University of Virginia Library

ACT I

Scene I

An old Gothic Chamber in the Council House at Pilsen, decorated with Colours and other War Insignia.
Illo with Butler and Isolani.
Illo.
Ye have come late—but ye are come! The distance,
Count Isolan, excuses your delay.

Isolani.
Add this too, that we come not empty-handed.
At Donauwert it was reported to us,
A Swedish caravan was on its way
Transporting a rich cargo of provision,
Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats
Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize!—
We bring it hither—

Illo.
Just in time to banquet
The illustrious company assembled here.

Butler.
'Tis all alive! a stirring scene here!

Isolani.
Ay!
The very churches are all full of soldiers.
And in the Council-house, too, I observe,
You're settled, quite at home! Well, well! we soldiers
Must shift and suit us in what way we can.

Illo.
We have the Colonels here of thirty regiments.
You'll find Count Tertsky here, and Tiefenbach,
Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam,
The Piccolomini, both son and father—
You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting
From many an old friend and acquaintance. Only
Galas is wanting still, and Altringer.

Butler.
Expect not Galas.

Illo.
How so? Do you know—

Isolani.
Max Piccolomini here?—O bring me to him.
I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago,
We were engaged with Mansfeld hard by Dessau)
I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him,
Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown,
And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril,
Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe.
The down was scarce upon his chin! I hear
He has made good the promise of his youth,
And the full hero now is finished in him.

Illo.
You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts
The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess
From Carnthen. We expect them here at noon.

Butler.
Both wife and daughter does the Duke call hither?
He crowds in visitants from all sides.

Isolani.
Hm!
So much the better! I had framed my mind
To hear of nought but warlike circumstance,
Of marches, and attacks, and batteries:
And lo! the Duke provides, that something too
Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present
To feast our eyes.

Illo
(aside to Butler).
And how came you to know
That the Count Galas joins us not?

Butler.
Because
He importuned me to remain behind.

Illo.
And you?—You hold out firmly?
Noble Butler!

Butler.
After the obligation which the Duke
Had laid so newly on me—

Illo.
I had forgotten
A pleasant duty—Major-General,
I wish you joy!

Isolani.
What, you mean, of his regiment?
I hear, too, that to make the gift still sweeter,
The Duke has given him the very same
In which he first saw service, and since then,
Worked himself, step by step, through each preferment,
From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives
A precedent of hope, a spur of action
To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance
An old deserving soldier makes his way.

Butler.
I am perplexed and doubtful, whether or no
I dare accept this your congratulation.
The Emperor has not yet confirmed the appointment.

Isolani.
Seize it, friend! Seize it! The hand which in that post
Placed you, is strong enough to keep you there,
Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers!

Illo.
Ay, if we would but so consider it!—
If we would all of us consider it so!
The Emperor gives us nothing; from the Duke
Comes all—whate'er we hope, whate'er we have.

Isolani
(to Illo).
My noble brother! did I tell you how
The Duke will satisfy my creditors?
Will be himself my banker for the future,
Make me once more a creditable man!—
And this is now the third time, think of that!
This kingly-minded man has rescued me
From absolute ruin, and restored my honour.

Illo.
O that his power but kept pace with his wishes!
Why, friend! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers.
But at Vienna, brother! here's the grievance!—
What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten
His arm, and, where they can, to clip his pinions.
Then these new dainty requisitions! these,
Which this same Questenberg brings hither!—

Butler.
Ay,
These requisitions of the Emperor,—
I too have heard about them; but I hope
The Duke will not draw back a single inch!

Illo.
Not from his right most surely, unless first
—From office!

Butler.
Know you aught then? You alarm me.

Isolani
(at the same time with Butler, and in a hurrying voice).
We should be ruined, every one of us!

Illo.
No more!
Yonder I see our worthy friend approaching
With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini.

Butler.
I fear we shall not go hence as we came.

Scene II

Enter Octavio Piccolomini and Questenberg.
Octavio.
Ay, ay! more still! Still more new visitors!
Acknowledge, friend! that never was a camp,
Which held at once so many heads of heroes.
Welcome, Count Isolani!

Isolani.
My noble brother,
Even now am I arrived; it had been else my duty—

Octavio.
And Colonel Butler—trust me, I rejoice
Thus to renew acquaintance with a man
Whose worth and services I know and honour.
See, see, my friend!
There might we place at once before our eyes
The sum of war's whole trade and mystery—
[To Questenberg, presenting Butler and Isolani at the same time to him.
These two the total sum—Strength and Dispatch.

Questenberg
(to Octavio).
And lo! betwixt them both experienced Prudence!

Octavio
(presenting Questenberg to Butler and Isolani).
The Chamberlain and War-commissioner Questenberg,
The bearer of the Emperor's behests,
The long-tried friend and patron of all soldiers,
We honour in this noble visitor.

Illo.
'Tis not the first time, noble Minister,
You have shewn our camp this honour.

Questenberg.
Once before
I stood before these colours.

Illo.
Perchance too you remember where that was.
It was at Znäim in Moravia, where
You did present yourself upon the part
Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke
That he would straight assume the chief command.

Questenberg.
To supplicate? Nay, noble General!
So far extended neither my commission
(At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal.

Illo.
Well, well, then—to compel him, if you choose.
I can remember me right well, Count Tilly
Had suffered total rout upon the Lech.
Bavaria lay all open to the enemy,
Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing
Onwards into the very heart of Austria.
At that time you and Werdenberg appeared
Before our General, storming him with prayers,
And menacing the Emperor's displeasure,
Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness.

Isolani.
Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough,
Wherefore with your commission of to-day
You were not all too willing to remember
Your former one.

Questenberg.
Why not, Count Isolan?
No contradiction sure exists between them.
It was the urgent business of that time
To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand;
And my commission of to-day instructs me
To free her from her good friends and protectors.

Illo.
A worthy office! After with our blood
We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon,
To be swept out of it is all our thanks,
The sole reward of all our hard-won victories.

Questenberg.
Unless that wretched land be doomed to suffer
Only a change of evils, it must be
Freed from the scourge alike of friend and foe.

Illo.
What? 'Twas a favourable year; the Boors
Can answer fresh demands already.

Questenberg.
Nay,
If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds—

Isolani.
The war maintains the war. Are the Boors ruined,
The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers.

Questenberg.
And is the poorer by even so many subjects.

Isolani.
Poh! We are all his subjects.

