■Works of Frederich Schiller in English,(3)
by Frederich Schiller
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Project Gutenberg Works of Frederich Schiller in English,
by Frederich Schiller
THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN
Translated by James Churchill.
The Camp of Wallenstein is an introduction to the celebrated tragedy of that name; and, by its vivid portraiture of the state of the general's army, gives the best clue to the spell of his gigantic power. The blind belief entertained in the unfailing success of his arms, and in the supernatural agencies by which that success is secured to him; the unrestrained indulgence of every passion, and utter disregard of all law, save that of the camp; a hard oppression of the peasantry and plunder of the country, have all swollen the soldiery with an idea of interminable sway. But as we have translated the whole, we shall leave these reckless marauders to speak for themselves.
Of Schiller's opinion concerning the Camp, as a necessary introduction to the tragedy, the following passage taken from the prologue to the first representation, will give a just idea, and may also serve as a motto to the work:—
"Not he it is, who on the tragic scene
Will now appear—but in the fearless bands
Whom his command alone could sway, and whom
His spirit fired, you may his shadow see,
Until the bashful Muse shall dare to bring
Himself before you in a living form;
For power it was that bore his heart astray
His Camp, alone, elucidates his crime."
Sergeant-Major | of a regiment of Recruit.
Trumpeter | Terzky's carabineers. Citizen.
Artilleryman, Peasant.
Sharpshooters. Peasant Boy.
Mounted Yagers, of Holk's corps. Capuchin.
Dragoons, of Butler's regiment. Regimental Schoolmaster.
Arquebusiers, of Tiefenbach's regiment. Sutler-Woman.
Cuirassier, of a Walloon regiment. Servant Girl.
Cuirassier, of a Lombard regiment. Soldiers' Boys.
Croats. Musicians.
Hulans.
(SCENE.—The Camp before Pilsen, in Bohemia.)
Sutlers' tents—in front, a Slop-shop. Soldiers of all colors and uniforms thronging about. Tables all filled. Croats and Hulans cooking at a fire. Sutler-woman serving out wine. Soldier-boys throwing dice on a drum-head. Singing heard from the tent.
Enter a Peasant and his Son.
SON.
Father, I fear it will come to harm,
So let us be off from this soldier swarm;
But boist'rous mates will ye find in the shoal—
'Twere better to bolt while our skins are whole.
FATHER.
How now, boy! the fellows wont eat us, though
They may be a little unruly, or so.
See, yonder, arriving a stranger train,
Fresh comers are they from the Saal and Mayne;
Much booty they bring of the rarest sort—
'Tis ours, if we cleverly drive our sport.
A captain, who fell by his comrade's sword,
This pair of sure dice to me transferred;
To-day I'll just give them a trial to see
If their knack's as good as it used to be.
You must play the part of a pitiful devil,
For these roaring rogues, who so loosely revel,
Are easily smoothed, and tricked, and flattered,
And, free as it came, their gold is scattered.
But we—since by bushels our all is taken,
By spoonfuls must ladle it back again;
And, if with their swords they slash so highly,
We must look sharp, boy, and do them slyly.
[Singing and shouting in the tent.
Hark, how they shout! God help the day!
'Tis the peasant's hide for their sport must pay.
Eight months in our beds and stalls have they
Been swarming here, until far around
Not a bird or a beast is longer found,
And the peasant, to quiet his craving maw,
Has nothing now left but his bones to gnaw.
Ne'er were we crushed with a heavier hand,
When the Saxon was lording it o'er the land:
And these are the Emperor's troops, they say!
SON.
From the kitchen a couple are coming this way,
Not much shall we make by such blades as they.
FATHER.
They're born Bohemian knaves—the two—
Belonging to Terzky's carabineers,
Who've lain in these quarters now for years;
The worst are they of the worthless crew.
Strutting, swaggering, proud and vain,
They seem to think they may well disdain
With the peasant a glass of his wine to drain
But, soft—to the left o' the fire I see
Three riflemen, who from the Tyrol should be
Emmerick, come, boy, to them will we.
Birds of this feather 'tis luck to find,
Whose trim's so spruce, and their purse well lined.
[They move towards the tent.
The above—Sergeant-Major, Trumpeter, Hulan.
TRUMPETER.
What would the boor? Out, rascal, away!
PEASANT.
Some victuals and drink, worthy masters, I pray,
For not a warm morsel we've tasted to day.
TRUMPETER.
Ay, guzzle and guttle—'tis always the way.
HULAN (with a glass).
Not broken your fast! there—drink, ye hound!
He leads the peasant to the tent—the others come forward.
SERGEANT (to the Trumpeter).
Think ye they've done it without good ground?
Is it likely they double our pay to-day,
Merely that we may be jolly and gay?
TRUMPETER.
Why, the duchess arrives to-day, we know,
And her daughter too—
SERGEANT.
Tush! that's mere show—
'Tis the troops collected from other lands
Who here at Pilsen have joined our bands—
We must do the best we can t' allure 'em,
With plentiful rations, and thus secure 'em.
Where such abundant fare they find,
A closer league with us to bind.
TRUMPETER.
Yes!—there's something in the wind.
SERGEANT.
The generals and commanders too—
TRUMPETER.
A rather ominous sight, 'tis true.
SERGEANT.
Who're met together so thickly here—
TRUMPETER.
Have plenty of work on their hands, that's clear.
SERGEANT.
The whispering and sending to and fro—
TRUMPETER.
Ay! Ay!
SERGEANT.
The big-wig from Vienna, I trow,
Who since yesterday's seen to prowl about
In his golden chain of office there—
Something's at the bottom of this, I'll swear.
TRUMPETER.
A bloodhound is he beyond a doubt,
By whom the duke's to be hunted out.
SERGEANT.
Mark ye well, man!—they doubt us now,
And they fear the duke's mysterious brow;
He hath clomb too high for them, and fain
Would they beat him down from his perch again.
TRUMPETER.
But we will hold him still on high—
That all would think as you and I!
SERGEANT.
Our regiment, and the other four
Which Terzky leads—the bravest corps
Throughout the camp, are the General's own,
And have been trained to the trade by himself alone
The officers hold their command of him,
And are all his own, or for life or limb.
Enter Croat with a necklace. Sharpshooter following him.
The above.
SHARPSHOOTER.
Croat, where stole you that necklace, say?
Get rid of it man—for thee 'tis unmeet:
Come, take these pistols in change, I pray.
CROAT.
Nay, nay, Master Shooter, you're trying to cheat.
SHARPSHOOTER.
Then I'll give you this fine blue cap as well,
A lottery prize which just I've won:
Look at the cut of it—quite the swell!
CROAT (twirling the Necklace in the Sun).
But this is of pearls and of garnets bright,
See, how it plays in the sunny light!
SHARPSHOOTER (taking the Necklace).
Well, I'll give you to boot, my own canteen—
I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen.
[Looks at it.
TRUMPETER.
See, now!—how cleanly the Croat is done
Snacks! Master Shooter, and mum's the word.
CROAT (having put on the cap).
I think your cap is a smartish one.
SHARPSHOOTER (winking to the Trumpeter).
'Tis a regular swop, as these gents have heard.
The above. An Artilleryman.
ARTILLERYMAN (to the Sergeant).
How is this I pray, brother carabineer?
Shall we longer stay here, our fingers warming,
While the foe in the field around is swarming?
SERGEANT.
Art thou, indeed, in such hasty fret?
Why the roads, as I think, are scarce passable yet.
ARTILLERYMAN.
For me they are not—I'm snug enough here—
But a courier's come, our wits to waken
With the precious news that Ratisbon's taken.
TRUMPETER.
Ha! then we soon shall have work in hand.
SERGEANT.
Indeed! to protect the Bavarian's land,
Who hates the duke, as we understand,
We won't put ourselves in a violent sweat.
ARTILLERYMAN.
Heyday!—you'll find you're a wiseacre yet.
The above—Two Yagers. Afterwards Sutler-woman,
Soldier-boy, Schoolmaster, Servant-girl.
FIRST YAGER.
See! see!
Here meet we a jovial company!
TRUMPETER.
Who can these greencoats be, I wonder,
That strut so gay and sprucely yonder!
SERGEANT.
They're the Yagers of Holk—and the lace they wear,
I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair.
SUTLER-WOMAN (bringing wine).
Welcome, good sirs!
FIRST YAGER.
Zounds, how now?
Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow!
SUTLER-WOMAN.
The same in sooth—and you I know,
Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho:
Who at Glueckstadt once, in revelling night,
With the wags of our regiment, put to flight
All his father's shiners—then crowned the fun—
FIRST YAGER.
By changing his pen for a rifle-gun.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear.
FIRST YAGER.
And to think we should meet in Bohemia here!
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Oh, here to-day—to-morrow yonder—
As the rude war-broom, in restless trace,
Scatters and sweeps us from place to place.
Meanwhile I've been doomed far round to wander.
FIRST YAGER.
So one would think, by the look of your face.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Up the country I've rambled to Temsewar,
Whither I went with the baggage-car,
When Mansfeld before us we chased away;
With the duke near Stralsund next we lay,
Where trade went all to pot, I may say.
I jogged with the succors to Mantua;
And back again came, under Feria:
Then, joining a Spanish regiment,
I took a short cut across to Ghent;
And now to Bohemia I'm come to get
Old scores paid off, that are standing yet,
If a helping hand by the duke be lent—
And yonder you see my sutler's tent.
FIRST YAGER.
Well, all things seem in a flourishing way,
But what have you done with the Scotchman, say,
Who once in the camp was your constant flame?
SUTLER-WOMAN.
A villain, who tricked me clean, that same
He bolted, and took to himself whate'er
I'd managed to scrape together, or spare,
Leaving me naught but the urchin there.
SOLDIER-BOY (springing forward).
Mother, is it my papa you name?
FIRST YAGER.
Well, the emperor now must father this elf,
For the army must ever recruit itself.
SCHOOLMASTER.
Forth to the school, ye rogue—d'ye hear?
FIRST YAGER.
He, too, of a narrow room has fear.
SERVANT GIRL (entering).
Aunt, they'll be off.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
I come apace.
FIRST YAGER.
What gypsy is that with the roguish face?
SUTLER-WOMAN.
My sister's child from the south, is she.
FIRST YAGER.
Ay, ay, a sweet little niece—I see.
SECOND YAGER (holding the girl).
Softly, my pretty one! stay with me.
GIRL.
The customers wait, sir, and I must go.
[Disengages herself, and exit.
FIRST YAGER.
That maiden's a dainty morsel, I trow!
And her aunt—by heaven! I mind me well,—
When the best of the regiment loved her so,
To blows for her beautiful face they fell.
What different folks one's doomed to know!
How time glows off with a ceaseless flow!
And what sights as yet we may live to see!
(To the Sergeant and Trumpeter.)
Your health, good sirs, may we be free,
A seat beside you here to take?
The Yagers, Sergeant, and Trumpeter.
SERGEANT.
We thank ye—and room will gladly make.
To Bohemia welcome.
FIRST YAGER.
Snug enough here!
In the land of the foe our quarters were queer.
TRUMPETER.
You haven't the look on't—you're spruce to view.
SERGEANT.
Ay, faith, on the Saal, and in Meissen, too,
Your praises are heard from the lips of few.
SECOND YAGER.
Tush, man! why, what the plague d'ye mean?
The Croat had swept the fields so clean,
There was little or nothing for us to glean.
TRUMPETER.
Yet your pointed collar is clean and sightly,
And, then, your hose that sit so tightly!
Your linen so fine, with the hat and feather,
Make a show of smartness altogether!
(To Sergeant.)
That fortune should upon younkers shine—
While nothing in your way comes, or mine.
SERGEANT.
But then we're the Friedlander's regiment
And, thus, may honor and homage claim.
FIRST YAGER.
For us, now, that's no great compliment,
We, also, bear the Friedlander's name.
SERGEANT.
True—you form part of the general mass.
FIRST YAGER.
And you, I suppose, are a separate class!
The difference lies in the coats we wear,
And I have no wish to change with you there.
SERGEANT.
Sir Yager, I can't but with pity melt,
When I think how much among boors you've dwelt.
The clever knack and the proper tone,
Are caught by the general's side alone.
FIRST YAGER.
Then the lesson is wofully thrown away,—
How he hawks and spits, indeed, I may say
You've copied and caught in the cleverest way;
But his spirit, his genius—oh, these I ween,
On your guard parade are but seldom seen.
SECOND YAGER.
Why, zounds! ask for us wherever you will,
Friedland's wild hunt is our title still!
Never shaming the name, all undaunted we go
Alike through the field of a friend, or a foe;
Through the rising stalk, or the yellow corn,
Well know they the blast of Holk's Yager horn.
In the flash of an eye, we are far or near,
Swift as the deluge, or there or here—
As at midnight dark, when the flames outbreak
In the silent dwelling where none awake;
Vain is the hope in weapons or flight,
Nor order nor discipline thwart its might.
Then struggles the maid in our sinewy arms,
But war hath no pity, and scorns alarms.
Go, ask—I speak not with boastful tongue—
In Bareuth, Westphalia, Voigtland, where'er
Our troops have traversed—go, ask them there—
Children and children's children long,
When hundreds and hundreds of years are o'er,
Of Holk will tell and his Yager corps.
SERGEANT.
Why, hark! Must a soldier then be made
By driving this riotous, roaring trade!
'Tis drilling that makes him, skill and sense—
Perception—thought—intelligence.
FIRST YAGER.
'Tis liberty makes him! Here's a fuss!
That I should such twaddle as this discuss.
Was it for this that I left the school?
That the scribbling desk, and the slavish rule,
And the narrow walls, that our spirits cramp,
Should be met with again in the midst of the camp?
No! Idle and heedless, I'll take my way,
Hunting for novelty every day;
Trust to the moment with dauntless mind,
And give not a glance or before or behind.
For this to the emperor I sold my hide,
That no other care I might have to bide.
Through the foe's fierce firing bid me ride,
Through fathomless Rhine, in his roaring flow,
Where ev'ry third man to the devil may go,
At no bar will you find me boggling there;
But, farther than this, 'tis my special prayer,
That I may not be bothered with aught like care.
SERGEANT.
If this be your wish, you needn't lack it,
'Tis granted to all with the soldier's jacket.
FIRST YAGER.
What a fuss and a bother, forsooth, was made
By that man-tormentor, Gustavus, the Swede,
Whose camp was a church, where prayers were said
At morning reveille and evening tattoo;
And, whenever it chanced that we frisky grew,
A sermon himself from the saddle he'd read.
SERGEANT.
Ay, that was a man with the fear of God.
FIRST YAGER.
Girls he detested; and what's rather odd,
If caught with a wench you in wedlock were tacked,—
I could stand it no longer, so off I packed.
SERGEANT.
Their discipline now has a trifle slacked.
FIRST YAGER.
Well, next to the League I rode over; their men
Were mustering in haste against Magdeburg then.
Ha! that was another guess sort of a thing!
In frolic and fun we'd a glorious swing;
With gaming, and drinking, and girls at call,
I'faith, sirs, our sport was by no means small.
For Tilly knew how to command, that's plain;
He held himself in but gave us the rein;
And, long as he hadn't the bother of paying,
"Live and let live!" was the general's saying.
But fortune soon gave him the slip; and ne'er
Since the day of that villanous Leipzig affair
Would aught go aright. 'Twas of little avail
That we tried, for our plans were sure to fail.
If now we drew nigh and rapped at the door,
No greeting awaited, 'twas opened no more;
From place to place we went sneaking about,
And found that their stock of respect was out;
Then touched I the Saxon bounty, and thought
Their service with fortune must needs be fraught.
SERGEANT.
You joined them then just in the nick to share
Bohemia's plunder?
FIRST YAGER.
I'd small luck there.
Strict discipline sternly ruled the day,
Nor dared we a foeman's force display;
They set us to guard the imperial forts,
And plagued us all with the farce of the courts.
War they waged as a jest 'twere thought—
And but half a heart to the business brought,
They would break with none; and thus 'twas plain
Small honor among them could a soldier gain.
So heartily sick in the end grew I
That my mind was the desk again to try;
When suddenly, rattling near and far,
The Friedlander's drum was heard to war.
SERGEANT.
And how long here may you mean to stay?
FIRST YAGER.
You jest, man. So long as he bears the sway,
By my soul! not a thought of change have I;
Where better than here could the soldier lie?
Here the true fashion of war is found,
And the cut of power's on all things round;
While the spirit whereby the movement's given
Mightily stirs, like the winds of heaven,
The meanest trooper in all the throng.
With a hearty step shall I tramp along
On a burgher's neck as undaunted tread
As our general does on the prince's head.
As 'twas in the times of old 'tis now,
The sword is the sceptre, and all must bow.
One crime alone can I understand,
And that's to oppose the word of command.
What's not forbidden to do make bold,
And none will ask you what creed you hold.
Of just two things in this world I wot,
What belongs to the army and what does not,
To the banner alone is my service brought.
SERGEANT.
Thus, Yager, I like thee—thou speakest, I vow,
With the tone of a Friedland trooper now.
FIRST YAGER.
'Tis not as an office he holds command,
Or a power received from the emperor's hand;
For the emperor's service what should he care,
What better for him does the emperor fare?
With the mighty power he wields at will,
Has ever he sheltered the land from ill?
No; a soldier-kingdom he seeks to raise,
And for this would set the world in a blaze,
Daring to risk and to compass all—
TRUMPETER.
Hush—who shall such words as these let fall?
FIRST YAGER.
Whatever I think may be said by me,
For the general tells us the word is free.
SERGEANT.
True—that he said so I fully agree,
I was standing by. "The word is free—
The deed is dumb—obedience blind!"
His very words I can call to mind.
FIRST YAGER.
I know not if these were his words or no,
But he said the thing, and 'tis even so.
SECOND YAGER.
Victory ne'er will his flag forsake,
Though she's apt from others a turn to take:
Old Tilly outlived his fame's decline,
But under the banner of Wallenstein,
There am I certain that victory's mine!
Fortune is spell-bound to him, and must yield;
Whoe'er under Friedland shall take the field
Is sure of a supernatural shield:
For, as all the world is aware full well,
The duke has a devil in hire from hell.
SERGEANT.
In truth that he's charmed is past a doubt,
For we know how, at Luetzen's bloody affair,
Where firing was thickest he still was there,
As coolly as might be, sirs, riding about.
The hat on his head was shot thro' and thro',
In coat and boots the bullets that flew
Left traces full clear to all men's view;
But none got so far as to scratch off his skin,
For the ointment of hell was too well rubbed in.
FIRST YAGER.
What wonders so strange can you all see there?
An elk-skin jacket he happens to wear,
And through it the bullets can make no way.
SERGEANT.
'Tis an ointment of witches' herbs, I say,
Kneaded and cooked by unholy spell.
TRUMPETER.
No doubt 'tis the work of the powers of hell.
SERGEANT.
That he reads in the stars we also hear,
Where the future he sees—distant or near—
But I know better the truth of the case
A little gray man, at the dead of night,
Through bolted doors to him will pace—
The sentinels oft have hailed the sight,
And something great was sure to be nigh,
When this little gray-coat had glided by.
FIRST YAGER.
Ay, ay, he's sold himself to the devil,
Wherefore, my lads, let's feast and revel.
The above—Recruit, Citizen, Dragoon.
(The Recruit advances from the tent, wearing a tin cap
on his head, and carrying a wine-flask.)
RECRUIT.
To father and uncle pray make my bow,
And bid 'em good-by—I'm a soldier now.
FIRST YAGER.
See, yonder they're bringing us something new,
CITIZEN.
Oh, Franz, remember, this day you'll rue.
RECRUIT (sings).
The drum and the fife,
War's rattling throng,
And a wandering life
The world along!
Swift steed—and a hand
To curb and command—
With a blade by the side,
We're off far and wide.
As jolly and free,
As the finch in its glee,
On thicket or tree,
Under heaven's wide hollow—
Hurrah! for the Friedlander's banner I'll follow!
SECOND YAGER.
Foregad! a jolly companion, though.
[They salute him.
CITIZEN.
He comes of good kin; now pray let him go.
FIRST YAGER.
And we wern't found in the streets you must know.
CITIZEN.
I tell you his wealth is a plentiful stock;
Just feel the fine stuff that he wears for a frock.
TRUMPETER.
The emperor's coat is the best he can wear.
CITIZEN.
To a cap manufactory he is the heir.
SECOND YAGER.
The will of a man is his fortune alone.
CITIZEN.
His grandmother's shop will soon be his own.
FIRST YAGER.
Pish! traffic in matches! who would do't?
CITIZEN.
A wine-shop his grandfather leaves, to boot,
A cellar with twenty casks of wine.
TRUMPETER.
These with his comrades he'll surely share.
SECOND YAGER.
Hark ye, lad—be a camp-brother of mine.
CITIZEN.
A bride he leaves sitting, in tears, apart.
FIRST YAGER.
Good—that now's a proof of an iron heart.
CITIZEN.
His grandmother's sure to die with sorrow.
SECOND YAGER.
The better—for then he'll inherit to-morrow.
SERGEANT (advances gravely, and lays his hand on the
Recruit's tin cap).
The matter no doubt you have duly weighed,
And here a new man of yourself have made;
With hanger and helm, sir, you now belong
To a nobler and more distinguished throng.
Thus, a loftier spirit 'twere well to uphold—
FIRST YAGER.
And, specially, never be sparing of gold.
SERGEANT.
In Fortune's ship, with an onward gale,
My, friend, you have made up your mind to sail.
The earth-ball is open before you—yet there
Naught's to be gained, but by those who dare.
Stupid and sluggish your citizen's found,
Like a dyer's dull jade, in his ceaseless round,
While the soldier can be whatever he will,
For war o'er the earth is the watchword still.
Just look now at me, and the coat I wear,
You see that the emperor's baton I bear—
And all good government, over the earth,
You must know from the baton alone has birth;
For the sceptre that's swayed by the kingly hand
Is naught but a baton, we understand.
And he who has corporal's rank obtained,
Stands on the ladder where all's to be gained,
And you, like another, may mount to that height—
FIRST YAGER.
Provided you can but read and write.
SERGEANT.
Now, hark to an instance of this from me,
And one, which I've lived myself to see
There's Butler, the chief of dragoons, why he,
Whose rank was not higher a whit than mine,
Some thirty years since, at Cologne on Rhine,
Is a major-general now—because
He put himself forward and gained applause;
Filling the world with his martial fame,
While slept my merits without a name.
And even the Friedlander's self—I've heard—
Our general and all-commanding lord,
Who now can do what he will at a word,
Had at first but a private squire's degree;
In the goddess of war yet trusting free,
He reared the greatness which now you see,
And, after the emperor, next is he.
Who knows what more he may mean or get?
(Slyly.)
For all-day's evening isn't come yet.
FIRST YAGER.
He was little at first, though now so great—
For at Altorf, in student's gown he played
By your leave, the part of a roaring blade,
And rattled away at a queerish rate.
His fag he had well nigh killed by a blow,
And their Nur'mburg worships swore he should go
To jail for his pains—if he liked it or no.
'Twas a new-built nest to be christened by him
Who first should be lodged. Well, what was his whim?
Why, he sent his dog forward to lead the way,
And they call the jail from the dog to this day.
That was the game a brave fellow should play,
And of all the great deeds of the general, none
E'er tickled my fancy, like this one.
[During this speech, the second Yager has begun toying
with the girl who has been in waiting.]
DRAGOON (stepping between them).
Comrade—give over this sport, I pray.
SECOND YAGER.
Why, who the devil shall say me nay!
DRAGOON.
I've only to tell you the girl's my own.
FIRST YAGER.
Such a morsel as this, for himself alone!—
Dragoon, why say, art thou crazy grown?
SECOND YAGER.
In the camp to be keeping a wench for one!
No! the light of a pretty girl's face must fall,
Like the beams of the sun, to gladden us all.
(Kisses her.)
DRAGOON (tears her away).
I tell you again, that it shan't be done.
FIRST YAGER.
The pipers are coming, lads! now for fun!
SECOND YAGER (to Dragoon).
I shan't be far off, should you look for me.
SERGEANT.
Peace, my good fellows!—a kiss goes free.
Enter Miners, and play a waltz—at first slowly, and afterwards quicker. The first Yager dances with the girl, the Sutler-woman with the recruit. The girl springs away, and the Yager, pursuing her, seizes hold of a Capuchin Friar just entering.
CAPUCHIN.
Hurrah! halloo! tol, lol, de rol, le!
The fun's at its height! I'll not be away!
Is't an army of Christians that join in such works?
Or are we all turned Anabaptists and Turks?
Is the Sabbath a day for this sport in the land,
As though the great God had the gout in his hand,
And thus couldn't smite in the midst of your band?
Say, is this a time for your revelling shouts,
For your banquetings, feasts, and holiday bouts?
Quid hic statis otiosi? declare
Why, folding your arms, stand ye lazily there?
While the furies of war on the Danube now fare
And Bavaria's bulwark is lying full low,
And Ratisbon's fast in the clutch of the foe.
Yet, the army lies here in Bohemia still,
And caring for naught, so their paunches they fill!
Bottles far rather than battles you'll get,
And your bills than your broad-swords more readily wet;
With the wenches, I ween, is your dearest concern,
And you'd rather roast oxen than Oxenstiern.
In sackcloth and ashes while Christendom's grieving,
No thought has the soldier his guzzle of leaving.
'Tis a time of misery, groans, and tears!
Portentous the face of the heavens appears!
And forth from the clouds behold blood-red,
The Lord's war-mantle is downward spread—
While the comet is thrust as a threatening rod,
From the window of heaven by the hand of God.
The world is but one vast house of woe,
The ark of the church stems a bloody flow,
The Holy Empire—God help the same!
Has wretchedly sunk to a hollow name.
The Rhine's gay stream has a gory gleam,
The cloister's nests are robbed by roysters;
The church-lands now are changed to lurch-lands;
Abbacies, and all other holy foundations
Now are but robber-sees—rogues' habitations.
And thus is each once-blest German state,
Deep sunk in the gloom of the desolate!
Whence comes all this? Oh, that will I tell—
It comes of your doings, of sin, and of hell;
Of the horrible, heathenish lives ye lead,
Soldiers and officers, all of a breed.
For sin is the magnet, on every hand,
That draws your steel throughout the land!
As the onion causes the tear to flow,
So vice must ever be followed by woe—
The W duly succeeds the V,
This is the order of A, B, C.
Ubi erit victoriae spes,
Si offenditur Deus? which says,
How, pray ye, shall victory e'er come to pass,
If thus you play truant from sermon and mass,
And do nothing but lazily loll o'er the glass?
The woman, we're told in the Testament,
Found the penny in search whereof she went.
Saul met with his father's asses again,
And Joseph his precious fraternal train,
But he, who 'mong soldiers shall hope to see
God's fear, or shame, or discipline—he
From his toil, beyond doubt, will baffled return,
Though a hundred lamps in the search he burn.
To the wilderness preacher, th' Evangelist says,
The soldiers, too, thronged to repent of their ways,
And had themselves christened in former days.
Quid faciemus nos? they said:
Toward Abraham's bosom what path must we tread?
Et ait illis, and, said he,
Neminem concutiatis;
From bother and wrongs leave your neighbors free.
Neque calumniam faciatis;
And deal nor in slander nor lies, d'ye see?
Contenti estote—content ye, pray,
Stipendiis vestris—with your pay—
And curse forever each evil way.
There is a command—thou shalt not utter
The name of the Lord thy God in vain;
But, where is it men most blasphemies mutter?
Why here, in Duke Friedland's headquarters, 'tie plain
If for every thunder, and every blast,
Which blazing ye from your tongue-points cast,
The bells were but rung, in the country round,
Not a bellman, I ween, would there soon be found;
And if for each and every unholy prayer
Which to vent from your jabbering jaws you dare,
From your noddles were plucked but the smallest hair,
Ev'ry crop would be smoothed ere the sun went down,
Though at morn 'twere as bushy as Absalom's crown.
Now, Joshua, methinks, was a soldier as well—
By the arm of King David the Philistine fell;
But where do we find it written, I pray,
That they ever blasphemed in this villanous way?
One would think ye need stretch your jaws no more,
To cry, "God help us!" than "Zounds!" to roar.
But, by the liquor that's poured in the cask, we know
With what it will bubble and overflow.
Again, it is written—thou shalt not steal,
And this you follow, i'faith! to the letter,
For open-faced robbery suits ye better.
The gripe of your vulture claws you fix
On all—and your wiles and rascally tricks
Make the gold unhid in our coffers now,
And the calf unsafe while yet in the cow—
Ye take both the egg and the hen, I vow.
Contenti estote—the preacher said;
Which means—be content with your army bread.
But how should the slaves not from duty swerve?
The mischief begins with the lord they serve,
Just like the members so is the head.
I should like to know who can tell me his creed.
FIRST YAGER.
Sir priest, 'gainst ourselves rail on as you will—
Of the general we warn you to breathe no ill.
CAPUCHIN.
Ne custodias gregem meam!
An Ahab is he, and a Jerobeam,
Who the people from faith's unerring way,
To the worship of idols would turn astray,
TRUMPETER and RECRUIT.
Let us not hear that again, we pray.
CAPUCHIN.
Such a Bramarbas, whose iron tooth
Would seize all the strongholds of earth forsooth!
Did he not boast, with ungodly tongue,
That Stralsund must needs to his grasp be wrung,
Though to heaven itself with a chain 'twere strung?
TRUMPETER.
Will none put a stop to his slanderous bawl?
CAPUCHIN.
A wizard he is!—and a sorcerer Saul!—
Holofernes!—a Jehu!—denying, we know,
Like St. Peter, his Master and Lord below;
And hence must he quail when the cock doth crow—
BOTH YAGERS.
Now, parson, prepare; for thy doom is nigh.
CAPUCHIN.
A fox more cunning than Herod, I trow—
TRUMPETER and both YAGERS (pressing against him).
Silence, again,—if thou wouldst not die!
CROATS (interfering.)
Stick to it, father; we'll shield you, ne'er fear;
The close of your preachment now let's hear.
CAPUCHIN (still louder).
A Nebuchadnezzar in towering pride!
And a vile and heretic sinner beside!
He calls himself rightly the stone of a wall;
For faith! he's a stumbling-stone to us all.
And ne'er can the emperor have peace indeed,
Till of Friedland himself the land is freed.
[During the last passages which he pronounces in an elevated voice, he has been gradually retreating, the Croats keeping the other soldiers off.
The above, without the Capuchin.
FIRST YAGER (to the Sergeant).
But, tell us, what meant he about chanticleer;
Whose crowing the general dares to hear?
No doubt it was uttered in spite and scorn.
SERGEANT.
Listen—'Tis not so untrue as it appears;
For Friedland was rather mysteriously born,
And is 'specially troubled with ticklish ears;
He can never suffer the mew of a cat;
And when the cock crows he starts thereat.
FIRST YAGER.
He's one and the same with the lion in that.
SERGEANT.
Mouse-still must all around him creep,
Strict watch in this the sentinels keep,
For he ponders on matters most grave and deep.
[Voices in the tent. A tumult.
Seize the rascal! Lay on! lay on!
PEASANT'S VOICE.
Help!—mercy—help!
OTHERS.
Peace! peace! begone!
FIRST YAGER.
Deuce take me, but yonder the swords are out!
SECOND YAGER.
Then I must be off, and see what 'tis about.
[Yagers enter the tent.
SUTLER-WOMAN (comes forward).
A scandalous villain!—a scurvy thief!
TRUMPETER.
Good hostess, the cause of this clamorous grief?
SUTLER-WOMAN.
A cut-purse! a scoundrel! the-villain I call.
That the like in my tent should ever befall!
I'm disgraced and undone with the officers all.
SERGEANT.
Well, coz, what is it?
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Why, what should it be?
But a peasant they've taken just now with me—
A rogue with false dice, to favor his play.
TRUMPETER.
See I they're bringing the boor and his son this way.
Soldiers dragging in the peasant, bound.
FIRST YAGER.
He must hang!
SHARPSHOOTERS and DRAGOONS.
To the provost, come on!
SERGEANT.
'Tis the latest order that forth has gone.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
In an hour I hope to behold him swinging!
SERGEANT.
Bad work bad wages will needs be bringing.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER (to the others).
This comes of their desperation. We
First ruin them out and out, d'ye see;
Which tempts them to steal, as it seems to me.
TRUMPETER.
How now! the rascal's cause would you plead?
The cur! the devil is in you indeed!
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
The boor is a man—as a body may say.
FIRST YAGER (to the Trumpeter).
Let 'em go! they're of Tiefenbach's corps, the railers,
A glorious train of glovers and tailors!
At Brieg, in garrison, long they lay;
What should they know about camps, I pray?
The above.—Cuirassiers.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Peace! what's amiss with the boor, may I crave?
FIRST SHARPSHOOTER.
He has cheated at play, the cozening knave!
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
But say, has he cheated you, man, of aught?
FIRST SHARPHOOTER.
Just cleaned me out—and not left me a groat.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
And can you, who've the rank of a Friedland man,
So shamefully cast yourself away,
As to try your luck with the boor at play?
Let him run off, so that run he can.
[The peasant escapes, the others throng together.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
He makes short work—is of resolute mood—
And that with such fellows as these is good.
Who is he? not of Bohemia, that's clear.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
He's a Walloon—and respect, I trow,
Is due to the Pappenheim cuirassier!
FIRST DRAGOON (joining).
Young Piccolomini leads them now,
Whom they chose as colonel, of their own free might,
When Pappenheim fell in Luetzen's fight.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
Durst they, indeed, presume so far?
FIRST DRAGOON.
This regiment is something above the rest.
It has ever been foremost through the war,
And may manage its laws, as it pleases best;
Besides, 'tis by Friedland himself caressed.
FIRST CUIRASSIER (to the Second.)
Is't so in truth, man? Who averred it?
SECOND CUIRASSIER.
From the lips of the colonel himself I heard it.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
The devil! we're not their dogs, I weep!
FIRST YAGER.
How now, what's wrong? You're swollen with spleen!
SECOND YAGER.
Is it anything, comrades, may us concern?
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
'Tis what none need be wondrous glad to learn.
The Soldiers press round him.
To the Netherlands they would lend us now—
Cuirassiers, Yagers, and Shooters away,
Eight thousand in all must march, they say.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
What! What! again the old wandering way—
I got back from Flanders but yesterday!
SECOND CUIRASSIER (to the Dragoons).
You of Butler's corps must tramp with the rest.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
And we, the Walloons, must doubtless be gone.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Why, of all our squadrons these are the best.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
To march where that Milanese fellow leads on.
FIRST YAGER.
The infant? that's queer enough in its way.
SECOND YAGER.
The priest—then, egad! there's the devil to pay.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Shall we then leave the Friedlander's train,
Who so nobly his soldiers doth entertain—
And drag to the field with this fellow from Spain!
A niggard whom we in our souls disdain!
That'll never go down—I'm off, I swear.
TRUMPETER.
Why, what the devil should we do there?
We sold our blood to the emperor—ne'er
For this Spanish red hat a drop we'll spare!
SECOND YAGER.
On the Friedlander's word and credit alone
We ranged ourselves in the trooper line,
And, but for our love to Wallenstein,
Ferdinand ne'er had our service known.
FIRST DRAGOON.
Was it not Friedland that formed our force?
His fortune shall still be the star of our course.
SERGEANT.
Silence, good comrades, to me give ear—
Talking does little to help us here.
Much farther in this I can see than you all,
And a trap has been laid in which we're to fall;
FIRST YAGER.
List to the order-book! hush—be still!
SERGEANT.
But first, Cousin Gustel, I pray thee fill
A glass of Melneck, as my stomach's but weak
When I've tossed it off, my mind I'll speak.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Take it, good sergeant. I quake for fear—
Think you that mischief is hidden here?
SERGEANT.
Look ye, my friends, 'tis fit and clear
That each should consider what's most near.
But as the general says, say I,
One should always the whole of a case descry.
We call ourselves all the Friedlander's troops;
The burgher, on whom we're billeted, stoops
Our wants to supply, and cooks our soups.
His ox, or his horse, the peasant must chain
To our baggage-car, and may grumble in vain.
Just let a lance-corp'ral, with seven good men,
Tow'rd a village from far but come within ken,
You're sure he'll be prince of the place, and may
Cut what capers he will, with unquestioned sway.
Why, zounds! lads, they heartily hate us all—
And would rather the devil should give them a call,
Than our yellow collars. And why don't they fall
On us fairly at once and get rid of our lumber?
They're more than our match in point of number,
And carry the cudgel as we do the sword.
Why can we laugh them to scorn? By my word
Because we make up here a terrible horde.
FIRST YAGER.
Ay, ay, in the mass lies the spell of our might,
And the Friedlander judged the matter aright,
When, some eight or nine years ago, he brought
The emperor's army together. They thought
Twelve thousand enough for the general. In vain,
Said he, such a force I can never maintain.
Sixty thousand I'll bring ye into the plain,
And they, I'll be sworn, won't of hunger die,
And thus were we Wallenstein's men, say I.
SERGEANT.
For example, cut one of my fingers off,
This little one here from my right hand doff.
Is the taking my finger then all you've done?
No, no, to the devil my hand is gone!
'Tis a stump—no more—and use has none.
The eight thousand horse they wish to disband
May be but a finger of our army's hand.
But when they're once gone may we understand
We are but one-fifth the less? Oh, no—
By the Lord, the whole to the devil will go!
All terror, respect, and awe will be over,
And the peasant will swell his crest once more;
And the Board of Vienna will order us where
Our troops must be quartered and how we must fare,
As of old in the days of their beggarly care.
Yes, and how long it will be who can say
Ere the general himself they may take away?
For they don't much like him at court I learn?
And then it's all up with the whole concern!
For who, to our pay, will be left to aid us?
And see that they keep the promise they made us?
Who has the energy—who the mind—
The flashing thought—and the fearless hand—
Together to bring, and thus fastly bind
The fragments that form our close-knit band.
For example, dragoon—just answer us now,
From which of the countries of earth art thou?
DRAGOON.
From distant Erin came I here.
SERGEANT (to the two Cuirassiers).
You're a Walloon, my friend, that's clear,
And you, an Italian, as all may hear.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Who I may be, faith! I never could say;
In my infant years they stole me away.
SERGEANT.
And you, from what far land may you be?
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
I come from Buchau—on the Feder Sea.
SERGEANT.
Neighbor, and you?
SECOND ARQUEBUSIER.
I am a Swiss.
SERGEANT (to the second Yager).
And Yager, let's hear where your country is?
SECOND YAGER.
Up above Wismar my fathers dwell.
SERGEANT (pointing to the Trumpeter).
And he's from Eger—and I as well:
And now, my comrades, I ask you whether,
Would any one think, when looking at us,
That we, from the North and South, had thus
Been hitherward drifted and blown together?
Do we not seem as hewn from one mass?
Stand we not close against the foe
As though we were glued or moulded so?
Like mill-work don't we move, d'ye think!
'Mong ourselves in the nick, at a word or wink.
Who has thus cast us here all as one,
Now to be severed again by none?
Who? why, no other than Wallenstein!
FIRST YAGER.
In my life it ne'er was a thought of mine
Whether we suited each other or not,
I let myself go with the rest of the lot.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
I quite agree in the sergeant's opinion—
They'd fain have an end of our camp dominion,
And trample the soldier down, that they
May govern alone in their own good way.
'Tis a conspiration—a plot, I say!
SUTLER-WOMAN.
A conspiration—God help the day!
Then my customers won't have cash to pay.
SERGEANT.
Why, faith, we shall all be bankrupts made;
The captains and generals, most of them, paid
The costs of the regiments with private cash,
And, wishing, 'bove all, to cut a dash,
Went a little beyond their means—but thought,
No doubt, that they thus had a bargain bought.
Now they'll be cheated, sirs, one and all,
Should our chief, our head, the general fall.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Oh, Heaven! this curse I never can brook
Why, half of the army stand in my book.
Two hundred dollars I've trusted madly
That Count Isolani who pays so badly.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Well, comrades, let's fix on what's to be done—
Of the ways to save us, I see but one;
If we hold together we need not fear;
So let us stand out as one man here;
And then they may order and send as they will,
Fast planted we'll stick in Bohemia still.
We'll never give in—no, nor march an inch,
We stand on our honor, and must not flinch.
SECOND YAGER.
We're not to be driven the country about,
Let 'em come here, and they'll find it out.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
Good sirs, 'twere well to bethink ye still,
That such is the emperor's sovereign will.
TRUMPETER.
Oh, as to the emperor, we needn't be nice.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
Let me not hear you say so twice.
TRUMPETER.
Why, 'tis even so—as I just have said.
FIRST YAGER.
True, man—I've always heard 'em say,
'Tis Friedland, alone, you've here to obey.
SERGEANT.
By our bargain with him it should be so,
Absolute power is his, you must know,
We've war, or peace, but as he may please,
Or gold or goods he has power to seize,
And hanging or pardon his will decrees.
Captains and colonels he makes—and he,
In short, by the imperial seal is free,
To hold all the marks of sovereignty.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
The duke is high and of mighty will,
But yet must remain, for good or for ill,
Like us all, but the emperor's servant still.
SERGEANT.
Not like us all—I there disagree—
Friedland is quite independent and free,
The Bavarian is no more a prince than he
For, was I not by myself to see,
When on duty at Brandeis, how the emperor said,
He wished him to cover his princely head.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
That was because of the Mecklenburgh land,
Which he held in pawn from the emperor's hand.
FIRST YAGER (to the Sergeant).
In the emperor's presence, man! say you so?
That, beyond doubt, was a wonderful go!
SERGEANT (feels in his pocket).
If you question my word in what I have told,
I can give you something to grasp and hold.
[Showing a coin.
Whose image and stamp d'ye here behold?
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Oh! that is a Wallenstein's, sure!
SERGEANT-MAJOR.
Well, there, you have it—what doubt can rest
Is he not prince, just as good as the best?
Coins he not money like Ferdinand?
Hath he not his own subjects and land?
Is he not called your highness, I pray?
And why should he not have his soldiers in?
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
That no one has ever meant to gainsay;
But we're still at the emperor's beck and call,
For his majesty 'tis who pays us all.
TRUMPETER.
In your teeth I deny it—and will again—
His majesty 'tis who pays us not,
For this forty weeks, say, what have we got
But a promise to pay, believed in vain?
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
What then! 'tis kept in safe hands, I suppose.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Peace, good sirs, will you come to blows?
Have you a quarrel and squabble to know
If the emperor be our master or no?
'Tis because of our rank, as his soldiers brave,
That we scorn the lot of the herded slave;
And will not be driven from place to place,
As priest or puppies our path may trace.
And, tell me, is't not the sovereign's gain,
If the soldiers their dignity will maintain?
Who but his soldiers give him the state
Of a mighty, wide-ruling potentate?
Make and preserve for him, far and near,
The voice which Christendom quakes to hear?
Well enough they may his yoke-chain bear,
Who feast on his favors, and daily share,
In golden chambers, his sumptuous fare.
We—we of his splendors have no part,
Naught but hard wearying toil and care,
And the pride that lives in a soldier's heart.
SECOND YAGER.
All great tyrants and kings have shown
Their wit, as I take it, in what they've done;
They've trampled all others with stern command,
But the soldier they've led with a gentle hand.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
The soldier his worth must understand;
Whoe'er doesn't nobly drive the trade,
'Twere best from the business far he'd stayed.
If I cheerily set my life on a throw,
Something still better than life I'll know;
Or I'll stand to be slain for the paltry pelf,
As the Croat still does—and scorn myself.
BOTH PAGERS.
Yes—honor is dearer than life itself.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
The sword is no plough, nor delving tool,
He, who would till with it, is but a fool.
For us, neither grass nor grain doth grow,
Houseless the soldier is doomed to go,
A changeful wanderer over the earth,
Ne'er knowing the warmth of a home-lit hearth.
The city glances—he halts—not there—
Nor in village meadows, so green and fair;
The vintage and harvest wreath are twined
He sees, but must leave them far behind.
Then, tell me, what hath the soldier left,
If he's once of his self-esteem bereft?
Something he must have his own to call,
Or on slaughter and burnings at once he'll fall.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
God knows, 'tis a wretched life to live!
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Yet one, which I, for no other would give,
Look ye—far round in the world I've been,
And all of its different service seen.
The Venetian Republic—the Kings of Spain
And Naples I've served, and served in vain.
Fortune still frowned—and merchant and knight,
Craftsmen and Jesuit, have met my sight;
Yet, of all their jackets, not one have I known
To please me like this steel coat of my own.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
Well—that now is what I can scarcely say.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
In the world, a man who would make his way,
Must plague and bestir himself night and day.
To honor and place if he choose the road,
He must bend his back to the golden load.
And if home-delights should his fancy please,
With children and grandchildren round his knees,
Let him follow an honest trade in peace.
I've no taste for this kind of life—not I!
Free will I live, and as freely die.
No man's spoiler nor heir will I be—
But, throned on my nag, I will smile to see
The coil of the crowd that is under me.
FIRST YAGER.
Bravo!—that's as I've always done.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
In truth, sirs, it may be far better fun
To trample thus over your neighbor's crown.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Comrade, the times are bad of late—
The sword and the scales live separate.
But do not then blame that I've preferred,
Of the two, to lean, as I have, to the sword.
For mercy in war I will yield to none,
Though I never will stoop to be drummed upon.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER.
Who but the soldier the blame should bear
That the laboring poor so hardly fare?
The war with its plagues, which all have blasted
Now sixteen years in the land hath lasted.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Why, brother, the blessed God above
Can't have from us all an equal love.
One prays for the sun, at which t'other will fret
One is for dry weather-t'other for wet.
What you, now, regard as with misery rife,
Is to me the unclouded sun of life.
If 'tis at the cost of the burgher and boor,
I really am sorry that they must endure;
But how can I help it? Here, you must know,
'Tis just like a cavalry charge 'gainst the foe:
The steeds loud snorting, and on they go!
Whoever may lie in the mid-career—
Be it my brother or son so dear,
Should his dying groan my heart divide,
Yet over his body I needs must ride,
Nor pitying stop to drag him aside.
FIRST YAGER.
True—who ever asks how another may bide?
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Thus, my lads, 'tis my counsel, while
On the soldier Dame Fortune deigns to smile,
That we with both hands her bounty clasp,
For it may not be much longer left to our grasp.
Peace will be coming some over-night,
And then there's an end of our martial might.
The soldier unhorsed, and fresh mounted to boor,
Ere you can think it 'twill be as before.
As yet we're together firm bound in the land,
The hilt is yet fast in the soldier's hand.
But let 'em divide us, and soon we shall find,
Short commons is all that remains behind.
FIRST YAGER.
No, no, by the Lord! That won't do for me.
Come, come, lads, let's all now, as one, agree.
SECOND YAGER.
Yes, let us resolve on what 'tis to be.
FIRST ARQUEBUSIER (To the Sutler-woman, drawing out his leather purse).
Hostess, tell us how high you've scored.
SUTLER-WOMAN.
Oh, 'tis unworthy a single word.
[They settle.
TRUMPETER.
You do well, sirs, to take a further walk,
Your company only disturbs our talk.
[Exeunt Arquebusiers.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Plague take the fellows—they're brave, I know.
FIRST YAGER.
They haven't a soul 'bove a soapboiler's, though.
SECOND YAGER.
We're now alone, so teach us who can
How best we may meet and mar their plan.
TRUMPETER.
How? Why, let's tell them we will not go!
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Despising all discipline! No, my lads, no,
Rather his corps let each of us seek,
And quietly then with his comrades speak,
That every soldier may clearly know,
It were not for his good so far to go;
For my Walloons to answer I'm free,
Every man of 'em thinks and acts with me.
SERGEANT.
The Terzky regiments, both horse and foot,
Will thus resolve, and will keep them to't.
SECOND CUIRASSIER (joining the first).
The Walloons and the Lombards one intent.
FIRST YAGER.
Freedom is Yagers' own element.
SECOND YAGER.
Freedom must ever with might entwine—
I live and will die by Wallenstein.
FIRST SHARPSHOOTER.
The Lorrainers go on with the strongest tide,
Where spirits are light and courage tried.
DRAGOON.
An Irishman follows his fortune's star.
SECOND SHARPSHOOTER.
The Tyrolese for their sovereign war.
FIRST CUIRASSIER.
Then, comrades, let each of our corps agree
A pro memoria to sign—that we,
In spite of all force or fraud, will be
To the fortunes of Friedland firmly bound,
For in him is the soldier's father found.
This we will humbly present, when done,
To Piccolomini—I mean the son—
Who understands these kind of affairs,
And the Friedlander's highest favor shares;
Besides, with the emperor's self, they say
He holds a capital card to play.
SECOND YAGER.
Well, then, in this, let us all agree,
That the colonel shall our spokesman be!
ALL (going).
