LOVE AND INTRIGUE 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP 
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI 
 DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 
 
 BY 
 
 FRIEDRICK SCHILLER 
 
 Volume I 
 
 Hfibrarp etittton 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 C^e pwblfetyerg $late Renting Ca
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Lovts AND INTRIGUE 5 
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP 113 
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI . 155 
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN ..... 276 
 
 2087909
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 A TRAGEDY. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 PRESIDENT VON WAITER, Prime MILLER, the Town Musician, and 
 
 Minister in the Court of a German Teacher of Music. 
 
 Prince. MRS. MILLER, his wife. 
 
 FERDINAND, his son; a Major in the LOUISA, the daughter of Miller, in 
 
 Army ; inlove with Louisa Miller. love with Ferdinand. 
 
 BARON VON KALB, Court. Marshal LADYMiLFORD,</te Prince's Mistress. 
 
 (or Chamberlain). SOPHY, attendant on Lady Milford. 
 
 WOKM, Private Secretary to the Pres- An old Valet in the service of the 
 
 ideal. Prince. 
 
 Officers, Attendants, etc. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 MILLER MRS. MILLEB. 
 
 MILLER (walking quickly up and down the room). 
 Once for all ! The affair is becoming serious. My 
 daughter and the baron will soon be the town-talk my 
 house lose its character the president will get wind of 
 it, and the short and long of the matter is, I'll show 
 the younker the door. 
 
 MRS. MILL. You did not entice him to your house 
 did not thrust your daughter upon him ! 
 
 MILL. Didn't entice him to my house didn't thrust 
 the girl upon him! Who'll believe me? I was master 
 of my own house. I ought to have taken more care of 
 rny daughter. I should have bundled the major out at 
 once, or have gone straight to his excellency, his papa, 
 and disclosed all. The young baron will get off merely
 
 6 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 with a snubbing, I know that well enough, and all the 
 blame will fall upon the fiddler. 
 
 MBS. MILL, (sipping her coffee). Pooh ! nonsense ! 
 How can it fall upon you? What have people to do 
 with you? You follow your profession, and pick up 
 pupils wherever you can find them. 
 
 MILL. All very fine, but please to tell me what will be 
 the upshot of the whole affair? He can't marry the girl 
 marriage is out of the question, and to make her his 
 God help us ! " Good-by t'ye ! " No, no when such a 
 sprig of nobility has been nibbling here and there and 
 everywhere, and has glutted himself with the devil 
 knows what all, of course it will be a relish to my young 
 gentleman to get a mouthful of sweet water. Take heed ! 
 Take heed ! If you were dotted with eyes, and could 
 place a sentinel for every hair of your head, he'll bam- 
 boozle her under your very nose ; add one to her reck- 
 oning, take himself off, and the girl's ruined for life, left 
 in the lurch, or, having once tasted the trade, will carry 
 it on. (Striking his forehead.) Oh, horrible thought! 
 
 MBS. MILL. God in his mercy protect us! 
 
 MILL. We shall want his protection. You may well 
 say that. What other object can such a scapegrace 
 have ? The girl is handsome well made can show a 
 pretty foot. How the upper story is furnished matters 
 little. That's blinked in you women if nature has not 
 played the niggard in other respects. Let this harum- 
 scarum but turn over this chapter ho ! ho ! his eyes 
 will glisten like Rodney's when he got scent of a French 
 frigate ; then up with all sail and at her, and I don't 
 blame him for it flesh is flesh. I know that very 
 well. 
 
 MBS. MILL. You should only read the beautiful billj- 
 doux which the baron writes to your daughter. Gracious 
 me ! Why it's as clear as the sun at noonday that he 
 loves her purely for her virtuous soul. 
 
 MILL That's the right strain! We beat the sack, 
 but mean the ass's back. He who wishes to pay his 
 respects to the flesh needs only a kind heart for a go- 
 between. What did I myself? 'When we've once so far 
 cleared the ground that the affections cry ready ! slap I
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 7 
 
 the bodies follow their example, the appetites are obe 
 dient, and the silver moon kindly plays the pimp. 
 
 MRS. MILL. And then only think of the beautiful 
 books that the major has sent us. Your daughter always 
 prays out of them. 
 
 MILL, (whistles). Prays ! You've hit the mark. The 
 plain, simple food of nature is much too raw and indi- 
 
 festible for this maccaroni gentleman's stomach. It must 
 e cooked for him artificially in the infernal pestilential 
 pitcher of your novel-writers. Into the fire with the 
 rubbish ! I shall have the girl taking up with God 
 knows what all about heavenly fooleries that will get 
 Into her blood, like Spanish flies, and scatter to the "winds 
 the handful of Christianity that cost her father so much 
 trouble to keep together. Into the fire with them I say ! 
 The girl will take the devil's own nonsense into her head; 
 amidst the dreams of her fool's paradise she'll not know 
 her own home, but forget and feel ashamed of her father, 
 the music-master; and, lastly, I shall lose a worthy, 
 honest son-in-law who might have nestled himself so 
 snugly into my connections. No ! damn it ! (Jiimps up 
 in a passion.) I'll break the neck of it at once, and the 
 major yes, yes, the major! shall be shown where the 
 carpenter made the door. (Going.) 
 
 MRS. MILL. Be civil, Miller ! How many a bright 
 shilling have his presents 
 
 MILL, (comes back, and goes tip to her). The blood- 
 money of my daughter ? To Beelzebub with thee, thou 
 infamous bawd ! Sooner will I vagabondize with my 
 violin and fiddle for a bit of bread sooner will I break 
 to pieces my instrument and carry dung on the sounding- 
 board than taste a mouthful'earned by my only child at 
 the price of her soul and future happiness. Give up your 
 cursed coffee and snuff-taking, and there will be no need 
 to carry your daughter's face to market. I have always 
 had my bellyful and a good shirt to my back before this 
 confounded scamp put his nose into my crib. 
 
 MRS. MILL. Now don't be so ready to pitch the house 
 out of window. How you flare up all of a sudden. I 
 only meant to say that we shouldn't offend the major, 
 because he is the son of the president.
 
 8 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 MILL. There lies the root of the mischief. For that 
 reason for that very reason the thing must be put 
 a stop to this very day ! The president, if he is a just 
 and upright father, will give me his thanks. You must 
 brush up my red plush, and I will go straight to his 
 excellency. I shall say to him, " Your excellency's son 
 has an eye to my daughter ; my daughter is not good 
 enough to be your excellency's son's wife, but too good 
 to be your excellency's son's strumpet, and there's an end 
 of the matter. My name is Miller." 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter SECRETARY WORM. 
 
 MRS. MILL. Ah ! Good morning, Mr. Seckertary ! 
 Have we indeed the pleasure of seeing you again ? 
 
 WORM. All on my side on my side, cousin Miller ! 
 Where a high-born cavalier's visits are received mine can 
 be of no account whatever. 
 
 MRS. MILL. How can you think so, Mr. Seckertary? 
 His lordship the baron, Major Ferdinand, certainly does 
 us the honor to look in now and then ; but, for all that, we 
 don't undervalue others. 
 
 MILL, (vexed ) . A chair, wife, for the gentleman ! Be 
 seated, kinsman. 
 
 WORM (lays aside hat and stick, and seats himself). 
 Well, well and how then is my future or past 
 bride ? I hope she'll not be may I not have the honor 
 of seeing Miss Louisa? 
 
 MRS. MILL. Thanks for inquiries, Mr. Seckertary, but 
 my daughter is not at all proud. 
 
 MILL, (angry, jogs her with his elbow). Woman ! 
 
 MRS. MILL. Sorry she can't have that honor, Mr. Sec- 
 kertary. My daughter is now at mass. 
 
 WORM. I am glad to hear it, glad to hear it. I 
 shall have in her a pious, Christian wife ! 
 
 MRS. MILL, (smiling in a stupidly affected manner). 
 Yes but, Mr. Seckertary 
 
 MILL, (greatly incensed, pulls her ears). Woman ! 
 
 MRS. MILL. If our family can serve you in any other 
 way with the greatest pleasure, Mr. Seckertary
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 9 
 
 WORM (frowning angrily). In any other way ? Much 
 obliged ! much obliged ! hm ! hm ! hm ! 
 
 MKS. MILL. But, as you yourself must see, Mr. Sec- 
 kertary 
 
 MILL, (in a rage, shaking his fist at her). Woman ! 
 
 MRS. MILL. Good is good, and better is better, and one 
 does not like to stand between fortune and one's only 
 child (with vulgar pride). You understand me, Mr. 
 Seckertary ? 
 
 WORM. Understand. Not exac . Oh, yes. But 
 
 what do you really mean ? 
 
 MRS. MILL. Why why I only think I mean 
 (coughs). Since then Providence has determined to make 
 a great lady of my daughter 
 
 WORM (jumping front, his chair). What's that you 
 say ? what ? 
 
 MILL. Keep your seat, keep your seat, Mr. Secretary ! 
 The woman's an out-and-out fool ! Where's the great 
 lady to come from ? How you show your donkey's ears 
 by talking such stuff. 
 
 MRS. MILL. Scold as long as you will. I know what 
 I know, and what the major said he said. 
 
 MILL, (snatches up his fiddle in anger). Will you 
 hold your tongue ? Shall I throw my fiddle at your 
 head ? - What can you know? What can he have said ? 
 Take no notice of her clack, kinsman ! Away with you to 
 your kitchen ! You'll not think me first cousin of a fool, 
 and tli at I'm looking out so high for the girl ? You'll 
 not think that of me, Mr. Secretary? 
 
 WORM. Nor have I deserved it of you, Mr. Miller ! 
 You have always shown yourself a man of your word, and 
 my contract to your daughter was as good as signed. I 
 hold an office that will maintain a thrifty manager; the 
 president befriends me ; the door to advancement is open 
 to me whenever I may choose to take advantage of it. 
 You see that my intentions towards Miss Louisa are" 
 serious ; if you have been won over by a fop of rank 
 
 MRS. MILL. Mr. Seckertary ! more respect, I beg 
 
 MILL. Hold your tongue, I say. Never mind her. 
 kinsman. Things remain as they were. The answer \ 
 gave you last harvest, I repeat to-day. I'll not force mj
 
 10 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 daughter. If you suit her, well and good ; then it's 
 for her to see that she can be happy with you. If she 
 shakes her head still better be it so, I should say 
 then you must be content to pocket the refusal, and part 
 in good fellowship over a bottle with her father. 'Tis 
 the girl who is to live with you not I. Why should I, 
 out of sheer caprice, fasten a husband upon the girl for 
 whom she has no inclination ? That the evil one may 
 haunt me down like a wild beast in my old age that in 
 every drop I drink in every bit of bread I bite, I might 
 swallow the bitter reproach : Thou art the villain who 
 destroyed his child's happiness! 
 
 MRS. MILL. The short and the long of it is I refuse 
 my consent downright ; my daughter's intended for a 
 lofty station, and I'll go to law if my husband is going to 
 be talked over. 
 
 MILL. Shall I break every bone in your body, you 
 millclack ? 
 
 WORM (to MILLER). Paternal advice goes a great way 
 with the daughter, and I hope you know me, Mr. Miller ? 
 
 MILL. Plague take you ! 'Tis the girl must know 
 you. What an old crabstick like me can see in you is 
 just the very last thing that a dainty young girl wants. 
 I'll tell you to a hair if you're the man for an orchestra 
 but a woman's heart is far too deep for a music-master. 
 And then, to be frank with you you know that I'm a 
 blunt, straightforward fellow you'll not give thank'ye 
 for my advice. I'll persuade my daughter to no one 
 but from you Mr. Sec I would dissuade her ! A lover 
 who calls upon the father for help with permission 
 is not worth a pinch of snuff. If he has anything in 
 him, he'll be ashamed to take that old-fashioned way of 
 making his deserts known to his sweetheart. If he hasn't 
 the courage, why he's a milksop, and no Louisas were born 
 for the like of him. No ! he must carry on his commerce 
 with the daughter behind the father's back. He must 
 manage so to win her heart, that she would rather wish 
 both father and mother at Old Harry than give him up 
 or that she come herself, fall at her father's feet, and im- 
 plore either for death on the rack, or the only one of her 
 heart. That's the fellow for me! that I call love! and
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 11 
 
 he who can't bring matters to that pitch with a petticoat 
 may stick the goose feather in his cap. 
 
 WORM (seizes hat and stick and hurries out of the 
 room). Much obliged, Mr. Miller! 
 
 MILL, {going after him slowly}. For what? for what? 
 You haven't taken anything, Mr. Secretary! (Comes 
 back.} He won't hear, and off he's gone. The very sight 
 of that quill-driver is like poison and brimstone to me. 
 An ugly, contraband knave, smuggled into the world by 
 some lewd prank of the devil with his malicious little 
 pig's eyes, foxy hair, and nut-cracker chin, just as if Nature, 
 enraged at such a bungled piece of goods, had seized the 
 ugly monster by it, and flung him aside. No ! rather 
 than throw away my daughter on a vagabond like him, 
 she may God forgive me ! 
 
 MRS. MILL. The wretch ! but you'll be made to keep 
 a clean tongue in your head ! 
 
 MILL. Ay, and you too, with your pestilential baron 
 you, too, must put my bristles up. You're never more 
 stupid than when you have the most occasion to show a 
 little sense. What's the meaning of all that trash about 
 your daughter being a great lady ? If it's to be cried 
 out about the town to-morrow, you need only let that 
 fellow get scent of it. He is one of your worthies who 
 go sniffing about into people's houses, dispute upon every- 
 thing, and, if a slip of the tongue happen to you, skurry 
 with it straight to the prince, mistress, and minister, and 
 then there's the devil to pay. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Enter LOUISA with a book in her hand. 
 
 LOUISA. Good morning, dear father ! 
 
 MILL, (affectionately}. Bless thee, my Louisa! I re- 
 joice to see thy thoughts are turned so diligently to thy 
 Creator. Continue so, and his arm will support thee. 
 
 LOUISA. Oh ! I am a great sinner, father ! Was he 
 not hei'e, mother? 
 
 MRS. MILL. Who, my child ? 
 
 LOUISA. Ah ! I forgot that there are others in the
 
 12 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 world besides him my head wanders so. Was he not 
 here? Ferdinand? 
 
 MILL, (with melancholy r , serious voice). I thought my 
 Louisa had forgotton that name in her devotions ? 
 
 LOUISA (after looking at him steadfastly for some time), 
 I understand you, father. I feel the knife which staos 
 rny conscience ; but it comes too late. I can no longer 
 pray, father. Heaven and Ferdinand divide my bleeding 
 soul, and I fear I fear (after a pause). Yet no, no, 
 good father. The painter is best praised when we forget 
 him in the contemplation of his picture. When in the 
 contemplation of his masterpiece, my delight makes me 
 forget the Creator, is not that, father, the true praise 
 of God ? 
 
 MILL, (throws himself in displeasure on a chair). 
 There we have it ! Those are the fruits of your ungodly 
 reading. 
 
 LOUISA (uneasy, goes to the window). Where can he 
 be now ? Ah ! the high-born ladies who see him listen 
 to him I am a poor forgotten maiden. (Startles at 
 that word, and rushes to her father.} Bat no, no ! forgive 
 me. I do not repine at my lot. I ask but little to 
 think on him that can harm no one. Ah ! that I might 
 breathe out this little spark of life in one soft fondling 
 zephyr to cool his cheek ! That this fragile floweret, 
 youth, were a violet, on which he might tread, and I die 
 modestly beneath his feet! I ask no more, father! Can 
 the proud, majestic day-star punish the gnat for basking 
 in its rays ? 
 
 MILL, (deeply affected, leans on the arm of his chair, 
 and covers his face). My child, my child, with joy would 
 I sacrifice the remnant of my days hadst thou never seen 
 the major. 
 
 LOUISA (terrified.) How; how? What did you say? 
 No, no! that could not be your meaning, good father. 
 You know not that Ferdinand is mine! You know not 
 that God created him for me, and for my delight alone ! 
 (After a pause of recollection.) The first moment that I 
 beheld him and the blood rushed into my glowing 
 cheeks every pulse beat with joy ; every throb told me, 
 every breath whispered, " 'Tis he ! " And my heart,
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 13 
 
 recognizing the long-desired one, repeated " 'Tis he ! " 
 And the whole world was as one melodious echo of my 
 uelight ! Then oh ! then was the first dawning of my 
 soul ! A thousand new sentiments arose in my bosom, 
 as flowers arise from the earth when spring approaches. 
 1 forgot there was a world, yet never had I felt that 
 world so dear to me ! I forgot there was a God, yet 
 never had I so loved him ! 
 
 MILL, (runs to her and clasps her to his bosom). Louisa! 
 my beloved, my admirable child ! Do what thou wilt. 
 Take all all my life the baron God is my wit- 
 ess him I can never give thee ! \_Exit. 
 
 LOUISA. Nor would I have him now, father ! Time 
 on earth is but a stinted dewdrop in the ocean of eter- 
 nity. 'Twill swiftly glide in one delicious dream of Fer- 
 dinand. I renounce him for this life ! But then, mother 
 then when the bounds of separation are removed 
 when the hated distinctions of rank no longer part us 
 when men will be only men I shall bring nothing with 
 me save my innocence ! Yet often has my father told 
 me that at the Almighty's coming riches and titles will 
 be worthless ; and that hearts alone will be beyond fill 
 price. Oh! then shall I be rich! There, tears will be 
 reckoned for triumphs, and purity of soul be preferred to 
 an illustrious ancestry. Then, then, mother, shall I be 
 noble ! In what will he then be superior to the girl of 
 his heart ? 
 
 MRS. MILL (starts from her seat). Louisa! the baron ! 
 He is jumping over the fence ! Where shall I hide 
 myself? 
 
 LOUISA (begins to tremble). Oh! do not leave me, 
 mother ! 
 
 MRS. MILL. Mercy ! What a figure I am. I am 
 quite ashamed ! I cannot let his lordship see me in this 
 state ! {Exit.
 
 14 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 LOUISA FERDINAND. (He flies towards her she falls 
 back into her chair, pale and trembling. He remains 
 standing before her they look at each other for some 
 moments in silence. A pause.) 
 
 FERDINAND. So pale, Louisa? 
 
 LOUISA (rising, and embracing him). It is nothing 
 nothing now that you are here it is over. 
 
 FEED, (takes her hand and raises it to his lips). And 
 does my Louisa still love me? My heart is yesterday's ; 
 is thine the same? I flew hither to see if thou wert 
 happy, that I might return and be so too. But I find 
 thee whelmed in sorrow! 
 
 LOUISA. Not so, my beloved, not so ! 
 
 FERD. Confess, Louisa ! you are not happy. I see 
 through your soul as clearly as through the transparent 
 lustre of this brilliant. No spot can harbor here unmarked 
 by me no thought can cloud your brow that does not 
 reach your lover's heart. Whence comes this grief? 
 Tell me, I beseech you ! Ah ! could I feel assured this 
 mirror still remained unsullied, there'd seem to me no 
 cloud in all the universe ! Tell me, dear Louisa, what 
 afflicts you ? 
 
 LOUISE (looking at him with anxiety for a few mo- 
 ments). Ferdinand! couldst thou but know how such 
 discourse exalts the tradesman's daughter 
 
 FERD. (surprised). What say'st thou? Tell me, 
 girl ! how earnest thou by that thought ? Thou art my 
 Louisa ! who told thee thou couldst be aught else ? See, 
 false one, see, for what coldness I must chide thee ! Were 
 indeed thy whole soul absorbed by love for me, never 
 hadst thou found time to draw comparisons! When I 
 am with thee, my prudence is lost in one look from thine 
 eyes : when I am absent in a dream of thee ! But thou 
 thou canst harbor prudence in the same breast with 
 love! Fie on thee! Every moment bestowed on this 
 sorrow was a robbery from affection and from me ! 
 
 LOUISA Dressing his hand and shaking her head with 
 a melancholy air). Ferdinand, you would lull my appre- 
 hensions to sleep ; you would divert my eyes from the
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 15 
 
 precipice into which I am falling. I can see the future ! 
 The voice of honor your prospects, your father's anger 
 
 my nothingness. (Shuddering and suddenly drops his 
 hands.} Ferdinand! a sword hangs over us! They 
 would separate us ! 
 
 FEED, (jumps up). Separate us ! Whence these ap- 
 prehensions, Louisa? Who can rend the bonds that 
 bind two hearts, or separate the tones of one accord? 
 True, I am a nobleman but show me that my patent 
 of nobility is older than the eternal laws of the universe 
 or my escutcheon more valid than the handwriting of 
 heaven in my Louisa's eyes ? " This woman is for this 
 man?" I am son of the prime minister. For that very 
 reason, what but love can soften the curses which my 
 father's extortions from the country will entail upon me? 
 
 LOUISA. Oh ! how I fear that father ! 
 
 FERD. I fear nothing nothing but that your affec- 
 tion should know bounds. Let obstacles rise between us, 
 huge as mountains, I will look upon them as a ladder by 
 which to fly into the arms of my Louisa ! The tempest 
 of opposing fate shall but fan the flame of my affection : 
 dangers will only serve to make Louisa yet more charm- 
 ing. Then speak no more of terrors, my love ! I myself 
 
 I will watch over thee carefully as the enchanter's 
 dragon watches over buried gold. Trust thyself to me ! 
 thou shalt need no other angel. I will throw myself 
 between thee and fate for thee receive each wound. 
 For thee will I catch each drop distilled from the cup of 
 joy, and bring thee in the bowl of love. (Embracing 
 her affectionately.} This arm shall support my Louisa 
 through life. Fairer than it dismissed thee, shall heaven 
 receive thee back, and confess with delight that love 
 alone can give perfection to the soul. 
 
 LOUISA (disengaging herself from him, greatly agitated). 
 No more ! I beseech thee, Ferdinand ! no more ! Couldst 
 thou know. Oh ! leave me, leave me ! Little dost thou 
 feel how these hopes rend my heart in pieces like fiends ! 
 ( Going.) 
 
 FERD (detaining her). Stay, Louisa ! stay ! Why this 
 agitation ? Why those anxious looks? 
 
 LOUISA. I had forgotten these dreams, and was happy.
 
 16 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 Now now from this day is the tranquillity of my 
 heart no more. Wild impetuous wishes will torment my 
 bosom ! Go ! God forgive thee ! Thou hast hurled a 
 firebrand into my young peaceful heart which nothing 
 can extinguish ! (She breaks from him, and rushes from 
 the apartment, followed by FERDINAND.) 
 
 SCENE V. A Chamber in the PRESIDENT'S House. 
 
 The PRESIDENT, with the grand order of the cross about 
 his neck, and a star at his breast SECRETARY WORM. 
 
 PRESIDENT. A serious attachment, say you? No, no, 
 Worm ; that I never can believe. 
 
 WORM. If your excellency pleases, I will bring proofs 
 of my assertions. 
 
 PRES. That he has a fancy for the wench flatters 
 her and, if you will, pretends to love her all this is 
 very possible nay excusable but and the daughter 
 of a musician, you say? 
 
 WORM. Of Miller, the music-master. 
 
 PRES. Handsome? But that, of course. 
 
 WORM (with warmth). A most captivating and lovely 
 blondine, who, without saying too much, might figure 
 advantageously beside the greatest beauties of the court. 
 
 PRES. (laughs'). It's very plain, Worm, that you have 
 an eye upon the jade yourself I see that. But listen, 
 Worm. That my son has a passion for the fair sex gives 
 me hope that he will find favor with the ladies. He may 
 make his way at court. The girl is handsome, you say ; 
 I am glad to think my son has taste. Can he deceive the 
 silly wench by holding out honorable intentions still 
 better; it will show that he is shrewd enough to play the 
 hypocrite when it serves his purpose. He may become 
 prime minister if he accomplishes his purpose! Ad- 
 mirable ! that will prove to me that fortune favors him. 
 Should the farce end with a chubby grandchild incom- 
 parable ! I will drink an extra bottle of Malaga to the 
 prospects of my pedigree, and cheerfully pay the wench's 
 lying-in expenses. 
 
 WORM. All I wish is that your excellency may not 
 have to drink that bottle to drown your sorrow.
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 17 
 
 PBES. (stsrnly). Worm ! remember that what I once 
 believe, I believe obstinately that I am furious when 
 angered. I am willing to pass over as a joke this attempt 
 to stir my blood. That you are desirous of getting rid 
 of your rival, I can very well comprehend, and that, 
 because you might have some difficulty in supplanting the 
 son, you endeavor to make a cat's-paw of the father, I 
 can also understand I am even delighted to find that 
 you are master of such excellent qualifications in the way 
 of roguery. Only, friend Worm, pray don't make me, 
 too, the butt of your knavery. Understand me, have a 
 care that your cunning trench not upon my plans ! 
 
 WORM. Pardon me, your excellency ! If even as 
 you suspect jealousy is concerned, it is only with the 
 eye, and uot with the tongue. 
 
 PBBS. It would be better to dispense with it alto- 
 gether. What can it matter to you, simpleton, whether 
 you get your coin fresh from the mint, or it comes through 
 a banker? Console yourself with the example of our 
 nobility. Whether, known to the bridegroom or not, I 
 can assure you that, amongst us of rank, scarcely a mar- 
 riage takes place but what at least half a dozen of the 
 guests or the footmen can state the geometrical area 
 of the bridegroom's paradise. 
 
 WORM (bowing}. My lord! Upon this head I confess 
 myself a plebeian. 
 
