follow.

Scene IX

Countess, Duchess, Max, and Thekla.
Countess
(to the Duchess).
Let them but see him—there is hope still, sister.

Duchess.
Hope! I have none!

Max
(who during the last scene has been standing at a distance advances).
This can I not endure.
With most determined soul did I come hither,
My purposed action seemed unblameable
To my own conscience—and I must stand here
Like one abhorred, a hard inhuman being;
Yea, loaded with the curse of all I love!
Must see all whom I love in this sore anguish,
Whom I with one word can make happy—O!
My heart revolts within me, and two voices
Make themselves audible within my bosom.
My soul's benighted; I no longer can
Distinguish the right track. O, well and truly
Didst thou say, father, I relied too much
On my own heart. My mind moves to and fro—
I know not what to do.

Countess.
What! you know not?
Does not your own heart tell you? O! then I
Will tell it you. Your father is a traitor,
A frightful traitor to us—he has plotted
Against our General's life, has plunged us all
In misery—and you're his son! 'Tis yours
To make the amends—Make you the son's fidelity
Outweigh the father's treason, that the name
Of Piccolomini be not a proverb
Of infamy, a common form of cursing
To the posterity of Wallenstein.

Max.
Where is that voice of truth which I dare follow?
It speaks no longer in my heart. We all
But utter what our passionate wishes dictate:
O that an angel would descend from Heaven,
And scoop for me the right, the uncorrupted,
With a pure hand from the pure Fount of Light.
[His eyes glance on Thekla.
What other angel seek I? To this heart,
To this unerring heart, will I submit it,
Will ask thy love, which has the power to bless
The happy man alone, averted ever
From the disquieted and guilty—canst thou
Still love me, if I stay? Say that thou canst,
And I am the Duke's—

Countess.
Think, niece—

Max.
Think nothing, Thekla!
Speak what thou feelest.

Countess.
Think upon your father.

Max.
I did not question thee, as Friedland's daughter.
Thee, the beloved and the unerring god
Within thy heart, I question. What's at stake?
Not whether diadem of royalty
Be to be won or not—that might'st thou think on.
Thy friend, and his soul's quiet, are at stake;
The fortune of a thousand gallant men,
Who will all follow me; shall I forswear
My oath and duty to the Emperor?
Say, shall I send into Octavio's camp
The parricidal ball? For when the ball
Has left its cannon, and is on its flight,
It is no longer a dead instrument!
It lives, a spirit passes into it,
The avenging furies seize possession of it,
And with sure malice guide it the worst way.

Thekla.
O! Max—

Max.
Nay, not precipitately either, Thekla.
I understand thee. To thy noble heart
The hardest duty might appear the highest.
The human, not the great part, would I act.
Ev'n from my childhood to this present hour,
Think what the Duke has done for me, how loved me,
And think too, how my father has repaid him.
O likewise the free lovely impulses
Of hospitality, the pious friend's
Faithful attachment, these too are a holy
Religion to the heart; and heavily
The shudderings of nature do avenge
Themselves on the barbarian that insults them.
Lay all upon the balance, all—then speak,
And let thy heart decide it.

Thekla.
O, thy own
Hath long ago decided. Follow thou
Thy heart's first feeling—

Countess
Oh! ill-fated woman!

Thekla.
Is it possible, that that can be the right,
The which thy tender heart did not at first
Detect and seize with instant impulse? Go,
Fulfil thy duty! I should ever love thee.
Whate'er thou had'st chosen, thou would'st still have acted
Nobly and worthy of thee—but repentance
Shall ne'er disturb thy soul's fair peace.

Max.
Then I
Must leave thee, must part from thee!

Thekla.
Being faithful
To thine own self, thou art faithful too to me:
If our fates part, our hearts remain united.
A bloody hatred will divide for ever
The houses Piccolomini and Friedland;
But we belong not to our houses—Go!
Quick! quick! and separate thy righteous cause
From our unholy and unblessed one!
The curse of heaven lies upon our head:
'Tis dedicate to ruin. Even me
My father's guilt drags with it to perdition.
Mourn not for me:
My destiny will quickly be decided.

[Max clasps her in his arms. There is heard from behind the Scene a loud, wild, long continued cry, ‘Vivat Ferdinandus,’ accompanied by warlike instruments.

Scene X

To these enter Tertsky.
Countess
(meeting him).
What meant that cry? What was it?

Tertsky.
All is lost!

Countess.
What! they regarded not his countenance?

Tertsky.
'Twas all in vain.

Duchess.
They shouted Vivat!

Tertsky.
To the Emperor.

Countess.
The traitors!

Tertsky.
Nay! he was not once permitted
Even to address them. Soon as he began,
With deafening noise of warlike instruments
They drowned his words. But here he comes.

Scene XI

To these enter Wallenstein, accompanied by Illo and Butler.
Wallenstein
(as he enters).
Tertsky!

Tertsky.
My General?

Wallenstein.
[Exit Tertsky.

Butler.
Yes, my General.

Wallenstein.
The Governor at Egra is your friend
And countryman. Write to him instantly
By a Post Courier. He must be advised,
That we are with him early on the morrow.
You follow us yourself, your regiment with you.

Butler.
It shall be done, my General!

Wallenstein
(steps between Max and Thekla).
Part!

Max.
O God!

[Cuirassiers enter with drawn swords, and assemble in

---

763

the back-ground. At the same time there are heard from below some spirited passages out of the Pappenheim March, which seem to address Max.
Wallenstein
(to the Cuirassiers).
Here he is, he is at liberty: I keep him
No longer.

[He turns away, and stands so that Max cannot pass by him nor approach the Princess.
Max.
Thou know'st that I have not yet learnt to live
Without thee! I go forth into a desert,
Leaving my all behind me. O do not turn
Thine eyes away from me! O once more shew me
Thy ever dear and honoured countenance.
[Max attempts to take his hand, but is repelled; he turns to the Countess.
Is there no eye that has a look of pity for me?
[The Countess turns away from him; he turns to the Duchess.
My mother!

Duchess.
Go where duty calls you. Haply
The time may come, when you may prove to us
A true friend, a good angel at the throne
Of the Emperor.

Max.
You give me hope; you would not
Suffer me wholly to despair. No! No!
Mine is a certain misery—Thanks to heaven
That offers me a means of ending it.
[The military music begins again. The stage fills more and more with armed men. Max sees Butler, and addresses him.
And you here, Colonel Butler—and will you
Not follow me? Well, then! remain more faithful
To your new lord, than you have proved yourself
To the Emperor. Come, Butler! promise me,
Give me your hand upon it, that you'll be
The guardian of his life, its shield, its watchman.
He is attainted, and his princely head
Fair booty for each slave that trades in murder.
Now he doth need the faithful eye of friendship,
And those whom here I see—

[Casting suspicious looks on Illo and Butler.
Illo.
Go—seek for traitors
In Galas, in your father's quarters. Here
Is only one. Away! away! and free us
From his detested sight! Away!

[Max attempts once more to approach Thekla. Wallenstein prevents him. Max stands irresolute, and in apparent anguish. In the mean time the stage fills more and more; and the horns sound from below louder and louder, and each time after a shorter interval.
Max.
Blow, blow! O were it but the Swedish Trumpets,
And all the naked swords, which I see here,
Were plunged into my breast! What purpose you?
You come to tear me from this place! Beware,
Ye drive me not in desperation.—Do it not!
Ye may repent it!
[The stage is entirely filled with armed men.
Yet more! weight upon weight to drag me down!
Think what ye're doing. It is not well done
To choose a man despairing for your leader;
You tear me from my happiness. Well, then.
I dedicate your souls to vengeance. Mark!
For your own ruin you have chosen me:
Who goes with me, must be prepared to perish.

[He turns to the background, there ensues a sudden and violent movement among the Cuirassiers; they surround him, and carry him off in wild tumult. Wallenstein remains immovable. Thekla sinks into her mother's arms. The curtain falls. The music becomes loud and overpowering, and passes into a complete war-march—the orchestra joins it— and continues during the interval between the second and third Act.

ACT III

Scene I

The Burgomaster's House at Egra.
Butler.
Butler.