Good! the colonel shall our spokesman be.
SERGEANT.
Hold, sirs—just toss off a glass with me
To the health of Piccolomini.
SUTLER-WOMAN (brings a flask).
This shall not go to the list of scores,
I gladly give it—success be yours!
CUIRASSIER.
The soldier shall sway!
BOTH YAGERS.
The peasant shall pay
DRAGOONS and SHARPSHOOTERS.
The army shall flourishing stand!
TRUMPETER and SERGEANT.
And the Friedlander keep the command!
SECOND CUIRASSIER (sings).
Arouse ye, my comrades, to horse! to horse!
To the field and to freedom we guide!
For there a man feels the pride of his force
And there is the heart of him tried.
No help to him there by another is shown,
He stands for himself and himself alone.
[The soldiers from the background have come forward during the singing of this verse and form the chorus.
No help to him by another is shown,
He stands for himself and himself alone.
Now freedom hath fled from the world, we find
But lords and their bondsmen vile
And nothing holds sway in the breast of mankind
Save falsehood and cowardly guile.
Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow,
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now.
Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow,
The soldier, alone, is the freeman now.
With the troubles of life he ne'er bothers his pate,
And feels neither fear nor sorrow;
But boldly rides onward to meet with his fate—
He may meet it to-day, or to-morrow!
And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say,
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day!
And, if to-morrow 'twill come, then, I say,
Drain we the cup of life's joy to-day!
[The glasses are here refilled, and all drink.
'Tis from heaven his jovial lot has birth;
Nor needs he to strive or toil.
The peasant may grope in the bowels of earth,
And for treasure may greedily moil
He digs and he delves through life for the pelf,
And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself.
He digs and he delves through life for the pelf,
And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself.
The rider and lightning steed—a pair
Of terrible guests, I ween!
From the bridal-hall, as the torches glare,
Unbidden they join the scene;
Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove;
By storm he carries the prize of love!
Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove;
By storm he carries the prize of love!
Why mourns the wench with so sorrowful face?
Away, girl, the soldier must go!
No spot on the earth is his resting-place;
And your true love he never can know.
Still onward driven by fate's rude wind,
He nowhere may leave his peace behind.
Still onward driven by fate's rude wind,
He nowhere may leave his peace behind.
FIRST YAGER. He takes the two next to him by the hand—the others do the same—and form a large semi-circle.
Then rouse ye, my comrades—to horse! to horse!
In battle the breast doth swell!
Youth boils—the life-cup foams in its force—
Up! ere time can dew dispel!
And deep be the stake, as the prize is high—
Who life would win, he must dare to die!
And deep be the stake, as the prize is high—
Who life would win, he must dare to die!
[The curtain falls before the chorus has finished.
Translated by S. T. Coleridge.
"Upon the whole there can be no doubt that this trilogy forms, in its original tongue, one of the most splendid specimens of tragic art the world has witnessed; and none at all, that the execution of the version from which we have quoted so largely, places Mr. Coleridge in the very first rank of poetical translators. He is, perhaps, the solitary example of a man of very great original genius submitting to all the labors, and reaping all the honors of this species of literary exertion."—Blackwood, 1823.
The two dramas,—PICCOLOMINI, or the first part of WALLENSTEIN, and the DEATH OF 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 humor, 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 idea 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 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 idea 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 II., or the three parts of Henry VI. 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 whose excellence 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 first scene of the fifth act of the concluding plays. [In this edition, scene iii., act v.] 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 excellences than defects; indeed, he is not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his own labor 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 effort. 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 incumbered 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 endeavor 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. S. T. C.
WALLENSTEIN, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces
in the Thirty Years' War.
OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant-General.
MAX. PICCOLOMINI, his Son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers.
COUNT TERZKY, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law
of Wallenstein.
ILLO, Field-Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant.
ISOLANI, General of the Croats.
BUTLER, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons.
TIEFENBACH, |
DON MARADAS, | Generals under Wallenstein.
GOETZ, |
KOLATTO, |
NEUMANN, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-Camp to Terzky.
VON QUESTENBERG, the War Commissioner, Imperial Envoy.
BAPTISTA SENI, an Astrologer.
DUCHESS OF FRIEDLAND, Wife of Wallenstein.
THEKLA, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland.
THE COUNTESS TERZRY, Sister of the Duchess.
A CORNET.
COLONELS and GENERALS (several).
PAGES and ATTENDANTS belonging to Wallenstein.
ATTENDANTS and HOBOISTS belonging to Terzky.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR to Count Terzky.
VALET DE CHAMBRE of Count Piccolomini.
An old Gothic Chamber in the Council-House at Pilsen, decorated with Colors and other War Insignia.
ILLO, with BUTLER and ISOLANI.
ILLO.
Ye have come too late-but ye are come! The distance,
Count Isolani, excuses your delay.
ISOLANI.
Add this too, that we come not empty-handed.
At Donauwerth [1] it was reported to us,
A Swedish caravan was on its way,
Transporting a rich cargo of provision,
Almost six hundreds wagons. 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 full of soldiers.
[Casts his eye round.
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 Terzky 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
Gallas is wanting still, and Altringer.
BUTLER.
Expect not Gallas.
ILLO (hesitating).
How so? Do you know——
ISOLANI (interrupting him).
Max. Piccolomini here? O bring me to him.
I see him yet ('tis now ten years ago,
We were engaged with Mansfeldt 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 [2]
From Caernthen [3]. 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 naught but warlike circumstance,
Of marches and attacks, and batteries;
And lo! the duke provides, and something too
Of gentler sort and lovely, should be present
To feast our eyes.
ILLO (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to BUTLER,
whom he leads a little on one side).
And how came you to know
That the Count Gallas joins us not?
BUTLER.
Because
He importuned me to remain behind.
ILLO (with warmth).
And you? You hold out firmly!
[Grasping his hand with affection.
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 this 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 bankers 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 honor.
ILLO.
Oh 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!
Those 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 (shocked and confused).
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.
Yonder I see our worthy friend [spoken with a sneer] approaching
With the Lieutenant-General Piccolomini.
BUTLER (shaking his head significantly).
I fear we shall not go hence as we came.
Enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI and QUESTENBERG.
OCTAVIO (still in the distance).
Ay! ah! more still! Still more new visitors!
Acknowledge, friend! that never was a camp,
Which held at once so many heads of heroes.
QUESTENBERG.
Let none approach a camp of Friedland's troops
Who dares to think unworthily of war;
E'en I myself had nigh forgot its evils
When I surveyed that lofty soul of order,
By which, while it destroys the world—itself
Maintains the greatness which itself created.
OCTAVIO (approaching nearer).
Welcome, Count Isolani!
ISOLANI.
My noble brother!
Even now am I arrived; it has 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 honor.
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 despatch.
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 honor in this noble visitor.
[Universal silence.
ILLO (moving towards QUESTENBERG).
'Tis not the first time, noble minister,
You've shown our camp this honor.
QUESTENBERG.
Once before
I stood beside these colors.
ILLO.
Perchance too you remember where that was;
It was at Znaeim [4] 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.
QUESTENBURG.
To supplicate? Nay, bold 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 (steps up to them).
Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough,
Wherefore with your commission of to-day,
You were not all too willing to remember
Your former one.
Why not, Count Isolani?
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 or foe.
ILLO.
What? 'Twas a favorable 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 favor, 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 dogs' hunger—they, forsooth,
Would pare the soldiers 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 favor
That fell 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 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 (with a sneer).
Count! this comparison you make, not I.
ILLO.
Why, were we all the court supposes us
'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty.
QUESTENBERG (gravely).
You have taken liberty—it was not given you,
And therefore it becomes an urgent duty
To rein it in with the curbs.
ILLO.
Expect to find a restive steed in us.
QUESTENBERG.
A better rider may be found to rule it.
ILLO.
He only brooks the rider who has tamed him.
QUESTENBERG.
Ay, tame him once, and then a child may lead him.
ILLO.
The child, we know, is found for him already.
QUESTENBERG.
Be duty, sir, your study, not a name.
BUTLER (who has stood aside with PICCOLOMINI, but with visible interest
in the conversation, advances).
Sir president, the emperor has in Germany
A splendid host assembled; in this kingdom
Full twenty thousand soldiers are cantoned,
With sixteen thousand in Silesia;
Ten regiments are posted on the Weser,
The Rhine, and Maine; in Swabia there are six,
And in Bavaria twelve, to face the Swedes;
Without including in the account the garrisons
Who on the frontiers hold the fortresses.
This vast and mighty host is all obedient
To Friedland's captains; and its brave commanders,
Bred in one school, and nurtured with one milk,
Are all excited by one heart and soul;
They are as strangers on the soil they tread,
The service is their only house and home.
No zeal inspires then for their country's cause,
For thousands like myself were born abroad;
Nor care they for the emperor, for one half
Deserting other service fled to ours,
Indifferent what their banner, whether 'twere,
The Double Eagle, Lily, or the Lion.
Yet one sole man can rein this fiery host
By equal rule, by equal love and fear;
Blending the many-nationed whole in one;
And like the lightning's fires securely led
Down the conducting rod, e'en thus his power
Rules all the mass, from guarded post to post,
From where the sentry hears the Baltic roar,
Or views the fertile vales of the Adige,
E'en to the body-guard, who holds his watch
Within the precincts of the imperial palace!
QUESTENBERG.
What's the short meaning of this long harangue?
BUTLER.
That the respect, the love, the confidence,
Which makes us willing subjects of Duke Friedland,
Are not to be transferred to the first comer
That Austria's court may please to send to us.
We have not yet so readily forgotten
How the command came into Friedland's hands.
Was it, forsooth, the emperor's majesty
That gave the army ready to his hand,
And only sought a leader for it? No.
The army then had no existence. He,
Friedland, it was who called it into being,
And gave it to his sovereign—but receiving
No army at his hand; nor did the emperor
Give Wallenstein to us as general. No,
It was from Wallenstein we first received
The emperor as our master and our sovereign;
And he, he only, binds us to our banners!
OCTAVIO (interposing and addressing QUESTENBERG).
My noble friend,
This is no more than a remembrancing
That you are now in camp, and among warriors;
The soldier's boldness constitutes 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 is but mistaken in its mark,
Preserved, when naught 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 (to QUESTENBERG).
Then my son Max., too, has returned. 'Twas he
Fetched and attended them from Caernthen 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.
QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO.
QUESTENBERG (with signs of aversion and astonishment).
What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio!
What sentiments! what fierce, uncurbed defiance!
And were this spirit universal——
OCTAVIO.
Hm!
You're 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 (walking up and down in evident disquiet).
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 splendor 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 it, and what he can, he will.
And then the impunity of his defiance—
Oh! 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 dominions—
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 even 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 wot 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 Gallas 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.
What'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 sulked into his graces,
Or with the substance 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 stores 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 into sudden growth. It was the morning
Before the memorable fight at Luetzen.
Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out,
To press him to accept another charger.
At a 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 makes the duke secure.
QUESTENBERG (anxiously).
My honored friend! most highly do I deem
Of Colonel Piccolomini—yet—if—
Reflect a little——
OCTAVIO.
I must venture it.
Hush! There he comes!
MAX.
Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father!
[He embraces his father. As he turns round, he observes
QUESTENBERG, and draws back with a cold and reserved air.
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. (drily).
Von Questenberg!—welcome—if you bring with you
Aught good to our headquarters.
QUESTENBERG (seizing his hand).
Nay, draw not
Your hand away, Count Piccolimini!
Not on my own account alone I seized it,
And nothing common will I say therewith.
[Taking the hands of both.
Octavio—Max. Piccolomini!
O savior 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 come 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 (to MAX.).
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!
MAX.
What delight to observe
How he incites and strengthens all around him,
Infusing life and vigor. Every power
Seems as it were redoubled by his presence
He draws forth every latent energy,
Showing to each his own peculiar talent,
Yet leaving all to be what nature made them,
And watching only that they be naught else
In the right place and time; and he has skill
To mould the power's of all to his own end.
QUESTENBERG.
But who denies his knowledge of mankind,
And skill to use it? Our complaint is this:
That in the master he forgets the servant,
As if he claimed by birth his present honors.
MAX.
And does he not so? Is he not endowed
With every gift and power to carry out
The high intents of nature, and to win
A ruler's station by a ruler's talent?
QUESTENBERG.
So then it seems to rest with him alone
What is the worth of all mankind beside!
MAX.
Uncommon men require no common trust;
Give him but scope and he will set the bounds.
QUESTENBERG.
The proof is yet to come.
MAX.
Thus are ye ever.
Ye shrink from every thing of depth, and think
Yourselves are only safe while ye're in shallows.
OCTAVIO (to QUESTENBERG).
'Twere best to yield with a good grace, my friend;
Of him there you'll make nothing.
MAX. (continuing).
In their fear
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,
Ay, 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 correspondences 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 path. 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 cornfield and the hill of vines,
Honoring the holy bounds of property!
And thus secure, though late, leads to its end.
QUESTENBERG.
Oh, 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
An 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 churchyard;
The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie,
And the year's harvest is gone utterly.
MAX.
Oh, let the emperor make peace, my father!
Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel
For the first violet [5] 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: oh, 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 never 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 mainland, but the bays
Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing.
Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals
Of fair and exquisite, oh, nothing, nothing,
Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.
OCTAVIO (attentive, with an appearance of uneasiness).
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 unsouled 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.
Oh day, thrice lovely! when at length the soldier
Returns home into life; when he becomes
A fellow-man among his fellow-men.
The colors are unfurled, the cavalcade
Mashals, and now the buzz is hushed, and hark!
Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home!
The caps and helmet 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 (apparently much affected).
O that you should speak
Of such a distant, distant time, and not
Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day.
MAX. (turning round to him quick and vehement).
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 I make 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.
QUESTENBERG.
Alas! alas! and stands it so?
[Then in pressing and impatient tones.
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 (recovering himself out of a deep study).
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 (interrupting him and correcting himself).
To the duke. Come, let us go 'Tis done, 'tis done,
I see the net that is thrown over him.
Oh! 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 (more collected).
Come I 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.
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 heavens.
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 here 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 (with gravity).
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 a 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. Ay! 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.
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 show 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 (after a pause).
Well, then,—
And in all else, of what kind and complexion
Was your reception at the court?
[The DUCHESS casts her eyes on the ground, and remains silent.
Hide nothing from me. How were you received?
DUCHESS.
O! my dear lord, all is not what it was.
A canker-worm, my lord, a canker-worm
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 honors were omitted,
No outward courtesy; but in the place
Of condescending, confidential kindness,
Familiar and endearing, there were given me
Only these honors and that solemn courtesy.
Ah! and the tenderness which was put on,
It was the guise of pity, not of favor.
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 taken 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 (wiping away her tears after a pause).
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 (shaking her head).
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 Lanormain
In sundry hints and——
WALLENSTEIN (eagerly).
Lanormain! what said he?
DUCHESS.
That you're accused of having daringly
O'erstepped the powers intrusted 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 the former one
Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg.
And people talk, said he, of——Ah!
[Stifling extreme emotion.
WALLENSTEIN.
Proceed!
DUCHESS.
I cannot utter it!
WALLENSTEIN.
Proceed!
DUCHESS.
They talk——
WALLENSTEIN.
Well!
DUCHESS.
Of a second——
(catches her voice and hesitates.)
WALLENSTEIN.
Second——
DUCHESS.
Most disgraceful
Dismission.
WALLENSTEIN.
Talk they?
[Strides across the chamber in vehement agitation.
Oh! they force, they thrust me
With violence, against my own will, onward!
DUCHESS (presses near him in entreaty).
Oh! 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 the heart,
It is your sovereign lord, your emperor,
Before whom you retreat. Oh! no longer
Low trickling malice blacken your good meaning
With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up
Shielded and helmed and weaponed 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 favor
Stand not before us!
Enter the Countess TERZKY, leading in her hand the Princess THEKLA, richly adorned with brilliants.
COUNTESS.
How sister? What, already upon business?
[Observing the countenance of the DUCHESS.
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 remained 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 god-like; and now leads her thus adorned
To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope.
DUCHESS (to THEKLA).
Thou wouldst not now 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 has 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,
Transmuted to a regal ornament,
Around these beauteous brows.
[He clasps her in his arms as PICCOLOMINI enters.
Enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI, and some time after COUNT TERZKY, 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 [6]
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 favor
Which I leaped forward to receive, and which
I came with grateful heart to thank you for.
No! 'twas not so intended, that my business
Should be my highest best good fortune!
[TERZKY enters; and delivers letters to the DUKE, which he
breaks open hurriedly.
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 show himself forever 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.
[He grasps the hand of the DUCHESS with still increasing warmth.
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 (who during this time has been anxiously watching the DUKE, and remarks that he is lost in thought over the letters). 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.
TERZKY (calling after him).
Max., we depend on seeing you at the meeting.
WALLENSTEIN (in deep thought, to himself).
She has 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 savior,
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—despatch!
[As he turns round he observes TERZKY, and gives him a letter.
Count Altringer will have himself excused,
And Gallas too—I like not this!
TERZKY.
And if
Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away,
One following the other.
WALLENSTEIN.
Altringer
Is master of the Tyrol 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 shown himself again of late. What brings he
From the Count Thur?
TERZKY.
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?
TERZKY.
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 neighbors.
TERZKY.
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 hungry wolves!
Who send such envious, hot, and greedy glances
Toward 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.
TERZKY.
You will deal, however,
More fairly with the Saxons? they lose patience
While you shift round 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 Oxenstiern, 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've not even your handwriting.
WALLENSTEIN.
I never give handwriting; and thou knowest it.
TERZKY.
But how can it be known that you are 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 TERZKY).
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 opened
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 couldst speak
No wiser than thy fellows.
TERZKY.
So hast thou always played thy game with us.
[Enter ILLO.
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 requisition,
And are tumultuous.
WALLENSTEIN. How hath Isolani 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 Deodati?
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.
TERZKY.
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,
[With an air of mystery.
To this belongs its own peculiar 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 honor they must give, their oaths,
Give them in writing to me, promising
Devotion to my service unconditional.
ILLO.
Why not?
TERZKY.
Devotion unconditional?
The exception of their duties towards Austria
They'll always place among the premises.
With this reserve——
WALLENSTEIN (shaking his head).
All unconditional;
No premises, no reserves.
ILLO.
A thought has struck me.
Does not Count Terzky give us a set banquet
This evening?
TERZKY.
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' word of honor,
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 in 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 show yourself
In earnest, and with some decisive action
Try your fortune.
WALLENSTEIN.
Get but the signatures!
ILLO.
Think what thou dost, thou canst not execute
The emperor's orders, nor reduce thine army,
Nor send the regiments to the Spaniards' aid,
Unless thou wouldst resign thy power forever.
Think on the other hand—thou canst not spurn
The emperor's high commands and solemn orders,
Nor longer temporize, nor seek evasion,
Wouldst thou avoid a rupture with the court.
Resolve then! Wilt thou now by one bold act
Anticipate their ends, or, doubting still,
Await the extremity?
WALLENSTEIN.
There's time before
The extremity arrives.
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 round you,
Their king-like 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.
TERZKY.
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. Oh, 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 understandest. 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 the subterrestrial, who with wan
Lead-colored 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.
TERZKY.
Shall all the chiefs be present?
WALLENSTEIN.
'Twere needless. Both the Piccolomini
Maradas, Butler, Forgoetsch, Deodati,
Karaffa, Isolani—these may come.
[TERZKY goes out with the PAGE.
WALLENSTEIN (to ILLO).
Hast thou taken heed that Questenberg was watched?
Had he no means of secret intercourse?
ILLO.
I have watched him closely—and he spoke with none
But with Octavio.
WALLENSTRIN, TERZKY, 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. There reigns a momentary silence.
WALLENSTEIN.
I have understood,
'Tis true, the sum and import, Questenberg,
Of your instructions. I have weighed them well,
And formed my final, absolute resolve;
Yet it seems fitting that the generals
Should hear the will of the emperor from your mouth.
May it 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 favorable 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, Oxenstiern,
Yea, and the never-conquered king himself;
Here finally, before the eye of Nuernberg,
The fearful game of battle to decide.
WALLENSTEIN.
To the point, so please you.
QUESTENBERG.
A new spirit
At once proclaimed to us the new commander.
No longer strove blind rage with rage more blind;
But in the enlightened field of skill was shown
How fortitude can triumph over boldness,
And scientific art outweary courage.
In vain they tempt him to the fight. He only
Entrenches him still deeper in his hold,
As if to build an everlasting fortress.
At length grown desperate, now, the king resolves
To storm the camp and lead his wasted legions,
Who daily fall by famine and by plague,
To quicker deaths and hunger and disease.
Through lines of barricades behind whose fence
Death lurks within a thousand mouths of fire,
He yet unconquered strives to storm his way.
There was attack, and there resistance, such
As mortal eye had never seen before;
Repulsed at last, the king withdrew his troops
From this so murderous field, and not a foot
Of ground was gained by all that fearful slaughter.
WALLENSTEIN.
Pray spare us these recitals from gazettes,
Which we ourselves beheld with deepest horror.
QUESTENBERG.
In Nuernberg's camp the Swedish monarch left
His fame—in Luetzen'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 [7] 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 Regensburg
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 Regensburg.
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.
We hoped upon the Oder to regain
What on the Danube shamefully was lost.
We looked for deeds of all-astounding grandeur
Upon a theatre of war, on which
A Friedland led in person to the field,
And the famed rival of the great Gustavus
Had but a Thurn and Arnheim to oppose him!
Yet the encounter of their mighty hosts
Served but to feast and entertain each other.
Our country groaned beneath the woes of war,
Yet naught but peace prevailed in Friedland's camp!
WALLENSTEIN.
Full many a bloody strife is fought in vain,
Because its youthful general needs a victory.
But 'tis the privilege of the old commander
To spare the costs of fighting useless battles
Merely to show that he knows how to conquer.
It would have little helped my fame to boast
Of conquest o'er an Arnheim; but far more
Would my forbearance have availed my country,
Had I succeeded to dissolve the alliance
Existing 'twixt the Saxon and the Swede.
QUESTENBERG.
But you did not succeed, and so commenced
The fearful strife anew. And here 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 Thurn.
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 your balconies 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? Aren't we men; subjected
Like other men to wet, and cold, and all
The circumstances of necessity?
Oh, 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 Deodati! Butler! Tell this man
How long the soldier's 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. [8]
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
Honored 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 Regensburg, 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 were now my thanks, 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 complaint
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 Regensburg
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 towards 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 (raising his voice, as all but ILLO had remained silent and seemingly scrupulous). Count Piccolomini! what has he deserved?
MAX. PICCOLOMINI (after a long pause).
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 show him favor, '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 honor 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 Lanormain!
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, and 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 on 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?
Straightforward, 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.
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, TERZKY, 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 yet be set right again.
TERZKY.
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 show 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!
[QUESTENBURG is about to speak.
Nay, not a word.
Not one word more of that detested subject!
You have performed your duty. We know now
To separate the office from the man.
[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 bear? That thou wilt leave us?
KOLATTO (at the same time).
We will live with thee, we will die with thee.
WALLENSTEIN (with stateliness, and pointing to ILLO).
There! the field-marshal knows our will.
[Exit.
[While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops.
A Small Chamber.
ILLO and TERZKY.
TERZKY.
Now for this evening's business! How intend you
To manage with the generals at the banquet?
ILLO.
Attend! We frame a formal declaration,
Wherein we to the duke consign ourselves
Collectively, to be and to remain
His, both with life and limb, and not to spare
The last drop of our blood for him, provided,
So doing we infringe no oath or duty
We may be under to the emperor. Mark!
This reservation we expressly make
In a particular clause, and save the conscience.
Now hear! this formula so framed and worded
Will be presented to them for perusal
Before the banquet. No one will find in it
Cause of offence or scruple. Hear now further!
After the feast, when now the vapering wine
Opens the heart, and shuts the eyes, we let
A counterfeited paper, in the which
This one particular clause has been left out,
Go round for signatures.
TERZKY.
How! think you then
That they'll believe themselves bound by an oath,
Which we have tricked them into by a juggle?
ILLO.
We shall have caught and caged them! Let them then
Beat their wings bare against the wires, and rave
Loud as they may against our treachery;
At court their signatures will be believed
Far more than their most holy affirmations.
Traitors they are, and must be; therefore wisely
Will make a virtue of necessity.
TERZKY.
Well, well, it shall content me: let but something
Be done, let only some decisive blow
Set us in motion.
ILLO.
Besides, 'tis of subordinate importance
How, or how far, we may thereby propel
The generals. 'Tis enough that we persuade
The duke that they are his. Let him but act
In his determined mood, as if he had them,
And he will have them. Where he plunges in,
He makes a whirlpool, and all stream down to it.
TERZKY.
His policy is such a labyrinth,
That many a time when I have thought myself
Close at his side, he's gone at once, and left me
Ignorant of the ground where I was standing.
He lends the enemy his ear, permits me
To write to them, to Arnheim; to Sesina
Himself comes forward blank and undisguised;
Talks with us by the hour about his plans,
And when I think I have him—off at once—
He has slipped from me, and appears as if
He had no scheme, but to retain his place.
ILLO.
He give up his old plans! I'll tell you, friend!
His soul is occupied with nothing else,
Even in his sleep—they are his thoughts, his dreams,
That day by day he questions for this purpose
The motions of the planets——
TERZKY.
Ah! you know
This night, that is now coming, he with Seni,
Shuts himself up in the astrological tower
To make joint observations—for I hear
It is to be a night of weight and crisis;
And something great, and of long expectation,
Takes place in heaven.
ILLO.
O that it might take place
On earth! The generals are full of zeal,
And would with ease be led to anything
Rather than lose their chief. Observe, too, that
We have at last a fair excuse before us
To form a close alliance 'gainst the court,
Yet innocent its title, bearing simply
That we support him only in command.
But in the ardor of pursuit thou knowest
Men soon forget the goal from which they started.
The object I've in view is that the prince
Shall either find them, or believe them ready
For every hazard. Opportunity
Will tempt him on. Be the great step once taken,
Which at Vienna's court can ne'er be pardoned,
The force of circumstances will lead him onward
The farther still and farther. 'Tis the choice
That makes him undecisive—come but need,
And all his powers and wisdom will come with it.
TERZKY.
'Tis this alone the enemy awaits
To change their chief and join their force with ours.
ILLO.
Come! be we bold and make despatch. The work
In this next day or two must thrive and grow
More than it has for years. And let but only
Things first turn up auspicious here below—
Mark what I say—the right stars, too, will show themselves.
Come to the generals. All is in the glow,
And must be beaten while 'tis malleable.
TERZKY.
Do you go thither, Illo? I must stay
And wait here for the Countess Terzky. Know
That we, too, are not idle. Break one string,
A second is in readiness.
ILLO.
Yes! yes!
I saw your lady smile with such sly meaning.
What's in the wind?
TERZKY.
A secret. Hush! she comes.
[Exit ILLO.
The COUNTESS steps out from a closet.
COUNT and COUNTESS TERZKY.
TERZKY.
Well—is she coming? I can keep him back
No longer.
COUNTESS.
She will be here instantly,
You only send him.
TERZKY.
I am not quite certain,
I must confess it, countess, whether or not
We are earning the duke's thanks hereby. You know
No ray has broke out from him on this point.
You have o'erruled me, and yourself know best
How far you dare proceed.
COUNTESS.
I take it on me.
[Talking to herself while she is advancing.
Here's no heed of full powers and commissions;
My cloudy duke! we understand each other—
And without words. What could I not unriddle,
Wherefore the daughter should be sent for hither,
Why first he, and no other should be chosen
To fetch her hither? This sham of betrothing her
To a bridegroom [9], whom no one knows—No! no!
This may blind others! I see through thee, brother!
But it beseems thee not to draw a card
At such a game. Not yet! It all remains
Mutely delivered up to my finessing.
Well—thou shalt not have been deceived, Duke Friedland,
In her who is thy sister.
SERVANT (enters).
The commanders!
[Exit.
TERZKY (to the COUNTESS).
Take care you heat his fancy and affections—
Possess him with a reverie, and send him,
Absent and dreaming to the banquet; that
He may not boggle at the signature.
COUNTESS.
Take care of your guests! Go, send him hither.
TERZKY.
All rests upon his undersigning.
COUNTESS (interrupting him).
Go to your guests! Go——
ILLO (comes back).
Where art staying, Terzky?
The house is full, and all expecting you.
TERZKY.
Instantly! instantly!
[To the COUNTESS.
And let him not
Stay here too long. It might awake suspicion
In the old man——
COUNTESS.
A truce with your precautions!
[Exeunt TERZKY and ILLO.
MAX. (peeping in on the stage slyly).
Aunt Terzky! may I venture?
[Advances to the middle of the stage, and looks around
him with uneasiness.
She's not here!
Where is she?
COUNTESS.
Look but somewhat narrowly
In yonder corner, lest perhaps she lie
Concealed behind that screen.
MAX.
There lie her gloves!
[Snatches at them, but the COUNTESS takes them herself.
You unkind lady! You refuse me this,
You make it an amusement to torment me.
COUNTESS.
And this the thanks you give me for my trouble?
MAX.
O, if you felt the oppression at my heart!
Since we've been here, so to constrain myself
With such poor stealth to hazard words and glances.
These, these are not my habits!
COUNTESS.
You have still
Many new habits to acquire, young friend!
But on this proof of your obedient temper
I must continue to insist; and only
On this condition can I play the agent
For your concerns.
MAX.
But wherefore comes she not?
Where is she?
COUNTESS.
Into my hands you must place it
Whole and entire. Whom could you find, indeed,
More zealously affected to your interest?
No soul on earth must know it—not your father;
He must not, above all.
MAX.
Alas! what danger?
Here is no face on which I might concentre
All the enraptured soul stirs up within me.
O lady! tell me, is all changed around me?
Or is it only I?
I find myself,
As among strangers! Not a trace is left
Of all my former wishes, former joys.
Where has it vanished to? There was a time
When even, methought, with such a world as this,
I was not discontented. Now how flat!
How stale! No life, no bloom, no flavor in it!
My comrades are intolerable to me.
My father—even to him I can say nothing.
My arms, my military duties—O!
They are such wearying toys!
COUNTESS.
But gentle friend!
I must entreat it of your condescension,
You would be pleased to sink your eye, and favor
With one short glance or two this poor stale world,
Where even now much, and of much moment,
Is on the eve of its completion.
MAX.
Something,
I can't but know is going forward round me.
I see it gathering, crowding, driving on,
In wild uncustomary movements. Well,
In due time, doubtless, it will reach even me.
Where think you I have been, dear lady? Nay,
No raillery. The turmoil of the camp,
The spring-tide of acquaintance rolling in,
The pointless jest, the empty conversation,
Oppressed and stifled me. I gasped for air—
I could not breathe—I was constrained to fly,
To seek a silence out for my full heart;
And a pure spot wherein to feel my happiness.
No smiling, countess! In the church was I.
There is a cloister here "To the heaven's gate," [10]
Thither I went, there found myself alone.
Over the altar hung a holy mother;
A wretched painting 'twas, yet 'twas the friend
That I was seeking in this moment. Ah,
How oft have I beheld that glorious form
In splendor, 'mid ecstatic worshippers;
Yet, still it moved me not! and now at once
Was my devotion cloudless as my love.
COUNTESS.
Enjoy your fortune and felicity!
Forget the world around you. Meantime, friendship
Shall keep strict vigils for you, anxious, active.
Only be manageable when that friendship
Points you the road to full accomplishment.
MAX.
But where abides she then? Oh, golden time
Of travel, when each morning sun united
And but the coming night divided us;
Then ran no sand, then struck no hour for us,
And time, in our excess of happiness,
Seemed on its course eternal to stand still.
Oh, he hath fallen from out his heaven of bliss
Who can descend to count the changing hours,
No clock strikes ever for the happy!
COUNTESS.
How long is it since you declared your passion?
MAX.
This morning did I hazard the first word.
COUNTESS.
This morning the first time in twenty days?
MAX.
'Twas at that hunting-castle, betwixt here
And Nepomuck, where you had joined us, and
That was the last relay of the whole journey;
In a balcony we were standing mute,
And gazing out upon the dreary field
Before us the dragoons were riding onward,
The safeguard which the duke had sent us—heavy;
The inquietude of parting lay upon me,
And trembling ventured at length these words:
This all reminds me, noble maiden, that
To-day I must take leave of my good fortune.
A few hours more, and you will find a father,
Will see yourself surrounded by new friends,
And I henceforth shall be but as a stranger,
Lost in the many—"Speak with my Aunt Terzky!"
With hurrying voice she interrupted me.
She faltered. I beheld a glowing red
Possess her beautiful cheeks, and from the ground
Raised slowly up her eye met mine—no longer
Did I control myself.
[The Princess THEKLA appears at the door, and remains standing,
observed by the COUNTESS, but not by PICCOLOMINI.
With instant boldness
I caught her in my arms, my lips touched hers;
There was a rustling in the room close by;
It parted us—'Twas you. What since has happened
You know.
COUNTESS (after a pause, with a stolen glance at THEKLA).
And is it your excess of modesty
Or are you so incurious, that you do not
Ask me too of my secret?
MAX.
Of your secret?
COUNTESS.
Why, yes! When in the instant after you
I stepped into the room, and found my niece there;
What she in this first moment of the heart
Taken with surprise——
MAX. (with eagerness).
Well?
THEKLA (hurries forward), COUNTESS, MAX. PICCOLOMINI.
THEKLA (to the COUNTESS).
Spare yourself the trouble:
That hears he better from myself.
MAX. (stepping backward).
My princess!
What have you let her hear me say, Aunt Terzky?
THEKLA (to the COUNTESS).
Has he been here long?
COUNTESS.
Yes; and soon must go,
Where have you stayed so long?
THEKLA.
Alas! my mother,
Wept so again! and I—I see her suffer,
Yet cannot keep myself from being happy.
MAX.
Now once again I have courage to look on you.
To-day at noon I could not.
The dazzle of the jewels that played round you
Hid the beloved from me.
THEKLA.
Then you saw me
With your eye only—and not with your heart?
MAX.
This morning, when I found you in the circle
Of all your kindred, in your father's arms,
Beheld myself an alien in this circle,
O! what an impulse felt I in that moment
To fall upon his neck, to call him father!
But his stern eye o'erpowered the swelling passion,
It dared not but be silent. And those brilliants,
That like a crown of stars enwreathed your brows,
They scared me too! O wherefore, wherefore should be
At the first meeting spread as 'twere the ban
Of excommunication round you,—wherefore
Dress up the angel as for sacrifice.
And cast upon the light and joyous heart
The mournful burden of his station? Fitly
May love dare woo for love; but such a splendor
Might none but monarchs venture to approach.
THEKLA.
Hush! not a word more of this mummery;
You see how soon the burden is thrown off.
[To the COUNTESS.
He is not in spirits. Wherefore is he not?
'Tis you, aunt, that have made him all so gloomy!
He had quite another nature on the journey—
So calm, so bright, so joyous eloquent.
[To MAX.
It was my wish to see you always so,
And never otherwise!
MAX.
You find yourself
In your great father's arms, beloved lady!
All in a new world, which does homage to you,
And which, were't only by its novelty,
Delights your eye.
THEKLA.
Yes; I confess to you
That many things delight me here: this camp,
This motley stage of warriors, which renews
So manifold the image of my fancy,
And binds to life, binds to reality,
What hitherto had but been present to me
As a sweet dream!
MAX.
Alas! not so to me.
It makes a dream of my reality.
Upon some island in the ethereal heights
I've lived for these last days. This mass of men
Forces me down to earth. It is a bridge
That, reconducting to my former life,
Divides me and my heaven.
THEKLA.
The game of life
Looks cheerful, when one carries in one's heart
The unalienable treasure. 'Tis a game,
Which, having once reviewed, I turn more joyous
Back to my deeper and appropriate bliss.
[Breaking off, and in a sportive tone.
In this short time that I've been present here.
What new unheard-of things have I not seen;
And yet they all must give place to the wond
Which this mysterious castle guards.
COUNTESS (recollecting).
And what
Can this be then? Methought I was acquainted
With all the dusky corners of this house.
THEKLA (smiling).
Ay, but the road thereto is watched by spirits,
Two griffins still stand sentry at the door.
COUNTESS (laughs).
The astrological tower! How happens it
That this same sanctuary, whose access
Is to all others so impracticable,
Opens before you even at your approach?
THEKLA.
A dwarfish old man with a friendly face
And snow-white hairs, whose gracious services
Were mine at first sight, opened me the doors.
MAX.
That is the duke's astrologer, old Seni.
THEKLA.
He questioned me on many points; for instance,
When I was born, what month, and on what day,
Whether by day or in the night.
COUNTESS.
He wished
To erect a figure for your horoscope.
THEKLA.
My hand too he examined, shook his head
With much sad meaning, and the lines, methought,
Did not square over truly with his wishes.
COUNTESS.
Well, princess, and what found you in this tower?
My highest privilege has been to snatch
A side-glance, and away!
THEKLA.
It was a strange
Sensation that came o'er me, when at first
From the broad sunshine I stepped in; and now
The narrowing line of daylight, that ran after
The closing door, was gone; and all about me
'Twas pale and dusky night, with many shadows
Fantastically cast. Here six or seven
Colossal statues, and all kings, stood round me
In a half-circle. Each one in his hand
A sceptre bore, and on his head a star;
And in the tower no other light was there
But from these stars all seemed to come from them.
"These are the planets," said that low old man,
"They govern worldly fates, and for that cause
Are imaged here as kings. He farthest from you,
Spiteful and cold, an old man melancholy,
With bent and yellow forehead, he is Saturn.
He opposite, the king with the red light,
An armed man for the battle, that is Mars;
And both these bring but little luck to man."
But at his side a lovely lady stood,
The star upon her head was soft and bright,
Oh, that was Venus, the bright star of joy.
And the left hand, lo! Mercury, with wings
Quite in the middle glittered silver bright.
A cheerful man, and with a monarch's mien;
And this was Jupiter, my father's star
And at his side I saw the Sun and Moon.
MAX.
Oh, never rudely will I blame his faith
In the might of stars and angels. 'Tis not merely
The human being's pride that peoples space
With life and mystical predominance;
Since likewise for the stricken heart of love
This visible nature, and this common world,
Is all too narrow; yea, a deeper import
Lurks in the legend told my infant years
Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn.
For fable is love's world, his home, his birth-place;
Delightedly dwells he among fays and talismans,
And spirits; and delightedly believes
Divinities, being himself divine
The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,
The power, the beauty, and the majesty,
That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain,
Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,
Or chasms, and watery depths, all these have vanished.
They live no longer in the faith of reason!
But still the heart doth need a language, still
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names;
And to yon starry world they now are gone,
Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth
With man as with their friend [11], and to the lover
Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky
Shoot influence down: and even at this day
'This Jupiter who brings whate'er is great,
And Venus who brings everything that's fair!
THEKLA.
And if this be the science of the stars,
I, too, with glad and zealous industry,
Will learn acquaintance with this cheerful faith.
It is a gentle and affectionate thought,
That in immeasurable heights above us,
At our first birth, the wreath of love was woven,
With sparkling stars for flowers.
COUNTESS.
Not only roses
And thorns too hath the heaven, and well for you
Leave they your wreath of love inviolate:
What Venus twined, the bearer of glad fortune,
The sullen orb of Mars soon tears to pieces.
MAX.
Soon will this gloomy empire reach its close.
Blest be the general's zeal: into the laurel
Will he inweave the olive-branch, presenting
Peace to the shouting nations. Then no wish
Will have remained for his great heart. Enough
Has he performed for glory, and can now
Live for himself and his. To his domains will
He retire; he has a stately seat
Of fairest view at Gitschin, Reichenberg,
And Friedland Castle, both lie pleasantly;
Even to the foot of the huge mountains here
Stretches the chase and covers of his forests:
His ruling passion to create the splendid
He can indulge without restraint; can give
A princely patronage to every art,
And to all worth a sovereign's protection.
Can build, can plant, can watch the starry courses——
COUNTESS.
Yet I would have you look, and look again,
Before you lay aside your arms, young friend!
A gentle bride, as she is, is well worth it,
That you should woo and win her with the sword.
MAX.
Oh, that the sword could win her!
COUNTESS.
What was that?
Did you hear nothing? Seemed as if I heard
Tumult and larum in the banquet-room.
[Exit COUNTESS.
THEKLA and MAX. PICCOLOMINI.
THEKLA (as soon as the COUNTESS is out of sight, in a quick, low voice to PICCOLOMINI). Don't trust them! They are false!
MAX.
Impossible!
THEKLA.
Trust no one here but me. I saw at once,
They had a purpose.
MAX.
Purpose! but what purpose?
And how can we be instrumental to it?
THEKLA.
I know no more than you; but yet believe me
There's some design in this; to make us happy,
To realize our union—trust me, love!
They but pretend to wish it.
MAX.
But these Terzkys—
Why use we them at all? Why not your mother?
Excellent creature! She deserves from us
A full and filial confidence.
THEKLA.
She doth love you,
Doth rate you high before all others—but—
But such a secret—she would never have
The courage to conceal it from my father.
For her own peace of mind we must preserve it
A secret from her too.
MAX.
Why any secret?
I love not secrets. Mark what I will do.
I'll throw me at your father's feet—let him
Decide upon my fortune! He is true,
He wears no mask—he hates all crooked ways—
He is so good, so noble!
THEKLA. (falls on his neck).
That are you!
MAX.
You knew him only from this morn! But I
Have lived ten years already in his presence;
And who knows whether in this very moment
He is not merely waiting for us both
To own our loves in order to unite us?
You are silent!
You look at me with such a hopelessness!
What have you to object against your father?
THEKLA.
I? Nothing. Only he's so occupied—
He has no leisure time to think about
The happiness of us two.
[Taking his hand tenderly.
Follow me
Let us not place too great a faith in men.
These Terzkys—we will still be grateful to them
For every kindness, but not trust them further
Than they deserve;—and in all else rely
On our own hearts!
MAX.
O! shall we e'er be happy?
THEKLA.
Are we not happy now? Art thou not mine?
Am I not thine? There lives within my soul
A lofty courage—'tis love gives it me!
I ought to be less open—ought to hide
My heart more from thee—so decorum dictates:
But where in this place couldst thou seek for truth,
If in my mouth thou didst not find it?
We now have met, then let us hold each other
Clasped in a lasting and a firm embrace.
Believe me this was more than their intent.
Then be our loves like some blest relic kept
Within the deep recesses of the heart.
From heaven alone the love has been bestowed,
To heaven alone our gratitude is due;
It can work wonders for us still.
To them enters the COUNTESS TERZKY.
COUNTESS (in a pressing manner).
Come, come!
My husband sends me for you. It is now
The latest moment.
[They not appearing to attend to what she says,
she steps between them.
Part you!
THEKLA.
Oh, not yet!
It has been scarce a moment.
COUNTESS.
Ay! 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 (with energy).
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. Fairwell, 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 awhile an irregular and melancholy symphony, she falls gradually into the music and sings.
THEKLA (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 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. [12]
COUNTESS (returns), THEKLA.
COUNTESS.
Fie, lady niece! to throw yourself upon him
Like a poor gift to one who cares not for it,
And so must be flung after him! For you,
Duke Friedland's only child, I should have thought
It had been more beseeming to have shown yourself
More chary of your person.
THEKLA (rising).
And what mean you?
DUCHESS.
I mean, niece, that you should not have forgotten
Who you are, and who he is. But perchance
That never once occurred to you.
THEKLA.
What then?
COUNTESS.
That you're the daughter of the Prince Duke Friedland.
THEKLA.
Well, and what farther?
DUCHESS.
What? A pretty question!
THEKLA.
He was born that which we have but become.
He's of an ancient Lombard family,
Son of a reigning princess.
COUNTESS.
Are you dreaming?
Talking in sleep? An excellent jest, forsooth!
We shall no doubt right courteously entreat him
To honor with his hand the richest heiress
In Europe.
THEKLA.
That will not be necessary.
COUNTESS.
Methinks 'twere well, though, not to run the hazard.
THEHLA.
His father loves him; Count Octavio
Will interpose no difficulty——
COUNTESS.
His!
His father! His! But yours, niece, what of yours?
THERLA.
Why, I begin to think you fear his father,
So anxiously you hide it from the man!
His father, his, I mean.
COUNTESS (looks at her as scrutinizing).
Niece, you are false.
THEBLA.
Are you then wounded? O, be friends with me!
COUNTESS.
You hold your game for won already. Do not
Triumph too soon!
THEKLA (interrupting her, and attempting to soothe her).
Nay now, be friends with me.
COUNTESS.
It is not yet so far gone.
THEKLA.
I believe you.
COUNTESS.
Did you suppose your father had laid out
His most important life in toils of war,
Denied himself each quiet earthly bliss,
Had banished slumbers from his tent, devoted
His noble head to care, and for this only,
To make a happier pair of you? At length
To draw you from your convent, and conduct
In easy triumph to your arms the man
That chanced to please your eyes! All this, methinks,
He might have purchased at a cheaper rate.
THEKLA.
That which he did not plant for me might yet
Bear me fair fruitage of its own accord.
And if my friendly and affectionate fate,
Out of his fearful and enormous being,
Will but prepare the joys of life for me——
COUNTESS.
Thou seest it with a lovelorn maiden's eyes,
Cast thine eye round, bethink thee who thou art;—
Into no house of joyance hast thou stepped,
For no espousals dost thou find the walls
Decked out, no guests the nuptial garland wearing;
Here is no splendor but of arms. Or thinkest thou
That all these thousands are here congregated
To lead up the long dances at thy wedding!
Thou see'st thy father's forehead full of thought,
Thy mother's eye in tears: upon the balance
Lies the great destiny of all our house.
Leave now the puny wish, the girlish feeling;
Oh, thrust it far behind thee! Give thou proof
Thou'rt the daughter of the mighty—his
Who where he moves creates the wonderful.
Not to herself the woman must belong,
Annexed and bound to alien destinies.
But she performs the best part, she the wisest,
Who can transmute the alien into self,
Meet and disarm necessity by choice;
And what must be, take freely to her heart,
And bear and foster it with mother's love.
THEKLA.
Such ever was my lesson in the convent.
I had no loves, no wishes, knew myself
Only as his—his daughter—his, the mighty!
His fame, the echo of whose blast drove to me
From the far distance, weakened in my soul
No other thought than this—I am appointed
To offer myself up in passiveness to him.
COUNTESS.
That is thy fate. Mould thou thy wishes to it—
I and thy mother gave thee the example.
THEKLA.
My fate hath shown me him, to whom behoves it
That I should offer up myself. In gladness
Him will I follow.
COUNTESS.
Not thy fate hath shown him!
Thy heart, say rather—'twas thy heart, my child!
THEKLA.
Faith hath no voice but the heart's impulses.
I am all his! His present—his alone.
Is this new life, which lives in me? He hath
A right to his own creature. What was I
Ere his fair love infused a soul into me?
COUNTESS.
Thou wouldst oppose thy father, then, should he
Have otherwise determined with thy person?
[THEKLA remains silent. The COUNTESS continues.
Thou meanest to force him to thy liking? Child,
His name is Friedland.
THEKLA.
My name too is Friedland.
He shall have found a genuine daughter in me.
COUNTESS.
What! he has vanquished all impediment,
And in the wilful mood of his own daughter
Shall a new struggle rise for him? Child! child!
As yet thou hast seen thy father's smiles alone;
The eye of his rage thou hast not seen. Dear child,
I will not frighten thee. To that extreme,
I trust it ne'er shall come. His will is yet
Unknown to me; 'tis possible his aims
May have the same direction as thy wish.
But this can never, never be his will,
That thou, the daughter of his haughty fortunes,
Shouldest e'er demean thee as a lovesick maiden
And like some poor cost-nothing, fling thyself
Toward the man, who, if that high prize ever
Be destined to await him, yet with sacrifices
The highest love can bring, must pay for it.
[Exit COUNTESS.
THEKLA (who during the last speech had been standing evidently
lost in her reflections).
I thank thee for the hint. It turns
My sad presentiment to certainty.
And it is so! Not one friend have we here,
Not one true heart! we've nothing but ourselves!
Oh, she said rightly—no auspicious signs
Beam on this covenant of our affections.
This is no theatre where hope abides
The dull thick noise of war alone stirs here,
And love himself, as he were armed in steel,
Steps forth, and girds him for the strife of death.
[Music from the banquet-room is heard.
There's a dark spirit walking in our house.
And swiftly will the destiny close on us.
It drove me hither from my calm asylum,
It mocks my soul with charming witchery,
It lures me forward in a seraph's shape,
I see it near, I see it nearer floating,
It draws, it pulls me with a godlike power—
And lo! the abyss—and thither am I moving—
I have no power within me not to move!
[The music from the banquet-room becomes louder.