 PBES. And, besides, you may soon have the satisfac- 
 tion of turning the laugh most handsomely against your 
 rival. At this very moment it is under consideration in- 
 the cabinet, that, upon the arrival of the new duchess, 
 Lady Milford shall apparently be discarded, and, to com- 
 plete the deception, form an alliance. You know, Worm, 
 how greatly my influence depends upon this lady how 
 my mightiest prospects hang upon the passions of the 
 prince. The duke is now seeking a partner for Lady 
 Milford. Some one else may step in conclude the bar- 
 gain for her ladyship, win the confidence of the prince, 
 and make himself indispensable, to my cost. Now, to 
 retain the prince in the meshes of my family, I have re- 
 solved that my Ferdinand shall marry Lady Milford. Is 
 that clear to you ?
 
 18 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 WORM. Quite dazzling ! Your excellency has at least 
 convinced me that, compared with the president, the 
 father is but a novice. Should the major prove as obe- 
 dient a son as you show yourself a tender father, your 
 demand may chance to be returned with a protest. 
 
 PRES. Fortunately I have never yet had to fear oppo- 
 sition to my will when once I have pronounced, " It 
 shall be so ! But now, Worm, that brings us back to 
 our former subject ! I will propose Lady Milford to 
 my son this very day. The face which he puts upon it 
 shall either confirm your suspicions or entirely confute 
 them. 
 
 WORM. Pardon me, my lord ! The sullen face which 
 lie most assuredly will put upon it may be placed equally 
 to the account of the bride you offer to him as of her 
 from whom you wish to separate him. I would beg of 
 you a more positive test ! Propose to him some perfectly 
 unexceptionable woman. Then, if he consents, let Sec- 
 retary Worm break stones on the highway for the next 
 three years. 
 
 PRKS. (biting his lips). The devil ! 
 
 WORM. Such is the case, you may rest assured ! The 
 mother stupidity itself has, in her simplicity, betrayed 
 all to me. 
 
 PRES. (pacing the room, and trying to repress his rage). 
 Good ! this very morning, then ! 
 
 WORM. Yet, let me entreat your excellency not to 
 forget that the major is my master's son 
 
 PRES. No harm shall come to him, Worm. 
 
 WORM. And that my service in ridding you of % an 
 unwelcome daughter-in-law 
 
 PRKS. Shoutd be rewarded by me helping you to a 
 wife ? That too, Worm ! 
 
 WORM (bowing with delight}. Eternally your lordship's 
 slave. ( Going.} 
 
 PRES. (threatening him). As to what I have confided 
 to you, Worm! If you dare but to whisper a 
 syllable 
 
 WORM, (laughs). Then your excellency will no doubt 
 expose my forgeries ! \_Exit. 
 
 PRES. Yes, yes, you are safe enough ! I hold you in
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 19 
 
 the fetters of your own knavery, like a trout on the 
 hook ! 
 
 Enter SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT. Marshal Kalb 
 
 PRES. The very man I wished to" see. Introduce 
 him. \_Exit SERVANT. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 MARSHAL KALB, in a rich but tasteless court-dress, with 
 Chamberlain's keys, two watches, sword, three-cornered 
 hat, and hair dressed a la Herisson. He bustles up to 
 the PRESIDENT, and diffuses a strong scent of musk 
 through the whole theatre PRESIDENT. 
 
 MARSHAL. Ah ! good morning, my dear baron ! Quite 
 delighted to see you again pray forgive my not hav- 
 ing paid my respects to you at an earlier hour the 
 most pressing business the duke's bill of fare invita- 
 tion cards arrangements for the sledge party to-day 
 ah ! besides it was necessary for me to be at the levee, 
 to inform his highness of the state of the weather. 
 
 PRES. True, marshal ! Such weighty concerns were 
 not to be neglected ! 
 
 MARSHAL. Then a rascally tailor, too, kept me wait- 
 ing for him ! 
 
 PRES. And yet ready to the moment? 
 
 MARSHAL. Nor is that all ! One misfortune follows 
 at the heels of the other to-day ! Only hear me ! 
 
 PRES. (absent). Can it be possible? 
 
 MARSHAL. Just listen ! Scarce had I quitted my car- 
 riage, when the horses became restive, and began to 
 plunge and rear only imagine ! splashed my breeches 
 all over with mud ! What was to be done? Fancy, my 
 dear baron, just fancy yourself for a moment in my pre- 
 dicament! There I stood! the hour was late! a day's 
 journey to return yet to appear before his highness in 
 this good heavens! What did I bethink me of? I 
 pretended to faint ! They bundle me into my carriage ! 
 I drive home like mad change my dress hasten 
 back and only think ! in spite of all this I was the
 
 20 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 first person in the antechamber ! What say you to that ? 
 
 PRES. A most admirable impromptu of mortal wit 
 but tell me, Kalb, did you speak to the duke ? 
 
 MARSHAL (importantly). Full twenty minutes and a 
 half. 
 
 PRES. Indeed ? Then doubtless you have important 
 news to impart to me? 
 
 MARSHAL (seriously, after a pause of reflection). His 
 1 ugh ness wears a Merde d'Oye beaver to-day. 
 
 PRES. God bless me ! and yet, marshal, I have even 
 greater news to tell you. Lady Milford will soon become 
 my daughter-in-law. That, I think will be new to you? 
 
 MARSHAL. Is it possible! And is it already agreed 
 upon ? 
 
 PRES. It is settled, marshal and you would oblige 
 me by forthwith waiting upon her ladyship, and prepar- 
 ing her to receive Ferdinand's visit. You have full 
 liberty, also, to circulate the news of my son's ap- 
 proaching nuptials. 
 
 MARSHAL. My dear friend ! With consummate pleas- 
 ure ! What can I desire more ? I fly to the baroness this 
 moment. Adieu ! {Embracing him.) In less than three- 
 quarters of an hour it shall be known throughout the 
 town. [Skips off. 
 
 PRES. (smiling contemptuously). How can people 
 say that such creatures are of no use in the world ? Now, 
 then, Master Ferdinand must either consent or give the 
 whole town the lie. (Rings WORM enters.) Send my 
 son hither. (WORM retires ; the PRESIDENT walks up 
 and down, full of thought.) 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 PRESIDENT FERDINAND. 
 
 FERD. In obedience to your commands, sir 
 
 PRES. Ay, if I desire the presence of my son, I must 
 command it Ferdinand, I have observed you for some 
 time past, and find no longer that open vivacity of youth 
 which once so delighted me. An unusual sorrow broods 
 upon your features ; you shun your father ; you shun so-
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 21 
 
 ciety. For shame, Ferdinand ! At your age a thousand 
 irregularities are easier forgiven than one instant of idle 
 melancholy. Leave this to me, my son ! Leave the care 
 of your future happiness to my direction, and study only 
 to co-operate with my designs come, Ferdinand, em- 
 brace me ! 
 
 FEED. You are most gracious to-day, father! 
 
 PKES. " To-day," you rogue? and your " to-day" with 
 such a vinegar look ? (/Seriously.) Ferdinand ! For 
 whose sake have I trod that dangerous path which leads 
 to the affections of the prince ? For whose sake have I 
 forever destroyed my peace with Heaven and my con- 
 science? Hear me, Ferdinand I am speaking to my 
 son. For whom have I paved the way by the removal of 
 my predecessor ? a deed which the more deeply gores my 
 inward feelings the more carefully I conceal the dagger 
 from the world ! Tell me, Ferdinand, for whose sake 
 have I done all this ? 
 
 FEBD. (recoiling with horror). Surely not for mine, 
 father, not for mine ? Surely not on me can fall the 
 bloody reflection of this murder? By my Almighty 
 Maker, it were better never to have been born than to be 
 the pretext for such a crime ! 
 
 PRES. What sayest thou ? How ? But I will attrib- 
 ute these strange notions to thy romantic brain, Ferdi- 
 nand ; let me not lose my temper ungrateful boy! 
 Thus dost thou repay me for my sleepless nights ? Thus 
 for my restless anxiety to promote thy good? Thus for 
 the never-dying scorpion of my conscience? Upon me 
 must fall the burden of responsibility ; upon me the curse, 
 the thunderbolt of the Judge. Thou receivest thy for- 
 tune from another's hand the crime is not attached to 
 the inheritance. 
 
 FERD. (extending his right hand towards heaven) . Here 
 I solemnly abjure an inheritance which must ever remind 
 me of a parent's guilt ! 
 
 PRES. Hear me, sirrah ! and do not incense me ! Were 
 you left to your own direction you would crawl through 
 life in the dust. 
 
 FERD. Oh ! better, father, far, far better, than to 
 crawl about a throne !
 
 22 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 PRES. (repressing his anger). So ! Then compulsion 
 must make you sensible of your good fortune ! To that 
 point, which, with the utmost striving a thousand others 
 fail to reach, you have been exalted in your very sleep. 
 At twelve you received a commission ; at twenty a com- 
 mand. I have succeeded in obtaining for you the duke's 
 patronage. He bids you lay aside your uniform, and 
 share with me his favor and his confidence. He spoke of 
 titles embassies of honors bestowed but upon few. 
 A glorious prospect spreads itself before you ! The 
 direct path to the place next the throne lies open to you! 
 Nay, to the throne itself, if the actual power of ruling is 
 equivalent to the mere symbol. Does not that idea awaken 
 your ambition ? 
 
 FERD. No ! My ideas of greatness and happiness 
 differ widely from yours. Your happiness is but seldom 
 known, except by the misery of others. Envy, terror, 
 hatred are the melancholy mirrors in which the smiles of 
 princes are reflected. Tears, curses, and the wailings of 
 despair, the horrid banquet that feasts your supposed 
 elect of fortune ; intoxicated with these they rush head- 
 long into eternity, staggering to the throne of judgment. 
 My ideas of happiness teach me to look for its fountain in 
 myself! All my wishes lie centered in my heart! 
 
 PRES. Masterly! Inimitable! Admirable! The first 
 schooling I have received these thirty years ! Pity that 
 the brain at fifty should be so dull at learning! But 
 that such talent may not rust, I will place one by your 
 side on whom you can practise your harlequinade follies 
 at pleasure. You will resolve resolve this very day 
 to take a wife. 
 
 FERD. (starting back amazed ). Father ! 
 
 PRES. Answer me not. I have made proposals, in 
 your name, to Lady Milford. You will instantly deter- 
 mine upon going to her, and declaring yourself her bride- 
 groom. 
 
 FERD. Lady Milford ! father ? 
 
 PRES. I presume she is not unknown to you ! 
 
 FERD. (passionately). To what brothel is she unknown 
 through the dukedom ? But pardon me, dearest father! 
 It is ridiculous to imagine that your proposal can be
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 23 
 
 serious. Would you call yourself father of that infamous 
 son who married a licensed prostitute ? 
 
 PRES. Nay, more. I would ask her hand myself, if 
 she would take a man of fifty. Would not you call your- 
 self that infamous father's son ? 
 
 FEED. No! as God lives! that would I not I 
 
 PKES. An audacity, by my honor ! which I pardon for 
 its excessive singularity. 
 
 FERD. I entreat you, father, release me from a demand 
 which would render it insupportable to call myself your 
 son. 
 
 PRES. Are you distracted, boy? What reasonable 
 man would not thirst after a distinction which makes 
 him, as one of a trio', the equal and co-partner of his sov- 
 ereign ? 
 
 FERD. You are quite an enigma to me, father! "A 
 distinction," do you call it ? A distinction to share that 
 with a prince, wherein he places himself on a level with 
 the meanest of his subjects? ( The PRESIDENT bursts into 
 a loud lauf/h.) You may scoff I must submit to it in 
 a father. With what countenance should I support the 
 gaze of the meanest laborer, who at least receives an un- 
 divided person as the portion of his bride ? With what 
 countenance should I present myself before the world? 
 before the prince? nay, before the harlot herself, who 
 seeks to wash out in my shame the brandmarks of her 
 honor ? 
 
 PRES. Where in the world could st thou collect such 
 notions, boy ? 
 
 FERD. I implore you, father, by heaven and earth! 
 By thus sacrificing your only son you can never become 
 so happy as you will make him miserable ! If my life 
 can be a step to your advancement, dispose of it. My 
 life you gave me; and I will never hesitate a moment to 
 sacrifice it wholly to your welfare. But my honor, father ! 
 If you deprive me of this, the giving me life was a mere 
 trick of wanton cruelty, and I must equally curse the 
 parent and the pander. 
 
 PRES. (tapping him on the shoulder in a friendly man- 
 ner). That's as it should be, my dear boy ! Now I see 
 that you are a brave and noble fellow, and worthy of the
 
 24 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 first woman in the dukedom. You shall have her. This 
 very day you shall be affianced to the Countess of 
 Ostheim. 
 
 FEED, (in new disorder). Is this, then, destined to be 
 the hour of my destruction ? 
 
 PRES. (regarding him with an eye of suspicion). In 
 this union, I imagine, you can have no objection on the 
 score of honor? 
 
 FERD. None, father, none whatever. Frederica of 
 Ostheim would make any other the happiest of men. 
 (Aside, in the greatest agitation.) His kindness rends in 
 pieces that remnant of my heart which his cruelty left 
 unwounded. 
 
 PRES. (his eye still fixed upon him). I expect your 
 gratitude, Ferdinand ! 
 
 FERD. (rushes towards him and kisses his hands). 
 Father, your goodness awakens every spark of sentiment 
 in my bosom. Father! receive my warmest thanks for 
 your kind intentions. Your choice is unexceptionable ! 
 But I cannot I dare not pity me, father, I never can 
 love the countess. 
 
 PRES. (draws back). Ha! ha! now I've caught you, 
 young gentleman ! The cunning fox has tumbled into 
 the trap. Oh, you artful hypocrite ! It was not then 
 honor which made you refuse Lady Milford ? It was not 
 the woman, but the nuptials which alarmed you ! (FER- 
 DINAND stands petrified for a moment / then recovers 
 himself and prepares to quit the chamber hastily.) 
 Whither now ? Stay, sir. Is this the respect due to your 
 father? (FERDINAND returns slowly.) Her ladyship ex- 
 pects you. The duke has my promise ! Both court and 
 city believe all is settled. If thou makest me appear a 
 liar, boy! If, before the duke the lady the court 
 and city thou shouldst make me appear a liar! 
 tremble, boy ! or when I have gained information of 
 certain circumstances how now ? Why does the color 
 so suddenly forsake your cheeks? 
 
 FERD. (pale and trembling). How? What? Noth- 
 ing it is nothing, my father ! 
 
 PRES. (casting upon him a dreadful look). Should 
 there be cause. If I should discover the source whence
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 25 
 
 this obstinacy proceeds ! Boy ! boy ! the very suspicion 
 drives me distracted! Leave me this moment. 'Tis now 
 the hour of parade. As soon as the word is given, go 
 thou to her ladyship. At my nod a dukedom trembles ; 
 we shall see whether a disobedient son dare dispute my 
 will! (Going, returns.) Remember, sir! fail not to 
 wait on Lady Milford, or dread my anger ! [Exit, 
 
 FEED, (awakens, as if from a dream). Is he gone? 
 Was that a father's voice ? Yes, I will go I will see 
 her I will say such things to her hold such a mirror 
 before her eyes. Then, base woman, shouldst thou still 
 demand my hand in the presence of the assembled 
 nobles, the military, and the people gird thyself with 
 all the pride of thy native Britain I, a German youth, 
 will spurn thee ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT H. 
 
 SCENE I. A room in LADY MILFORD'S house. On the 
 right of the stage stands a sofa, on the left a piano- 
 forte. 
 
 LADY MILFOED, in a loose but elegant negligee, is running 
 her hand over the keys of the pianoforte as SOPHY 
 advances from the window. 
 
 SOPHY. The parade is over, and the officers are separ- 
 ating, but I see no signs of the major. 
 
 LADY M. (rises and walks up and down the room in 
 visible agitation). I know not what ails me to-day, 
 Sophy ! I never felt so before you say you do not see 
 him ! It is evident enough that he is by no means im- 
 patient for this meeting my heart feels oppressed as if 
 by some heavy crime. Go ! Sophy, order the most 
 spirited horse in the stable to be saddled for me I 
 must away into the open air where I may look on the 
 blue sky and hear the busy hum of man. I must dispel 
 this gloominess by change and motion. 
 
 SOPHY. If you feel out of spirits, my lady, why not 
 invite company ! Let the prince give an entertainment 
 here, or have the ombre table brought to you. If the
 
 26 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 prince and all his court were at my beck and call I would 
 let no whim or fancy trouble me ! 
 
 LADY M. (throwing herself on the couch). Pray, spare 
 me. I would gladly give a jewel in exchange for every 
 hour's respite from the infliction of such company ! I 
 always have my rooms tapestried with these creatures! 
 Narrow-minded, miserable beings, who are quite shocked 
 it' by chance a candid and heartfelt word should escape 
 one's lips! and stand aghast as though they saw an 
 apparition ; slaves, moved by a single puppet-wire, which 
 I can govern as easily as the threads of my embroidery! 
 What can I have in common with such insipid wretches, 
 whose souls, like their watches, are regulated by machin- 
 ery? What pleasure can I have in the society of people 
 whose answers to my questions I know beforehand ? 
 How can I hold communion with men who dare not 
 venture on an opinion of their own lest it should differ 
 from mine ! Away with them I care not to ride a 
 horse that has not spirit enough to champ the bit ! ( Goes 
 to the window.} 
 
 SOPHY. But surely, my lady, you except the prince, 
 the handsomest, the wittiest, and the most gallant man 
 in all his duchy. 
 
 LADY M. (returning). Yes, in his duchy, that was 
 well said and it is only a royal duchy, Sophy, that 
 could in the least excuse my weakness. You say the 
 world envies me ! Poor thing ! It should rather pity me ! 
 Believe me, of all who drink of the streams of royal 
 bounty there is none more miserable than the sovereign's 
 favorite, for he who is great and mighty in the eyes of 
 others comes to her but as the humble suppliant ! It is 
 true that by the talisman of his greatness he can realize 
 every wish of my heart as readily as the magician calls 
 forth the fairy palace from the depths of the earth ! He 
 can place the luxuries of both Indies upon my table, 
 turn the barren wilderness to a paradise, can bid the 
 broad rivers of his land play in triumphal arches over my 
 path, or expend nil the hard-earned gains of his subjects 
 in a single feu-de-joie to my honor. But can he school 
 his heart to respond to one great or ardent emotion? 
 Can he extort one noble thought from his weak and
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 27 
 
 indigent brain? Alas! my heart is thirsting amid all 
 this ocean of splendor; what avail, then, a thousand 
 virtuous sentiments when I am only permitted to indulge 
 in the pleasures of the senses. 
 
 SOPHY (regarding her with surprise). Dear lady, 
 you amaze me ! how long is it since I entered your 
 service? 
 
 LADY M. Do you ask because this is the first day on 
 which you have learnt to know me? I have sold my 
 honor to the prince, it is true, but my heart is still my 
 own a heart, dear Sophy, which even yet may be 
 worth the acceptance of an honorable man a heart over 
 which the pestilential blast of courtly corruption has 
 passed as the breath which for a moment dims the 
 mirror's lustre. Believe me my spirit would long since 
 have revolted against this miserable thraldom could my 
 ambition have submitted to see another advanced to 
 my place. 
 
 SOPHY. And could a heart like yours so readily sur- 
 render itself to mere ambition ? 
 
 LADY M. (with energy). Has it not already been 
 avenged? nay, is it not even at this very moment making 
 me pay a heavy atonement (with emphasis laying her 
 hand on SOPHY'S shoulder) ? Believe me, Sophy, woman 
 has but to choose between ruling and serving, but the 
 utmost joy of power is a worthless possession if the 
 mightier joy of being slave to the man we love be denied 
 us. 
 
 SOPHY. A truth, dear lady, which I could least of all 
 have expected to hear from your lips ! 
 
 LADY M. And wherefore, Sophy ? Does not woman 
 show, by her childish mode of swaying the sceptre of 
 power, that she is only fit to go in leading-strings ! Have 
 not my fickle humors my eager pursuit of wild dissa- 
 pation betrayed to you that I sought in these to stifle 
 the still wilder throbbings of my heart? 
 
 SOPHY (starting back with surprise). This from you, 
 my lady ? 
 
 LADY 'M.. (continuing with increasing energy). Appease 
 these throbbings. Give me the man in whom my thoughts 
 are centered the man I adore, without whom life were
 
 28 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 worse than death. Let me but hear from his lips that 
 the tears of love with which my eyes are bedewed outvie 
 the gems that sparkle in my hair, and I will throw at the 
 feet of the prince his heart and his dukedom, and flee 
 to the uttermost parts of the earth with the man of my 
 love ! 
 
 SOPHY (looking at her in alarm). Heavens ! my lady ! 
 control your emotion 
 
 LADY M. (in surprise). You change color ! To what 
 have I given utterance? Yet, since I have said thus 
 much, let me say still more let my confidence be a 
 pledge of your fidelity, I will tell you all. 
 
 SOPHY (looking anxiously around). I fear my lady 
 I dread it I have heard enough ! 
 
 LADY M. This alliance with the major you, like the 
 rest of the world, believe to be the result of a court 
 intrigue Sophy, blush not be not ashamed of me 
 it is the work of my love ! 
 
 SOPHY. Heavens ! As I suspected ! 
 
 LADY M. Yes, Sophy, they are all deceived. The 
 weak prince the diplomatic baron the silly marshal 
 each and all of these are firmly convinced that this 
 marriage is a most infallible means of preserving me to 
 the prince, and of uniting us still more firmly! But this 
 will prove the very means of separating us forever, and 
 bursting asunder these execrable bonds. The cheater 
 cheated outwitted by a weak woman. Ye yourselves 
 are leading me to the man of my heart this was all I 
 sought. Let him but once be mine be but mine 
 then, oh, then, a long farewell to all this despicable 
 pomp ! 
 
 SCENE II. An old valet of the DUKE'S, with a casket of 
 jewels. The former. 
 
 VALET. His serene highness begs your ladyship's 
 acceptance of these jewels as a nuptial present. They 
 have just arrived from Venice. 
 
 LADY M. (opens the casket and starts back in astonish- 
 ment). What did these jewels cost the duke? 
 
 VALET. Nothing !
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 9 
 
 LADY M. Nothing! Are you beside yourself? 
 (retreating a step or two.) Old man ! you fix on me a look 
 as though you would pierce me through. Did you say 
 these precious jewels cost nothing? 
 
 VALET. Yesterday seven thousand children of the 
 land left their homes to go to America they pay for 
 all. 
 
 LADY M. (sets the casket suddenly down, and paces up 
 and down the room ; after a pause, to the VALET). What 
 distresses you, old man ? you are weeping ! 
 
 VALET (wiping his eyes, and trembling violently). 
 Yes, for these jewels. My two sons are among the 
 number. 
 
 LADY M. But they went not by compulsion ? 
 
 VALET (laughing bitterly). Oh! dear no! they were 
 all volunteers ! There were certainly some few forward 
 lads who pushed to the front of the ranks and inquired 
 of the colonel at what price the prince sold his subjects 
 per yoke, upon which our gracious ruler ordered the regi- 
 ments to be marched to the parade, and the malcontents 
 to be shot. We heard the report of the muskets, and saw 
 brains and blood spurting about us, while the whole band 
 shouted " Hurrah for America ! " 
 
 LADY M. And I heard nothing of all this! saw 
 nothing! 
 
 VALET. N"o, most gracious lady, because you rode 
 off to the bear-hunt with his highness just at the moment 
 the drum was beating for the march. 'Tis a pity your 
 ladyship missed the pleasure of the sight here, crying 
 children might be seen following their wretched father 
 there, a mother distracted with grief was rushing forward 
 to throw her tender infant among the bristling bayonets 
 here, a bride and bridegroom were separated with the 
 sabre's stroke and there, graybeards were seen to stand 
 in despair, and fling their very crutches after their sons 
 in the New World and, in the midst of all this, the 
 drums were beating loudly, that the prayers and lamenta- 
 tions might not reach the Almighty ear. 
 
 LADY M. (rising in violent emotion). Away with 
 these jewels their rays pierce my bosom like the flames 
 of hell. Moderate your grief, old man. Your children
 
 30 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 shall be restored to you. You shall again clasp them to 
 your bosom. 
 
 VALET (with warmth). Yes, heaven knows! We 
 shall meet again ! As they passed the city gates they 
 turned round and cried aloud : " God bless our wives and 
 children long life to our gracious sovereign. At the 
 day of judgment we shall all meet again ! " 
 
 LADY M. (walks up and down the room in great agita- 
 tion). Horrible! most horrible ! and they would per- 
 suade me that I had dried up all the tears in the land. 
 Now, indeed, my eyes are fearfully opened! Go tell 
 the prince that I will thank him in person ! (As the valet 
 is going she drops the purse into his hat.) And take 
 this as a recompense for the truth you have revealed 
 to me. 
 
 VALET (throws the purse with contempt on the table). 
 Keep it, with your other treasures. \_Exit. 
 
 LADY M. (looking after him in astonishment). Sophy, 
 follow him, and inquire his name. His sons shall be 
 restored to him. (SOPHY goes. LADY MILFORD becomes 
 absorbed in thought. Pause. Then to SOPHY as she re- 
 turns.) Was there not a report that some town on the 
 frontier had been destroyed by fire, and four hundred 
 families reduced to beggary ? (She rings.) 
 
 SOPHY. What has made your ladyship just think of 
 that ? Yes such was certainly the fact, and most of 
 these poor creatures are either compelled to serve their 
 creditors as bondsmen, or are dragging out their miser- 
 able days in the depths of the royal silver mines. 
 
 Enter a SERVANT. What are your ladyship's com- 
 mands? 
 
 LADY M. (giving him the case of jewels). Carry this 
 to my treasurer without delay. Let the jewels b sold 
 and the money distributed among the four hundred fami- 
 lies who were ruined by the fire. 
 
 SOPHY. Consider, my lady, the risk you run of dis- 
 pleasing his highness. 
 