Scene II

Butler and Gordon
Gordon.
Is it you?
How my heart sinks! The Duke a fugitive traitor!
His princely head attainted! O my God!

Butler.
You have received the letter which I sent you
By a post-courier?

Gordon.
Yes! and in obedience to it
Opened the strong hold to him without scruple.
For an imperial letter orders me
To follow your commands implicitly.
But yet forgive me; when even now I saw
The Duke himself, my scruples recommenced.
For truly, not like an attainted man,
Into this town did Friedland make his entrance;
His wonted majesty beamed from his brow,
And calm, as in the days when all was right,
Did he receive from me the accounts of office;
'Tis said, that fallen pride learns condescension:
But sparing and with dignity the Duke
Weighed every syllable of approbation,
As masters praise a servant who has done
His duty, and no more.

Butler.
'Tis all precisely
As I related in my letter. Friedland
Has sold the army to the enemy,
And pledged himself to give up Prague and Egra.
On this report the regiments all forsook him,
The five excepted that belong to Tertsky,
And which have followed him, as thou hast seen.
The sentence of attainder is passed on him,
And every loyal subject is required
To give him in to justice, dead or living.

Gordon.
A traitor to the Emperor—Such a noble!
Of such high talents! What is human greatness!
I often said, this can't end happily.
His might, his greatness, and this obscure power
Are but a covered pit-fall. The human being
May not be trusted to self-government.
The clear and written law, the deep trod foot-marks
Of ancient custom, are all necessary
To keep him in the road of faith and duty.
The authority entrusted to this man
Was unexampled and unnatural
It placed him on a level with his Emperor,
Till the proud soul unlearned submission. Wo is me;
I mourn for him! for where he fell, I deem
Might none stand firm. Alas! dear General,
We in our lucky mediocrity
Have ne'er experienced, cannot calculate,
What dangerous wishes such a height may breed
In the heart of such a man.

Butler.
Spare your laments
Till he need sympathy; for at this present
He is still mighty, and still formidable.
The Swedes advance to Egra by forced marches,
And quickly will the junction be accomplished.
This must not be! The Duke must never leave
This strong hold on free footing; for I have
Pledged life and honour here to hold him prisoner,
And your assistance 'tis on which I calculate.

Gordon.
O that I had not lived to see this day!
From his hand I received this dignity,
He did himself entrust this strong hold to me,
Which I am now required to make his dungeon.
We subalterns have no will of our own:
The free, the mighty man alone may listen
To the fair impulse of his human nature.
Ah! we are but the poor tools of the law,
Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim at!

Butler.
Nay, let it not afflict you, that your power
Is circumscribed. Much liberty, much error!
The narrow path of duty is securest.

Gordon.
And all then have deserted him, you say?
He has built up the luck of many thousands;
For kingly was his spirit: his full hand
Was ever open! Many a one from dust
Hath he selected, from the very dust
Hath raised him into dignity and honour.
And yet no friend, not one friend hath he purchased,
Whose heart beats true to him in the evil hour.

Butler.
Here's one, I see.

Gordon.
I have enjoyed from him
No grace or favour. I could almost doubt,
If ever in his greatness he once thought on
An old friend of his youth. For still my office
Kept me at distance from him; and when first
He to this citadel appointed me,
He was sincere and serious in his duty.
I do not then abuse his confidence,
If I preserve my fealty in that
Which to my fealty was first delivered.

Butler.
Say, then, will you fulfil the attainder on him?

Gordon.
If it be so—if all be as you say—
If he've betrayed the Emperor, his master,
Have sold the troops, have purposed to deliver
The strong holds of the country to the enemy—
Yea, truly!—there is no redemption for him!
Yet it is hard, that me the lot should destine
To be the instrument of his perdition;
For we were pages at the court of Bergau
At the same period; but I was the senior.

Butler.
I have heard so—

Gordon.
'Tis full thirty years since then.
A youth who scarce had seen his twentieth year
Was Wallenstein, when he and I were friends:
Yet even then he had a daring soul:
His frame of mind was serious and severe
Beyond his years: his dreams were of great objects.
He walked amidst us of a silent spirit,
Communing with himself: yet I have known him
Transported on a sudden into utterance
Of strange conceptions; kindling into splendour
His soul revealed itself, and he spake so
That we looked round perplexed upon each other,
Not knowing whether it were craziness,
Or whether it were a god that spoke in him.

Butler.
But was it where he fell two story high
From a window-ledge, on which he had fallen asleep;
And rose up free from injury? From this day
(It is reported) he betrayed clear marks
Of a distempered fancy.

Gordon.
He became
Doubtless more self-enwrapt and melancholy;
He made himself a Catholic. Marvellously
His marvellous preservation had transformed him.
Thenceforth he held himself for an exempted
And privileged being, and, as if he were
Incapable of dizziness or fall,
He ran along the unsteady rope of life.
But now our destinies drove us asunder:
He paced with rapid step the way of greatness,
Was Count, and Prince, Duke-regent, and Dictator.
And now is all, all this too little for him;
He stretches forth his hands for a king's crown.
And plunges in unfathomable ruin.

Butler.
No more, he comes.

Scene III

To these enter Wallenstein, in conversation with the Burgomaster of Egra.
Wallenstein.
You were at one time a free town. I see,
Ye bear the half eagle in your city arms.
Why the half eagle only?

Burgomaster.
We were free,
But for these last two hundred years has Egra
Remained in pledge to the Bohemian crown,
Therefore we bear the half eagle, the other half
Being cancelled till the empire ransom us,
If ever that should be.

Wallenstein.
Ye merit freedom.
Only be firm and dauntless. Lend your ears
To no designing whispering court-minions.
What may your imposts be?

Burgomaster.
So heavy that
We totter under them. The garrison
Lives at our costs.

Wallenstein.
I will relieve you. Tell me,
There are some Protestants among you still?
[The Burgomaster hesitates.
Yes, yes; I know it. Many lie concealed
Within these walls—Confess now—you yourself—
Be not alarmed. I hate the Jesuits.
Could my will have determined it, they had
Been long ago expelled the empire. Trust me—
Mass-book or Bible—'tis all one to me.
Of that the world has had sufficient proof.
I built a church for the reformed in Glogan
At my own instance. Hark'e, Burgomaster!
What is your name?

Burgomaster.
Pachhälbel, may it please you.

Wallenstein.
[Laying his hand on the Burgomaster's shoulder.

Burgomaster.
With wonder and affright!

Wallenstein.
Whereof did two
Strangely transform themselves to bloody daggers,
And only one, the middle moon, remained
Steady and clear.

Burgomaster.
We applied it to the Turks.

Wallenstein.
[Observing Gordon and Butler.

Gordon.
Distinctly. The wind brought it from the South.

Butler.
It seemed to come from Weiden or from Neustadt.

Wallenstein.
'Tis likely. That's the route the Swedes are taking.
How strong is the garrison?

Gordon.
Not quite two hundred
Competent men, the rest are invalids.

Wallenstein.
Good! And how many in the vale of Jochim?

Gordon.
Two hundred arquebussiers have I sent thither
To fortify the posts against the Swedes.

Wallenstein.
Good! I commend your foresight. At the works too
You have done somewhat?

Gordon.
Two additional batteries
I caused to be run up. They were needless.
The Rhinegrave presses hard upon us, General!

Wallenstein.
You have been watchful in your Emperor's service.
I am content with you, Lieutenant-Colonel.
[To Butler.
Release the outposts in the vale of Jochim
With all the stations in the enemy's route.
[To Gordon.
Governor, in your faithful hands I leave
My wife, my daughter, and my sister. I
Shall make no stay here, and wait but the arrival
Of letters, to take leave of you, together
With all the regiments.

Scene IV

To these enter Count Tertsky.
Tertsky.
Joy, General; joy! I bring you welcome tidings.

Wallenstein.
And what may they be?

Tertsky.
There has been an engagement
At Neustadt; the Swedes gained the victory.

Wallenstein.
From whence did you receive the intelligence?

Tertsky.
A countryman from Tirschenseil conveyed it.
Soon after sunrise did the fight begin!
A troop of the Imperialists from Fachau
Had forced their way into the Swedish camp;
The cannonade continued full two hours;
There were left dead upon the field a thousand
Imperialists, together with their Colonel;
Further than this he did not know.