Questenberg.
Yet with a difference, General! The one fill
With profitable industry the purse,
The others are well skilled to empty it.
The sword has made the Emperor poor; the plough
Must reinvigorate his resources.

Isolani.
Sure!
Times are not yet so bad. Methinks I see
[Examining with his eye the dress and ornaments of Questenberg.
Good store of gold that still remains uncoined.

Questenberg.
Thank Heaven! that means have been found out to hide
Some little from the fingers of the Croats.

Illo.
There! The Stawata and the Martinitz,
On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces,
To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians—
Those minions of court favour, those court harpies,
Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens
Driven from their house and home—who reap no harvests
Save in the general calamity—
Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock
The desolation of their country—these,
Let these, and such as these, support the war,
The fatal war, which they alone enkindled!

Butler.
And those state-parasites, who have their feet
So constantly beneath the Emperor's table,
Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they
Snap at it with dog's hunger—they, forsooth,
Would pare the soldier's bread, and cross his reckoning!

Isolani.
My life long will it anger me to think,
How when I went to court seven years ago,
To see about new horses for our regiment,
How from one antechamber to another
They dragged me on, and left me by the hour
To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering
Feast-fattened slaves, as if I had come thither
A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour
That fall beneath their tables. And, at last,
Whom should they send me but a Capuchin!
Straight I began to muster up my sins
For absolution—but no such luck for me!
This was the man, this Capuchin, with whom
I was to treat concerning the army horses:
And I was forced at last to quit the field,
The business unaccomplished. Afterwards
The Duke procured me in three days, what I
Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna.

Questenberg.
Yes, yes! your travelling bills soon found their way to us:
Too well I know we have still accounts to settle.

Illo.
War is a violent trade; one cannot always
Finish one's work by soft means; every trifle
Must not be blackened into sacrilege.
If we should wait till you, in solemn council,
With due deliberation had selected
The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils,
I'faith, we should wait long.—
‘Dash! and through with it!’—That's the better watchword.
Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature
To make the best of a bad thing once past.
A bitter and perplexed ‘what shall I do?’
Is worse to man than worst necessity.

Questenberg.
Ay, doubtless, it is true: the Duke does spare us
The troublesome task of choosing.

Butler.
Yes, the Duke
Cares with a father's feelings for his troops;
But how the Emperor feels for us, we see.

Questenberg.
His cares and feelings all ranks share alike,
Nor will he offer one up to another.

Isolani.
And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts
As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve
His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home.

Questenberg.
Count, this comparison you make, not I.

Butler.
Why, were we all the Court supposes us,
'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty.

Questenberg.
You have taken liberty—it was not given you.
And therefore it becomes an urgent duty
To rein it in with curbs.

Octavio.
My noble friend,
This is no more than a remembrancing
That you are now in camp, and among warriors.
The soldier's boldness constitues his freedom.
Could he act daringly, unless he dared
Talk even so? One runs into the other.
The boldness of this worthy officer,
[pointing to Butler.
Which now has but mistaken in its mark,
Preserved, when nought but boldness could preserve it,
To the Emperor his capital city, Prague,
In a most formidable mutiny
Of the whole garrison.
[Military music at a distance.
Hah! here they come!

Illo.
The sentries are saluting them: this signal
Announces the arrival of the Duchess.

Octavio.
Then my son Max too has returned. 'Twas he
Fetched and attended them from Carnthen hither.

Isolani
(to Illo).
Shall we not go in company to greet them?

Illo.
Well, let us go.—Ho! Colonel Butler, come.
[To Octavio.
You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we meet
The noble Envoy at the General's palace.

[Exeunt all but Questenberg and Octavio.

Scene III

Questenberg and Octavio.
Questenberg.
What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio!
What sentiments! what fierce, uncurbed defiance!
And were this spirit universal—

Octavio.
Hm!
You are now acquainted with three-fourths of the army.

Questenberg.
Where must we seek then for a second host
To have the custody of this? That Illo
Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then
This Butler too—he cannot even conceal
The passionate workings of his ill intentions.

Octavio.
Quickness of temper—irritated pride;
'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler.
I know a spell that will soon dispossess
The evil spirit in him.

Questenberg.
Friend, friend!
O! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffered
Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There
We saw it only with a courtier's eyes,
Eyes dazzled by the splendour of the throne.
We had not seen the War-Chief, the Commander,
The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here,
'Tis quite another thing.
Here is no Emperor more—the Duke is Emperor.
Alas, my friend! alas, my noble friend!
This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp
Strikes my hopes prostrate.

Octavio.
Now you see yourself
Of what a perilous kind the office is,
Which you deliver to me from the Court.
The least suspicion of the General
Costs me my freedom and my life, and would
But hasten his most desperate enterprise.

Questenberg.
Where was our reason sleeping when we trusted
This madman with the sword, and placed such power
In such a hand? I tell you, he'll refuse,
Flatly refuse, to obey the Imperial orders.
Friend, he can do't, and what he can, he will.
And then the impunity of his defiance—
O! what a proclamation of our weakness!

Octavio.
D'ye think too, he has brought his wife and daughter
Without a purpose hither? Here in camp!
And at the very point of time, in which
We're arming for the war? That he has taken
These, the last pledges of his loyalty,
Away from out the Emperor's domains—
This is no doubtful token of the nearness
Of some eruption!

Questenberg.
How shall we hold footing
Beneath this tempest, which collects itself
And threats us from all quarters? The enemy
Of the empire on our borders, now already
The master of the Danube, and still farther,
And farther still, extending every hour!
In our interior the alarum-bells
Of insurrection—peasantry in arms—
All orders discontented—and the army,
Just in the moment of our expectation
Of aidance from it—lo! this very army
Seduced, run wild, lost to all discipline,
Loosened, and rent asunder from the state
And from their sovereign, the blind instrument
Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon
Of fearful power, which at his will he wields!

Octavio.
Nay, nay, friend! let us not despair too soon,
Men's words are ever bolder than their deeds:
And many a resolute, who now appears
Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden
Find in his breast a heart he knew not of,
Let but a single honest man speak out
The true name of his crime! Remember, too,
We stand not yet so wholly unprotected.
Counts Altringer and Galas have maintained
Their little army faithful to its duty,
And daily it becomes more numerous.
Nor can he take us by surprise: you know,
I hold him all-encompassed by my listeners.
Whate'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing—
No step so small, but instantly I hear it;
Yea, his own mouth discloses it.

Questenberg.
'Tis quite
Incomprehensible, that he detects not
The foe so near!