 LADY M. (with dignity). Should I encircle my brows 
 with the curses of his subjects ? (Makes a sign to the 
 servant, who goes away with the jeioel case.) Would st 
 thou have me dragged to the earth by the dreadful
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 31 
 
 weight of the tears of misery? Nay! Sophy, it is bet- 
 ter far to wear false jewels on the brow, and to have the 
 consciousness of a good deed within the breast ! 
 
 SOPHY. But diamonds of such value ! Why not 
 rather give some that are less precious ? Truly, my lady, 
 it is an unpardonable act. 
 
 LADY M. Foolish girl ! For this deed more brilliants 
 and pearls will flow for me in one moment than kings 
 ever wore in their richest diadems ! Ay, and infinitely 
 more beautiful ! 
 
 SERVANT enters. Major von Walter! 
 
 SOPHY (running hastily to the help of LADY MILFORD, 
 who seems fainting). Heavens, my lady, you change 
 color ! 
 
 LADY M. The first man who ever made me tremble. 
 (To the SERVANT.) lam not well but stay what 
 
 said the major ? how ? O Sophy ! I look sadly ill, 
 
 do I not? 
 
 SOPHY. I entreat you, my lady, compose yourself. 
 
 SERVANT. Is it your ladyship's wish that I should 
 deny you to the major? 
 
 LADY M. (hesitating). Tell him I shall be happy 
 to see him. (Exit SERVANT.) What shall I say to him, 
 Sophy ? how shall I receive him ? I will be silent alas ! 
 I fear he will despise my weakness. "He will ah, me ! 
 what sad forebodings oppress my heart ! You arc going 
 Sophy! stay, yet no, no he comes yes, stay, stay 
 with me 
 
 SOPHY. Collect yourself, my lady, the major 
 
 SCENE III. FERDINAND VON WALTER. The former. 
 
 FERD. (with a slight bow). I hope I do not interrupt 
 your ladyship ? 
 
 LADY M. (with visible emotion). Not at all, baron 
 not in the least. 
 
 FEED. I wait on your ladyship, at the command of 
 my father. 
 
 LADY M. Therein I am his debtor. 
 
 FERD. And I am charged to announce to you that 
 our marriage is determined on. Thus far I fulfil the 
 commission of my father.
 
 32 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 LADY M. (changing color and trembling). And not of 
 your own heart? 
 
 FEED. Ministers and panders have no concern with 
 hearts. 
 
 LADY M. (almost speechless with emotion}. And you 
 yourself have you nothing to add ? 
 
 FERD. (looking at SOPHY). Much ! my lady, much ! 
 
 LADY M. (motions to SOPHY to withdraw). May I beg 
 you to take a seat by my side ? 
 
 FEED. I will be brief, lady. 
 
 LADY M. Well ! 
 
 FERD. I am a man of honor ! 
 
 LADY M. Whose worth I know how to appreciate. 
 
 FERD. I am of noble birth ! 
 
 LADY M. Noble as any in the land ! 
 
 FERD. A soldier ! 
 
 LADY M. (in a soft, affectionate manner). Thus far 
 you have only enumerated advantages which you share 
 in common with many others. Why are you so silent 
 regarding those noble qualities which are peculiarly your 
 own ? 
 
 FERD. (coldly}. Here they would be out of place. 
 
 LADY M. (with increasing agitation). In what light 
 am I to understand this prelude? 
 
 FERD. (slowly, and with emphasis') . As the protest of 
 the voice of honor should you think proper to enforce 
 the possession of my hand ! 
 
 LADY M. (starting with indignation) Major von 
 Walter! What language is this? 
 
 FERD. (calmly). The language of my heart of my 
 unspotted name and of this true sword. 
 
 LADY M. Your sword was given to you by the 
 prince. 
 
 FERD. 'Twas the state which gave it, by the hands of 
 the prince. God bestowed on me an honest heart. My 
 nobility is derived from a line of ancestry extending 
 through centuries. 
 
 LADY M. But the authority of the prince 
 
 FERD. (with icarmth). Can he subvert the laws of hu- 
 manity, or stamp glory on our actions as easily as he 
 stamps value on the coin of his realm ? He himself is
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 33 
 
 not raised above the laws of honor, although he may 
 stifle its whispers with gold and shroud his infamy in 
 robes of ermine ! But enough of this, lady ! it is too 
 late now to talk of blasted prospects or of the desecra- 
 tion of ancestry or of that nice sense of honor 
 girded on with my sword or of the world's opinion. 
 All these I am ready to trample under foot as soon as 
 you have proved to me that the reward is not inferior to 
 the sacrifice. 
 
 LADY M. (in extreme distress turning away). Major ! 
 I have not deserved this ! 
 
 FEED, (taking her hand). Pardon me, lady we arc 
 without witnesses. The circumstance which brings us 
 together to-day and only to-day justifies me, nay, 
 compels me, to reveal to you my most secret feelings. 1 
 cannot comprehend, lady, how a being gifted with so 
 much beauty and spirit qualities which a man cannot 
 fail to admire could throw herself away on a prince in- 
 capable of valuing aught beyond her mere person and 
 yet not feel some visitings of shame, when she steps forth 
 to offer her heart to a man of honor ! 
 
 LADY M. (looking at him with an air of pride). Say 
 on, sir, without reserve. 
 
 FKRD. You call yourself an Englishwoman pardon 
 me, lady, I can hardly believe you. The free-born daughter 
 of the freest people under heaven a people too proud 
 to imitate even foreign virtues would surely never 
 have sold herself to foreign vices ! It is not possible, lady, 
 that you should be a native of Britain, unless indeed 
 your heart be as much below as the sons of Britannia 
 vaunt theirs to be above all others ! 
 
 LADY M. Have you done, sir? 
 
 FERD. Womanly vanity passions temperament 
 a natural appetite for pleasure all these might, 
 perhaps, be pleaded in extenuation for virtue often 
 survives honor and many who once trod the paths of 
 infamy have subsequently reconciled themselves to so- 
 ciety by the performance of noble deeds, and have thus 
 thrown a halo of glory round their evil doings but if 
 this were so, whence comes the monstrous extortion that 
 oppresses the people with a weight never before
 
 34 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 known ? This I would ask in the name of my father- 
 land and now, lady, I have done ! 
 
 LADY M. (with gentleness and dignity). This is the 
 first time, Baron vou Walter, that words such as these 
 have been addressed to me and you are the only man 
 to whom I would in return have vouchsafed an answer. 
 Your rejection of my hand commands my esteem. Your 
 invectives against my heart have my full forgiveness, for 
 I will not believe you sincere, since he who dares hold 
 such language to a woman, that could ruin him in an in- 
 stant must either believe that she possesses a great 
 and noble heart or must be the most desperate of 
 madmen. That you ascribe the misery of this land to 
 me may He forgive, before whose throne you, and I, and 
 the prince shall one day meet ! But, as in my person 
 you have insulted the daughter of Britain, so in vindica- 
 tion of my country's honor you must hear my ex- 
 culpation. 
 
 FERD. (leaning on his sword). Lady, I listen with 
 interest. 
 
 LADY M. Hear, then, that which I have never yet 
 breathed to mortal, and which none but yourself will ever 
 learn from my lips. I am not the low adventurer you 
 suppose me, sir ! Nay ! did I listen to the voice of pride, 
 I might even boast myself to be of royal birth ; I am 
 descended from the unhappy Thomas Norfolk, who paid 
 the penalty of his adherence to the cause of Mary, Queen 
 of Scots, by a bloody death on the scaffold. My father, 
 who, as royal chamberlain, had once enjoyed his sovereign's 
 confidence, was accused of maintaining treasonable rela- 
 tions with France, and was condemned and executed by a 
 decree of the Parliament of Great Britain. Our estates 
 were confiscated, and our family banished from their 
 native soil. My mother died on the day of my father's 
 execution, and I then a girl of fourteen fled to Ger- 
 many with one faithful attendant. A casket of jewels, 
 and this crucifix, placed in my bosom by my dying mother, 
 were all my fortune ! 
 
 [FERD., absorbed in thought, surveys LADY MILFORD 
 with looks of compassion and sympathy. 
 
 LADY M. (continuing with increased emotion}. With-
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 35 
 
 out a name without protection or property a foreigner 
 and an orphan, I reached Hamburg. I had learnt noth- 
 ing but a little French, and to run my fingers over the 
 embroidery frame, or the keys of my harpsichord. But, 
 though I was ignorant of all useful arts, I had learnt 
 full well to feast off gold and silver, to sleep beneath 
 silken hangings, to bid attendant pages obey my voice, 
 and to listen to the honeyed words of flattery and adula- 
 tion. Six years passed away in sorrow and in sadness 
 the remnant of my scanty means was fast melting away 
 
 my old and faithful nurse was no more and and 
 then it was that fate brought your sovereign to Hamburg. 
 I was walking beside the shores of the Elbe, wondering, 
 as I gazed on its waters, whether they or my sorrows 
 were the deeper, when the duke crossed my path. He 
 followed me, traced me to my humble abode, and, casting 
 himself at my feet, vowed that he loved me. (She pauses, 
 and, after struggling with her emotion, continues in a 
 voice choked by tears.) All the images of my happy 
 childhood were revived in hues of delusive brightness 
 
 while the future lowered before me black as the grave. 
 My heart panted for communion with another and I 
 sank into the arms opened to receive me ! ( Turning 
 away.) And now you condemn me ! 
 
 FERD. (greatly agitated, follows her and leads her back). 
 Lady! heavens! what do I hear! What have I done? 
 The guilt of my conduct is unveiled in all its deformity ! 
 It is impossible you should forgive me. 
 
 LADY M. (endeavoring to overcome her emotion) . Hear 
 me on ! The prince, it is true, overcame my unprotected 
 youth, but the blood of the Howards still glowed within 
 my veins, and never ceased to reproach me ; that I, the 
 descendant of royal ancestors, should stoop to be a 
 prince's paramour ! Pride and destiny still contended in 
 my bosom, when the duke brought me hither, where 
 scenes the most revolting burst upon my sight! The 
 voluptuousness of the great is an insatiable hyena the 
 craving of whose appetite demands perpetual victims. 
 Fearfully had it laid this country waste separating 
 bridegroom and bride and tearing asunder even the 
 holy bonds of marriage. Here it had destroyed the
 
 36 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 tranquil happiness of a whole family there the blight- 
 ing pest had seized on a young and inexperienced heart, 
 and expiring victims called down bitter imprecations on 
 the heads of the undoers. It was then that I stepped forth 
 between the lamb and the tiger, and, in a moment of 
 dalliance, extorted from the duke his royal promise that 
 this revolting licentiousness should cease. 
 
 FERD. (pacing the room in violent agitation). No 
 more, lady ! No more ! 
 
 LADY M. This gloomy period was succeeded by one 
 still more gloomy. The court swarmed with French and 
 Italian adventui-ers the royal sceptre became the play- 
 thing of Parisian harlots, and the people writhed and bled 
 beneath their capricious rule. Each had her day. I saw 
 them sink before me, one by one, for I was the most 
 skilful coquette of all ! It was then that I seized and 
 wielded the tyrant's sceptre whilst he slumbered volup- 
 tuously in my embrace then, Walter, thy country, for 
 the first time, felt the hand of humanity, and reposed in 
 confidence on my bosom. (A pause, during which she 
 gazes upon him with tenderness.) Oh ! that the man, by 
 whom, of all others, I least wish to be misunderstood, 
 should compel me to turn braggart and parade my unob- 
 trusive virtues to the glare of admiration ! Walter, I 
 have burst open the doors of prisons I have cancelled 
 death-warrants and shortened many a frightful eternity 
 upon the galleys. Into wounds beyond my power to heal 
 I have at least poured soothing balsam. I have hurled 
 mighty villains to the earth, and oft with the tears of a 
 harlot saved the cause of innocence from impending ruin. 
 Ah ! young man, how sweet were then my feelings ! How 
 proudly did these actions teach my heart to support 
 the reproaches of my noble blood ! And now comes 
 the man who alone can repay me for all that I have 
 suffered the man, whom perhaps my relenting destiny 
 created as a compensation for former sorrows the man, 
 whom with ardent affection, I already clasped in my 
 dreams. 
 
 FEED, (interupting her). Hold, lady, hold ! You exceed 
 the bounds of our conference ! You undertook to clear 
 yourself from reproach, and you make me a criminal.'
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 37 
 
 Spare me, I beseech you ! Spare a heart already over- 
 whelmed by confusion and remorse ! 
 
 LADY M. (grasping his hand}. You must hear me, 
 Walter ! hear me now or never. Long enough has the 
 heroine sustained me ; now you must feel the whole 
 weight of these tears! Mark me, Walter! Should an 
 unfortunate impetuously, irresistibly attracted towards 
 you clasp you to her bosom full of unutterable, inex- 
 tinguishable love should this unfortunate bowed 
 down with the consciousness of shame disgusted with 
 vicious pleasures heroically exalted by the inspiration 
 of virtue throw herself thus into your arms (embrac- 
 ing him in an eager and supplicating manner} ; should 
 she do this, and you still pronounce the freezing word 
 " Honor ! " Should she pray that through you she might 
 be saved that through you she might be restored to 
 her hopes of heaven ! (Turning away her head, and 
 speaking in a hollow, faltering voice.) Or should she, 
 her prayer refused, listen to the voice of despair, and to 
 escape from your image plunge herself into yet more fear^ 
 ful depths of infamy and vice 
 
 FEBD. (breaking from her in great emotion). No, by 
 heaven ! This is more than I can endure ! Lady, I am 
 compelled Heaven and earth compels me to make 
 the honest avowal of my sentiments and situation. 
 
 LADY M. (hastening from him). Oh ! not now ! By 
 all that is holy I entreat you spare me in this dreadful 
 moment when my lacerated heart bleeds from a thousand 
 wounds. Be your decision life or death I dare not 
 I will not hear it ! 
 
 FEED. I entreat you, lady ! I insist! What I have 
 to say will mitigate my offence, and warmly plead your 
 forgiveness for the past. I have been deceived in you, 
 lady. I expected nay, I wished to find you deserving 
 my contempt. I came determined to insult you, and 
 to make myself the object of your hate. Happy would it 
 have been for us both had my purpose succeeded ! (He 
 pauses ; then proceeds in a gentle and faltering voice.) 
 Lady, I love ! I love a maid of humble birth Louisa 
 Miller is her name, the daughter of a music-master. 
 (LADY M. turns away pale and greatly agitated?) \
 
 38 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 know into what an abyss I plunge myself ; but, though 
 prudence bids me conceal my passion, honor overpowers 
 its precepts, I am the criminal I first destroyed the 
 golden calm of Louisa's innocence I lulled her heart 
 with aspiring hopes, and surrendered it, like a betrayer, 
 a prey to the wildest of passions. You will bid me 
 remember my rank my birth my father schemes 
 of aggrandisement. But in vain I love! My hopes 
 become more fervent as the breach widens between 
 nature and the mere conventions of society between 
 my resolution and worldly prejudices! We shall see 
 whether love or interest is victorious. (LADY M. during 
 this has retired to the extreme end of the apartment, and 
 covers her face with both hands. FERDINAND approaches 
 her.} Have you aught to answer, lady? 
 
 LADY M. (in a tone of intense suffering). Nothing! 
 Nothing ! but that you destroy yourself and me and, 
 with us yet a third. 
 
 FERD. A third ? 
 
 LADY M. Never can you marry Louisa ; never can you 
 be happy with me. We shall all be the victims of your 
 father's rashness. I can never hope to possess the heart 
 of a hu.sband who has been forced to give me his hand. 
 
 FEED. Forced, lady ? Forced V And yet given ? Will 
 you enforce a hand without a heart ? Will you tear from 
 a maiden a man who is the whole world to her ? Will you 
 tear a maiden from a man who has centered all his hopes 
 of happiness on her alone ? Will you do this, lady ? you 
 who but a moment before were the lofty, noble-minded 
 daughter of Britain ? 
 
 LADY M. I will because I must ! (earnestly and firmly) . 
 My passions, Walter, overcome my tenderness for you. 
 My honor has no alternative. Our union is the talk of 
 the whole city. Every eye, every shaft of ridicule is bent 
 against me. 'Twere a stain which time could never 
 efface should a subject of the prince reject my hand ! 
 Appease your father if you have the power ! Defend 
 yourself as you best may ! my resolution is taken. The 
 mine is fired and I abide the issue. 
 
 \JExit. FERDINAND remains in speechless astonishment 
 for some moments; then rushes wildly out.
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 39 
 
 SCENE IV. Miller's House. 
 MILLER MEETING LOUISA AND MRS. MILLER. 
 
 MILLER. Ay ! ay ! I told you how it would be ! 
 
 LOUISA (hastening to him with anxiety). What, father ? 
 What ? 
 
 MILLER (running up and down the room). My cloak, 
 there. Quick, quick ! I must be beforehand with him. 
 My cloak, I say! Yes, yes! this was just what I 
 expected ! 
 
 LOUISA. For God's sake, father ! tell me ? 
 
 MRS. M. What is the matter, Miller ? What alarms 
 you? 
 
 MILLER (throwing down his wig). Let that go to the 
 friezer. What is the matter, indeed ? And my beard, 
 too, is nearly half an inch long. What's the matter? 
 What do you think, you old carrion. The devil has 
 broke loose, and you may look out for squalls. 
 
 MRS. M. There, now, that's just the way ! When 
 anything goes wrong it is always my fault. 
 
 MILLER. Your fault ? Yes, you brimstone fagot ! and 
 whose else should it be ? This very morning when you 
 were holding forth about that confounded major, did 
 I not say then what would be the consequence? That 
 knave, Worm, has blabbed. 
 
 MRS. M. Gracious heavens ! But how do you 
 know? 
 
 MILLER. How do I know ? Look yonder ! a messen- 
 ger of the minister is already at the door inquiring for 
 the fiddler. 
 
 LOUISA (turning pale, and sitting down). Oh ! God ! 
 I am in agony ! 
 
 MILLER. And you, too, with that languishing air? 
 (laughs bitterly). But, right ! Right ! There is an old 
 saying that where the devil keeps a breeding-cage he is 
 sure to hatch a handsome daughter. 
 
 MRS. M. But how do you know that Louisa is in 
 question ? You may have been recommended to the 
 duke; he may want you in his orchestra. 
 
 MILLER (jumping up, and seizing his fiddlestick). May 
 the sulphurous rain of hell consume thee! Orchestra,
 
 40 LOVE AND INTKTGTJE. 
 
 indeed ! Ay, where you, you old procuress, shall how! 
 the treble whilst my smarting back groans the base. 
 ( Throwing himself upon a chair.) Oh ! God in heaven ! 
 
 LOUISA (sinks on the sofa, pale as death). Father ! 
 Mother! Oh! my heart sinks within me. 
 
 MILLER (starting iip with anger). But let me only lay 
 hands on that infernal quill-driver! I'll make him skip 
 be it in this world or the next; if I don't pound him to a 
 jelly, body and soul ; if I don't write all the Ten Com* 
 mandments, the seven Penitential Psalms, the five books 
 of Moses, and the whole of the Prophets upon his rascally 
 hide so distinctly that the blue hieroglyphics shall be 
 legible at the day of judgment if I don't, may I 
 
 MRS. M. Yes, yes, curse and swear your hardest 2 
 That's the way to frighten the devil ! Oh, dear ! Oh, 
 dear! Oh, gracious heavens ! What shall we do? Who 
 can advise us? Speak, Miller, speak; this silence dis- 
 tracts me ! (She runs screaming up and down the 
 room.) 
 
 MILLER. I will instantly to the minister ! I will open 
 my mouth boldly, and tell him all from beginning to end. 
 You knew it before me, and ought to have given me 
 a hint of what was going on! The girl might yet have 
 been advised. It might still have been time to save her ! 
 But, no ! There was something for your meddling and 
 making, and you must needs add fuel to the fire. Now 
 you have made your bed you may lie on it. As you 
 have brewed so you may drink ; I shall take my daughter 
 under my arm and be off with her over the borders. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 MILLER, MRS. MILLER, LOUISA, FERDINAND. 
 
 FERD. (rushes in, terrified, and out of breath). 
 Has my father been here ? 
 
 LOUISA (starts back in horror). His father? 
 Gracious heaven ! 
 
 MRS. M. (wringing her hands). The minister 
 here ? Then it's all over with us ! 
 
 MILLER (laughs bitterly). Thank God ! Thank 
 " ! Now comes our benefit !
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 41 
 
 FEED, (rushing towards LOUISA, and clasping her in 
 his arms). Mine thou art, though heaven and hell were 
 placed between us ! 
 
 LOUISA. I am doomed ! Speak, Ferdinand ! Did you 
 not utter that dreaded name? Your father? 
 
 FEED. Be not alarmed ! the danger has passed ! I 
 have thee again ! again tliou hast me ! Let me regain 
 my breath on thy dear bosom. It was a dreadful hour ! 
 
 LOUISA. What was a dreadful hour? Answer me, 
 Ferdinand ! I die with apprehension ! 
 
 FEED, (drawing back, gazing upon her earnestly, then 
 in a solemn tone). An hour, Louisa, when another's 
 form stepped between my heart and thee an hour in 
 which my love grew pale before my conscience when 
 Louisa ceased to be all in all to Ferdinand ! 
 
 [LouiSA sinks back upon her chair, and conceals 
 
 her face. 
 
 (FEEDINAND stands before her in speechless agitation, 
 then turns away from her suddenly and exclaims), Never, 
 never ! Baroness, 'tis impossible ! you ask too much ! 
 Never can I sacrifice this innocence at your shrine. No, 
 by the eternal God ! I cannot recall my oath, which 
 speaks to me from thy soul-thrilling eyes louder than the 
 thunders of heaven ! Behold, lady ! Inhuman father, 
 look on this ! Would you have me destroy this angel ? 
 Shall my perfidy kindle a hell in this heavenly bosom ? 
 (turning towards her with firmness). No ! I will bear 
 her to thy throne, Almighty Judge! Thy voice shall 
 declare if my affection be a crime. (He grasps her hand, 
 and raises her from the sofa.) Courage, my beloved ! 
 thou hast conquered and I come forth a victor from 
 the terrible conflict ! 
 
 LOUISA. No, no, Ferdinand, conceal nothing from me ! 
 Declare boldly the dreadful decree ! You named your 
 father ! You spoke of the baroness ! The shivering of 
 death seizes my heart ! 'Tis said she is about to be 
 married ! 
 
 FEED, (quite overcome, throws himself at her feet). 
 Yes, and to me, dear unfortunate. Such is my father's 
 will! 
 
 LOUISA (after a deep pause, in a tremulous voice, but
 
 42 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 with assumed resignation}. Well ! Why am I thus 
 affrighted ? Has not my dear father often told me that 
 you never could be mine? But I was obstinate, and 
 believed him not. (A second pause / she falls weeping 
 into her father's arms.) Father, thy daughter is thine 
 own again ! Father, forgive me ! 'Twas not your child's 
 fault that the dream was so heavenly the waking so 
 terrible ! 
 
 MILLER. Louisa! Louisa! O merciful heaven! she 
 has lost her senses ! My daughter ! My poor child ! 
 Curses upon thy seducer! Curses upon the pandering 
 mother who threw thee in his way ! 
 
 MBS. M. (weeping on LOUISA'S neck). Daughter, do I 
 deserve this curse? God forgive you, major! What 
 has this poor lamb done that you bring this misery 
 upon her ? 
 
 FERD. (with resolution) . I will unravel the meshes of 
 these intrigues. I will burst asunder these iron chains 
 of prejudice. As a free-born man will I make my choice, 
 and crush these insect souls with the colossal force of 
 my love ! [ Going. 
 
 LOUISA (rises trembling from the sofa, and attempts to 
 follow him). Stay, oh, stay ! Whither are you going ? 
 Father ! Mother ! He deserts us in this fearful hour ! 
 
 MRS. M. (hastens towards him, and detains him). The 
 president is coming hither? He will ill-use my child! 
 He will ill-use us all, and yet, major, you are going to 
 leave us. 
 
 MILLER (laughs hysterically). Leave us. Of course 
 he is ! What should hinder him ? The girl has given 
 him all she had. (Grasping FERDINAND with one hand, 
 and LOUISA with the other.) Listen to me, young gentle- 
 man. The only way out of my house is over my daugh- 
 ter's body. If you possess one single spark of honor 
 await your father's coming ; tell him, deceiver, how you 
 stole her young and inexperienced heart ; or, by the God 
 who made me ! (thrusting LOUISA towards him with 
 violence and passion ) you shall crush before my eyes this 
 trembling worm whom love for you has brought to shame 
 and infamy 3 
 
 FEBD. (returns, and walks to and fro in deep thought).
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 43 
 
 'Tis true, the President's power is great parental 
 authority is a mighty word even crimes claim respect 
 when concealed within its folds. He may push that 
 authority far very far! But love goes beyond it. 
 Hear me, Louisa ; give me thy hand ! (clasping it firmly). 
 As surely as I hope for Heaven's mercy in my dying hour, 
 I swear that the moment which separates these hands 
 shall also rend asunder the thread that binds me to exist- 
 ence ! 
 
 LOUISA. You terrify me ! Turn from me I Your lips 
 tremble ! Your eyes roll fearfully ! 
 
 FERD. Nay, Louisa ! fear nothing ! It is not madness 
 which prompts my oath ! 'tis the choicest gift of Heaven, 
 decision, sent to my aid at that critical moment, when 
 an oppressed bosom can only find find relief in some des- 
 perate remedy. I love thee, Louisa ! Thou shalt be 
 mine ! 'Tis resolved ! And now for my father ! 
 
 \_He rushes out, and is met by the PRESIDENT. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 MILLER, MRS. MILLER, LOUISA, FERDINAND, PRESIDENT, 
 with SERVANTS. 
 