Wallenstein.
How came
Imperial troops at Neustadt? Altringer,
But yesterday, stood sixty miles from there.
Count Galas' force collects at Frauenberg.
And have not the full complement. Is it possible,
That Suys perchance had ventured so far onward?
It cannot be.

Tertsky.
We shall soon know the whole,
For here comes Illo, full of haste, and joyous.

Scene V

To these enter Illo.
Illo
(to Wallenstein).
A courier, Duke! he wishes to speak with thee.

Tertsky.
Does he bring confirmation of the victory?

Wallenstein.
What does he bring? Whence comes he?

Illo.
From the Rhinegrave.
And what he brings I can announce to you
Beforehand. Seven leagues distant are the Swedes;
At Neustadt did Max Piccolomini
Throw himself on them with the cavalry;
A murderous fight took place! o'erpower'd by numbers
The Pappenheimers all, with Max their leader,
Were left dead on the field.

Wallenstein
(after a pause).
Where is the messenger? Conduct me to him.

[Wallenstein is going, when Lady Neubrunn rushes into the room. Some servants follow her and run across the stage.
Neubrunn.
Help! Help!

Illo and Tertsky
(at the same time).
What now?

Neubrunn.
The Princess!

Wallenstein and Tertsky.
Does she know it?

Neubrunn.
She is dying!

[Hurries off the stage, when Wallenstein and Tertsky follow her.

Scene VI

Butler and Gordon.
Gordon.
What's this?

Butler.
She has lost the man she lov'd—
Young Piccolomini, who fell in the battle.

Gordon.
Unfortunate Lady!

Butler.
You have heard what Illo
Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerors,
And marching hitherward.

Gordon.
Too well I heard it.

Butler.
They are twelve regiments strong, and there are five
Close by us to protect the Duke. We have
Only my single regiment; and the garrison
Is not two hundred strong.

Gordon.
'Tis even so.

Butler.
It is not possible with such small force
To hold in custody a man like him.

Gordon.
I grant it.

Butler.
Soon the numbers would disarm us,
And liberate him.

Gordon.
It were to be feared.

Butler
(after a pause).
Know, I am warranty for the event;
With my head have I pledged myself for his,
Must make my word good, cost it what it will,
And if alive we cannot hold him prisoner,
Why—death makes all things certain!

Gordon.
Butler! What?
Do I understand you? Gracious God! You could—

Butler.
He must not live.

Gordon.
And you can do the deed!

Butler.
Either you or I. This morning was his last.

Gordon.
You would assassinate him.

Butler.
'Tis my purpose.

Gordon.
Who leans with his whole confidence upon you!

Butler.
Such is his evil destiny!

Gordon.
Your General!
The sacred person of your General!

Butler.
My General he has been.

Gordon.
That 'tis only
A ‘has been’ washes out no villainy.
And without judgment passed?

Butler.
The execution
Is here instead of judgment.

Gordon.
This were murder,
Not justice. The most guilty should be heard.

Butler.
His guilt is clear, the Emperor has passed judgment.
And we but execute his will.

Gordon.
We should not
Hurry to realize a bloody sentence.
A word may be recalled, a life can never be.

Butler.
Dispatch in service pleases sovereigns.

Gordon.
No honest man's ambitious to press forward
To the hangman's service.

Butler.
And no brave man loses
His colour at a daring enterprize.

Gordon.
A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience.

Butler.
What then? Shall he go forth anew to kindle
The unextinguishable flame of war?

Gordon.
Seize him, and hold him prisoner—do not kill him.

Butler.
Had not the Emperor's army been defeated,
I might have done so.—But 'tis now past by.

Gordon.
O, wherefore opened I the strong hold to him!

Butler.
His destiny and not the place destroys him.

Gordon.
Upon these ramparts, as beseemed a soldier,
I had fallen, defending the Emperor's citadel!

Butler.
Yes! and a thousand gallant men have perished.

Gordon.
Doing their duty—that adorns the man!
But murder's a black deed, and nature curses it.

Butler
(brings out a paper).
Here is the manifesto which commands us
To gain possession of his person. See—
It is addressed to you as well as me.
Are you content to take the consequences,
If through our fault he escape to the enemy?

Gordon.
I?—Gracious God!

Butler.
Take it on yourself.
Let come of it what may, on you I lay it.

Gordon.
O God in heaven!

Butler.
Can you advise aught else
Wherewith to execute the Emperor's purpose?
Say if you can. For I desire his fall.
Not his destruction.

Gordon.
Merciful heaven! what must be
I see as clear as you. Yet still the heart
Within my bosom beats with other feelings!

Butler.
Mine is of harder stuff! Necessity
In her rough school hath steeled me. And this Illo
And Tertsky likewise, they must not survive him.

Gordon.
I feel no pang for these. Their own bad hearts
Impelled them, not the influence of the stars.
'Twas they who strewed the seeds of evil passions
In his calm breast, and with officious villainy
Watered and nursed the pois'nous plants. May they
Receive their earnests to the uttermost mite!

Butler.
And their death shall precede his!
We meant to have taken them alive this evening
Amid the merry-making of a feast,
And kept them prisoners in the citadels.
But this makes shorter work. I go this instant
To give the necessary orders.

Scene VII

To these enter Illo and Tertsky.
Tertsky.
Our luck is on the turn. To-morrow come
The Swedes—twelve thousand gallant warriors, Illo!
Then straightways for Vienna. Cheerily, friend!
What! meet such news with such a moody face?

Illo.
It lies with us at present to prescribe
Laws, and take vengeance on those worthless traitors,
Those skulking cowards that deserted us;
One has already done his bitter penance
The Piccolomini, be his the fate
Of all who wish us evil! This flies sure
To the old man's heart; he has his whole life long
Fretted and toiled to raise his ancient house
From a Count's title to the name of Prince;
And now must seek a grave for his only son.

Butler.
'Twas pity though! A youth of such heroic
And gentle temperament! The Duke himself,
'Twas easily seen, how near it went to his heart.

Illo.
Hark'e, old friend! That is the very point
That never pleased me in our General—
He ever gave the preference to the Italians.
Yea, at this very moment, by my soul!
He'd gladly see us all dead ten times over,
Could he thereby recall his friend to life.

Tertsky.
Hush, hush! Let the dead rest! This evening's business
Is, who can fairly drink the other down—
Your regiment, Illo! gives the entertainment.
Come! we will keep a merry carnival—
The night for once be day, and mid full glasses
Will we expect the Swedish Avantgarde.

Illo.
Yes, let us be of good cheer for to-day,
For there's hot work before us, friends! This sword
Shall have no rest, till it be bathed to the hilt
In Austrian blood.

Gordon.
Shame, shame! what talk is this,
My Lord Field Marshal? Wherefore foam you so
Against your Emperor?

Butler.
Hope not too much
From this first victory. Bethink you, sirs!
How rapidly the wheel of Fortune turns;
The Emperor still is formidably strong.

Illo.
The Emperor has soldiers, no commander,
For this King Ferdinand of Hungary
Is but a tyro. Galas? He's no luck,
And was of old the ruiner of armies.
And then this viper, this Octavio,
Is excellent at stabbing in the back,
But ne'er meets Friedland in the open field.

Tertsky.
Trust me, my friends, it cannot but succeed;
Fortune, we know, can ne'er forsake the Duke!
And only under Wallenstein can Austria
Be conqueror.

Illo.
The Duke will soon assemble
A mighty army, all come crowding, streaming
To banners dedicate by destiny
To fame and prosperous fortune. I behold
Old times come back again, he will become
Once more the mighty Lord which he has been.
How will the fools, who've now deserted him,
Look then? I can't but laugh to think of them,
For lands will he present to all his friends,
And like a King and Emperor reward
True services; but we've the nearest claims.
[To Gordon.
You will not be forgotten, Governor!
He'll take you from this nest and bid you shine
In higher station: your fidelity
Well merits it.

Gordon.
I am content already,
And wish to climb no higher; where great height is
The fall must needs be great. ‘Great height, great depth.’