Octavio.
Beware, you do not think,
That I by lying arts, and complaisant
Hypocrisy, have skulked into his graces:
Or with the sustenance of smooth professions
Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No—
Compelled alike by prudence, and that duty
Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign,
To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet
Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits!

Questenberg.
It is the visible ordinance of heaven.

Octavio.
I know not what it is that so attracts
And links him both to me and to my son.
Comrades and friends we always were—long habit,
Adventurous deeds performed in company,
And all those many and various incidents
Which store a soldier's memory with affections,
Had bound us long and early to each other—
Yet I can name the day, when all at once
His heart rose on me, and his confidence
Shot out in sudden growth. It was the morning
Before the memorable fight at Lützner.
Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out,
To press him to accept another charger.
At distance from the tents, beneath a tree,
I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him,
And had related all my bodings to him,
Long time he stared upon me, like a man
Astounded; thereon fell upon my neck,
And manifested to me an emotion
That far outstripped the worth of that small service.
Since then his confidence has followed me
With the same pace that mine has fled from him.

Questenberg.
You lead your son into the secret?

Octavio.
No!

Questenberg.
What? and not warn him either what bad hands
His lot has placed him in?

Octavio.
I must perforce
Leave him in wardship to his innocence.
His young and open soul—dissimulation
Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance
Alone can keep alive the cheerful air,
The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit,
That make the Duke secure.

Questenberg.
My honoured friend! most highly do I deem
Of Colonel Piccolomini—yet—if—
Reflect a little—

Octavio.
I must venture it.
Hush!—There he comes!

Scene IV

Max Piccolomini, Octavio Piccolomini, Questenberg.
Max.
Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father!
You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you.

Octavio.
How, Max? Look closer at this visitor;
Attention, Max, an old friend merits—Reverence
Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign.

Max.
Von Questenberg!—Welcome—if you bring with you
Aught good to our head quarters.

Questenberg
(seizing his hand).
Nay, draw not
Your hand away, Count Piccolomini!
Not on mine own account alone I seized it,
And nothing common will I say therewith.
[Taking the hands of both.
Octavio—Max Piccolomini!
O saviour names, and full of happy omen!
Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria,
While two such stars, with blessed influences
Beaming protection, shine above her hosts.

Max.
Heh!—Noble minister! You miss your part.
You came not here to act a panegyric.
You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us—
I must not be beforehand with my comrades.

Octavio.
He comes from court, where people are not quite
So well contented with the duke, as here.

Max.
What now have they contrived to find out in him?
That he alone determines for himself
What he himself alone doth understand?
Well, therein he does right, and will persist in't.
Heaven never meant him for that passive thing
That can be struck and hammered out to suit
Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance
To every tune of every minister.
It goes against his nature—he can't do it.
He is possessed by a commanding spirit,
And his too is the station of command.
And well for us it is so! There exist
Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use
Their intellects intelligently.—Then
Well for the whole, if there be found a man,
Who makes himself what nature destined him,
The pause, the central point to thousand thousands—
Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column,
Where all may press with joy and confidence.
Now such a man is Wallenstein; and if
Another better suits the court—no other
But such a one as he can serve the army.

Questenberg.
The army? Doubtless!

Octavio
(aside).
Hush! suppress it, friend!
Unless some end were answered by the utterance.—
Of him there you'll make nothing.

Max.
In their distress
They call a spirit up, and when he comes,
Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him
More than the ills for which they called him up.
The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be
Like things of every day.—But in the field,
Aye, there the Present Being makes itself felt.
The personal must command, the actual eye
Examine. If to be the chieftain asks
All that is great in nature, let it be
Likewise his privilege to move and act
In all the correspondencies of greatness.
The oracle within him, that which lives,
He must invoke and question—not dead books,
Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers.

Octavio.
My son! of those old narrow ordinances
Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights
Of priceless value, which oppressed mankind
Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors.
For always formidable was the league
And partnership of free power with free will.
The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds,
Is yet no devious way. Straight forward goes
The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path
Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid,
Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches.
My son! the road the human being travels,
That on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow
The river's course, the valley's playful windings,
Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines,
Honouring the holy bounds of property!
And thus secure, though late, leads to its end.

Questenberg.
O hear your father, noble youth! hear him,
Who is at once the hero and the man.

Octavio.
My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee!
A war of fifteen years
Hath been thy education and thy school.
Peace hast thou never witnessed! There exists
A higher than the warrior's excellence.
In war itself war is no ultimate purpose.
The vast and sudden deeds of violence,
Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment,
These are not they, my son, that generate
The calm, the blissful, and the enduring mighty!
Lo there! the soldier, rapid architect!
Builds his light town of canvas, and at once
The whole scene moves and bustles momently,
With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel
The motley market fills; the roads, the streams
Are crowded with new freights, trade stirs and hurries!
But on some morrow morn, all suddenly,
The tents drop down, the horde renews its march.
Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard
The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie,
And the year's harvest is gone utterly.

Max.
O let the Emperor make peace, my father!
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel
For the first violet of the leafless spring,
Plucked in those quiet fields where I have journeyed!

Octavio.
What ails thee? What so moves thee all at once?

Max.
Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it.
From thence am I come hither: O! that sight,
It glimmers still before me, like some landscape
Left in the distance,—some delicious landscape!
My road conducted me through countries where
The war has not yet reached. Life, life, my father—
My venerable father, life has charms
Which we have ne'er experienced. We have been
But voyaging along its barren coasts,
Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates,
That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship,
House on the wild sea with wild usages,
Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays
Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing.
Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals
Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing,
Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.

Octavio.
And so your journey has revealed this to you?

Max.
'Twas the first leisure of my life. O tell me,
What is the meed and purpose of the toil,
The painful toil, which robbed me of my youth,
Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary,
A spirit uninformed, unornamented.
For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum,
The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet,
The unvaried, still-returning hour of duty,
Word of command, and exercise of arms—
There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this
To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart!
Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not—
This cannot be the sole felicity,
These cannot be man's best and only pleasures.

Octavio.
Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey.

Max.
O! day thrice lovely! when at length the soldier
Returns home into life; when he becomes
A fellow-man among his fellow-men.
The colours are unfurled, the cavalcade
Marshals, and now the buzz is hushed, and hark!
Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home!
The caps and helmets are all garlanded
With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields.
The city gates fly open of themselves,
They need no longer the petard to tear them.
The ramparts are all filled with men and women,
With peaceful men and women, that send onwards
Kisses and welcomings upon the air,
Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures.
From all the towers rings out the merry peal,
The joyous vespers of a bloody day.
O happy man, O fortunate! for whom
The well-known door, the faithful arms are open,
The faithful tender arms with mute embracing.