 PRES. (as he enters'). So ! here he is ! (All start in 
 terror.) 
 
 FERD. (retiring a few paces). In the house of inno- 
 cence ! 
 ' PRES. Where a son learns obedience to his father ! 
 
 FERD. Permit me to 
 
 PRES. (interrupting him, turns to MILLER). The 
 father, I presume? 
 
 MILLER. I am Miller, the musician. 
 
 PRES. (to MRS. MILLER). And you, the mother ? 
 
 MRS. M. Yes, alas ! her unfortunate mother ! 
 
 FERD. (to MILLER.) Father, take Louisa to her 
 chamber she is fainting. 
 
 PRES. An unnecessary precaution ! I will soon arouse 
 her. ( To LOUISA.) How long have you been acquainted 
 with the President's son ? 
 
 LOUISA (with timidity). Of the President's son I have
 
 44 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 never thought. Ferdinand von Walter has paid his 
 addresses to me since November last. 
 
 FERD. And he adores her ! 
 
 PRES. (to LOUISA). Has he given you any assurance of 
 his love ? 
 
 FERD. But a few minutes since, the most solemn, and 
 God was my witness. 
 
 PRES. (to his son angrily). Silence! You shall have 
 opportunity enough of confessing your folly. ( To LOUISA.) 
 I await your answer. 
 
 LOUISA. He swore eternal love to me. 
 
 FERD. And I will keep my oath. 
 
 PRES. (to FERDINAND). Must I command your silence? 
 (To LOUISA). Did you accept his rash vows? 
 
 LOUISA (with tenderness). I did, and gave him mine 
 in exchange. 
 
 FERD. (resolutely). The -bond is irrevocable 
 
 PRES. (to FERDINAND). If you dare to interrupt me 
 again I'll teach you better manners. (To LOUISA, sneer- 
 ingly.) And he paid handsomely every time, no doubt? 
 
 LOUISA. I do not understand your question. 
 
 PRES. (with an insulting laugh). Oh, indeed ! Well, 
 I only meant to hint that as everything has its price 
 I hope you have been more provident than to bestow 
 your favors gratis or perhaps you were satisfied with 
 merely participating in the pleasure? Eh? how was it? 
 
 FERD. (infuriated). Hell and confusion ! What does 
 this mean ? 
 
 LOUISA (to FERDINAND, with dignity and emotion). 
 Baron von Walter, now you are free ! 
 
 FERD. Father ! virtue though clothed in a beggar's 
 garb commands respect ! 
 
 PRES (laughing aloud). A most excellent joke ! The 
 father is commanded to honor his son's strumpet! 
 
 LOUISA. Oh ! Heaven and earth ! (Sinks down in a 
 swoon.) 
 
 FERD. (drawing his sicord). Father, you gave me life, 
 and, till now, I acknowledged your claim on it. That 
 debt is cancelled. (Replaces his sword in the scabbard, 
 and points to LOUISA.) There lies the bond of filial duty 
 torn to atoms !
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 45 
 
 MILLER (who has stood apart trembling, now comes for- 
 ward, by turns gnashing his teeth in rage, and shrinking 
 back in terror). Your excellency, the child is the father's 
 second self. No offence, I hope ! Who strikes the child 
 hits the father blow for blow that's our rule here. 
 No offence, I hope ! 
 
 MRS. M. God have mercy on us ! Now the old man 
 has begun we shall all catch it with a vengeance ! 
 
 PRES. (who has not 'understood what MILLER said). 
 What? is the old pander stirred up? We shall have 
 something to settle together presently, Mr. Pander! 
 
 MILLER. You mistake me, my lord. My name is 
 Miller, at your service for an adagio but, as to lady- 
 birds, I cannot serve you. As long as there is such an 
 assortment at court, we poor citizens can't afford to lay 
 in stock ! No offence, I hope ! 
 
 MRS. M. For Heaven's sake, man, hold your tongue ! 
 would you ruin both wife and child ? 
 
 FERD. (to his father). You play but a sorry part 
 here, my lord, and might well have dispensed with these 
 witnesses. 
 
 MILLER (coming nearer, with increasing confidence). 
 To be plain and above board No offence, I hope your 
 excellency may have it all your own way in the Cabinet 
 but this is my house. I'm your most obedient, very 
 humble servant when I wait upon you with a petition, 
 but the rude, unmannerly intruder I have the right to 
 bundle out no offence, I hope ! 
 
 PRES. (pale with anger, and approaching MILLER). 
 What ? What's that you dare to utter? 
 
 MILLER (retreating a few steps). Only a little bit of 
 my mind sir no offence, I hope ! 
 
 PRES. (furiously). Insolent villain ! Your imperti- 
 nence shall procure you a lodging in prison. (To his 
 servants). Call in the officers of justice ! Away ! 
 (Some of the attendants go out. The PRESIDENT paces 
 the stage with a furious air.) The father shall to 
 prison ; the mother and her strumpet daughter to the 
 pillory ! Justice shall lend her sword to my rage ! For 
 this insult will I have ample amends. Shall such con- 
 temptible creatures thwart my plans, and set father and
 
 46 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 son against each other with impunity ? Tremble, mis 
 creants! I will glut my hate in your destruction the 
 whole brood of you father, mother, and daughter shall 
 be sacrificed to my vengeance ! 
 
 FERD. (to MILLER, in a collected and firm manner}. 
 Oh! not so ! Fear not, friends ! I am your protector. 
 ( Turning to the PRESIDENT, with deference). Be not so 
 rash, father ! For your own sake let me beg of you no 
 violence. There is a corner of my heart where the name 
 of father has never yet been heard. Oh ! press not into 
 that! 
 
 PRES. Silence, unworthy boy ! Rouse not my anger 
 to greater fury ! 
 
 MILLER (recovering from a stupor). Wife, look you 
 to your daughter! I fly to the duke. His highness' 
 tailor God be praised for reminding me of it at this 
 moment learns the flute of me I cannot fail of suc- 
 cess. (Is hastening off.) 
 
 PRES. To the duke, will you ? Have you forgotten 
 that I am the threshold over which you must pass, or 
 failing, perish ? To the duke, you fool? Try to reach 
 him with your lamentations, when, reduced to a living 
 skeleton, you lie buried in a dungeon five fathoms deep, 
 where light and sound never enter ; where darkness 
 goggles at hell with gloating eyes ! There gnash thy 
 teeth in anguish ; there rattle thy chains in despair, and 
 groan, " Woe is me ! This is beyond human endurance ! " 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 Officers of Justice the former. 
 
 FERD. (flies to LOUISA, who, overcome with fear, faints 
 
 in his arms.) Louisa ! Help, for God's sake ! Terror 
 
 overpowers her ! 
 
 [MILLER, catching up his cane and putting on his 
 
 hat, prepares for defense. MRS. MILLER throws 
 
 herself on her knees before the PRESIDENT. 
 
 PRES. (to the officers, showing his star). Arrest 
 
 these offenders in the duke's name. Boy, let go that 
 
 strumpet I Fainting or not when once her neck is
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 47 
 
 fitted with the iron collar the mob will pelt her till she 
 revives. 
 
 MRS. MILLER. Mercy, your excellency! Mercy I 
 mercy ! 
 
 MILLER (snatching her from the ground with violence}. 
 Kneel to God, you howling fool, and not to villains 
 since I must to prison any way ! 
 
 PEES, (biting his lips.) You may be out in your 
 reckoning, scoundrel ! There are still gallows to spare ! 
 (To the officers.) Must I repeat my orders? 
 
 [ They approach LOUISA FERDINAND places himself 
 before her. 
 
 FERD. (fiercely). Touch her who dare ! (He draws 
 his sword and flourishes it.) Let no one presume to lay 
 a finger on her, whose life is not well insured. (To the 
 PRESIDENT.) As you value your own safety, father, urge 
 me no further ! 
 
 PRES. (to the officers in a threatening voice). At your 
 peril, cowards ! ( They again attempt to seize LOUISA.) 
 
 FERD. Hell and furies ! Back, I say ! (Driving them 
 away.) Once more, father, I warn you have some 
 thought for your own safety ! Drive me not to extremity ! 
 
 PRES. (enraged to the officers). Scoundrels ! Is this 
 your obedience ? (The officers renew their efforts.) 
 
 FERD. Well, if it must be so (attacking and wounding 
 several of them), Justice forgive me ! 
 
 PRES. (exasperated to the utmost). Let me see whether 
 I, too, must feel your weapon ! (He seizes LOUISA and 
 delivers her to an officer.) 
 
 FERD. (laughing bitterly). Father ! father ! Your 
 conduct is a galling satire upon Providence, who has so 
 ill understood her people as to make bad statesmen of 
 excellent executioners ! 
 
 PRES. (to the officers). Away with her! 
 
 FERD. Father, if I cannot prevent it, she must stand in 
 the pillory but by her side will also stand the son of 
 the president. Do you still insist ? 
 
 PRES. The more entertaining will be the exhibition. 
 Away with her ! 
 
 FEED. I will pledge the honor of an officer's sword 
 for her. Do you still insist ?
 
 48 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 PKES. Your sword is already familiar with disgrace. 
 Away ! away ! You know my will. 
 
 FEBD. (wrests LOUISA from the officer and holds her 
 with one arm, with the other points his sword at her 
 bosom.J Father, rather than tamely see my wife branded 
 with infamy I will plunge this sword into her bosom. 
 Do you still insist ? 
 
 PBES. Do it, if the point be sharp enough ! 
 
 FEED, (releases LOUISA, and looks wildly towards heaven). 
 Be thou witness, Almighty God, that I have left no 
 human means untried to save her! Forgive me now if I 
 have recourse to hellish means. While you are leading 
 her to the pillory (speaking loudly in the PRESIDENT'S 
 ear), I will publish throughout the town a pleasant his- 
 tory of how a president's chair may be gained ! 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 PRES. (as if thunder-struck'). How? What said he? 
 Ferdinand ! Release her instantly ! (.Rushes after his 
 son.) 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Room at the President's. Enter PRESIDENT and WORM. 
 
 PRES. That was an infernal piece of business ! 
 
 WORM. Just what I feared, your excellency. Oppo- 
 sition may inflame the enthusiast, but never converts 
 him. 
 
 PRES. I had placed my whole reliance upon the suc- 
 cess of this attempt. I made no doubt but if the girl 
 were once publicly disgraced, he would be obliged as an 
 officer and a gentleman to resign her. 
 
 WORM. An admirable idea! had you but succeeded 
 in disgracing her. 
 
 PRES. And yet when I reflect on the matter coolly 
 I ought not to have suffered myself to be over- 
 awed. It was a threat which he never could have meant 
 seriously. 
 
 WORM. Be not too certain of that! There is no 
 folly too gross for excited passion ! You say that the
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 49 
 
 baron has always looked upon government with an eye of 
 disapprobation. I can readily believe it. The principles 
 which he brought with him from college are ill-suited to 
 our atmosphere. What have the fantastic visions of 
 personal nobility and greatness of soul to do in court, 
 where 'tis the perfection of wisdom to be great and little 
 by turns, as occasion demands ? The baron is too young 
 and too fiery to take pleasure in the slow and crooked 
 paths of intrigue. That alone can give impulse to his 
 ambition which seems glorious and romantic ! 
 
 PKES. (impatiently}. But how will these sagacious 
 remarks advance our affairs ? 
 
 WORM. They will point out to your excellency where 
 the wound lies, and so, perhaps, help you to find a 
 remedy. Such a character pardon the observation 
 ought never to have been made a confidant, or should 
 never have been roused to enmity. He detests the means 
 by which you have risen to power ! Perhaps it is only 
 the son that has hitherto sealed the lips of the betrayer! 
 Give him but a fair opportunity for throwing off the 
 bonds imposed upon him by nature ! only convince him, 
 by unrelenting opposition to his passion, that you are no 
 longer an affectionate father, and that moment the duties 
 of a patriot will rush upon him with irresistible force ! 
 Nay, the high-wrought idea of offering so unparalleled a 
 sacrifice at the shrine of justice might of itself alone 
 have charms sufficient to reconcile him to the ruin of a 
 parent ! 
 
 PRES. Worm ! Worm ! To what a horrible abyss do 
 you lead me ! 
 
 WORM. Never fear, my lord, I will lead you back in 
 safety ! May I speak without restraint ? 
 
 PRES. (throwing himself into a seat). Freely, as felon 
 with felon. 
 
 WORM. Forgive me, then. It seems to me that you 
 have to ascribe all your influence as president to the 
 courtly art of intrigue ; why not resort to the same means 
 for attaining your ends as a father? I well remember 
 with what seeming frankness you invited your prede- 
 cessor to a game at piquet, and caroused half the night 
 with him over bumpers of Burgundy ; and yet it was the
 
 &9 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 same night on which the great mine you had planned to 
 annihilate him was to explode. Why did you make a 
 
 Eublic exhibition of enmity to the major? You should 
 y no means have let it appear that you knew anything 
 of his love affair. You should have made the girl the 
 object of your attacks and have preserved the affection 
 of your son ; like the prudent general who does not en- 
 gage the prime of the enemy's force but creates disaffec- 
 tion among the ranks ? 
 
 PRES. How could this have been effected ? 
 
 WORM. In the simplest manner even now the game 
 is not entirely lost ! Forget for a time that you are a 
 father. Do not contend against a passion which opposi- 
 tion only renders more formidable. Leave me to hatch, 
 from the heat of their own passions, the basilisk which 
 shall destroy them. 
 
 PRES. I am all attention. 
 
 WORM. Either my knowledge of human character is 
 very small, or the major is as impetuous in jealousy as in 
 love. Make him suspect the girl's constancy, whether 
 probable or not does not signify. One grain of leaven 
 will be enough to ferment the whole mass. 
 
 PRES. But. where shall we find that grain? 
 
 WORM. Now, then, I come to the point. But first 
 explain to me how much depends upon the major's com- 
 pliance. How far is it of consequence that the romance 
 with the music-master's daughter should be brought 
 to a conclusion and the marriage with Lady Milford 
 effected ? 
 
 PRES. How can you ask me, Worm ? If the match 
 with Lady Milford is broken off I stand a fair chance of 
 losing my whole influence ; on the other hand, if I force 
 the major's consent, of losing my head. 
 
 WORM (with animation). Now have the kindness to 
 listen to me. The major must be entangled in a web. 
 Your whole power must be employed against his mistress. 
 We must make her write a love-letter, address it to 
 a third party, and contrive to drop it cleverly in the way 
 of the major. 
 
 PRES. Absurd proposal ! As if she would consent to 
 sign her own death-warrant.
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 51 
 
 WORM. She must do so if you will but let me follow 
 my own plan. I know her gentle heart thoroughly; she 
 has but two vulnerable sides by which her conscience can 
 be attacked ; they are her father and the major. The 
 latter is entirely out of the question ; we must, therefore, 
 make the most of the musician. 
 
 PRES. In what way? 
 
 WORM. From the description your excellency gave me 
 of what passed in his house nothing can be easier than to 
 terrify the father with the threat of a criminal process. 
 The person of his favorite, and of the keeper of the seals, 
 is in some degree the representative of the duke himself, 
 and he who offends the former is guilty of treason towards 
 the latter. At any rate I will engage with these pretences 
 to conjure up such a phantom as shall scare the poor devil 
 out of his seven senses. 
 
 PRES. But recollect, Worm, the affair must not be 
 carried so far as to become serious. 
 
 WORM. Nor shall it. It shall be carried no further 
 than is necessary to frighten the family into our toils. 
 The musician, therefore, must be quietly arrested. To 
 make the necessity yet more urgent, we may also take 
 possession of the mother.; and then we begin to talk of 
 criminal process, of the scaffold, and of imprisonment for 
 life, and make the daughter's letter the sole condition of 
 the parent's release. 
 
 PRES. Excellent ! Excellent ! Now I begin to 
 understand you ! 
 
 WORM. Louisa loves her father I might say even to 
 adoration ! The danger which threatens his life, or at 
 least his freedom the reproaches of her conscience for 
 being the cause of his misfortunes the impossibility of 
 ever becoming the major's wife the confusion of her 
 brain, which I take upon myself to produce all these 
 considerations make our plan certain of success. She 
 must be caught in the snare. 
 
 PRES. But my son will he not instantly get scent 
 of it ? Will it not make him yet more desperate? 
 
 WORM. Leave that to me, your excellency! The old 
 folks shall not be set at liberty till they and their daugh- 
 tei have taken the most solemn oath to keep the whole
 
 52 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 transaction secret, and never to confess the decep- 
 tion. 
 
 PRES. An oath ! Ridiculous ! What restraint can 
 an oath be? 
 
 WORM. None upon us, my lord, but the most binding 
 upon people of their stamp. Observe, how dexterously 
 by this measure we shall both reach the goal of our de- 
 sires. The girl loses at once the affection of her lover, 
 and her good name ; the parents will lower their tone, 
 and, thoroughly humbled by misfortune, will esteem it an 
 act of mercy, if, by giving her my hand, I re-establish 
 their daughter's reputation. 
 
 PRES. (shaking his head and smiling). Artful villain ! 
 I confess myself outdone no devil could spin a finer 
 snare ! The scholar excels his master. The next question 
 is, to whom must the letter be addressed with whom 
 to accuse her of having an intrigue ? 
 
 WORM. It must necessarily be some one who has 
 all to gain or all to lose by your son's decision in this 
 affair. 
 
 PRES. (after a moment's reflection) I can think of no 
 one but the marshal. 
 
 WORM (shrugs his shoulders). The marshal ! He 
 would certainly not be my choice were I Louisa Miller. 
 
 PRES. And why not ? What a strange notion ! A 
 man who dresses in the height of fashion who carries 
 with him an atmosphere of eau de mille fleurs and musk 
 who can garnish every silly speech with a handful of 
 ducats could all this possibly fail to overcome the del- 
 icacy of a tradesman's daughter? No, no, my good 
 friend, jealousy is not quite so hard of belief. I shall 
 send for the marshal immediately. (Kings.) 
 
 WORM. While your excellency takes care of him, and 
 of the fiddler's arrest, I will go and indite the aforesaid 
 letter. 
 
 PRES. (seats himself at his writing-table). Do so; and, 
 as soon as it is ready, bring it hither for my perusal.. 
 
 [Exit WORM. 
 [ The PRESIDENT, having written, rises and hands 
 
 the paper to a servant who enters. 
 See this arrest executed without a moment's delay, and
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 53 
 
 let Marshal von Kalb be informed that I wish to see him 
 immediately. 
 
 SERV. The marshal's carriage has just stopped at your 
 lordship's door. 
 
 PRES. So much the better as for the arrest, let it 
 be managed with such precaution that no disturbance 
 arise. 
 
 SERV. I will take care, my lord. 
 
 PRES. You understand me ? The business must be 
 kept quite secret. 
 
 SEEV. Your excellency shall be obeyed. 
 
 {Exit SERVANT. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The PRESIDENT MARSHALL KALB. 
 
 MARSHAL (hastily}. I have just looked in, en passant, 
 my dear friend ! How are you ? How do you get on ? 
 We are to have the grand opera Dido to-night ! Such a 
 conflagragation ! a whole town will be in flames! 
 you will come to the blaze of course eh? 
 
 PRES. I have conflagration enough in my own house, 
 one that threatens the destruction of all I possess. Be 
 seated, my dear marshal. You arrive very opportunely 
 to give me your advice and assistance in a certain busi- 
 ness which will either advance our fortunes or utterly 
 ruin us both ! 
 
 MARSHAL. Don't alarm me so, my dear frind ! 
 
 PRES. As I said before, it must exalt or ruin us en- 
 tirely ! You know my project respecting the major and 
 Lady Mil ford you are not ignorant how necessary this 
 union is to secure both our fortunes ! Marshal, our plans 
 threaten to come to naught. My son refuses to marry 
 her! 
 
 MARSHAL. Refuses ! Refuses to marry her ? But, 
 my goodness ! I have published the news through the 
 whole town. The union is the general topic of conver- 
 sation. 
 
 PEES. Then you will be talked of by all the town as 
 a spreader of false reports, in short, Ferdinand loves 
 another.
 
 54 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 MARSHAL. Pooh ! you are joking ! As if that were an 
 obstacle ? 
 
 PRES. With such an enthusiast a most insurmountable 
 
 one 
 
 MARSHAL. Can he be mad enough to spurn his good- 
 fortune ? Eh ? 
 
 PRES. Ask him yourself and you'll hear what he will 
 answer. 
 
 MARSHAL. But, mon Dieuf what can he answer? 
 
 PRES. That he will publish to the world the crime by 
 which we rose to power that he will denounce our 
 forged letters and receipts that he will send us both to 
 the scaffold. That is what he can answer. 
 
 MARSHAL. Are you out of your mind ? 
 
 PRES. Nay, that is what he has already answered ? 
 He was actually on the point of putting these threats 
 into execution ; and it was only by the most abject sub- 
 mission that I could persuade him to abandon his design. 
 What say you to this, marshal? 
 
 MARSHAL (with a look of bewildered stupidity}. I am 
 at my wits' end ! 
 
 PRES. That might have blown over. But my spies 
 have just brought me notice that the grand cupbearer, 
 Von Bock, is on the point of offering himself as a suitor 
 to her ladyship. 
 
 MARSHAL. You drive me distracted ! Whom did you 
 say ? Von Bock ? Don't you know that we are mortal 
 enemies ? And don't you know why ? 
 
 PRES. The first word that I ever heard of it! 
 
 MARSHAL. My dear count! You shall hear your 
 hair will stand on end ! You must remember the famous 
 court ball it is now just twenty years ago. It was the 
 first time that English country-dances were introduced 
 you remember how the hot wax trickled from the great 
 chandelier on Count Meerschaum's blue and silver dom- 
 ino. Surely, you cannot have forgotten tlint affair! 
 
 PEES. Who could forget so remarkable a circum- 
 stance ! 
 
 MARSHAL. Well, then, in the heat of the dance 
 Princess Amelia lost her garter. The whole ball, as you 
 may imagine, was instantly thrown into confusion. Von
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 55 
 
 Bock and myself we were then fellow-pages crept 
 through the whole saloon in search of the garter. At 
 length I discovered it. .Von Bock perceives my good- 
 fortune rushes forward tears it from my hands, and, 
 just fancy presents it to the princess, and so cheated 
 me of the honor I had so fortunately earned. What do 
 you think of that ? 
 
 PKKS. 'Twas most insolent ! 
 
 MARSHAL. I thought I should have fainted upon the 
 spot. A trick so malicious was beyond the powers of 
 mortal endurance. At length I recovered myself; and, 
 approaching the princess, said, " Von Bock, 'tis true, 
 was fortunate enough to present the garter to your high- 
 ness ; but he who h'rst discovered that treasure finds his 
 reward in silence, and is dumb!" 
 
 PEES. Bravo, marshal ! Admirably said ! Most ad- 
 mirable ! 
 
 MARSHAL. And is dumb ! But till the day of judg- 
 ment will I remember his conduct the mean, sneaking 
 sycophant ! And as if that were not aggravation enough, 
 he actually, as we were struggling on the ground for the 
 garter, rubbed all the powder from one side of my 
 peruke with his sleeve, and ruined me for the rest of the 
 evening. 
 
 PRES. This is the man who will marry Lady Milford, 
 and consequently soon take the lead at court. 
 
 MARSHAL. You plunge a dagger in my heart ! But 
 why must he? Why should he marry her? Why he? 
 Where is the necessity ? 
 
 PRES. Because Ferdinand refuses her, and there is 
 no other candidate. 
 
 MARSHAL. But is there no possible method of obtain- 
 ing your son's consent? Let the measure be ever so ex- 
 travagant or desperate there is nothing to which I 
 should not willingly consent in order to supplant the 
 hated Von Bock. 
 
 PRES. I know but one means of accomplishing this, 
 and that rests entirely with you. 
 
 MARSHAL. With me? Name it, my dear count, name it! 
 
 PRES. You must set Ferdinand and his mistress 
 against each other.
 
 56 LOVE AXD INTRIGUE. 
 
 MARSHAL. Against each other? How do you mean* 
 and how would that be possible. 
 
 PEES. Everything is ours could we make him suspect 
 the girl. 
 
 MARSHAL. Ah, of theft, you mean ? 
 
 PRES. Pshaw! he would never believe that! No, 
 no I mean that she is carrying on an intrigue with 
 another. 
 
 MARSHAL. And this other, who is he to be ? 
 
 PRES. Yourself ! 
 
 MARSHAL. How? Must I be her lover? Is she of 
 noble birth ? 
 
 PRES. What signifies that ? What an idea ! she is 
 the daughter of a musician. 
 
 MARSHAL. A plebeian ? that will never do ! 
 
 PRES. What will never do ? Nonsense, man ! Who 
 in the name of wonder would think of asking a pair of 
 rosy cheeks for their owner's pedigree? 
 
 MARSHAL. But consider, my dear count, a married 
 man ! And my reputation at court ! 
 
 PRES. Oh ! that's quite another thing ! I beg a 
 thousand pardons, marshal ; I was not aware that a man 
 of unblemished morals held a higher place in your esti- 
 mation than a man of power ! Let us break up our con- 
 ference. 
 
 MARSHAL. Be not so hasty, count. I did not mean to 
 say that. 
 
 PRES. (coldly.) No no ! You are perfectly right. 
 I, too, am weary of office. I shall throw up the game, 
 tender my resignation to the duke, and congratulate Von 
 Bock on his accession to the premiership. This duchy is 
 not all the world. 
 
 MARSHAL. And what am I to do ? It is very fine for 
 you to talk thus ! You are a man of learning ! But I 
 mon Dieu ! What shall I be if his highness dismisses me ? 
 
 PRES. A stale jest ! a thing out of fashion ! 
 