Illo.
Here you have no more business for to-morrow;
The Swedes will take possession of the citadel.
Come, Tertsky, it is supper-time. What think you?
Say, shall we have the State illuminated
In honour of the Swede? And who refuses
To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor.

Tertsky.
Nay! Nay! not that, it will not please the Duke—

Illo.
What! we are masters here; no soul shall dare
Avow himself imperial where we've rule.
Gordon! Good night, and for the last time, take
A fair leave of the place. Send out patroles
To make secure, the watch-word may be altered
At the stroke of ten; deliver in the keys
To the Duke himself, and then you're quit for ever
Your wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow
The Swedes will take possession of the citadel.

Tertsky
(as he is going, to Butler).
You come though to the castle.

Butler.
At the right time.

[Exeunt Tertsky and Illo.

Scene VIII

Gordon and Butler.
Gordon
(looking after them).
Unhappy men! How free from all foreboding!
They rush into the outspread net of murder,
In the blind drunkenness of victory;
I have no pity for their fate. This Illo,
This overflowing and fool-hardy villain
That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood.

Butler.
Do as he ordered you. Send round patroles.
Take measures for the citadel's security;
When they are within I close the castle gate
That nothing may transpire.

Gordon.
Oh! haste not so!
Nay, stop; first tell me—

Butler.
You have heard already,
To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night
Alone is ours. They make good expedition,
But we will make still greater. Fare you well.

Gordon.
Ah! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler,
I pray you, promise me!

Butler.
The sun has set;
A fateful evening doth descend upon us,
And brings on their long night! Their evil stars
Deliver them unarmed into our hands,
And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes
The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well,
The Duke was ever a great calculator;
His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board.
To move and station, as his game required.
Other men's honour, dignity, good name,
Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of it:
Still calculating, calculating still;
And yet at last his calculation proves
Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and lo!
His own life will be found among the forfeits.

Gordon.
O think not of his errors now; remember
His greatness, his munificence, think on all
The lovely features of his character,
On all the noble exploits of his life,
And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen
Arrest the lifted sword.

Butler.
It is too late.
I suffer not myself to feel compassion,
Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now:
[Grasping Gordon's hand.
Gordon! 'Tis not my hatred (I pretend not
To love the Duke, and have no cause to love him)
Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me
To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate.
Hostile concurrences of many events
Control and subjugate me to the office.
In vain the human being meditates
Free action. He is but the wire-worked puppet
Of the blind power, which out of his own choice
Creates for him a dread necessity.
What too would it avail him, if there were
A something pleading for him in my heart—
Still I must kill him.

Gordon.
If your heart speak to you,
Follow its impulse. 'Tis the voice of God.
Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous
Bedewed with blood—his blood? Believe it not!

Butler.
You know not. Ask not! Wherefore should it happen,
That the Swedes gained the victory, and hasten
With such forced marches hitherward? Fain would I
Have given him to the Emperor's mercy.—Gordon!
I do not wish his blood—But I must ransom
The honour of my word—it lies in pledge—
And he must die, or—
[Passionately grasping Gordon's hand.
Listen then, and know!
I am dishonoured if the Duke escape us.

Gordon.
O! to save such a man—

Butler.
What!

Gordon.
It is worth
A sacrifice.—Come, friend! Be noble-minded!
Our own heart, and not other men's opinions,
Forms our true honour.

Butler.
He is a great Lord,
This Duke—and I am but of mean importance.
This is what you would say? Wherein concerns it
The world at large, you mean to hint to me,
Whether the man of low extraction keeps
Or blemishes his honour—
So that the man of princely rank be saved.
We all do stamp our value on ourselves.
The price we challenge for ourselves is given us.
There does not live on earth the man so stationed,
That I despise myself compared with him.
Man is made great or little by his own will;
Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies.

Gordon.
I am endeavouring to move a rock.
Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings.
I cannot hinder you, but may some God
Rescue him from you!

[Exit Gordon.

Scene IX

Butler
(alone).
I treasured my good name all my life long;
The Duke has cheated me of life's best jewel,
So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon!
He prizes above all his fealty;
His conscious soul accuses him of nothing;
In opposition to his own soft heart
He subjugates himself to an iron duty.
Me in a weaker moment passion warped;
I stand beside him, and must feel myself
The worst man of the two. What though the world
Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet
One man does know it, and can prove it too—
High-minded Piccolomini!
There lives the man who can dishonour me!
This ignominy blood alone can cleanse!
Duke Friedland, thou or I—Into my own hands
Fortune delivers me—The dearest thing a man has is himself.

(The curtain drops.)

ACT IV

Scene I

Scene—Butler's Chamber.
Butler, and Major Geraldin.
Butler.
Find me twelve strong dragoons, arm them with pikes,
For there must be no firing—
Conceal them somewhere near the banquet-room,
And soon as the dessert is served up, rush all in
And cry—Who is loyal to the Emperor?
I will overturn the table—while you attack
Illo and Tertsky, and dispatch them both.
The castle-palace is well barred and guarded,
That no intelligence of this proceeding
May make its way to the Duke.—Go instantly;
Have you yet sent for Captain Devereux
And the Macdonald?—

Geraldin.
They'll be here anon.

[Exit Geraldin.
Butler.
Here's no room for delay. The citizens
Declare for him, a dizzy drunken spirit
Possesses the whole town. They see in the Duke
A Prince of peace, a founder of new ages
And golden times. Arms too have been given out
By the town-council, and a hundred citizens
Have volunteered themselves to stand on guard.
Dispatch then be the word. For enemies
Threaten us from without and from within.

Scene II

Butler, Captain Devereux. and Macdonald.
Macdonald.
Here we are, General.

Devereux.
What's to be the watchword?

Butler.
Long live the Emperor!

Both
(recoiling).
How?

Butler.
Live the House of Austria!

Devereux.
Have we not sworn fidelity to Friedland?

Macdonald.
Have we not marched to this place to protect him?

Butler.
Protect a traitor, and his country's enemy!

Devereux.
Why, yes! in his name you administered
Our oath.

Macdonald.
And followed him yourself to Egra.

Butler.
I did it the more surely to destroy him.

Devereux.
So then!

Macdonald.
An altered case!

Butler
(to Devereux).
Thou wretched man!
So easily leav'st thou thy oath and colours?

Devereux.
The devil!—I but followed your example,
If you could prove a villain, why not we?

Macdonald.
We've nought to do with thinking—that's your business.
You are our General, and give out the orders;
We follow you, though the track lead to hell.

Butler.
Good then! we know each other.

Macdonald.
I should hope so.

Devereux.
Soldiers of fortune are we—who bids most.
He has us.

Macdonald.
'Tis e'en so!

Butler.
Well, for the present
Ye must remain honest and faithful soldiers.

Devereux.
We wish no other.

Butler.
Ay, and make your fortunes.

Macdonald.
That is still better.

Butler.
Listen!

Both.
We attend.

Butler.
It is the Emperor's will and ordinance
To seize the person of the Prince-Duke Friedland,
Alive or dead.

Devereux.
It runs so in the letter.

Macdonald.
Alive or dead—these were the very words.

Butler.
And he shall be rewarded from the State
In land and gold, who proffers aid thereto.

Devereux.
Ay? That sounds well. The words sound always well
That travel hither from the Court. Yes! yes!
We know already what Court-words import.
A golden chain perhaps in sign of favour,
Or an old charger, or a parchment patent,
And such like.—The Prince-duke pays better.

Macdonald.
Yes,
The Duke's a splendid paymaster.

Butler.
All over
With that, my friends! His lucky stars are set.

Macdonald.
And is that certain?

Butler.
You have my word for it.

Devereux.
His lucky fortunes all past by?

Butler.
For ever.
He is as poor as we.

Macdonald.
As poor as we?

Devereux.
Macdonald, we'll desert him.

Butler.
We'll desert him?
Full twenty thousand have done that already;
We must do more, my countrymen! In short—
We—we must kill him.

Both.
Kill him!

Butler.
Yes! must kill him.
And for that purpose have I chosen you.

Both.
Us!

Butler.
You, Captain Devereux, and thee, Macdonald.

Devereux
(after a pause).
Choose you some other.