Oh, when a house is, doomed in fire to perish,
Many and dark Heaven drives his clouds together,
Yea, shoots his lightnings down from sunny heights,
Flames burst from out the subterraneous chasms,
And fiends and angels, mingling in their fury,
Sling firebrands at the burning edifice. [13]
[Exit THEKLA.
A large saloon lighted up with festal splendor; in the midst of it, and in the centre of the stage a table richly set out, at which eight generals are sitting, among whom are OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, TERZKY, and MARADAS. Right and left of this, but further back, two other tables, at each of which six persons are placed. The middle door, which is standing open, gives to the prospect a fourth table with the same number of persons. More forward stands the sideboard. The whole front of the stage is kept open, for the pages and servants-in-waiting. All is in motion. The band of music belonging to TERZKY's regiment march across the stage, and draw up around the tables. Before they are quite off from the front of the stage, MAX. PICCOLOMINI appears, TERZKY advances towards him with a paper, ISOLANI comes up to meet him with a beaker, or service-cup.
ISOLANI.
Here, brother, what we love! Why, where hast been?
Off to thy place—quick! Terzky here has given
The mother's holiday wine up to free booty.
Here it goes on as at the Heidelberg castle.
Already hast thou lost the best. They're giving
At yonder table ducal crowns in shares;
There Sternberg's lands and chattels are put up,
With Eggenberg's, Stawata's, Lichtenstein's,
And all the great Bohemian feudalities.
Be nimble, lad! and something may turn up
For thee, who knows? off—to thy place! quick! march!
TIEFENBACH and GOETZ (call out from the second and third tables).
Count Piccolomini!
TERZKY.
Stop, ye shall have him in an instant. Read
This oath here, whether as 'tis here set forth,
The wording satisfies you. They've all read it,
Each in his turn, and each one will subscribe
His individual signature.
MAX. (reads).
"Ingratis servire nefas."
ISOLANI.
That sounds to my ears very much like Latin,
And being interpreted, pray what may it mean?
TERZKY.
No honest man will serve a thankless master.
MAX. "Inasmuch as our supreme commander, the illustrious Duke of Friedland, in consequence of the manifold affronts and grievances which he has received, had expressed his determination to quit the emperor, but on our unanimous entreaty has graciously consented to remain still with the army, and not to part from us without our approbation thereof, so we, collectively and each in particular, in the stead of an oath personally taken, do, hereby oblige ourselves—likewise by him honorably and faithfully to hold, and in nowise whatsoever from him to part, and to be ready to shed for his interests the last drop of our blood, so far, namely, as our oath to the emperor will permit it. (These last words are repeated by ISOLANI.) In testimony of which we subscribe our names."
TERZKY.
Now! are you willing to subscribe to this paper?
ISOLANI.
Why should he not? All officers of honor
Can do it, ay, must do it. Pen and ink here!
TERZKY.
Nay, let it rest till after meal.
ISOLANI (drawing MAX. along).
Come, Max!
[Both seat themselves at their table.
TERZKY (beckons to NEUMANN, who is waiting at the side-table and steps
forward with him to the edge of the stage).
Have you the copy with you, Neumann? Give it.
It may be changed for the other?
NEUMANN.
I have copied it
Letter by letter, line by line; no eye
Would e'er discover other difference,
Save only the omission of that clause,
According to your excellency's order.
TERZKY.
Right I lay it yonder and away with this—
It has performed its business—to the fire with it.
[NEUMANN lays the copy on the table, and steps back again
to the side-table.
ILLO (comes out from the second chamber), TERZKY.
ILLO.
How goes it with young Piccolomini!
TERZKY.
All right, I think. He has started no object.
ILLO.
He is the only one I fear about—
He and his father. Have an eye on both!
TERZKY.
How looks it at your table: you forget not
To keep them warm and stirring?
ILLO.
Oh, quite cordial,
They are quite cordial in the scheme. We have them
And 'tis as I predicted too. Already
It is the talk, not merely to maintain
The duke in station. "Since we're once for all
Together and unanimous, why not,"
Says Montecuculi, "ay, why not onward,
And make conditions with the emperor
There in his own Venice?" Trust me, count,
Were it not for these said Piccolomini,
We might have spared ourselves the cheat.
TERZEY.
And Butler?
How goes it there? Hush!
To them enter BUTLER from a second table.
BUTLER.
Don't disturb yourselves;
Field-marshal, I have understood you perfectly.
Good luck be to the scheme; and as to me,
[With an air of mystery.
You may depend upon me.
ILLO (with vivacity).
May we, Butler?
BUTLER.
With or without the clause, all one to me!
You understand me! My fidelity
The duke may put to any proof—I'm with him
Tell him so! I'm the emperor's officer,
As long as 'tis his pleasure to remain
The emperor's general! and Friedland's servant,
As soon as it shall please him to become
His own lord.
TERZKY.
You would make a good exchange.
No stern economist, no Ferdinand,
Is he to whom you plight your services.
BUTLER (with a haughty look).
I do not put up my fidelity
To sale, Count Terzky! Half a year ago
I would not have advised you to have made me
An overture to that, to which I now
Offer myself of my own free accord.
But that is past! and to the duke, field-marshal,
I bring myself, together with my regiment.
And mark you, 'tis my humor to believe,
The example which I give will not remain
Without an influence.
ILLO.
Who is ignorant,
That the whole army looks to Colonel Butler
As to a light that moves before them?
BUTLER.
Ay?
Then I repent me not of that fidelity
Which for the length of forty years I held,
If in my sixtieth year my good old name
Can purchase for me a revenge so full.
Start not at what I say, sir generals!
My real motives—they concern not you.
And you yourselves, I trust, could not expect
That this your game had crooked my judgment—or
That fickleness, quick blood, or such like cause,
Has driven the old man from the track of honor,
Which he so long had trodden. Come, my friends!
I'm not thereto determined with less firmness,
Because I know and have looked steadily
At that on which I have determined.
ILLO.
Say,
And speak roundly, what are we to deem you?
BUTLER.
A friend! I give you here my hand! I'm yours
With all I have. Not only men, but money
Will the duke want. Go, tell him, sirs!
I've earned and laid up somewhat in his service,
I lend it him; and is he my survivor,
It has been already long ago bequeathed to him;
He is my heir. For me, I stand alone
Here in the world; naught know I of the feeling
That binds the husband to a wife and children.
My name dies with me, my existence ends.
ILLO.
'Tis not your money that he needs—a heart
Like yours weighs tons of gold down, weighs down millions!
BUTLER.
I came a simple soldier's boy from Ireland
To Prague—and with a master, whom I buried.
From lowest stable duty I climbed up,
Such was the fate of war, to this high rank,
The plaything of a whimsical good fortune.
And Wallenstein too is a child of luck:
I love a fortune that is like my own.
ILLO.
All powerful souls have kindred with each other.
BUTLER.
This is an awful moment! to the brave,
To the determined, an auspicious moment.
The Prince of Weimar arms, upon the Maine,
To found a mighty dukedom. He of Halberstadt,
That Mansfeldt, wanted but a longer life
To have marked out with his good sword a lordship
That should reward his courage. Who of these
Equals our Friedland? There is nothing, nothing
So high, but he may set the ladder to it!
TERZKY.
That's spoken like a man!
BUTLER.
Do you secure the Spaniard and Italian—
I'll be your warrant for the Scotchman Lesly.
Come to the company!
TERZKY.
Where is the master of the cellar? Ho!
Let the best wines come up. Ho! cheerly, boy!
Luck comes to-day, so give her hearty welcome.
[Exeunt, each to his table.
The MASTER OF THE CELLAR, advancing with NEUMANN, SERVANTS passing backwards and forwards.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. The best wine! Oh, if my old mistress, his lady mother, could but see these wild goings on she would turn herself round in her grave. Yes, yes, sir officer! 'tis all down the hill with this noble house! no end, no moderation! And this marriage with the duke's sister, a splendid connection, a very splendid connection! but I will tell you, sir officer, it looks no good.
NEUMANN. Heaven forbid! Why, at this very moment the whole prospect is in bud and blossom!
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. You think so? Well, well! much may be said on that head.
FIRST SERVANT (comes). Burgundy for the fourth table.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. Now, sir lieutenant, if this aint the seventieth flask——
FIRST SERVANT. Why, the reason is, that German lord, Tiefenbach, sits at that table.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR (continuing his discourse to NEUMANN). They are soaring too high. They would rival kings and electors in their pomp and splendor; and wherever the duke leaps, not a minute does my gracious master, the count, loiter on the brink—(to the SERVANTS). What do you stand there listening for? I will let you know you have legs presently. Off! see to the tables, see to the flasks! Look there! Count Palfi has an empty glass before him!
RUNNER (comes). The great service-cup is wanted, sir, that rich gold cup with the Bohemian arms on it. The count says you know which it is.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. Ay! that was made for Frederick's coronation by the artist William—there was not such another prize in the whole booty at Prague.
RUNNER. The same!—a health is to go round in him.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR (shaking his head while he fetches and rinses the cups). This will be something for the tale-bearers—this goes to Vienna.
NEUMANN. Permit me to look at it. Well, this is a cup indeed! How heavy! as well it may be, being all gold. And what neat things are embossed on it! how natural and elegant they look! There, on the first quarter, let me see. That proud amazon there on horseback, she that is taking a leap over the crosier and mitres, and carries on a wand a hat together with a banner, on which there's a goblet represented. Can you tell me what all this signifies?
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. The woman you see there on horseback is the Free Election of the Bohemian Crown. That is signified by the round hat and by that fiery steed on which she is riding. The hat is the pride of man; for he who cannot keep his hat on before kings and emperors is no free man.
NEUMANN. But what is the cup there on the banner.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. The cup signifies the freedom of the Bohemian Church, as it was in our forefathers' times. Our forefathers in the wars of the Hussites forced from the pope this noble privilege; for the pope, you know, will not grant the cup to any layman. Your true Moravian values nothing beyond the cup; it is his costly jewel, and has cost the Bohemians their precious blood in many and many a battle.
NEUMANN. And what says that chart that hangs in the air there, over it all?
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. That signifies the Bohemian letter-royal which we forced from the Emperor Rudolph—a precious, never to be enough valued parchment, that secures to the new church the old privileges of free ringing and open psalmody. But since he of Steiermark has ruled over us that is at an end; and after the battle at Prague, in which Count Palatine Frederick lost crown and empire, our faith hangs upon the pulpit and the altar—and our brethren look at their homes over their shoulders; but the letter-royal the emperor himself cut to pieces with his scissors.
NEUMANN. Why, my good Master of the Cellar! you are deep read in the chronicles of your country.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. So were my forefathers, and for that reason were they minstrels, and served under Procopius and Ziska. Peace be with their ashes! Well, well! they fought for a good cause though. There! carry it up!
NEUMANN. Stay! let me but look at this second quarter. Look there!
That is, when at Prague Castle, the imperial counsellors, Martinitz and
Stawata, were hurled down head over heels. 'Tis even so! there stands
Count Thur who commands it.
[RUNNER takes the service-cup and goes off with it.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. Oh, let me never more hear of that day. It was the three-and-twentieth of May in the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and eighteen. It seems to me as it were but yesterday—from that unlucky day it all began, all the heartaches of the country. Since that day it is now sixteen years, and there has never once been peace on the earth.
[Health drunk aloud at the second table.
The Prince of Weimar! Hurrah!
[At the third and fourth tables.
Long live Prince William! Long live Duke Bernard! Hurrah!
[Music strikes up.
FIRST SERVANT. Hear 'em! Hear 'em! What an uproar!
SECOND SERVANT (comes in running). Did you hear? They have drunk the
Prince of Weimar's health.
THIRD SERVANT. The Swedish chief commander!
FIRST SERVANT (speaking at the same time). The Lutheran!
SECOND SERVANT. Just before, when Count Deodati gave out the emperor's health, they were all as mum as a nibbling mouse.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR. Po, po! When the wine goes in strange things come out. A good servant hears, and hears not! You should be nothing but eyes and feet, except when you are called to.
SECOND SERVANT. [To the RUNNER, to whom he gives secretly a flask of wine, keeping his eye on the MASTER OF THE CELLAR, standing between him and the RUNNER. Quick, Thomas! before the Master of the Cellar runs this way; 'tis a flask of Frontignac! Snapped it up at the third table. Canst go off with it?
RUNNER (hides it in his, pocket). All right!
[Exit the Second Servant.
THIRD SERVANT (aside to the FIRST). Be on the hark, Jack! that we may have right plenty to tell to Father Quivoga. He will give us right plenty of absolution in return for it.
FIRST SERVANT. For that very purpose I am always having something to do behind Illo's chair. He is the man for speeches to make you stare with.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR (to NEUMANN). Who, pray, may that swarthy man be, he with the cross, that is chatting so confidently with Esterhats?
NEUMANN. Ay, he too is one of those to whom they confide too much. He calls himself Maradas; a Spaniard is he.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR (impatiently). Spaniard! Spaniard! I tell you, friend, nothing good comes of those Spaniards. All these outlandish fellows are little better than rogues.
NEUMANN. Fy, fy! you should not say so, friend. There are among them our very best generals, and those on whom the duke at this moment relies the most.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR.
[Taking the flask out of RUNNER'S pocket.
My son, it will be broken to pieces in your pocket.
[TERZKY hurries in, fetches away the paper, and calls to a servant
for pen and ink, and goes to the back of the stage.
MASTER OF THE CELLAR (to the SERVANTS). The lieutenant-general stands up. Be on the watch. Now! They break up. Off, and move back the forms.
[They rise at all the tables, the SERVANTS hurry off the front of the stage to the tables; part of the guests come forward.
OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI enters, in conversation with MARADAS, and both place themselves quite on the edge of the stage on one side of the proscenium. On the side directly opposite, MAX. PICCOLOMINI, by himself, lost in thought, and taking no part in anything that is going forward. The middle space between both, but rather more distant from the edge of the stage, is filled up by BUTLER, ISOLANI, GOETZ, TIEFENBACH, and KOLATTO.
ISOLANI (while the company is coming forward). Good-night, good-night, Kolatto! Good-night, lieutenant-general! I should rather say good-morning.
GOETZ (to TIEFENBACH). Noble brother! (making the usual compliment after meals).
TIEFENBACH. Ay! 'twas a royal feast indeed.
GOETZ. Yes, my lady countess understands these matters. Her mother-in-law, heaven rest her soul, taught her! Ah! that was a housewife for you!
TIEFENBACH. There was not her like in all Bohemia for setting out a table.
OCTAVIO (aside to MARADAS). Do me the favor to talk to me—talk of what you will—or of nothing. Only preserve the appearance at least of talking. I would not wish to stand by myself, and yet I conjecture that there will be goings on here worthy of our attentive observation. (He continues to fix his eye on the whole following scene.)
ISOLANI (on the point of going). Lights! lights!
TERZKY (advances with the paper to ISOLANI). Noble brother; two minutes longer! Here is something to subscribe.
ISOLANI. Subscribe as much as you like—but you must excuse me from reading it.
TERZKY. There is no need. It is the oath which you have already read.
Only a few marks of your pen!
[ISOLANI hands over the paper to OCTAVIO respectfully.
TERZKY. Nay, nay, first come, first served. There is no precedence here.
[OCTAVIO runs over the paper with apparent indifference.
TERZKY watches him at some distance.
GOETZ (to TERZKY). Noble count! with your permission—good-night.
TERKZY. Where's the hurry? Come, one other composing draught. (To the
SERVANTS). Ho!
GOETZ. Excuse me—aint able.
TERZKY. A thimble-full.
GOETZ. Excuse me.
TIEFENBACH (sits down). Pardon me, nobles! This standing does not agree with me.
TERZKY. Consult your own convenience, general.
TIEFENBACH. Clear at head, sound in stomach—only my legs won't carry me any longer.
ISOLANI (pointing at his corpulence). Poor legs! how should they! Such an unmerciful load!
[OCTAVIO subscribes his name, and reaches over the paper to TERZKY,
who gives it to ISOLANI; and he goes to the table to sign his name.
TIEFENBACH. 'Twas that war in Pomerania that first brought it on. Out in all weathers—ice and snow—no help for it. I shall never get the better of it all the days of my life.
GOETZ. Why, in simple verity, your Swedes make no nice inquiries about the season.
TERZKY (observing ISOLANI, whose hand trembles excessively so that he can scarce direct his pen). Have you had that ugly complaint long, noble brother? Despatch it.
ISOLANI. The sins of youth! I have already tried the chalybeate waters.
Well—I must bear it.
[TERZKY gives the paper to MARADAS; he steps to the table
to subscribe.
OCTAVIO (advancing to BUTLER). You are not over-fond of the orgies of Bacchus, colonel! I have observed it. You would, I think, find yourself more to your liking in the uproar of a battle than of a feast.
BUTLER. I must confess 'tis not in my way.
OCTAVIO (stepping nearer to him friendlily). Nor in mine neither, I can assure you; and I am not a little glad, my much-honored Colonel Butler, that we agree so well in our opinions. A half-dozen good friends at most, at a small round table, a glass of genuine Tokay, open hearts, and a rational conversation—that's my taste.
BUTLER. And mine, too, when it can be had.
[The paper comes to TIEFENBACH, who glances over it at the same time with GOETZ and KOLATTO. MARADAS in the meantime returns to OCTAVIO. All this takes places, the conversation with BUTLER proceeding uninterrupted.
OCTAVIO (introducing MADARAS to BUTLER.) Don Balthasar Maradas! likewise a man of our stamp, and long ago your admirer.
[BUTLER bows.
OCTAVIO (continuing). You are a stranger here—'twas but yesterday you arrived—you are ignorant of the ways and means here. 'Tis a wretched place. I know at your age one loves to be snug and quiet. What if you move your lodgings? Come, be my visitor. (BUTLER makes a low bow.) Nay, without compliment! For a friend like you I have still a corner remaining.
BUTLER (coldly). Your obliged humble servant, my lord lieutenant-general.
[The paper comes to BUTLER, who goes to the table to subscribe it. The front of the stage is vacant, so that both the PICCOLOMINIS, each on the side where he had been from the commencement of the scene, remain alone.
OCTAVIO (after having some time watched his son in silence, advances somewhat nearer to him). You were long absent from us, friend!
MAX. I—urgent business detained me.
OCTAVIO. And, I observe, you are still absent!
MAX. You know this crowd and bustle always makes me silent.
OCTAVIO (advancing still nearer). May I be permitted to ask what the business was that detained you? Terzky knows it without asking.
MAX. What does Terzky know?
OCTAVIO. He was the only one who did not miss you.
ISOLANI (who has been attending to them for some distance steps up). Well done, father! Rout out his baggage! Beat up his quarters! there is something there that should not be.
TERZKY (with the paper). Is there none wanting? Have the whole subscribed?
OCTAVIO. All.
TERZKY (calling aloud). Ho! Who subscribes?
BUTLER (to TERZKY). Count the names. There ought to be just thirty.
TERZKY. Here is a cross.
TIEFENBACH. That's my mark!
ISOLANI. He cannot write; but his cross is a good cross, and is honored by Jews as well as Christians.
OCTAVIO (presses on to MAX.). Come, general! let us go. It is late.
TERZKY. One Piccolomini only has signed.
ISOLANI (pointing to MAX.). Look! that is your man, that statue there, who has had neither eye, ear, nor tongue for us the whole evening.
[MAX. receives the paper from TERZKY, which he looks upon vacantly.
To these enter ILLO from the inner room. He has in his hand a
golden service-cup, and is extremely distempered with drinking;
GOETZ and BUTLER follow him, endeavoring to keep him back.
ILLO.
What do you want! Let me go.
GOETZ and BUTLER.
Drink no more, Illo! For heaven's sake, drink no more.
ILLO (goes up to OCTAVIO, and shakes him cordially by the hand, and then drinks). Octavio! I bring this to you! Let all grudge be drowned in this friendly bowl! I know well enough you never loved me—devil take me! and I never loved you! I am always even with people in that way! Let what's past be past—that is, you understand—forgotten! I esteem you infinitely. (Embracing him repeatedly.) You have not a dearer friend on earth than I, but that you know. The fellow that cries rogue to you calls me villain, and I'll strangle him! my dear friend!
TERZKY (whispering to him). Art in thy senses? For heaven's sake, Illo, think where you are!
ILLO (aloud). What do you mean? There are none but friends here, are there? (Looks round the whole circle with a jolly and triumphant air.) Not a sneaker amongst us, thank heaven.
TERZKY (to BUTLER, eagerly). Take him off with you, force him off, I entreat you, Butler!
BUTLER (to ILLO). Field-marshal! a word with you. (Leads to the side-board.)
ILLO (cordially). A thousand for one. Fill; fill it once more up to the brim. To this gallant man's health!
ISOLANI (to MAX., who all the while has been staring on the paper with fixed but vacant eyes). Slow and sure, my noble brother! Hast parsed it all yet? Some words yet to go through? Ha?
MAX. (waking as from a dream). What am I to do?
TERZKY, and at the same time ISOLANI. Sign your name. (OCTAVIO directs his eyes on him with intense anxiety).
MAX. (returns the paper). Let it stay till to-morrow. It is business; to-day I am not sufficiently collected. Send it to me to-morrow.
TERZKY. Nay, collect yourself a little.
ISOLANI. Awake man, awake! Come, thy signature, and have done with it! What! Thou art the youngest in the whole company, and would be wiser than all of us together! Look there! thy father has signed; we have all signed.
TERZKY (to OCTAVIO). Use your influence. Instruct him.
OCTAVIO. My son is at the age of discretion.
ILLO (leaves the service-cup on the sideboard). What's the dispute?
TERZKY. He declines subscribing the paper.
MAX. I say it may as well stay till to-morrow.
ILLO. It cannot stay. We have all subscribed to it—and so must you.
You must subscribe.
MAX. Illo, good-night!
ILLO. No! you come not off so! The duke shall learn who are his friends. (All collect round ILLO and MAX.)
MAX. What my sentiments are towards the duke, the duke knows, every one knows—what need of this wild stuff?
ILLO. This is the thanks the duke gets for his partiality to Italians and foreigners. Us Bohemians he holds for little better than dullards— nothing pleases him but what's outlandish.
TERZKY (in extreme embarrassment, to the Commanders, who at ILLO's words give a sudden start as preparing to resent them). It is the wine that speaks, and not his reason. Attend not to him, I entreat you.
ISOLANI (with a bitter laugh). Wine invents nothing: it only tattles.
ILLO. He who is not with me is against me. Your tender consciences!
Unless they can slip out by a back-door, by a puny proviso——
TERZKY (interrupting him). He is stark mad—don't listen to him!
ILLO (raising his voice to the highest pitch). Unless they can slip out by a proviso. What of the proviso? The devil take this proviso!
MAX. (has his attention roused, and looks again into the paper). What is there here then of such perilous import? You make me curious—I must look closer at it.
TERZKY (in a low voice to ILLO). What are you doing, Illo? You are ruining us.
TIEFENBACH (to KOLATTO). Ay, ay! I observed, that before we sat down to supper, it was read differently.
GOETZ. Why, I seemed to think so too.
ISOLANI. What do I care for that? Where there stand other names mine can stand too.
TIEFENBACH. Before supper there was a certain proviso therein, or short clause, concerning our duties to the emperor.
BUTLER (to one of the Commanders). For shame, for shame! Bethink you. What is the main business here? The question now is, whether we shall keep our general, or let him retire. One must not take these things too nicely, and over-scrupulously.
ISOLANI (to one of the Generals). Did the duke make any of these provisos when he gave you your regiment?
TERZKY (to GOETZ). Or when he gave you the office of army-purveyancer, which brings you in yearly a thousand pistoles!
ILLO. He is a rascal who makes us out to be rogues. If there be any one that wants satisfaction, let him say so,—I am his man.
TIEFENBACH. Softly, softly? 'Twas but a word or two.
MAX. (having read the paper gives it back). Till to-morrow therefore!
ILLO (stammering with rage and fury, loses all command over himself and presents the paper to MAX. With one hand, and his sword in the other). Subscribe—Judas!
ISOLANI. Out upon you, Illo!
OCTAVIO, TERZKY, BUTLER (all together). Down with the sword!
MAX. (rushes on him suddenly and disarms him, then to COUNT TERZKY).
Take him off to bed!
[MAX leaves the stage. ILLO cursing and raving is held back by some
of the officers, and amidst a universal confusion the curtain drops.
A Chamber in PICCOLOMINI's Mansion. It is Night.
OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI. A VALET DE CHAMBRE with Lights.
OCTAVIO.
And when my son comes in, conduct him hither.
What is the hour?
VALET.
'Tis on the point of morning.
OCTAVIO.
Set down the light. We mean not to undress.
You may retire to sleep.
[Exit VALET. OCTAVIO paces, musing, across the chamber; MAX.
PICCOLOMINI enters unobserved, and looks at his father for some
moments in silence.
MAX.
Art thou offended with me? Heaven knows
That odious business was no fault of mine.
'Tis true, indeed, I saw thy signature,
What thou hast sanctioned, should not, it might seem,
Have come amiss to me. But—'tis my nature—
Thou know'st that in such matters I must follow
My own light, not another's.
OCTAVIO (goes up to him and embraces him).
Follow it,
Oh, follow it still further, my best son!
To-night, dear boy! it hath more faithfully
Guided thee than the example of thy father.
MAX.
Declare thyself less darkly.
OCTAVIO.
I will do so;
For after what has taken place this night,
There must remain no secrets 'twixt us two.
[Both seat themselves.
Max. Piccolomini! what thinkest thou of
The oath that was sent round for signatures?
MAX.
I hold it for a thing of harmless import,
Although I love not these set declarations.
OCTAVIO.
And on no other ground hast thou refused
The signature they fain had wrested from thee?
MAX.
It was a serious business. I was absent—
The affair itself seemed not so urgent to me.
OCTAVIO.
Be open, Max. Thou hadst then no suspicion?
MAX.
Suspicion! what suspicion? Not the least.
OCTAVIO.
Thank thy good angel, Piccolomini;
He drew thee back unconscious from the abyss.
MAX.
I know not what thou meanest.
OCTAVIO.
I will tell thee.
Fain would they have extorted from thee, son,
The sanction of thy name to villany;
Yes, with a single flourish of thy pen,
Made thee renounce thy duty and thy honor!
MAX. (rises).
Octavio!
OCTAVIO.
Patience! Seat Yourself. Much yet
Hast thou to hear from me, friend! Hast for years
Lived in incomprehensible illusion.
Before thine eyes is treason drawing out
As black a web as e'er was spun for venom:
A power of hell o'erclouds thy understanding.
I dare no longer stand in silence—dare
No longer see thee wandering on in darkness,
Nor pluck the bandage from thine eyes.
MAX.
My father!
Yet, ere thou speakest, a moment's pause of thought!
If your disclosures should appear to be
Conjectures only—and almost I fear
They will be nothing further—spare them! I
Am not in that collected mood at present,
That I could listen to them quietly.
OCTAVIO.
The deeper cause thou hast to hate this light,
The more impatient cause have I, my son,
To force it on thee. To the innocence
And wisdom of thy heart I could have trusted thee
With calm assurance—but I see the net
Preparing—and it is thy heart itself
Alarms me, for thine innocence—that secret,
[Fixing his eyes steadfastly on his son's face.
Which thou concealest, forces mine from me.
[MAX. attempts to answer, but hesitates, and casts his eyes
to the ground embarrassed.
OCTAVIO (after a pause).
Know, then, they are duping thee!—a most foul game
With thee and with us all—nay, hear me calmly—
The duke even now is playing. He assumes
The mask, as if he would forsake the army;
And in this moment makes he preparations
That army from the emperor to steal,
And carry it over to the enemy!
MAX.
That low priest's legend I know well, but did not
Expect to hear it from thy mouth.
OCTAVIO.
That mouth,
From which thou hearest it at this present moment,
Doth warrant thee that it is no priest's legend.
MAX.
How mere a maniac they supposed the duke;
What, he can meditate?—the duke?—can dream
That he can lure away full thirty thousand
Tried troops and true, all honorable soldiers,
More than a thousand noblemen among them,
From oaths, from duty, from their honor lure them,
And make them all unanimous to do
A deed that brands them scoundrels?
OCTAVIO.
Such a deed,
With such a front of infamy, the duke
No way desires—what he requires of us
Bears a far gentler appellation. Nothing
He wishes but to give the empire peace.
And so, because the emperor hates this peace,
Therefore the duke—the duke will force him to it.
All parts of the empire will he pacify,
And for his trouble will retain in payment
(What he has already in his gripe)—Bohemia!
MAX.
Has he, Octavio, merited of us,
That we—that we should think so vilely of him?
OCTAVIO.
What we would think is not the question here,
The affair speaks for itself—and clearest proofs!
Hear me, my son—'tis not unknown to thee,
In what ill credit with the court we stand.
But little dost thou know, or guess what tricks,
What base intrigues, what lying artifices,
Have been employed—for this sole end—to sow
Mutiny in the camp! All bands are loosed—
Loosed all the bands that link the officer
To his liege emperor, all that bind the soldier
Affectionately to the citizen.
Lawless he stands, and threateningly beleaguers
The state he's bound to guard. To such a height
'Tis swollen, that at this hour the emperor
Before his armies—his own armies—trembles;
Yea, in his capital, his palace, fears
The traitor's poniard, and is meditating
To hurry off and hide his tender offspring—
Not from the Swedes, not from the Lutherans—no,
From his own troops to hide and hurry them!
MAX.
Cease, cease! thou torturest, shatterest me. I know
That oft we tremble at an empty terror;
But the false phantasm brings a real misery.
OCTAVIO.
It is no phantasm. An intestine war,
Of all the most unnatural and cruel,
Will burst out into flames, if instantly
We do not fly and stifle it. The generals
Are many of them long ago won over;
The subalterns are vacillating; whole
Regiments and garrisons are vacillating.
To foreigners our strongholds are intrusted;
To that suspected Schafgotch is the whole
Force of Silesia given up: to Terzky
Five regiments, foot and horse; to Isolani,
To Illo, Kinsky, Butler, the best troops.
MAX.
Likewise to both of us.
OCTAVIO.
Because the duke
Believes he has secured us, means to lure us
Still further on by splendid promises.
To me he portions forth the princedoms, Glatz
And Sagan; and too plain I see the bait
With which he doubts not but to catch thee.
MAX.
No! no!
I tell thee, no!
OCTAVIO.
Oh, open yet thine eyes!
And to what purpose think'st thou he has called
Hither to Pilsen? to avail himself
Of our advice? Oh, when did Friedland ever
Need our advice? Be calm, and listen to me.
To sell ourselves are we called hither, and
Decline we that, to be his hostages.
Therefore doth noble Gallas stand aloof;
Thy father, too, thou wouldst not have seen here,
If higher duties had not held him fettered.
MAX.
He makes no secret of it—needs make none—
That we're called hither for his sake—he owns it.
He needs our aidance to maintain himself—
He did so much for us; and 'tis but fair
That we, too, should do somewhat now for him.
OCTAVIO.
And know'st thou what it is which we must do?
That Illo's drunken mood betrayed it to thee.
Bethink thyself, what hast thou heard, what seen?
The counterfeited paper, the omission
Of that particular clause, so full of meaning,
Does it not prove that they would bind us down
To nothing good?
MAX.
That counterfeited paper
Appears to me no other than a trick
Of Illo's own device. These underhand
Traders in great men's interests ever use
To urge and hurry all things to the extreme.
They see the duke at variance with the court,
And fondly think to serve him, when they widen
The breach irreparably. Trust me, father,
The duke knows nothing of all this.
OCTAVIO.
It grieves me
That I must dash to earth, that I must shatter
A faith so specious; but I may not spare thee!
For this is not a time for tenderness.
Thou must take measured, speedy ones, must act.
I therefore will confess to thee that all
Which I've intrusted to thee now, that all
Which seems to thee so unbelievable,
That—yes, I will tell thee, (a pause) Max.! I had it all
From his own mouth, from the duke's mouth I had it.
MAX (in excessive agitation).
No! no! never!
OCTAVIO.
Himself confided to me
What I, 'tis true, had long before discovered
By other means; himself confided to me,
That 'twas his settled plan to join the Swedes;
And, at the head of the united armies,
Compel the emperor——
MAX.
He is passionate,
The court has stung him; he is sore all over
With injuries and affronts; and in a moment
Of irritation, what if he, for once,
Forgot himself? He's an impetuous man.
OCTAVIO.
Nay, in cold blood he did confess this to me
And having construed my astonishment
Into a scruple of his power, he showed me
His written evidences—showed me letters,
Both from the Saxon and the Swede, that gave
Promise of aidance, and defined the amount.
MAX.
It cannot be!—cannot be! cannot be!
Dost thou not see, it cannot!
Thou wouldst of necessity have shown him
Such horror, such deep loathing—that or he
Had taken thee for his better genius, or
Thou stood'st not now a living man before me.
OCTAVIO.
I have laid open my objections to him,
Dissuaded him with pressing earnestness;
But my abhorrence, the full sentiment
Of my whole heart—that I have still kept safe
To my own consciousness.
MAX.
And thou hast been
So treacherous? That looks not like my father!
I trusted not thy words, when thou didst tell me
Evil of him; much less can I now do it,
That thou calumniatest thy own self.
OCTAVIO.
I did not thrust myself into his secrecy.
MAX.
Uprightness merited his confidence.
OCTAVIO.
He was no longer worthy of sincerity.
MAX.
Dissimulation, sure, was still less worthy
Of thee, Octavio!
OCTAVIO.
Gave I him a cause
To entertain a scruple of my honor?
MAX.
That he did not evince his confidence.
OCTAVIO.
Dear son, it is not always possible
Still to preserve that infant purity
Which the voice teaches in our inmost heart,
Still in alarm, forever on the watch
Against the wiles of wicked men: e'en virtue
Will sometimes bear away her outward robes
Soiled in the wrestle with iniquity.
This is the curse of every evil deed
That, propagating still, it brings forth evil.
I do not cheat my better soul with sophisms;
I but perform my orders; the emperor
Prescribes my conduct to me. Dearest boy,
Far better were it, doubtless, if we all
Obeyed the heart at all times; but so doing,
In this our present sojourn with bad men,
We must abandon many an honest object.
'Tis now our call to serve the emperor;
By what means he can best be served—the heart
May whisper what it will—this is our call!
MAX.
It seems a thing appointed, that to-day
I should not comprehend, not understand thee.
The duke, thou sayest, did honestly pour out
His heart to thee, but for an evil purpose:
And thou dishonestly hast cheated him
For a good purpose! Silence, I entreat thee—
My friend, thou stealest not from me—
Let me not lose my father!
OCTAVIO (suppressing resentment).
As yet thou knowest not all, my son. I have
Yet somewhat to disclose to thee.
[After a pause.
Duke Friedland
Hath made his preparations. He relies
Upon the stars. He deems us unprovided,
And thinks to fall upon us by surprise.
Yea, in his dream of hope, he grasps already
The golden circle in his hand. He errs,
We, too, have been in action—he but grasps
His evil fate, most evil, most mysterious!
MAX.
Oh, nothing rash, my sire! By all that's good,
Let me invoke thee—no precipitation!
OCTAVIO.
With light tread stole he on his evil way,
And light of tread hath vengeance stole on after him.
Unseen she stands already, dark behind him
But one step more—he shudders in her grasp!
Thou hast seen Questenberg with me. As yet
Thou knowest but his ostensible commission:
He brought with him a private one, my son!
And that was for me only.
MAX.
May I know it?
OCTAVIO (seizes the patent).
Max!
In this disclosure place I in thy hands
[A pause.
The empire's welfare and thy father's life.
Dear to thy inmost heart is Wallenstein
A powerful tie of love, of veneration,
Hath knit thee to him from thy earliest youth.
Thou nourishest the wish,—O let me still
Anticipate thy loitering confidence!
The hope thou nourishest to knit thyself
Yet closer to him——
MAX.
Father——
OCTAVIO.
Oh, my son!
I trust thy heart undoubtingly. But am I
Equally sure of thy collectedness?
Wilt thou be able, with calm countenance,
To enter this man's presence, when that I
Have trusted to thee his whole fate?
MAX.
According
As thou dost trust me, father, with his crime.
[OCTAVIO takes a paper out of his escritoire and gives it to him.
MAX.
What! how! a full imperial patent!
OCTAVIO.
Read it.
MAX. (just glances on it).
Duke Friedland sentenced and condemned!
OCTAVIO.
Even so.
MAX. (throws down the paper).
Oh, this is too much! O unhappy error!
OCTAVIO.
Read on. Collect thyself.
MAX. (after he has read further, with a look of affright and astonishment
on his father).
How! what! Thou! thou!
OCTAVIO.
But for the present moment, till the King
Of Hungary may safely join the army,
Is the command assigned to me.
MAX.
And think'st thou,
Dost thou believe, that thou wilt tear it from him?
Oh, never hope it! Father! father! father!
An inauspicious office is enjoined thee.
This paper here!—this! and wilt thou enforce it?
The mighty in the middle of his host,
Surrounded by his thousands, him wouldst thou
Disarm—degrade! Thou art lost, both thou and all of us.
OCTAVIO.
What hazard I incur thereby, I know.
In the great hand of God I stand. The Almighty
Will cover with his shield the imperial house,
And shatter, in his wrath, the work of darkness.
The emperor hath true servants still; and even
Here in the camp, there are enough brave men
Who for the good cause will fight gallantly.
The faithful have been warned—the dangerous
Are closely watched. I wait but the first step,
And then immediately——
Max.
What? On suspicion?
Immediately?
OCTAVIO.
The emperor is no tyrant.
The deed alone he'll punish, not the wish.
The duke hath yet his destiny in his power.
Let him but leave the treason uncompleted,
He will be silently displaced from office,
And make way to his emperor's royal son.
An honorable exile to his castles
Will be a benefaction to him rather
Than punishment. But the first open step——
MAX.
What callest thou such a step? A wicked step
Ne'er will he take; but thou mightest easily,
Yea, thou hast done it, misinterpret him.
OCTAVIO.
Nay, howsoever punishable were
Duke Friedland's purposes, yet still the steps
Which he hath taken openly permit
A mild construction. It is my intention
To leave this paper wholly unenforced
Till some act is committed which convicts him
Of high treason, without doubt or plea,
And that shall sentence him.
MAX.
But who the judge
OCTAVIO.
Thyself.
MAX.
Forever, then, this paper will lie idle.
OCTAVIO.
Too soon, I fear, its powers must all be proved.
After the counter-promise of this evening,
It cannot be but he must deem himself
Secure of the majority with us;
And of the army's general sentiment
He hath a pleasing proof in that petition,
Which thou delivered'st to him from the regiments.
Add this too—I have letters that the Rhinegrave
Hath changed his route, and travels by forced marches
To the Bohemian forests. What this purports
Remains unknown; and, to confirm suspicion,
This night a Swedish nobleman arrived here.
MAX.
I have thy word. Thou'lt not proceed to action
Before thou hast convinced me—me myself.
OCTAVIO.
Is it possible? Still, after all thou know'st,
Canst thou believe still in his innocence?
MAX. (with enthusiasm).
Thy judgment may mistake; my heart cannot.
[Moderates his voice and manner.
These reasons might expound thy spirit or mine;
But they expound not Friedland—I have faith:
For as he knits his fortunes to the stars,
Even so doth he resemble them in secret,
Wonderful, still inexplicable courses!
Trust me, they do him wrong. All will be solved.
These smokes at once will kindle into flame—
The edges of this black and stormy cloud
Will brighten suddenly, and we shall view
The unapproachable glide out in splendor.
OCTAVIO.
I will await it.
OCTAVIO and MAX. as before. To then the VALET OF
THE CHAMBER.
OCTAVIO.
How now, then?
VALET.
A despatch is at the door.
OCTAVIO.
So early? From whom comes he then? Who is it?
VALET.
That he refused to tell me.
OCTAVIO.
Lead him in:
And, hark you—let it not transpire.
[Exit VALET: the CORNET steps in.
OCTAVIO.
Ha! cornet—is it you; and from Count Gallas?
Give me your letters.
CORNET.
The lieutenant-general
Trusted it not to letters.
OCTAVIO.
And what is it?
CORNET.
He bade me tell you—Dare I speak openly here?
OCTAVIO.
My son knows all.
CORNET.
We have him.
OCTAVIO.
Whom?
CORNET.
Sesina,
The old negotiator.
OCTAVIO (eagerly).
And you have him?
CORNET.
In the Bohemian Forest Captain Mohrbrand
Found and secured him yester-morning early.
He was proceeding then to Regensburg,
And on him were despatches for the Swede.
OCTAVIO.
And the despatches——
CORNET.
The lieutenant-general
Sent them that instant to Vienna, and
The prisoner with them.
OCTAVIO.
This is, indeed, a tiding!
That fellow is a precious casket to us,
Enclosing weighty things. Was much found on him?
CORNET.
I think, six packets, with Count Terzky's arms.
OCTAVIO.
None in the duke's own hand?
CORNET.
Not that I know.
OCTAVIO.
And old Sesina.
CORNET.
He was sorely frightened.
When it was told him he must to Vienna;
But the Count Altringer bade him take heart,
Would he but make a full and free confession.
OCTAVIO.
Is Altringer then with your lord? I heard
That he lay sick at Linz.
CORNET.
These three days past
He's with my master, the lieutenant-general,
At Frauenburg. Already have they sixty
Small companies together, chosen men;
Respectfully they greet you with assurances,
That they are only waiting your commands.
OCTAVIO.
In a few days may great events take place.
And when must you return?
CORNET.
I wait your orders.
OCTAVIO.
Remain till evening.
[CORNET signifies his assent and obeisance, and is going.
No one saw you—ha?
CORNET.
No living creature. Through the cloister wicket
The capuchins, as usual, let me in.
OCTAVIO.
Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself concealed.
I hold it probable that yet ere evening
I shall despatch you. The development
Of this affair approaches: ere the day,
That even now is dawning in the heaven,
Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot
That must decide our fortunes will be drawn.
[Exit CORNET.
OCTAVIO and MAX. PICCOLOMINI.
OCTAVIO.
Well—and what now, son? All will soon be clear;
For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina.
MAX. (who through the whole of the foregoing scene has been in
a violent and visible struggle of feelings, at length starts
as one resolved).
I will procure me light a shorter way.
Farewell.
OCTAVIO.
Where now? Remain here.
MAX.
To the Duke.
OCTAVIO (alarmed).
What——
MAX. (returning).
If thou hast believed that I shall act
A part in this thy play, thou hast
Miscalculated on me grievously.
My way must be straight on. True with the tongue,
False with the heart—I may not, cannot be
Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me—
As his friend trust me—and then lull my conscience
With such low pleas as these: "I ask him not—
He did it all at his own hazard—and
My mouth has never lied to him." No, no!
What a friend takes me for, that I must be.
I'll to the duke; ere yet this day is ended
Will I demand of him that he do save
His good name from the world, and with one stride
Break through and rend this fine-spun web of yours.
He can, he will! I still am his believer,
Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters
May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him.
How far may not this Terzky have proceeded—
What may not he himself too have permitted
Himself to do, to snare the enemy,
The laws of war excusing? Nothing, save
His own mouth shall convict him—nothing less!
And face to face will I go question him.
OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt.
MAX.
I will, as sure as this heart beats.
OCTAVIO.
I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee.
I calculated on a prudent son,
Who would have blessed the hand beneficent
That plucked him back from the abyss—and lo!
A fascinated being I discover,
Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders,
Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal.
Go, question him! Be mad enough, I pray thee.
The purpose of thy father, of thy emperor,
Go, give it up free booty! Force me, drive me
To an open breach before the time. And now,
Now that a miracle of heaven had guarded
My secret purpose even to this hour,
And laid to sleep suspicion's piercing eyes,
Let me have lived to see that mine own son,
With frantic enterprise, annihilates
My toilsome labors and state policy.
MAX.
Ay—this state policy! Oh, how I curse it!
You will some time, with your state policy,
Compel him to the measure: it may happen,
Because ye are determined that he is guilty,
Guilty ye'll make him. All retreat cut off,
You close up every outlet, hem him in
Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force him—
Yes, ye, ye force him, in his desperation,
To set fire to his prison. Father! father!
That never can end well—it cannot—will not!
And let it be decided as it may,
I see with boding heart the near approach
Of an ill-starred, unblest catastrophe.
For this great monarch-spirit, if he fall,
Will drag a world into the ruin with him.
And as a ship that midway on the ocean
Takes fire, at once, and with a thunder-burst
Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew
In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven!
So will he, falling, draw down in his fall
All us, who're fixed and mortised to his fortune,
Deem of it what thou wilt; but pardon me,
That I must bear me on in my own way.
All must remain pure betwixt him and me;
And, ere the daylight dawns, it must be known
Which I must lose—my father or my friend.
[During his exit the curtain drops.
[1] A town about twelve German miles N.E. of Ulm.
[2] The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons and daughters are entitled princes and princesses.
[3] Carinthia.
[4] A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road from Vienna to Prague.
[5] In the original,—
"Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb' ich hin mit Freuden
Fuers erste Veilchen, das der Maerz uns bringt,
Das duerftige Pfand der neuverjuengten Erde."
[6] A reviewer in the Literary Gazette observes that, in these lines, Mr. Coleridge has misapprehended the meaning of the word "Zug," a team, translating it as "Anzug," a suit of clothes. The following version, as a substitute, I propose:—
When from your stables there is brought to me
A team of four most richly harnessed horses.
The term, however, is "Jagd-zug" which may mean a "hunting equipage," or a "hunting stud;" although Hilpert gives only "a team of four horses."
[7] Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who succeeded Gustavus in command.
[8] The original is not translatable into English:—
—Und sein Sold
Muss dem Soldaten werden, darnach heisst er.
It might perhaps have been thus rendered:—
And that for which he sold his services,
The soldier must receive—
but a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun.
[9] In Germany, after honorable addresses have been paid and formally accepted, the lovers are called bride and bridegreoom, even though the marriage should not take place till years afterwards.
[10] I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloister, or the name of one of the city gates, near which it stood. I have translated it in the former sense; but fearful of having made some blunder, I add the original,—
Es ist ein Kloster hier zur Himmelspforte.
[11] No more of talk, where god or angel guest With man, as with his friend familiar, used To sit indulgent. Paradise Lost, B. IX.
[12] I found it not in my power to translate this song with literal fidelity preserving at the same time the Alcaic movement, and have therefore added the original, with a prose translation. Some of my readers may be more fortunate.
THEKLA (spielt and singt).
Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn,
Das Maegdlein wandelt an Ufers Gruen;
Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht,
Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht,
Das Auge von Weinen getruebet:
Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer,
Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr.
Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurueck,
Ich babe genossen das irdische Glueck,
Ich babe gelebt and geliebet.
THEKLA (plays and sings). The oak-forest bellows, the clouds gather, the damsel walks to and fro on the green of the shore; the wave breaks with might, with might, and she sings out into the dark night, her eye discolored with weeping: the heart is dead, the world is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. Thou Holy One, call thy child home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this world, I have lived and have loved.
I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which my friend, Charles Lamb, has favored me, and which appears to me to have caught the happiest manner of our old ballads:—
The clouds are blackening, the storms are threatening,
The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan!
Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching,
Thus in the dark night she singeth alone,
He eye upward roving:
The world is empty, the heart is dead surely,
In this world plainly all seemeth amiss;
To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one.
I have partaken of all earth's bliss,
Both living and loving.
[13] There are few who will not have taste enough to laugh at the two concluding lines of this soliloquy: and still fewer, I would fain hope, who would not have been more disposed to shudder, had I given a faithful translation. For the readers of German I have added the original:—
Blind-wuethend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude
Den Pechkranz in das brennende Gebaeude.
Translated by S. T. Coleridge.
WALLENSTEIN, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in
the Thirty Years' War.
DUCHESS OF FREIDLAND, Wife of Wallenstein.
THEKLA, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland.
THE COUNTESS TERZKY, Sister of the Duchess.
LADY NEUBRUNN.
OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant-General.
MAX. PICCOLOMINI, his Son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers.
COUNT TERZKY, the Commander of several Regiments, and
Brother-in-law of Wallenstein.
ILLO, Field-Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant.
ISOLANI, General of the Croats.
BUTLER, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons.
GORDON, Governor of Egra.
MAJOR GERALDIN.
CAPTAIN DEVEREUX.
CAPTAIN MACDONALD.
AN ADJUTANT.
NEUMANN, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-Camp to TERZKY.
COLONEL WRANGEL, Envoy from the Swedes.
ROSENBURG, Master of Horse.
SWEDISH CAPTAIN.
SENI.
BURGOMASTER of Egra.
ANSPESSADE of the Cuirassiers.
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. | Belonging
A PAGE. | to the Duke.
Cuirassiers, Dragoons, and Servants.
