 | The Piccolomini : or, The First Part of Wallenstein |  |
Scene VI
To them enters the Countess Tertsky.Countess.
Come!
My husband sends me for you—It is now
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Part you!
Thekla.
O, not yet!
It has been scarce a moment.
Countess.
Aye! Then time
Flies swiftly with your Highness, Princess niece!
Max.
There is no hurry, aunt.
Countess.
Away! Away!
The folks begin to miss you. Twice already
His father has asked for him.
Thekla.
Ha! his father?
Countess.
You understand that, niece!
Thekla.
Why needs he
To go at all to that society?
'Tis not his proper company. They may
Be worthy men, but he's too young for them.
In brief, he suits not such society.
Countess.
You mean, you'd rather keep him wholly here?
Thekla.
Yes! you have hit it, aunt! That is my meaning.
Leave him here wholly! Tell the company—
Countess.
What? have you lost your senses, niece?—
Count, you remember the conditions. Come!
Max
(to Thekla).
Lady, I must obey. Farewell, dear lady!
[Thekla turns away from him with a quick motion.
What say you then, dear lady?
Thekla
(without looking at him).
Nothing. Go!
Max.
Can I, when you are angry—
[He draws up to her, their eyes meet, she stands silent a moment, then throws herself into his arms; he presses her fast to his heart.
Countess.
Off! Heavens! if any one should come!
Hark! What's that noise? It comes this way.—Off!
[Max tears himself away out of her arms, and goes. The Countess accompanies him. Thekla follows him with her eyes at first, walks restlessly across the room, then stops, and remains standing, lost in thought. A guitar lies on the table, she seizes it as by a sudden emotion, and after she has played a while an irregular and melancholy symphony, she falls gradually into the music and sings.
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(plays and sings).
The cloud doth gather, the greenwood roar,
The damsel paces along the shore;
The billows they tumble with might, with might;
And she flings out her voice to the darksome night;
Her bosom is swelling with sorrow;
The damsel paces along the shore;
The billows they tumble with might, with might;
And she flings out her voice to the darksome night;
Her bosom is swelling with sorrow;
The world it is empty, the heart will die,
There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky:
Thou Holy One, call thy child away!
I've lived and loved, and that was to-day—
Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow.
There's nothing to wish for beneath the sky:
Thou Holy One, call thy child away!
I've lived and loved, and that was to-day—
Make ready my grave-clothes to-morrow.
| The Piccolomini : or, The First Part of Wallenstein | |