Butler.
What? art dastardly?
Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for—
Thou conscientious of a sudden?

Devereux.
Nay,
To assassinate our Lord and General—

Macdonald.
To whom we've sworn a soldier's oath—

Butler.
The oath
Is null, for Friedland is a traitor.

Devercux.
No, no! It is too bad!

Macdonald.
Yes, by my soul!
It is too bad. One has a conscience too—

Devereux.
If it were not our chieftain, who so long
Has issued the commands, and claim'd our duty.

Butler.
Is that the objection?

Devereux.
Were it my own father,
And the Emperor's service should demand it of me,
It might be done perhaps—But we are soldiers,
And to assassinate our chief commander,
That is a sin, a foul abomination,
From which no monk or confessor absolves us.

Butler.
I am your Pope, and give you absolution.
Determine quickly!

Devereux.
'Twill not do!

Macdonald.
'Twon't do!

Butler.
Well, off then! and—send Pestalutz to me.

Devereux.
The Pestalutz—

Macdonald.
What may you want with him?

Butler.
If you reject it, we can find enough—

Devereux.
Nay, if he must fall, we may earn the bounty
As well as any other. What think you,
Brother Macdonald?

Macdonald.
Why if he must fall,
And will fall, and it can't be otherwise,
One would not give place to this Pestalutz.

Devereux.
When do you purpose he should fall?

Butler.
This night.
To-morrow will the Swedes be at our gates.

Devereux.
You take upon you all the consequences!

Butler.
I take the whole upon me.

Devereux.
And it is
The Emperor's will, his express absolute will?
For we have instances, that folks may like
The murder, and yet hang the murderer.

Butler.
The manifesto says—alive or dead.
Alive—'tis not possible—you see it is not.

Devereux.
Well, dead then! dead! But how can we come at him?
The town is fill'd with Tertsky's soldiery.

Macdonald.
Ay! and then Tertsky still remains, and Illo—

Butler.
With these you shall begin—you understand me?

Devereux.
How? And must they too perish?

Butler.
They the first.

Macdonald.
Hear, Devereux? A bloody evening this.

Devereux.
Have you a man for that? Commission me—

Butler.
'Tis given in trust to Major Geraldin;
This is a carnival night, and there's a feast
Given at the castle—there we shall surprise them,
And hew them down. The Pestalutz and Lesley
Have that commission—soon as that is finished—

Devereux.
Hear, General! It will be all one to you.
Hark'e! let me exchange with Geraldin.

Butler.
'Twill be the lesser danger with the Duke.

Devereux.
Danger! The devil! What do you think me, General?
'Tis the Duke's eye, and not his sword, I fear.

Butler.
What can his eye do to thee?

Devereux.
Death and hell!
Thou know'st that I'm no milk-sop, General!
But 'tis not eight days since the Duke did send me
Twenty gold pieces for this good warm coat
Which I have on! and then for him to see me
Standing before him with the pike, his murderer,
That eye of his looking upon this coat—
Why—why—the devil fetch me! I'm no milk-sop!

Butler.
The Duke presented thee this good warm coat,
And thou, a needy wight, hast pangs of conscience
To run him through the body in return.
A coat that is far better and far warmer
Did the Emperor give to him, the Prince's mantle.
How doth he thank the Emperor? With revolt,
And treason.

Devereux.
That is true. The devil take
Such thankers! I'll dispatch him.

Butler.
And would'st quiet
Thy conscience, thou hast nought to do but simply
Pull off the coat; so canst thou do the deed
With light heart and good spirits.

Devereux.
You are right.
That did not strike me. I'll pull off the coat—
So there's an end of it.

Macdonald.
Yes, but there's another
Point to be thought of.

Butler.
And what's that, Macdonald?

Macdonald.
What avails sword or dagger against him?
He is not to be wounded—he is—

Butler.
What?

Macdonald.
Safe against shot, and stab and flash! Hard frozen,
Secured, and warranted by the black art!
His body is impenetrable, I tell you.

Devereux.
In Inglestadt there was just such another—
His whole skin was the same as steel; at last
We were obliged to beat him down with gunstocks.

Macdonald.
Hear what I'll do.

Devereux.
Well?

Macdonald.
In the cloister here
There's a Dominican, my countryman.
I'll make him dip my sword and pike for me
In holy water, and say over them
One of his strongest blessings. That's probatum!
Nothing can stand 'gainst that.

Butler.
So do, Macdonald!
But now go and select from out the regiment
Twenty or thirty able-bodied fellows,
And let them take the oaths to the Emperor.
Then when it strikes eleven, when the first rounds
Are passed, conduct them silently as may be
To the house—I will myself be not far off.

Devereux.
But how do we get through Hartschier and Gordon,
That stand on guard there in the inner chamber?

Butler.
I have made myself acquainted with the place.
I lead you through a back-door that's defended
By one man only. Me my rank and office
Give access to the Duke at every hour.
I'll go before you—with one poniard-stroke
Cut Hartschier's wind-pipe, and make way for you.

Devereux.
And when we are there, by what means shall we gain
The Duke's bed-chamber, without his alarming
The servants of the Court; for he has here
A numerous company of followers?

Butler.
The attendants fill the right wing; he hates bustle,
And lodges in the left wing quite alone.

Devereux.
Were it well over—hey, Macdonald? I
Feel queerly on the occasion, devil knows!

Macdonald.
And I too. 'Tis too great a personage.
People will hold us for a brace of villains.

Butler.
In plenty, honour, splendour—You may safely
Laugh at the people's babble.

Devereux.
If the business
Squares with one's honour—if that be quite certain—

Butler.
Set your hearts quite at ease. Ye save for Ferdinand
His Crown and Empire. The reward can be
No small one.

Devereux.
And 'tis his purpose to dethrone the Emperor?

Butler.
Yes!—Yes!—to rob him of his crown and life.

Devereux.
And he must fall by the executioner's hands,
Should we deliver him up to the Emperor
Alive?

Butler.
It were his certain destiny.

Devereux.
Well! Well! Come then, Macdonald, he shall not
Lie long in pain.

[Exeunt Butler through one door, Macdonald and Devereux through the other.

Scene III

Scene—A Gothic Apartment at the Duchess Friedland's. Thekla on a seat, pale, her eyes closed. The Duchess and Lady Neubrunn busied about her. Wallenstein and the Countess in conversation.
Wallenstein.
How knew she it so soon?

Countess.
She seems to have
Foreboded some misfortune. The report
Of an engagement, in the which had fallen
A colonel of the Imperial army, frighten'd her.
I saw it instantly. She flew to meet
The Swedish Courier, and with sudden questioning,
Soon wrested from him the disastrous secret.
Too late we missed her, hastened after her,
We found her lying in his arms, all pale
And in a swoon.

Wallenstein.
A heavy, heavy blow!
And she so unprepared! Poor child! How is it?
[Turning to the Duchess.
Is she coming to herself?

Duchess.
Her eyes are opening.

Countess.
She lives.

Thekla
(looking around her).
Where am I?

Wallenstein
(steps to her, raising her up in his arms).
Come, cheerly, Thekla! be my own brave girl!
See, there's thy loving mother. Thou art in
Thy father's arms.

Thekla
(standing up).
Where is he? Is he gone?

Duchess.
Who gone, my daughter?

Thekla.
He—the man who uttered
That word of misery.

Duchess.
O! think not of it,
My Thekla!

Wallenstein.
Give her sorrow leave to talk!
Let her complain—mingle your tears with hers,
For she hath suffered a deep anguish; but
She'll rise superior to it, for my Thekla
Hath all her father's unsubdued heart.

Thekla.
I am not ill. See, I have power to stand.
Why does my mother weep? Have I alarmed her?
It is gone by—I recollect myself—
[She casts her eyes round the room, as seeking some one.
Where is he? Please you, do not hide him from me.
You see I have strength enough: now I will hear him.

Duchess.
No, never shall this messenger of evil
Enter again into thy presence, Thekla!

Thekla.
My father—

Wallenstein.
Dearest daughter!

Thekla.
I'm not weak—
Shortly I shall be quite myself again.
You'll grant me one request?

Wallenstein.
Name it, my daughter.