A room fitted up for astrological labors, and provided with celestial charts, with globes, telescopes, quadrants, and other mathematical instruments. Seven colossal figures, representing the planets, each with a transparent star of different color on its head, stand in a semicircle in the background, so that Mars and Saturn are nearest the eye. The remainder of the scene and its disposition is given in the fourth scene of the second act. There must be a curtain over the figures, which may be dropped and conceal them on occasions.
[In the fifth scene of this act it must be dropped; but in the
seventh scene it must be again drawn up wholly or in part.]
WALLENSTEIN at a black table, on which, a speculum astrologicum is
described with chalk. SENI is taking observations through a window.
WALLENSTEIN.
All well—and now let it be ended, Seni. Come,
The dawn commences, and Mars rules the hour;
We must give o'er the operation. Come,
We know enough.
SENI.
Your highness must permit me
Just to contemplate Venus. She is now rising
Like as a sun so shines she in the east.
WALLENSTEIN.
She is at present in her perigee,
And now shoots down her strongest influences.
[Contemplating the figure on the table.
Auspicious aspect! fateful in conjunction,
At length the mighty three corradiate;
And the two stars of blessing, Jupiter
And Venus, take between them the malignant
Slyly-malicious Mars, and thus compel
Into my service that old mischief-founder:
For long he viewed me hostilely, and ever
With beam oblique, or perpendicular,
Now in the Quartile, now in the Secundan,
Shot his red lightnings at my stars, disturbing
Their blessed influences and sweet aspects:
Now they have conquered the old enemy,
And bring him in the heavens a prisoner to me.
SENI (who has come down from the window).
And in a corner-house, your highness—think of that!
That makes each influence of double strength.
WALLENSTEIN.
And sun and moon, too, in the Sextile aspect,
The soft light with the vehement—so I love it.
Sol is the heart, Luna the head of heaven,
Bold be the plan, fiery the execution.
SENI.
And both the mighty Lumina by no
Maleficus affronted. Lo! Saturnus,
Innocuous, powerless, in cadente Domo.
WALLENSTEIN.
The empire of Saturnus is gone by;
Lord of the secret birth of things is he;
Within the lap of earth, and in the depths
Of the imagination dominates;
And his are all things that eschew the light.
The time is o'er of brooding and contrivance,
For Jupiter, the lustrous, lordeth now,
And the dark work, complete of preparation,
He draws by force into the realm of light.
Now must we hasten on to action, ere
The scheme, and most auspicious positure
Parts o'er my head, and takes once more its flight,
For the heaven's journey still, and adjourn not.
[There are knocks at the door.
There's some one knocking there. See who it is.
TERZKY (from without).
Open, and let me in.
WALLENSTEIN.
Ay—'tis Terzky.
What is there of such urgence? We are busy.
TERZKY (from without).
Lay all aside at present, I entreat you;
It suffers no delaying.
WALLENSTEIN.
Open, Seni!
[While SENI opens the door for TERZKY, WALLENSTEIN draws the curtain
over the figures.
TERZKY (enters).
Hast thou already heard it? He is taken.
Gallas has given him up to the emperor.
[SENI draws off the black table, and exit.
WALLENSTEIN (to TERZKY).
Who has been taken? Who is given up?
TERZKY.
The man who knows our secrets, who knows every
Negotiation with the Swede and Saxon,
Through whose hands all and everything has passed——
WALLENSTEIN (drawing back).
Nay, not Sesina? Say, no! I entreat thee.
TERZKY.
All on his road for Regensburg to the Swede
He was plunged down upon by Gallas' agent,
Who had been long in ambush, lurking for him.
There must have been found on him my whole packet
To Thur, to Kinsky, to Oxenstiern, to Arnheim:
All this is in their hands; they have now an insight
Into the whole—our measures and our motives.
To them enters ILLO.
ILLO (to TERZKY).
Has he heard it?
TERZKY.
He has heard it.
ILLO (to WALLENSTEIN).
Thinkest thou still
To make thy peace with the emperor, to regain
His confidence? E'en were it now thy wish
To abandon all thy plans, yet still they know
What thou hast wished: then forwards thou must press;
Retreat is now no longer in thy power.
TERZKY.
They have documents against us, and in hands,
Which show beyond all power of contradiction——
WALLENSTEIN.
Of my handwriting—no iota. Thee
I punish or thy lies.
ILLO.
And thou believest,
That what this man, and what thy sister's husband,
Did in thy name, will not stand on thy reckoning?
His word must pass for thy word with the Swede,
And not with those that hate thee at Vienna?
TERZKY.
In writing thou gavest nothing; but bethink thee,
How far thou venturedst by word of mouth
With this Sesina! And will he be silent?
If he can save himself by yielding up
Thy secret purposes, will he retain them?
ILLO.
Thyself dost not conceive it possible;
And since they now have evidence authentic
How far thou hast already gone, speak! tell us,
What art thou waiting for? Thou canst no longer
Keep thy command; and beyond hope of rescue
Thou'rt lost if thou resign'st it.
WALLENSTEIN.
In the army
Lies my security. The army will not
Abandon me. Whatever they may know,
The power is mine, and they must gulp it down
And if I give them caution for my fealty,
They must be satisfied, at least appear so.
ILLO.
The army, duke, is thine now; for this moment
'Tis thine: but think with terror on the slow,
The quiet power of time. From open violence
The attachment of thy soldiery secures thee
To-day, to-morrow: but grant'st thou them a respite,
Unheard, unseen, they'll undermine that love
On which thou now dost feel so firm a footing,
With wily theft will draw away from thee
One after the other——
WALLENSTEIN.
'Tis a cursed accident!
Oh! I will call it a most blessed one,
If it work on thee as it ought to do,
Hurry thee on to action—to decision.
The Swedish general?
WALLENSTEIN.
He's arrived! Know'st
What his commission is——
ILLO.
To thee alone
Will he intrust the purpose of his coming.
WALLENSTEIN.
A cursed, cursed accident! Yes, yes,
Sesina knows too much, and won't be silent.
TERZKY.
He's a Bohemian fugitive and rebel,
His neck is forfeit. Can he save himself
At thy cost, think you he will scruple it?
And if they put him to the torture, will he,
Will he, that dastardling, have strength enough——
WALLENSTEIN (lost in thought).
Their confidence is lost, irreparably!
And I may act which way I will, I shall
Be and remain forever in their thought
A traitor to my country. How sincerely
Soever I return back to my duty,
It will no longer help me——
ILLO.
Ruin thee,
That it will do! Not thy fidelity,
Thy weakness will be deemed the sole occasion——
WALLENSTEIN (pacing up and down in extreme agitation).
What! I must realize it now in earnest,
Because I toyed too freely with the thought!
Accursed he who dallies with a devil!
And must I—I must realize it now—
Now, while I have the power, it must take place!
ILLO.
Now—now—ere they can ward and parry it!
WALLENSTEIN (looking at the paper of Signatures).
I have the generals' word—a written promise!
Max. Piccolomini stands not here—how's that?
TERZRY.
It was—be fancied——
ILLO.
Mere self-willedness.
There needed no such thing 'twixt him and you.
WALLENSTEIN.
He is quite right; there needed no such thing.
The regiments, too, deny to march for Flanders
Have sent me in a paper of remonstrance,
And openly resist the imperial orders.
The first step to revolt's already taken.
ILLO.
Believe me, thou wilt find it far more easy
To lead them over to the enemy
Than to the Spaniard.
WALLENSTEIN.
I will hear, however,
What the Swede has to say to me.
ILLO (eagerly to TERZKY).
Go, call him,
He stands without the door in waiting.
WALLENSTEIN.
Stay!
Stay but a little. It hath taken me
All by surprise; it came too quick upon me;
'Tis wholly novel that an accident,
With its dark lordship, and blind agency,
Should force me on with it.
ILLO.
First hear him only,
And then weigh it.
[Exeunt TERZKY and ILLO.
WALLENSTEIN (in soliloquy).
Is it possible?
Is't so? I can no longer what I would?
No longer draw back at my liking? I
Must do the deed, because I thought of it?
And fed this heart here with a dream?
Because I did not scowl temptation from my presence,
Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfilment,
Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain,
And only kept the road, the access open?
By the great God of Heaven! it was not
My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolved.
I but amused myself with thinking of it.
The free-will tempted me, the power to do
Or not to do it. Was it criminal
To make the fancy minister to hope,
To fill the air with pretty toys of air,
And clutch fantastic sceptres moving toward me?
Was not the will kept free? Beheld I not
The road of duty close beside me—but
One little step, and once more I was in it!
Where am I? Whither have I been transported?
No road, no track behind me, but a wall,
Impenetrable, insurmountable,
Rises obedient to the spells I muttered
And meant not—my own doings tower behind me.
[Pauses and remains in deep thought.
A punishable man I seem, the guilt,
Try what I will, I cannot roll off from me;
The equivocal demeanor of my life
Bears witness on my prosecutor's party.
And even my purest acts from purest motives
Suspicion poisons with malicious gloss.
Were I that thing for which I pass, that traitor,
A goodly outside I had sure reserved,
Had drawn the coverings thick and double round me,
Been calm and chary of my utterance;
But being conscious of the innocence
Of my intent, my uncorrupted will,
I gave way to my humors, to my passion:
Bold were my words, because my deeds were not
Now every planless measure, chance event,
The threat of rage, the vaunt of joy and triumph,
And all the May-games of a heart overflowing,
Will they connect, and weave them all together
Into one web of treason; all will be plan,
My eye ne'er absent from the far-off mark,
Step tracing step, each step a politic progress;
And out of all they'll fabricate a charge
So specious, that I must myself stand dumb.
I am caught in my own net, and only force,
Naught but a sudden rent can liberate me.
[Pauses again.
How else! since that the heart's unbiased instinct
Impelled me to the daring deed, which now
Necessity, self-preservation, orders.
Stern is the on-look of necessity,
Not without shudder may a human hand
Grasp the mysterious urn of destiny.
My deed was mine, remaining in my bosom;
Once suffered to escape from its safe corner
Within the heart, its nursery and birthplace,
Sent forth into the foreign, it belongs
Forever to those sly malicious powers
Whom never art of man conciliated.
[Paces in agitation through the chamber, then pauses, and, after
the pause, breaks out again into audible soliloquy.
What it thy enterprise? thy aim? thy object?
Hast honestly confessed it to thyself?
Power seated on a quiet throne thou'dst shake,
Power on an ancient, consecrated throne,
Strong in possession, founded in all custom;
Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots
Fixed to the people's pious nursery faith.
This, this will be no strife of strength with strength.
That feared I not. I brave each combatant,
Whom I can look on, fixing eye to eye,
Who, full himself of courage, kindles courage
In me too. 'Tis a foe invisible
The which I fear—a fearful enemy,
Which in the human heart opposes me,
By its coward fear alone made fearful to me.
Not that, which full of life, instinct with power,
Makes known its present being; that is not
The true, the perilously formidable.
O no! it is the common, the quite common,
The thing of an eternal yesterday.
Whatever was, and evermore returns,
Sterling to-morrow, for to-day 'twas sterling!
For of the wholly common is man made,
And custom is his nurse! Woe then to them
Who lay irreverent hands upon his old
House furniture, the dear inheritance
From his forefathers! For time consecrates;
And what is gray with age becomes religion.
Be in possession, and thou hast the right,
And sacred will the many guard it for thee!
[To the PAGE,—who here enters.
The Swedish officer? Well, let him enter.
[The PAGE exit, WALLENSTEIN fixes his eye in deep thought
on the door.
Yet, it is pure—as yet!—the crime has come
Not o'er this threshold yet—so slender is
The boundary that divideth life's two paths.
WALLENSTEIN and WRANGEL.
WALLENSTEIN (after having fixed a searching look on him).
Your name is Wrangel?
WRANGEL.
Gustave Wrangel, General
Of the Sudermanian Blues.
WALLENSTEIN.
It was a Wrangel
Who injured me materially at Stralsund,
And by his brave resistance was the cause
Of the opposition which that seaport made.
WRANGEL.
It was the doing of the element
With which you fought, my lord! and not my merit,
The Baltic Neptune did assert his freedom:
The sea and land, it seemed were not to serve
One and the same.
WALLENSTEIN
You plucked the admiral's hat from off my head.
WRANGEL.
I come to place a diadem thereon.
WALLENSTEIN (makes the motion for him to take a seat, and seats himself).
And where are your credentials
Come you provided with full powers, sir general?
WRANGEL.
There are so many scruples yet to solve——
WALLENSTEIN (having read the credentials).
An able letter! Ay—he is a prudent,
Intelligent master whom you serve, sir general!
The chancellor writes me that he but fulfils
His late departed sovereign's own idea
In helping me to the Bohemian crown.
WRANGEL.
He says the truth. Our great king, now in heaven,
Did ever deem most highly of your grace's
Pre-eminent sense and military genius;
And always the commanding intellect,
He said, should have command, and be the king.
WALLENSTEIN.
Yes, he might say it safely. General Wrangel,
[Taking his hand affectionately.
Come, fair and open. Trust me, I was always
A Swede at heart. Eh! that did you experience
Both in Silesia and at Nuremberg;
I had you often in my power, and let you
Always slip out by some back door or other.
'Tis this for which the court can ne'er forgive me,
Which drives me to this present step: and since
Our interests so run in one direction,
E'en let us have a thorough confidence
Each in the other.
WRANGEL.
Confidence will come
Has each but only first security.
WALLENSTEIN.
The chancellor still, I see, does not quite trust me;
And, I confess—the game does not lie wholly
To my advantage. Without doubt he thinks,
If I can play false with the emperor,
Who is my sovereign, I can do the like
With the enemy, and that the one, too, were
Sooner to be forgiven me than the other.
Is not this your opinion, too, sir general?
WRANGEL.
I have here a duty merely, no opinion.
WALLENSTEIN.
The emperor hath urged me to the uttermost
I can no longer honorably serve him.
For my security, in self-defence,
I take this hard step, which my conscience blames.
WRANGEL.
That I believe. So far would no one go
Who was not forced to it.
[After a pause.
What may have impelled
Your princely highness in this wise to act
Toward your sovereign lord and emperor,
Beseems not us to expound or criticise.
The Swede is fighting for his good old cause,
With his good sword and conscience. This concurrence,
This opportunity is in our favor,
And all advantages in war are lawful.
We take what offers without questioning;
And if all have its due and just proportions——
WALLENSTEIN.
Of what then are ye doubting? Of my will?
Or of my power? I pledged me to the chancellor,
Would he trust me with sixteen thousand men,
That I would instantly go over to them
With eighteen thousand of the emperor's troops.
WRANGEL.
Your grace is known to be a mighty war-chief,
To be a second Attila and Pyrrhus.
'Tis talked of still with fresh astonishment,
How some years past, beyond all human faith,
You called an army forth like a creation:
But yet——
WALLENSTEIN.
But yet?
WRANGEL.
But still the chancellor thinks
It might yet be an easier thing from nothing
To call forth sixty thousand men of battle,
Than to persuade one-sixtieth part of them——
WALLENSTEIN.
What now? Out with it, friend?
WRANGEL.
To break their oaths.
WALLENSTEIN.
And he thinks so? He judges like a Swede,
And like a Protestant. You Lutherans
Fight for your Bible. You are interested
About the cause; and with your hearts you follow
Your banners. Among you whoe'er deserts
To the enemy hath broken covenant
With two lords at one time. We've no such fancies.
WRANGEL.
Great God in heaven! Have then the people here
No house and home, no fireside, no altar?
WALLENSTEIN.
I will explain that to you, how it stands:
The Austrian has a country, ay, and loves it,
And has good cause to love it—but this army
That calls itself the imperial, this that houses
Here in Bohemia, this has none—no country;
This is an outcast of all foreign lands,
Unclaimed by town or tribe, to whom belongs
Nothing except the universal sun.
And this Bohemian land for which we fight
Loves not the master whom the chance of war,
Not its own choice or will, hath given to it.
Men murmur at the oppression of their conscience,
And power hath only awed but not appeased them.
A glowing and avenging memory lives
Of cruel deeds committed on these plains;
How can the son forget that here his father
Was hunted by the bloodhound to the mass?
A people thus oppressed must still be feared,
Whether they suffer or avenge their wrongs.
WRANGEL.
But then the nobles and the officers?
Such a desertion, such a felony,
It is without example, my lord duke,
In the world's history.
WALLENSTEIN.
They are all mine—
Mine unconditionally—mine on all terms.
Not me, your own eyes you must trust.
[He gives him the paper containing the written oath. WRANGEL reads
it through, and, having read it, lays it on the table,—remaining
silent.
So then;
Now comprehend you?
WRANGEL.
Comprehend who can!
My lord duke, I will let the mask drop—yes!
I've full powers for a final settlement.
The Rhinegrave stands but four days' march from here
With fifteen thousand men, and only waits
For orders to proceed and join your army.
These orders I give out immediately
We're compromised.
WALLENSTEIN.
What asks the chancellor?
WRANGEL (considerately).
Twelve regiments, every man a Swede—my head
The warranty—and all might prove at last
Only false play——
WALLENSTEIN (starting).
Sir Swede!
WRANGEL (calmly proceeding).
Am therefore forced
To insist thereon, that he do formally,
Irrevocably break with the emperor,
Else not a Swede is trusted to Duke Friedland.
WALLENSTEIN.
Come, brief and open! What is the demand?
WRANGEL.
That he forthwith disarm the Spanish regiments
Attached to the emperor, that he seize on Prague,
And to the Swedes give up that city, with
The strong pass Egra.
WALLENSTEIN.
That is much indeed!
Prague!—Egra's granted—but—but Prague! 'Twon't do.
I give you every security
Which you may ask of me in common reason—
But Prague—Bohemia—these, sir general,
I can myself protect.
WRANGEL.
We doubt it not.
But 'tis not the protection that is now
Our sole concern. We want security,
That we shall not expend our men and money
All to no purpose.
WALLENSTEIN.
'Tis but reasonable.
WRANGEL.
And till we are indemnified, so long
Stays Prague in pledge.
WALLENSTEIN.
Then trust you us so little?
WRANGEL (rising).
The Swede, if he would treat well with the German,
Must keep a sharp lookout. We have been called
Over the Baltic, we have saved the empire
From ruin—with our best blood have we sealed
The liberty of faith and gospel truth.
But now already is the benefaction
No longer felt, the load alone is felt.
Ye look askance with evil eye upon us,
As foreigners, intruders in the empire,
And would fain send us with some paltry sum
Of money, home again to our old forests.
No, no! my lord duke! it never was
For Judas' pay, for chinking gold and silver,
That we did leave our king by the Great Stone. [1]
No, not for gold and silver have there bled
So many of our Swedish nobles—neither
Will we, with empty laurels for our payment,
Hoist sail for our own country. Citizens
Will we remain upon the soil, the which
Our monarch conquered for himself and died.
WALLENSTEIN.
Help to keep down the common enemy,
And the fair border land must needs be yours.
WRANGEL.
But when the common enemy lies vanquished,
Who knits together our new friendship then?
We know, Duke Friedland! though perhaps the Swede
Ought not to have known it, that you carry on
Secret negotiations with the Saxons.
Who is our warranty that we are not
The sacrifices in those articles
Which 'tis thought needful to conceal from us?
WALLENSTEIN (rises).
Think you of something better, Gustave Wrangel!
Of Prague no more.
WRANGEL.
Here my commission ends.
WALLENSTEIN.
Surrender up to you my capital!
Far liever would I force about, and step
Back to my emperor.
WRANGEL.
If time yet permits——
WALLENSTEIN.
That lies with me, even now, at any hour.
WRANGEL.
Some days ago, perhaps. To-day, no longer;
No longer since Sesina's been a prisoner.
[WALLENSTEIN is struck, and silenced.
My lord duke, hear me—we believe that you
At present do mean honorably by us.
Since yesterday we're sure of that—and now
This paper warrants for the troops, there's nothing
Stands in the way of our full confidence.
Prague shall not part us. Hear! The chancellor
Contents himself with Alstadt; to your grace
He gives up Ratschin and the narrow side.
But Egra above all must open to us,
Ere we can think of any junction.
WALLENSTEIN.
You,
You therefore must I trust, and not you me?
I will consider of your proposition.
WRANGEL.
I must entreat that your consideration
Occupy not too long a time. Already
Has this negotiation, my lord duke!
Crept on into the second year. If nothing
Is settled this time, will the chancellor
Consider it as broken off forever?
WALLENSTEIN.
Ye press me hard. A measure such as this
Ought to be thought of.
WRANGEL.
Ay! but think of this too,
That sudden action only can procure it.
Success—think first of this, your highness.
[Exit WRANGEL.
WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY, and ILLO (re-enter).
ILLO.
Is't all right?
TERZKY.
Are you compromised?
ILLO.
This Swede
Went smiling from you. Yes! you're compromised.
WALLENSTEIN.
As yet is nothing settled; and (well weighed)
I feel myself inclined to leave it so.
TERZKY.
How? What is that?
WALLENSTEIN.
Come on me what will come,
The doing evil to avoid an evil
Cannot be good!
TERZKY.
Nay, but bethink you, duke.
WALLENSTEIN.
To live upon the mercy of these Swedes!
Of these proud-hearted Swedes!—I could not bear it.
ILLO.
Goest thou as fugitive, as mendicant?
Bringest thou not more to them than thou receivest?
WALLENSTEIN.
How fared it with the brave and royal Bourbon
Who sold himself unto his country's foes,
And pierced the bosom of his father-land?
Curses were his reward, and men's abhorrence
Avenged the unnatural and revolting deed.
ILLO.
Is that thy case?
WALLENSTEIN.
True faith, I tell thee,
Must ever be the dearest friend of man
His nature prompts him to assert its rights.
The enmity of sects, the rage of parties,
Long-cherished envy, jealousy, unite;'
And all the struggling elements of evil
Suspend their conflict, and together league
In one alliance 'gainst their common foe—
The savage beast that breaks into the fold,
Where men repose in confidence and peace.
For vain were man's own prudence to protect him.
'Tis only in the forehead nature plants
The watchful eye; the back, without defence,
Must find its shield in man's fidelity.
TERZKY.
Think not more meanly off thyself than do
Thy foes, who stretch their hands with joy to greet thee.
Less scrupulous far was the imperial Charles,
The powerful head of this illustrious house;
With open arms he gave the Bourbon welcome;
For still by policy the world is ruled.
To these enter the COUNTESS TERZKY.
WALLENSTEIN.
Who sent for you? There is no business here
For women.
COUNTESS
I am come to bid you joy.
WALLENSTEIN.
Use thy authority, Terzky; bid her go.
COUNTESS.
Come I perhaps too early? I hope not.
WALLENSTEIN.
Set not this tongue upon me, I entreat you:
You know it is the weapon that destroys me.
I am routed, if a woman but attack me:
I cannot traffic in the trade of words
With that unreasoning sex.
COUNTESS.
I had already
Given the Bohemians a king.
WALLENSTEIN (sarcastically).
They have one,
In consequence, no doubt.
COUNTESS (to the others).
Ha! what new scruple?
TERZKY.
The duke will not.
COUNTESS.
He will not what he must!
ILLO.
It lies with you now. Try. For I am silenced
When folks begin to talk to me of conscience
And of fidelity.
COUNTESS.
How? then, when all
Lay in the far-off distance, when the road
Stretched out before thine eyes interminably,
Then hadst thou courage and resolve; and now,
Now that the dream is being realized,
The purpose ripe, the issue ascertained,
Dost thou begin to play the dastard now?
Planned merely, 'tis a common felony;
Accomplished, an immortal undertaking:
And with success comes pardon hand in hand,
For all event is God's arbitrament.
SERVANT (enters).
The Colonel Piccolomini.
COUNTESS (hastily).
—Must wait.
WALLENSTEIN.
I cannot see him now. Another time.
SERVANT.
But for two minutes he entreats an audience
Of the most urgent nature is his business.
WALLENSTEIN.
Who knows what he may bring us! I will hear him.
COUNTESS (laughs).
Urgent for him, no doubt? but thou may'st wait.
WALLENSTEIN.
What is it?
COUNTESS.
Thou shalt be informed hereafter.
First let the Swede and thee be compromised.
[Exit SERVANT.
WALLENSTEIN.
If there were yet a choice! if yet some milder
Way of escape were possible—I still
Will choose it, and avoid the last extreme.
COUNTESS.
Desirest thou nothing further? Such a way
Lies still before thee. Send this Wrangel off.
Forget thou thy old hopes, cast far away
All thy past life; determine to commence
A new one. Virtue hath her heroes too,
As well as fame and fortune. To Vienna
Hence—to the emperor—kneel before the throne;
Take a full coffer with thee—say aloud,
Thou didst but wish to prove thy fealty;
Thy whole intention but to dupe the Swede.
ILLO.
For that too 'tis too late. They know too much;
He would but bear his own head to the block.
COUNTESS.
I fear not that. They have not evidence
To attaint him legally, and they avoid
The avowal of an arbitrary power.
They'll let the duke resign without disturbance.
I see how all will end. The King of Hungary
Makes his appearance, and 'twill of itself
Be understood, and then the duke retires.
There will not want a formal declaration.
The young king will administer the oath
To the whole army; and so all returns
To the old position. On some morrow morning
The duke departs; and now 'tis stir and bustle
Within his castles. He will hunt and build;
Superintend his horses' pedigrees,
Creates himself a court, gives golden keys,
And introduceth strictest ceremony
In fine proportions, and nice etiquette;
Keeps open table with high cheer: in brief,
Commenceth mighty king—in miniature.
And while he prudently demeans himself,
And gives himself no actual importance,
He will be let appear whate'er he likes:
And who dares doubt, that Friedland will appear
A mighty prince to his last dying hour?
Well now, what then? Duke Friedland is as others,
A fire-new noble, whom the war hath raised
To price and currency, a Jonah's gourd,
An over-night creation of court-favor,
Which, with an undistinguishable ease,
Makes baron or makes prince.
WALLENSTEIN (in extreme agitation).
Take her away.
Let in the young Count Piccolomini.
COUNTESS.
Art thou in earnest? I entreat thee!
Canst thou consent to bear thyself to thy own grave,
So ignominiously to be dried up?
Thy life, that arrogated such an height
To end in such a nothing! To be nothing,
When one was always nothing, is an evil
That asks no stretch of patience, a light evil;
But to become a nothing, having been——
WALLENSTEIN (starts up in violent agitation).
Show me a way out of this stifling crowd,
Ye powers of aidance! Show me such a way
As I am capable of going. I
Am no tongue-hero, no fine virtue-prattler;
I cannot warm by thinking; cannot say
To the good luck that turns her back upon me
Magnanimously: "Go; I need thee not."
Cease I to work, I am annihilated.
Dangers nor sacrifices will I shun,
If so I may avoid the last extreme;
But ere I sink down into nothingness,
Leave off so little, who began so great,
Ere that the world confuses me with those
Poor wretches, whom a day creates and crumbles,
This age and after ages [2] speak my name
With hate and dread; and Friedland be redemption
For each accursed deed.
COUNTESS.
What is there here, then,
So against nature? Help me to perceive it!
Oh, let not superstition's nightly goblins
Subdue thy clear, bright spirit! Art thou bid
To murder? with abhorred, accursed poniard,
To violate the breasts that nourished thee?
That were against our nature, that might aptly
Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole heart sicken. [3]
Yet not a few, and for a meaner object,
Have ventured even this, ay, and performed it.
What is there in thy case so black and monstrous?
Thou art accused of treason—whether with
Or without justice is not now the question—
Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee quickly
Of the power which thou possessest—Friedland! Duke!
Tell me where lives that thing so meek and tame,
That doth not all his living faculties
Put forth in preservation of his life?
What deed so daring, which necessity
And desperation will not sanctify?
WALLENSTEIN.
Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me;
He loved me; he esteemed me; I was placed
The nearest to his heart. Full many a time
We like familiar friends, both at one table,
Have banqueted together—he and I;
And the young kings themselves held me the basin
Wherewith to wash me—and is't come to this?
COUNTESS.
So faithfully preservest thou each small favor,
And hast no memory for contumelies?
Must I remind thee, how at Regensburg
This man repaid thy faithful services?
All ranks and all conditions in the empire
Thou hadst wronged to make him great,—hadst loaded on thee,
On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world.
No friend existed for thee in all Germany,
And why? because thou hadst existed only
For the emperor. To the emperor alone
Clung Friedland in that storm which gathered round him
At Regensburg in the Diet—and he dropped thee!
He let thee fall! he let thee fall a victim
To the Bavarian, to that insolent!
Deposed, stripped bare of all thy dignity
And power, amid the taunting of thy foe
Thou wert let drop into obscurity.
Say not, the restoration of thy honor
Has made atonement for that first injustice.
No honest good-will was it that replaced thee;
The law of hard necessity replaced thee,
Which they had fain opposed, but that they could not.
WALLENSTEIN.
Not to their good wishes, that is certain,
Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted
For this high office; and if I abuse it,
I shall therein abuse no confidence.
COUNTESS.
Affection! confidence!—they needed thee.
Necessity, impetuous remonstrant!
Who not with empty names, or shows of proxy,
Is served, who'll have the thing and not the symbol,
Ever seeks out the greatest and the best,
And at the rudder places him, e'en though
She had been forced to take him from the rabble—
She, this necessity, it was that placed thee
In this high office; it was she that gave thee
Thy letters-patent of inauguration.
For, to the uttermost moment that they can,
This race still help themselves at cheapest rate
With slavish souls, with puppets! At the approach
Of extreme peril, when a hollow image
Is found a hollow image and no more,
Then falls the power into the mighty hands
Of nature, of the spirit-giant born,
Who listens only to himself, knows nothing
Of stipulations, duties, reverences,
And, like the emancipated force of fire,
Unmastered scorches, ere it reaches them,
Their fine-spun webs, their artificial policy.
WALLENSTEIN.
'Tis true! they saw me always as I am—
Always! I did not cheat them in the bargain.
I never held it worth my pains to hide
The bold all-grasping habit of my soul.
COUNTESS.
Nay rather—thou hast ever shown thyself
A formidable man, without restraint;
Hast exercised the full prerogatives
Of thy impetuous nature, which had been
Once granted to thee. Therefore, duke, not thou,
Who hast still remained consistent with thyself,
But they are in the wrong, who, fearing thee,
Intrusted such a power in hands they feared.
For, by the laws of spirit, in the right
Is every individual character
That acts in strict consistence with itself:
Self-contradiction is the only wrong.
Wert thou another being, then, when thou
Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire,
And sword, and desolation, through the circles
Of Germany, the universal scourge,
Didst mock all ordinances of the empire,
The fearful rights of strength alone exertedst,
Trampledst to earth each rank, each magistracy,
All to extend thy Sultan's domination?
Then was the time to break thee in, to curb
Thy haughty will, to teach thee ordinance.
But no, the emperor felt no touch of conscience;
What served him pleased him, and without a murmur
He stamped his broad seal on these lawless deeds.
What at that time was right, because thou didst it
For him, to-day is all at once become
Opprobrious, foul, because it is directed
Against him. O most flimsy superstition!
WALLENSTEIN (rising).
I never saw it in this light before,
'Tis even so. The emperor perpetrated
Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly.
And even this prince's mantle, which I wear,
I owe to what were services to him,
But most high misdemeanors 'gainst the empire.
COUNTESS.
Then betwixt thee and him (confess it, Friedland!)
The point can be no more of right and duty,
Only of power and the opportunity.
That opportunity, lo! it comes yonder
Approaching with swift steeds; then with a swing
Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat,
Seize with firm hand the reins ere thy opponent
Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest
Of the now empty seat. The moment comes;
It is already here, when thou must write
The absolute total of thy life's vast sum.
The constellations stand victorious o'er thee,
The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions,
And tell thee, "Now's the time!" The starry courses
Hast thou thy life-long measured to no purpose?
The quadrant and the circle, were they playthings?
[Pointing to the different objects in the room.
The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven,
Hast pictured on these walls and all around thee.
In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed
These seven presiding lords of destiny—
For toys? Is all this preparation nothing?
Is there no marrow in this hollow art,
That even to thyself it doth avail
Nothing, and has no influence over thee
In the great moment of decision?
WALLENSTEIN (during this last speech walks up and down with inward struggles, laboring with passion; stops suddenly, stands still, then interrupting the COUNTESS). Send Wrangel to me—I will instantly Despatch three couriers——
ILLO (hurrying out).
God in heaven be praised!
WALLENSTEIN.
It is his evil genius and mine.
Our evil genius! It chastises him
Through me, the instrument of his ambition;
And I expect no less, than that revenge
E'en now is whetting for my breast the poinard.
Who sows the serpent's teeth let him not hope
To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime
Has, in the moment of its perpetration,
Its own avenging angel—dark misgiving,
An ominous sinking at the inmost heart.
He can no longer trust me. Then no longer
Can I retreat—so come that which must come.
Still destiny preserves its due relations,
The heart within us is its absolute
Vicegerent. [To TERZKY.
Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel
To my state cabinet. Myself will speak to
The couriers. And despatch immediately
A servant for Octavio Piccolomini.
[To the COUNTESS, who cannot conceal her triumph.
No exultation! woman, triumph not!
For jealous are the powers of destiny,
Joy premature, and shouts ere victory,
Encroach upon their rights and privileges.
We sow the seed, and they the growth determine.
[While he is making his exit the curtain drops.
WALLENSTEIN (coming forward in conversation).
He sends me word from Linz that he lies sick;
But I have sure intelligence that he
Secretes himself at Frauenberg with Gallas.
Secure them both, and send them to me hither.
Remember, thou takest on thee the command
Of those same Spanish regiments,—constantly
Make preparation, and be never ready;
And if they urge thee to draw out against me,
Still answer yes, and stand as thou went fettered.
I know, that it is doing thee a service
To keep thee out of action in this business.
Thou lovest to linger on in fair appearances;
Steps of extremity are not thy province,
Therefore have I sought out this part for thee.
Thou wilt this time be of most service to me
By thy inertness. The meantime, if fortune
Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know
What is to do.
[Enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI.
Now go, Octavio.
This night must thou be off, take my own horses
Him here I keep with me—make short farewell—
Trust me, I think we all shall meet again
In joy and thriving fortunes.
OCTAVIO (to his son).
I shall see you
Yet ere I go.
MAX. (advances to him).
My general!
WALLENSTEIN.
That I am no longer, if
Thou stylest thyself the emperor's officer.
MAX.
Then thou wilt leave the army, general?
WALLENSTEIN.
I have renounced the service of the emperor.
MAX.
And thou wilt leave the army?
WALLENSTEIN.
Rather hope I
To bind it nearer still and faster to me.
[He seats himself.
Yes, Max., I have delayed to open it to thee,
Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike.
Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily
The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is
To exercise the single apprehension
Where the sums square in proof;
But where it happens, that of two sure evils
One must be taken, where the heart not wholly
Brings itself back from out the strife of duties,
There 'tis a blessing to have no election,
And blank necessity is grace and favor.
This is now present: do not look behind thee,—
It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards!
Think not! judge not! prepare thyself to act!
The court—it hath determined on my ruin,
Therefore I will be beforehand with them.
We'll join the Swedes—right gallant fellows are they,
And our good friends.
[He stops himself, expecting PICCOLOMINI's answer.
I have taken thee by surprise. Answer me not:
I grant thee time to recollect thyself.
[He rises, retires to the back of the stage. MAX. remains
for a long time motionless, in a trance of excessive anguish.
At his first motion WALLENSTEIN returns, and places himself
before him.
MAX.
My general, this day thou makest me
Of age to speak in my own right and person,
For till this day I have been spared the trouble
To find out my own road. Thee have I followed
With most implicit, unconditional faith,
Sure of the right path if I followed thee.
To-day, for the first time, dost thou refer
Me to myself, and forcest me to make
Election between thee and my own heart.
WALLENSTEIN.
Soft cradled thee thy fortune till to-day;
Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport,
Indulge all lovely instincts, act forever
With undivided heart. It can remain
No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads
Start from each other. Duties strive with duties,
Thou must needs choose thy party in the war
Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and him
Who is thy emperor.
MAX.
War! is that the name?
War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence,
Yet it is good, is it heaven's will as that is.
Is that a good war, which against the emperor
Thou wagest with the emperor's own army?
O God of heaven! what a change is this.
Beseems it me to offer such persuasion
To thee, who like the fixed star of the pole
Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean?
O! what a rent thou makest in my heart!
The ingrained instinct of old reverence,
The holy habit of obediency,
Must I pluck life asunder from thy name?
Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me—
It always was as a god looking upon me!
Duke Wallenstein, its power has not departed;
The senses still are in thy bonds, although
Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself.
WALLENSTEIN.
Max., hear me.
MAX.
Oh, do it not, I pray thee, do it not!
There is a pure and noble soul within thee,
Knows not of this unblest unlucky doing.
Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only
Which hath polluted thee—and innocence,
It will not let itself be driven away
From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not,
Thou canst not end in this. It would reduce
All human creatures to disloyalty
Against the nobleness of their own nature.
'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief,
Which holdeth nothing noble in free will,
And trusts itself to impotence alone,
Made powerful only in an unknown power.
WALLENSTEIN.
The world will judge me harshly, I expect it.
Already have I said to my own self
All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids
The extreme, can he by going round avoid it?
But here there is no choice. Yes, I must use
Or suffer violence—so stands the case,
There remains nothing possible but that.
MAX.
Oh, that is never possible for thee!
'Tis the last desperate resource of those
Cheap souls, to whom their honor, their good name,
Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep,
Which, having staked and lost, they staked themselves
In the mad rage of gaming. Thou art rich
And glorious; with an unpolluted heart
Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest!
But he who once hath acted infamy
Does nothing more in this world.
WALLENSTEIN (grasps his hand).
Calmly, Max.!
Much that is great and excellent will we
Perform together yet. And if we only
Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon
Forgotten, Max., by what road we ascended.
Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now,
That yet was deeply sullied in the winning.
To the evil spirit doth the earth belong,
Not to the good. All that the powers divine
Send from above are universal blessings
Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes,
But never yet was man enriched by them:
In their eternal realm no property
Is to be struggled for—all there is general.
The jewel, the all-valued gold we win
From the deceiving powers, depraved in nature,
That dwell beneath the day and blessed sunlight.
Not without sacrifices are they rendered
Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth
That e'er retired unsullied from their service.
MAX.
Whate'er is human to the human being
Do I allow—and to the vehement
And striving spirit readily I pardon
The excess of action; but to thee, my general!
Above all others make I large concession.
For thou must move a world and be the master—
He kills thee who condemns thee to inaction.
So be it then! maintain thee in thy post
By violence. Resist the emperor,
And if it must be force with force repel;
I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it.
But not—not to the traitor—yes! the word
Is spoken out—
Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon.
That is no mere excess! that is no error
Of human nature—that is wholly different,
Oh, that is black, black as the pit of hell!
[WALLENSTEIN betrays a sudden agitation.
Thou canst not hear it named, and wilt thou do it?
O turn back to thy duty. That thou canst,
I hold it certain. Send me to Vienna;
I'll make thy peace for thee with the emperor.
He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He
Shall see thee, duke! with my unclouded eye,
And I bring back his confidence to thee.
WALLENSTEIN.
It is too late! Thou knowest not what has happened.
MAX.
Were it too late, and were things gone so far,
That a crime only could prevent thy fall,
Then—fall! fall honorably, even as thou stoodest,
Lose the command. Go from the stage of war!
Thou canst with splendor do it—do it too
With innocence. Thou hast lived much for others,
At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee.
My destiny I never part from thine.
WALLENSTEIN.
It is too late! Even now, while thou art losing
Thy words, one after another, are the mile-stones
Left fast behind by my post couriers,
Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra.
[MAX. stands as convulsed, with a gesture and countenance
expressing the most intense anguish.
Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced.
I cannot give assent to my own shame
And ruin. Thou—no—thou canst not forsake me!
So let us do, what must be done, with dignity,
With a firm step. What am I doing worse
Than did famed Caesar at the Rubicon,
When he the legions led against his country,
The which his country had delivered to him?
Had he thrown down the sword, he had been lost.
As I were, if I but disarmed myself.
I trace out something in me of this spirit.
Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear.
[MAX. quits him abruptly. WALLENSTEIN startled and overpowered,
continues looking after him, and is still in this posture when
TERZKY enters.
TERZKY.
Max. Piccolomini just left you?
WALLENSTEIN.
Where is Wrangel?
TERZKY.
He is already gone.
WALLENSTEIN.
In such a hurry?
TERZKY.
It is as if the earth had swallowed him.
He had scarce left thee, when I went to seek him.
I wished some words with him—but he was gone.
How, when, and where, could no one tell me.
Nay, I half believe it was the devil himself;
A human creature could not so at once
Have vanished.
ILLO (enters).
Is it true that thou wilt send
Octavio?
TERZKY.
How, Octavio! Whither send him?
WALLENSTEIN.
He goes to Frauenberg, and will lead hither
The Spanish and Italian regiments.
ILLO.
No!
Nay, heaven forbid!
WALLENSTEIN.
And why should heaven forbid?
ILLO.
Him!—that deceiver! Wouldst thou trust to him
The soldiery? Him wilt thou let slip from thee,
Now in the very instant that decides us——
TERZKY.
Thou wilt not do this! No! I pray thee, no!
WALLENSTEIN.
Ye are whimsical.
ILLO.
O but for this time, duke,
Yield to our warning! Let him not depart.
WALLENSTEIN.
And why should I not trust him only this time,
Who have always trusted him? What, then, has happened
That I should lose my good opinion of him?
In complaisance to your whims, not my own,
I must, forsooth, give up a rooted judgment.
Think not I am a woman. Having trusted him
E'en till to-day, to-day too will I trust him.
TERZKY.
Must it be he—he only? Send another.
WALLENSTEIN.
It must be he, whom I myself have chosen;
He is well fitted for the business.
Therefore I gave it him.
ILLO.
Because he's an Italian—
Therefore is he well fitted for the business!
WALLENSTEIN.
I know you love them not, nor sire nor son,
Because that I esteem them, love them, visibly
Esteem them, love them more than you and others,
E'en as they merit. Therefore are they eye-blights,
Thorns in your footpath. But your jealousies,
In what affect they me or my concerns?
Are they the worse to me because you hate them?
Love or hate one another as you will,
I leave to each man his own moods and likings;
Yet know the worth of each of you to me.
ILLO.
Von Questenberg, while he was here, was always
Lurking about with this Octavio.
WALLENSTEIN.
It happened with my knowledge and permission.
ILLO.
I know that secret messengers came to him
From Gallas——
WALLENSTEIN.
That's not true.
ILLO.
O thou art blind,
With thy deep-seeing eyes!
WALLENSTEIN.
Thou wilt not shake
My faith for me; my faith, which founds itself
On the profoundest science. If 'tis false,
Then the whole science of the stars is false;
For know, I have a pledge from Fate itself,
That he is the most faithful of my friends.
ILLO.
Hast thou a pledge that this pledge is not false?
WALLENSTEIN.
There exist moments in the life of man,
When he is nearer the great Soul of the world
Than is man's custom, and possesses freely
The power of questioning his destiny:
And such a moment 'twas, when in the night
Before the action in the plains of Luetzen,
Leaning against a tree, thoughts crowding thoughts,
I looked out far upon the ominous plain.
My whole life, past and future, in this moment
Before my mind's eye glided in procession,
And to the destiny of the next morning
The spirit, filled with anxious presentiment,
Did knit the most removed futurity.
Then said I also to myself, "So many
Dost thou command. They follow all thy stars,
And as on some great number set their all
Upon thy single head, and only man
The vessel of thy fortune. Yet a day
Will come, when destiny shall once more scatter
All these in many a several direction:
Few be they who will stand out faithful to thee."
I yearned to know which one was faithfulest
Of all, my camp included. Great destiny,
Give me a sign! And he shall be the man,
Who, on the approaching morning, comes the first
To meet me with a token of his love:
And thinking this, I fell into a slumber,
Then midmost in the battle was I led
In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult!
Then was my horse killed under me: I sank;
And over me away, all unconcernedly,
Drove horse and rider—and thus trod to pieces
I lay, and panted like a dying man;
Then seized me suddenly a savior arm;
It was Octavio's—I woke at once,
'Twas broad day, and Octavio stood before me.
"My brother," said he, "do not ride to-day
The dapple, as you're wont; but mount the horse
Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, brother!
In love to me. A strong dream warned me so."
It was the swiftness of this horse that snatched me
From the hot pursuit of Bannier's dragoons.
My cousin rode the dapple on that day,
And never more saw I or horse or rider.
ILLO.
That was a chance.
WALLENSTEIN (significantly).
There's no such thing as chance
And what to us seems merest accident
Springs from the deepest source of destiny.
In brief, 'tis signed and sealed that this Octavio
Is my good angel—and now no word more.
[He is retiring.
TERZKY.
This is my comfort—Max. remains our hostage.
ILLO.
And he shall never stir from here alive.
WALLENSTEIN (stops and turns himself round).
Are ye not like the women, who forever
Only recur to their first word, although
One had been talking reason by the hour!
Know, that the human being's thoughts and deeds
Are not like ocean billows, blindly moved.
The inner world, his microcosmus, is
The deep shaft, out of which they spring eternally.
They grow by certain laws, like the tree's fruit—
No juggling chance can metamorphose them.
Have I the human kernel first examined?
Then I know, too, the future will and action.
[Exeunt.
Chamber in the residence of Piccolomini: OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI
(attired for travelling), an ADJUTANT.
OCTAVIO.
Is the detachment here?
ADJUTANT.
It waits below.
OCTAVIO.
And are the soldiers trusty, adjutant?
Say, from what regiment hast thou chosen them?
ADJUTANT.
From Tiefenbach's.
OCTAVIO.
That regiment is loyal,
Keep them in silence in the inner court,
Unseen by all, and when the signal peals
Then close the doors, keep watch upon the house.
And all ye meet be instantly arrested.
[Exit ADJUTANT.
I hope indeed I shall not need their service,
So certain feel I of my well-laid plans;
But when an empire's safety is at stake
'Twere better too much caution than too little.
A chamber in PICCOLOMINI's dwelling-house: OCTAVIO,
PICCOLOMINI, ISOLANI, entering.
ISOLANI.
Here am I—well! who comes yet of the others?
OCTAVIO (with an air of mystery).
But, first, a word with you, Count Isolani.
ISOLANI (assuming the same air of mystery).
Will it explode, ha? Is the duke about
To make the attempt? In me, friend, you may place
Full confidence—nay, put me to the proof.
OCTAVIO.
That may happen.
ISOLANI.
Noble brother, I am
Not one of those men who in words are valiant,
And when it comes to action skulk away.
The duke has acted towards me as a friend:
God knows it is so; and I owe him all;
He may rely on my fidelity.
OCTAVIO.
That will be seen hereafter.
ISOLANI.
Be on your guard,
All think not as I think; and there are many
Who still hold with the court—yes, and they say
That these stolen signatures bind them to nothing.
OCTAVIO.
Indeed! Pray name to me the chiefs that think so;
ISOLANI.
Plague upon them! all the Germans think so
Esterhazy, Kaunitz, Deodati, too,
Insist upon obedience to the court.
OCTAVIO.
I am rejoiced to hear it.
ISOLANI.
You rejoice?
OCTAVIO.
That the emperor has yet such gallant servants,
And loving friends.
ISOLANI.
Nay, jeer not, I entreat you.
They are no such worthless fellows, I assure you.
OCTAVIO.
I am assured already. God forbid
That I should jest! In very serious earnest,
I am rejoiced to see an honest cause
So strong.
ISOLANI.
The devil!—what!—why, what means this?
Are you not, then——For what, then, am I here?
OCTAVIO.
That you may make full declaration, whether
You will be called the friend or enemy
Of the emperor.
ISOLANI (with an air of defiance).
That declaration, friend,
I'll make to him in whom a right is placed
To put that question to me.
OCTAVIO.
Whether, count,
That right is mine, this paper may instruct you.
ISOLANI (stammering).
Why,—why—what! this is the emperor's hand and seal
[Reads.
"Whereas the officers collectively
Throughout our army will obey the orders
Of the Lieutenant-General Piccolomini,
As from ourselves."—Hem!—Yes! so!—Yes! yes!
I—I give you joy, lieutenant-general!
OCTAVIO.
And you submit to the order?
ISOLANI.
I—
But you have taken me so by surprise
Time for reflection one must have——
OCTAVIO.
Two minutes.
ISOLANI.
My God! But then the case is——
OCTAVIO.
Plain and simple.
You must declare you, whether you determine
To act a treason 'gainst your lord and sovereign,
Or whether you will serve him faithfully.
ISOLANI.
Treason! My God! But who talks then of treason?
OCTAVIO.
That is the case. The prince-duke is a traitor—
Means to lead over to the enemy
The emperor's army. Now, count! brief and full—
Say, will you break your oath to the emperor?
Sell yourself to the enemy? Say, will you?
ISOLANI.