 MARSHAL. I implore you, my dearest, my most valued 
 friend. Abandon those thoughts. I will consent to 
 everything ! 
 
 PRES. Will you lend your name to an assignation to 
 which this Louisa Miller shall invite you in writing ?
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 57 
 
 MARSHAL. Well, in God's name let it be so ! 
 
 PBES. And drop the letter where the major cannot 
 fail to find it. 
 
 MARSHAL. For instance, on the parade, where I can 
 let it fall as if accidentally in drawing out my hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 PRES. And when the baron questions you will you as- 
 sume the character of a favored rival? 
 
 MARSHAL. Mort de ma vie ! I'll teach him manners ! 
 I'll cure him of interfering in my amours ! 
 
 PRES. Good ! Now you speak in the right key. The 
 letter shall be written immediately! Come in the even- 
 ing to receive it, and we will talk over the part you are 
 to play. 
 
 MARSHAL. I will be with you the instant I have paid 
 sixteen visits of the very highest importance. Permit me, 
 therefore, to take my leave without delay. ( Going.) 
 
 PRES. (rings). I reckon upon your discretion, mar- 
 shal. 
 
 MARSHAL (calls back). Ah, mon Dieu! you know 
 me ! [Exit MARSHAL. 
 
 SCENE III. The PRESIDENT and WORM. 
 
 WORM. The music-master and his wife have been ar- 
 rested without the least disturbance. Will your excel- 
 lency read this letter ? 
 
 PRES. (having read it). Excellent ! Excellent, my 
 dear secretary ! poison like this would convert health it- 
 self into jaundiced leprosy. The marshal, too, has taken 
 the bait. Now then away with my proposals to the father, 
 and then lose no time with the daughter. 
 
 \_Exeunt on different sides. 
 
 SCENE IV. Room in MILLER'S House. 
 LOFISA and FERDINAND. 
 
 LOUISA. Cease, I implore you ! I expect no more 
 days of happiness. All my hopes are levelled with the 
 dust. 
 
 FERD. All mine are exalted to heaven ! My father's
 
 58 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 passions are roused ! He will direct his whole artillery 
 against us ! He will force me to become an unnatural 
 son. I will not answer for my filial duty. Rage and 
 despair will wring from me the dark secret that my 
 father is an assassin ! The son will deliver the parent 
 into the hands of the executioner. This is a moment of 
 extreme danger, and extreme danger alone could prompt 
 my love to take so daring a leap ! Hear me, Louisa ! A 
 thought, vast and immeasurable as my love, has 
 arisen in my soul Thou, Louisa, and 7", and Love! 
 Lies not a whole heaven within this circle ? Or dost thou 
 feel that there is still something wanting? 
 
 LOUISA. Oh! cease! No more! I tremble to think 
 what you would say. 
 
 FERD. If we have no longer a claim upon the 
 world, why should we seek its approbation ? Why ven- 
 ture where nothing can be gained and all may be lost? 
 Will thine eyes sparkle less brightly reflected by the 
 Baltic waves than by the waters of the Rhine or the Elbe ? 
 Where Louise loves me there is my native land ! Thy 
 footsteps will make the wild and sandy desert far more 
 attractive than the marble halls of my ancestors. Shall 
 we miss the pomp of cities ? Be we where we may, 
 Louisa, a sun will rise and a sun will set scenes before 
 which the most glorious achievements of art grow pale 
 and dim ! Though we serve God no more in his conse- 
 crated churches, yet the night shall spread her solemn 
 shadows round us; the changing moon shall hear our 
 confession, and a glorious congregation of stars join in our 
 prayers! Think you our talk of love can ever be ex- 
 hausted ! Oh, no ! One smile from Louisa were a theme 
 for centuries the dream of life will be over ere I can 
 exhaust the charms of a single tear. 
 
 LOUISA. And hast thou no duty save that of love? 
 
 FEED, (embracing her). None so sacred as thy peace 
 of mind ! 
 
 LOUISA (very seriously). Cease, then, and leave me. I 
 have a father who possesses no treasure save one only 
 daughter. To-morrow he will be sixty years old that 
 he will fall a victim to the vengeance of the President is 
 most certain !
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 59 
 
 FEED, (interrupting her}. He shall accompany us. 
 Therefore no more objections, my beloved. I will go and 
 convert my valuables into gold, and raise money on my 
 father's credit ! It is lawful to plunder a robber, and are 
 not his treasures the price for which he has sold his 
 country ? This night, when the clock strikes one, a 
 carriage will stop at your door throw yourself into it, 
 and we fly ! 
 
 LOUISA. Pursued by your father's curse ! a curse, un- 
 thinking one, which is never pronounced in vain even by 
 murderers which the avenging angel hears when uttered 
 by a malefactor in his last agony which, like a fury, will 
 fearfully pursue the fugitives from shore to shore ! No, 
 my beloved ! If naught but a crime can preserve you to 
 me, I still have courage to resign you ! 
 
 FEED, (mutters gloomily). Indeed ! 
 
 LOUISA. Resign you ? Oh ! horrible beyond all 
 measure is the thought. Horrible enough to pierce the 
 immortal spirit and pale the glowing cheeks of joy ! 
 Ferdinand ! To resign you ! Yet how can one resign 
 what one never possessed ? Your heart is the property 
 of your station. My claim was sacrilege, and, shudder- 
 ing, I withdraw it ! 
 
 FEED, (with convulsed features, and biting his under- 
 lip). You withdraw it! 
 
 LOUISA. Nay! look upon me, dearest Ferdinand. 
 Gnash not your teeth so bitterly! Come, let my example 
 rouse your slumbering courage. Let me be the heroine 
 of this moment. Let me restore to a father his lost son. 
 I will renounce a union which would sever the bonds by 
 which society is held together, and overthrow the land- 
 marks of social order. I am the criminal. My bosom 
 has nourished proud and foolish wishes, and my present 
 misery is a just punishment. Oh ! leave me then the 
 sweet, the consoling idea that mine is the sacrifice. 
 Canst thou deny me this last satisfaction ? (FEBDINAND, 
 stupefied with agitation and anger, seizes a violin and 
 strikes a few notes upon it; and then tears away the 
 strings, dashes the instrument upon the ground, and, 
 stamping it to pieces, bursts into a loud laugh.) Walter ! 
 God in Heaven ! What mean you ? Be not thus un-
 
 60 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 manned ! This hour requires fortitude ; it is the hour of 
 separation ! You have a heart, dear Walter; I know that 
 heart warm as life is your love boundless and im- 
 measurable bestow it on one more noble, more worthy 
 she need not envy the most fortunate of her sex ! 
 (Striving to repress her tears.) You shall see me no 
 more ! Leave the vain disappointed girl to bewail her 
 sorrow in sad and lonely seclusion ; where her tears will 
 flow unheeded. Dead and gone are all my hopes of hap- 
 piness in this world ; yet still shall I inhale ever and 
 anon the perfumes of the faded wreath ! (Giving him 
 her trembling hand, while her face is turned away.) Baron 
 Walter, farewell ! 
 
 FERD. (recovering from the stupor in which he was 
 plunged). Louisa, I fly ! Do you indeed refuse to follow 
 me ? 
 
 LOUISA (who has retreated to the further end of the apart- 
 ment, conceals her countenance with her hands). My duty 
 bids me stay, and suffer. 
 
 FEED. Serpent ! thou liest some other motive chains 
 thee here ! 
 
 LOUISA (in a tone of the most heartfelt sorrow). Encour- 
 age that belief. Haply it may make our parting more 
 supportable. 
 
 FEED. What? Oppose freezing duty to fiery love! 
 And dost thou think to cheat me with that delusion ? 
 Some rival detains thee here, and woe be to thee and him 
 should my suspicions be confirmed 1 \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 LOUISA (she remains for some time motionless in the 
 seat upon which she has thrown herself. At length she 
 rises, comes forward, and looks timidly around). Where 
 can my parents be? My father promised to return in a 
 few minutes; yet full five dreadful hours hnve passed 
 
 since his departure. Should any accident good 
 
 Heavens ! What is come over me ? Why does my 
 heart palpitate so violently ? (Here WORM enters, and 
 remains standing unobserved in the background.} It can 
 be nothing real. 'Tis but the terrible delusion of my
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 61 
 
 over-heated blood. When once the soul is wrapped in 
 terror the eye behold spectres in every shadow. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 LOUISA and WORM. 
 
 WORM (approaches her). Good evening, miss. 
 
 LOUISA. Heavens ! who speaks ! (Perceives him, and 
 starts back in terror.) Ha! Dreadful! dreadful! I fear 
 some dire misfortune is even now realizing the fore- 
 bodings of my soul ! (To WORM, with a look of disdain.) 
 Do you seek the president ? He is no longer here. 
 
 WORM. 'Tis you I seek, miss ! 
 
 LOUISA. I wonder, then, that you did not direct your 
 steps towards the market-place. 
 
 WORM. What should I do there ? 
 
 LOUISA. Release your betrothed from the pillory. 
 
 WORM. Louisa, you cherish some false suspicion 
 
 LOUISA (sharply interrupting him). What is your 
 business with me ? 
 
 WORM. I come with a message from your father. 
 
 LOUISA (agitated). From my father? Oh! Where is 
 my father? 
 
 WORM. Where he would fain not be ! 
 
 LOUISA. Quick, quick, for God's sake ! Oh ! my fore- 
 boding heart ! Where is my father ! 
 
 WORM. In prison, if you needs must know ! 
 
 LOUISA (with a look towards heaven). This, too! 
 This, too ! In prison, said you? And why in prison? 
 
 WORM. It is the duke's order. 
 
 LOUISA. The duke's? 
 
 WORM. Who thinking his own dignity offended by the 
 insults offered to the person of his representative 
 
 LOUISA. How? How? Oh ye Almighty Powers ! 
 
 WORM. Has resolved to inflict the most exemplary 
 
 punishment. 
 
 LOUISA. This was still wanting ! This ! Yes, in truth. 
 I now feel that my heart does love another besides Ferdi- 
 nand ! That could not be allowed to escape ! The 
 prince's dignity offended ? Heavenly Providence ! Save,
 
 62 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 oh ! save my sinking faith ! (After a moments pause, she 
 turns to WORM.) And Ferdinand ? 
 
 WORST. Must choose between Lady Milford's hand 
 and his father's curse and disinheritance. 
 
 LOUISA. Terrible choice ! and yet yet is he the 
 happier of the two. He has no father to lose and yet 
 to have none is misery enough ! My father imprisoned 
 for treason my Ferdinand compelled to choose between 
 Lady Milford's hand or a parent's curse and disinherit- 
 ance ! Truly admirable ! for even villany so perfect is 
 perfection ! Perfection ? No ! something is still wanting 
 to complete that. Where is my mother? 
 
 WORM. In the house of correction. 
 
 LOUISA (with a smile of despair). Now the measure 
 is full! It is full, and I am free released from all 
 duties all sorrows all joys ! Released even from 
 Providence ! I have nothing more to do with it ! (A. 
 dreadful pause?) Have you aught else to communicate? 
 Speak freely now I can hear anything with indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 WORM. All that has happened you already know. 
 
 LOUISA. But not that which is yet to happen ! (An- 
 other pause, during which she surveys WORM from head 
 to foot.) Unfortunate man ! you have entered on a 
 melancholy employment, which can never lead you to 
 happiness. To cause misery to others is sad enough 
 but to be the messenger of evil is horrible indeed 
 to be the first to shriek the screech-owl's song, to stand 
 by when the bleeding heart trembles upon the iron shaft 
 of necessity, and the Christian doubts the existence of a 
 God Heaven protect me ! Wert thou paid a ton of 
 gold for every tear of anguish which thou must witness, 
 I would not be a wretch like thee ! What is there yet 
 to happen? 
 
 WORM. I know not. 
 
 LOUISA. You pretend not to know? This light- 
 shunning embassy trembles at the sound of words, but 
 the spectre betrays itself in your ghastly visage. What 
 is there yet to happen? You said the duke will inflict 
 upon him a most exemplary punishment. What call you 
 exemplary ?
 
 LOVE AND INTKIGUE. 63 
 
 WOKM. Ask uie no more. 
 
 LOUISA. Terrible man! Some hangman must have 
 schooled thee ! Else thou hadst not so well learned to 
 prolong the torture of thy victim before giving the finish- 
 ing stroke to the agonized heart ! Speak ! What fate 
 awaits my father? Death thou canst announce with a 
 laughing sneer what then must that be which thou 
 dost hesitate to disclose? Speak out ! Let me at once 
 receive the overwhelming weight of thy tidings ! What 
 fate awaits my father ? 
 
 WORM. A criminal process. 
 
 LOUISA. But what is that ? I am an ignorant, innocent 
 girl, and understand but little of your fearful terms of 
 law. What mean you by a ci'iininal process ? 
 
 WORM. Judgment upon life or death. 
 
 LOUISA (firmly) . Ah ! I thank you. 
 
 \_Ex,it hastily by a side door. 
 
 WORM (alarmed). What means this? Should the 
 simpleton perchance confusion! Surely she will not 
 
 I must follow her. I am answerable for her life. 
 (As he is going towards the door, LOUISA returns, wrapped 
 in a cloak.) 
 
 LOUISA. Your pardon, Mr. Secretary, I must lock the 
 door. 
 
 WORM. Whither in such haste? 
 
 LOUISA (passing him). To the duke. 
 
 WORM (alarmed, detains her). How? Whither? 
 
 LOUISA. To the duke. Do you not hear? Even to 
 that very duke whose will is to decide upon my father's 
 life or death. Yet no? 'tis not his will that decides, 
 but the will of wicked men who surround his throne. 
 He lends naught to this process, save the shadow of his 
 majesty, and his royal signature. 
 
 WORM (with a burst of laughter). To the duke ! 
 
 LOUISA. I know the meaning of that sneering laugh 
 
 you would tell me that T shall find no compassion there. 
 But though I may meet (God preserve me !) with nothing 
 but scorn scorn at rny sorrows yet will I to the duke. 
 I have been told that the great never know what misery 
 is ; that they fly from the knowledge of it. But I will 
 teach the duke what misery is ; I will paint to him, in
 
 64 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 all the writhing agonies of death, what misery is ; I will 
 cry aloud in wailings that shall creep through the very 
 marrow of his bones, what misery is ; and, while at my 
 picture his hairs shall stand on end like quills upon the 
 porcupine, will I shriek into his affrighted ear, that in the 
 hour of death the sinews of these mighty gods of earth 
 shall shrivel and shrink, and that at the day of judgment 
 beggars and kings shall be weighed together in the 
 same balance. (Going.) 
 
 WORM (ironically). By all means go to the duke ! You 
 can really do nothing more prudent; I advise you heartily 
 to the step. Only go, and I give you my word that the 
 duke will grant your suit. 
 
 LOUISA (stopping suddenly). What said you ? Do 
 you yourself advise the step ? (Returns hastily). What 
 am I about to do ? Something wicked surely, since this 
 man approves it how know you that the prince will 
 grant my suit ? 
 
 WORM. Because he will not have to grant it unre- 
 warded. 
 
 LOUISA. Not unrewarded ? And what price does he 
 set on his humanity? 
 
 WORM. The person of the fair suppliant will be pay- 
 ment enough ! 
 
 LOUISA (stopping for a moment in mute dismay in a 
 feeble voice). Almighty God ! 
 
 WORM. And I trust that you will not think your 
 father's life over-valued when 'tis purchased at so gra- 
 cious a price. 
 
 LOUISA (with great indignation). True, oh ! true ! 
 The great are entrenched from truth behind their own 
 vices, safely as behind the swords of cherubims. The 
 Almighty protect thee, father ! Your child can die : but 
 not sin for thee. 
 
 WORM. This will be agreeable news for the poor dis- 
 consolate old man. " My Louisa, " says he, " lias bowed 
 me down to the earth ; but my Louisa will raise me up 
 again. " I hasten to him with your answer. (Affects to 
 be about to depart.) 
 
 LOUISA (flies after him and holds him back). Stay ! 
 stay! one moment's patience! How nimble this Satan
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 65 
 
 ia, when his business is to drive humanity distracted! 
 I have bowed him to the earth ! I must raise him up 
 again ! Speak to me ! Counsel me ! What can I, what 
 must I do ? 
 
 WORM. There is but one means of saving him ! 
 
 LOUISA. What is that means ? 
 
 WORM. And your father approves of it 
 
 LOUISA. My father ? Oh ! name that means. 
 
 WORM. It is easy for you to execute. 
 
 LOUISA. I know of nothing harder than infamy! 
 
 WORM. Suppose you were to release the major from 
 his engagement? 
 
 LOUISA. Release him ! Do you mock me? Do you 
 call that a choice to which force compelled me ? 
 
 WORM. You mistake me, dear girl ! The major must 
 resign you willingly, and be the first to retract his engage- 
 ment. 
 
 LOUISA. That he will never do. 
 
 WORM. So it appears. Should we, do you think, have 
 had recourse to you were it not that you alone are able 
 to help us ? 
 
 LOUISA. I cannot compel him to hate me. 
 
 WORM. We will try ! Be seated. 
 
 LOUISA (drawing back). Man ! What is brooding in 
 thy artful brain ? 
 
 WORM. Be seated. Here are paper, pens, and ink. 
 Write what I dictate. 
 
 LOUISA (sitting down In the greatest uneasiness). What 
 must I write ? To whom must I write ? 
 
 WORM. To your father's executioner. 
 
 LOUISA. Ah! How well thou knowest to torture 
 souls to thy purpose. (Takes a pen.) 
 
 WORM (dictating to her). "My dear Sir. (LomsA 
 writes with a trembling hand?) three days, three insup- 
 portable days, have already passed already passed 
 since last we met. " 
 
 LOUISA (starts, and lays down her pen). To whom is 
 the letter? 
 
 WORM. To your father's executioner. 
 
 LOUISA. Oh ! my God ! 
 
 WOBM. " But for this you must blame the major
 
 l6 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 the major who watches me all day with the vigilance 
 of an Argus." 
 
 LOUISA (starting up}. Villany ! Villany beyond all 
 precedent! To whom is the letter? 
 
 WORM. To your father's executioner. 
 
 LOUISA (paces to and fro, wringing her hands). No, 
 no, no ! This is tyrannical ! Oh Heaven ! If mortals pro- 
 voke thee, punish them like mortals; but wherefore must 
 I be placed between two precipices '? Wherefore am I 
 hurled by turns from death to infamy, from infamy to 
 death? Wherefore is my neck made the footstool of 
 this blood-sucking fiend ? No; do what them wilt, I will 
 never write that ! 
 
 WORM (seizing his hat). As you please, miss ! It rests 
 entirely on your own pleasure! 
 
 LOUISA. Pleasure, say'st thou? On my own pleas- 
 ure? Go, barbarian! Suspend some unfortunate over 
 the pit of hell ; then make your demands, and ask your 
 victim if it be his pleasure to grant your request ! Oh ! 
 Thou knowest but too well that the bonds of nature bind 
 our hearts as firmly as chains ! But all is now alike in- 
 different. Dictate ! I cease to think ! Artifices of hell, 
 I yield to ye ! (/She resumes her seat at the table.) 
 
 WORM. "With the vigilance of an Argus." Have 
 you written it ? 
 
 LOUISA. Proceed, proceed ! 
 
 WORM. " The president was here yesterday. It was 
 amusing to see how warm the poor major was in defence 
 of my honor." 
 
 LOUISA. Excellent! Excellent! Oh! Admirable! 
 Quick ! quick, go on ! 
 
 WORM. " I had recourse to a swoon a swoon 
 that I might not laugh aloud " 
 
 LOUISA. Oh, Heavens ! 
 
 WORM. " But the mask which I have worn so long is 
 becoming insupportable insupportable. Oh ! if I could 
 but rid myself of him." 
 
 LOUISA (rises, and walks a few turns with her head bent 
 down, as if she sought something upon the floor : then re- 
 turns to /ier place, and continues to write). " Rid myself 
 of him." J
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 67 
 
 WORM. " He will be on duty to-morrow observe 
 when he leaves me, and hasten to the usual place." 
 Have you written " the usual place ? " 
 
 LOUISA. Everything, everything ! 
 
 WORM. " To the usual place, to meet your devotedly 
 attached Louisa." 
 
 LOUISA. Now then, the address ? 
 
 WORM. To Marshal Von Kalb. " 
 
 LOUISA. Eternal Providence ! A name as foreign to 
 my ear as these scandalous lines are to my heart ! (he 
 rises, and for some moments surveys the writing with a 
 vacant gaze. At length she hands it to WORM, speaking 
 in a voice trembling and exhausted.) Take it, sir ! What 
 I now put into your hands is my good name. It is Fer- 
 di.iand it is the whole joy of my life ! You have it, 
 and now I am a beggar 
 
 WORM. Oh ! Not so ! Despair not, dear girl ! 
 You inspire me with the most heartfelt pity! Perhaps 
 who knows ? I might even now overlook certain parts 
 of your conduct yes! Heaven is my witness, how 
 deeply I compassionate your sorrows! 
 
 LOUISA (giving him a piercing look). Do not explain 
 yourself! You are on the point of asking something 
 more terrible than all. 
 
 WORM (attempting to kiss her hand). What if I asked 
 this little hand ? Would that be terrible, Louisa? 
 
 LOUISA (with great indignation). Yes ! for I should 
 strangle you on the bridal night : and for such a deed I 
 would joyfully yield my body to be torn on the rack! (She 
 is going, but comes hurriedly back.) Is all settled be- 
 tween us, sir ? May the dove be released ? 
 
 WORM. A trifle yet remains, maiden ! You must 
 swear, by the holy sacrament, to acknowledge this letter 
 for your free and voluntary act. 
 
 LOUISA. Oh God! Oh God! And wilt thou grant 
 thine own seal to confirm, the works of hell ? (WORM 
 leads her away.)
 
 68 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE T. Saloon in the PRESIDENT'S Souse. 
 
 FERDINAND VON WALTER enters in great excitement with 
 an open letter in his hand,, and is met by a SERVANT. 
 
 FEUD. Is the marshal here ? 
 
 SKRV. My lord, his highness the president is inquir- 
 ing for you. 
 
 FERD. Fire and fury ! I ask is the marshal here ? 
 
 SERV. His honor is engaged at the faro-table, above 
 stairs. 
 
 FERD. Tell his honor, in the name of all the devils in 
 hell, to make his appearance this instant ! 
 
 {Exit SERVANT. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 FERD. (hastily reading the letter, at one moment seem- 
 ing petrified with astonishment, at the next pacing the 
 room with fury). Impossible ! quite impossible ! A form 
 so heavenly cannot hide so devilish a heart. And yet! 
 and yet ! Though all the angels of heaven should descend 
 on earth and proclaim her innocence though heaven 
 and earth, the Creator and the created, should, with one 
 accord, vouch for her innocence it is her hand, her own 
 hand ! Treachery, monstrous, infernal treachery, such as 
 humanity never before witnessed ! This, then, was the 
 reason she so resolutely opposed our flight ! This it was 
 Oh, God ! Now I awake from my dream ! Now the 
 veil is lifted ! This, then, is why she surrendered with so 
 much seeming heroism her claims on my affection, and 
 all but cheated me with her saint-like demeanor ! (lie 
 traverses the chamber rapidly, and then remains for some 
 moments in deep thought.} ' To fathom my heart to its 
 very core ! To reciprocate every lofty sentiment, every 
 gentle emotion, every fiery ebullition! To sympathize 
 with every secret breathing of my soul ! To study me 
 even in her tears ! To mount with me to the sublimest 
 heights of passion to brave with me, undaunted, each 
 fearful precipice! God of heaven! And was all this 
 deceit ? mere grimace ? Oh, if falsehood can assume so
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 69 
 
 lovely an appearance of truth why has no devil yet lied 
 himself back into heaven ? 
 
 When I unfolded to her the dangers which threatened 
 our affection, with what convincing artifice did the false 
 one turn pale ! With what overpowering dignity did she 
 repulse my father's licentious scoffs ! yet at that very 
 moment the deceiver was conscious of her guilt! Nay, 
 did she not even undergo the fiery ordeal of truth ? For- 
 sooth, the hypocrite fainted ! What must now be thy 
 language, sensibility, since coquettes faint ? How wilt 
 thou vindicate thyself, innocence? for even strumpets 
 faint ? 
 
 She knows her power over me she has seen through 
 jny very heart ! My soul shone conspicuous in my eyes 
 at the blush of her first kiss. And that she should have 
 felt nothing ! or perhaps felt only the triumph of her art; 
 whilst my happy delirium fancied that in her I embraced 
 a whole heaven, my wildest wishes were hushed ! No 
 thought but of her and eternity was present to my mind. 
 Oh, God ! and yet she felt nothing? Nothing? but that 
 her artifice had triumphed ! That her charms were 
 flattered ! Death and vengeance ! Nothing, but that I 
 was betrayed ! 
 
 SCENE III. 
 FERDINAND, the MARSHAL. 
 
 MARSHAL (tripping into the room). I am told, my 
 dear baron, that you have expi-essed a wish 
 
 FEED, (muttering to himself). To break your rascally 
 neck. (Aloud.) Marshal, this letter must have dropped 
 out of your pocket on parade. ( With a malicious smile.) 
 And I have been the fortunate finder. 
 
 MARSHAL. You ? 
 
 FERD. By a singular coincidence ! Now, balance thy 
 account with heaven ! 
 
 MARSHAL. You quite alarm me, baron ! 
 
 FERD. Read it, sir, read it ! ( Turning from him.) 
 Tf I am not good enough for a lover perhaps I may do 
 for a pimp. ( While the MARSHAL reads, FEBDINAND 
 goes to the watt and takes down the pistols.)
 
 70 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 KALB (throws the letter upon the table, and rushes off) 
 Confusion ! 
 