Thekla.
Permit the stranger to be called to me,
And grant me leave, that by myself I may
Hear his report and question him.

Duchess.
No, never!

Countess.
'Tis not advisable—assent not to it.

Wallenstein.
Hush! Wherefore would'st thou speak with him, my daughter?

Thekla.
Knowing the whole, I shall be more collected;
I will not be deceived. My mother wishes
Only to spare me. I will not be spared.
The worst is said already: I can hear
Nothing of deeper anguish!

Countess and Duchess.
Do it not.

Thekla.
The horror overpowered me by surprise.
My heart betrayed me in the stranger's presence;
He was a witness of my weakness, yea,
I sank into his arms; and that has shamed me.
I must replace myself in his esteem,
And I must speak with him, perforce, that he,
The stranger, may not think ungently of me.

Wallenstein.
I see she is in the right, and am inclined
To grant her this request of hers. Go, call him.

[Lady Neubrunn goes to call him.
Duchess.
But I, thy mother, will be present—

Thekla.
'Twere
More pleasing to me, if alone I saw him:
Trust me, I shall behave myself the more
Collectedly.

Wallenstein.
Permit her her own will.
Leave her alone with him: for there are sorrows,
Where of necessity the soul must be
Its own support. A strong heart will rely
On its own strength alone. In her own bosom,
Not in her mother's arms, must she collect
The strength to rise superior to this blow.
It is mine own brave girl. I'll have her treated
Not as the woman, but the heroine.

[Going.
Countess
(detaining him).
Where art thou going? I heard Tertsky say
That 'tis thy purpose to depart from hence
To-morrow early, but to leave us here.

Wallenstein.
Yes, ye stay here, placed under the protection
Of gallant men.

Countess.
O take us with you, brother.
Leave us not in this gloomy solitude
To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt
Magnify evils to a shape of horror.

Wallenstein.
Who speaks of evil? I entreat you, sister,
Use words of better omen.

Countess.
Then take us with you.
O leave us not behind you in a place
That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy
And sick within me is my heart—
These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault.
I cannot tell you, brother, how this place
Doth go against my nature. Take us with you.
Come, sister, join you your entreaty!—Niece,
Yours too. We all entreat you, take us with you!

Wallenstein.
The place's evil omens will I change,
Making it that which shields and shelters for me
My best beloved.

Lady Neubrunn
(returning).
The Swedish officer.

Wallenstein.
Leave her alone with him.

[Exit.
Duchess
(to Thekla who starts and shivers).
There—pale as death!—Child, 'tis impossible
That thou should'st speak with him. Follow thy mother.

Thekla.
The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me.

[Exeunt Duchess and Countess.

Scene IV

Thekla, the Swedish Captain, Lady Neubrunn.
Captain.
Princess—I must entreat your gentle pardon—
My inconsiderate rash speech—How could I—

Thekla.
You did behold me in my agony.
A most distressful accident occasioned
You from a stranger to become at once
My confidant.

Captain.
I fear you hate my presence,
For my tongue spake a melancholy word.

Thekla.
The fault is mine. Myself did wrest it from you.
The horror which came o'er me interrupted
Your tale at its commencement. May it please you,
Continue it to the end.

Captain.
Princess, 'twill
Renew your anguish.

Thekla.
I am firm.—
I will be firm. Well—how began the engagement?

Captain.
We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt,
Entrenched but insecurely in our camp,
When towards evening rose a cloud of dust
From the wood thitherward; our vanguard fled
Into the camp, and sounded the alarm.
Scarce had we mounted, ere the Pappenheimers,
Their horses at full speed, broke through the lines,
And leapt the trenches; but their heedless courage
Had borne them onward far before the others—
The infantry were still at distance, only
The Pappenheimers followed daringly
Their daring leader—

[Thekla betrays agitation in her gestures. The officer pauses till she makes a sign to him to proceed.
Captain.
[Thekla, as giddy, grasps a chair.

[Thekla, who has accompanied the last speech with all the marks of increasing agony, trembles through her whole frame, and is falling. The Lady Neubrunn runs to her, and receives her in her arms.
Neubrunn.
My dearest lady—

Captain.
I retire.

Thekla.
'Tis over.
Proceed to the conclusion.

Captain.
Wild despair
Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw
Their leader perish; every thought of rescue
Was spurn'd; they fought like wounded tigers; their
Frantic resistance rous'd our soldiery;
A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest
Finish'd before their last man fell.

Thekla.
And where—
Where is—You have not told me all.

Captain
(after a pause).
This morning
We buried him. Twelve youths of noblest birth
Did bear him to interment; the whole army
Followed the bier. A laurel decked his coffin;
The sword of the deceased was placed upon it,
In mark of honour, by the Rhinegrave's self.
Nor tears were wanting; for there are among us
Many, who had themselves experienced
The greatness of his mind, and gentle manners;
All were affected at his fate. The Rhinegrave
Would willingly have saved him; but himself
Made vain the attempt—'tis said he wished to die.

Ncubrunn
(to Thekla who has hidden her countenance).
Look up, my dearest lady—

Thekla.
Where is his grave?

Captain.
At Neustadt, lady; in a cloister church
Are his remains deposited, until
We can receive directions from his father.

Thekla.
What is the cloister's name?

Captain.
Saint Catharine's.

Thekla.
And how far is it thither?

Captain.
Near twelve leagues.

Thekla.
And which the way?

Captain.
You go by Tirschenreit
And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts.

Thekla.
Who
Is their commander?

Captain.
Colonel Seckendorf.

[Thekla steps to the table, and takes a ring from a casket.
Thekla.
You have beheld me in my agony,
And shewn a feeling heart. Please you, accept
[Giving him the ring.
A small memorial of this hour. Now go!

Captain.
Princess—

[Thekla silently makes signs to him to go, and turns from him. The Captain lingers, and is about to speak. Lady Neubrunn repeats the signal, and he retires.

Scene V

Thekla, Lady Neubrunn.
Thekla
(falls on Lady Neubrunn's neck).
Now, gentle Neubrunn, shew me the affection
Which thou hast ever promised—prove thyself
My own true friend and faithful fellow-pilgrim.
This night we must away!

Neubrunn.
Away! and whither?

Thekla.
Whither! There is but one place in the world.
Thither where he lies buried! To his coffin!

Neubrunn.
What would you do there?

Thekla.
What do there?
That would'st thou not have asked, hadst thou e'er loved.
There, there is all that still remains of him.
That single spot is the whole earth to me.

Neubrunn.
That place of death—

Thekla.
Is now the only place,
Where life yet dwells for me: detain me not!
Come and make preparations: let us think
Of means to fly from hence.

Neubrunn.
Your father's rage—

Thekla.
That time is past—
And now I fear no human being's rage.

Neubrunn.
The sentence of the world! The tongue of calumny!

Thekla.
Whom am I seeking? Him who is no more.
Am I then hastening to the arms—O God!
I haste but to the grave of the beloved.

Neubrunn.
And we alone, two helpless feeble women?

Thekla.
We will take weapons: my arms shall protect thee.

Neubrunn.
In the dark night-time?

Thekla.
Darkness will conceal us.

Neubrunn.
This rough tempestuous night—

Thekla.
Had he a soft bed
Under the hoofs of his war-horses?

Neubrunn.
Heaven!
And then the many posts of the enemy!—

Thekla.
They are human beings. Misery travels free
Through the whole earth.

Neubrunn.
The journey's weary length—

Thekla.
The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine
Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues.

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?

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;
Your tender mother—Ah! how ill prepared
For 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?

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,
Resistless 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 left
These walls—they fall in on me—A dim power
Drives 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—
Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men!

Neubrunn.
You frighten me so, lady, that no longer
I dare stay here myself. I go and call
Rosenberg instantly.

[Exit Lady Neubrunn.

Scene VI

Thekla.
His spirit 'tis that calls me: 'tis the troop
Of his true followers, who offered up
Themselves to avenge his death: and they accuse me
Of an ignoble loitering—they would not
Forsake their leader even in his death—they died for him!
And shall I live?—
For me too was that laurel-garland twined
That 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—
That is the lot of heroes upon earth!