What mean you? I—I break my oath, d'ye say,
To his imperial majesty?
Did I say so! When, when have I said that?
OCTAVIO.
You have not said it yet—not yet. This instant
I wait to hear, count, whether you will say it.
ISOLANI.
Ay! that delights me now, that you yourself
Bear witness for me that I never said so.
OCTAVIO.
And you renounce the duke then?
ISOLANI.
If he's planning
Treason—why, treason breaks all bonds asunder.
OCTAVIO.
And are determined, too, to fight against him?
ISOLANI.
He has done me service—but if he's a villain,
Perdition seize him! All scores are rubbed off.
OCTAVIO.
I am rejoiced that you are so well disposed.
This night break off in the utmost secrecy
With all the light-armed troops—it must appear
As came the order from the duke himself.
At Frauenberg's the place of rendezvous;
There will Count Gallas give you further orders.
ISOLANI.
It shall be done. But you'll remember me
With the emperor—how well disposed you found me.
OCTAVIO.
I will not fail to mention it honorably.
[Exit ISOLANI. A SERVANT enters.
What, Colonel Butler! Show him up.
ISOLANI (returning).
Forgive me too my bearish ways, old father!
Lord God! how should I know, then, what a great
Person I had before me.
OCTAVIO.
No excuses!
ISOLANI.
I am a merry lad, and if at time
A rash word might escape me 'gainst the court
Amidst my wine,—you know no harm was meant.
OCTAVIO.
You need not be uneasy on that score.
That has succeeded. Fortune favor us
With all the others only but as much.
[Exit.
BUTLER.
At your command, lieutenant-general.
OCTAVIO.
Welcome, as honored friend and visitor.
BUTLER.
You do me too much honor.
OCTAVIO (after both have seated themselves)
You have not
Returned the advances which I made you yesterday—
Misunderstood them as mere empty forms.
That wish proceeded from my heart—I was
In earnest with you—for 'tis now a time
In which the honest should unite most closely.
BUTLER.
'Tis only the like-minded can unite.
OCTAVIO.
True! and I name all honest men like-minded.
I never charge a man but with those acts
To which his character deliberately
Impels him; for alas! the violence
Of blind misunderstandings often thrusts
The very best of us from the right track.
You came through Frauenberg. Did the Count Gallas
Say nothing to you? Tell me. He's my friend.
BUTLER.
His words were lost on me.
OCTAVIO.
It grieves me sorely
To hear it: for his counsel was most wise.
I had myself the like to offer.
BUTLER.
Spare
Yourself the trouble—me the embarrassment.
To have deserved so ill your good opinion.
OCTAVIO.
The time is precious—let us talk openly.
You know how matters stand here. Wallenstein
Meditates treason—I can tell you further,
He has committed treason; but few hours
Have past since he a covenant concluded
With the enemy. The messengers are now
Full on their way to Egra and to Prague.
To-morrow he intends to lead us over
To the enemy. But he deceives himself;
For prudence wakes—the emperor has still
Many and faithful friends here, and they stand
In closest union, mighty though unseen.
This manifesto sentences the duke—
Recalls the obedience of the army from him,
And summons all the loyal, all the honest,
To join and recognize in me their leader.
Choose—will you share with us an honest cause?
Or with the evil share an evil lot?
BUTLER (rises).
His lot is mine.
OCTAVIO.
Is that your last resolve?
BUTLER.
It is.
OCTAVIO.
Nay, but bethink you, Colonel Butler.
As yet you have time. Within my faithful breast
That rashly uttered word remains interred.
Recall it, Butler! choose a better party;
You have not chosen the right one.
BUTLER (going).
Any other
Commands for me, lieutenant-general?
OCTAVIO.
See your white hairs; recall that word!
BUTLER.
Farewell!
OCTAVIO.
What! Would you draw this good and gallant sword
In such a cause? Into a curse would you
Transform the gratitude which you have earned
By forty years' fidelity from Austria?
BUTLER (laughing with bitterness).
Gratitude from the House of Austria!
[He is going.
OCTAVIO (permits him to go as far as the door, then calls after him).
Butler!
BUTLER.
What wish you?
OCTAVIO.
How was't with the count?
BUTLER.
Count? what?
OCTAVIO (coldly).
The title that you wished, I mean.
BUTLER (starts in sudden passion).
Hell and damnation!
OCTAVIO (coldly).
You petitioned for it—
And your petition was repelled—was it so?
BUTLER.
Your insolent scoff shall not go by unpunished.
Draw!
OCTAVIO.
Nay! your sword to its sheath! and tell me calmly
How all that happened. I will not refuse you
Your satisfaction afterwards. Calmly, Butler!
BUTLER.
Be the whole world acquainted with the weakness
For which I never can forgive myself,
Lieutenant-general! Yes; I have ambition.
Ne'er was I able to endure contempt.
It stung me to the quick that birth and title
Should have more weight than merit has in the army.
I would fain not be meaner than my equal,
So in an evil hour I let myself
Be tempted to that measure. It was folly!
But yet so hard a penance it deserved not.
It might have been refused; but wherefore barb
And venom the refusal with contempt?
Why dash to earth and crush with heaviest scorn
The gray-haired man, the faithful veteran?
Why to the baseness of his parentage
Refer him with such cruel roughness, only
Because he had a weak hour and forgot himself?
But nature gives a sting e'en to the worm
Which wanton power treads on in sport and insult.
OCTAVIO.
You must have been calumniated. Guess you
The enemy who did you this ill service?
BUTLER.
Be't who it will—a most low-hearted scoundrel!
Some vile court-minion must it be, some Spaniard;
Some young squire of some ancient family,
In whose light I may stand; some envious knave,
Stung to his soul by my fair self-earned honors!
OCTAVIO.
But tell me, did the duke approve that measure?
BUTLER.
Himself impelled me to it, used his interest
In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship.
OCTAVIO.
Ay! are you sure of that?
BUTLER.
I read the letter.
OCTAVIO.
And so did I—but the contents were different.
[BUTLER is suddenly struck.
By chance I'm in possession of that letter—
Can leave it to your own eyes to convince you.
[He gives him the letter.
BUTLER.
Ha! what is this?
OCTAVIO.
I fear me, Colonel Butler,
An infamous game have they been playing with you.
The duke, you say, impelled you to this measure?
Now, in this letter, talks he in contempt
Concerning you; counsels the minister
To give sound chastisement to your conceit,
For so he calls it.
[BUTLER reads through the letter; his knees tremble, he seizes a
chair, and sinks clown in it.
You have no enemy, no persecutor;
There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe
The insult you received to the duke only.
His aim is clear and palpable. He wished
To tear you from your emperor: he hoped
To gain from your revenge what he well knew
(What your long tried fidelity convinced him)
He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason.
A blind tool would he make you, in contempt
Use you, as means of most abandoned ends.
He has gained his point. Too well has he succeeded
In luring you away from that good path
On which you had been journeying forty years!
BUTLER (his voice trembling).
Can e'er the emperor's majesty forgive me?
OCTAVIO.
More than forgive you. He would fain compensate
For that affront, and most unmerited grievance
Sustained by a deserving gallant veteran.
From his free impulse he confirms the present,
Which the duke made you for a wicked purpose.
The regiment, which you now command, is yours.
[BUTLER attempts to rise, sinks down again. He labors inwardly
with violent emotions; tries to speak and cannot. At length
he takes his sword from the belt, and offers it to PICCOLOMINI.
OCTAVIO.
What wish you? Recollect yourself, friend.
BUTLER.
Take it.
OCTAVIO.
But to what purpose? Calm yourself.
BUTLER.
O take it!
I am no longer worthy of this sword.
OCTAVIO.
Receive it then anew, from my hands—and
Wear it with honor for the right cause ever.
BUTLER.
Perjure myself to such a gracious sovereign?
OCTAVIO.
You'll make amends. Quick! break off from the duke!
BUTLER.
Break off from him.
OCTAVIO.
What now? Bethink thyself.
BUTLER (no longer governing his emotion).
Only break off from him? He dies! he dies!
OCTAVIO.
Come after me to Frauenberg, where now
All who are loyal are assembling under
Counts Altringer and Gallas. Many others
I've brought to a remembrance of their duty
This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen.
BUTLER (strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps up to
OCTAVIO with resolved countenance).
Count Piccolomini! dare that man speak
Of honor to you, who once broke his troth.
OCTAVIO.
He who repents so deeply of it dares.
BUTLER.
Then leave me here upon my word of honor!
OCTAVIO.
What's your design?
BUTLER.
Leave me and my regiment.
OCTAVIO.
I have full confidence in you. But tell me
What are you brooding?
BUTLER.
That the deed will tell you.
Ask me no more at present. Trust me.
Ye may trust safely. By the living God,
Ye give him over, not to his good angel!
Farewell.
[Exit BUTLER.
SERVANT (enters with a billet).
A stranger left it, and is gone.
The prince-duke's horses wait for you below.
[Exit SERVANT.
OCTAVIO (reads).
"Be sure, make haste! Your faithful Isolani."
—O that I had but left this town behind me.
To split upon a rock so near the haven!
Away! This is no longer a safe place
For me! Where can my son be tarrying!
OCTAVIO and MAX. PICCOLOMINI.
MAX. enters almost in a state of derangement, from extreme agitation; his eyes roll wildly, his walk is unsteady, and he appears not to observe his father, who stands at a distance, and gazes at him with a countenance expressive of compassion. He paces with long strides through the chamber, then stands still again, and at last throws himself into a chair, staring vacantly at the object directly before him.
OCTAVIO (advances to him).
I am going off, my son.
[Receiving no answer, he takes his hands
My son, farewell.
MAX.
Farewell.
OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt soon follow me?
MAX.
I follow thee?
Thy way is crooked—it is not my way.
[OCTAVIO drops his hand and starts back.
Oh, hadst thou been but simple and sincere,
Ne'er had it come to this—all had stood otherwise.
He had not done that foul and horrible deed,
The virtuous had retained their influence over him
He had not fallen into the snares of villains.
Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's accomplice
Didst creep behind him lurking for thy prey!
Oh, unblest falsehood! Mother of all evil!
Thou misery-making demon, it is thou
That sinkest us in perdition. Simple truth,
Sustainer of the world, had saved us all!
Father, I will not, I cannot excuse thee!
Wallenstein has deceived me—oh, most foully!
But thou has acted not much better.
OCTAVIO.
Son
My son, ah! I forgive thy agony!
MAX. (rises and contemplates his father with looks of suspicion).
Was't possible? hadst thou the heart, my father,
Hadst thou the heart to drive it to such lengths,
With cold premeditated purpose? Thou—
Hadst thou the heart to wish to see him guilty
Rather than saved? Thou risest by his fall.
Octavio, 'twill not please me.
OCTAVIO.
God in heaven!
MAX.
Oh, woe is me! sure I have changed my nature.
How comes suspicion here—in the free soul?
Hope, confidence, belief, are gone; for all
Lied to me, all that I e'er loved or honored.
No, no! not all! She—she yet lives for me,
And she is true, and open as the heavens
Deceit is everywhere, hypocrisy,
Murder, and poisoning, treason, perjury:
The single holy spot is our love,
The only unprofaned in human nature.
OCTAVIO.
Max.!—we will go together. 'Twill be better.
MAX.
What? ere I've taken a last parting leave,
The very last—no, never!
OCTAVIO.
Spare thyself
The pang of necessary separation.
Come with me! Come, my son!
[Attempts to take him with him.
MAX.
No! as sure as God lives, no!
OCTAVIO (more urgently).
Come with me, I command thee! I, thy father.
MAX.
Command me what is human. I stay here.
OCTAVIO.
Max.! in the emperor's name I bid thee come.
MAX.
No emperor has power to prescribe
Laws to the heart; and wouldst thou wish to rob me
Of the sole blessing which my fate has left me,
Her sympathy? Must then a cruel deed
Be done with cruelty? The unalterable
Shall I perform ignobly—steal away,
With stealthy coward flight forsake her? No!
She shall behold my suffering, my sore anguish,
Hear the complaints of the disparted soul,
And weep tears o'er me. Oh! the human race
Have steely souls—but she is as an angel.
From the black deadly madness of despair
Will she redeem my soul, and in soft words
Of comfort, plaining, loose this pang of death!
OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt not tear thyself away; thou canst not.
Oh, come, my son! I bid thee save thy virtue.
MAX.
Squander not thou thy words in vain.
The heart I follow, for I dare trust to it.
OCTAVIO (trembling, and losing all self-command).
Max.! Max.! if that most damned thing could be,
If thou—my son—my own blood—(dare I think it?)
Do sell thyself to him, the infamous,
Do stamp this brand upon our noble house,
Then shall the world behold the horrible deed,
And in unnatural combat shall the steel
Of the son trickle with the father's blood.
MAX.
Oh, hadst thou always better thought of men,
Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion,
Unholy, miserable doubt! To him
Nothing on earth remains unwrenched and firm
Who has no faith.
OCTAVIO.
And if I trust thy heart,
Will it be always in thy power to follow it?
MAX.
The heart's voice thou hast not o'erpowered—as little
Will Wallenstein be able to o'erpower it.
OCTAVIO.
O, Max.! I see thee never more again!
MAX.
Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me.
OCTAVIO.
I go to Frauenberg—the Pappenheimers
I leave thee here, the Lothrings too; Tsokana
And Tiefenbach remain here to protect thee.
They love thee, and are faithful to their oath,
And will far rather fall in gallant contest
Than leave their rightful leader and their honor.
MAX.
Rely on this, I either leave my life
In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen.
OCTAVIO.
Farewell, my son!
MAX.
Farewell!
OCTAVIO.
How! not one look
Of filial love? No grasp of the hand at parting?
It is a bloody war to which we are going,
And the event uncertain and in darkness.
So used we not to part—it was not so!
Is it then true? I have a son no longer?
[MAX. falls into his arms, they hold each other for a long time
in a speechless embrace, then go away at different sides.
(The curtain drops.)
A chamber in the house of the Duchess of Friedland.
COUNTESS TERZKY, THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN (the two latter sit
at the same table at work).
COUNTESS (watching them from the opposite side).
So you have nothing to ask me—nothing?
I have been waiting for a word from you.
And could you then endure in all this time
Not once to speak his name?
[THEKLA remaining silent, the COUNTESS rises and advances to her.
Why, how comes this?
Perhaps I am already grown superfluous,
And other ways exist, besides through me
Confess it to me, Thekla: have you seen him?
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 it please you, leave us, Lady Neubrunn.
[Exit LADY NEUBRUNN.
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 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.
Lies within my 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 honor may demand of him.
COUNTESS.
We ask
Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honor.
Duty and honor!
Those are ambiguous words with many meanings.
You should interpret them for him: his love
Should be the sole definer of his honor.
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 weighs upon her heart
With torture of anxiety; but is it
Unalterably, actually present,
She soon resigns herself, and bears it calmly.
THEKLA.
O my foreboding 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,
An 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!
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 cannot 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—
Oh, do not doubt of that! A resolution!
Does there remain one to be taken?
COUNTESS.
Hush!
Collect yourself! I hear your mother coming.
THERLA.
How shall I bear to see her?
COUNTESS.
Collect yourself.
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 growing so timorous, every trifling noise
Scatters my spirits, and announces to me
The footstep of some messenger of evil.
And you can 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 favorable 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 accursed business of the Regensburg diet
Will all be acted o'er again!
COUNTESS.
No! never!
Make your heart easy, sister, as to that.
[THEKLA, in extreme agitation, 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. Oh, that stern, unbending man!
In this unhappy marriage what have I
Not suffered, not endured? For even 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 bears 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.
THEELA.
Oh, 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 Regensburg,
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 show 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, with narks of great oppression of spirits).
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 (anxiously).
What ails, then, my beloved child?
[Both follow the PRINCESS, and endeavor to detain her. During
this WALLENSTEIN appears, engaged in conversation with ILLO.
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 entreat forgiveness for that secretly.
I've wronged this honorable 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.
[Exit ILLO.
WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round to the females).
Lo, there's 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 overburdened soul—to sing to him
Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong
Into her grave.
DUCHESS.
How, Thekla! Humorsome!
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! Oh, 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 never 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 shouldst 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!
Ay? The thought pleases me.
The young man has no groveling spirit.
COUNTESS.
Since
Such and such constant favor you have shown him——
WALLENSTEIN.
He chooses finally to be my heir.
And true it is, I love the youth; yea, honor him.
But must he therefore be my daughter's husband?
Is it daughters only? Is it only children
That we must show our favor 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——
[Stops suddenly, repressing himself.
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
[He recollects himself.
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 Carinthia 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.
To them enter COUNT TERZKY.
COUNTESS.
Terzky!
What ails him? What an image of affright!
He looks as he had seen a ghost.
TERZKY (leading WALLENSTEIN aside).
Is it thy command that all the Croats——
WALLENSTEIN.
Mine!
TERZKY.
We are betrayed.
WALLENSTEIN.
What?
TERZKY.
They are off! This night
The Jaegers likewise—all the villages
In the whole round are empty.
WALLENSTEIN.
Isolani!
TERZKY.
Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely.
TERZKY.
No? Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodati?
They are vanished, both of them.
To them enter ILLO.
ILLO.
Has Terzky told thee?
TERZKY.
He knows all.
ILLO.
And likewise
That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz,
Kolatto, Palfi, have forsaken thee.
TERZKY.
Damnation!
WALLENSTEIN (winks at them).
Hush!
COUNTESS (who has been watching them anxiously from the distance and now advances to them). Terzky! Heaven! What is it? What has happened?
WALLENSTEIN (scarcely suppressing his emotions).
Nothing! let us be gone!
TERZKY (following him).
Theresa, it is nothing.
COUNTESS (holding him back).
Nothing? Do I not see that all the life-blood
Has left your cheeks—look you not like a ghost?
That even my brother but affects a calmness?
PAGE (enters).
An aide-de-camp inquires for the Count Terzky.
[TERZKY follows the PAGE.
WALLENSTEIN.
Go, hear his business.
[To ILLO.
This could not have happened
So unsuspected without mutiny.
Who was on guard at the gates?
ILLO.
'Twas Tiefenbach.
WALLENSTEIN.
Let Tiefenbach leave guard without delay,
And Terzky's grenadiers relieve him.
[ILLO is going.
Stop!
Hast thou heard aught of Butler?
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 naught 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: TERZKY returns.
TERZKY.
Remain here. From this window must we see it.
WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS).
Sister, retire!
COUNTESS.
No—never!
WALLENSTEIN.
'Tis my will.
TERZKY (leads the COUNTESS aside, and drawing her attention
to the DUCHESS).
Theresa!
DUCHESS.
Sister, come! since he commands it.
WALLENSTEIN (stepping to the window).
What now, then?
TERZKY.
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 make threatening movements; only
The Pappenheimers still remain aloof
In their own quarters and let no one enter.
WALLENSTEIN.
Does Piccolomini appear among them?
TERZKY.
We are seeking him: he is nowhere to be met with.
WALLENSTEIN.
What did the aide-de-camp deliver to you?
TERZKY.
My regiments had despatched 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.
TERZKY.
Oh, 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 gavest 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.
TERZKY.
Thou didst 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 reckoned 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 eminent 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,
Naught 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.
TERZKY.
Yet, would I rather
Trust the smooth brow than that deep furrowed one.
ILLO (who enters agitated with rage).
Treason and mutiny!
TERZKY.
And what further now?
ILLO.
Tiefenbach's soldiers, when I gave the orders.
To go off guard—mutinous villains!
TERZKY.
Well!
WALLENSTEIN.
What followed?
ILLO.
They refused obedience to them.
TERZKY.
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 (in a convulsion of agony).
What? How is that?
ILLO.
He takes that office on him by commission,
Under sign-manual from the emperor.
TERZKY.
From the emperor—hearest thou, duke?
ILLO.
At his incitement
The generals made that stealthy flight——
TERZKY.
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.
TERZKY.
Oh, hadst thou but believed me!
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 falling off from us.
TERZKY.
Octavio Piccolomini is a traitor.
COUNTESS.
O my foreboding!
[Rushes out of the room.
TERZKY.
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 to have affronted
The human form, oh, may the 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.
To these enter BUTLER.
TERZKY (meeting him).
Oh, 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 shoulder).
Knowest thou already
That old man has betrayed me to the emperor.
What sayest thou? Thirty years have we together
Lived out, and held out, sharing joy and hardship.
We have slept in one camp-bed, drank 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: Oh, no! his treason
Is that which strikes the pang! No more of him!
Dear to my heart, and honored 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!
Despatch 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 (with eager expectation).
Well?
BUTLER.
Is already here.
TERZKY and ILLO (at the same time).
Already here?
WALLENSTEIEN.
My courier?
BUTLER.
For some hours.
WALLENSTEIN.
And I not know it?
BUTLER.
The sentinels detain him
In custody.
ILLO (stamping with his foot).
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.
TERZKY.
Illo! Alas for us.
WALLENSTEIN.
Hide nothing from me—I can bear the worst.
Prague then is lost. It is. Confess it freely.
BUTLER.
Yes! Prague is lost. And all the several regiments
At Budweiss, Tabor, Braunau, Koenigingratz,
At Brunn, and Znaym, have forsaken you,
And taken the oaths of fealty anew
To the emperor. Yourself, with Kinsky, Terzky,
And Illo have been sentenced.
[TERZKY 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 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.
COUNTESS TERZKY (enters from a side room).
I can endure no longer. No!
[Looks around her.
Where are they!
No one is here. They leave me all alone,
Alone in this sore anguish of suspense.
And I must wear the outward show of calmness
Before my sister, and shut in within me
The pangs and agonies of my crowded bosom.
It is not to be borne. If all should fail;
If—if he must go over to the Swedes,
An empty-handed fugitive, and not
As an ally, a covenanted equal,
A proud commander with his army following,
If we must wander on from land to land,
Like the Count Palatine, of fallen greatness
An ignominious monument. But no!
That day I will not see! And could himself
Endure to sink so low, I would not bear
To see him so low sunken.
THEKLA (endeavoring 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 collect,
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).
Oh, 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.
A spacious room in the Duke of Friedland's palace.
WALLENSTEIN (in armor).
Thou hast gained thy point, Octavio! Once more am I
Almost as friendless as at Regensburg.
There I had nothing left me but myself;
But what one man can do you have now experience.
The twigs have you hewed off, and here I stand
A leafless trunk. But in the sap within
Lives the creating power, and a new world
May sprout forth from it. Once already have I
Proved myself worth an army to you—I alone!
Before the Swedish strength your troops had melted;
Beside the Lech sank Tilly, your last hope;
Into Bavaria, like a winter torrent,
Did that Gustavus pour, and at Vienna
In his own palace did the emperor tremble.
Soldiers were scarce, for still the multitude
Follow the luck: all eyes were turned on me,
Their helper in distress; the emperor's pride
Bowed itself down before the man he had injured.
'Twas I must rise, and with creative word
Assemble forces in the desolate camps.
I did it. Like a god of war my name
Went through the world. The drum was beat; and, to
The plough, the workshop is forsaken, all
Swarm to the old familiar long loved banners;
And as the wood-choir rich in melody
Assemble quick around the bird of wonder,
When first his throat swells with his magic song,
So did the warlike youth of Germany
Crowd in around the image of my eagle.
I feel myself the being that I was.
It is the soul that builds itself a body,
And Friedland's camp will not remain unfilled.
Lead then your thousands out to meet me—true!
They are accustomed under me to conquer,
But not against me. If the head and limbs
Separate from each other, 'twill be soon
Made manifest in which the soul abode.
(ILLO and TERZKY enter.)
Courage, friends! courage! we are still unvanquished;
I feel my footing firm; five regiments, Terzky,
Are still our own, and Butler's gallant troops;
And an host of sixteen thousand Swedes to-morrow.
I was not stronger when, nine years ago,
I marched forth, with glad heart and high of hope,
To conquer Germany for the emperor.
(To them enter NEUMANN, who leads TERZKY aside,
and talks with him.)
TERZKY.
What do they want?
WALLENSTEIN.
What now?
TERZKY.
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.
WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY, ILLO, ten CUIRASSIERS (led by an ANSPESSADE [4], 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
NSPESSADE).
I know thee well. Thou art out of Brueggen in Flanders:
Thy name is Mercy.
ANSPESSADE.
Henry Mercy.
WALLENSTEIN. Thou were cut off on the march, surrounded by the Hessians, and didst fight thy way with an 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 honor 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 Duebald, prisoner, in the camp at Nuremberg.
THIRD CUIRASSIER. It was not I, general.
WALLENSTRIN. 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 (interrupting him).
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 Braunau, Budweiss, Prague, and Olmutz, have
Obeyed already; and the regiments here,
Tiefenbach and Toscano, 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!
[With warmth.
Thyself shall 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 thine 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 we will 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 shown you honor
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 has honored us, and shown us grace and favor
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 stronghold! 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 Luetzen!
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 Mansfeldt
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 honors of the peace, an easy prize!
He'll weave, forsooth, into his flaxen locks
The olive branch, the hard-earned ornament
Of this gray head, grown gray beneath the helmet.
ANSPESSADE.
That shall he not, while we can hinder it!
No one, but thou, who has conducted it
With fame, shall end this war, this frightful war.
Thou leadest us out to 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.
What! Think you then at length in late old age
To enjoy the fruits of toil? Believe it not.
Never, no never, will you see the end
Of the contest! you and me, and all of us,
This war will swallow up! War, war, not peace,
Is Austria's wish; and therefore, because I
Endeavored after peace, therefore I fall.
For what cares Austria how long the war
Wears out the armies and lays waste the world!
She will but wax and grow amid the ruin
And still win new domains.
[The CUIRASSIERS express agitation by their gestures.
Ye're moved—I see
A noble rage flash from your eyes, ye warriors!
Oh, that my spirit might possess you now
Daring as once it led you to the battle
Ye would stand by me with your veteran arms,
Protect me in my rights; and this is noble!
But think not that you can accomplish it,
Your scanty number! to no purpose will you
Have sacrificed you for your general.
[Confidentially.
No! let us tread securely, seek for friends;
The Swedes have proffered us assistance, let us
Wear for a while the appearance of good-will,
And use them for your profit, till we both
Carry the fate of Europe in our hands,
And from our camp to the glad jubilant world
Lead peace forth with the garland on her head!
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 groanings 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 thee
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.
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 Terzky's regiments tear the imperial eagle
From off his banners, and instead of it
Have reared aloft their 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.
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 TERZKY).
Is there no hope? Is all lost utterly?
TERZKY.
All lost. No hope. Prague in the emperor's hands,
The soldiery have taken their oaths anew.
COUNTESS.
That lurking hypocrite, Octavio!
Count Max. is off too.
TERZKY.
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 TERZKY).
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.
[All stand amazed.
TERZKY.
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 forever.
TERZKY.
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!
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 favorable moment:
This loitering, this suspense exceeds my powers.
[Advancing to THEKLA, who has thrown herself into her mother's arms.
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 forever.
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 honor
That ancient love, which so remorselessly
He mangled. They are now passed 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 (calmly).
Thou wilt proceed with me as thou hast power.
Thou knowest I neither brave nor fear thy rage.
What has detained me here, that too thou knowest.
[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. That hast thou
Laid waste forever—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, irreconcilable,
Fierce element, incapable of compact.
Thy heart's wild impulse only dost thou follow. [5]
WALLENSTEIN.
Thou art describing thy own father's heart.
The adder! Oh, 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.
I will not
Defend my father. Woe is me, I cannot!
Hard deeds and luckless have taken place; one crime
Drags after it the other in close link.
But we are innocent: how have we fallen
Into this circle of mishap and guilt?
To whom have we been faithless? Wherefore must
The evil deeds and guilt reciprocal
Of our two fathers twine like serpents round us?
Why must our fathers'
Unconquerable hate rend us asunder,
Who love each other?
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 colors;
Thou wouldst 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
Altered my feelings toward thee? Many thousands
Have I made rich, presented them with lands;
Rewarded them with dignities and honors;
Thee have I loved: my heart, my self, I gave
To thee; They all were aliens: thou wert
Our child and inmate. [6] Max.! Thou canst not leave me;
It cannot be; I may not, will not think
That Max. can leave me.
MAX.
Ob, 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—my honor——
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 shouldst plead free agency?
On me thou art planted, I am thy emperor;
To obey me, to belong to me, this is
Thy honor, this a law of nature to thee!
And if the planet on the which thou livest
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 steppest thou into this contest;
Thee will the world not censure, it will praise thee,
For that thou held'st 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.
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 TERZKY).
Have the cannon planted.
I will receive them with chain-shot.
[Exit TERZKY.
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 bringest thou, Terzky?
To these TERZKY returning.
TERZKY.
Message and greeting from our faithful regiments.
Their ardor may no longer be curbed in.
They entreat permission to commence the attack;
And if thou wouldst 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.
Oh come
Let not their ardor 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.
What? shall this town become a field of slaughter,
And brother-killing discord, fire-eyed,
Be let loose through its streets to roam and rage?
Shall the decision be delivered over
To deaf remorseless rage, that hears no leader?
Here is not room for battle, only for butchery.
Well, let it be! I have long thought of it,
So let it burst then!
[Turns to MAX.
Well, how is it with thee?
Wilt thou attempt a heat with me. Away!
Thou art free to go. Oppose thyself to me,
Front against front, and lead them to the battle;
Thou'rt skilled in war, thou hast learned somewhat under me,
I need not be ashamed of my opponent,
And never hadst thou fairer opportunity
To pay me for thy schooling.
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 TERZKY hurry to the window.
WALLENSTEIN.
What's that?
TERZBY.
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——
TERZKY.
Expose thyself to their blind frenzy?
DUCHESS and COUNTESS.
No!
For God's sake, no!
ILLO.
Not yet, my general!
Oh, 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 show myself
To these rebellious forces, and at once
Revolt is mounded, and the high-swollen current
Shrinks back into the old bed of obedience.
[Exit WALLENSTEIN; ILLO, TERZKY, and BUTLER follow.
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, in a
visible struggle of feelings advances).
This can I not endure.
With most determined soul did I come hither;
My purposed action seemed unblamable
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. Oh, 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? Oh! 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:
Oh 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 mightest 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.
Oh! Max.——
MAX. (interrupting her).
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.
Even 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.
Oh 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.
Oh, 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 hast chosen, thou wouldst 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 forever
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 in extreme emotion. There is heard from behind the scene a loud, wild, long-continued cry, Vivat Ferdinandus! accompanied by warlike instruments. MAX. and THEKLA remain without motion in each other's embraces.
To the above enter TERZKY.
COUNTESS (meeting him).
What meant that cry? What was it?
TERZKY.
All is lost!
COUNTESS.
What! they regarded not his countenance?
TERZKY.
'Twas all in vain.
DUCHESS.
They shouted Vivat!
TERZKY.
To the emperor.
COUNTESS.
The traitors?
TERZKY.
Nay! he was not permitted
Even to address them. Soon as he began,
With deafening noise of warlike instruments
They drowned his words. But here he comes.
To these enter WALLENSTEIN, accompanied by ILLO and BUTLER.
WALLENSTEIN (as he enters).
Terzky!
TERZKY.
My general!
WALLENSTEIN.
Let our regiments hold themselves
In readiness to march; for we shall leave
Pilsen ere evening.
[Exit TERZKY.
Butler!
BUTLER.
Yes, my general.
WALLENSTEIN.
The Governor of Egra is your friend
And countryman. Write 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, who have remained during this time in each other's arms). Part!
MAX.
O God!
[CUIRASSIERS enter with drawn swords, and assemble in the background. 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. Oh, do not turn
Thine eyes away from me! Oh, once more show me
Thy ever dear and honored 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!
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 Gallas', 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 THERLA. WALLENSTEIN prevents him. MAX. stands irresolute, and in apparent anguish, In the meantime 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! Oh, 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 to 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. THERLA 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 acts.
The BURGOMASTER's house at Egra.
BUTLER (just arrived).
Here then he is by his destiny conducted.
Here, Friedland! and no further! From Bohemia
Thy meteor rose, traversed the sky awhile,
And here upon the borders of Bohemia
Must sink.
Thou hast forsworn the ancient colors,
Blind man! yet trustest to thy ancient fortunes.
Profaner of the altar and the hearth,
Against thy emperor and fellow-citizens
Thou meanest to wage the war. Friedland, beware—
The evil spirit of revenge impels thee—
Beware thou, that revenge destroy thee not!
BUTLER and GORDON.
GORDON.
Is it you?
How my heart sinks! The duke a fugitive traitor!
His princely head attainted! Oh, my God!
Tell me, general, I implore thee, tell me
In full, of all these sad events at Pilsen.
BUTLER.
You have received the letter which I sent you
By a post-courier?
GORDON.
Yes: and in obedience to it
Opened the stronghold 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 Terzky,
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 pitfall. The human being
May not be trusted to self-government.
The clear and written law, the deep-trod footmarks
Of ancient custom, are all necessary
To keep him in the road of faith and duty.
The authority intrusted to this man
Was unexampled and unnatural,
It placed him on a level with his emperor,
Till the proud soul unlearned submission. Woe 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 stronghold on free footing; for I have
Pledged life and honor 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 intrust this stronghold 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.
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
[With a sly glance on BUTLER.
Hath he selected, from the very dust
Hath raised him into dignity and honor.
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 favor. 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,
And lend your aid to take him in arrest?
GORDON (pauses, reflecting—then as in deep dejection).
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 strongholds 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 splendor
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-enwrapped and melancholy;
He made himself a Catholic. [7] 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.
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——
[Fixes, his eye on him. The BURGOMASTER alarmed.
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 Glogau
At my own instance. Hark ye, burgomaster!
What is your name?
BURGOMASTER.
Pachhalbel, my it please you.
WALLENSTEIN.
Hark ye! But let it go no further, what I now
Disclose to you in confidence.
[Laying his hand on the BURGOMASTER'S shoulder with a certain
solemnity.
The times
Draw near to their fulfilment, burgomaster!
The high will fall, the low will be exalted.
Hark ye! But keep it to yourself! The end
Approaches of the Spanish double monarchy—
A new arrangement is at hand. You saw
The three moons that appeared at once in the heaven?
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.
The Turks! That all? I tell you that two empires
Will set in blood, in the East and in the West,
And Lutherism alone remain.
[Observing GORDON and BUTLER.
I'faith,
'Twas a smart cannonading that we heard
This evening, as we journeyed hitherward:
'Twas on our left hand. Did ye hear it here?
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 arquebusiers 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.
To these enter COUNT TERZKY.
TERZKY.
Joy, general, joy! I bring you welcome tidings.
WALLENSTEIN.
And what may they be?
TERZKY.
There has been an engagement
At Neustadt; the Swedes gained the victory.
WALLENSTEIN.
From whence did you receive the intelligence?
TERZKY.
A countryman from Tirschenreut conveyed it.
Soon after sunrise did the fight begin
A troop of the imperialists from Tachau
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 Gallas' force collects at Frauenberg,
And have not the full complement. Is it possible
That Suys perchance had ventured so far onward?
It cannot be.
TERZKY.
We shall soon know the whole,
For here comes Illo, full of haste, and joyous.
To these enter ILLO.
ILLO (to WALLENSTEIN).
A courier, duke! he wishes to speak with thee.
TERZKY (eagerly).
Does he bring confirmation of the victory?
WALLENSTEIN (at the same time).
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'erpowered by numbers
The Pappenheimers all, with Max. their leader,
[WALLENSTEIN shudders and turns pale.
Were left dead on the field.
WALLENSTEIN (after a pause, in a low voice).
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 TERZKY (at the same time).
What now?
NEUBRUNN.
The princess!
WALLENSTEIN and TERZKY.
Does she know it?
NEUBRUNN (at the same time with them).
She is dying!
[Hurries off the stage, when WALLENSTEIN and TERZKY follow her.
BUTLER and GORDON.
GORDON.
What's this?
BUTLER.
She has lost the man she loved—
Young Piccolomini, who fell in the battle.
GORDON.
Unfortunate lady!
BUTLER.
You have heard what Illo
Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerers,
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.
Sutler! 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
An "has been" washes out no villany,
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 never can be.
BUTLER.
Despatch 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 color at a daring enterprise.
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 passed by.
GORDON.
Oh, wherefore opened I the stronghold 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.
Come of it what may, on you I lay it.
GORDON.
Oh, 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 Terzky 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 villany
Watered and nursed the poisonous 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 merrymaking of a feast,
And keep them prisoners in the citadel,
But this makes shorter work. I go this instant
To give the necessary orders.
To these enter ILLO and TERZKY.
TERZKY.
Our luck is on the turn. To-morrow come
The Swedes—twelve thousand gallant warriors, Illo!
Then straightwise 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 ye, 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.
TERZKY.
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 avant-garde.
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 is 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. Gallas? 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.
TERZKY.
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 how 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 from you 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 needy 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, Terzky, it is supper-time. What think you?
Nay, shall we have the town illuminated
In honor of the Swede? And who refuses
To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor.
TERZKY.
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 the rule.
Gordon! good-night, and for the last time take
A fair leave of the place. Send out patrols
To make secure, the watchword may be altered.
At the stroke of ten deliver in the keys
To the duke himself, and then you've quit forever
Your wardship of the gates, for on to-morrow
The Swedes will take possession of the citadel.
TERZKY (as he is going, to BUTLER).
You come, though, to the castle?
BUTLER.
At the right time.
[Exeunt TERZKY and ILLO.
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 foolhardy villain,
That would fain bathe himself in his emperor's blood.
BUTLER.
Do as he ordered you. Send round patrols,
Take measures for the citadel's security;
When they are within I close the castle-gate
That nothing may transpire.
GORDON (with earnest anxiety).
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 hearts 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 honor, dignity, good name,
Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of
Still calculating, calculating still;
And yet at last his calculation proves
Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and low!
His own life will be found among the forfeits.
GORDON.
Oh, 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 occurrences of many events
Control and subjugate me to the office.
In vain the human being meditates
Free action. He is but the wire-worked [8] puppet
Of the blind Power, which, out of its 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 hitherwards? Fain would I
Have given him to the emperor's mercy. Gordon!
I do not wish his blood,—but I must ransom
The honor of my word,—it lies in pledge—
And he must die, or——
[Passionately grasping GORDON's hand.
Listen, then, and know
I am dishonored if the duke escape us.
GORDON.
Oh! 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 honor.
BUTLER (with a cold and haughty air).
He is a great lord,
This duke, and I am of but 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 honor—
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 endeavoring 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.
BUTLER [9] (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 dishonor 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.
[A gothic and gloomy 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 which had fallen
A colonel of the imperial army, frightened 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.
Oh, 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 wouldst 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 Terzky 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.
Oh, 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.
Oh 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 churchyard 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 me.
DUCHESS (to THEKLA, who starts and shivers).
There—pale as death! Child, 'tis impossible
That thou shouldst speak with him. Follow thy mother.
THEKLA.
The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me.
[Exeunt DUCHESS and COUNTESS.
CAPTAIN (respectfully approaching her).
Princess—I must entreat your gentle pardon—
My inconsiderate rash speech. How could!——
THEKLA (with dignity).
You have beheld 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,
Intrenched 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 leaped 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.
Both in van and flanks
With our whole cavalry we now received them;
Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot
Stretched out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them.
They neither could advance, nor yet retreat;
And as they stood on every side wedged in,
The Rhinegrave to their leader called aloud,
Inviting a surrender; but their leader,
Young Piccolomini——
[THEKLA, as giddy, grasps a chair.
Known by his plume,
And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches;
Himself leaped first: the regiment all plunged after.
His charger, by a halbert gored, reared up,
Flung him with violence off, and over him
The horses, now no longer to be curbed,——
[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.
THERLA.
'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 spurned; they fought like wounded tigers; their
Frantic resistance roused our soldiery;
A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest
Finished before their last man fell.
THEKLA (faltering).
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 honor 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.
NEUBRUNN (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 Catherine's.
THEKLA.
And how far is it thither?
CAPTAIN.
Near twelve leagues.
THEKLA.
And which the way?
CAPTAIN.
You go by Tirschenreut
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 shown a feeling heart. Please you, accept
[Giving him the ring.
A small memorial of this hour. Now go!
CAPTAIN (confusedly).
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.
THEKLA (falls on LADY NEUBRUNN's neck).
Now gentle Neubrunn, show 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 wouldst thou not have asked, hadst thou e'er loved.
There, that 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 arm 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.
Oh 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.
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. Oh, my only hope;
To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds—
That is a lot of heroes upon earth!
[Exit THEKLA. [10]
(The Curtain drops.)
THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN, and ROSENBERG.
NEUBRUNN.
He is here, lady, and he will procure them.
THEKLA.
Wilt thou provide us horses, Rosenberg?
ROSENBERG.
I will, my lady.
THEKLA.
And go with us as well?
ROSENBERG.
To the world's end, my lady.
THEKLA.
But consider,
Thou never canst return unto the duke.
ROSENBERG.
I will remain with thee.
THEKLA.
I will reward thee.
And will commend thee to another master.
Canst thou unseen conduct us from the castle?
ROSENBERG.
I can.
THEKLA.
When can I go?
ROSENBERG.
This very hour.
But whither would you, lady?
THEKLA.
To—Tell him, Neubrunn.
NEUBRUNN.
To Neustadt.
ROSENBERG.
So; I leave you to get ready.
[Exit.
NEUBRUNN.
Oh, see, your mother comes.
THEKLA.
Indeed! O Heaven!
THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN, the DUCHESS.
DUCHESS.
He's gone! I find thee more composed, my child.
THEKLA.
I am so, mother; let me only now
Retire to rest, and Neubrunn here be with me.
I want repose.
DUCHESS.
My Thekla, thou shalt have it.
I leave thee now consoled, since I can calm
Thy father's heart.
THEKLA.
Good night, beloved mother!
(Falling on her neck and embracing her with deep emotion).
DUCHESS.
Thou scarcely art composed e'en now, my daughter.
Thou tremblest strongly, and I feel thy heart
Beat audibly on mine.
THEKLA.
Sleep will appease
Its beating: now good-night, good-night, dear mother.
(As she withdraws from her mother's arms the curtain falls).
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 Terzky, and despatch 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.
Despatch! then, be the word; for enemies
Threaten us from without and from within.
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 DEVEREU%).
Thou wretched man
So easily leavest thou thy oath and colors?
DEVEREUX.
The devil! I but followed your example;
If you could prove a villain, why not we?
MACDONALD.
We've naught 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 (appeased).
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
You 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 favor,
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 fortune's all passed by?
BUTLER.
Forever.
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 (starting back)
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 swore a soldier's oath——
BUTLER.
The oath
Is null, for Friedland is a traitor.
DEVEREUX.
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 claimed 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.
'Twont do!
BUTLER.
Well, off then! and—send Pestalutz to me.
DEVEREUX (hesitates).
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 (after some reflection).
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 bow can we come at him.
The town is filled with Terzky's soldiery.
MACDONALD.
Ay! and then Terzky 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 ye, 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 knowest that I'm no milksop, 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 milksop!
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 despatch him.
BUTLER.
And would'st quiet
Thy conscience, thou hast naught 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 (starting up).
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 Ingolstadt 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 poinard-stroke
Cut Hartschier's windpipe, 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 fills 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, honor, splendor—you may safely
Laugh at the people's babble.
DEVEREUX.
If the business
Squares with one's honor—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 must he 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.
A saloon, terminated by a gallery, which extends far
into the background.
WALLENSTIN 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 TERZKY enters, stands before him for awhile, unobserved
by him; at length he starts, sees her and recollects himself.
WALLENSTEIN.
Comest 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. Oh, 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 and strides across the saloon).
The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.
COUNTESS.
Bid me not go, oh, 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 [11] 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 (remains for awhile with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the COUNTESS). See him again? Oh, 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. Oh, 'tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour
Veiled in thick darkness brings 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.
This anguish will be wearied down [12], I know;
What pang is permanent with man? 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 oh, he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transformed for me the real to a dream,
Clothing the palpable and the familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn,
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,
The beautiful is vanished—and returns not.
COUNTESS.
Oh, be not treacherous to thy own power.
Thy heart is rich enough to vivify
Itself. Thou lovest and prizest virtues in him,
The which thyself didst 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.
Oh, 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee;
A boding fear possesses me!
WALLENSTEIN.
Fear! Wherefore?
COUNTESS.
Shouldst thou depart this night, and we at waking
Never more find thee!
WALLENSTEIN.
Fancies!
COUNTESS.
Ob, my soul
Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings,
And if I combat and repel them waking,
They still crush down upon my heart in dreams,
I saw thee, yesternight with thy first wife
Sit at a banquet, gorgeously attired.
WALLENSTHIN.
This was a dream of favorable omen,
That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.
COUNTESS.
To-day I dreamed 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 shouldst 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 armed 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 even 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 rann'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 overtake thee;
When on a sudden did I feel myself
Grasped from behind,—the hand was cold that grasped me;
'Twas thou, and thou didst 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.
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 Terzky and Field-Marshal Illo.
WALLENSTEIN.
In honor of the victory—this tribe
Can show 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 eyes 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 were wont to play
The moralist and preacher, and wouldst 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 harbor, 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, 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 sacrificed to him—for me
There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault
He fell! No joy from favorable 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.
To these enter SENI.
WALLENSTEIN.
Is not that Seni! and beside himself,
If one can 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 the Swedes.
WALLENSTEIN.
What is it, then?
SENI (still more urgently).
Oh, 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. Oh, be warned!
Deliver not up thyself 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 shown 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 vouchsafed
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.
Oh 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 valor 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 amend
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 favor
Then e'er he stood when he had never fallen.
WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent a while,
betraying strong emotion).
Gordon—your zeal and fervor 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 Carinthia,
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 the 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 was 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 further end of the gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish, and stands leaning against a pillar.
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 bed-chamber.
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 were frantic, till
At last we threw him on the ground.
GORDON (shuddering).
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! Oh, 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 of).
The next moment
May ruin all.
GORDON (holds him still).
One hour!
BUTLER.
Unhold me! What
Can that short respite profit him?
GORDON.
Oh, 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. Oh, what
May not one hour achieve!
BUTLER.
You but remind me
How precious every minute is!
[He stamps on the floor.
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
Hot 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).
Oh, 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:
COUNTESS TERZKY (with a light).
Her bedchamber is empty; she herself
Is nowhere 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? Oh,
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!
GORDON (rushes in out of breath)
'Tis a mistake!
'Tis not the Swedes; ye must proceed no further—
Butler! Oh, God! where is he?
[Observing the COUNTESS.
Countess! Say——
COUNTESS.
You're come then from the castle? Where's my husband?
GORDON (in an agony of affright).
Your husband! Ask not! To the duke——
COUNTESS.
Not till
You have discovered to me——
GORDON.
On this moment
Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the duke.
While we are speaking——
[Calling loudly.
Butler! Butler! God!
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 imperialists' 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.
Oh, 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.
Servants run across the stage full of terror. The whole scene
must be spoken entirely without pauses.
SENI (from the gallery).
Oh, bloody, frightful deed!
COUNTESS.
What is it, Seni?
PAGE (from the gallery).
Oh, 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 murdered—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!
To these enter 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?
Oh, 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 (calmly).
I've but fulfilled the emperor's own sentence.
OCTAVIO.
Oh, curse of kings,
Infusing a dread life into their words,
And linking to the sudden, transient thought
The unchanging, irrevocable deed.
Was there necessity for such an eager
Despatch? Couldst 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.
To these enter the COUNTESS TERZKY, pale and disordered.
Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned.
OCTAVIO (meeting her).
Oh, Countess Terzky! 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 splendor, 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 (with a deep anguish).
Oh, 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 honors your adversity,
Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you
Her motherly arms. Therefore no further fears.
Yield yourself up in hope and confidence
To the imperial grace!
COUNTESS (with her eye raised to heaven)
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! Oh, let him
Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's
Remains I ask the like grace. The emperor
Is now the 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 (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy and
dignity).
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 dishonored 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.
Oh, 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.
[1] A great stone near Luetzen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body of their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the battle in which he lost his life.
[2] Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word afterworld for posterity,—"Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen Namen"—might have been rendered with more literal fidelity: Let world and afterworld speak out my name, etc.
[3] I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with a literal translation of this line,
werth
Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen.
[4] Anspessade, in German, Gefreiter, a soldier inferior to a corporal, but above the sentinels. The German name implies that he is exempt from mounting guard.
[5] I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I fear that I should not have done amiss had I taken this liberty more frequently. It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original, with a literal translation.
"Weh denen, die auf Dich vertraun, an Dich
Die sichre Huette ihres Glueckes lehnen,
Gelockt von deiner geistlichen Gestalt.
Schnell unverhofft, bei naechtlich stiller Weile,
Gaehrts in dem tueckschen Feuerschlunde, ladet,
Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg
Treibt ueber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen
Der wilde Strom in grausender Zerstoerung."
WALLENSTEIN.