 FEKD. (leads him back by the arm). Wait a little, my 
 dear marshal ! The intelligence contained in that letter 
 appears to be agreeable ! The finder must have his re- 
 ward. (Shmcing him the pistols.) 
 
 MARSHAL (starts back in alarm'). Have you lost your 
 senses, baron ? 
 
 FKHD. (in a terrible voice). I have more than enough 
 left to rid the world of such a scoundrel as you ! Choose 
 one of these instantly ! (He forces a pistol into the MAR- 
 SHAL'S hand, and then draws out his handkerchief.') And 
 now take the other end of this handkerchief ! It was 
 given me by the strumpet herself ! 
 
 MARSHAL. What, shoot over the handkerchief ? Baron, 
 are you mad? What can you be thinking of? 
 
 FERD. Lay hold of it, I say ! or you will be sure to 
 miss your aim, coward ! How the coward trembles ! 
 You should thank God, you pitiful coward, that you have 
 a chance for once of getting something in your empty 
 brain-box. (The MARSHAL takes to his heels.} Gently, 
 gently ! I'll take care of that. (Overtakes him and bolts 
 the door. 
 
 MARSHAL. Surely you will not fight in the chamber? 
 
 FERD. As if you were worth the trouble of a walk be- 
 yond the boundaries ! The report, my dear fellow, will 
 be louder, and, for the first time, you will make some noise 
 in the world. Xow, then, take hold ! 
 
 MARSHAL (wiping his forehead). Yet consider, I 
 entreat. Would you risk your precious life, young and 
 promising as you are, in this desperate manner? 
 
 FERD. Take hold, I say ! I have nothing more to do 
 in this world ! 
 
 MARSHAL. But I have much, my dearest, most excellent 
 friend ! 
 
 FERD. Thou, wretch thou ? What hast thou to do, 
 but to play the stop-gap, where honest men keep aloof ! To 
 stretch or shrink seven times in an instant, like the butter- 
 fly on a pin ? To be privy registrar in chief and clerk of 
 the Jordan? To be the cap-and-bell buffoon on which 
 your master sharpens his wit? Well, well, let it be so.
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 71 
 
 I will carry you about with me, as I would a marmot of 
 rare training. You shall skip and dance, like a tamed 
 monkey, to the howling of the damned ; fetch, carry, and 
 serve ; and with your courtly arts enliven the wailings of 
 everlasting despair ! 
 
 MARSHAL. Anything you please, dear major! What- 
 ever you please ! Only take away the pistols ! 
 
 FERD. How he stands there, poor trembling wretch ! 
 There he stands, a blot on the sixth day of creation. He 
 looks as if he were a piratical counterfeit of the Almighty 
 original. Pity, eternal pity ! that an atom of brains 
 should lie wasting in so barren a skull ! That single atom 
 bestowed upon a baboon might have made him a perfect 
 man, whereas it is now a mere useless fragment. And 
 that she should share her heai't with a thing like this ! 
 Monstrous ! Incredible ! A wretch more formed to wean 
 from sin than to excite it ! 
 
 MARSHAL. Praised be Heaven ! he is getting witty. 
 
 FERD. I will let him live! That toleration which 
 spares the caterpillar shall be extended to him ! Men 
 t;h;ill look on him in wonder, and, shrugging their 
 shoulders, admire the wise dispensation of Providence, 
 which can feed its creatures with husks and scourings ; 
 which spreads the table for the raven on the gallows, and 
 for the courtier in the slime of majesty. We wonder at 
 the wisdom of Providence, which even in the world of 
 spirits maintains its staff of venomous reptiles for the dis- 
 semination of poison. (Relapsing into rage.} But such 
 vermin shall not pollute my rose ; sooner will I crush it to 
 atoms (seizing the MARSHAL and shaking him roughly}, 
 thus and thus and thus 
 
 MARSHAL. Oh! God, that I were away from here! 
 hundreds of miles away in the asylum for maniacs at 
 Paris ! Anywhere but near this man ! 
 
 FERD. Villain ! If she be no longer pure ! Villain ! 
 If thou hast profaned where I worshipped ! (with increased 
 fury). If thou hast polluted, where I believed myself the 
 god ! (Pausing suddenly; then in a solemn terrible voice.) 
 It were better for thee, villain, to flee to hell, than to 
 encounter my wrath in heaven ! Confess! To what 
 extent has your unhallowed love proceeded ?
 
 72 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 MARSHAL. Let me go ! I will confess everything. 
 
 FEED. Oh ! it must be more rapturous even to be her 
 licentious paramour than to burn with the purest flame 
 for any other ! Would she surrender her charms to un- 
 licensed pleasure she might dissolve the soul itself to sin, 
 and make voluptuousness pass for virtue (pressing his pis- 
 tol against the MARSHAL'S breast). To what extremities 
 have you proceeded ? Confess this instant or I fire ! 
 
 MARSHAL. There is nothing at all in it, I assure you ! 
 There is not a syllable of truth in the whole business ! 
 Have but a moment's patience ! You are deceived, in- 
 deed you are ! 
 
 FERD. (furiously). And dare you remind me of that, 
 villain? To what extremities have you proceeded? 
 Confess, or you are a dead man ! 
 
 MARSHAL. Mon Uieu! My God ! You mistake my 
 words! Only listen for a moment. When a father - 
 
 FERD. (still more enraged). No doubt ! He threw his 
 daughter into your arms? And how far have you pro- 
 ceeded ? Confess, or I will murder you ! 
 
 MARSHAL. You rave ! You will not listen ! I never 
 saw her ! 1 don't know her ! I know nothing at all 
 about her 1 
 
 FERD. (drawing back). You never saw her? You 
 don't know her ? Know nothing at all about her? Louisa 
 is lost to roe forever on thy account, and yet in one breath 
 hast thou denied her thrice. Go, wretch, go (he gives 
 him a blow with th-e pistol, and thrusts him out of the 
 chamber) ; powder were thrown away on such a mis- 
 creant. [Exit MARSHAL. 
 
 IV. 
 
 FERD. (after a lor>g silence, during which his counte- 
 nance declares him to be agitated by some dreadful idea). 
 Forever lost? Yes, false unfortunate, both are lost! 
 Ay, by the Almighty God ! if I am lost, thou art so too. 
 Judge of the world, ask her not from me ! She is mine. 
 For her sake I renounced the whole world abandoned 
 all thy glorious creation. Leave me the maid, great Judge 
 of the world ! Millions of souls pour out their plaints 
 to thee turn on them thine eye o* oow.pafr^cr, Vrt
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 73 
 
 leave me, Almighty Judge leave me to myself. (Clasp, 
 ing his hands in agony.) Can the bountiful, the munifi- 
 cent Creator be covetous of one miserable soul, and that 
 soul the worst of his creation ? The maiden is mine ! 
 Once I was her god, but now I am her devil ! 
 
 (Fixes his eyes with terrible expression.) 
 
 An eternity passed with her upon the rack of everlast- 
 ing perdition ! Her melting eye-balls riveted on mine ! 
 Our blazing locks entwined together ! Our shrieks of 
 agony dissolving into one ! And then to renew to her 
 my vows of love, and chant unceasingly her broken 
 oaths ! God ! God ! The union is dreadful and eter- 
 nal ! (As he is about to rush off, the PRESIDENT meets 
 him.) 
 
 SCENE V. 
 FERDINAND, the PRESIDENT. 
 
 FERD. (starting back). Ha! my father. 
 
 PEES. I am glad to meet with you, Ferdinand ! I 
 come to bring you some pleasant news something that 
 will certainly surprise you, my dear son. Shall we be 
 seated ? 
 
 FERD. (after gazing upon him for some time with a 
 vacant stare). My father! (Going to him with emotion, 
 and grasping his hand.) My father ! (Kissing it, and 
 falling at his feet.) Oh, father ! 
 
 PEES. What is the matter ? Rise, my son. Your hand 
 burns and trembles ! 
 
 FEED, (wildly). Forgive my ingratitude, father! I 
 am a lost man! I have misinterpreted your kindness! 
 Your meaning was so truly truly paternal ! Oh ! you 
 had a prophetic soul ! Now it is too late ! Pardon ! par- 
 don ! Your blessing, my dear father! 
 
 PEES, (feigning 'astonishment). Arise, my son ! Re- 
 collect that your words to me are riddles ! 
 
 FEED. This Louisa, dear father ! Oh! You under- 
 derstand mankind ! Your anger was so just, so noble, 
 so truly the zeal of a father ! had not its _very earnest- 
 ness led you to mistake the way. This Louisa!
 
 74 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 PBES. Spare me, dear boy ! Curses on my severity ! 
 I come to entreat your forgiveness 
 
 FEED. Forgiveness from me ! Curse me rather. 
 Your disapproval was wisdom ! Your severity was 
 heavenly mercy ! This Louisa, father 
 
 PRES. Is a noble, a lovely girl ! I recall my too rash 
 suspicions ! She has won my entire esteem ! 
 
 FEUD, (starting up). What? You, too? Father, 
 even you? And is she not, father, the very personifica- 
 tion of innocence ? And is it not so natural to love this 
 maiden? 
 
 PRES. Say, rather, 'twere a crime not to love her. 
 
 FERD. Incredible ! wonderful ! And you, too, who 
 can so thoroughly see through the heart ! And you, who 
 saw her faults with the eyes of hatred ! Oh, unexampled 
 hypocrisy ! This Louisa, father ! 
 
 PRES. Is worthy to be my daughter! Her virtues 
 supply the want of ancestry, her beauty the want of for- 
 tune. My prudential maxims yield to the force of your 
 attachment. Louisa shall be yours ! 
 
 FERD. Naught but this wanting ! Father, farewell ! 
 (Rushes out of the apartment.) 
 
 PRES. (following him). Stay, my son, stay ! Whither 
 do you fly ? 
 
 SCENE VI. A magnificent Saloon in LADY MILFORD'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter LADY MILFORD and SOPHIA. 
 
 LADY M. You have seen her then ? Will she come ? 
 
 SOPHIA. Yes, in a moment! She was in dishabille, 
 and only requested time to change her dress. 
 
 LADY M. Speak not of her. Silence ! I tremble like 
 a criminal at the prospect of beholding that fortunate 
 woman whose heart sympathizes thus cruelly with my 
 own. And how did she receive my invitation? 
 
 SOPHIA. She seemed surprised, became thoughful, 
 fixed her^ eyes on me steadfastly, and for a while re- 
 mained silent. I was already prepared for her excuses, 
 when she returned me this answer with a look that quite
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 75 
 
 astonished me ; " Tell your mistress that she commands 
 what I myself intended to request to-morrow." 
 
 LADY M. Leave me, Sophia ! Pity me ! I must 
 blush if she is but an ordinary woman despair if she is 
 more ! 
 
 SOPHIA. But, my lady ! it is not in this spirit that a 
 rival should be received ! Remember who you are ! 
 Summon to your aid your birth, your rank, your power ! 
 A prouder soul should heighten the gorgeous splendor of 
 your appearance. 
 
 LADY M. (in a Jit of absence). What is the simpleton 
 babbling about ? 
 
 SOPHIA (maliciously}. Or, is it, perhaps, by chance 
 that to-day, in particular, you are adorned with your 
 most costly brilliants ? by chance that you are to-day 
 arrayed in your most sumptuous robes ? that your ante- 
 chamber is crowded with guards and pages; and that 
 the tradesman's daughter is to be received in the most 
 stately apartment of the palace ? 
 
 LADY M. (angry and nettled} . This is outrageous ! In- 
 supportable ! Oh that woman should have such argus- 
 eyes for woman's weakness ! How low, how irretrievably 
 low must I have fallen when such a creature has power 
 to fathom me ! 
 
 LADY MILFORD, SOPHIA, a SERVANT. 
 
 SERVANT (entering). Ma'mselle Miller waits. 
 LADY M. (to SOPHIA). Hence -with you! Leave the 
 room instantly ! (Imperiously, as the latter hesitates.) 
 Must I repeat my orders ? (SOPHIA retires LADY 
 MILFORD takes a few turns hastily.} So; 'tis well that I 
 have been excited ! I am in the fitter mood for this 
 meeting. ( To the SERVANT.) Let her approach. 
 
 \_Exlt SERVANT, LADY MILFORD throws herself 
 upon the sofa, and assumes a negligent but 
 studied attitude.
 
 76 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 LADY MILFORD, LOUISA. 
 
 LOUISA enters timidly, and remains standing at a great 
 distance from LADY MILFORD, who has turned her back 
 towards her, and for some time watches her attentively 
 in the opposite looking-glass. After a pause 
 
 LOUISA. Noble lady, I await your commands. 
 
 LADY M. (turning towards LOUISA, and making a slight 
 and distant motion with her head.) Oh ! Are you there ? 
 
 I presume the young lady a certain . Pray what 
 
 is your name? 
 
 LOUISA (somewhat sensitively). My father's name is 
 Miller. Your ladyship expressed a wish to see his 
 daughter. 
 
 LADY M. True, true ! I remember. The poor musi- 
 cian's daughter, of whom we were speaking the other 
 day. (Aside, after a pause.) Very interesting, but no 
 beauty! (To LOUISA.) Come nearer, my child. (Again 
 aside) Eyes well practised in weeping. Oh ! How 
 I love those eyes ! (Aloud.) Nearer come nearer ! 
 Quite close ! I really think, my good child, that you are 
 afraid of me ! 
 
 LOUISA (with firmness and dignity). No, my lady I 
 despise the opinion of the multitude ! 
 
 LADY M. (aside). Well, to be sure! She has learnt 
 this boldness from him. (To LOUISA.) You have been 
 recommended to me, miss! I am told that you have 
 been decently educated, and are well disposed. I can 
 readily believe it; besides, I would not, for the world, 
 doubt the word of so warm an advocate. 
 
 LOUISA. And yet I remember no one, my lady, who 
 would be at the trouble to seek your ladyship's patronage 
 for me ! 
 
 LADY M. (significantly). Does that imply my unwor- 
 thiness, or your humility? 
 
 LOUISA. Your words are beyond my comprehension, 
 lady. 
 
 LADY M. More cunning than I should have expected
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 77 
 
 from that open countenance. ( To LOUISA.) Your name 
 is Louisa, I believe? May I inquire your age? 
 
 LOUISA. Sixteen, just turned. 
 
 LADY M. (starting up). Ha! There it is! Sixteen! 
 The first pulsation of love ! The first sweet vibration 
 upon the yet unsounded harp ! Nothing is more fascinat- 
 ing. ( To LOUISA.) Be seated, lovely girl I am anxious 
 about you. (To herself.) And he, too, loves for the 
 first time ! What wonder, if the ruddy morning beams 
 should meet and blend ? ( To LOUISA, taking her hand 
 affectionately.) 'Tis settled : I will make your fortune. 
 ( To herself.) Oh ! there is nothing in it: nothing, but 
 the sweet transient vision of youth ! (To LOUISA, patting 
 her on the cheek.) My Sophy is on the point of leaving 
 me to be married : you shall have her place. But just 
 sixteen ? Oh ! it can never last. 
 
 LOUISA (kissing her hand respectfully). Receive my 
 thanks, lady, for your intended favors, and believe me 
 not the less grateful though I may decline to accept 
 them. 
 
 LADY M. (relapsing into disdain and anger). Only 
 hear the great lady ! Girls of your station generally think 
 themselves fortunate to obtain such promotion. What is 
 your dependence, my dainty one ? Are these fingers too 
 uelicate for work? or is it your pretty baby-face that 
 makes you give yourself these airs ? 
 
 LOUISA. My face, lady, is as little of my own choice as 
 my station ! 
 
 LADY M. Perhaps you believe that your beauty will 
 last forever? Poor creature! Whoever put that into 
 your head be he who he may has deceived both you 
 and himself! The colors of those cheeks are not burnt in 
 with fire: what your mirror passes off upon you as solid 
 and enduring is but a slight tinselling, which, sooner or 
 later, will rub off in the hands of the purchaser. What 
 then will you do ? 
 
 LOUISA. Pity the purchaser, lady, who bought a 
 diamond because it appeared to be set in gold. 
 
 LADY M. (affecting not to hear her). A damsel of your 
 age has ever two mirrors, the real one, and her admirer. 
 The flattering complaisance of the latter counterbalances
 
 78 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 the rough honesty of the former. What the one pro- 
 claims frightful pock-marks, the other declares to be 
 dimples that would adorn the Graces. The credulous 
 maid believes only so much of the former as is confirmed 
 by the latter, and hies from one to the other till she con- 
 founds their testimonies, and concludes by fancying them 
 to be both of one opinion. Why do you stare at me 
 so? 
 
 LOUISA. Pardon me, lady ! I was just then pitying 
 those gorgeous sparkling brilliants, which are unconscious 
 that their possessor is so strenuous a foe to vanity. 
 
 LADY M. (reddening]. No evasion, miss. Were it not 
 that you depend upon personal attractions, what in the 
 world could induce you to reject a situation, the only one 
 where you can acquire polish of manners and divest 
 yourself of your plebeian prejudices ? 
 
 LOUISA. And with them, I presume, my plebeian inno- 
 cence ! 
 
 LADY M. Preposterous objection ! The most dissolute 
 libertine dares not to disrespect our sex, unless we our- 
 selves encourage him by advances. Prove what you are ; 
 make manifest your virtue and honor, and I will guaran- 
 tee your innocence from danger. 
 
 LOUISA. Of that, lady, permit me to entertain a doubt! 
 The palaces of certain ladies are but too often made a 
 theatre for the most unbridled licentiousness. Who will 
 believe that a poor musician's daughter could have the 
 heroism to plunge into the midst of contagion and yet 
 preserve herself untainted? Who will believe that 
 Lady Milford would perpetually hold a scorpion to her 
 breast, and lavish her wealth to purchase the advantage 
 of every moment feeling her cheeks dyed with the crimson 
 blush of shame ? I will be frank, lady ! while I adorned 
 you for some assignation, could you meet my eye un- 
 abashed ? Could you endure my glance when you re- 
 turned ? Oh ! better, far better, would it be that oceans 
 should roll between us that we should inhabit different 
 climes ! Beware, my lady ! hours of temperance, mo- 
 ments of satiety might intrude ; the gnawing worm of re- 
 morse might plant its sting in your bosom, and then 
 what a torment would it be for you to read in the counte-
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 79 
 
 nance of your handmaid that calm serenity with which 
 virtue ever rewards an uncorrupted heart ! (Retiring a 
 few steps.) Once more, gracious lady, I entreat your 
 pardon ! 
 
 LADY M. (extremely agitated). Insupportable, that she 
 should tell me this ! Still more insupportable, that what 
 she tells is true ! ( Turning to LOUISA, and looking at 
 her steadfastly.) Girl ! girl ! this artifice does not blind 
 me. Mere opinions do not speak out so warmly. Beneath 
 the cloak of these sentiments lurks some far dearer 
 interest. 'Tis that which makes my service particularly 
 distasteful which gives such energy to your language. 
 (In a threatening voice.) What it is I am determined to 
 discover. 
 
 LOUISA (with calm dignity). And what if you do dis- 
 cover it ? Suppose the contemptuous trampling of your 
 foot should rouse the injured worm, which its Creator 
 has furnished with a sting to protect it against misusage. 
 I fear not your vengeance, lady ! The poor criminal ex- 
 tended on the rack can look unappalled even on the disso- 
 lution of the world. My misery is so exquisite that even 
 sincerity cannot draw down upon me any further infliction ! 
 (After a pause.) You say that you would raise me from 
 the obscurity of my station. I will not examine the 
 motives of this suspicious favor. I will only ask, what 
 could induce you to think me so foolish as to blush at my 
 station? What could induce you to become the architect 
 .)f my happiness, before you knew whether I was willing 
 to receive that happiness at your hands? I had forever 
 renounced all claims upon the pleasures of the world. I 
 had forgiven fortune that she had dealt with me so nig- 
 gardly. Ah ! why do you remind me of all this. If the 
 Almighty himself hides his glory from the eyes of his 
 creatures, lest the highest seraph should be overwhelmed by 
 a sense of his own insignificance, why should mortals be so 
 cruelly compassionate? Lady, lady! why is your vaunted 
 happiness so anxious to excite the envy and wonder of 
 the wretched? Does your bliss stand in need of the ex- 
 hibition of despair for entertainment? Oh! rather grant 
 me that blindness which alone can reconcile me to my 
 barbarous lot ! The insect feels itself as happy in a drop
 
 80 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 of water as though that drop was a paradise : so happy, 
 and so contented ! till some one tells it of a world of 
 water, where navies ride and whales disport themselves! 
 But you wish to make me happy, say you ? (After a 
 pause, she advances towards LADY MILFORD, and asks her 
 suddenly.} Are you happy, lady? (LADY MILFORD 
 turns from her hastily ', and overpowered. LOUISA folloivs 
 her, and lays her hand upon her bosom.) Does this heart 
 wear the smile of its station? Could we now exchange 
 breast for breast, and fate for fate were I, in childlike 
 innocence, to ask you on your conscience were I to ask 
 you as a mother would you really counsel me to make 
 the exchange? 
 
 LADY M. (greatly excited, throwing herself on the sofa). 
 Intolerable! Incomprehensible! No, Louisa, no! This 
 greatness of thought is not your own, and your concep- 
 tions are too fiery, too full of youth, to be inspired by 
 your father. Deceive me not ! I detect another 
 teacher 
 
 LOUISA (looking piercingly at her). I cannot but won- 
 der, my lady, that you should have only just discovered 
 that other teacher, and yet have previously shown so 
 much anxiety to patronize me ! 
 
 LADY M. (starting up). 'Tis not to be borne ! Well, 
 then, since I cannot escape you, I know him know 
 everything know more than I wish to know! (Sud- 
 denly restraining herself, then continuing with a violence 
 which by degrees increases to frenzy.) But dare, un- 
 happy one ! dare but still to love, or be beloved by 
 him T What did I say ? Dare but to think of him, or 
 to be one of his thoughts ! I am powerful, unhappy 
 one! dreadful in my vengeance ! Assure as there is 
 a God in heaven thou art lost forever ! 
 
 LOUISA (undaunted). Past all redemption, my lady, 
 the moment you succeed in compelling him to love 
 you ! 
 
 LADY M. I understand you but I care not for his 
 love ! I will conquer this disgraceful passion. I will 
 torture my own heart ; but thine will I crush to atoms ! 
 Rocks and chasms will I hurl between you. I will rush, 
 like a fury, into the heaven of your joys. My name shall
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 81 
 
 affright your loves as a spectre scares an assassin. That 
 young and blooming form in his embrace shall wither to 
 a skeleton. I cannot be blest with him neither shalt 
 thou. Know, wretched girl, that to blast the happiness 
 of others is in itself a happiness ! 
 
 LOUISA. A happiness, my lady, which is already beyond 
 your reach ! Seek not to deceive your own heart ! You 
 are incapable of executing what you threaten ! You are 
 incapable of torturing a "being who has done you no 
 wrong but whose misfortune it is that her feelings have 
 been sensible to impressions like your own. But I love 
 you for these transports, my lady ! 
 
 LADY M. (recovering herself}. Where am I ? What 
 have I done? What sentiments have I betrayed? To 
 whom have I betrayed them ? Oh, Louisa, noble, great, 
 divine soul, forgive the ravings of a maniac ! Fear not, 
 my child! I will not injure a hair of thy head ! Name 
 thy wishes ! Ask what thou wilt ! I will serve thee 
 with all my power; I will be thy friend thy sister! 
 Thou art poor ; look (taking off her brilliants], I will 
 pell these jewels sell rny wardrobe my carriages and 
 horses all shall be thine grant me but Ferdinand ! 
 
 LOUISA (draws back indignantly). Does she mock my 
 despair ? or is she really innocent of participation in 
 that cruel deed? Ha! then I may yet assume the hero- 
 ine, and make my surrender of him pass for a sacrifice ! 
 (Remains for a while absorbed in thought, then approaches 
 LADY MILFORD, seizes her hand, and gazes on her with a 
 fixed and significant look.) Take him, lady ! I here 
 voluntarily resign the man whom hellish arts have torn 
 from my bleeding bosom ! Perchance you know it not, 
 my lady ! but you have destroyed the paradise of two 
 /overs ; you have torn asunder two hearts which God had 
 Jinked together ; you have crushed a creature not less 
 dear to him than yourself, and no less created for happi- 
 ness ; one by whom he was worshipped as sincerely as 
 by you ; but who, henceforth, will worship him no more. 
 But the Almighty is ever open to receive the last groan 
 of the trampled worm. He will not look on with in- 
 difference when creatures in his keeping are murdered. 
 Now Ferdinand is yours. Take him, lady, take him!
 
 82 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 Rush into his arms! Drag him with you to the altar ! 
 But forget not that the spectre of a suicide will rush 
 between you and the bridal kiss. God be merciful ! No 
 choice is left me ! (Rushes out of the chamber.) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 LADY MILFORD alone, in extreme agitation, gazing on the 
 door by which LOUISA left. At length she recovers 
 from her stupor. 
 