[Exit Thekla.
(The curtain drops.)

ACT V

Scene I

Scene—A Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends far into the back-ground. Wallenstein sitting at a table. The Swedish Captain standing before him.
Wallenstein.
Commend me to your lord. I sympathize
In his good fortune; and if you have seen me
Deficient in the expressions of that joy
Which such a victory might well demand,
Attribute it to no lack of good will,
For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell,
And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow
The citadel shall be surrendered to you
On your arrival.

[The Swedish Captain retires. Wallenstein sits lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head sustained by his hand. The Countess Tertsky

---

794

enters, 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?

Countess.
My sister tells me, she was more collected
After 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 victory
I had expected to have found in thee
A cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm!
Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art,
Our sun.

Wallenstein.
Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's
Thy husband?

Countess.
At a banquet—he and Illo.

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 of the moon,
Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light.
No form of star is visible! That one
White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder,
Is from Cassiopeia, and therein
Is Jupiter. (A pause.)
But now
The 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 aspect
Shot 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,
His life is bright—bright without spot it was,
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap.
Far off is he, above desire and fear;
No more submitted to the change and chance
Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour
Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us!

Countess.
Thou speakest
Of Piccolomini. What was his death?
The courier had just left thee as I came.
[Wallenstein by 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;
To 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 day
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost
In 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 familiar
With 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 vivify
Itself. 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 keys
Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister!

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 waking
Never more find thee!

Wallenstein.
Fancies!

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

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

Countess.
To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee
In thy own chamber. As I entered, lo!
It was no more a chamber; the Chartreuse
At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded,
And where it is thy will that thou should'st be
Interred.

Wallenstein.
Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.

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

Wallenstein.
There is no doubt that there exist such voices.
Yet I would not call them
Voices of warning that announce to us
Only the inevitable. As the sun,
Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image
In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits
Of great events stride on before the events,
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.
That which we read of the fourth Henry's death
Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale
Of my own future destiny. The King
Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife,
Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.
His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma
Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth
Into the open air: like funeral knells
Sounded that coronation festival;
And still with boding sense he heard the tread
Of those feet that ev'n then were seeking him
Throughout the streets of Paris.

Countess.
And to thee
The voice within thy soul bodes nothing?

Wallenstein.
Nothing.
Be wholly tranquil.

Countess.
And another time
I hastened after thee, and thou ran'st from me
Through 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;
When on a sudden did I feel myself
Grasped from behind—the hand was cold that grasped me—
'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed
A crimson covering to envelop us.

Wallenstein.
That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber.

Countess
(gazing on him).
If it should come to that—if I should see thee,
Who standest now before me in the fulness
Of life—

[She falls on his breast and weeps.
Wallenstein.
The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee—
Alphabets wound not—and he finds no hands.

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

[Exit Countess.

Scene II

Wallenstein, Gordon.
Wallenstein.
All quiet in the town?

Gordon.
The town is quiet.

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

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

Wallenstein.
In honour of the victory.—This tribe
Can shew their joy in nothing else but feasting.
[Rings. The Groom of the Chamber enters.
Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.
[Wallenstein takes the keys from Gordon.
So we are guarded from all enemies,
And shut in with sure friends.
For all must cheat me, or a face like this
[Fixing his eye on Gordon.
Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.

[The Groom of the Chamber takes 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.
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,
It was to be a talisman to me,
And while I wore it on my neck in faith,
It was to chain to me all my life long
The volatile fortune whose first pledge it was.
Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune
Must spring up for me; for the potency
Of this charm is dissolved.
[Groom of the Chamber retires with the vestments. Wallenstein rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before Gordon in a posture of meditation.
How the old time returns 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 would'st rail at me—
That I strove after things too high for me,
Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams,
And still extol to me the golden mean.
—Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend
To thy own self. See, it has made thee early
A superannuated man, and (but
That my munificent stars will intervene)
Would let thee in some miserable corner
Go out like an untended lamp.

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

Wallenstein.
Art thou already
In harbour then, old man? Well! I am not.
The 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 years
Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.
[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over against Gordon.
Who now persists in calling Fortune false?
To me she has proved faithful, with fond love
Took me from out the common ranks of men,
And like a mother goddess, with strong arm
Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.
Nothing is common in my destiny,
Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares
Interpret then my life for me as 'twere
One of the undistinguishable many?
True in this present moment I appear
Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.
The high flood will soon follow on this ebb;
The fountain of my fortune, which now stops
Repressed and bound by some malicious star,
Will 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 fortune
To gather hope: for hope is the companion
Given 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 old
Was wont to preach to me, now once more preaching;
I know well, that all sublunary things
Are 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 offered
To themselves injuries, so to atone
The 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 me
There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault
He fell! No joy from favourable fortune
Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke.
The envy of my destiny is glutted:
Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning
Was drawn off which would else have shattered me.

Scene III

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

Seni.
Terror, Duke!
On thy account.

Wallenstein.
What now?

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

Wallenstein.
What now
Is 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 thee
From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror!
Near, 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;
Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee
From false friends!

Wallenstein.
From the falseness of my friends
Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes.
The warning should have come before! At present
I need no revelation from the stars
To 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 behind
The radiance of thy planet—O be warned!
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
Did never please thee—lay thyself to sleep,
Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.

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 creation
Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsaf'd
To interpose its aid for your deliverance,
And made that mouth its organ.

Wallenstein.
Ye're both feverish!
How 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 winged
The ruin that is flying to your temples?
[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 destruction
With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner
Than 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 indeed
It be thy serious wish to make amends
For that which thou hast done amiss,—this, this
Will touch and reconcile the Emperor,
Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy,
And Friedland, who returns repentant to him,
Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour,
Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.

Wallenstein
(contemplates him with surprise, remains silent awhile, 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, never
Can 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 heart
Spoken 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 seriously
Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon!
Let it then have its course.
[Stepping to the window.
All dark and silent—at the castle too
All is now hushed—Light me, Chamberlain!
[The Groom 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 the Duke's feet.
And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish
My reconcilement with the Emperor.
Poor man! he hath a small estate in Cärnthen,
And fears it will be forfeited because
He's in my service. Am I then so poor,
That I no longer can indemnify
My servants? Well! To no one I employ
Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief
That 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 long
Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil
Of this last day or two were great. May't please you!
Take care that they awake me not too early.

[Exit Wallenstein, the Groom of the Chamber lighting him. Seni follows. Gordon remains on the darkened stage, following the Duke with 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.

Scene IV

Gordon, Butler (at first behind the scenes).
Butler
(not yet come into view of the stage).
Here stand in silence till I give the signal.

Gordon
(starts up).
'Tis he, he has already brought the murderers.

Butler.
The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep.

Gordon.
What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him?
Shall I call up the house? Alarm the guards?

Butler
(appears, but scarcely on the stage).
A light gleams hither from the corridor.
It leads directly to the Duke's bedchamber.

Gordon.
But then I break my oath to the Emperor;
If he escape and strengthen the enemy,
Do I not hereby call down on my head
All the dread consequences?

Butler
(stepping forward).
Hark! Who speaks there?

Gordon.
'Tis better, I resign it to the hands
Of providence. For what am I, that I
Should take upon myself so great a deed?
I have not murdered him, if he be murdered;
But all his rescue were my act and deed;
Mine—and whatever be the consequences,
I must sustain them.

Butler
(advances).
I should know that voice.

Gordon.
Butler!

Butler.
'Tis Gordon. What do you want here?
Was it so late then, when the Duke dismissed you?

Gordon.
Your hand bound up and in a scarf?

Butler.
'Tis wounded.
That Illo fought as he was frantic, till
At last we threw him on the ground.

Gordon.
Both dead?

Butler.
Is he in bed?

Gordon.
Ah, Butler!

Butler.
Is he? speak.

Gordon.
He shall not perish! Not through you! The Heaven
Refuses your arm. See—'tis wounded!—

Butler.
There is no need of my arm.

Gordon.
The most guilty
Have perished, and enough is given to justice.

[The Groom of the Chamber advances from the gallery with his finger on his mouth, commanding silence.
Gordon.
He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!

Butler.
No! he shall die awake.