"Du schilderst deines Vaters Herz. Wie Du's
Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide,
In dieser schwarzen Heuchlers Brust gestaltet.
Oh, mich hat Hoellenkunst getaeuscht! Mir sandte
Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der Geister,
Den Luegenkundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn
Als Freund an meiner Seite. Wer vermag
Der Hoelle Macht zu widersthn! Ich zog
Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen,
Mit meinem Herzblut naehrt' ich ihn, er sog
Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe Bruesten,
Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn,
Weit offen liess ich des Gedankens Thore,
Und warf die Schluessel weiser Vorsicht weg,
Am Sternenhimmel," etc.
"Alas! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee lean their secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable form. Suddenly, unexpectedly, in a moment still as night, there is a fermentation in the treacherous gulf of fire; it discharges itself with raging force, and away over all the plantations of men drives the wild stream in frightful devastation."
WALLENSTEIN.—"Thou art portraying thy father's heart; as thou describest, even so is it shaped in its entrails, in this black hypocrite's breast. Oh, the art of hell has deceived me! The abyss sent up to me the most the most spotted of the spirits, the most skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by my side. Who may withstand the power of hell? I took the basilisk to my bosom, with my heart's blood I nourished him; he sucked himself glutfull at the breasts of my love. I never harbored evil towards him; wide open did I leave the door of my thoughts; I threw away the key of wise foresight. In the starry heaven, etc." We find a difficulty in believing this to have been written by Schiller.
[6] This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate
simplicity of the original—
Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, Du warst
Das Kind des Hauses.
Indeed the whole speech is in the best style of Massinger.
O si sic omnia!
[7] It appears that the account of his conversion being caused by such a fall, and other stories of his juvenile character, are not well authenticated.
[8] We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a statement in the mouth of any character.—T.
[9] [This soliloquy, which, according to the former arrangement,
constituted the whole of scene ix., and concluded the fourth act,
is omitted in all the printed German editions. It seems probable
that it existed in the original manuscript from which Mr. Coleridge
translated.—ED.]
[10] The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty
lines twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I
thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between
Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without
injury to the play.—C.
[11] These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite
felicity:—
Am Himmel ist geschaeftige Bewegung.
Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht
Der Wolken Zug, die Mondessichel wankt
Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle.
The word "moon-sickle" reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word "falcated." "The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full: but from full to a new again the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated."
The words "wanken" and "schweben" are not easily translated. The
English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar
or antic, or not of sufficiently general application. So "der
Wolken Zug"—The Draft, the Procession of Clouds. The Masses of the
Clouds sweep onward in swift stream.
[12] A very inadequate translation of the original:—
Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,
Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!
I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious:
What does not man grieve down?
By Frederich Schiller
HERMANN GESSLER, Governor of Schwytz and Uri.
WERNER, Baron of Attinghausen, free noble of Switzerland.
ULRICH VON RUDENZ, his Nephew.
WERNER STAUFFACHER, |
CONRAD HUNN, |
HANS AUF DER MAUER, |
JORG IM HOFE, | People of Schwytz.
ULRICH DER SCHMIDT, |
JOST VON WEILER, |
ITEL REDING, |
WALTER FURST, |
WILHELM TELL, |
ROSSELMANN, the Priest, |
PETERMANN, Sacristan, | People of Uri.
KUONI, Herdsman, |
WERNI, Huntsman, |
RUODI, Fisherman, |
ARNOLD OF MELCHTHAL, |
CONRAD BAUMGARTEN, |
MEYER VON SARNEN, |
STRUTH VON WINKELRIED, | People of Unterwald.
KLAUS VON DER FLUE, |
BURKHART AM BUHEL, |
ARNOLD VON SEWA, |
PFEIFFER OF LUCERNE.
KUNZ OF GERSAU.
JENNI, Fisherman's Son.
SEPPI, Herdsman's Son.
GERTRUDE, Stauffacher's Wife.
HEDWIG, Wife of Tell, daughter of Furst.
BERTHA OF BRUNECK, a rich heiress.
ARMGART, |
MECHTHILD, | Peasant women.
ELSBETH, |
HILDEGARD, |
WALTER, | Tell's sons.
WILHELM, |
FRIESSHARDT, | Soldiers.
LEUTHOLD, |
RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, Gessler's master of the horse.
JOHANNES PARRICIDA, Duke of Suabia.
STUSSI, Overseer.
THE MAYOR OF URI.
A COURIER.
MASTER STONEMASON, COMPANIONS, AND WORKMEN.
TASKMASTER.
A CRIER.
MONKS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY.
HORSEMEN OF GESSLER AND LANDENBERG.
MANY PEASANTS; MEN AND WOMEN FROM THE WALDSTETTEN.
A high, rocky shore of the lake of Lucerne opposite Schwytz. The lake makes a bend into the land; a hut stands at a short distance from the shore; the fisher boy is rowing about in his boat. Beyond the lake are seen the green meadows, the hamlets, and arms of Schwytz, lying in the clear sunshine. On the left are observed the peaks of the Hacken, surrounded with clouds; to the right, and in the remote distance, appear the Glaciers. The Ranz des Vaches, and the tinkling of cattle-bells, continue for some time after the rising of the curtain.
FISHER BOY (sings in his boat).
Melody of the Ranz des Vaches.
The clear, smiling lake wooed to bathe in its deep,
A boy on its green shore had laid him to sleep;
Then heard he a melody
Flowing and soft,
And sweet, as when angels
Are singing aloft.
And as thrilling with pleasure he wakes from his rest,
The waters are murmuring over his breast;
And a voice from the deep cries,
"With me thou must go,
I charm the young shepherd,
I lure him below."
HERDSMAN (on the mountains).
Air.—Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.
Farewell, ye green meadows,
Farewell, sunny shore,
The herdsman must leave you,
The summer is o'er.
We go to the hills, but you'll see us again,
When the cuckoo is calling, and wood-notes are gay,
When flowerets are blooming in dingle and plain,
And the brooks sparkle up in the sunshine of May.
Farewell, ye green meadows,
Farewell, sunny shore,
The herdsman must leave you,
The summer is o'er.
CHAMOIS HUNTER (appearing on the top of a cliff).
Second Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.
On the heights peals the thunder, and trembles the bridge,
The huntsman bounds on by the dizzying ridge,
Undaunted he hies him
O'er ice-covered wild,
Where leaf never budded,
Nor spring ever smiled;
And beneath him an ocean of mist, where his eye
No longer the dwellings of man can espy;
Through the parting clouds only
The earth can be seen,
Far down 'neath the vapor
The meadows of green.
[A change comes over the landscape. A rumbling, cracking
noise is heard among the mountains. Shadows of clouds sweep
across the scene.
[RUODI, the fisherman, comes out of his cottage. WERNI, the
huntsman, descends from the rocks. KUONI, the shepherd, enters,
with a milk pail on his shoulders, followed by SERPI, his assistant.
RUODI.
Bestir thee, Jenni, haul the boat on shore.
The grizzly Vale-king [1] comes, the glaciers moan,
The lofty Mytenstein [2] draws on his hood,
And from the Stormcleft chilly blows the wind;
The storm will burst before we are prepared.
KUONI.
'Twill rain ere long; my sheep browse eagerly,
And Watcher there is scraping up the earth.
WERNI.
The fish are leaping, and the water-hen
Dives up and down. A storm is coming on.
KUONI (to his boy).
Look, Seppi, if the cattle are not straying.
SEPPI. There goes brown Liesel, I can hear her bells.
KUONI.
Then all are safe; she ever ranges farthest.
RUODI.
You've a fine yoke of bells there, master herdsman.
WERNI.
And likely cattle, too. Are they your own?
KUONI.
I'm not so rich. They are the noble lord's
Of Attinghaus, and trusted to my care.
RUODI.
How gracefully yon heifer bears her ribbon!
KUONI.
Ay, well she knows she's leader of the herd,
And, take it from her, she'd refuse to feed.
RUODI.
You're joking now. A beast devoid of reason.
WERNI.
That's easy said. But beasts have reason too—
And that we know, we men that hunt the chamois.
They never turn to feed—sagacious creatures!
Till they have placed a sentinel ahead,
Who pricks his ears whenever we approach,
And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe.
RUODI (to the shepherd).
Are you for home?
KUONI.
The Alp is grazed quite bare.
WERNI.
A safe return, my friend!
KUONI.
The same to you?
Men come not always back from tracks like yours.
RUODI.
But who comes here, running at topmost speed?
WERNI.
I know the man; 'tis Baumgart of Alzellen.
CONRAD BAUMGARTEN (rushing in breathless).
For God's sake, ferryman, your boat!
RUODI.
How now?
Why all this haste?
BAUMGARTEN.
Cast off! My life's at stake!
Set me across!
KUONI.
Why, what's the matter, friend?
WERNI.
Who are pursuing you? First tell us that.
BAUMGARTEN (to the fisherman).
Quick, quick, even now they're close upon my heels!
The viceroy's horsemen are in hot pursuit!
I'm a lost man should they lay hands upon me.
RUODI.
Why are the troopers in pursuit of you?
BAUMGARTEN.
First save my life and then I'll tell you all.
WERNI.
There's blood upon your garments—how is this?
BAUMGARTEN.
The imperial seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg.
KUONI.
How! What! The Wolfshot? [3] Is it he pursues you?
BAUMGARTEN.
He'll ne'er hunt man again; I've settled him.
ALL (starting back).
Now, God forgive you, what is this you've done!
BAUMGARTEN.
What every free man in my place had done.
I have but used mine own good household right
'Gainst him that would have wronged my wife—my honor.
KUONI.
And has he wronged you in your honor, then?
BAUMGARTEN.
That he did not fulfil his foul desire
Is due to God and to my trusty axe.
WERNI.
You've cleft his skull, then, have you, with your axe?
KUONI.
Oh, tell us all! You've time enough, before
The boat can be unfastened from its moorings.
BAUMGARTEN.
When I was in the forest, felling timber,
My wife came running out in mortal fear:
"The seneschal," she said, "was in my house,
Had ordered her to get a bath prepared,
And thereupon had taken unseemly freedoms,
From which she rid herself and flew to me."
Armed as I was I sought him, and my axe
Has given his bath a bloody benediction.
WERNI.
And you did well; no man can blame the deed.
KUONI.
The tyrant! Now he has his just reward!
We men of Unterwald have owed it long.
BAUMGARTEN.
The deed got wind, and now they're in pursuit.
Heavens! whilst we speak, the time is flying fast.
[It begins to thunder.
KUONI.
Quick, ferrymen, and set the good man over.
RUODI.
Impossible! a storm is close at hand,
Wait till it pass! You must.
BAUMGARTEN.
Almighty heavens!
I cannot wait; the least delay is death.
KUONI (to the fisherman).
Push out. God with you! We should help our neighbors;
The like misfortune may betide us all.
[Thunder and the roaring of the wind.
RUODI.
The south wind's up! [4] See how the lake is rising!
I cannot steer against both storm and wave.
BAUMGARTEN (clasping him by the knees).
God so help you, as now you pity me!
WERNI.
His life's at stake. Have pity on him, man!
KUONI.
He is a father: has a wife and children.
[Repeated peals of thunder.
RUODI.
What! and have I not, then, a life to lose,
A wife and child at home as well as he?
See, how the breakers foam, and toss, and whirl,
And the lake eddies up from all its depths!
Right gladly would I save the worthy man,
But 'tis impossible, as you must see.
BAUMGARTEN (still kneeling).
Then must I fall into the tyrant's hands,
And with the port of safety close in sight!
Yonder it lies! My eyes can measure it,
My very voice can echo to its shores.
There is the boat to carry me across,
Yet must I lie here helpless and forlorn.
KUONI.
Look! who comes here?
RUODI.
'Tis Tell, brave Tell, of Buerglen. [5]
[Enter TELL, with a crossbow.
TELL.
Who is the man that here implores for aid?
KUONI.
He is from Alzellen, and to guard his honor
From touch of foulest shame, has slain the Wolfshot!
The imperial seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg.
The viceroy's troopers are upon his heels;
He begs the boatman here to take him over,
But he, in terror of the storm, refuses.
RUODI.
Well, there is Tell can steer as well as I.
He'll be my judge, if it be possible.
[Violent peals of thunder—the lake becomes more tempestuous.
Am I to plunge into the jaws of hell?
I should be mad to dare the desperate act.
TELL.
The brave man thinks upon himself the last.
Put trust in God, and help him in his need!
RUODI.
Safe in the port, 'tis easy to advise.
There is the boat, and there the lake! Try you!
TELL.
The lake may pity, but the viceroy will not.
Come, venture, man!
SHEPHERD and HUNTSMAN.
Oh, save him! save him! save him!
RUODI.
Though 'twere my brother, or my darling child,
I would not go. It is St. Simon's day,
The lake is up, and calling for its victim.
TELL.
Naught's to be done with idle talking here.
Time presses on—the man must be assisted.
Say, boatman, will you venture?
RUODI.
No; not I.
TELL.
In God's name, then, give me the boat! I will
With my poor strength, see what is to be done!
KUONI.
Ha, noble Tell!
WERNI.
That's like a gallant huntsman!
BAUMGARTEN.
You are my angel, my preserver, Tell.
TELL.
I may preserve you from the viceroy's power
But from the tempest's rage another must.
Yet you had better fall into God's hands,
Than into those of men.
[To the herdsman.
Herdsman, do thou
Console my wife, should aught of ill befall me.
I do but what I may not leave undone.
[He leaps into the boat.
KUONI (to the fisherman).
A pretty man to be a boatman, truly!
What Tell could risk you dared not venture on.
RUODI.
Far better men than I would not ape Tell.
There does not live his fellow 'mong the mountains.
WERNI (who has ascended a rock).
He pushes off. God help thee now, brave sailor!
Look how his bark is reeling on the waves!
KUONI (on the shore).
The surge has swept clean over it. And now
'Tis out of sight. Yet stay, there 'tis again
Stoutly he stems the breakers, noble fellow!
SEPPI.
Here come the troopers hard as they can ride!
KUONI.
Heavens! so they do! Why, that was help, indeed.
[Enter a troop of horsemen.
FIRST HORSEMAN.
Give up the murderer! You have him here!
SECOND HORSEMAN.
This way he came! 'Tis useless to conceal him!
RUODI and KUONI.
Whom do you mean?
FIRST HORSEMAN (discovering the boat).
The devil! What do I see?
WERNI (from above).
Is't he in yonder boat ye seek? Ride on,
If you lay to, you may o'ertake him yet.
SECOND HORSEMAN.
Curse on you, he's escaped!
FIRST HORSEMAN (to the shepherd and fisherman).
You helped him off,
And you shall pay for it. Fall on their herds!
Down with the cottage! burn it! beat it down!
[They rush off.
SEPPI (hurrying after them).
Oh, my poor lambs!
KUONI (following him).
Unhappy me, my herds!
WERNI.
The tyrants!
RUODI (wringing his hands).
Righteous Heaven! Oh, when will come
Deliverance to this devoted land?
[Exeunt severally.
A lime-tree in front of STAUFFACHER'S house at Steinen,
in Schwytz, upon the public road, near a bridge.
WERNER STAUFFACHER and PFEIFFER, of Lucerne, enter into
conversation.
PFEIFFER.
Ay, ay, friend Stauffacher, as I have said,
Swear not to Austria, if you can help it.
Hold by the empire stoutly as of yore,
And God preserve you in your ancient freedom!
[Presses his hand warmly and is going.
STAUFFACHER.
Wait till my mistress comes. Now do! You are
My guest in Schwytz—I in Lucerne am yours.
PFEIFFER.
Thanks! thanks! But I must reach Gersau to-day.
Whatever grievances your rulers' pride
And grasping avarice may yet inflict,
Bear them in patience—soon a change may come.
Another emperor may mount the throne.
But Austria's once, and you are hers forever.
[Exit.
[STAUFEACHER sits down sorrowfully upon a bench under the lime tree. Gertrude, his wife, enters, and finds him in this posture. She places herself near him, and looks at him for some time in silence.
GERTRUDE.
So sad, my love! I scarcely know thee now.
For many a day in silence I have marked
A moody sorrow furrowing thy brow.
Some silent grief is weighing on thy heart;
Trust it to me. I am thy faithful wife,
And I demand my half of all thy cares.
[STAUFFACHER gives her his hand and is silent.
Tell me what can oppress thy spirits thus?
Thy toil is blest—the world goes well with thee—
Our barns are full—our cattle many a score;
Our handsome team of sleek and well-fed steeds,
Brought from the mountain pastures safely home,
To winter in their comfortable stalls.
There stands thy house—no nobleman's more fair!
'Tis newly built with timber of the best,
All grooved and fitted with the nicest skill;
Its many glistening windows tell of comfort!
'Tis quartered o'er with scutcheons of all hues,
And proverbs sage, which passing travellers
Linger to read, and ponder o'er their meaning.
STAUFFACHER.
The house is strongly built, and handsomely,
But, ah! the ground on which we built it totters.
GERTRUDE.
Tell me, dear Werner, what you mean by that?
STAUFFACHER.
No later since than yesterday, I sat
Beneath this linden, thinking with delight,
How fairly all was finished, when from Kuessnacht
The viceroy and his men came riding by.
Before this house he halted in surprise:
At once I rose, and, as beseemed his rank,
Advanced respectfully to greet the lord,
To whom the emperor delegates his power,
As judge supreme within our Canton here.
"Who is the owner of this house?" he asked,
With mischief in his thoughts, for well he knew.
With prompt decision, thus I answered him:
"The emperor, your grace—my lord and yours,
And held by one in fief." On this he answered,
"I am the emperor's viceregent here,
And will not that each peasant churl should build
At his own pleasure, bearing him as freely
As though he were the master in the land.
I shall make bold to put a stop to this!"
So saying he, with menaces, rode off,
And left me musing, with a heavy heart,
On the fell purpose that his words betrayed.
GERTRUDE.
Mine own dear lord and husband! Wilt thou take
A word of honest counsel from thy wife?
I boast to be the noble Iberg's child,
A man of wide experience. Many a time,
As we sat spinning in the winter nights,
My sisters and myself, the people's chiefs
Were wont to gather round our father's hearth,
To read the old imperial charters, and
To hold sage converse on the country's weal.
Then heedfully I listened, marking well
What or the wise men thought, or good man wished,
And garnered up their wisdom in my heart.
Hear then, and mark me well; for thou wilt see,
I long have known the grief that weighs thee down.
The viceroy hates thee, fain would injure thee,
For thou hast crossed his wish to bend the Swiss
In homage to this upstart house of princes,
And kept them stanch, like their good sires of old,
In true allegiance to the empire. Say.
Is't not so, Werner? Tell nee, am I wrong?
STAUFFACHER.
'Tis even so. For this doth Gessler hate me.
GERTRUDE.
He burns with envy, too, to see thee living
Happy and free on thy inheritance,
For he has none. From the emperor himself
Thou holdest in fief the lands thy fathers left thee.
There's not a prince in the empire that can show
A better title to his heritage;
For thou hast over thee no lord but one,
And he the mightiest of all Christian kings.
Gessler, we know, is but a younger son,
His only wealth the knightly cloak he wears;
He therefore views an honest man's good fortune
With a malignant and a jealous eye.
Long has he sworn to compass thy destruction
As yet thou art uninjured. Wilt thou wait
Till he may safely give his malice scope?
A wise man would anticipate the blow.
STAUFFACHER.
What's to be done?
GERTRUDE.
Now hear what I advise.
Thou knowest well, how here with us in Schwytz,
All worthy men are groaning underneath
This Gessler's grasping, grinding tyranny.
Doubt not the men of Unterwald as well,
And Uri, too, are chafing like ourselves,
At this oppressive and heart-wearying yoke.
For there, across the lake, the Landenberg
Wields the same iron rule as Gessler here—
No fishing-boat comes over to our side
But brings the tidings of some new encroachment,
Some outrage fresh, more grievous than the last.
Then it were well that some of you—true men—
Men sound at heart, should secretly devise
How best to shake this hateful thraldom off.
Well do I know that God would not desert you,
But lend his favor to the righteous cause.
Hast thou no friend in Uri, say, to whom
Thou frankly may'st unbosom all thy thoughts?
STAUFFACHER.
I know full many a gallant fellow there,
And nobles, too,—great men, of high repute,
In whom I can repose unbounded trust.
[Rising.
Wife! What a storm of wild and perilous thoughts
Hast thou stirred up within my tranquil breast?
The darkest musings of my bosom thou
Hast dragged to light, and placed them full before me,
And what I scarce dared harbor e'en in thought,
Thou speakest plainly out, with fearless tongue.
But hast thou weighed well what thou urgest thus?
Discord will come, and the fierce clang of arms,
To scare this valley's long unbroken peace,
If we, a feeble shepherd race, shall dare
Him to the fight that lords it o'er the world.
Even now they only wait some fair pretext
For setting loose their savage warrior hordes,
To scourge and ravage this devoted land,
To lord it o'er us with the victor's rights,
And 'neath the show of lawful chastisement,
Despoil us of our chartered liberties.
GERTRUDE.
You, too, are men; can wield a battle-axe
As well as they. God ne'er deserts the brave.
STAUFFACHER.
Oh wife! a horrid, ruthless fiend is war,
That strikes at once the shepherd and his flock.
GERTRUDE.
Whate'er great heaven inflicts we must endure;
No heart of noble temper brooks injustice.
STAUFFACHER.
This house—thy pride—war, unrelenting war,
Will burn it down.
GERTRUDE.
And did I think this heart
Enslaved and fettered to the things of earth,
With my own hand I'd hurl the kindling torch.
STAUFFACHER.
Thou hast faith in human kindness, wife; but war
Spares not the tender infant in its cradle.
GERTRUDE.
There is a friend to innocence in heaven
Look forward, Werner—not behind you, now!
STAUFFACHER.
We men may perish bravely, sword in hand;
But oh, what fate, my Gertrude, may be thine?
GERTRUDE.
None are so weak, but one last choice is left.
A spring from yonder bridge, and I am free!
STAUFFACHER (embracing her).
Well may he fight for hearth and home that clasps
A heart so rare as thine against his own!
What are the hosts of emperors to him!
Gertrude, farewell! I will to Uri straight.
There lives my worthy comrade, Walter Furst,
His thoughts and mine upon these times are one.
There, too, resides the noble Banneret
Of Attinghaus. High though of blood he be,
He loves the people, honors their old customs.
With both of these I will take counsel how
To rid us bravely of our country's foe.
Farewell! and while I am away, bear thou
A watchful eye in management at home.
The pilgrim journeying to the house of God,
And pious monk, collecting for his cloister,
To these give liberally from purse and garner.
Stauffacher's house would not be hid. Right out
Upon the public way it stands, and offers
To all that pass an hospitable roof.
[While they are retiring, TELL enters with BAUMGARTEN.
TELL.
Now, then, you have no further need of me.
Enter yon house. 'Tis Werner Stauffacher's,
A man that is a father to distress.
See, there he is himself! Come, follow me.
[They retire up. Scene changes.
A common near Altdorf. On an eminence in the background a castle in progress of erection, and so far advanced that the outline of the whole may be distinguished. The back part is finished; men are working at the front. Scaffolding, on which the workmen are going up and down. A slater is seen upon the highest part of the roof.— All is bustle and activity.
TASKMASTER, MASON, WORKMEN, and LABORERS.
TASKMASTER (with a stick, urging on the workmen).
Up, up! You've rested long enough. To work!
The stones here, now the mortar, and the lime!
And let his lordship see the work advanced
When next he comes. These fellows crawl like snails!
[To two laborers with loads.
What! call ye that a load? Go, double it.
Is this the way ye earn your wages, laggards?
FIRST WORKMAN.
'Tis very hard that we must bear the stones,
To make a keep and dungeon for ourselves!
TASKMASTER.
What's that you mutter? 'Tis a worthless race,
And fit for nothing but to milk their cows,
And saunter idly up and down the mountains.
OLD MAN (sinks down exhausted).
I can no more.
TASKMASTER (shaking him).
Up, up, old man, to work!
FIRST WORKMAN.
Have you no bowels of compassion, thus
To press so hard upon a poor old man,
That scarce can drag his feeble limbs along?
MASTER MASON and WORKMEN.
Shame, shame upon you—shame! It cries to heaven!
TASKMASTER.
Mind your own business. I but do my duty.
FIRST WORKMAN.
Pray, master, what's to be the name of this
Same castle when 'tis built?
TASKMASTER.
The keep of Uri;
For by it we shall keep you in subjection.
WORKMEN.
The keep of Uri.
TASKMASTER.
Well, why laugh at that?
SECOND WORKMAN.
So you'll keep Uri with this paltry place!
FIRST WORKMAN.
How many molehills such as that must first
Be piled above each other ere you make
A mountain equal to the least in Uri?
[TASKMASTER retires up the stage.
MASTER MASON.
I'll drown the mallet in the deepest lake,
That served my hand on this accursed pile.
[Enter TELL and STAUFFACHER.
STAUFFACHER.
Oh, that I had not lived to see this sight!
TELL.
Here 'tis not good to be. Let us proceed.
STAUFFACHER.
Am I in Uri, in the land of freedom?
MASTER MASON.
Oh, sir, if you could only see the vaults
Beneath these towers. The man that tenants them
Will never hear the cock crow more.
STAUFFACHER.
O God!
MASTER MASON.
Look at these ramparts and these buttresses,
That seem as they were built to last forever.
TELL.
Hands can destroy whatever hands have reared.
[Pointing to the mountains.
That house of freedom God hath built for us.
[A drum is heard. People enter bearing a cap upon a pole, followed by a crier. Women and children thronging tumultuously after them.
FIRST WORKMAN.
What means the drum? Give heed!
MASTER MASON.
Why here's a mumming!
And look, the cap,—what can they mean by that?
CRIER.
In the emperor's name, give ear!
WORKMEN.
Hush! silence! hush!
CRIER.
Ye men of Uri, ye do see this cap!
It will be set upon a lofty pole
In Altdorf, in the market-place: and this
Is the lord governor's good will and pleasure,
The cap shall have like honor as himself,
And all shall reverence it with bended knee,
And head uncovered; thus the king will know
Who are his true and loyal subjects here:
His life and goods are forfeit to the crown,
That shall refuse obedience to the order.
[The people burst out into laughter. The drum beats,
and the procession passes on.
FIRST WORKMAN.
A strange device to fall upon, indeed!
Do reverence to a cap! a pretty farce!
Heard ever mortal anything like this?
MASTER MASON.
Down to a cap on bended knee, forsooth!
Rare jesting this with men of sober sense!
FIRST WORKMAN.
Nay, were it but the imperial crown, indeed!
But 'tis the cap of Austria! I've seen it
Hanging above the throne in Gessler's hall.
MASTER MASON.
The cap of Austria! Mark that! A snare
To get us into Austria's power, by heaven!
WORKMEN.
No freeborn man will stoop to such disgrace.
MASTER MASON.
Come—to our comrades, and advise with them!
[They retire up.
TELL (to STAUFFACHER).
You see how matters stand: Farewell, my friend!
STAUFFACHER.
Whither away? Oh, leave us not so soon.
TELL.
They look for me at home. So fare ye well.
STAUFFACHER.
My heart's so full, and has so much to tell you.
TELL.
Words will not make a heart that's heavy light.
STAUFFACHER.
Yet words may possibly conduct to deeds.
TELL.
All we can do is to endure in silence.
STAUFFACHER.
But shall we bear what is not to be borne?
TELL.
Impetuous rulers have the shortest reigns.
When the fierce south wind rises from his chasms,
Men cover up their fires, the ships in haste
Make for the harbor, and the mighty spirit
Sweeps o'er the earth, and leaves no trace behind.
Let every man live quietly at home;
Peace to the peaceful rarely is denied.
STAUFFACHER.
And is it thus you view our grievances?
TELL.
The serpent stings not till it is provoked.
Let them alone; they'll weary of themselves,
Whene'er they see we are not to be roused.
STAUFFACHER.
Much might be done—did we stand fast together.
TELL.
When the ship founders, he will best escape
Who seeks no other's safety but his own.
STAUFFACHER.
And you desert the common cause so coldly?
TELL.
A man can safely count but on himself!
STAUFFACHER.
Nay, even the weak grow strong by union.
TELL.
But the strong man is the strongest when alone.
STAUFFACHER.
Your country, then, cannot rely on you
If in despair she rise against her foes.
TELL.
Tell rescues the lost sheep from yawning gulfs:
Is he a man, then, to desert his friends?
Yet, whatsoe'er you do, spare me from council!
I was not born to ponder and select;
But when your course of action is resolved,
Then call on Tell; you shall not find him fail.
[Exeunt severally. A sudden tumult is heard around the scaffolding.
MASTER MASON (running in).
What's wrong?
FIRST WORKMAN (running forward).
The slater's fallen from the roof.
BERTHA (rushing in).
Is he dashed to pieces? Run—save him, help!
If help be possible, save him! Here is gold.
[Throws her trinkets among the people.
MASTER MASON.
Hence with your gold,—your universal charm,
And remedy for ill! When you have torn
Fathers from children, husbands from their wives,
And scattered woe and wail throughout the land,
You think with gold to compensate for all.
Hence! Till we saw you we were happy men;
With you came misery and dark despair.
BERTHA (to the TASKMASTER, who has returned).
Lives he?
[TASKMASTER shakes his head.
Ill-fated towers, with curses built,
And doomed with curses to be tenanted!
[Exit.
The House of WALTER FURST.
WALTER FURST and ARNOLD
VON MELCHTHAL enter simultaneously at different sides.
MELCHTHAL.
Good Walter Furst.
FURST.
If we should be surprised!
Stay where you are. We are beset with spies.
MELCHTHAL.
Have you no news for me from Unterwald?
What of my father? 'Tis not to be borne,
Thus to be pent up like a felon here!
What have I done of such a heinous stamp,
To skulk and hide me like a murderer?
I only laid my staff across the fingers
Of the pert varlet, when before my eyes,
By order of the governor, he tried
To drive away my handsome team of oxen.
FURST.
You are too rash by far. He did no more
Than what the governor had ordered him.
You had transgressed, and therefore should have paid
The penalty, however hard, in silence.
MELCHTHAL.
Was I to brook the fellow's saucy words?
"That if the peasant must have bread to eat;
Why, let him go and draw the plough himself!"
It cut me to the very soul to see
My oxen, noble creatures, when the knave
Unyoked them from the plough. As though they felt
The wrong, they lowed and butted with their horns.
On this I could contain myself no longer,
And, overcome by passion, struck him down.
FURST.
Oh, we old men can scarce command ourselves!
And can we wonder youth shall break its bounds?
MELCHTHAL.
I'm only sorry for my father's sake!
To be away from him, that needs so much
My fostering care! The governor detests him,
Because he hath, whene'er occasion served,
Stood stoutly up for right and liberty.
Therefore they'll bear him hard—the poor old man!
And there is none to shield him from their gripe.
Come what come may, I must go home again.
FURST.
Compose yourself, and wait in patience till
We get some tidings o'er from Unterwald.
Away! away! I hear a knock! Perhaps
A message from the viceroy! Get thee in!
You are not safe from Landenberger's [6] arm
In Uri, for these tyrants pull together.
MELCHTHAL.
They teach us Switzers what we ought to do.
FURST.
Away! I'll call you when the coast is clear.
[MELCHTHAL retires.
Unhappy youth! I dare not tell him all
The evil that my boding heart predicts!
Who's there? The door ne'er opens but I look
For tidings of mishap. Suspicion lurks
With darkling treachery in every nook.
Even to our inmost rooms they force their way,
These myrmidons of power; and soon we'll need
To fasten bolts and bars upon our doors.
[He opens the door and steps back in surprise as
WERNER STAUFFACHER enters.
What do I see? You, Werner? Now, by Heaven!
A valued guest, indeed. No man e'er set
His foot across this threshold more esteemed.
Welcome! thrice welcome, Werner, to my roof!
What brings you here? What seek you here in Uri?
STAUFFACHER (shakes FURST by the hand).
The olden times and olden Switzerland.
FURST.
You bring them with you. See how I'm rejoiced,
My heart leaps at the very sight of you.
Sit down—sit down, and tell me how you left
Your charming wife, fair Gertrude? Iberg's child,
And clever as her father. Not a man,
That wends from Germany, by Meinrad's Cell, [7]
To Italy, but praises far and wide
Your house's hospitality. But say,
Have you come here direct from Flueelen,
And have you noticed nothing on your way,
Before you halted at my door?
STAUFFACHER (sits down).
I saw
A work in progress, as I came along,
I little thought to see—that likes me ill.
FURST.
O friend! you've lighted on my thought at once.
STAUFFACHER.
Such things in Uri ne'er were known before.
Never was prison here in man's remembrance,
Nor ever any stronghold but the grave.
FURST.
You name it well. It is the grave of freedom.
STAUFFACHER.
Friend, Walter Furst, I will be plain with you.
No idle curiosity it is
That brings me here, but heavy cares. I left
Thraldom at home, and thraldom meets me here.
Our wrongs, e'en now, are more than we can bear.
And who shall tell us where they are to end?
From eldest time the Switzer has been free,
Accustomed only to the mildest rule.
Such things as now we suffer ne'er were known
Since herdsmen first drove cattle to the hills.
FURST.
Yes, our oppressions are unparalleled!
Why, even our own good lord of Attinghaus,
Who lived in olden times, himself declares
They are no longer to be tamely borne.
STAUFFACHER.
In Unterwalden yonder 'tis the same;
And bloody has the retribution been.
The imperial seneschal, the Wolfshot, who
At Rossberg dwelt, longed for forbidden fruits—
Baumgarten's wife, that lives at Alzellen,
He wished to overcome in shameful sort,
On which the husband slew him with his axe.
FURST.
Oh, Heaven is just in all its judgments still!
Baumgarten, say you? A most worthy man.
Has he escaped, and is he safely hid?
STAUFFACHER.
Your son-in-law conveyed him o'er the lake,
And he lies hidden in my house at Steinen.
He brought the tidings with him of a thing
That has been done at Sarnen, worse than all,
A thing to make the very heart run blood!
FURST (attentively).
Say on. What is it?
STAUFFACHER.
There dwells in Melchthal, then,
Just as you enter by the road from Kearns,
An upright man, named Henry of the Halden,
A man of weight and influence in the Diet.
FURST.
Who knows him not? But what of him? Proceed.
STAUFFACHER.
The Landenberg, to punish some offence,
Committed by the old man's son, it seems,
Had given command to take the youth's best pair
Of oxen from his plough: on which the lad
Struck down the messenger and took to flight.
FURST.
But the old father—tell me, what of him?
STAUFFACHER.
The Landenberg sent for him, and required
He should produce his son upon the spot;
And when the old man protested, and with truth,
That he knew nothing of the fugitive,
The tyrant called his torturers.
FURST (springs up and tries to lead him to the other side).
Hush, no more!
STAUFFACHER (with increasing warmth).
"And though thy son," he cried, "Has escaped me now,
I have thee fast, and thou shalt feel my vengeance."
With that they flung the old man to the earth,
And plunged the pointed steel into his eyes.
FURST.
Merciful heavens!
MELCHTHAL (rushing out).
Into his eyes, his eyes?
STAUFFACHER (addresses himself in astonishment to WALTER FURST).
Who is this youth?
MELCHTHAL (grasping him convulsively).
Into his eyes? Speak, speak!
FURST.
Oh, miserable hour!
STAUFFACHER.
Who is it, tell me?
[STAUFFACHER makes a sign to him.
It is his son! All righteous heaven!
MELCHTHAL.
And I
Must be from thence! What! into both his eyes?
FURST.
Be calm, be calm; and bear it like a man!
MELCHTHAL.
And all for me—for my mad wilful folly!
Blind, did you say? Quite blind—and both his eyes?
STAUFFACHER.
Even so. The fountain of his sight's dried up.
He ne'er will see the blessed sunshine more.
FURST.
Oh, spare his anguish!
MELCHTHAL.
Never, never more!
[Presses his hands upon his eyes and is silent for some
moments; then turning from one to the other, speaks in a
subdued tone, broken by sobs.
O the eye's light, of all the gifts of heaven,
The dearest, best! From light all beings live—
Each fair created thing—the very plants
Turn with a joyful transport to the light,
And he—he must drag on through all his days
In endless darkness! Never more for him
The sunny meads shall glow, the flowerets bloom;
Nor shall he more behold the roseate tints
Of the iced mountain top! To die is nothing,
But to have life, and not have sight—oh, that
Is misery indeed! Why do you look
So piteously at me? I have two eyes,
Yet to my poor blind father can give neither!
No, not one gleam of that great sea of light,
That with its dazzling splendor floods my gaze.
STAUFFACHER.
Ah, I must swell the measure of your grief,
Instead of soothing it. The worst, alas!
Remains to tell. They've stripped him of his all;
Naught have they left him, save his staff, on which,
Blind and in rags, he moves from door to door.
MELCHTHAL.
Naught but his staff to the old eyeless man!
Stripped of his all—even of the light of day,
The common blessing of the meanest wretch.
Tell me no more of patience, of concealment!
Oh, what a base and coward thing am I,
That on mine own security I thought
And took no care of thine! Thy precious head
Left as a pledge within the tyrant's grasp!
Hence, craven-hearted prudence, hence! And all
My thoughts be vengeance, and the despot's blood!
I'll seek him straight—no power shall stay me now—
And at his hands demand my father's eyes.
I'll beard him 'mid a thousand myrmidons!
What's life to me, if in his heart's best blood
I cool the fever of this mighty anguish.
[He is going.
FURST.
Stay, this is madness, Melchthal! What avails
Your single arm against his power? He sits
At Sarnen high within his lordly keep,
And, safe within its battlemented walls,
May laugh to scorn your unavailing rage.
MELCHTHAL.
And though he sat within the icy domes
Of yon far Schreckhorn—ay, or higher, where
Veiled since eternity, the Jungfrau soars,
Still to the tyrant would I make my way;
With twenty comrades minded like myself,
I'd lay his fastness level with the earth!
And if none follow me, and if you all,
In terror for your homesteads and your herds,
Bow in submission to the tyrant's yoke,
I'll call the herdsmen on the hills around me,
And there beneath heaven's free and boundless roof,
Where men still feel as men, and hearts are true
Proclaim aloud this foul enormity!
STAUFFACHER (to FURST).
'Tis at its height—and are we then to wait
Till some extremity——
MELCHTHAL.
What extremity
Remains for apprehension, where men's eyes
Have ceased to be secure within their sockets?
Are we defenceless? Wherefore did we learn
To bend the crossbow—wield the battle-axe?
What living creature, but in its despair,
Finds for itself a weapon of defence?
The baited stag will turn, and with the show
Of his dread antlers hold the hounds at bay;
The chamois drags the huntsman down the abyss;
The very ox, the partner of man's toil,
The sharer of his roof, that meekly bends
The strength of his huge neck beneath the yoke,
Springs up, if he's provoked, whets his strong horn,
And tosses his tormenter to the clouds.
FURST.
If the three Cantons thought as we three do,
Something might, then, be done, with good effect.
STAUFFACHER.
When Uri calls, when Unterwald replies,
Schwytz will be mindful of her ancient league. [8]
MELCHTHAL.
I've many friends in Unterwald, and none
That would not gladly venture life and limb
If fairly backed and aided by the rest.
Oh, sage and reverend fathers of this land,
Here do I stand before your riper years,
An unskilled youth whose voice must in the Diet
Still be subdued into respectful silence.
Do not, because that I am young and want
Experience, slight my counsel and my words.
'Tis not the wantonness of youthful blood
That fires my spirit; but a pang so deep
That even the flinty rocks must pity me.
You, too, are fathers, heads of families,
And you must wish to have a virtuous son
To reverence your gray hairs and shield your eyes
With pious and affectionate regard.
Do not, I pray, because in limb and fortune
You still are unassailed, and still your eyes
Revolve undimmed and sparkling in their spheres;
Oh, do not, therefore, disregard our wrongs!
Above you, too, doth hang the tyrant's sword.
You, too, have striven to alienate the land
From Austria. This was all my father's crime:
You share his guilt and may his punishment.
STAUFFACHER (to FURST).
Do then resolve! I am prepared to follow.
FURST.
First let us learn what steps the noble lords
Von Sillinen and Attinghaus propose.
Their names would rally thousands in the cause.
MELCHTHAL.
Is there a name within the Forest Mountains
That carries more respect than thine—and thine?
To names like these the people cling for help
With confidence—such names are household words.
Rich was your heritage of manly virtue,
And richly have you added to its stores.
What need of nobles? Let us do the work
Ourselves. Although we stood alone, methinks
We should be able to maintain our rights.
STAUFFACHER.
The nobles' wrongs are not so great as ours.
The torrent that lays waste the lower grounds
Hath not ascended to the uplands yet.
But let them see the country once in arms
They'll not refuse to lend a helping hand.
FURST.
Were there an umpire 'twixt ourselves and Austria,
Justice and law might then decide our quarrel.
But our oppressor is our emperor, too,
And judge supreme. 'Tis God must help us, then,
And our own arm! Be yours the task to rouse
The men of Schwytz; I'll rally friends in Uri.
But whom are we to send to Unterwald?
MELCHTHAL.
Thither send me. Whom should it more concern?
FURST.
No, Melchthal, no; thou art my guest, and I
Must answer for thy safety.
MELCHTHAL.
Let me go.
I know each forest track and mountain pass;
Friends too I'll find, be sure, on every hand,
To give me willing shelter from the foe.
STAUFFACHER.
Nay, let him go; no traitors harbor there:
For tyranny is so abhorred in Unterwald
No minions can be found to work her will.
In the low valleys, too, the Alzeller
Will gain confederates and rouse the country.
MELCHTHAL.
But how shall we communicate, and not
Awaken the suspicion of the tyrants?
STAUFFACHER.
Might we not meet at Brunnen or at Treib,
Hard by the spot where merchant-vessels land?
FURST.
We must not go so openly to work.
Hear my opinion. On the lake's left bank,
As we sail hence to Brunnen, right against
The Mytenstein, deep-hidden in the wood
A meadow lies, by shepherds called the Rootli,
Because the wood has been uprooted there.
'Tis where our Canton boundaries verge on yours;—
[To MELCHTHAL.
Your boat will carry you across from Schwytz.
[To STAUFFACHER.
Thither by lonely by-paths let us wend
At midnight and deliberate o'er our plans.
Let each bring with him there ten trusty men,
All one at heart with us; and then we may
Consult together for the general weal,
And, with God's guidance, fix our onward course.
STAUFFACHER.
So let it be. And now your true right hand!
Yours, too, young man! and as we now three men
Among ourselves thus knit our hands together
In all sincerity and truth, e'en so
Shall we three Cantons, too, together stand
In victory and defeat, in life and death.
FURST and MELCHTHAL.
In life and death.
[They hold their hands clasped together for some moments in silence.
MELCHTHAL.
Alas, my old blind father!
Thou canst no more behold the day of freedom;
But thou shalt hear it. When from Alp to Alp
The beacon-fires throw up their flaming signs,
And the proud castles of the tyrants fall,
Into thy cottage shall the Switzer burst,
Bear the glad tidings to thine ear, and o'er
Thy darkened way shall Freedom's radiance pour.
The Mansion of the BARON OF ATTINGHAUSEN. A Gothic hall, decorated with escutcheons and helmets. The BARON, a gray-headed man, eighty-five years old, tall, and of a commanding mien, clad in a furred pelisse, and leaning on a staff tipped with chamois horn. KUONI and six hinds standing round him, with rakes and scythes. ULRICH OF RUDENZ enters in the costume of a knight.
RUDENZ.
Uncle, I'm here! Your will?
ATTINGHAUSEN.
First let me share,
After the ancient custom of our house,
The morning-cup with these my faithful servants!
[He drinks from a cup, which is then passed round.
Time was I stood myself in field and wood,
With mine own eyes directing all their toil,
Even as my banner led them in the fight,
Now I am only fit to play the steward;
And, if the genial sun come not to me,
I can no longer seek it on the mountains.
Thus slowly, in an ever-narrowing sphere,
I move on to the narrowest and the last,
Where all life's pulses cease. I now am but
The shadow of my former self, and that
Is fading fast—'twill soon be but a name.
KUONI (offering RUDENZ the cup).
A pledge, young master!
[RUDENZ hesitates to take the cup.
Nay, sir, drink it off!
One cup, one heart! You know our proverb, sir!
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Go, children, and at eve, when work is done,
We'll meet and talk the country's business over.
[Exeunt Servants.
Belted and plumed, and all thy bravery on!
Thou art for Altdorf—for the castle, boy?
RUDENZ.
Yes, uncle. Longer may I not delay——
ATTINGHAUSEN (sitting down).
Why in such haste? Say, are thy youthful hours
Doled in such niggard measure that thou must
Be chary of then to thy aged uncle?
RUDENZ.
I see, my presence is not needed here,
I am but as a stranger in this house.
ATTINGHAUSEN (gazes fixedly at him for a considerable time).
Alas, thou art indeed! Alas, that home
To thee has grown so strange! Oh, Uly! Uly!
I scarce do know thee now, thus decked in silks,
The peacock's feather [9] flaunting in thy cap,
And purple mantle round thy shoulders flung;
Thou lookest upon the peasant with disdain,
And takest with a blush his honest greeting.
RUDENZ.
All honor due to him I gladly pay,
But must deny the right he would usurp.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
The sore displeasure of the king is resting
Upon the land, and every true man's heart
Is full of sadness for the grievous wrongs
We suffer from our tyrants. Thou alone
Art all unmoved amid the general grief.
Abandoning thy friends, thou takest thy stand
Beside thy country's foes, and, as in scorn
Of our distress, pursuest giddy joys,
Courting the smiles of princes, all the while
Thy country bleeds beneath their cruel scourge.
RUDENZ.
The land is sore oppressed; I know it, uncle.
But why? Who plunged it into this distress?
A word, one little easy word, might buy
Instant deliverance from such dire oppression,
And win the good-will of the emperor.
Woe unto those who seal the people's eyes,
And make them adverse to their country's good;
The men who, for their own vile, selfish ends,
Are seeking to prevent the Forest States
From swearing fealty to Austria's house,
As all the countries round about have done.
It fits their humor well, to take their seats
Amid the nobles on the Herrenbank; [10]
They'll have the Caesar for their lord, forsooth,
That is to say, they'll have no lord at all.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Must I hear this, and from thy lips, rash boy!
RUDENZ.
You urged me to this answer. Hear me out.
What, uncle, is the character you've stooped
To fill contentedly through life? Have you
No higher pride, than in these lonely wilds
To be the Landamman or Banneret, [11]
The petty chieftain of a shepherd race?
How! Were it not a far more glorious choice
To bend in homage to our royal lord,
And swell the princely splendors of his court,
Than sit at home, the peer of your own vassals,
And share the judgment-seat with vulgar clowns?
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Ah, Uly, Uly; all too well I see,
The tempter's voice has caught thy willing ear,
And poured its subtle poison in thy heart.
RUDENZ.
Yes, I conceal it not. It doth offend
My inmost soul to hear the stranger's gibes,
That taunt us with the name of "Peasant Nobles."
Think you the heart that's stirring here can brook,
While all the young nobility around
Are reaping honor under Hapsburg's banner,
That I should loiter, in inglorious ease,
Here on the heritage my fathers left,
And, in the dull routine of vulgar toil,
Lose all life's glorious spring? In other lands
Deeds are achieved. A world of fair renown
Beyond these mountains stirs in martial pomp.
My helm and shield are rusting in the hall;
The martial trumpet's spirit-stirring blast,
The herald's call, inviting to the lists,
Rouse not the echoes of these vales, where naught
Save cowherd's horn and cattle-bell is heard,
In one unvarying, dull monotony.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Deluded boy, seduced by empty show!
Despise the land that gave thee birth! Ashamed
Of the good ancient customs of thy sires!
The day will come, when thou, with burning tears,
Wilt long for home, and for thy native hills,
And that dear melody of tuneful herds,
Which now, in proud disgust, thou dost despise!
A day when thou wilt drink its tones in sadness,
Hearing their music in a foreign land.
Oh! potent is the spell that binds to home!
No, no, the cold, false world is not for thee.
At the proud court, with thy true heart thou wilt
Forever feel a stranger among strangers.
The world asks virtues of far other stamp
Than thou hast learned within these simple vales.
But go—go thither; barter thy free soul,
Take land in fief, become a prince's vassal,
Where thou might'st be lord paramount, and prince
Of all thine own unburdened heritage!
O, Uly, Uly, stay among thy people!
Go not to Altdorf. Oh, abandon not
The sacred cause of thy wronged native land!
I am the last of all my race. My name
Ends with me. Yonder hang my helm and shield;
They will be buried with me in the grave. [12]
And must I think, when yielding up my breath,
That thou but wait'st the closing of mine eyes,
To stoop thy knee to this new feudal court,
And take in vassalage from Austria's hands
The noble lands, which I from God received
Free and unfettered as the mountain air!