Questenberg.
O! that you should speak
Of such a distant, distant time, and not
Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day.

Max.
Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna?
I will deal openly with you, Questenberg.
Just now, as first I saw you standing here,
(I'll own it to you freely) indignation
Crowded and pressed my inmost soul together.
'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye!—and the warrior,
It is the warrior that must force it from you.
Ye fret the General's life out, blacken him,
Hold him up as a rebel, and Heaven knows
What else still worse, because he spares the Saxons,
And tries to awaken confidence in the enemy;
Which yet's the only way to peace: for if
War intermit not during war, how then
And whence can peace come?—Your own plagues fall on you!
Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you.
And here make I this vow, here pledge myself;
My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein,
And my heart drain off, drop by drop, ere ye
Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin.

[Exit.

Scene V

Questenberg, Octavio Piccolomini.
Questenberg.
Alas, alas! and stands it so?
What, friend! and do we let him go away
In this delusion—let him go away?
Not call him back immediately, not open
His eyes upon the spot?

Octavio.
He has now opened mine,
And I see more than pleases me.

Questenberg.
What is it?

Octavio.
Curse on this journey!

Questenberg.
But why so? What is it?

Octavio.
Come, come along, friend! I must follow up
The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes
Are opened now, and I must use them. Come!

[Draws Questenberg on with him.
Questenberg.
What now? Where go you then?

Octavio.
To her herself.

Questenberg.
To—

Octavio.
To the Duke. Come, let us go—'Tis done, 'tis done,
I see the net that is thrown over him.
O! he returns not to me as he went.

Questenberg.
Nay, but explain yourself.

Octavio.
And that I should not
Foresee it, not prevent this journey! Wherefore
Did I keep it from him?—You were in the right.
I should have warned him! Now it is too late.

Questenberg.
But what's too late? Bethink yourself, my friend,
That you are talking absolute riddles to me.

Octavio.
Come!—to the Duke's. 'Tis close upon the hour
Which he appointed you for audience. Come!
A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey!

[He leads Questenberg off.

Scene VI

Changes to a spacious chamber in the house of the Duke of Friedland.—Servants employed in putting the tables and chairs in order. During this enters Seni, like an old Italian doctor, in black, and clothed somewhat fantastically. He carries a white staff, with which he marks out the quarters of the heaven.
First Servant.

Come—to it, lads, to it! Make an end of it.
I hear the sentry call out, ‘Stand to your arms!’ They will
be there in a minute.

Second Servant.

Why were we not told before that the
audience would be held here? Nothing prepared—no orders
—no instructions—

Third Servant.

Ay, and why was the balcony-chamber countermanded,
that with the great worked carpet?—there one can
look about one.

First Servant.

Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there.
He says it is an unlucky chamber.

Second Servant.

Poh! stuff and nonsense! That's what I call
a hum. A chamber is a chamber; what much can the place
signify in the affair?

Seni.
My son, there's nothing insignificant,
Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing
First and most principal is place and time.

First Servant
(to the Second).

Say nothing to him, Nat. The
Duke himself must let him have his own will.

Seni
(counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till he comes to eleven, which he repeats).
Eleven! an evil number! Set twelve chairs.
Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven,
The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve.

Second Servant.

And what may you have to object against
eleven? I should like to know that now.

Seni.
Eleven is—transgression; eleven oversteps
The ten commandments.

Second Servant.

That's good! and why do you call five an
holy number?

Seni.
Five is the soul of man: for even as man
Is mingled up of good and evil, so
The five is the first number that's made up
Of even and odd.

Second Servant.

The foolish old coxcomb!

First Servant.

Ey! let him alone though. I like to hear
him; there is more in his words than can be seen at first sight.

Third Servant.

Off! They come.

Second Servant.

There! Out at the side-door.

[They hurry off. Seni follows slowly. A page brings the staff of command on a red cushion, and places it on the table near the Duke's chair. They are announced from without, and the wings of the door fly open.

Scene VII

Wallenstein, Duchess.
Wallenstein.
You went then through Vienna, were presented
To the Queen of Hungary?

Duchess.
Yes, and to the Empress too,
And by both Majesties were we admitted
To kiss the hand.

Wallenstein.
And how was it received,
That I had sent for wife and daughter hither
To the camp, in winter time?

Duchess.
I did even that
Which you commissioned me to do. I told them,
You had determined on our daughter's marriage,
And wished, ere yet you went into the field,
To shew the elected husband his betrothed.

Wallenstein.
And did they guess the choice which I had made?

Duchess.
They only hoped and wished it may have fallen
Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble.

Wallenstein.
And you—what do you wish, Elizabeth?

Duchess.
Your will, you know, was always mine.

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

Duchess.
O! my dear lord, all is not what it was.
A cankerworm, my lord, a cankerworm
Has stolen into the bud.

Wallenstein.
Ay! is it so!
What, they were lax? they failed of the old respect?

Duchess.
Not of respect. No honours were omitted,
No outward courtesy; but in the place
Of condescending, confidential kindness,
Familiar and endearing, there were given me
Only these honours and that solemn courtesy.
Ah! and the tenderness which was put on,
It was the guise of pity, not of favour.
No! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife,
Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so—
Not wholly so should she have been received.

Wallenstein.
Yes, yes; they have ta'en offence. My latest conduct,
They railed at it, no doubt.

Duchess.
O that they had!
I have been long accustomed to defend you,
To heal and pacify distempered spirits.
No; no one railed at you. They wrapped them up,
O Heaven! in such oppressive, solemn silence!—
Here is no every-day misunderstanding,
No transient pique, no cloud that passes over;
Something most luckless, most unhealable,
Has taken place. The Queen of Hungary
Used formerly to call me her dear aunt,
And ever at departure to embrace me—

Wallenstein.
Now she omitted it?

Duchess.
She did embrace me,
But then first when I had already taken
My formal leave, and when the door already
Had closed upon me, then did she come out
In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself,
And pressed me to her bosom, more with anguish
Than tenderness.

Wallenstein
(seizes her hand soothingly).
Nay, now collect yourself,
And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein,
And of our other friends there?

Duchess.
I saw none.

Wallenstein.
The Ambassador from Spain, who once was wont
To plead so warmly for me?—

Duchess.
Silent, Silent!