 LADY M. What was that? What preys so on my 
 heart? What said the unhappy one? Still, O heaven, 
 the dreadful, damning words ring in my ears! "Take 
 him ! Take him ! " What should I take, unfortunate ? 
 the bequest of your dying groan the fearful legacy of 
 your despair? Gracious heaven! am I then fallen so 
 low ? Am I so suddenly hurled from the towering throne 
 of my pride that I greedily await what a beggar's 
 generosity may throw me in the last struggle of death ? 
 " Take him ! Take him ! " And with what a tone was 
 it uttered! with what a look! What! Amelia! is it 
 for this thou hast overleaped the bounds of thy sex? 
 For this didst thou vaunt the glorious title of a free-born 
 Briton, that thy boasted edifice of honor might sink before 
 the nobler soul of a despised and lowly maiden? No, 
 proud unfortunate! No! Amelia Milford may blush 
 for shame, but shall never be despised. I, too, have 
 courage to resign. (She walks a few paces with a majes- 
 tic gait.) Hide thyself, weak, suffering woman ! Hence, 
 ye sweet and golden dreams of love ! Magnanimity 
 alone be now my guide. These lovers are lost, or Amelia 
 must withdraw her claim, and renounce the prince's 
 heart. (After a pause, with animation.) It is deter- 
 mined ! The dreadful obstactle is removed broken are 
 the bonds which bound me to the duke torn from my 
 bosom this raging passion. Virtue, into thy arms I throw 
 myself. Receive thy repentant daughter. Ha! how 
 happy do I feel ! How suddenly relieved my heart, and 
 how exalted ! Glorious as the setting sun, will I this day 
 descend from the pinnacle of my greatness ; my grandeur 
 shall expire with my love, and my own heart be the only
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 83 
 
 sharer of my proud exile ! ( Going to her writing-table 
 with a determined air.) It must be done at once now, 
 on the spot before the recollection of Ferdinand 
 renews the cruel conflict in my bosom! (/She seats her- 
 self, and begins to write). 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 LADY MILFORD, an ATTENDANT, SOPHIA, afterwards the 
 MARSHAL, and then SERVANTS. 
 
 SERVANT. Marshal Von Kalb is in the ante-chamber, 
 and brings a message from his highness. 
 
 LADY M. (not hearing him in the eagerness of writing). 
 How the illustrious puppet will stare ! The idea is 
 singular enough, I own, the presuming to astonish his 
 serene numskull. In what confusion will his court be 
 thrown ! The whole country will be in a ferment. 
 
 SERVANT and SOPHIA. Marshal Von Kalb, my lady ! 
 LADY M. (turning round). Who? the marshal? So 
 much the better ! Such creatures were designed by 
 nature to carry the ass' panniers. \_Exit SERVANT. 
 
 SOPHIA (approaching anxiously). If I were not fearful, 
 my lady, that you would think it presumption. (LADY 
 MILFORD continuing to write eagerly.) Louisa Miller 
 rushed madly to the hall you are agitated you speak 
 to yourself. (LADY MILFORD continues writing.) I am 
 quite alarmed. What can have happened? 
 ( The MARSHAL enters, making repeated bows at LADY MIL- 
 FORD'S back ; as she takes no notice of him, he comes 
 nearer, stands behind her chair, touches the hem of her 
 dress, and imprints a kiss on it, saying in a tremu- 
 lous voice.) 
 
 His serene highness 
 
 LADY M. (while she per uses hastily what she has written). 
 He will tax me with black ingratitude ! " I was poor 
 and forsaken ! He raised ine from misery ! From mis- 
 ery." Detestable exchange ! Annul my bond, seducer ! 
 The blush of my eternal shame repays my debt with 
 interest. 
 
 MARSHAL (after endeavoring in vain to catch her eye). 
 Your ladyship seems somewhat absent. I take the liberty
 
 84 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 of permitting myself the boldness (very loud) his 
 serene highness, my lady, has sent me to inquire whether 
 you mean to honor this evening's gala with your pres- 
 ence, or the theatre? 
 
 LADY M. (rising, with a laugh). One or the other, 
 sweet sir. In the meantime take this paper to your duke 
 for his dessert. (To SOPHIA.) Do you, Sophia, give 
 directions to have my carriage brought to the door with- 
 out delay, and call my whole household together in this 
 saloon. 
 
 SOPHIA (goes out in great astonishment}. Heavens! 
 What do I forebode ? What will this end in ? 
 
 MARSHAL. You seem excited, my lady ! 
 
 LADY M. The greater the chance of my letting you 
 into a little truth. Rejoice, my Lord Marshal! There 
 is a place vacant at court. A fine time for panders. (As 
 the MARSHAL throws a look of suspicion upon the paper.) 
 Read it, read it! 'Tis my desire that the contents should 
 be made public. ( While he reads it, the domestics enter, 
 and range themselves in the background.) 
 
 MARSHAL (reading). "Your highness an engage- 
 ment, broken by you so lightly, can no longer be binding 
 on me. The happiness of your subjects was the condition 
 of my love. For three years the deception has lasted. 
 The veil at length falls from my eyes ! I look with disgust 
 on favors which are stained with the tears of your sub 
 jects. Bestow the love which I can no longer accept 
 upon your weeping country, and learn from a British 
 princess compassion to your German people. Within an 
 hour I shall have quitted your dominions. 
 
 " JOANNA NORFOLK." 
 
 SERVANTS (exclaiming to each other in astonishment). 
 Quitted the dominions! 
 
 MARSHAL (replaces the letter upon the table in terror). 
 God forbid, my dear and most excellent lady ! The 
 bearer of such a letter would be as mad as the writer ! 
 
 LADY M. That is your concern, you pink of a cour- 
 tier ! Alas ! I am sorry to know that you, and such as 
 you, would choke even in the utterance of what others 
 dare to do. My advice is. that you bake the letter in a
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 85 
 
 venison pasty, so that his most serene highness may find 
 it on his plate ! 
 
 MARSHAL. God preserve me ! What presumption ! 
 Ponder well, I entreat you. Reflect on the disgrace 
 which you will bring down upon yourself, my lady ! 
 
 LADY M. (turning to the assembled domestics^ and ad- 
 dressing them in the deepest emotion). You seem amazed, 
 good people ; and anxiously awaiting the solution of this 
 riddle ? Draw nearer, my friends ! You have served 
 me truly and affectionately ; have looked into my eyes 
 rather than my purse. My pleasure was your study, my 
 approbation your pride ! Woe is me, that the remem- 
 brance of your fidelity must be the record of my un- 
 worthiness ! Unhappy fate, that the darkest season of my 
 life should have been the brightest of yours ! (Her eyes 
 suffused with tears.*) We must part, my children. Lady 
 Milford has ceased to exist, and Joanna of Norfolk is too 
 poor to repay your love. What little wealth I have my 
 treasurer will share among you. This palace belongs to 
 the duke. The poorest of you will quit it far richer than 
 his mistress! Farewell, my children! (She extends her 
 hand, which they all in turn kiss^ with marks of sorrow 
 and affection.) I understand you, my good people! 
 Farewell ! forever farewell ! (Struggling with her feelings.*) 
 I hear the carriage at the door. (She tears herself away, 
 and is hurrying out when the MARSHAL arrests her pro- 
 gress.) How, now? Pitiful creature, art thou still there? 
 
 MARSHAL (who all this while has been gazing in vacant 
 astonishment at the letter). And must /be the person to 
 put this letter into the most august hands of his most 
 serene highness? 
 
 LADY M. Pitiful creature, even thou ! Thou must 
 deliver into his most august hands, and convey to his 
 most august ears, that, as I cannot go barefoot toLoretto, 
 I will support myself by the labor of my hands, that I 
 may be purified from the disgrace of having conde- 
 scended to rule him. (/She hurries off the rest silently 
 disperse.)
 
 86 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. Twilight ; a room in MILLER'S house. 
 
 LOUISA sits silent and motionless in a dark corner of the 
 room, her head reclining upon her hand. After a long 
 pause, MILLER enters ivith a lantern, the light of which 
 he casts anxiously round the chamber, without observing 
 LOUISA, he then puts his hat on the table, and sets down 
 the lantern. 
 
 LOUISA, MILLER. 
 
 MILL. She is not here either. No, she is not here ! I 
 have wandered through every street ; I have sought her 
 with every acquaintance ; I have inquired at every door! 
 No one has seen rny child ! (A silence of some moments.) 
 Patience, poor unhappy father! Patience till morning; 
 then perhaps the corpse of your only one may come float- 
 ing to shore. Oh, God in heaven ! What though my 
 heart has hung too idolatrously upon this daughter, yet 
 surely the punishment is severe! Heavenly Father! 
 Surely it is severe! I will not murmur, Heavenly 
 Father; but the punishment is indeed severe! (Throws 
 himself sorrowfully into a chair.} 
 
 LOUISA (without moving from her seat). Thou dost 
 well, wretched old man ! Learn betimes to lose. 
 
 MILL, (starts ap eagerly}. Ah! art thou there, my 
 child ? Art thou there ? But wherefore thus alone, and 
 without a light ? 
 
 LOUISA. Yet arn I not alone. When all things around 
 me are dark and gloomy then have I the companionship 
 which most I love. 
 
 MILL. God defend thee, my child ! The worm of con- 
 science alone wakes and watches with the owl ; none shun 
 the light but criminals and evil spirits. 
 
 LOUISA. And eternity, father, which speaks to the soul 
 in solitude ! 
 
 MILL. Louisa, my child ! What words are these ? 
 
 LOUISA (rises, and comes forward}. I have fought a 
 hard fight you know it, father ! but God gave me the 
 strength ! The fight is over ! Father, our sex is called 
 timid and weak; believe it ne mar*' ' We tremble at a
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 87 
 
 spider, but the black monster, corruption, we hug to our 
 arms in sport ! This for your edification, father. Your 
 Louisa is merry. 
 
 MILL. I had rather you wept. It would please me 
 better. 
 
 LOUISA. How I will outwit him, father ! How I shall 
 cheat the tyrant ! Love is more crafty than malice, and 
 bolder he knew not that, the man of the unlucky stai; ! 
 Oh ! they are cunning so long as they have but to do with 
 the head ; but when they have to grapple with the heart 
 the villains are at fault. He thought to seal his treachery 
 with an oath ! Oaths, father, may bind the living, but 
 death dissolves even the iron bonds of the sacrament ! 
 Ferdinand will learn to know his Louisa. Father, will 
 you deliver this letter for me? Will you do me the 
 kindness? 
 
 MILL. To whom, my child ? 
 
 LOUISA. Strange question ! Infinitude and my heart 
 together had not space enough for a single thought but of 
 him. To whom else should I write ? 
 
 MILL, (anxiously). Hear me, Louisa ! I must read 
 this letter ! 
 
 LOUISA. As you please, father ! but you will not under- 
 stand it. The characters lie there like inanimate corpses, 
 and live but for the eye of love. 
 
 MILL (reading). " You are betrayed, Ferdinand ! An 
 unparalleled piece of villany has dissolved the union of 
 our hearts ; but a dreadful vow binds my tongue, and 
 your father has spies stationed upon every side. But, if 
 thou hast courage, my beloved, I know a place where 
 oaths no longer bind, and where spies cannot enter." 
 (MILLER stops short, and gazes upon her steadfastly.') 
 
 LOUISA. Why that earnest look, father ? Read what 
 follows. 
 
 MILL. "But thou must be fearless enough to wander 
 through a gloomy path with no other guides than God 
 and thy Louisa. Thou must have no companion but 
 love ; leave behind all thy hopes, all thy tumultuous 
 wishes thou wilt need nothing on this journey but thy 
 heart. Barest thou come ; then set out as the bell tolls 
 twelve from the Carmelite Tower. Dost thou fear;
 
 88 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 then erase from the vocabulary of thy sex's virtues the 
 word courage, for a maiden will have put thee to shame." 
 (MILLER lays down the letter and fixes his eyes upon the 
 ground in deep sorrow. At length he turns to LOUISA, 
 and says, in a low, broken voice) Daughter, where is that 
 place ? 
 
 LOUISA. Don't you know it, father? Do you really 
 not know it ? 'Tis strange ! I have described it unmis- 
 takably ! Ferdinand will not fail to find it. 
 
 MILL. Pray speak plainer! 
 
 LOUISA. I can think of no pleasing name for it just 
 now! You must not be alarmed, father, if the name 
 
 I give it has a terrible sound. That place, Oh ! why 
 
 has no lover invented a name for it ! He would have 
 chosen the softest, the sweetest that place, my dear 
 father but you must not interrupt me that place is 
 the grave ! 
 
 MILL, (staggering to a seat). Oh, God! 
 
 LOUISA (hastens to him, and supports him). Nay, 
 father, be not alarmed ! These are but terrors which 
 hover round an empty word ! Take away the name and 
 the grave will seem to be a bridal-bed over which Aurora 
 spreads her golden canopy and spring strews her fairest 
 flowers. None but a groaning sinner pictures death as a 
 skeleton ; to others he is a gentle, smiling boy, blooming 
 as the god of love, but not so false a silent, ministering 
 spirit who guides the exhausted pilgrim through the desert 
 of eternity, unlocks for him the fairy palace of everlasting 
 joy, invites him in with friendly smiles, and vanishes for- 
 ever ! 
 
 MILL. What meanest thou, my child ? Surely, thou 
 wilt not lay guilty hands on thine own life? 
 
 LOUISA. Speak not thus, father ! To quit a commu- 
 nity from which I am already rejected, to fly voluntarily 
 to a place from which I cannot much longer be absent, io 
 that a sin ? 
 
 MILL. Suicide is the most horrible of sins, my child. 
 'Tis the only one that can never be repented, since death 
 arrives at the moment the crime is committed. 
 
 LOUISA (stands motionless with horror). That is dread- 
 ful ! But my death will not be so sudden, father. I will
 
 LOVE AND INTEIGUE. 89 
 
 spring into the river, and while the waters are closing 
 over me, cry to the Almighty for mercy and forgive- 
 ness! 
 
 MILL. That is to say, you will repent the theft as 
 soon as the treasure is secure ! Daughter ! Daughter ! 
 beware how you mock your God when you most need his 
 help ! Oh ! you have gone far, far astray ! You have 
 forgotten the worship of your Creator, and he has with- 
 drawn his protecting hand from you ! 
 
 LOUISA. Is it, then, a crime to love, father ? 
 
 MILL. So long as thou lovest God thou wilt never love 
 man to idolatry. Thou hast bowed me down low, my 
 only one ! low ! very low ! perhaps to the grave ! Yet 
 will I not increase the sadness of thy heart. Daughter ! 
 I gave vent to my feelings as I entered. I thought my- 
 self alone ! Thou hast overheard me ! and why should I 
 longer conceal the truth. Thou wert my idol ! Hear 
 me, Louisa, if there is yet room in thy heart for a father's 
 feelings. Thou wert my all ! Of thine own thou hast 
 nothing more to lose, but I have my all at stake! My 
 life depends on thee ! My hairs are turning gray, Louisa ; 
 they show that the time is drawing nigh with me when 
 fathers look for a return of the capital invested in the 
 hearts of their children. Wilt thou defraud me of this, 
 Louisa? Wilt thou away and bear with thee all the 
 wealth of thy father ? 
 
 LOUISA (kissing his hand in the deepest emotion). No, 
 father, no ! I go from this world deeply in your debt, 
 and will repay you with usury in the world to come. 
 
 MILL. Beware, my child, lest thy reckoning should be 
 false ! (very earnestly and solemnly}. Art thou certain 
 that we shall meet in that world to come? Lo ! how 
 the color fades from thy cheek ! My child must feel that 
 I can scarcely overtake her in that other world if she 
 hurries there before rne. (LouiSA throws herself shud- 
 dering into his arms, he clasps her warm.li/ to his bosom, 
 and continues in a tone of fervent adjuration.) Oh! 
 Louisa ! Louisa ! Fallen, perhaps already lost, daughter ! 
 Treasure in thy heart the solemn counsels of a father ! 
 I cannot eternally watch over thee ! I may snatch the 
 dagger from thy hands ; but thou canst let out life with
 
 90 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 a bodkin. I may remove poison from thy reach ; but 
 thou canst strangle thyself with a necklace. Louisa ! 
 Louisa! I can only warn thee. Wilt thou rush boldly 
 forward till the perfidious phantom which lured thee on 
 vanishes at the awful brink of eternity ? Wilt thou dare 
 approach the throne of the Omniscient with the lie on 
 thy lips? "At thy call am I here, Creator!" while thy 
 guilty eyes are in search only of their mortal idol ! And 
 when thou shalt see this perishable god of thine own 
 creation, a worm like thee, writhing at the Almighty's 
 feet; when thou shalt hear him in the awful moment 
 give the lie to thy guilty daring, and blast thy delusive 
 hopes of eternal mercy, which the wretch implores in vain 
 for himself; what then! {Louder and more fervently}, 
 What, then, unhappy one ? (He clasps her still closer to 
 his bosom, and gazes upon her with wild aud piercing 
 looks ; then suddenly disengages himself.') I can do no 
 more ! (Raising his right hand towards heaven.) Immor- 
 tal Judge, I can do no more to save this soul from ruin ! 
 Louisa, do what thou wilt. Offer up a sacrifice at the 
 altar of this idolized youth that shall make thy evil genius 
 howl for transport and thy good angels forsake thee in 
 despair. Go on ! Heap sin upon sin, add to them 
 this, the last, the heaviest, and, if the scale be still too 
 light throw in my curse to complete the measure. Here 
 is a knife ; pierce thy own heart, and (weeping aloud and 
 rushing away), and with it, thy father's ! 
 
 LOUISA (following and detaining him). Stay ! stay ! 
 Oh ! father, father ! to think that affection should 
 wound more cruelly than a tyrant's rage ! What shall I ? 
 I cannot! what must I do? 
 
 MILL. If thy lover's kisses burn hotter than thy 
 father's tears then die ! 
 
 LOUISA ( after a violent internal struggle, firmly ). 
 Father ! Here js my hand ! I will God ! God ! what am 
 I doing ! What would I ? father, I swear. Woe is me ! 
 Criminal that I am where'er I turn ! Father, be it so ! 
 Ferdinand. God, look down upon the act ! Thus I de- 
 stroy the last memorial of him. (Tearing the letter.) 
 
 MILL, (throwing himself in ecstasy upon her neck). 
 There spoke my daughter! Look up, my child ! Thou
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 91 
 
 hast lost a lover, but thou hast made a father happy. 
 (Embracing her, and alternately laughing and crying.) 
 My child ! my child! I was not worthy to live so blest a 
 moment ! God knows how I, poor miserable sinner, be- 
 came possessed of such an angel ! My Louisa! My para- 
 dise! Oh ! I know but little of love ; but that to rend 
 its bonds must be a bitter grief I can well believe! 
 
 LOUISA. But let us hasten from this place, my father ! 
 Let us fly from the city, where my companions scoff at 
 me, and my good name is lost forever let us away, far 
 away, from a spot where every object tells of my ruined 
 happiness, let us fly if it be possible ! 
 
 MILL. Whither thou wilt, my daughter ! The bread 
 of the Lord grows everywhere, and He will grant ears to 
 listen to my music. Yes ! we will fly and leave all behind. 
 I will set the story of your sorrows to the lute, and sing 
 of the daughter who rent her own heart to preserve her 
 father's. We will beg with the ballad from door to door, 
 and sweet will be the alms bestowed by the hand of 
 weeping sympathy ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The former ; FERDINAND. 
 
 LOUISA (who perceives him first, throws herself shrieking 
 into MILLER'S arms). God ! There he is ! I am 
 lost ! 
 
 MILL. Who? Where? 
 
 LOUISA (points, with averted face, to the MAJOR, and 
 presses closer to her father). 'Tis he ! 'Tis he ! himself ! 
 Look round, father, look round! he comes to murder 
 me ! 
 
 MILL, (perceives him and starts back). How, baron ? 
 You here ? 
 
 FERD. (approaches slowly, stands opposite to LOUISA, 
 and fixes a stern and piercing look upon her. After a 
 pause, he says), Stricken conscience, I thank thee ! Thy 
 confession is dreadful, but swift and true, and spares me 
 the torment of an explanation ! Good evening, Miller ! 
 
 MILL. For God's sake ! baron, what seek you? What 
 brings you hither ? What means this surprise?
 
 92 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 FBBD. I knew a time when the day was divided into 
 seconds, when eagerness for my presence hung upon the 
 weights of the tardy clock, and when every pulse-throb 
 was counted until the moment of my coming. How is it 
 that I now surprise ? 
 
 MILL. Oh, leave us, leave us, baron ! If but one 
 spark of humanity still linger in your bosom; if you 
 seek not utterly to destroy her whom you profess to love, 
 fly from this house, stay not one moment longer. The 
 blessing of God deserted us when your foot first crossed 
 its threshold. You have brought misery under a roof 
 where all before was joy and happiness. Are you not 
 yet content ? Do you seek to deepen the wound which 
 your fatal passion has planted in the heart of my only 
 child? 
 
 FERD. Strange father, I have come to bring joyful 
 tidings to your daughter. 
 
 MILL. Perchance fresh hopes, to add to her despair. 
 Away, away, thou messenger of ill! Thy looks belie thy 
 words. 
 
 FERD. At length the goal of my hopes appears in 
 view! Lady Milford, the most fearful obstacle to our 
 love, has this moment fled the land. My father sanctions 
 my choice. Fate grows weary of persecuting us, and 
 our propitious stars now blaze in the ascendant lam 
 come to fulfil my plighted troth, and to lead my bride to 
 the altar. 
 
 MILL. Dost thou hear him, my child ? Dost thou 
 hear him mock at thy cheated hopes? Oh, truly, baron ! 
 It is so worthy of the deceiver to make a jest of his own 
 crime ! 
 
 FERD. You think I am jesting? By my honor I am 
 not ! My protestations are as true as the love of my 
 Louisa, and I will keep them as sacred as she has kept 
 her oaths. Nothing to me is more sacred. Can you 
 still doubt? Still no joyful blush upon the cheek of my 
 fair bride? 'Tis strange ! Falsehood must needs be here 
 the current coin, since truth finds so little credit. You 
 mistrust my words, it seems ? Then read this written 
 testimony. (He throws LOUISA her letter to the MARSHAU 
 She opens it, and sinks upon the floor pale as death.)
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 93 
 
 MILL, (not observing this). What can this mean, 
 baron ? I do not understand you. 
 
 FEED, (leads him to LOUISA). But your daughter has 
 understood me well. 
 
 MILL, (throws himself on his knees beside her). Oh, 
 God ! my child ! 
 
 FERD. Pale as a corpse ! 'Tis thus your daughter 
 pleases me the best. Your demure and virtuous daughter 
 was never half so lovely as with that deathlike paleness. 
 The blast of the day of judgment, which strips the 
 varnish from every lie, has wafted the painted colors 
 from her cheek, or the juggler might have cheated even 
 the angels of light. This is her fairest countenance. 
 Now for the first time do I see it in its truth. Let me 
 kiss it. (He approaches her.) 
 
 MILL. Back ! Away, boy ! Trifle not with a father's 
 feelings. I could not defend her from your caresses, but 
 I can from your insults. 
 
 FERD. What wouldst thou, old man? With thee I 
 have naught to do. Engage not in a game so irrevocably 
 lost. Or hast thou, too, been wiser than I thought? 
 Hast thou employed the wisdom of thy sixty years in 
 pandering to thy daughter's amours, and disgraced 
 those hoary locks with the office of a pimp? Oh! if it 
 be not so, wretched old man, then lay thyself down and 
 die. There is still time. Thou mayest breathe thy last 
 in the sweet delusion, " I was a happy father ! " Wait 
 but a moment longer and thine own hand will dash to 
 her infernal home this poisonous viper; thou wilt curse 
 the gift, and him who gave it, and sink to the grave in 
 blasphemy and despair. (To LOUISA.) Speak, wretched 
 one, speak ! Didst thou write this letter ? 
 
 MILL, (to LOUISA, impressively). For God's sake, 
 daughter, forget not ! forget not ! 
 
 LOUISA. Oh, father that letter ! 
 
 FERD. Oh ! that it should have fallen into the wrong 
 hands. Now blessed be the accident ! It has effected 
 more than the most consummate prudence, and will at 
 the day of judgment avail more than the united wisdom 
 of sages. Accident, did I say ? Oh ! Providence directs 
 when a sparrow falls, why not when a devil is un-
 
 94 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 masked? But I will be answered ! Didst thou write that 
 letter? 
 
 MILL, (to LOUISA, in a tone of entreaty). Be firm, 1113 
 child, be firm ! But a single " Yes," and all will be 
 over. 
 
 FERD. Excellent! excellent! The father, too, is 
 deceived ! All, all are deceived by her ! Look, how the 
 perfidious one stands there ; even her tongue refuses 
 participation in her last lie. I adjure thee by that God 
 so terrible and true didst thou write that letter ? 
 
 LOUISA (after a painful struggle, with firmness and 
 decision). I did ! 
 
 FERD. (stands aghast). No ! As my soul liveth, thou 
 hast lied. Even innocence itself, when extended on the 
 rack, confesses crime which it never committed I ask 
 too passionately. Is it not so, Louisa ? Thou didst but 
 confess, because I asked passionately ? 
 
 LOUISA. I confessed the truth ! 
 
 FERD. No, I tell thee ! No ! no ! Thou didst not 
 write that letter ! It is not like thy hand ! And, even 
 though it were, why should it be more difficult to coun- 
 terfeit a writing than to undo a heart? Tell me truly, 
 Louisa ! Yet no, no, do not ! Thou mightest say yes 
 again, and then I were lost forever. A lie, Louisa! A 
 lie ! Oh ! if thou didst but know one now if thou 
 wouldst utter it with that open angelic mien if thou 
 wouldst but persuade mine ear and eye, though it 
 should deceive my heart ever so monstrously ! Oh, 
 Louisa! Then might truth depart in the same breath 
 depart from our creation, and the sacred cause itself 
 henceforth bow her stiff neck to the courtly arts of 
 deception. 
 
 LOUISA. By the Almighty God ! by Him who is so 
 terrible and true ! I did ! 
 