RUDENZ.
'Tis vain for us to strive against the king.
The world pertains to him:—shall we alone,
In mad, presumptuous obstinacy strive
To break that mighty chain of lands, which he
Hath drawn around us with his giant grasp.
His are the markets, his the courts; his too
The highways; nay, the very carrier's horse,
That traffics on the Gotthardt, pays him toll.
By his dominions, as within a net,
We are enclosed, and girded round about.
—And will the empire shield us? Say, can it
Protect itself 'gainst Austria's growing power?
To God, and not to emperors, must we look!
What store can on their promises be placed,
When they, to meet their own necessities,
Can pawn, and even alienate the towns
That flee for shelter 'neath the eagle's wings? [13]
No, uncle. It is wise and wholesome prudence,
In times like these, when faction's all abroad,
To own attachment to some mighty chief.
The imperial crown's transferred from line to line, [14]
It has no memory for faithful service:
But to secure the favor of these great
Hereditary masters, were to sow
Seed for a future harvest.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Art so wise?
Wilt thou see clearer than thy noble sires,
Who battled for fair freedom's costly gem,
With life, and fortune, and heroic arm?
Sail down the lake to Lucerne, there inquire,
How Austria's rule doth weigh the Cantons down.
Soon she will come to count our sheep, our cattle,
To portion out the Alps, e'en to their summits,
And in our own free woods to hinder us
From striking down the eagle or the stag;
To set her tolls on every bridge and gate,
Impoverish us to swell her lust of sway,
And drain our dearest blood to feed her wars.
No, if our blood must flow, let it be shed
In our own cause! We purchase liberty
More cheaply far than bondage.
RUDENZ.
What can we,
A shepherd race, against great Albert's hosts?
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Learn, foolish boy, to know this shepherd race!
I know them, I have led them on in fight—
I saw them in the battle at Favenz.
Austria will try, forsooth, to force on us
A yoke we are determined not to bear!
Oh, learn to feel from what a race thou'rt sprung!
Cast not, for tinsel trash and idle show,
The precious jewel of thy worth away.
To be the chieftain of a freeborn race,
Bound to thee only by their unbought love,
Ready to stand—to fight—to die with thee,
Be that thy pride, be that thy noblest boast!
Knit to thy heart the ties of kindred—home—
Cling to the land, the dear land of thy sires,
Grapple to that with thy whole heart and soul!
Thy power is rooted deep and strongly here,
But in yon stranger world thou'lt stand alone,
A trembling reed beat down by every blast.
Oh come! 'tis long since we have seen thee, Uly!
Tarry but this one day. Only to-day
Go not to Altdorf. Wilt thou? Not to-day!
For this one day bestow thee on thy friends.
[Takes his hand.
RUDENZ.
I gave my word. Unhand me! I am bound.
ATTINGHAUSEN (drops his hand and says sternly).
Bound, didst thou say? Oh yes, unhappy boy,
Thou art, indeed. But not by word or oath.
'Tis by the silken mesh of love thou'rt bound.
[RUDENZ turns away.
Ay, hide thee, as thou wilt. 'Tis she, I know,
Bertha of Bruneck, draws thee to the court;
'Tis she that chains thee to the emperor's service.
Thou think'st to win the noble, knightly maid,
By thy apostacy. Be not deceived.
She is held out before thee as a lure;
But never meant for innocence like thine.
RUDENZ.
No more; I've heard enough. So fare you well.
[Exit.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Stay, Uly! Stay! Rash boy, he's gone! I can
Nor hold him back, nor save him from destruction.
And so the Wolfshot has deserted us;—
Others will follow his example soon.
This foreign witchery, sweeping o'er our hills,
Tears with its potent spell our youth away:
O luckless hour, when men and manners strange
Into these calm and happy valleys came,
To warp our primitive and guileless ways.
The new is pressing on with might. The old,
The good, the simple, fleeteth fast away.
New times come on. A race is springing up,
That think not as their fathers thought before!
What do I here? All, all are in the grave
With whom ere while I moved and held converse;
My age has long been laid beneath the sod:
Happy the man who may not live to see
What shall be done by those that follow me!
A meadow surrounded by high rocks and wooded ground. On the rocks are tracks, with rails and ladders, by which the peasants are afterwards seen descending. In the background the lake is observed, and over it a moon rainbow in the early part of the scene. The prospect is closed by lofty mountains, with glaciers rising behind them. The stage is dark, but the lake and glaciers glisten in the moonlight.
MELCHTHAL, BAUMGARTEN, WINKELRIED, MEYER VON SARNEN, BURKHART AM
BUHEL, ARNOLD VON SEWA, KLAUS VON DER FLUE, and four other peasants,
all armed.
MELCHTHAL (behind the scenes).
The mountain pass is open. Follow me
I see the rock, and little cross upon it:
This is the spot; here is the Rootli.
[They enter with torches.
WINKELRIED.
Hark!
SEWA.
The coast is clear.
MEYER.
None of our comrades come?
We are the first, we Unterwaldeners.
MELCHTHAL.
How far is't in the night?
BAUMGARTEN.
The beacon watch
Upon the Selisberg has just called two.
[A bell is heard at a distance.
MEYER.
Hush! Hark!
BUHEL.
The forest chapel's matin bell
Chimes clearly o'er the lake from Switzerland.
FLUE.
The air is clear, and bears the sound so far.
MELCHTHAL.
Go, you and you, and light some broken boughs,
Let's bid them welcome with a cheerful blaze.
[Two peasants exeunt.
SEWA.
The moon shines fair to-night. Beneath its beams
The lake reposes, bright as burnished steel.
BUHEL.
They'll have an easy passage.
WINKELRIED (pointing to the lake).
Ha! look there!
See you nothing?
MEYER.
What is it? Ay, indeed!
A rainbow in the middle of the night.
MELCHTHAL.
Formed by the bright reflection of the moon!
FLUE.
A sign most strange and wonderful, indeed!
Many there be who ne'er have seen the like.
SEWA.
'Tis doubled, see, a paler one above!
BAUMGARTEN.
A boat is gliding yonder right beneath it.
MELCHTHAL.
That must be Werner Stauffacher! I knew
The worthy patriot would not tarry long.
[Goes with BAUMGARTEN towards the shore.
MEYER.
The Uri men are like to be the last.
BUHEL.
They're forced to take a winding circuit through
The mountains; for the viceroy's spies are out.
[In the meanwhile the two peasants have kindled a fire
in the centre of the stage.
MELCHTHAL (on the shore).
Who's there? The word?
STAUFFACHER (from below).
Friends of the country.
[All retire up the stage, towards the party landing from the boat.
Enter STAUFFACHER, ITEL, REDING, HANS AUF DER MAUER, JORG IM HOPE,
CONRAD HUNN, ULRICH DER SCHMIDT, JOST VON WEILER, and three other
peasants, armed.
ALL.
Welcome!
[While the rest remain behind exchanging greetings, MELCHTHAL comes
forward with STAUFFACHER.
MELCHTHAL.
Oh, worthy Stauffacher, I've looked but now
On him, who could not look on me again.
I've laid my hands upon his rayless eyes,
And on their vacant orbits sworn a vow
Of vengeance, only to be cooled in blood.
STAUFFACHER.
Speak not of vengeance. We are here to meet
The threatened evil, not to avenge the past.
Now tell me what you've done, and what secured,
To aid the common cause in Unterwald.
How stands the peasantry disposed, and how
Yourself escaped the wiles of treachery?
MELCHTHAL.
Through the Surenen's fearful mountain chain,
Where dreary ice-fields stretch on every side,
And sound is none, save the hoarse vulture's cry,
I reached the Alpine pasture, where the herds
From Uri and from Engelberg resort,
And turn their cattle forth to graze in common.
Still as I went along, I slaked my thirst
With the coarse oozings of the lofty glacier,
That through the crevices come foaming down,
And turned to rest me in the herdsman's cots, [15]
Where I was host and guest, until I gained
The cheerful homes and social haunts of men.
Already through these distant vales had spread
The rumor of this last atrocity;
And wheresoe'er I went, at every door,
Kind words and gentle looks were there to greet me.
I found these simple spirits all in arms
Against our rulers' tyrannous encroachments.
For as their Alps through each succeeding year
Yield the same roots,—their streams flow ever on
In the same channels,—nay, the clouds and winds
The selfsame course unalterably pursue,
So have old customs there, from sire to son,
Been handed down, unchanging and unchanged;
Nor will they brook to swerve or turn aside
From the fixed, even tenor of their life.
With grasp of their hard hands they welcomed me—
Took from the walls their rusty falchions down—
And from their eyes the soul of valor flashed
With joyful lustre, as I spoke those names,
Sacred to every peasant in the mountains,
Your own and Walter Fuerst's. Whate'er your voice
Should dictate as the right they swore to do;
And you they swore to follow e'en to death.
So sped I on from house to house, secure
In the guest's sacred privilege—and when
I reached at last the valley of my home,
Where dwell my kinsmen, scattered far and near—
And when I found my father stripped and blind,
Upon the stranger's straw, fed by the alms
Of charity——
STAUFFACHER.
Great heaven!
MELCHTHAL.
Yet wept I not!
No—not in weak and unavailing tears
Spent I the force of my fierce, burning anguish;
Deep in my bosom, like some precious treasure,
I locked it fast, and thought on deeds alone.
Through every winding of the hills I crept—
No valley so remote but I explored it;
Nay, even at the glacier's ice-clad base,
I sought and found the homes of living men;
And still, where'er my wandering footsteps turned,
The self-same hatred of these tyrants met me.
For even there, at vegetation's verge,
Where the numbed earth is barren of all fruits,
There grasping hands had been stretched forth for plunder.
Into the hearts of all this honest race,
The story of my wrongs struck deep, and now
They to a man are ours; both heart and hand.
Great things, indeed, you've wrought in little time.
MELCHTHAL.
I did still more than this. The fortresses,
Rossberg and Sarnen, are the country's dread;
For from behind their rocky walls the foe
Swoops, as the eagle from his eyrie, down,
And, safe himself, spreads havoc o'er the land.
With my own eyes I wished to weigh its strength,
So went to Sarnen, and explored the castle.
STAUFFACHER.
How! Risk thyself even in the tiger's den?
MELCHTHAL.
Disguised in pilgrim's weeds I entered it;
I saw the viceroy feasting at his board—
Judge if I'm master of myself or no!
I saw the tyrant, and I slew him not!
STAUFFACHER.
Fortune, indeed, has smiled upon your boldness.
[Meanwhile the others have arrived and join MELCHTHAL
and STAUFFACHER.
Yet tell me now, I pray, who are the friends,
The worthy men, who came along with you?
Make me acquainted with them, that we may
Speak frankly, man to man, and heart to heart.
MEYER.
In the three Cantons, who, sir, knows not you?
Meyer of Sarnen is my name; and this
Is Struth of Winkelried, my sister's son.
STAUFFACHER.
No unknown name. A Winkelried it was
Who slew the dragoon in the fen at Weiler,
And lost his life in the encounter, too.
WINKELRIED.
That, Master Stauffacher, was my grandfather.
MELCHTHAL (pointing to two peasants).
These two are men belonging to the convent
Of Engelberg, and live behind the forest.
You'll not think ill of them, because they're serfs,
And sit not free upon the soil, like us.
They love the land, and bear a good repute.
STAUFFACHER (to them).
Give me your hands. He has good cause for thanks,
That unto no man owes his body's service.
But worth is worth, no matter where 'tis found.
HUNN.
That is Herr Reding, sir, our old Landamman.
MEYER.
I know him well. There is a suit between us,
About a piece of ancient heritage.
Herr Reding, we are enemies in court,
Here we are one.
[Shakes his hand.
STAUFFACHER.
That's well and bravely said.
WINKELRIED.
Listen! They come. Hark to the horn of Uri!
[On the right and left armed men are seen descending
the rocks with torches.
MAUER.
Look, is not that God's pious servant there?
A worthy priest! The terrors of the night,
And the way's pains and perils scare not him,
A faithful shepherd caring for his flock.
BAUMGARTEN.
The Sacrist follows him, and Walter Fuerst.
But where is Tell? I do not see him there.
[WALTER FURST, ROSSELMANN the Pastor, PETERMANN the Sacrist,
KUONI the Shepherd, WERNI the huntsman, RUODI the Fisherman,
and five other countrymen, thirty-three in all, advance and
take their places round the fire.
FURST.
Thus must we, on the soil our fathers left us,
Creep forth by stealth to meet like murderers,
And in the night, that should their mantle lend
Only to crime and black conspiracy,
Assert our own good rights, which yet are clear
As is the radiance of the noonday sun.
MELCHTHAL.
So be it. What is woven in gloom of night
Shall free and boldly meet the morning light.
ROSSELMANN.
Confederates! listen to the words which God
Inspires my heart withal. Here we are met
To represent the general weal. In us
Are all the people of the land convened.
Then let us hold the Diet, as of old,
And as we're wont in peaceful times to do.
The time's necessity be our excuse
If there be aught informal in this meeting.
Still, wheresoe'er men strike for justice, there
Is God, and now beneath his heaven we stand.
STAUFFACHER.
'Tis well advised. Let us, then, hold the Diet
According to our ancient usages.
Though it be night there's sunshine in our cause.
MELCHTHAL.
Few though our numbers be, the hearts are here
Of the whole people; here the best are met.
HUNN.
The ancient books may not be near at hand,
Yet are they graven in our inmost hearts.
ROSSELMANN.
'Tis well. And now, then, let a ring be formed,
And plant the swords of power within the ground. [16]
MAUER.
Let the Landamman step into his place,
And by his side his secretaries stand.
SACRIST.
There are three Cantons here. Which hath the right
To give the head to the united council?
Schwytz may contest the dignity with Uri,
We Unterwaldeners enter not the field.
MELCHTHAL.
We stand aside. We are not suppliants here,
Invoking aid from our more potent friends.
STAUFFACHER.
Let Uri have the sword. Her banner takes
In battle the precedence of our own.
FURST.
Schwytz, then, must share the honor of the sword;
For she's the honored ancestor of all.
ROSSELMANN.
Let me arrange this generous controversy.
Uri shall lead in battle—Schwytz in council.
FURST (gives STAUFFACHER his hand).
Then take your place.
STAUFFACHER.
Not I. Some older man.
HOFE.
Ulrich, the smith, is the most aged here.
MAUER.
A worthy man, but he is not a freeman;
No bondman can be judge in Switzerland.
STAUFFACHER.
Is not Herr Reding here, our old Landamman?
Where can we find a worthier man than he?
FURST.
Let him be Amman and the Diet's chief?
You that agree with me hold up your hands!
[All hold up their right hands.
REDING (stepping into the centre).
I cannot lay my hands upon the books;
But by yon everlasting stars I swear
Never to swerve from justice and the right.
[The two swords are placed before him, and a circle formed;
Schwytz in the centre, Uri on his right, Unterwald on his left.
REDING (resting on his battle-sword).
Why, at the hour when spirits walk the earth,
Meet the three Cantons of the mountains here,
Upon the lake's inhospitable shore?
And what the purport of the new alliance
We here contract beneath the starry heaven?
STAUFFACHER (entering the circle).
No new alliance do we now contract,
But one our fathers framed, in ancient times,
We purpose to renew! For know, confederates,
Though mountain ridge and lake divide our bounds,
And every Canton's ruled by its own laws,
Yet are we but one race, born of one blood,
And all are children of one common home.
WINKELRIED.
Then is the burden of our legends true,
That we came hither from a distant land?
Oh, tell us what you know, that our new league
May reap fresh vigor from the leagues of old.
STAUFFACHER.
Hear, then, what aged herdsmen tell. There dwelt
A mighty people in the land that lies
Back to the north. The scourge of famine came;
And in this strait 'twas publicly resolved,
That each tenth man, on whom the lot might fall
Should leave the country. They obeyed—and forth,
With loud lamentings, men and women went,
A mighty host; and to the south moved on,
Cutting their way through Germany by the sword,
Until they gained that pine-clad hills of ours;
Nor stopped they ever on their forward course,
Till at the shaggy dell they halted, where
The Mueta flows through its luxuriant meads.
No trace of human creature met their eye,
Save one poor hut upon the desert shore,
Where dwelt a lonely man, and kept the ferry.
A tempest raged—the lake rose mountains high
And barred their further progress. Thereupon
They viewed the country; found it rich in wood,
Discovered goodly springs, and felt as they
Were in their own dear native land once more.
Then they resolved to settle on the spot;
Erected there the ancient town of Schwytz;
And many a day of toil had they to clear
The tangled brake and forest's spreading roots.
Meanwhile their numbers grew, the soil became
Unequal to sustain them, and they crossed
To the black mountain, far as Weissland, where,
Concealed behind eternal walls of ice,
Another people speak another tongue.
They built the village Stanz, beside the Kernwald
The village Altdorf, in the vale of Reuss;
Yet, ever mindful of their parent stem,
The men of Schwytz, from all the stranger race,
That since that time have settled in the land,
Each other recognize. Their hearts still know,
And beat fraternally to kindred blood.
[Extends his hand right and left.
MAUER.
Ay, we are all one heart, one blood, one race!
ALL (joining hands).
We are one people, and will act as one.
STAUFFACHER.
The nations round us bear a foreign yoke;
For they have yielded to the conqueror.
Nay, even within our frontiers may be found
Some that owe villein service to a lord,
A race of bonded serfs from sire to son.
But we, the genuine race of ancient Swiss,
Have kept our freedom from the first till now,
Never to princes have we bowed the knee;
Freely we sought protection of the empire.
ROSSELMANN.
Freely we sought it—freely it was given.
'Tis so set down in Emperor Frederick's charter.
STAUFFACHER.
For the most free have still some feudal lord.
There must be still a chief, a judge supreme,
To whom appeal may lie in case of strife.
And therefore was it that our sires allowed
For what they had recovered from the waste,
This honor to the emperor, the lord
Of all the German and Italian soil;
And, like the other freemen of his realm,
Engaged to aid him with their swords in war;
And this alone should be the freeman's duty,
To guard the empire that keeps guard for him.
MELCHTHAL.
He's but a slave that would acknowledge more.
STAUFFACHER.
They followed, when the Heribann [17] went forth,
The imperial standard, and they fought its battles!
To Italy they marched in arms, to place
The Caesars' crown upon the emperor's head.
But still at home they ruled themselves in peace,
By their own laws and ancient usages.
The emperor's only right was to adjudge
The penalty of death; he therefore named
Some mighty noble as his delegate,
That had no stake or interest in the land.
He was called in, when doom was to be passed,
And, in the face of day, pronounced decree,
Clear and distinctly, fearing no man's hate.
What traces here, that we are bondsmen? Speak,
If there be any can gainsay my words!
HOFE.
No! You have spoken but the simple truth;
We never stooped beneath a tyrant's yoke.
STAUFFACHER.
Even to the emperor we refused obedience,
When he gave judgment in the church's favor;
For when the Abbey of Einsiedlen claimed
The Alp our fathers and ourselves had grazed,
And showed an ancient charter, which bestowed
The land on them as being ownerless—
For our existence there had been concealed—
What was our answer? This: "The grant is void,
No emperor can bestow what is our own:
And if the empire shall deny us justice,
We can, within our mountains, right ourselves!"
Thus spake our fathers! And shall we endure
The shame and infamy of this new yoke,
And from the vassal brook what never king
Dared in the fulness of his power attempt?
This soil we have created for ourselves,
By the hard labor of our hands; we've changed
The giant forest, that was erst the haunt
Of savage bears, into a home for man;
Extirpated the dragon's brood, that wont
To rise, distent with venom, from the swamps;
Rent the thick misty canopy that hung
Its blighting vapors on the dreary waste;
Blasted the solid rock; o'er the abyss
Thrown the firm bridge for the wayfaring man
By the possession of a thousand years
The soil is ours. And shall an alien lord,
Himself a vassal, dare to venture here,
On our own hearths insult us,—and attempt
To forge the chains of bondage for our hands,
And do us shame on our own proper soil?
Is there no help against such wrong as this?
[Great sensation among the people.
Yes! there's a limit to the despot's power!
When the oppressed looks round in vain for justice,
When his sore burden may no more be borne,
With fearless heart he makes appeal to Heaven,
And thence brings down his everlasting rights,
Which there abide, inalienably his,
And indestructible as are the stars.
Nature's primeval state returns again,
Where man stands hostile to his fellow-man;
And if all other means shall fail his need,
One last resource remains—his own good sword.
Our dearest treasures call to us for aid
Against the oppressor's violence; we stand
For country, home, for wives, for children here!
ALL (clashing their swords).
Here stand we for our homes, our wives, and children.
ROSSELMANN (stepping into the circle).
Bethink ye well before ye draw the sword.
Some peaceful compromise may yet be made;
Speak but one word, and at your feet you'll see
The men who now oppress you. Take the terms
That have been often tendered you; renounce
The empire, and to Austria swear allegiance!
MAUER.
What says the priest? To Austria allegiance?
BUHEL.
Hearken not to him!
WINKELRLED.
'Tis a traitor's counsel,
His country's foe!
REDING.
Peace, peace, confederates!
SEWA.
Homage to Austria, after wrongs like these!
FLUE.
Shall Austria exert from us by force
What we denied to kindness and entreaty?
MEYER.
Then should we all be slaves, deservedly.
MAUER.
Yes! Let him forfeit all a Switzer's rights
Who talks of yielding to the yoke of Austria!
I stand on this, Landamman. Let this be
The foremost of our laws!
MELCHTHAL.
Even so! Whoever
Shall talk of tamely bearing Austria's yoke,
Let him be stripped of all his rights and honors;
And no man hence receive him at his hearth!
ALL (raising their right hands).
Agreed! Be this the law!
REDING (after a pause).
The law it is.
ROSSELMANN.
Now you are free—by this law you are free.
Never shall Austria obtain by force
What she has failed to gain by friendly suit.
WEILER.
On with the order of the day! Proceed!
REDING.
Confederates! Have all gentler means been tried?
Perchance the emperor knows not of our wrongs,
It may not be his will that thus we suffer:
Were it not well to make one last attempt,
And lay our grievances before the throne,
Ere we unsheath the sword? Force is at best
A fearful thing even in a righteous cause;
God only helps when man can help no more.
STAUFFACHER (to CONRAD HUNN).
Here you can give us information. Speak!
HUNN.
I was at Rheinfeld, at the emperor's palace,
Deputed by the Cantons to complain
Of the oppression of these governors,
And claim the charter of our ancient freedom,
Which each new king till now has ratified.
I found the envoys there of many a town,
From Suabia and the valley of the Rhine,
Who all received their parchments as they wished
And straight went home again with merry heart.
They sent for me, your envoy, to the council,
Where I was soon dismissed with empty comfort;
"The emperor at present was engaged;
Some other time he would attend to us!"
I turned away, and passing through the hall,
With heavy heart in a recess I saw
The Grand Duke John [18] in tears, and by his side
The noble lords of Wart and Tegerfeld,
Who beckoned me, and said, "Redress yourselves.
Expect not justice from the emperor.
Does he not plunder his own brother's child,
And keep from him his just inheritance?"
The duke claims his maternal property,
Urging he's now of age, and 'tis full time
That he should rule his people and dominions;
What is the answer made to him? The king
Places a chaplet on his head: "Behold,
The fitting ornament," he cries, "of youth!"
MAUER.
You hear. Expect not from the emperor
Or right, or justice. Then redress yourselves!
REDING.
No other course is left us. Now, advise
What plan most likely to insure success.
FURST.
To shake a thraldom off that we abhor,
To keep our ancient rights inviolate,
As we received them from our forefathers—this,
Not lawless innovation, is our aim.
Let Caesar still retain what is his due;
And he that is a vassal let him pay
The service he is sworn to faithfully.
MEYER.
I hold my land of Austria in fief.
FURST.
Continue, then, to pay your feudal service.
WEILER.
I'm tenant of the lords of Rappersweil.
FURST.
Continue, then, to pay them rent and tithe.
ROSSELMANN.
Of Zurich's lady, I'm the humble vassal.
FURST.
Give to the cloister what the cloister claims.
STAUFFACHER.
The empire only is my feudal lord.
FURST.
What needs must be, we'll do, but nothing further.
We'll drive these tyrants and their minions hence,
And raze their towering strongholds to the ground,
Yet shed, if possible, no drop of blood.
Let the emperor see that we were driven to cast
The sacred duties of respect away;
And when he finds we keep within our bounds,
His wrath, belike, may yield to policy;
For truly is that nation to be feared,
That, when in arms, is temperate in its wrath.
REDING.
But, prithee, tell us how may this be done?
The enemy is armed as well as we,
And, rest assured, he will not yield in peace.
STAUFFACHER.
He will, whene'er he sees us up in arms;
We shall surprise him, ere he is prepared.
MEYER.
'Tis easily said, but not so easily done.
Two fortresses of strength command the country.
They shield the foe, and should the king invade us,
The task would then be dangerous indeed.
Rossberg and Sarnen both must be secured,
Before a sword is drawn in either Canton.
STAUFFACHER.
Should we delay, the foe will soon be warned;
We are too numerous for secrecy.
MEYER.
There is no traitor in the Forest States.
ROSSELMANN.
But even zeal may heedlessly betray.
FURST.
Delay it longer, and the keep at Altdorf
Will be complete,—the governor secure.
MEYER.
You think but of yourselves.
SACRISTAN.
You are unjust!
MEYER.
Unjust! said you? Dares Uri taunt us so?
REDING.
Peace, on your oath!
MEYER.
If Schwytz be leagued with Uri,
Why then, indeed, we must perforce be silent.
REDING.
And let me tell you, in the Diet's name,
Your hasty spirit much disturbs the peace.
Stand we not all for the same common cause?
WINKELRIED.
What, if we delay till Christmas? 'Tis then
The custom for the serfs to throng the castle,
Bringing the governor their annual gifts.
Thus may some ten or twelve selected men
Assemble unobserved within its walls,
Bearing about their persons pikes of steel,
Which may be quickly mounted upon staves,
For arms are not admitted to the fort.
The rest can fill the neighboring wood, prepared
To sally forth upon a trumpet's blast,
Whene'er their comrades have secured the gate;
And thus the castle will be ours with ease.
MELCHTHAL.
The Rossberg I will undertake to scale,
I have a sweetheart in the garrison,
Whom with some tender words I could persuade
To lower me at night a hempen ladder.
Once up, my friends will not be long behind.
REDING.
Are all resolved in favor of delay?
[The majority raise their hands.
STAUFFACHER (counting them).
Twenty to twelve is the majority.
FURST.
If on the appointed day the castles fall,
From mountain on to mountain we shall pass
The fiery signal: in the capital
Of every Canton quickly rouse the Landsturm. [19]
Then, when these tyrants see our martial front,
Believe me, they will never make so bold
As risk the conflict, but will gladly take
Safe conduct forth beyond our boundaries.
STAUFFACHER.
Not so with Gessler. He will make a stand.
Surrounded with his dread array of horse,
Blood will he shed before he quits the field.
And even expelled he'd still be terrible.
'Tis hard, indeed 'tis dangerous, to spare him.
BAUMGARTEN.
Place me where'er a life is to be lost;
I owe my life to Tell, and cheerfully
Will pledge it for my country. I have cleared
My honor, and my heart is now at rest.
REDING.
Counsel will come with circumstance. Be patient.
Something must still be trusted to the moment.
Yet, while by night we hold our Diet here,
The morning, see, has on the mountain-tops
Kindled her glowing beacon. Let us part,
Ere the broad sun surprise us.
FURST.
Do not fear.
The night wanes slowly from these vales of ours.
[All have involuntarily taken off their caps, and
contemplate the breaking of day, absorbed in silence.
ROSSELMANN.
By this fair light, which greeteth us, before
Those other nations, that, beneath us far,
In noisome cities pent, draw painful breath,
Swear we the oath of our confederacy!
We swear to be a nation of true brothers,
Never to part in danger or in death!
[They repeat his words with three fingers raised.
We swear we will be free, as were our sires,
And sooner die than live in slavery!
[All repeat as before.
We swear to put our trust in God Most High,
And not to quail before the might of man!
[All repeat as before, and embrace each other.
STAUFFACHER.
Now every man pursue his several way
Back to his friends his kindred, and his home.
Let the herd winter up his flock and gain
In silence, friends, for our confederacy!
What for a time must be endured, endure.
And let the reckoning of the tyrants grow,
Till the great day arrive, when they shall pay
The general and particular debt at once.
Let every man control his own just rage,
And nurse his vengeance for the public wrongs;
For he whom selfish interest now engage
Defrauds the general weal of what to it belongs.
[As they are going off in profound silence, in three different directions, the orchestra plays a solemn air. The empty scene remains open for some time, showing the rays of the sun rising over the glaciers.
Court before TELL'S house. TELL with an axe. HEDWIG engaged in her domestic duties. WALTER and WILHELM in the background playing with a little cross-bow.
WALTER (sings).
With his cross-bow and his quiver
The huntsman speeds his way,
Over mountain, dale, and river
At the dawning of the day.
As the eagle, on wild pinion,
Is the king in realms of air;
So the hunter claims dominion
Over crag and forest lair.
Far as ever bow can carry
Through the trackless, airy space,
All he sees he makes his quarry,
Soaring bird and beast of chase.
WILHELM (runs forward).
My string has snapped! Wilt mend it for me, father?
TELL.
Not I; a true-born archer helps himself.
[Boys retire.
HEDWIG.
The boys begin to use the bow betimes.
TELL.
'Tis early practice only makes the master.
HEDWIG.
Ah! Would to heaven they never learnt the art!
TELL.
But they shall learn it, wife, in all its points.
Whoe'er would carve an independent way
Through life must learn to ward or plant a blow.
HEDWIG.
Alas, alas! and they will never rest
Contentedly at home.
TELL.
No more can I!
I was not framed by nature for a shepherd.
Restless I must pursue a changing course;
I only feel the flush and joy of life
In starting some fresh quarry every day.
HEDWIG.
Heedless the while of all your wife's alarms
As she sits watching through long hours at home.
For my soul sinks with terror at the tales
The servants tell about your wild adventures.
Whene'er we part my trembling heart forebodes
That you will ne'er come back to me again.
I see you on the frozen mountain steeps,
Missing, perchance, your leap from cliff to cliff;
I see the chamois, with a wild rebound,
Drag you down with him o'er the precipice.
I see the avalanche close o'er your head,
The treacherous ice give way, and you sink down
Entombed alive within its hideous gulf.
Ah! in a hundred varying forms does death
Pursue the Alpine huntsman on his course.
That way of life can surely ne'er be blessed,
Where life and limb are perilled every hour.
TELL.
The man that bears a quick and steady eye,
And trusts to God and his own lusty sinews,
Passes, with scarce a scar, through every danger.
The mountain cannot awe the mountain child.
[Having finished his work, he lays aside his tools.
And now, methinks, the door will hold awhile.
The axe at home oft saves the carpenter.
HEDWIG.
Whither away!
[Takes his cap.
TELL.
To Altdorf, to your father.
HEDWIG.
You have some dangerous enterprise in view? Confess!
TELL.
Why think you so?
HEDWIG.
Some scheme's on foot,
Against the governors. There was a Diet
Held on the Rootli—that I know—and you
Are one of the confederacy I'm sure.
TELL.
I was not there. Yet will I not hold back
Whene'er my country calls me to her aid.
HEDWIG.
Wherever danger is, will you be placed.
On you, as ever, will the burden fall.
TELL.
Each man shall have the post that fits his powers.
HEDWIG.
You took—ay, 'mid the thickest of the storm—
The man of Unterwald across the lake.
'Tis a marvel you escaped. Had you no thought
Of wife and children then?
TELL.
Dear wife, I bad;
And therefore saved the father for his children.
HEDWIG.
To brave the lake in all its wrath; 'Twas not
To put your trust in God! 'Twas tempting him.
TELL.
The man that's over-cautious will do little.
HEDWIG.
Yes, you've a kind and helping hand for all;
But be in straits and who will lend you aid?
TELL.
God grant I ne'er may stand in need of it!
[Takes up his crossbow and arrows.
HEDWIG.
Why take your crossbow with you? Leave it here.
TELL.
I want my right hand when I want my bow.
[The boys return.
WALTER.
Where, father, are you going?
TELL.
To grand-dad, boy—
To Altdorf. Will you go?
WALTER.
Ay, that I will!
HEDWIG.
The viceroy's there just now. Go not to Altdorf.
TELL.
He leaves to-day.
HEDWIG.
Then let him first be gone,
Cross not his path. You know he bears us grudge.
TELL.
His ill-will cannot greatly injure me.
I do what's right, and care for no man's hate.
HEDWIG.
'Tis those who do what's right whom he most hates.
TELL.
Because he cannot reach them. Me, I ween,
His knightship will be glad to leave in peace.
HEDWIG.
Ay! Are you sure of that?
TELL.
Not long ago,
As I was hunting through the wild ravines
Of Shechenthal, untrod by mortal foot,—
There, as I took my solitary way
Along a shelving ledge of rocks, where 'twas
Impossible to step on either side;
For high above rose, like a giant wall,
The precipice's side, and far below
The Shechen thundered o'er its rifted bed;—
[The boys press towards him, looking upon him
with excited curiosity.
There, face to face, I met the viceroy. He
Alone with me—and I myself alone—
Mere man to man, and near us the abyss.
And when his lordship had perused my face,
And knew the man he had severely fined
On some most trivial ground not long before;
And saw me, with my sturdy bow in hand,
Come striding towards him, then his cheek grew pale,
His knees refused their office, and I thought
He would have sunk against the mountain side.
Then, touched with pity for him, I advanced,
Respectfully, and said, "'Tis I, my lord."
But ne'er a sound could he compel his lips
To frame an answer. Only with his hand
He beckoned me in silence to proceed.
So I passed on, and sent his train to seek him.
HEDWIG.
He trembled then before you? Woe the while
You saw his weakness; that he'll not forgive.
TELL.
I shun him, therefore, and he'll not seek me.
HEDWIG.
But stay away to day. Go hunting rather!
TELL.
What do you fear?
HEDWIG.
I am uneasy. Stay.
TELL.
Why thus distress yourself without a cause?
HEDWIG.
Because there is no cause. Tell, Tell! stay here!
TELL.
Dear wife, I gave my promise I would go.
HEDWIG.
Must you,—then go. But leave the boys with me.
WALTER.
No, mother dear, I'm going with my father.
HEDWIG.
How, Walter! Will you leave your mother then?
WALTER.
I'll bring you pretty things from grandpapa.
[Exit with his father.
WILHELM.
Mother, I'll stay with you!
HEDWIG (embracing him).
Yes, yes! thou art
My own dear child. Thou'rt all that's left to me.
[She goes to the gate of the court, and looks anxiously
after TELL and her son for a considerable time.
A retired part of the Forest. Brooks dashing in spray over the rocks.
Enter BERTHA in a hunting dress. Immediately afterwards RUDENZ.
BERTHA.
He follows me. Now to explain myself!
RUDENZ (entering hastily).
At length, dear lady, we have met alone
In this wild dell, with rocks on every side,
No jealous eye can watch our interview.
Now let my heart throw off this weary silence.
BERTHA.
But are you sure they will not follow us?
RUDENZ.
See, yonder goes the chase. Now, then, or never!
I must avail me of the precious moment,—
Must hear my doom decided by thy lips,
Though it should part me from thy side forever.
Oh, do not arm that gentle face of thine
With looks so stern and harsh! Who—who am I,
That dare aspire so high as unto thee?
Fame hath not stamped me yet; nor may I take
My place amid the courtly throng of knights,
That, crowned with glory's lustre, woo thy smiles.
Nothing have I to offer but a heart
That overflows with truth and love for thee.
BERTHA (sternly and with severity).
And dare you speak to me of love—of truth?
You, that are faithless to your nearest ties!
You, that are Austria's slave—bartered and sold
To her—an alien, and your country's tyrant!
RUDENZ.
How! This reproach from thee! Whom do I seek
On Austria's side, my own beloved, but thee?
BERTHA.
Think you to find me in the traitor's ranks?
Now, as I live, I'd rather give my hand
To Gessler's self, all despot though he be,
Than to the Switzer who forgets his birth,
And stoops to be the minion of a tyrant.
RUDENZ.
Oh heaven, what must I hear!
BERTHA.
Say! what can lie
Nearer the good man's heart than friends and kindred?
What dearer duty to a noble soul
Than to protect weak, suffering innocence,
And vindicate the rights of the oppressed?
My very soul bleeds for your countrymen;
I suffer with them, for I needs must love them;
They are so gentle, yet so full of power;
They draw my whole heart to them. Every day
I look upon them with increased esteem.
But you, whom nature and your knightly vow,
Have given them as their natural protector,
Yet who desert them and abet their foes,
In forging shackles for your native land,
You—you it is, that deeply grieve and wound me.
I must constrain my heart, or I shall hate you.
RUDENZ.
Is not my country's welfare all my wish?
What seek I for her but to purchase peace
'Neath Austria's potent sceptre?
BERTHA.
Bondage, rather!
You would drive freedom from the last stronghold
That yet remains for her upon the earth.
The people know their own true interests better:
Their simple natures are not warped by show,
But round your head a tangling net is wound.
RUDENZ.
Bertha, you hate me—you despise me!
BERTHA.
Nay! And if I did, 'twere better for my peace.
But to see him despised and despicable,—
The man whom one might love.
RUDENZ.
Oh, Bertha! You
Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss,
Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!
BERTHA.
No, no! the noble is not all extinct
Within you. It but slumbers,—I will rouse it.
It must have cost you many a fiery struggle
To crush the virtues of your race within you.
But, heaven be praised, 'tis mightier than yourself,
And you are noble in your own despite!
RUDENZ.
You trust me, then? Oh, Bertha, with thy love
What might I not become?
BERTHA.
Be only that
For which your own high nature destined you.
Fill the position you were born to fill;—
Stand by your people and your native land.
And battle for your sacred rights!
RUDENZ.
Alas! How can I hope to win you—to possess you,
If I take arms against the emperor?
Will not your potent kinsman interpose,
To dictate the disposal of your hand?
BERTHA.
All my estates lie in the Forest Cantons;
And I am free, when Switzerland is free.
RUDENZ.
Oh! what a prospect, Bertha, hast thou shown me!
BERTHA.
Hope not to win my hand by Austria's favor;
Fain would they lay their grasp on my estates,
To swell the vast domains which now they hold.
The selfsame lust of conquest that would rob
You of your liberty endangers mine.
Oh, friend, I'm marked for sacrifice;—to be
The guerdon of some parasite, perchance!
They'll drag me hence to the imperial court
That hateful haunt of falsehood and intrigue;
There do detested marriage bonds await me.
Love, love alone,—your love can rescue me.
RUDENZ.
And thou could'st be content, love, to live here,
In my own native land to be my own?
Oh, Bertha, all the yearnings of my soul
For this great world and its tumultuous strife,
What were they, but a yearning after thee?
In glory's path I sought for thee alone
And all my thirst of fame was only love.
But if in this calm vale thou canst abide
With me, and bid earth's pomps and pride adieu,
Then is the goal of my ambition won;
And the rough tide of the tempestuous world
May dash and rave around these firm-set hills!
No wandering wishes more have I to send
Forth to the busy scene that stirs beyond.
Then may these rocks that girdle us extend
Their giants walls impenetrably round,
And this sequestered happy vale alone
Look up to heaven, and be my paradise!
BERTHA.
Now art thou all my fancy dreamed of thee.
My trust has not been given to thee in vain.
RUDENZ.
Away, ye idle phantoms of my folly!
In mine own home I'll find my happiness.
Here where the gladsome boy to manhood grew,
Where every brook, and tree, and mountain peak,
Teems with remembrances of happy hours,
In mine own native land thou wilt be mine.
Ah, I have ever loved it well, I feel
How poor without it were all earthly joys.
BERTHA.
Where should we look for happiness on earth,
If not in this dear land of innocence?
Here, where old truth hath its familiar home,
Where fraud and guile are strangers, envy ne'er
Shall dim the sparkling fountain of our bliss,
And ever bright the hours shall o'er us glide.
There do I see thee, in true manly worth,
The foremost of the free and of thy peers,
Revered with homage pure and unconstrained,
Wielding a power that kings might envy thee.
RUDENZ.
And thee I see, thy sex's crowning gem,
With thy sweet woman grace and wakeful love,
Building a heaven for me within my home,
And, as the springtime scatters forth her flowers,
Adorning with thy charms my path of life,
And spreading joy and sunshine all around.
BERTHA.
And this it was, dear friend, that caused my grief,
To see thee blast this life's supremest bliss,
With thine own hand. Ah! what had been my fate,
Had I been forced to follow some proud lord,
Some ruthless despot, to his gloomy castle!
Here are no castles, here no bastioned walls
Divide me from a people I can bless.
RUDENZ.
Yet, how to free myself; to loose the coils
Which I have madly twined around my head?
BERTHA.
Tear them asunder with a man's resolve.
Whatever the event, stand by the people.
It is thy post by birth.
[Hunting horns are heard in the distance.
But bark! The chase!
Farewell,—'tis needful we should part—away!
Fight for thy land; thou lightest for thy love.
One foe fills all our souls with dread; the blow
That makes one free emancipates us all.
[Exeunt severally.
A meadow near Altdorf. Trees in the foreground. At the back of the stage a cap upon a pole. The prospect is bounded by the Bannberg, which is surmounted by a snow-capped mountain.
FRIESSHARDT and LEUTHOLD on guard.
FRIESSHARDT.
We keep our watch in vain. There's not a soul
Will pass and do obeisance to the cap.
But yesterday the place swarmed like a fair;
Now the whole green looks like a very desert,
Since yonder scarecrow hung upon the pole.
LEUTHHOLD.
Only the vilest rabble show themselves,
And wave their tattered caps in mockery at us.
All honest citizens would sooner make
A tedious circuit over half the town
Than bend their backs before our master's cap.
FRIESSHARDT.
They were obliged to pass this way at noon,
As they were coming from the council house.
I counted then upon a famous catch,
For no one thought of bowing to the cap.
But Rosselmann, the priest, was even with me:
Coming just then from some sick penitent,
He stands before the pole—raises the Host—
The Sacrist, too, must tinkle with his bell—
When down they dropped on knee—myself and all
In reverence to the Host, but not the cap.
LEUTHOLD.
Hark ye, companion, I've a shrewd suspicion,
Our post's no better than the pillory.
It is a burning shame, a trooper should
Stand sentinel before an empty cap,
And every honest fellow must despise us,
To do obeisance to a cap, too! Faith,
I never heard an order so absurd!
FRIESSHARDT.
Why not, an't please thee, to an empty cap.
Thou'st ducked, I'm sure, to many an empty sconce.
[HILDEGARD, MECHTHILD, and ELSBETH enter with their children
and station themselves around the pole.
LEUTHOLD.
And thou art an officious sneaking knave,
That's fond of bringing honest folks to trouble.
For my part, he that likes may pass the cap
I'll shut my eyes and take no note of him.
MECHTHILD.
There hangs the viceroy! Your obeisance, children!
ELSBETH.
I would to God he'd go, and leave his cap!
The country would be none the worse for it.
FRIESSHARDT (driving them away).
Out of the way! Confounded pack of gossips!
Who sent for you? Go, send your husbands here,
If they have courage to defy the order.
[TELL enters with his crossbow, leading his son WALTER
by the hand. They pass the hat without noticing it, and
advance to the front of the stage.
WALTER (pointing to the Bannberg).
Father, is't true, that on the mountain there,
The trees, if wounded with a hatchet, bleed?
TELL.
Who says so, boy?
WALTER.
The master herdsman, father!
He tells us there's a charm upon the trees,
And if a man shall injure them, the hand
That struck the blow will grow from out the grave.
TELL.
There is a charm about them, that's the truth.
Dost see those glaciers yonder, those white horns,
That seem to melt away into the sky?
WALTER.
They are the peaks that thunder so at night,
And send the avalanches down upon us.
TELL.
They are; and Altdorf long ago had been
Submerged beneath these avalanches' weight,
Did not the forest there above the town
Stand like a bulwark to arrest their fall.
WALTER (after musing a little).
And are there countries with no mountains, father?
TELL.
Yes, if we travel downwards from our heights,
And keep descending in the rivers' courses,
We reach a wide and level country, where
Our mountain torrents brawl and foam no more,
And fair, large rivers glide serenely on.
All quarters of the heaven may there be scanned
Without impediment. The corn grows there
In broad and lovely fields, and all the land
Is fair as any garden to the view.
WALTER.
But, father, tell me, wherefore haste we not
Away to this delightful land, instead
Of toiling here, and struggling as we do?
TELL.
The land is fair and bountiful as Heaven;
But they who till it never may enjoy
The fruits of what they sow.
WALTER.
Live they not free,
As you do, on the land their fathers left them?
TELL.
The fields are all the bishop's or the king's.
WALTER.
But they may freely hunt among the woods?
TELL.
The game is all the monarch's—bird and beast.
WALTER.
But they, at least, may surely fish the streams?
TELL.
Stream, lake, and sea, all to the king belong.
WALTER.
Who is this king, of whom they're so afraid?
TELL.
He is the man who fosters and protects them.
WALTER.
Have they not courage to protect themselves?
TELL.
The neighbor there dare not his neighbor trust.
WALTER.
I should want breathing room in such a land,
I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanches.
TELL.
'Tis better, child, to have these glacier peaks
Behind one's back than evil-minded men!
[They are about to pass on.
WALTER.
See, father, see the cap on yonder pole!
TELL.
What is the cap to us? Come, let's be gone.
[As he is going, FRIESSHARDT, presenting his pike, stops him.
FRIESSHARDT.
Stand, I command you, in the emperor's name.
TELL (seizing the pike).
What would ye? Wherefore do ye stop my path?
FRIESSHARDT.
You've broke the mandate, and must go with us.
LEUTHOLD.
You have not done obeisance to the cap.
TELL.
Friend, let me go.
FRIESSHARDT.
Away, away to prison!
WALTER.
Father to prison! Help!
[Calling to the side scene.
This way, you men!
Good people, help! They're dragging him to prison!
[ROSSELMANN, the priest, and the SACRISTAN, with
three other men, enter.
SACRISTAN.
What's here amiss?
ROSSELMANN.
Why do you seize this man?
FRIESSHARDT.
He is an enemy of the king—a traitor!
TELL (seizing him with violence).
A traitor, I!
ROSSELMANN.
Friend, thou art wrong. 'Tis Tell,
An honest man, and worthy citizen.
WALTER (descries FURST, and runs up to him).
Grandfather, help! they want to seize my father!
FRIESSHARDT.
Away to prison!
FURST (running in).
Stay! I offer bail.
For God's sake, Tell, what is the matter here?
[MELCHTHAL and STAUFFACHER enter.
LEUTHOLD.
He has contemned the viceroy's sovereign power,
Refusing flatly to acknowledge it.
STAUFFACHER.
Has Tell done this?
MELCHTHAL.
Villain, thou knowest 'tis false!
LEUTHOLD.
He has not made obeisance to the cap.
FURST.
And shall for this to prison? Come, my friend,
Take my security, and let him go.
FRIESSHARDT.
Keep your security for yourself—you'll need it.
We only do our duty. Hence with him.
MELCHTHAL (to the country people).
This is too bad—shall we stand by, and see them.
Drag him away before our very eyes?
SACRISTAN.
We are the strongest. Don't endure it, friends.
Our countrymen will back us to a man.
FRIESSHARDT.
Who dares resist the governor's commands?
OTHER THREE PEASANTS (running in).
We'll help you. What's the matter? Down with them!
[HILDEGARD, MECHTHILD, and ELSBETH return.
TELL.
Go, go, good people, I can help myself.
Think you, had I a mind to use my strength,
These pikes of theirs should daunt me?
MELCHTHAL (to FRIESSHARDT).
Only try—
Try, if you dare, to force him from amongst us.
FURST and STAUFFACHER.
Peace, peace, friends!
FRIESSHARDT (loudly).
Riot! Insurrection, ho!
[Hunting horns without.
WOMEN.
The governor!
FRIESSHARDT (raising his voice).
Rebellion! Mutiny!
STAUFFACHER.
Roar, till you burst, knave!
ROSSELMANN and MELCHTHAL.
Will you hold your tongue?
FRIESSHARDT (calling still louder).
Help, help, I say, the servants of the law!
FURST.
The viceroy here! Then we shall smart for this!
[Enter GESSLER on horseback, with a falcon on his wrist;
RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, BERTHA, and RUDENZ, and a numerous
train of armed attendants, who form a circle of lances
around the whole stage.
HARRAS.
Room for the viceroy!
GESSLER.
Drive the clowns apart.
Why throng the people thus? Who calls for help?
[General silence.
Who was it? I will know.
[FRIESSHARDT steps forward.
And who art thou?