Wallenstein.
These suns then are eclipsed for us. Henceforward
Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light.

Duchess.
And were it—were it, my dear lord, in that
Which moved about the court in buzz and whisper,
But in the country let itself be heard
Aloud—in that which Father Lamormain
In sundry hints and—

Wallenstein.
Lamormain! what said he?

Duchess.
That you're accused of having daringly
O'erstepped the powers entrusted to you, charged
With traitorous contempt of the Emperor
And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian,
He and the Spaniards stand up your accusers—
That there's a storm collecting over you
Of far more fearful menace than that former one
Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg.
And people talk, said he, of—Ah!—

Wallenstein.
Proceed!

Duchess.
I cannot utter it!

Wallenstein.
Proceed!

Duchess.
They talk—

Wallenstein.
Well!

Duchess.
Of a second—

Wallenstein.
Second—

Duchess.
More disgraceful
—Dismission.

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

Duchess.
O! if there yet be time, my husband! if
By giving way and by submission, this
Can be averted—my dear lord, give way!
Win down your proud heart to it! Tell that heart
It is your sovereign lord, your Emperor
Before whom you retreat. O let no longer
Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning
With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up
Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth,
And drive before you into uttermost shame
These slanderous liars! Few firm friends have we—
You know it!—The swift growth of our good fortune
It hath but set us up, a mark for hatred.
What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favour
Stand not before us?

Scene VIII

Enter the Countess Tertsky, leading in her hand the Princess Thekla, richly adorned with brilliants.
Countess, Thekla, Wallenstein, Duchess.
Countess.
How, sister? What already upon business,
And business of no pleasing kind I see,
Ere he has gladdened at his child. The first
Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland! father!
This is thy daughter.

(Thekla approaches with a shy and timid air, and bends herself as about to kiss his hand. He receives her in his arms, and remains standing for some time lost in the feeling of her presence.)
Wallenstein.
Yes! pure and lovely hath hope risen on me:
I take her as the pledge of greater fortune.

Duchess.
'Twas but a little child when you departed
To raise up that great army for the Emperor:
And after, at the close of the campaign,
When you returned home out of Pomerania,
Your daughter was already in the convent,
Wherein she has remain'd till now.

Wallenstein.
The while
We in the field here gave our cares and toils
To make her great, and fight her a free way
To the loftiest earthly good, lo! mother Nature
Within the peaceful silent convent walls
Has done her part, and out of her free grace
Hath she bestowed on the beloved child
The godlike; and now leads her thus adorned
To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope.

Duchess
(to Thekla).
Thou wouldst not have recognized thy father,
Wouldst thou, my child? She counted scarce eight years,
When last she saw your face.

Thekla.
O yes, yes, mother!
At the first glance!—My father is not altered.
The form, that stands before me, falsifies
No feature of the image that hath lived
So long within me!

Wallenstein.
The voice of my child!
[Then after a pause.
I was indignant at my destiny
That it denied me a man-child to be
Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune,
And re-illume my soon extinguished being
In a proud line of princes.
I wronged my destiny. Here upon this head
So lovely in its maiden bloom will I
Let fall the garland of a life of war,
Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it
Transmitted to a regal ornament,
Around these beauteous brows.

[He clasps her in his arms as Piccolomini enters.

Scene IX

Enter Max Piccolomini, and some time after Count Tertsky, the others remaining as before.
Countess.
There comes the Paladin who protected us.

Wallenstein.
Max! Welcome, ever welcome! Always wert thou
The morning star of my best joys!

Max.
My General—

Wallenstein.
'Till now it was the Emperor who rewarded thee,
I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound
The father to thee, Max! the fortunate father,
And this debt Friedland's self must pay.

Max.
My prince!
You made no common hurry to transfer it.
I come with shame: yea, not without a pang!
For scarce have I arrived here, scarce delivered
The mother and the daughter to your arms,
But there is brought to me from your equerry
A splendid richly-plated hunting dress
So to remunerate me for my troubles—
Yes, yes, remunerate me! Since a trouble
It must be, a mere office, not a favour
Which I leapt forward to receive, and which
I came already with full heart to thank you for.
No! 'twas not so intended, that my business
Should be my highest best good fortune!

[Tertsky enters, and delivers letters to the Duke, which he breaks open hurryingly.
Countess
(to Max).
Remunerate your trouble! For his joy
He makes you recompense. 'Tis not unfitting
For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel
So tenderly—my brother it beseems
To shew himself for ever great and princely.

Thekla.
Then I too must have scruples of his love:
For his munificent hands did ornament me
Ere yet the father's heart had spoken to me.

Max.
Yes; 'tis his nature ever to be giving
And making happy.
How my heart pours out
Its all of thanks to him: O! how I seem
To utter all things in the dear name Friedland.
While I shall live, so long will I remain
The captive of this name: in it shall bloom
My every fortune, every lovely hope.
Inextricably as in some magic ring
In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me!

Countess.
My brother wishes us to leave him. Come.

Wallenstein
(turns himself round quick, collects himself, and speaks with cheerfulness to the Duchess).
Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp,
Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max,
Will now again administer your old office,
While we perform the sovereign's business here.

[Max Piccolomini offers the Duchess his arm, the Countess accompanies the Princess.
Tertsky
(calling after him).
Max, we depend on seeing you at the meeting.

Scene X

Wallenstein, Count Tertsky.
Wallenstein
(to himself).
She hath seen all things as they are—It is so
And squares completely with my other notices.
They have determined finally in Vienna,
Have given me my successor already;
It is the king of Hungary, Ferdinand,
The Emperor's delicate son! he's now their saviour,
He's the new star that's rising now! Of us
They think themselves already fairly rid,
And as we were deceased, the heir already
Is entering on possession—Therefore—dispatch!
[As he turns round he observes Tertsky, and gives him a letter.
Count Altringer will have himself excused,
And Galas too—I like not this!

Tertsky.
And if
Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away,
One following the other.

Wallenstein.
Altringer
Is master of the Tyrole passes. I must forthwith
Send some one to him, that he let not in
The Spaniards on me from the Milanese.
—Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader
In contraband negotiations, he
Has shewn himself again of late. What brings he
From the Count Thur?

Tertsky.
The Count communicates,
He has found out the Swedish chancellor
At Halberstadt, where the convention's held,
Who says, you've tired him out, and that he'll have
No further dealings with you.

Wallenstein.
And why so?