[Is going.
Gordon.
His heart still cleaves
To earthly things: he's not prepared to step
Into the presence of his God!

Butler
(going).
God's merciful!

Gordon
(holds him).
Grant him but this night's respite.

Butler
(hurrying off).
The next moment
May ruin all.

Gordon
(holds him still).
One hour!—

Butler.
Unhold me! What
Can that short respite profit him?

Gordon.
O—Time
Works miracles. In one hour many thousands
Of grains of sand run out; and quick as they,
Thought follows thought within the human soul.
Only one hour! Your heart may change its purpose,
His heart may change its purpose—some new tidings
May come; some fortunate event, decisive,
May fall from Heaven and rescue him. O what
May not one hour achieve!

Butler.
You but remind me,
How precious every minute is!

(He stamps on the floor.)

Scene V

To these enter Macdonald and Devereux, with the Halberdiers.
Gordon
(throwing himself between him and them).
No, monster!
First over my dead body thou shalt tread.
I will not live to see the accursed deed!

Butler
(forcing him out of the way).
Weak-hearted dotard!

[Trumpets are heard in the distance.
Devereux and Macdonald.
Hark! The Swedish trumpets!
The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten!

Gordon
(rushes out).
O, God of Mercy!

Butler
(calling after him).
Governor, to your post!

Groom of the Chamber
(hurries in).
Who dares make larum here? Hush! The Duke sleeps.

Devereux
(with loud harsh voice).
Friend, it is time now to make larum.

Groom of the Chamber.
Help!
Murder!

Butler.
Down with him!

Groom of the Chamber
(run through the body by Devereux, falls at the entrance of the gallery).
Jesus Maria!

Butler.
Burst the doors open!

[They rush over the body into the gallery—two doors are heard to crash one after the other—Voices deadened by the distance—Clash of arms—then all at once a profound silence.

Scene VI

Countess Tertsky
(with a light).
Her bed-chamber is empty; she herself
Is no where to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watched 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 bad tidings? O
If that my husband now were but returned
Home from the banquet: Hark! I wonder whether
The Duke is still awake! I thought I heard
Voices and tread of feet here! I will go
And listen at the door. Hark! What is that?
'Tis hastening up the steps!

Scene VII

Countess, Gordon.
Gordon
(rushes in out of breath).
[Then observing the Countess.

Countess.
You are come then from the castle? Where's my husband?

Gordon.
Your husband!—Ask not!—To the Duke—

Countess.
Not till
You have discovered to me—

Gordon.
[Calling loudly.

Countess.
Why, he is at the castle with my husband.

[Butler comes from the gallery.
Gordon.
'Twas a mistake—'Tis not the Swedes—it is
The Imperialist's Lieutenant-General
Has sent me hither, will be here himself
Instantly.—You must not proceed.

Butler.
He comes
Too late.

[Gordon dashes himself against the wall.
Gordon.
O God of mercy!

Countess.
What too late?
Who will be here himself? Octavio
In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the Duke?

[She rushes to the gallery.

Scene VIII

Servants run across the stage full of terror. The whole Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses.
Seni
(from the gallery).
O bloody frightful deed!

Countess.
What is it, Seni?

Page
(from the gallery).
O piteous sight!

[Other Servants hasten in with torches.
Countess.
What is it? For God's sake!

Seni.
And do you ask?
Within the Duke lies murder'd—and your husband
Assassinated at the Castle.

[The Countess stands motionless.
Female Servant
(rushing across the stage).
Help! Help! the Duchess!

Burgomaster
(enters).
What mean these confused
Loud cries, that wake the sleepers of this house?

Gordon.
Your house is cursed to all eternity.
In your house doth the Duke lie murdered!

Burgomaster
(rushing out).
Heaven forbid!

First Servant.
Fly! fly! they murder us all!

Second Servant
(carrying silver plate).
That way! The lower
Passages are blocked up.

Voice
(from behind the Scene).
Make room for the Lieutenant-General!

[At these words the Countess starts from her stupor, collects herself, and retires suddenly.
Voice
(from behind the Scene).
Keep back the people! Guard the door.

Scene IX

To these enters Octavio Piccolomini with all his train. At the same time Devereux and Macdonald enter from out the Corridor with the Halberdiers. Wallenstein's dead body is carried over the back part of the stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry.
Octavio
(entering abruptly).
It must not be! It is not possible!
Butler! Gordon!
I'll not believe it. Say no!

[Gordon without answering points with his hand to the body of Wallenstein as it is carried over the back of the stage. Octavio looks that way, and stands overpowered with horror.
Devereux
(to Butler).
Here is the golden fleece—the Duke's sword—

Macdonald.
Is it your order—

Butler
(pointing to Octavio).
Here stands he who now
Hath the sole power to issue orders.

[Devereux and Macdonald retire with marks of obeisance. One drops away after the other, till only Butler, Octavio, and Gordon remain on the stage.
Octavio
(turning to Butler).
Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted?
O God of Justice!
To thee I lift my hand! I am not guilty
Of this foul deed.

Butler.
Your hand is pure. You have
Availed yourself of mine.

Octavio.
Merciless man!
Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord—
And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder,
With bloody, most accursed assassination!

Butler.
I've but fulfilled the Emperor's own sentence.

Octavio.
O curse of Kings,
Infusing a dread life into their words,
And linking to the sudden transient thought
The unchangeable irrevocable deed.
Was there necessity for such an eager
Despatch? Could'st thou not grant the merciful
A time for mercy? Time is man's good Angel.
To leave no interval between the sentence,
And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem
God only, the immutable!

Butler.
For what
Rail you against me? What is my offence?
The Empire from a fearful enemy
Have I delivered, and expect reward.
The single difference betwixt you and me
Is this: you placed the arrow in the bow;
I pulled the string. You sowed blood, and yet stand
Astonished that blood is come up. I always
Knew what I did, and therefore no result
Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit.
Have you aught else to order?—for this instant
I make my best speed to Vienna; place
My bleeding sword before my Emperor's throne,
And hope to gain the applause which undelaying
And punctual obedience may demand
From a just judge.

[Exit Butler.

Scene X

To these enter the Countess Tertsky, pale and disordered. Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned.
Octavio
(meeting her).
O Countess Tertsky! These are the results
Of luckless unblest deeds.

Countess.
They are the fruits
Of your contrivances. The Duke is dead,
My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles
In the pangs of death, my niece has disappeared.
This house of splendour, and of princely glory,
Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servants
Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last
Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver
The keys.

Octavio.
O Countess! my house too is desolate.

Countess.
Who next is to be murdered? Who is next
To be maltreated? Lo! The Duke is dead.
The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified!
Spare the old servants; let not their fidelity
Be imputed to the faithful as a crime—
The evil destiny surprised my brother
Too suddenly; he could not think on them.

Octavio.
Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment!
The Emperor is appeased; the heavy fault
Hath heavily been expiated—nothing
Descended from the father to the daughter,
Except his glory and his services.
The Empress honours your adversity,
Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you
Her motherly arms! Therefore no farther fears!
Yield yourself up in hope and confidence
To the Imperial Grace!

Countess.
To the grace and mercy of a greater Master
Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body
Of the Duke have its place of final rest?
In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found,
At Gitschin rests the Countess Wallenstein;
And by her side, to whom he was indebted
For his first fortunes, gratefully he wished
He might sometime repose in death! O let him
Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's
Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor
Is now proprietor of all our castles.
This sure may well be granted us—one sepulchre
Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers!

Octavio.
Countess, you tremble, you turn pale!

Countess.
You think
More worthily of me, than to believe
I would survive the downfall of my house.
We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp
After a monarch's crown—the crown did fate
Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit
That to the crown belong! We deem a
Courageous death more worthy of our free station
Than a dishonoured life.—I have taken poison.

Octavio.
Help! Help! Support her!

Countess.
Nay, it is too late.
In a few moments is my fate accomplished.

[Exit Countess.
Gordon.
O house of death and horrors!

[An officer enters, and brings a letter with the great seal.
Gordon
(steps forward and meets him).
What is this?
It is the Imperial Seal.
[He reads the Address, and delivers the letter to Octavio with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.
To the Prince Piccolomini.

[Octavio, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven.
(The curtain drops.)