And why hast thou this man in custody?
[Gives his falcon to an attendant.
FRIESSHARDT.
Dread sir, I am a soldier of your guard,
And stationed sentinel beside the cap;
This man I apprehended in the act
Of passing it without obeisance due,
So I arrested him, as you gave order,
Whereon the people tried to rescue him.
GESSLER (after a pause).
And do you, Tell, so lightly hold your king,
And me, who act as his vicegerent here,
That you refuse the greeting to the cap
I hung aloft to test your loyalty?
I read in this a disaffected spirit.
TELL.
Pardon me, good my lord! The action sprung
From inadvertence,—not from disrespect.
Were I discreet, I were not William Tell.
Forgive me now—I'll not offend again.
GESSLER (after a pause).
I hear, Tell, you're a master with the bow,—
And bear the palm away from every rival.
WALTER.
That must be true, sir! At a hundred yards
He'll shoot an apple for you off the tree.
GESSLER.
Is that boy thine, Tell?
TELL.
Yes, my gracious lord.
GESSLER.
Hast any more of them?
TELL.
Two boys, my lord.
GESSLER.
And, of the two, which dost thou love the most?
TELL.
Sir, both the boys are dear to me alike.
GESSLER.
Then, Tell, since at a hundred yards thou canst
Bring down the apple from the tree, thou shalt
Approve thy skill before me. Take thy bow—
Thou hast it there at hand—and make thee ready
To shoot an apple from the stripling's head!
But take this counsel,—look well to thine aim,
See that thou hittest the apple at the first,
For, shouldst thou miss, thy head shall pay the forfeit.
[All give signs of horror.
TELL.
What monstrous thing, my lord, is this you ask?
That I, from the head of mine own child!—No, no!
It cannot be, kind sir, you meant not that—
God in His grace forbid! You could not ask
A father seriously to do that thing!
GESSLER.
Thou art to shoot an apple from his head!
I do desire—command it so.
TELL.
What, I!
Level my crossbow at the darling head
Of mine own child? No—rather let me die!
GESSLER.
Or thou must shoot, or with thee dies the boy.
TELL.
Shall I become the murderer of my child!
You have no children, sir—you do not know
The tender throbbings of a father's heart.
GESSLER.
How now, Tell, so discreet upon a sudden
I had been told thou wert a visionary,—
A wanderer from the paths of common men.
Thou lovest the marvellous. So have I now
Culled out for thee a task of special daring.
Another man might pause and hesitate;
Thou dashest at it, heart and soul, at once.
BERTHA.
Oh, do not jest, my lord, with these poor souls!
See, how they tremble, and how pale they look,
So little used are they to hear thee jest.
GESSLER.
Who tells thee that I jest?
[Grasping a branch above his head.
Here is the apple.
Room there, I say! And let him take his distance—
Just eighty paces-as the custom is
Not an inch more or less! It was his boast,
That at a hundred he could bit his man.
Now, archer, to your task, and look you miss not!
HARRAS:
Heavens! this grows serious—down, boy, on your knees,
And beg the governor to spare your life.
FURST (aside to MELCHTHAL, who can scarcely restrain his impatience).
Command yourself—be calm, I beg of you!
BERTHA (to the governor).
Let this suffice you, sir! It is inhuman
To trifle with a father's anguish thus.
Although this wretched man had forfeited
Both life and limb for such a slight offence,
Already has he suffered tenfold death.
Send him away uninjured to his home;
He'll know thee well in future; and this hour
He and his children's children will remember.
GESSLER.
Open a way there—quick! Why this delay?
Thy life is forfeited; I might despatch thee,
And see I graciously repose thy fate
Upon the skill of thine own practised hand.
No cause has he to say his doom is harsh,
Who's made the master of his destiny.
Thou boastest of thy steady eye. 'Tis well!
Now is a fitting time to show thy skill.
The mark is worthy, and the prize is great.
To hit the bull's-eye in the target; that
Can many another do as well as thou;
But he, methinks, is master of his craft
Who can at all times on his skill rely,
Nor lets his heart disturb or eye or hand.
FURST.
My lord, we bow to your authority;
But, oh, let justice yield to mercy here.
Take half my property, nay, take it all,
But spare a father this unnatural doom!
WALTER.
Grandfather, do not kneel to that bad man!
Say, where am I to stand? I do not fear;
My father strikes the bird upon the wing,
And will not miss now when 'twould harm his boy!
STAUFFACHER.
Does the child's innocence not touch your heart?
ROSSELMANN.
Bethink you, sir, there is a God in heaven,
To whom you must account for all your deeds.
GESSLER (pointing to the boy).
Bind him to yonder lime tree straight!
WALTER.
Bind me? No, I will not be bound! I will be still,
Still as a lamb—nor even draw my breath!
But if you bind me I cannot be still.
Then I shall writhe and struggle with my bonds.
HARRAS.
But let your eyes at least be bandaged, boy!
WALTER.
And why my eyes? No! Do you think I fear
An arrow from my father's hand? Not I!
I'll wait it firmly, nor so much as wink!
Quick, father, show them that thou art an archer!
He doubts thy skill—he thinks to ruin us.
Shoot then and hit though but to spite the tyrant!
[He goes to the lime tree, and an apple is placed on his head.
MELCHTHAL (to the country people).
What! Is this outrage to be perpetrated
Before our very eyes? Where is our oath?
STAUFFACHER.
'Tis all in vain. We have no weapons here;
And see the wood of lances that surrounds us!
MELCHTHAL.
Oh! would to heaven that we had struck at once!
God pardon those who counselled the delay!
GESSLER (to TELL).
Now, to thy task! Men bear not arms for naught.
'Tis dangerous to carry deadly weapons,
And on the archer oft his shaft recoils.
This right these haughty peasant-churls assume
Trenches upon their master's privileges.
None should be armed but those who bear command.
It pleases you wear the bow and bolt;
Well, be it so. I will provide the mark.
TELL (bends the bow and fixes the arrow).
A lane there! Room!
STAUFFACHER.
What, Tell? You would—no, no!
You shake—your hand's unsteady—your knees tremble!
TELL (letting the bow sink down).
There's something swims before mine eyes!
WOMEN.
Great Heaven!
TELL.
Release me from this shot!
Here is my heart!
[Tears open his breast.
Summon your troopers—let them strike me down!
GESSLER.
I do not want thy life, Tell, but the shot.
Thy talent's universal! Nothing daunts thee!
Thou canst direct the rudder like the bow!
Storms fright not thee when there's a life at stake.
Now, savior, help thyself, thou savest all!
[TELL stands fearfully agitated by contending emotions,
his hands moving convulsively, and his eyes turning
alternately to the governor and heaven. Suddenly he
takes a second arrow from his quiver and sticks it in
his belt. The governor watches all these motions.
WALTER (beneath the lime tree).
Come, father, shoot! I'm not afraid!
TELL.
It must be!
[Collects himself and levels the bow.
RUDENZ (who all the while has been standing in a state of violent
excitement, and has with difficulty restrained himself, advances).
My lord, you will not urge this matter further.
You will not. It was surely but a test.
You've gained your object. Rigor pushed too far
Is sure to miss its aim, however good,
As snaps the bow that's all too straightly bent.
GESSLER.
Peace, till your counsel's asked for!
RUDENZ.
I will speak! Ay, and I dare! I reverence my king;
But acts like these must make his name abhorred.
He sanctions not this cruelty. I dare
Avouch the fact. And you outstep your powers
In handling thus an unoffending people.
GESSLER.
Ha! thou growest bold methinks!
RUDENZ.
I have been dumb
To all the oppressions I was doomed to see.
I've closed mine eyes that they might not behold them,
Bade my rebellious, swelling heart be still,
And pent its struggles down within my breast.
But to be silent longer were to be
A traitor to my king and country both.
BERTHA (casting herself between him and the governor).
Oh, heavens! you but exasperate his rage!
RUDENZ.
My people I forsook, renounced my kindred—
Broke all the ties of nature that I might
Attach myself to you. I madly thought
That I should best advance the general weal,
By adding sinews to the emperor's power.
The scales have fallen from mine eyes—I see
The fearful precipice on which I stand.
You've led my youthful judgment far astray,—
Deceived my honest heart. With best intent,
I had well nigh achieved my country's ruin.
GESSLER.
Audacious boy, this language to thy lord?
RUDENZ.
The emperor is my lord, not you! I'm free
As you by birth, and I can cope with you
In every virtue that beseems a knight.
And if you stood not here in that king's name,
Which I respect e'en where 'tis most abused,
I'd throw my gauntlet down, and you should give
An answer to my gage in knightly fashion.
Ay, beckon to your troopers! Here I stand;
But not like these—
[Pointing to the people.
unarmed. I have a sword,
And he that stirs one step——
STAUFFACHER (exclaims).
The apple's down!
[While the attention of the crowd has been directed
to the spot where BERTHA had cast herself between RUDENZ
and GESSLER, TELL has shot.
ROSSELMANN.
The boy's alive!
MANY VOICES.
The apple has been struck!
[WALTER FURST staggers, and is about to fall. BERTHA supports him.
GESSLER (astonished).
How? Has he shot? The madman!
BERTHA.
Worthy father!
Pray you compose yourself. The boy's alive!
WALTER (runs in with the apple).
Here is the apple, father! Well I knew
You would not harm your boy.
[TELL stands with his body bent forwards, as though he would
follow the arrow. His bow drops from his hand. When he sees
the boy advancing, he hastens to meet him with open arms, and
embracing him passionately sinks down with him quite exhausted.
All crowd round them deeply affected.
BERTHA.
Oh, ye kind heavens!
FURST (to father and son).
My children, my dear children!
STAUFFACHER.
God be praised!
LEUTHOLD.
Almighty powers! That was a shot indeed!
It will be talked of to the end of time.
HARRAS.
This feat of Tell, the archer, will be told
While yonder mountains stand upon their base.
[Hands the apple to GESSLER.
GESSLER.
By heaven! the apple's cleft right through the core.
It was a master shot I must allow.
ROSSELMANN.
The shot was good. But woe to him who drove
The man to tempt his God by such a feat!
STAUFFACHER.
Cheer up, Tell, rise! You've nobly freed yourself,
And now may go in quiet to your home.
ROSSELMANN.
Come, to the mother let us bear her son!
GESSLER.
A word, Tell.
[They are about to lead him off.
TELL.
Sir, your pleasure?
GESSLER.
Thou didst place
A second arrow in thy belt—nay, nay!
I saw it well—what was thy purpose with it?
TELL (confused).
It is the custom with all archers, sir.
GESSLER.
No, Tell, I cannot let that answer pass.
There was some other motive, well I know.
Frankly and cheerfully confess the truth;—
Whate'er it be I promise thee thy life,
Wherefore the second arrow?
TELL.
Well, my lord,
Since you have promised not to take my life,
I will, without reserve, declare the truth.
[He draws the arrow from his belt, and fixes his eyes
sternly upon the governor.
If that my hand had struck my darling child,
This second arrow I had aimed at you,
And, be assured, I should not then have missed.
GESSLER.
Well, Tell, I promised thou shouldst have thy life;
I gave my knightly word, and I will keep it.
Yet, as I know the malice of thy thoughts,
I will remove thee hence to sure confinement,
Where neither sun nor moon shall reach thine eyes,
Thus from thy arrows I shall be secure.
Seize on him, guards, and bind him.
[They bind him.
STAUFFACHER.
How, my lord—
How can you treat in such a way a man
On whom God's hand has plainly been revealed?
GESSLER.
Well, let us see if it will save him twice!
Remove him to my ship; I'll follow straight.
In person I will see him lodged at Kuessnacht.
ROSSELMANN.
You dare not do it. Nor durst the emperor's self,
So violate our dearest chartered rights.
GESSLER.
Where are they? Has the emperor confirmed them?
He never has. And only by obedience
Need you expect to win that favor from him.
You are all rebels 'gainst the emperor's power
And bear a desperate and rebellious spirit.
I know you all—I see you through and through.
Him do I single from amongst you now,
But in his guilt you all participate.
The wise will study silence and obedience.
[Exit, followed by BERTHA, RUDENZ, HARRAS, and attendants.
FRIESSHARDT and LEUTHOLD remain.
FURST (in violent anguish).
All's over now! He is resolved to bring
Destruction on myself and all my house.
STAUFFACHER (to Tell).
Oh, why did you provoke the tyrant's rage?
TELL.
Let him be calm who feels the pangs I felt.
STAUFFACHER.
Alas! alas! Our every hope is gone.
With you we all are fettered and enchained.
COUNTRY PEOPLE (surrounding Tell).
Our last remaining comfort goes with you!
LEUTHOLD (approaching him).
I'm sorry for you, Tell, but must obey.
TELL.
Farewell!
WALTER (clinging to him in great agony).
Oh, father, father, father dear!
TELL (pointing to Heaven).
Thy father is on high—appeal to Him!
STAUFFACHER.
Hast thou no message, Tell, to send your wife?
TELL (clasping the boy passionately to his breast).
The boy's uninjured; God will succor me!
[Tears himself suddenly away, and follows the soldiers
of the guard.
Eastern shore of the Lake of Lucerne; rugged and singularly shaped rocks close the prospect to the west. The lake is agitated, violent roaring and rushing of wind, with thunder and lightning at intervals.
KUNZ OF GERSAU, FISHERMAN and BOY.
KUNZ.
I saw it with these eyes! Believe me, friend,
It happen'd all precisely as I've said.
FISHERMAN.
Tell, made a prisoner, and borne off to Kuessnacht?
The best man in the land, the bravest arm,
Had we resolved to strike for liberty!
KUNZ.
The Viceroy takes him up the lake in person:
They were about to go on board, as I
Left Flueelen; but still the gathering storm,
That drove me here to land so suddenly,
Perchance has hindered their abrupt departure.
FISHERMAN.
Our Tell in chains, and in the viceroy's power!
Oh, trust me, Gessler will entomb him where
He never more shall see the light of day;
For, Tell once free, the tyrant well may dread
The just revenge of one so deep incensed.
KUNZ.
The old Landamman, too—von Attinghaus—
They say, is lying at the point of death.
FISHERMAN.
Then the last anchor of our hopes gives way!
He was the only man who dared to raise
His voice in favor of the people's rights.
KUNZ.
The storm grows worse and worse. So, fare ye well!
I'll go and seek out quarters in the village.
There's not a chance of getting off to-day.
[Exit.
FISHERMAN.
Tell dragged to prison, and the baron dead!
Now, tyranny, exalt thy insolent front—
Throw shame aside! The voice of truth is silenced,
The eye that watched for us in darkness closed,
The arm that should have struck thee down in chains!
BOY.
'Tis hailing hard—come, let us to the cottage
This is no weather to be out in, father!
FISHERMAN.
Rage on, ye winds! Ye lightnings, flash your fires!
Burst, ye swollen clouds! Ye cataracts of heaven,
Descend, and drown the country! In the germ,
Destroy the generations yet unborn!
Ye savage elements, be lords of all!
Return, ye bears; ye ancient wolves, return
To this wide, howling waste! The land is yours.
Who would live here when liberty is gone?
BOY.
Hark! How the wind whistles and the whirlpool roars;
I never saw a storm so fierce as this!
FISHERMAN.
To level at the head of his own child!
Never had father such command before.
And shall not nature, rising in wild wrath,
Revolt against the deed? I should not marvel,
Though to the lake these rocks should bow their heads,
Though yonder pinnacles, yon towers of ice,
That, since creation's dawn, have known no thaw,
Should, from their lofty summits, melt away;
Though yonder mountains, yon primeval cliffs,
Should topple down, and a new deluge whelm
Beneath its waves all living men's abodes!
[Bells heard.
BOY.
Hark! they are ringing on the mountain yonder!
They surely see some vessel in distress,
And toll the bell that we may pray for it.
[Ascends a rock.
FISHERMAN.
Woe to the bark that now pursues its course,
Rocked in the cradle of these storm-tossed waves.
Nor helm nor steersman here can aught avail;
The storm is master. Man is like a ball,
Tossed 'twixt the winds and billows. Far, or near,
No haven offers him its friendly shelter!
Without one ledge to grasp, the sheer, smooth rocks
Look down inhospitably on his despair,
And only tender him their flinty breasts.
BOY (calling from above).
Father, a ship; and bearing down from Flueelen.
FISHERMAN.
Heaven pity the poor wretches! When the storm
Is once entangled in this strait of ours,
It rages like some savage beast of prey,
Struggling against its cage's iron bars.
Howling, it seeks an outlet—all in vain;
For the rocks hedge it round on every side,
Walling the narrow pass as high as heaven.
[He ascends a cliff.
BOY.
It is the governor of Uri's ship;
By its red poop I know it, and the flag.
FISHERMAN.
Judgments of Heaven! Yes, it is he himself.
It is the governor! Yonder he sails,
And with him bears the burden of his crimes!
Soon has the arm of the avenger found him;
Now over him he knows a mightier lord.
These waves yield no obedience to his voice,
These rocks bow not their heads before his cap.
Boy, do not pray; stay not the Judge's arm!
BOY.
I pray not for the governor; I pray
For Tell, who is on board the ship with him.
FISHERMAN.
Alas, ye blind, unreasoning elements!
Must ye, in punishing one guilty head,
Destroy the vessel and the pilot too?
BOY.
See, see, they've cleared the Buggisgrat [20]; but now
The blast, rebounding from the Devil's Minster [21],
Has driven them back on the Great Axenberg. [22]
I cannot see them now.
FISHERMAN.
The Hakmesser [23]
Is there, that's foundered many a gallant ship.
If they should fail to double that with skill,
Their bark will go to pieces on the rocks
That hide their jagged peaks below the lake.
They have on board the very best of pilots;
If any man can save them, Tell is he;
But he is manacled, both hand and foot.
[Enter WILLIAM TELL, with his crossbow. He enters precipitately, looks wildly round, and testifies the most violent agitation. When he reaches the centre of the stage, he throws himself upon his knees, and stretches out his hands, first towards the earth, then towards heaven.
BOY (observing him).
See, father! Who is that man, kneeling yonder?
FISHERMAN.
He clutches at the earth with both his hands,
And looks as though he were beside himself.
BOY (advancing).
What do I see? Father, come here, and look!
FISHERMAN (approaches).
Who is it? God in heaven! What! William Tell,
How came you hither? Speak, Tell!
BOY.
Were you not
In yonder ship, a prisoner, and in chains?
FISHERMAN.
Were they not bearing you away to Kuessnacht?
TELL (rising).
I am released.
FISHERMAN and BOY.
Released, oh miracle!
BOY.
Whence came you here?
TELL.
From yonder vessel!
FISHERMAN.
What?
BOY.
Where is the viceroy?
TELL.
Drifting on the waves.
FISHERMAN.
Is't possible? But you! How are you here?
How 'scaped you from your fetters and the storm?
TELL.
By God's most gracious providence. Attend.
FISHERMAN and BOY.
Say on, say on!
TELL.
You know what passed at Altdorf?
FISHERMAN.
I do—say on!
TELL.
How I was seized and bound,
And ordered by the governor to Kuessnacht.
FISHERMAN.
And how with you at Flueelen he embarked.
All this we know. Say, how have you escaped?
TELL.
I lay on deck, fast bound with cords, disarmed,
In utter hopelessness. I did not think
Again to see the gladsome light of day,
Nor the dear faces of my wife and children;
And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters——
FISHERMAN.
Oh, wretched man!
TELL.
Then we put forth; the viceroy,
Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow
And quiver lay astern beside the helm;
And just as we had reached the corner, near
The Little Axen [24], heaven ordained it so,
That from the Gotthardt's gorge, a hurricane
Swept down upon us with such headlong force,
That every rower's heart within him sank,
And all on board looked for a watery grave.
Then heard I one of the attendant train,
Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him:
"You see our danger, and your own, my lord
And that we hover on the verge of death.
The boatmen there are powerless from fear,
Nor are they confident what course to take;
Now, here is Tell, a stout and fearless man,
And knows to steer with more than common skill.
How if we should avail ourselves of him
In this emergency?" The viceroy then
Addressed me thus: "If thou wilt undertake
To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell,
I might consent to free thee from thy bonds."
I answered, "Yes, my lord, with God's assistance,
I'll see what can be done, and help us heaven!"
On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I
Stood by the helm and fairly steered along;
Yet ever eyed my shooting-gear askance,
And kept a watchful eye upon the shore,
To find some point where I might leap to land
And when I had descried a shelving crag,
That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake——
FISHERMAN.
I know it. 'Tis at foot of the Great Axen;
But looks so steep, I never could have dreamed
'Twere possible to leap it from the boat.
TELL.
I bade the men put forth their utmost might,
Until we came before the shelving crag.
For there, I said, the danger will be past!
Stoutly they pulled, and soon we neared the point;
One prayer to God for his assisting grace,
And straining every muscle, I brought round
The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall;
Then snatching up my weapons, with a bound
I swung myself upon the flattened shelf,
And with my feet thrust off, with all my might,
The puny bark into the hell of waters.
There let it drift about, as heaven ordains!
Thus am I here, delivered from the might
Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful still.
FISHERMAN.
Tell, Tell, the Lord has manifestly wrought
A miracle in thy behalf! I scarce
Can credit my own eyes. But tell me, now,
Whither you purpose to betake yourself?
For you will be in peril should the viceroy
Chance to escape this tempest with his life.
TELL.
I heard him say, as I lay bound on board,
His purpose was to disembark at Brunnen;
And, crossing Schwytz, convey me to his castle.
FISHERMAN.
Means he to go by land?
TELL.
So he intends.
FISHERMAN.
Oh, then, conceal yourself without delay!
Not twice will heaven release you from his grasp.
TELL.
Which is the nearest way to Arth and Kuessnacht?
FISHERMAN.
The public road leads by the way of Steinen,
But there's a nearer road, and more retired,
That goes by Lowerz, which my boy can show you.
TELL (gives him his hand).
May heaven reward your kindness! Fare ye well!
[As he is going he comes back.
Did not you also take the oath at Rootli?
I heard your name, methinks.
FISHERMAN.
Yes, I was there,
And took the oath of the confederacy;
TELL.
Then do me this one favor; speed to Buerglen
My wife is anxious at my absence—tell her
That I am free, and in secure concealment.
FISHERMAN.
But whither shall I tell her you have fled?
TELL.
You'll find her father with her, and some more,
Who took the oath with you upon the Rootli;
Bid them be resolute, and strong of heart,
For Tell is free and master of his arm;
They shall hear further news of me ere long.
FISHERMAN.
What have you, then, in view? Come, tell me frankly!
TELL.
When once 'tis done 'twill be in every mouth.
[Exit.
FISHERMAN.
Show him the way, boy. Heaven be his support!
Whate'er he has resolved, he'll execute.
[Exit.
Baronial mansion of Attinghausen. The BARON upon a couch dying.
WALTER FURST, STAUFFACHER, MELCHTHAL, and BAUMGARTEN attending round
him. WALTER TELL kneeling before the dying man.
FURST.
All now is over with him. He is gone.
STAUFFACHER.
He lies not like one dead. The feather, see,
Moves on his lips! His sleep is very calm,
And on his features plays a placid smile.
[BAUMGARTEN goes to the door and speaks with some one.
FURST.
Who's there?
BAUGMARTEN (returning).
Tell's wife, your daughter; she insists
That she must speak with you, and see her boy.
[WALTER TELL rises.
FURST.
I who need comfort—can I comfort her?
Does every sorrow centre on my head?
HEDWIG (forcing her way in).
Where is my child? Unhand me! I must see him.
STAUFFACHER.
Be calm! Reflect you're in the house of death!
HEDWIG (falling upon her boy's neck).
My Walter! Oh, he yet is mine!
WALTER.
Dear mother!
HEDWIG.
And is it surely so? Art thou unhurt?
[Gazing at him with anxious tenderness.
And is it possible he aimed at thee?
How could he do it? Oh, he has no heart—
And he could wing an arrow at his child!
FURST.
His soul was racked with anguish when he did it.
No choice was left him, but to shoot or die!
HEDWIG.
Oh, if he had a father's heart, he would
Have sooner perished by a thousand deaths!
STAUFFACHER.
You should be grateful for God's gracious care,
That ordered things so well.
HEDWIG.
Can I forget
What might have been the issue. God of heaven!
Were I to live for centuries, I still
Should see my boy tied up,—his father's mark,
And still the shaft would quiver in my heart!
MELCHTHAL.
You know not how the viceroy taunted him!
HEDWIG.
Oh, ruthless heart of man! Offend his pride,
And reason in his breast forsakes her seat;
In his blind wrath he'll stake upon a cast
A child's existence, and a mother's heart!
BAUMGARTEN.
Is then your husband's fate not hard enough,
That you embitter it by such reproaches?
Have you no feeling for his sufferings?
HEDWIG (turning to him and gazing full upon him).
Hast thou tears only for thy friend's distress?
Say, where were you when he—my noble Tell,
Was bound in chains? Where was your friendship, then?
The shameful wrong was done before your eyes;
Patient you stood, and let your friend be dragged,
Ay, from your very hands. Did ever Tell
Act thus to you? Did he stand whining by
When on your heels the viceroy's horsemen pressed,
And full before you roared the storm-tossed lake?
Oh, not with idle tears he showed his pity;
Into the boat he sprung, forgot his home,
His wife, his children, and delivered thee!
FURST.
It had been madness to attempt his rescue,
Unarmed, and few in numbers as we were.
HEDWIG (casting herself upon his bosom).
Oh, father, and thou, too, hast lost my Tell!
The country—all have lost him! All lament
His loss; and, oh, how he must pine for us!
Heaven keep his soul from sinking to despair!
No friend's consoling voice can penetrate
His dreary dungeon walls. Should befall sick!
Ah! In the vapors of the murky vault
He must fall sick. Even as the Alpine rose
Grows pale and withers in the swampy air,
There is no life for him, but in the sun,
And in the balm of heaven's refreshing breeze.
Imprisoned? Liberty to him is breath;
He cannot live in the rank dungeon air!
STAUFFACHER.
Pray you be calm! And, hand in hand, we'll all
Combine to burst his prison doors.
HEDWIG.
Without him,
What have you power to do? While Tell was free,
There still, indeed, was hope—weak innocence
Had still a friend, and the oppressed a stay.
Tell saved you all! You cannot all combined
Release him from his cruel prison bonds.
[The BARON wakes.
BAUMGARTEN.
Hush, hush! He starts!
ATTINGHAUSEN (sitting up).
Where is he?
STAUFFACHER.
Who?
ATTINGHAUSEN.
He leaves me,—
In my last moments he abandons me.
STAUFFACHER.
He means his nephew. Have they sent for him?
FURST.
He has been summoned. Cheerily, Sir! Take comfort!
He has found his heart at last, and is our own.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Say, has he spoken for his native land?
STAUFFACHER.
Ay, like a hero!
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Wherefore comes he not,
That he may take my blessing ere I die?
I feel my life fast ebbing to a close.
STAUFFACHER.
Nay, talk not thus, dear Sir! This last short sleep
Has much refreshed you, and your eye is bright.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Life is but pain, and even that has left me;
My sufferings, like my hopes, have passed away.
[Observing the boy.
What boy is that?
FURST.
Bless him. Oh, good my lord!
He is my grandson, and is fatherless.
[HEDWIG kneels with the boy before the dying man.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
And fatherless I leave you all, ay, all!
Oh, wretched fate, that these old eyes should see
My country's ruin, as they close in death.
Must I attain the utmost verge of life,
To feel my hopes go with me to the grave.
STAUFFACHER (to FURST).
Shall he depart 'mid grief and gloom like this?
Shall not his parting moments be illumed
By hope's delightful beams? My noble lord,
Raise up your drooping spirit! We are not
Forsaken quite—past all deliverance.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Who shall deliver you?
FURST.
Ourselves. For know
The Cantons three are to each other pledged
To hunt the tyrants from the land. The league
Has been concluded, and a sacred oath
Confirms our union. Ere another year
Begins its circling course—the blow shall fall.
In a free land your ashes shall repose.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
The league concluded! Is it really so?
MELCHTHAL.
On one day shall the Cantons rise together.
All is prepared to strike—and to this hour
The secret closely kept though hundreds share it;
The ground is hollow 'neath the tyrant's feet;
Their days of rule are numbered, and ere long
No trace of their dominion shall remain.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
Ay, but their castles, how to master them?
MELCHTHAL.
On the same day they, too, are doomed to fall.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
And are the nobles parties to this league?
STAUFFACHER.
We trust to their assistance should we need it;
As yet the peasantry alone have sworn.
ATTINGHAUSEN (raising himself up in great astonishment).
And have the peasantry dared such a deed
On their own charge without their nobles' aid—
Relied so much on their own proper strength?
Nay then, indeed, they want our help no more;
We may go down to death cheered by the thought
That after us the majesty of man
Will live, and be maintained by other hands.
[He lays his hand upon the head of the child,
who is kneeling before him.
From this boy's head, whereon the apple lay,
Your new and better liberty shall spring;
The old is crumbling down—the times are changing
And from the ruins blooms a fairer life.
STAUFFACHER (to FURST).
See, see, what splendor streams around his eye!
This is not nature's last expiring flame,
It is the beam of renovated life.
ATTINGHAUSEN.
From their old towers the nobles are descending,
And swearing in the towns the civic oath.
In Uechtland and Thurgau the work's begun;
The noble Bern lifts her commanding head,
And Freyburg is a stronghold of the free;
The stirring Zurich calls her guilds to arms;
And now, behold! the ancient might of kings
Is shivered against her everlasting walls.
[He speaks what follows with a prophetic tone;
his utterance rising into enthusiasm.
I see the princes and their haughty peers,
Clad all in steel, come striding on to crush
A harmless shepherd race with mailed hand.
Desperate the conflict: 'tis for life or death;
And many a pass will tell to after years
Of glorious victories sealed in foemen's blood. [25]
The peasant throws himself with naked breast,
A willing victim on their serried lances.
They yield—the flower of chivalry's cut down,
And freedom waves her conquering banner high!
[Grasps the hands Of WALTER FURST and STAUFFACHER.
Hold fast together, then—forever fast!
Let freedom's haunts be one in heart and mind!
Set watches on your mountain-tops, that league
May answer league, when comes the hour to strike.
Be one—be one—be one——
[He falls back upon the cushion. His lifeless hands continue to grasp those of FURST and STAUFFACHER, who regard him for some moments in silence, and then retire, overcome with sorrow. Meanwhile the servants have quietly pressed into the chamber, testifying different degrees of grief. Some kneel down beside him and weep on his body: while this scene is passing the castle bell tolls.
RUDENZ (entering hurriedly).
Lives he? Oh, say, can he still hear my voice?
FURST (averting his face).
You are our seignior and protector now;
Henceforth this castle bears another name.
RUDENZ (gazing at the body with deep emotion).
Oh, God! Is my repentance, then, too late?
Could he not live some few brief moments more,
To see the change that has come o'er my heart?
Oh, I was deaf to his true counselling voice
While yet he walked on earth. Now he is gone;
Gone and forever,—leaving me the debt,—
The heavy debt I owe him—undischarged!
Oh, tell me! did he part in anger with me?
STAUFFACHER.
When dying he was told what you had done,
And blessed the valor that inspired your words!
RUDENZ (kneeling downs beside the dead body).
Yes, sacred relics of a man beloved!
Thou lifeless corpse! Here, on thy death-cold hand,
Do I abjure all foreign ties forever!
And to my country's cause devote myself.
I am a Switzer, and will act as one
With my whole heart and soul.
[Rises.
Mourn for our friend,
Our common parent, yet be not dismayed!
'Tis not alone his lands that I inherit,—
His heart—his spirit have devolved on me;
And my young arm shall execute the task
For which his hoary age remained your debtor.
Give me your hands, ye venerable fathers!
Thine, Melchthal, too! Nay, do not hesitate,
Nor from me turn distrustfully away.
Accept my plighted vow—my knightly oath!
FURST.
Give him your hands, my friends! A heart like his
That sees and owns its error claims our trust.
MELCHTHAL.
You ever held the peasantry in scorn;
What surety have we that you mean us fair?
RUDENZ.
Oh, think not of the error of my youth!
STAUFFACHER (to MELCHTHAL).
Be one! They were our father's latest words.
See they be not forgotten! Take my hand,—
A peasant's hand,—and with it, noble Sir,
The gage and the assurance of a man!
Without us, sir, what would the nobles be?
Our order is more ancient, too, than yours!
RUDENZ.
I honor it, and with my sword will shield it!
MELCHTHAL.
The arm, my lord, that tames the stubborn earth,
And makes its bosom blossom with increase,
Can also shield a man's defenceless breast.
RUDENZ.
Then you shall shield my breast and I will yours;
Thus each be strengthened by the others' aid!
Yet wherefore talk we while our native land
Is still to alien tyranny a prey?
First let us sweep the foeman from the soil,
Then reconcile our difference in peace!
[After a moment's pause.
How! You are silent! Not a word for me?
And have I yet no title to your trust?
Then must I force my way, despite your will,
Into the league you secretly have formed.
You've held a Diet on the Rootli,—I
Know this,—know all that was transacted there!
And though I was not trusted with your secret,
I still have kept it like a sacred pledge.
Trust me, I never was my country's foe,
Nor would I ever have ranged myself against you!
Yet you did wrong to put your rising off.
Time presses! We must strike, and swiftly, too!
Already Tell has fallen a sacrifice
To your delay.
STAUFFACHER.
We swore to wait till Christmas.
RUDENZ.
I was not there,—I did not take the oath.
If you delay I will not!
MELCHTHAL.
What! You would——
RUDENZ.
I count me now among the country's fathers,
And to protect you is my foremost duty.
FURST.
Within the earth to lay these dear remains,
That is your nearest and most sacred duty.
RUDENZ.
When we have set the country free, we'll place
Our fresh, victorious wreaths upon his bier.
Oh, my dear friends, 'tis not your cause alone!
I have a cause to battle with the tyrants
That more concerns myself. Know, that my Bertha
Has disappeared,—been carried off by stealth,
Stolen from amongst us by their ruffian bands!
STAUFFACHER.
And has the tyrant dared so fell an outrage
Against a lady free and nobly born?
RUDENZ.
Alas! my friends, I promised help to you,
And I must first implore it for myself?
She that I love is stolen—is forced away,
And who knows where the tyrant has concealed her.
Or with what outrages his ruffian crew
May force her into nuptials she detests?
Forsake me not! Oh help me to her rescue!
She loves you! Well, oh well, has she deserved
That all should rush to arms in her behalf.
STAUFFACHER.
What course do you propose?
RUDENZ.
Alas! I know not.
In the dark mystery that shrouds her fate,
In the dread agony of this suspense,
Where I can grasp at naught of certainty,
One single ray of comfort beams upon me.
From out the ruins of the tyrant's power
Alone can she be rescued from the grave.
Their strongholds must be levelled! Everyone,
Ere we can pierce into her gloomy prison.
MELCHTHAL.
Come, lead us on! We follow! Why defer
Until to-morrow what to-day may do?
Tell's arm was free when we at Rootli swore,
This foul enormity was yet undone.
And change of circumstance brings change of law.
Who such a coward as to waver still?
RUDENZ (to WALTER FURST).
Meanwhile to arms, and wait in readiness
The fiery signal on the mountain-tops.
For swifter than a boat can scour the lake
Shall you have tidings of our victory;
And when you see the welcome flames ascend,
Then, like the lightning, swoop upon the foe,
And lay the despots and their creatures low!
The pass near Kuessnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks on either side. The travellers are visible upon the heights, before they appear on the stage. Rocks all round the stage. Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with brushwood.
TELL (enters with his crossbow).
Here through this deep defile he needs must pass;
There leads no other road to Kuessnacht; here
I'll do it; the opportunity is good.
Yon alder tree stands well for my concealment,
Thence my avenging shaft will surely reach him.
The straitness of the path forbids pursuit.
Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven!
Thou must away from earth, thy sand is run.
I led a peaceful, inoffensive life;
My bow was bent on forest game alone,
And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder.
But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace;
The milk of human kindness thou hast turned
To rankling poison in my breast, and made
Appalling deeds familiar to my soul.
He who could make his own child's head his mark
Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart.
My children dear, my loved and faithful wife,
Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury!
When last I drew my bow, with trembling hand,
And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced
To level at his child; when, all in vain,
Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy,
Then in the agony of my soul I vowed
A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone,
That when my bow next winged an arrow's flight
Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made
Amid the hellish torments of that moment
I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it.
Thou art my lord, my emperor's delegate,
Yet would the emperor not have stretched his power
So far as thou. He sent thee to these Cantons
To deal forth law, stern law, for he is angered;
But not to wanton with unbridled will
In every cruelty, with fiendlike joy:
There is a God to punish and avenge.
Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs,
My precious jewel now, my chiefest treasure;
A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief
Could never penetrate, but thou shalt pierce it.
And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft
Has served me faithfully in sportive scenes,
Desert me not in this most serious hour—
Only be true this once, my own good cord,
That has so often winged the biting shaft:—
For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand,
I have no second to send after thee.
[Travellers pass over the stage.
I'll sit me down upon this bench of stone,
Hewn for the wayworn traveller's brief repose—
For here there is no home. Each hurries by
The other, with quick step and careless look,
Nor stays to question of his grief. Here goes
The merchant, full of care—the pilgrim next,
With slender scrip—and then the pious monk,
The scowling robber, and the jovial player,
The carrier with his heavy-laden horse,
That comes to us from the far haunts of men;
For every road conducts to the world's end.
They all push onwards—every man intent
On his own several business—mine is murder.
[Sits down.
Time was, my dearest children, when with joy
You hailed your father's safe return to home
From his long mountain toils; for when he came
He ever brought some little present with him.
A lovely Alpine flower—a curious bird—
Or elf-boat found by wanderers on the hills.
But now he goes in quest of other game:
In the wild pass he sits, and broods on murder;
And watches for the life-blood of his foe,
But still his thoughts are fixed on you alone,
Dear children. 'Tis to guard your innocence,
To shield you from the tyrant's fell revenge,
He bends his bow to do a deed of blood!
[Rises.
Well—I am watching for a noble prey—
Does not the huntsman, with severest toil,
Roam for whole days amid the winter's cold,
Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock,—
And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which
His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood;
And all this but to gain a wretched chamois.
A far more precious prize is now my aim—
The heart of that dire foe who would destroy me.
[Sprightly music heard in the distance, which
comes gradually nearer.
From my first years of boyhood I have used
The bow—been practised in the archer's feats;
The bull's-eye many a time my shafts have hit,
And many a goodly prize have I brought home,
Won in the games of skill. This day I'll make
My master-shot, and win the highest prize
Within the whole circumference of the mountains.
[A marriage train passes over the stage, and goes up
the pass. TELL gazes at it, leaning on his bow. He
is joined by STUSSI, the Ranger.
STUSSI.
There goes the bridal party of the steward
Of Moerlischachen's cloister. He is rich!
And has some ten good pastures on the Alps.
He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee,
There will be revelry to-night at Kuessnacht.
Come with us—every honest man's invited.
TELL.
A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.
STUSSI.
If grief oppress you, dash it from your heart!
Bear with your lot. The times are heavy now,
And we must snatch at pleasure while we can.
Here 'tis a bridal, there a burial.
TELL.
And oft the one treads close upon the other.
STUSSI.
So runs the world at present. Everywhere
We meet with woe and misery enough.
There's been a slide of earth in Glarus, and
A whole side of the Glaernisch has fallen in.
TELL.
Strange! And do even the hills begin to totter?
There is stability for naught on earth.
STUSSI.
Strange tidings, too, we hear from other parts.
I spoke with one but now, that came from Baden,
Who said a knight was on his way to court,
And as he rode along a swarm of wasps
Surrounded him, and settling on his horse,
So fiercely stung the beast that it fell dead,
And he proceeded to the court on foot.
TELL.
Even the weak are furnished with a sting.
[ARMGART (enters with several children, and places
herself at the entrance of the pass).
STUSSI.
'Tis thought to bode disaster to the country,
Some horrid deed against the course of nature.
TELL.
Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds;
There needs no miracle to tell their coming.
STUSSI.
Too true! He's blessed who tills his field in peace,
And sits untroubled by his own fireside.
TELL.
The very meekest cannot rest in quiet,
Unless it suits with his ill neighbor's humor.
[TELL looks frequently with restless expectation
towards the top of the pass.
STUSSI.
So fare you well! You're waiting some one here?
TELL.
I am.
STUSSI.
A pleasant meeting with your friends!
You are from Uri, are you not? His grace
The governor's expected thence to-day.
TRAVELLER (entering).
Look not to see the governor to-day.
The streams are flooded by the heavy rains,
And all the bridges have been swept away.
[TELL rises.
ARMGART (coming forward).
The viceroy not arrived?
STUSSI.
And do you seek him?
ARMGART.
Alas, I do!
STUSSI.
But why thus place yourself
Where you obstruct his passage down the pass?
ARMGART.
Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me.
FRIESSHARDT (coming hastily down the pass, and calls upon the stage).
Make way, make way! My lord, the governor,
Is coming down on horseback close behind me.
[Exit TELL.
ARMGART (with animation).
The viceroy comes!
[She goes towards the pass with her children.
GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS appear upon the
heights on horseback.
STUSSI (to FRIESSHARDT).
How got ye through the stream
When all the bridges have been carried down?
FRIESSHARDT.
We've battled with the billows; and, my friend,
An Alpine torrent's nothing after that.
STUSSI.
How! Were you out, then, in that dreadful storm?
FRIESSHARDT.
Ay, that we were! I shall not soon forget it.
STUSSI.
Stay, speak——
FRIESSHARDT.
I cannot. I must to the castle,
And tell them that the governor's at hand.
[Exit.
STUSSI.
If honest men, now, had been in the ship,
It had gone down with every soul on board:—
Some folks are proof 'gainst fire and water both.
[Looking round.
Where has the huntsman gone with whom I spoke?
[Exit.
Enter GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS on horseback.
GESSLER.
Say what you please; I am the emperor's servant,
And my first care must be to do his pleasure.
He did not send me here to fawn and cringe
And coax these boors into good humor. No!
Obedience he must have. We soon shall see
If king or peasant is to lord it here?
ARMGART.
Now is the moment! Now for my petition!
GESSLER.
'Twas not in sport that I set up the cap
In Altdorf—or to try the people's hearts—
All this I knew before. I set it up
That they might learn to bend those stubborn necks
They carry far too proudly—and I placed
What well I knew their eyes could never brook
Full in the road, which they perforce must pass,
That, when their eyes fell on it, they might call
That lord to mind whom they too much forget.
HARRAS.
But surely, sir, the people have some rights——
GESSLER.
This is no time to settle what they are.
Great projects are at work, and hatching now;
The imperial house seeks to extend its power.
Those vast designs of conquests, which the sire
Has gloriously begun, the son will end.
This petty nation is a stumbling-block—
One way or other it must be subjected.
[They are about to pass on. ARMMGART throws herself
down before GESSLER.
ARMGART.
Mercy, lord governor! Oh, pardon, pardon!
GESSLER.
Why do you cross me on the public road?
Stand back, I say.
ARMGART.
My husband lies in prison;
My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity,
Pity, my lord, upon our sore distress!
HARRAS.
Who are you, woman; and who is your husband?
ARMGART.
A poor wild hay-man of the Rigiberg,
Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss,
Mows down the grass from steep and craggy shelves,
To which the very cattle dare not climb.
HARRAS (to GESSLER).
By Heaven! a sad and miserable life!
I prithee, give the wretched man his freedom.
How great soever his offence may be,
His horrid trade is punishment enough.
[To ARMGART.
You shall have justice. To the castle bring
Your suit. This is no place to deal with it.
ARMGART.
No, no, I will not stir from where I stand,
Until your grace restore my husband to me.
Six months already has he been in prison,
And waits the sentence of a judge in vain.
GESSLER.
How! Would you force me, woman? Hence! Begone!
ARMGART.
Justice, my lord! Ay, justice! Thou art judge!
The deputy of the emperor—of Heaven!
Then do thy duty, as thou hopest for justice
From Him who rules above, show it to us!
GESSLER.
Hence! drive this daring rabble from my sight!
ARMGART (seizing his horse's reins).
No, no, by Heaven, I've nothing more to lose.
Thou stirrest not, viceroy, from this spot until
Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows,
And roll thy eyes; I fear not. Our distress
Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care
No longer for thine anger.
GESSLER.
Woman, hence!
Give way, I say, or I will ride thee down.
ARMGART.
Well, do so; there!
[Throws her children and herself upon the ground before him.
Here on the ground I lie,
I and my children. Let the wretched orphans
Be trodden by thy horse into the dust!
It will not be the worst that thou hast done.
HARRAS.
Are you mad, woman?
ARMGART (continuing with vehemence).
Many a day thou hast
Trampled the emperor's lands beneath thy feet.
Oh, I am but a woman! Were I man,
I'd find some better thing to do, than here
Lie grovelling in the dust.
[The music of the wedding party is again heard
from the top of the pass, but more softly.
GESSLER.
Where are my knaves?
Drag her away, lest I forget myself,
And do some deed I may repent hereafter.
HARRAS.
My lord, the servants cannot force a passage;
The pass is blocked up by a marriage party.
GESSLER.
Too mild a ruler am I to this people,
Their tongues are all too bold; nor have they yet
Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be.
I must take order for the remedy;
I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs,
And crush the soul of liberty within them.
I'll publish a new law throughout the land;
I will——
[An arrow pierces him,—he puts his hand on his heart,
and is about to sink—with a feeble voice.
Oh God, have mercy on my soul!
HARRAS.
My lord! my lord! Oh God! What's this? Whence came it?
ARMGART (starts up).
Dead, dead! He reels, he falls! 'Tis in his heart!
HARRAS (springs from his horse).
This is most horrible! Oh Heavens! sir knight,
Address yourself to God and pray for mercy;
You are a dying man.
GESSLER.
That shot was Tell's.
[He slides from his horse into the arms of RUDOLPH
DER HARRAS, who lays him down upon the bench. TELL
appears above, upon the rocks.
TELL.
Thou knowest the archer, seek no other hand.
Our cottages are free, and innocence
Secure from thee: thou'lt be our curse no more.
[TELL disappears. People rush in.
STUSSI.
What is the matter? Tell me what has happened?
ARMGART.
The governor is shot,—killed by an arrow!
PEOPLE (running in).
Who has been shot?
[While the foremost of the marriage party are coming
on the stage, the hindmost are still upon the heights.
The music continues.
HARRAS.
He's bleeding fast to death.
Away, for help—pursue the murderer!
Unhappy man, is't thus that thou must die?
Thou wouldst not heed the warnings that I gave thee!
STUSSI.
By heaven, his cheek is pale! His life ebbs fast.
MANY VOICES.
Who did the deed?
HARRAS.
What! Are the people mad
That they make music to a murder? Silence!
[Music breaks off suddenly. People continue to flock in.
Speak, if thou canst, my lord. Hast thou no charge
To intrust me with?
[GESSLER makes signs with his hand, which he repeats
with vehemence, when he finds they are not understood.
What would you have me do?
Shall I to Kuessnacht? I can't guess your meaning.
Do not give way to this impatience. Leave
All thoughts of earth and make your peace with Heaven.
[The whole marriage party gather round the dying man.
STUSSI.
See there! how pale he grows! Death's gathering now
About his heart; his eyes grow dim and glazed.
ARMGART (holds up a child).
Look, children, how a tyrant dies!
HARRAS.
Mad hag!
Have you no touch of feeling that you look
On horrors such as these without a shudder?
Help me—take hold. What, will not one assist
To pull the torturing arrow from his breast?
WOMEN.
We touch the man whom God's own hand has struck!
HARRAS.
All curses light on you!
[Draws his sword.
STUSSI (seizes his arm).
Gently, sir knight!
Your power is at an end. 'Twere best forbear.
Our country's foe is fallen. We will brook
No further violence. We are free men.
ALL.
The country's free!
HARRAS.
And is it come to this?
Fear and obedience at an end so soon?
[To the soldiers of the guard who are thronging in.
You see, my friends, the bloody piece of work
They've acted here. 'Tis now too late for help,
And to pursue the murderer were vain.
New duties claim our care. Set on to Kuessnacht,
And let us save that fortress for the king!
For in an hour like this all ties of order,
Fealty, and faith are scattered to the winds.
No man's fidelity is to be trusted.
[As he is going out with the soldiers six
FRATRES MISERICCRDIAE appear.
ARMGART.
Here come the brotherhood of mercy. Room!
STUSSI.
The victim's slain, and now the ravens stoop.
BROTHERS OF MERCY (form a semicircle round the body, and sing in solemn tones).
With hasty step death presses on,
Nor grants to man a moment's stay,
He falls ere half his race be run
In manhood's pride is swept away!
Prepared or unprepared to die,
He stands before his Judge on high.
[While they are repeating the last two lines, the curtain falls.
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