Tertsky.
He says, you are never in earnest in your speeches,
That you decoy the Swedes—to make fools of them,
Will league yourself with Saxony against them,
And at last make yourself a riddance of them
With a paltry sum of money.

Wallenstein.
So then, doubtless,
Yes, doubtless, this same modest Swede expects
That I shall yield him some fair German tract
For his prey and booty, that ourselves at last
On our own soil and native territory,
May be no longer our own lords and masters!
An excellent scheme! No, no! They must be off,
Off, off! away! we want no such neighbours.

Tertsky.
Nay, yield them up that dot, that speck of land—
It goes not from your portion. If you win
The game what matters it to you who pays it?

Wallenstein.
Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this.
Never shall it be said of me, I parcelled
My native land away, dismembered Germany,
Betrayed it to a foreigner, in order
To come with stealthy tread, and filch away
My own share of the plunder—Never! never!—
No foreign power shall strike root in the empire,
And least of all, these Goths! these hunger-wolves!
Who send such envious, hot and greedy glances
T'wards the rich blessings of our German lands!
I'll have their aid to cast and draw my nets,
But not a single fish of all the draught
Shall they come in for.

Tertsky.
You will deal, however,
More fairly with the Saxons? They lose patience
While you shift ground and make so many curves.
Say, to what purpose all these masks? Your friends
Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you.
There's Oxenstirn, there's Arnheim—neither knows
What he should think of your procrastinations.
And in the end I prove the liar: all
Passes through me. I have not even your hand-writing.

Wallenstein.
I never give my handwriting; thou knowest it.

Tertsky.
But how can it be known that you're in earnest,
If the act follows not upon the word?
You must yourself acknowledge, that in all
Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy
You might have done with safety all you have done,
Had you meant nothing further than to gull him
For the Emperor's service.

Wallenstein
(after a pause, during which he looks narrowly on Tertsky).
And from whence dost thou know
That I'm not gulling him for the Emperor's service?
Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you?
Dost thou know me so well? When made I thee
The intendant of my secret purposes?
I am not conscious that I ever open'd
My inmost thoughts to thee. The Emperor, it is true,
Hath dealt with me amiss; and if I would,
I could repay him with usurious interest
For the evil he hath done me. It delights me
To know my power; but whether I shall use it,
Of that, I should have thought that thou could'st speak
No wiselier than thy fellows.

Tertsky.
So hast thou always played thy game with us.

[Enter Illo.

Scene XI

Illo, Wallenstein, Tertsky.
Wallenstein.
How stand affairs without? Are they prepared?

Illo.
You'll find them in the very mood you wish.
They know about the Emperor's requisitions,
And are tumultuous.

Wallenstein.
How hath Isolan
Declared himself?

Illo.
He's yours, both soul and body,
Since you built up again his Faro-bank.

Wallenstein.
And which way doth Kolatto bend? Hast thou
Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodate?

Illo.
What Piccolomini does, that they do too.

Wallenstein.
You mean then I may venture somewhat with them?

Illo.
—If you are assured of the Piccolomini.

Wallenstein.
Not more assured of mine own self.

Tertsky.
And yet
I would you trusted not so much to Octavio,
The fox!

Wallenstein.
Thou teachest me to know my man?
Sixteen campaigns I have made with that old warrior.
Besides, I have his horoscope,
We both are born beneath like stars—in short
To this belongs its own particular aspect,
If therefore thou canst warrant me the rest—

Illo.
There is among them all but this one voice,
You must not lay down the command. I hear
They mean to send a deputation to you.

Wallenstein.
If I'm in aught to bind myself to them,
They too must bind themselves to me.

Illo.
Of course.

Wallenstein.
Their words of honour they must give, their oaths,
Give them in writing to me, promising
Devotion to my service unconditional.

Illo.
Why not?

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

Wallenstein.
All unconditional!
No premises, no reserves.

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

Tertsky.
Yes; and all the Generals
Have been invited.

Illo
(to Wallenstein).
Say, will you here fully
Commission me to use my own discretion?
I'll gain for you the Generals' words of honour,
Even as you wish.

Wallenstein.
Gain me their signatures!
How you come by them, that is your concern.

Illo.
And if I bring it to you, black on white,
That all the leaders who are present here
Give themselves up to you, without condition;
Say, will you then—then will you shew yourself
In earnest, and with some decisive action
Make trial of your luck?

Wallenstein.
The signatures!
Gain me the signatures.

Illo.
Seize, seize the hour
Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment
In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty.
To make a great decision possible,
O! many things, all transient and all rapid,
Must meet at once: and, haply, they thus met
May by that confluence be enforced to pause
Time long enough for wisdom, though too short,
Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple!
This is that moment. See, our army chieftains,
Our best, our noblest, are assembled around you,
Their kinglike leader! On your nod they wait.
The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune
Hath woven together in one potent web
Instinct with destiny, O let them not
Unravel of themselves. If you permit
These chiefs to separate, so unanimous
Bring you them not a second time together.
'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship,
And every individual's spirit waxes
In the great stream of multitudes. Behold
They are still here, here still! But soon the war
Bursts them once more asunder, and in small
Particular anxieties and interests
Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy
Of each man with the whole. He, who to-day
Forgets himself, forced onward with the stream,
Will become sober, seeing but himself,
Feel only his own weakness, and with speed
Will face about, and march on in the old
High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road,
And seek but to make shelter in good plight.

Wallenstein.
The time is not yet come.

Tertsky.
So you say always.
But when will it be time?

Wallenstein.
When I shall say it.

Illo.
You'll wait upon the stars, and on their hours,
Till the earthly hour escapes you. O, believe me,
In your own bosom are your destiny's stars.
Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution,
This is your Venus! and the sole malignant,
The only one that harmeth you is Doubt.

Wallenstein.
Thou speakest as thou understand'st. How oft
And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter,
That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth.
Thy visual power subdues no mysteries;
Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow in the earth,
Blind as that subterrestrial, who with wan,
Lead-coloured shine lighted thee into life.
The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see,
With serviceable cunning knit together
The nearest with the nearest; and therein
I trust thee and believe thee! but whate'er
Full of mysterious import Nature weaves,
And fashions in the depths—the spirit's ladder,
That from this gross and visible world of dust
Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds,
Builds itself up; on which the unseen powers
Move up and down on heavenly ministries—
The circles in the circles, that approach
The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit—
These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye,
Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre.
[He walks across the chamber, then returns, and standing still, proceeds.
The heavenly constellations make not merely
The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely
Signify to the husbandman the seasons
Of sowing and of harvest. Human action,
That is the seed too of contingencies,
Strewed on the dark land of futurity
In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate.
Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time,
To watch the stars, select their proper hours,
And trace with searching eye the heavenly houses,
Whether the enemy of growth and thriving
Hide himself not, malignant, in his corner.
Therefore permit me my own time. Meanwhile
Do you your part. As yet I cannot say
What I shall do—only, give way I will not.
Depose me too they shall not. On these points
You may rely.

Page
(entering).
My Lords, the Generals.

Wallenstein.
Let them come in.

Scene XII

Wallenstein, Tertsky, Illo.—To them enter Questenberg, Octavio, and Max Piccolomini, Butler, Isolani, Maradas, and three other Generals. Wallenstein motions Questenberg, who in consequence takes the Chair directly opposite to him; the others follow, arranging themselves according to their rank.
Wallenstein.
I have understood, 'tis true, the sum and import
Of your instructions, Questenberg, have weighed them,
And formed my final, absolute resolve;
Yet it seems fitting, that the Generals
Should hear the will of the Emperor from your mouth.
May't please you then to open your commission
Before these noble Chieftains.

Questenberg.
I am ready
To obey you; but will first entreat your Highness,
And all these noble Chieftains, to consider,
The Imperial dignity and sovereign right
Speaks from my mouth, and not my own presumption.

Wallenstein.
We excuse all preface.

Questenberg.
When his Majesty
The Emperor to his courageous armies
Presented in the person of Duke Friedland
A most experienced and renowned commander,
He did it in glad hope and confidence
To give thereby to the fortune of the war
A rapid and auspicious change. The onset
Was favourable to his royal wishes.
Bohemia was delivered from the Saxons,
The Swede's career of conquest checked! These lands
Began to draw breath freely, as Duke Friedland
From all the streams of Germany forced hither
The scattered armies of the enemy,
Hither invoked as round one magic circle
The Rhinegrave, Bernhard, Banner, Oxenstirn,
Yea, and that never-conquered King himself;
Here finally, before the eye of Nürnberg,
The fearful game of battle to decide.

Wallenstein.
May't please you to the point.

Questenberg.
In Nürnberg's camp the Swedish monarch left
His fame—in Lützen's plains his life. But who
Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland
After this day of triumph, this proud day,
Marched toward Bohemia with the speed of flight,
And vanished from the theatre of war;
While the young Weimar hero forced his way
Into Franconia, to the Danube, like
Some delving winter-stream, which, where it rushes,
Makes its own channel; with such sudden speed
He marched, and now at once 'fore Regenspurg
Stood to the affright of all good Catholic Christians.
Then did Bavaria's well-deserving Prince
Entreat swift aidance in his extreme need;
The Emperor sends seven horsemen to Duke Friedland,
Seven horsemen couriers sends he with the entreaty:
He superadds his own, and supplicates
Where as the sovereign lord he can command.
In vain his supplication! At this moment
The Duke hears only his old hate and grudge,
Barters the general good to gratify
Private revenge—and so falls Regenspurg.

Wallenstein.
Max, to what period of the war alludes he?
My recollection fails me here.

Max.
He means
When we were in Silesia.

Wallenstein.
Ay! Is it so!
But what had we to do there?

Max.
To beat out
The Swedes and Saxons from the province.

Wallenstein.
True.
In that description which the Minister gave
I seemed to have forgotten the whole war.
[To Questenberg.
Well, but proceed a little.

Questenberg.
Yes! at length
Beside the river Oder did the Duke
Assert his ancient fame. Upon the fields
Of Steinau did the Swedes lay down their arms,
Subdued without a blow. And here, with others,
The righteousness of Heaven to his avenger
Delivered that long-practised stirrer-up
Of insurrection, that curse-laden torch
And kindler of this war, Matthias Thur.
But he had fallen into magnanimous hands;
Instead of punishment he found reward,
And with rich presents did the Duke dismiss
The arch-foe of his Emperor.

Wallenstein
(laughs).
I know,
I know you had already in Vienna
Your windows and balconies all forestalled
To see him on the executioner's cart.
I might have lost the battle, lost it too
With infamy, and still retained your graces—
But, to have cheated them of a spectacle,
Oh! that the good folks of Vienna never,
No, never can forgive me.

Questenberg.
So Silesia
Was freed, and all things loudly called the Duke
Into Bavaria, now pressed hard on all sides.
And he did put his troops in motion: slowly,
Quite at his ease, and by the longest road
He traverses Bohemia; but ere ever
He hath once seen the enemy, faces round,
Breaks up the march, and takes to winter quarters.

Wallenstein.
The troops were pitiably destitute
Of every necessary, every comfort.
The winter came. What thinks his Majesty
His troops are made of? Arn't we men? subjected
Like other men to wet, and cold, and all
The circumstances of necessity?
O miserable lot of the poor soldier!
Wherever he comes in, all flee before him,
And when he goes away, the general curse
Follows him on his route. All must be seized,
Nothing is given him. And compelled to seize
From every man, he's every man's abhorrence.
Behold, here stand my Generals. Karaffa!
Count Deodate! Butler! Tell this man
How long the soldiers' pay is in arrears.

Butler.
Already a full year.

Wallenstein.
And 'tis the hire
That constitutes the hireling's name and duties,
The soldier's pay is the soldier's covenant.

Questenberg.
Ah! this is a far other tone from that
In which the Duke spoke eight, nine years ago.

Wallenstein.
Yes! 'tis my fault, I know it: I myself
Have spoilt the Emperor by indulging him.
Nine years ago, during the Danish war,
I raised him up a force, a mighty force,
Forty or fifty thousand men, that cost him
Of his own purse no doit. Through Saxony
The fury goddess of the war marched on,
E'en to the surf-rocks of the Baltic, bearing
The terrors of his name. That was a time!
In the whole Imperial realm no name like mine
Honoured with festival and celebration—
And Albrecht Wallenstein, it was the title
Of the third jewel in his crown!
But at the Diet, when the Princes met
At Regenspurg, there, there the whole broke out,
There 'twas laid open, there it was made known,
Out of what money-bag I had paid the host.
And what was now my thank, what had I now,
That I, a faithful servant of the Sovereign,
Had loaded on myself the people's curses,
And let the Princes of the empire pay
The expenses of this war, that aggrandizes
The Emperor alone—What thanks had I!
What? I was offered up to their complaints,
Dismissed, degraded!

Questenberg.
But your Highness knows
What little freedom he possessed of action
In that disastrous diet.

Wallenstein.
Death and hell!
I had that which could have procured him freedom.
No! Since 'twas proved so inauspicious to me
To serve the Emperor at the empire's cost,
I have been taught far other trains of thinking
Of the empire, and the diet of the empire.
From the Emperor, doubtless, I received this staff,
But now I hold it as the empire's general—
For the common weal, the universal interest,
And no more for that one man's aggrandizement!
But to the point. What is it that's desired of me?

Questenberg.
First, his imperial Majesty hath willed
That without pretexts of delay the army
Evacuate Bohemia.

Wallenstein.
In this season?
And to what quarter wills the Emperor
That we direct our course?

Questenberg.
To the enemy.
His Majesty resolves, that Regenspurg
Be purified from the enemy, ere Easter,
That Lutheranism may be no longer preached
In that cathedral, nor heretical
Defilement desecrate the celebration
Of that pure festival.

Wallenstein.
My generals,
Can this be realized?

Illo.
'Tis not possible.

Butler.
It can't be realized.

Questenberg.
The Emperor
Already hath commanded Colonel Suys
To advance toward Bavaria!

Wallenstein.
What did Suys?

Questenberg.
That which his duty prompted. He advanced!

Wallenstein.
What? he advanced? And I, his general,
Had given him orders, peremptory orders,
Not to desert his station! Stands it thus
With my authority? Is this the obedience
Due to my office, which being thrown aside
No war can be conducted? Chieftains, speak!
You be the judges, generals! What deserves
That officer, who of his oath neglectful
Is guilty of contempt of orders?

Illo.
Death.

Wallenstein.
Count Piccolomini! what has he deserved?

Max Piccolomini.
According to the letter of the law,
Death.

Isolani.
Death.

Butler.
Death, by the laws of war.

[Questenberg rises from his seat, Wallenstein follows; all the rest rise.
Wallenstein.
To this the law condemns him, and not I.
And if I shew him favour, 'twill arise
From the reverence that I owe my Emperor.

Questenberg.
If so, I can say nothing further—here!

Wallenstein.
I accepted the command but on conditions!
And this the first, that to the diminution
Of my authority no human being,
Not even the Emperor's self, should be entitled
To do aught, or to say aught, with the army.
If I stand warranter of the event,
Placing my honour and my head in pledge,
Needs must I have full mastery in all
The means thereto. What rendered this Gustavus
Resistless, and unconquered upon earth?
This—that he was the monarch in his army!
A monarch, one who is indeed a monarch,
Was never yet subdued but by his equal.
But to the point! The best is yet to come.
Attend now, generals!

Questenberg.
The prince Cardinal
Begins his route at the approach of spring
From the Milanese; and leads a Spanish army
Through Germany into the Netherlands.
That he may march secure and unimpeded,
'Tis the Emperor's will you grant him a detachment
Of eight horse-regiments from the army here.

Wallenstein.
Yes, yes! I understand!—Eight regiments! Well,
Right well concerted, father Lamormain!
Eight thousand horse! Yes, yes! 'Tis as it should be!
I see it coming!

Questenberg.
There is nothing coming.
All stands in front: the counsel of state-prudence,
The dictate of necessity!—

Wallenstein.
What then?
What, my Lord Envoy? May I not be suffered
To understand, that folks are tired of seeing
The sword's hilt in my grasp: and that your court
Snatch eagerly at this pretence, and use
The Spanish title, to drain off my forces,
To lead into the empire a new army
Unsubjected to my control. To throw me
Plumply aside,—I am still too powerful for you
To venture that. My stipulation runs,
That all the Imperial forces shall obey me
Where'er the German is the native language.
Of Spanish troops and of Prince Cardinals
That take their route, as visitors, through the empire,
There stands no syllable in my stipulation.
No syllable! And so the politic court
Steals in a-tiptoe, and creeps round behind it;
First makes me weaker, then to be dispensed with,
Till it dares strike at length a bolder blow
And make short work with me.
What need of all these crooked ways, Lord Envoy?
Straight-forward man! His compact with me pinches
The Emperor. He would that I moved off!—
Well!—I will gratify him!
[Here there commences an agitation among the Generals which increases continually.
It grieves me for my noble officers' sakes!
I see not yet, by what means they will come at
The moneys they have advanced, or how obtain
The recompense their services demand.
Still a new leader brings new claimants forward,
And prior merit superannuates quickly.
There serve here many foreigners in the army,
And were the man in all else brave and gallant,
I was not wont to make nice scrutiny
After his pedigree or catechism.
This will be otherwise, i'the time to come.
Well—me no longer it concerns.

[He seats himself.
Max Piccolomini.
Forbid it, Heaven, that it should come to this!
Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation—
The Emperor is abused—it cannot be.

Isolani.
It cannot be; all goes to instant wreck.

Wallenstein.
Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani!
What we with toil and foresight have built up,
Will go to wreck—all go to instant wreck.
What then? another chieftain is soon found,
Another army likewise (who dares doubt it?)
Will flock from all sides to the Emperor
At the first beat of his recruiting drum.

[During this speech, Isolani, Tertsky, Illo and Maradas talk confusedly with great agitation.
Max Piccolomini
(busily and passionately going from one to another, and soothing them).
Hear, my commander! Hear me, generals!
Let me conjure you, Duke! Determine nothing,
Till we have met and represented to you
Our joint remonstrances.—Nay, calmer! Friends!
I hope all may be yet set right again.

Tertsky.
Away! let us away! in the antechamber
Find we the others.

[They go.
Butler
(to Questenberg).
If good counsel gain
Due audience from your wisdom, my Lord Envoy!
You will be cautious how you shew yourself
In public for some hours to come—or hardly
Will that gold key protect you from maltreatment.

[Commotions heard from without.
Wallenstein.
A salutary counsel—Thou, Octavio!
Wilt answer for the safety of our guest.
Farewell, Von Questenberg!

[Questenberg is about to speak.
[As Questenberg is going off with Octavio, Goetz, Tiefenbach, Kolatto, press in; several other Generals following them.
Goetz.
Where's he who means to rob us of our general?

Tiefenbach
(at the same time).
What are we forced to hear? That thou wilt leave us?

Kolatto
(at the same time).
We will live with thee, we will die with thee.

Wallenstein
(pointing to Illo).
There! the Field-Marshal knows our will.

[Exit.