 FERD. (after a pause, with the expression of the most 
 heartfelt sorrow). Woman ! Woman ! With what a 
 face thou standest now before me ! Offer Paradise with 
 that look, and even in the regions of the damned thou 
 wilt find no purchaser. Didst thou know what thou wert 
 tome, Louisa? Impossible! No J thou knewest not 
 that thou wert myall all! 'Tis a poor insignificant
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 95 
 
 word ! but eternity itself can scarcely circumscribe it. 
 Within it systems of worlds can roll their mighty orbs. 
 All ! and to sport with it so wickedly. Oh, 'tis horrible. 
 
 LOUISA. Baron von Walter, you have heard my con- 
 fession ! I have pronounced my own condemnation ! 
 Now go ! Fly from a house where you have been so un- 
 happy. 
 
 FERD. 'Tis well! 'tis well ! You see I am calm; calm, 
 loo, they say, is the shuddering land through which the 
 plague has swept. I am calm. Yet ere I go, Louisa, one 
 more request! It shall be my last. My brain burns with 
 fever! I need refreshment! Will you make me some 
 lemonade ? [.Exit LOUISA. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 FERDINAND and MILLER. 
 
 They both pace up and down without speaking, on oppo- 
 site sides of the room, for some minutes. 
 
 MILL, (standing still at length, and regarding the MAJOR 
 with a sorrowful air). Dear baron, perhaps it may 
 alleviate your distress to say that I feel for you most 
 deeply. 
 
 FERD. Enough of this, Miller. (Silence again for 
 some moments.) Miller, I forget what first brought me 
 to your house. What was the occasion of it? 
 
 MILL. How, baron ? Don't you remember ? You 
 came to take lessons on the flute. 
 
 FERD. (suddenly}. And I beheld his daughter! (An- 
 other pause.) You have not kept your faith with me, 
 friend! You were to provide me with repose for my 
 leisure hours ; but you betrayed me and sold me scor- 
 pions. (Observing MILLER'S agitation.) Tremble not, 
 good old man ! (falling deeply affected on his neck) the 
 fault was none of thine ! 
 
 MILL, (loiping his eyes). Heaven knows, it was not ! 
 
 FERD. (traversing the room, plunged in the most gloomy 
 meditation). Strange ! Oh ! beyond conception strange, 
 are the Almighty's dealings with us ! How often do ter- 
 rific weights hang upon slender, almost invisible threads ! 
 Did man but know that he should eat death in a particu-
 
 96 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 lar apple ! Hem ! Could he but know that ! {He 
 walks a few more turns ; then stops suddenly, and (/rasps 
 MILLER'S hand with strong emotion.) Friend, I have 
 paid dearly for thy lessons and thou, too, hast been no 
 gainer perhaps mayst even lose thy all. (Quitting him 
 dejectedly.) Unhappy flute-playing, would that it never 
 entered my brain ! 
 
 MILL, (striving to repress his feelings). The lemonade 
 is long in coming. I will inquire after it, if you will ex- 
 cuse me. 
 
 FERD. No hurry, dear Miller ! (Muttering to himself.) 
 At least to her father there is none. Stay here a 
 moment. What was I about to ask you ? Ay, I remem- 
 ber ! Is Louisa your only daughter ? Have you no 
 other child ? 
 
 MILL, (warmly). I have no other, baron, and I wish 
 for no other. That child is my only solace in this 
 world, and on her have I embarked my whole stock of 
 affection. 
 
 FERD. (much agitated). Ha! Pray see for the drink, 
 good Miller ! [Exit MILLER. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 FERDINAND alone. 
 
 FERD. His only child ! Dost thou feel that, murderer ? 
 His only one ! Murderer, didst thou hear, his only one ? 
 The man has nothing in God's wide world but his instru- 
 ment and that only daughter ! And wilt thou rob him of 
 her ? 
 
 Rob him ? Rob a beggar of his last pittance ? Break 
 the lame man's crutch, and cast the fragments at his feet ? 
 How? Have I the heart to do this? And when he 
 hastens home, impatient to reckon in his daughter's smiles 
 the whole sum of his happiness ; and when he enters the 
 chamber, and there lies the rose withered dead 
 crushed his last, his only, his sustaining hope. Ha ! 
 And when he stands before her, and all nature looks on in 
 breathless horror, while his vacant eye wanders hopelessly 
 through the gloom of futurity, and seeks God, but finds 
 him nowhere, and then returns disappointed and despair- 
 ing ! Great God ! and has not my father, too, an only
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 97 
 
 son ? an only child, but not his only treasure. {After a 
 pause.) Yet stay ! What will the old man lose ? She 
 who could wantonly jest with the most sacred feelings of 
 love, will she make a father happy ? She cannot ! She 
 will not ! And I deserve thanks for crushing this viper 
 ere the parent feels its sting. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 MILLER returning, and FERDINAND. 
 
 MILL. You shall be served instantly, baron ! The 
 poor thing is sitting without, weeping as though her 
 heart would break ! Your drink will be mingled with 
 her tears. 
 
 FERD. 'Twere well for her were it only with tears ! 
 We were speaking of my lessons, Miller. ( Taking out a 
 purse.} I remember that I am still in your debt. 
 
 MILL. How? What? Go along with you, baron ! 
 What do you take me for? There is time enough for 
 payment. Do not put such an affront on me ; we are not 
 together for the last time, please God. 
 
 FERD. Who can tell ? Take your money. It is for 
 life or death. 
 
 MILL, (laughing). Oh ! for the matter of that, baron ! 
 As regards that I don't think I should run much risk 
 with you ! 
 
 FERD. You would run the greatest. Have you never 
 heard that youths have died. That damsels and youths 
 have died, the children of hope, the airy castles of their 
 dis;ippointed parents? What is safe from age and worms 
 has often perished by a thunderbolt. Even your Louisa 
 is not immortal. 
 
 MILL. God gave her to me. 
 
 FERD. Hoar me ! I say to you your Louisa is not 
 immortal. That daughter is the apple of your eye; you 
 hang upon her with your whole heart and soul. Be pru- 
 dent, Miller! None 'but a desperate gamester stakes his 
 all upon a single cast. The merchant would be called^ a 
 madman who embarked his whole fortune in one ship. 
 Think upon this, and remember that I warned you. But 
 why do you not take your money?
 
 98 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 MILL. How, baron, how? All that enormous purse! 
 What can you be thinking of ? 
 
 FEBD. Upon my debt ! There ! ( Throws a heavy 
 purse on the table ; some gold drops out.) I cannot hol<l 
 the dross to eternity. 
 
 MILL, (astonished). Mercy on us! what is this? The 
 sound was not of silver ! (Goes to the table and cries o> i 
 in astonishment.) In heaven's name, baron, what menu* 
 this? What are you about? You must be out of your 
 mind ! ( Clasping his hands) There it lies ! or I am be- 
 witched. 'Tis damnable ! I feel it now ; the beauteous, 
 shining, glorious heap of gold ! No, Satan, thou shalt not 
 catch my soul with this ! 
 
 FEBD. Have you drunk old wine, or new, Miller? 
 
 MILL, (violently). Death and furies! Look yourself, 
 then. It is gold ! 
 
 FKRD. And what of that? 
 
 MILL. Let me implore you, baron ! In the name of 
 all the saints in heaven, I entreat you ! It is gold ! 
 
 FEBD. Au extraordinary thing, it must be admitted. 
 
 MILL, (after a pause; addressing him with emotion). 
 Noble sir, I am a plain, straightforward man do you 
 wish to tempt me to some piece of knavery? for, 
 heaven knows, that so much gold cannot be got honestly ! 
 
 FEBD. (moved). Make yourself quite easy, dear Miller ! 
 You have well earned the money. God forbid that I 
 should use it to the corruption of your conscience ! 
 
 MILL, (jumping about like a madman). It is mine, 
 then! Mine indeed! Mine with the knowledge and 
 consent of God! {Hastening to the door.) Daughter, 
 wife, hurrah, come hither! (Returning.) But, for 
 heaven's sake, how have I all at once deserved this awful 
 treasure ? How am I to earn it ? How repay it, eh ? 
 
 FEBD. Not by your music lessons, Miller! With this 
 
 fold do I pay you for (stops suddenly , and shudders) 
 pay you (after a pause, with emotion) for my three 
 months' unhappy dream of your daughter! 
 
 MILL, (taking his hand and pressing it affectionately). 
 Most gracious sir ! were you some poor and low-born 
 citizen, and my daughter refused your love, I would 
 pierce her heart with my own hands. (Returning to the
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 99 
 
 fold in a sorrowful tone.) But then I shall have all, and 
 you nothing and I should have to give up all this glo- 
 rious heap again, eh ? 
 
 FERD. Let not that thought distress you, friend. I am 
 about to quit this country, and in that to which I am 
 journeying such coin is not current. 
 
 MILL, (still fixing his eyes in transport on the money). 
 Mine, then, it remains? Mine? Yet it grieves me that 
 you are going to leave us. Only just wait a little and 
 you shall see how I'll come out ! I'll hold up my head 
 with the best of them. (Puts on his hat with an air, 
 and struts 'up and do'ion the room.) I'll give my lessons 
 in the great concert-room, and won't I smoke away at 
 the best puyke varinas and, when you catch me again 
 fiddling at the penny-hop, may the devil take me ! 
 
 FERD. Stay, Miller ! Be silent, and gather up your 
 gold. (Mysteriously.) Keep silence only for this one 
 evening, and do me the favor henceforward to give no 
 more music lessons. 
 
 MILL, (still more vehemently grasping his hand, full of 
 inward joy). And my daughter, baron ! my daughter! 
 (Letting go.) No, no ! Money does not make the man 
 whether I feed on vegetables or on partridges, enough 
 is enough, and this coat will do very well as long as the 
 sunbeams don't peep in at the elbows. To me money is 
 mere dross. But my girl shall benefit by the blessing; 
 whatever wish I can read in her eyes shall be gratified. 
 
 FERD. (suddenly interrupting him). Oh ! silence ! 
 silence! 
 
 MILL, (still more warmly). And she shall learn to 
 speak French like a born native, and to dance minuets, 
 and to sing, so that people shall read of her in the news- 
 papers ; and she shall wear a cap like the judge's daughter, 
 and a kidebarri, * as they call it ; and the fiddler's 
 daughter shall be talked of for twenty miles round. 
 
 FERD. (seizing his hand in extreme agitation). No 
 more ! no more ! For God's sake be silent ! Be silent 
 but for this one night ; 'tis the only favor I ask of you. 
 
 * Meaning, no doubt, Cul de Paris, a bustle.
 
 100 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 LOUISA with a glass of lemonade; the former. 
 
 LOUISA (her eyes swelled with weeping, and trembling 
 voice, while she presents the glass to FERDINAND). Tel! 
 me, if it be not to your taste. 
 
 FERD. (takes the glass, places it on the table, and turn* 
 to MILLER). Oh ! I had almost forgotten ! Good Miller, 
 I have a request to make. Will you do me a little 
 favor? 
 
 MILL. A thousand with pleasure ! What are your 
 commands? 
 
 FERD. My father will expect me at table. Unfor- 
 tunately I am in very ill humor. 'Twould be insupport- 
 able to me just now to mix in society. Will you go to 
 my father and excuse my absence ? 
 
 LOUISA (terrified, interrupts him hastily). Oh, let me 
 go! 
 
 MILL. Am I to see the president himself ? 
 
 FERD. Not himself. Give your message to one of 
 the servants in the ante-chamber. Here is my watch as 
 a credential that I sent you. I shall be here when you re- 
 turn. You will wait for an answer. 
 
 LOUISA (very anxiously). Cannot I be the bearer of 
 your message ? 
 
 FERD. (to MILLER, who is going). Stay one tiling 
 more ! Here is a letter to my father, which I received 
 this evening enclosed in one to myself. Perhaps on busi- 
 ness of importance. You may as well deliver it at the 
 same time. 
 
 MILL, (going). Very well, baron ! 
 
 LOUISA (stopping him, and speaking in a tone of t/<c 
 most exquisite terror). But, dear father, I could do all 
 this very well ! Pray let me go ! 
 
 MILL. It is night, my child ! and you must not venture 
 out alone ! \_Exit. 
 
 FERD. Light your father down, Louisa. (LouiSA takes 
 a candle and follows MILLER. FERDINAND in the mean- 
 time approaches the table and throws poison into the 
 lemonade). Yes ! she must die ! The higher powers look 
 down, and nod their terrible assent. The vengeance of
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 101 
 
 heaven subscribes to my decree. Her good angels for- 
 sake her, and leave her to her fate 1 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 FERDINAND and LOUISA. 
 
 LOUISA re-enters slowly with the light, places it on the 
 table, and stops on the opposite side of the room, her 
 eyes fixed on the ground, except when she raises them to 
 him with timid, stolen glances. He stands opposite, 
 looking steadfastly on the earth a long and deep 
 silence. 
 
 LOUISA. If you will accompany me, Baron von Wal- 
 ter, I will try a piece on the harpsichord ! (She opens the 
 instrument. FERDINAND makes no answer. A pause.) 
 
 LOUISA. You owe me a revenge at chess. Will you 
 play a game with me, Baron von Walter ? (Another 
 pause.) 
 
 LOUISA. I have begun the pocketbook, baron, which I 
 promised to embroider for you. Will you look at the 
 design? (Still a pause?) 
 
 LOUISA. Oh ! I am very wretched ! 
 
 FERD. (without changing his attitude). That may well 
 be ! 
 
 LOUISA. It is not my fault, Baron von Walter, that 
 you are so badly entertained ! 
 
 FERD. (with an insulting laugh). You are not to 
 blame for my bashful modesty 
 
 LOUISA. I am quite aware that we are no longer fit 
 companions. I confess that I was terrified when you 
 siMit away my father. I believe, Baron von Walter, that 
 tliis moment is equally insupportable to us both. Permit 
 me to ask some of my acquaintances to join us. 
 
 FERD. Yes, pray do so ! And I too will go and invite 
 some of mine. 
 
 LOUISA (looking at him with surprise). Baron von 
 Walter ! 
 
 FERD. (very spitefully). By my honor, the most fortu- 
 nate idea that in our situation could ever enter mortal
 
 102 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 brain ? Let us change this wearisome duet into sport 
 and merriment, and by the aid of certain gallantries, re- 
 venge ourselves on the caprices of love. 
 
 LOUISA. You are merry, Baron von Walter ! 
 
 FKUD. Oh ! wonderfully so ! The very street-boys 
 would hunt me through the market-place for a merry-an- 
 drew! In fact, Louisa, your example has inspired me 
 you shall be my teacher. They are fools who prate of 
 endless affection never-ending sameness grows flat and 
 insipid variety alone gives zest to pleasure. Have with 
 you, Louisa, we are now of one mind. We will skip from 
 amour to amour, whirl from vice to vice; you in one di- 
 rection, I in another. Perhaps I may recover my lost 
 tranquillity in some brothel. Perhaps, when our merry 
 race is run, and we become two mouldering skeletons, 
 chance again may bring us together with the most pleas- 
 ing surprise, and we may, as in a melodrama, recognize 
 each other by a common feature of disease that mother 
 whom her children can never disavow. Then, perhaps, 
 disgust and shame may create that union between 
 us which could not be effected by the most tender 
 love. 
 
 LOUISA. Oh, Walter ! Walter ! Thou art already un- 
 happy wilt thou deserve to be so? 
 
 FEED, (muttering passionately through his teeth). Un- 
 happy ? Who told thee so ? Woman, thou art too vile 
 to have any feelings of thine own ; how, then, canst thou 
 judge of the feelings of others? Unhappy, did she say? 
 ha ! that word would call my anger from the grave ! 
 She knew that I must become unhappy. Death and 
 damnation ! she knew it, and yet betrayed me ! Look to 
 it, serpent! That was thy only chance of forgiveness. 
 This confession lias condemmed thee. Till no\v I thought 
 to palliate thy crime with thy simplicity, and in my con- 
 tempt thou hadst well nigh escaped my vengeance (seiz- 
 ing the glass hastily}. Thou wert not thoughtless, then 
 thou wert not simple thou wert nor more nor less 
 than a devil ! (He drinks.) The drink is bad, like thy 
 soul ! Taste it ! 
 
 LOUISA. Oh, heavens ! 'Twas not without reason that 
 I dreaded this meeting.
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 103 
 
 FRED, (imperiously}. Drink ! I say. 
 
 [LOUISA, offended, takes the glass and drinks. The 
 moment she raises the cup to her lips, FERDI- 
 NAND turns away with a sudden paleness, and 
 recedes to the further corner of the chamber.] 
 
 LOUISA. The lemonade is good. 
 
 FERD. (his face averted and shuddering.) Much good 
 may it do thee! 
 
 LOUISA (sets down the glass). Oh ! could you but know, 
 Walter, how cruelly you wrong me ! 
 
 FERD. Indeed ! 
 
 LOUISA. A time will come, Walter 
 
 FERD. (advancing ). Oh ! we have done with time. 
 
 LOUISA. When the remembrance of this evening will 
 lie heavy on your heart ! 
 
 FERD. (begins to walk to and fro more vehemently, and 
 to become more agitated ; he throws away his sash and 
 sword.) Farewell the prince's service ! 
 
 LOUISA. My God ! what mean you! 
 
 FERD. I am hot, and oppressed. I would be more at 
 ease. 
 
 LOUISA. Drink ! drink ! it will cool you. 
 
 FERD. That it will, most effectually. The strumpet, 
 though, is kind-hearted ! Ay, ay, so are they all ! 
 
 LOUISA (rushing into his arms with the deepest expres- 
 sion of love). That to thy Louisa, Ferdinand? 
 
 FERD. (thrusting her from him). Away ! away ! 
 Hence with those soft and melting eyes ! they subdue 
 me. Come to me, snake, in all thy monstrous terrors ! 
 Spring upon me, scorpion ! Display thy hideous folds, 
 and rear thy proud coils to heaven ! Stand before my 
 eyes, hateful as the abyss of hell e'er saw thee ! but not 
 in that angel form ! Take any shape but that! Tis too 
 late. I must crush thee like a viper, or despair ! Mercy 
 on thy soul ! 
 
 LOUISA. Oh ! that it should come to this ! 
 
 FERD. (gazing on her). So fair a work of the heavenly 
 artist! Who would believe it? Who can believe it? 
 (Taking her hand and elevating it.) I will not arraign 
 thy ordinations, oh ! incomprehensible Creator ! Yet 
 wherefore didst thou pour thy poison into such beauteous
 
 104 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 vessels ? Can crime inhabit so fair a region ? Oh ! 'tis 
 strange ! 'tis passing strange ! 
 
 LOUISA. To hear this, and yet be compelled to 
 silence ! 
 
 FERD. And that soft, melodious voice ! How can 
 broken chords discourse such harmony? (Gazing rap- 
 turously upon her figure.) All so lovely ! so full of sym- 
 metry ! so divinely perfect ! Throughout the whole sucli 
 signs that 'twas the favorite work of God ! By heaven, 
 as though all mankind had been created but to practise 
 the Creator, ere he modelled this his masterpiece ! And 
 that the Almighty should have failed in the soul alone? 
 Is it possible that this monstrous abortion of nature 
 should have escaped as perfect ? ( Quitting her hastily.} 
 Or did God see an angel's form rising beneath his chisel, 
 and balance the error by giving her a heart wicked in 
 proportion ? 
 
 LOUISA. Alas for this criminal wilfulness ! Rather 
 than confess his own rashness, he accuses the wisdom of 
 heaven ! 
 
 FEED, (falls upon her neck, weeping bitterly). Yet 
 once more, my Louisa ! Yet once again, as on the day 
 of our first kiss, when you faltered forth the name of Fer- 
 dinand, and the first endearing "Thou!" trembled on 
 thy burning lips. Oh ! a harvest of endless and unutter- 
 able joys seemed to me at that moment to be budding 
 forth. There lay eternity like a bright May-day before 
 our eyes; thousands of golden years, fair as brides, 
 danced around our souls. Then was I so happy ! Oh ! 
 Louisa! Louisa! Louisa! Why hast thou used me 
 thus ? 
 
 LOUISA. Weep, Walter, weep ! Your compassion 
 will be more just towards me than your wrath. 
 
 FEED. You deceive yourself. These are not nature's 
 tears ! not that warm delicious dew which flows like 
 balsam on the wounded soul, and drives the chilled cur- 
 rent of feeling swiftly along its course. They are solitary 
 ice-cold drops ! the awful, eternal farewell of my love ! 
 (With fearful solemnity, laying his hand on her head.} 
 They are tears for thy soul, Louisa! tears for the Deity, 
 whose inexhaustible beneficence has here missed its aim,
 
 LOVE AIS 7 D INTRIGUE. 105 
 
 and whose noblest work is cast away thus wantonly. Oh ! 
 methinks the whole universe should clothe itself in black, 
 and weep at the fearful example now passing in its centre. 
 "Tis but a common sorrow when mortals fall and Paradise 
 is lost ; but, when the plague extends its ravages to 
 angels, then should there be wailing throughout the whole 
 creation ! 
 
 LOUISA. Drive me not to extremities, Walter. I 
 have fortitude equal to most, but it must not be tried by 
 a more than human test. Walter ! one word, and then 
 we part forever. A dreadful fatality has deranged 
 the language of our hearts. Dared I tuielose these lips, 
 
 Walter, I could tell thee things! I could But cruel 
 
 fate has alike fettered my tongue and my heart, and I 
 must endure in silence, even though you revile me as a 
 common strumpet. 
 
 FEED. Dost thou feel well, Louisa? 
 
 LOUISA. Why that question ? 
 
 FEED. It would grieve me shouldst thou be called 
 hence with a lie upon thy lips. 
 
 LOUISA. I implore you, Walter 
 
 FERD. (in violent agitation). No! no! That re- 
 venge were too satanic! No! God forbid! I will 
 not extend my anger beyond the grave ! Louisa, didst 
 thou love the marshal ? Thou wilt leave this room no 
 more ! 
 
 LOUISA (sitting down). Ask what you will. I shall 
 give no answer. 
 
 FERD. (in a solemn voice). Take heed for thy immor- 
 tal soul! Louisa! Didst thou love the marshal? Thou 
 wilt leave this room no more! 
 
 LOUISA. I shall give no answer. 
 
 FERD. (throwing himself on his knees before her in the 
 deepest emotion). Louisa ! Didst thou love the marshal ? 
 Before this light burns out thou wilt stand before 
 the throne of God ! 
 
 LOUISA (starting from her seat in terror). Merciful* 
 Jesus ! what was that ? And I feel so ill ! (She falls 
 back into her cfiair.) 
 
 FERD. Already? Oh, woman, thou eternal paradox'. 
 thy delicate nerves can sport with crimes at which man-
 
 106 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 hood trembles ; yet one poor grain of arsenic destroys 
 them utterly ! 
 
 LOUISA. Poison ! poison ! Oh ! Almighty God ! 
 
 FEED. I fear it is so ! Thy lemonade was seasoned 
 in hell ! Thou hast pledged death in the draught ! 
 
 LOUISA. To die! To die ! All-merciful God ! Poison 
 in my drink ! And to die ! Oh ! have mercy on my soul, 
 thou Father in heaven ! 
 
 FEKD. Ay, be that thy chief concern : I will join thce 
 in that prayer. 
 
 LOUISA. And my mother ! My father, too ! Saviour 
 of the world ! My poor forlorn father! Is there then 
 no hope? And I so young, and yet no hope? And 
 must I die so soon ? 
 
 FEUD. There is no hope ! None ! you are already 
 doomed ! But be calm. We shall journey together. 
 
 LOUISA. Thou too, Ferdinand ? Poison, Ferdinand ! 
 From thee ! Oh ! God forgive him ! God of mercy, lay 
 not this crime on him ! 
 
 FEED. Look to your own account. I fear it stands 
 but ill. 
 
 LOUISA. Ferdinand! Ferdinand! Oh! I can be no 
 longer silent. Death death absolves all oaths. Ferdi- 
 nand ! Heaven and earth contain nothing more unfor- 
 tunate than thou ! I die innocent, Ferdinand ! 
 
 FEUD, (terrified}. Ah ! What do I hear? Would 
 she rifsh into the presence of her Maker with a lie on her 
 lips? 
 
 LOUISA. I lie not ! I do not lie ! In my whole life 
 I never lied but once ! Ugh ! what an icy shivering 
 creeps through my veins ! When I wrote that letter to 
 the marshal. 
 
 FERD. Ha ! That letter ! Blessed be to God ! Now 
 I am myself again ! 
 
 LOUISA (her voice ei'en/ moment becomes more indistinct. 
 Her fingers tremble irith a convulsive motion). That let- 
 ter. Prepare yourself for a terrible disclosure ! My 
 hand wrote what my heart abhorred. It was dictated by 
 your father ! (Ferdinand stands like a statue petrified 
 with horror. After a long silence, he falls upon the floor 
 as if struck by. lightning.} Oh ! that sorrowful act I
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 107 
 
 Ferdinand I was compelled forgive me thy Louisa 
 would have preferred death but my father his life 
 in danger ! They were so crafty in their villany. 
 
 FEED, (starting furiously from the ground). God 
 be thanked ! The poison spares me yet ! (He seizes his 
 sword.) 
 
 LOUISA (growing weaker by degrees'). Alas ! what 
 would you? He is thy father! 
 
 FERD. (in the most ungovernable fury). A murderer 
 the murderer of his son; he must along with us that 
 the Judge of the world may pour his wrath on the guilty 
 alone. (Hastening away). 
 
 LOUISA. My dying Redeemer pardoned his murder- 
 ers, may God pardon thee and thy father ! (/She 
 dies.) 
 
 FERD. (turns quickly round, and perceives her in the 
 convulsions of death, throws himself distractedly on the 
 body). Stay! stay! Fly not from me, angel of light! 
 ( Takes her hand, but lets it fall again instantly.) Cold ! 
 cold and damp ! her soul has flown ! (Starting up sud- 
 denly.) God of my Louisa ! Mercy ! Mercy for the 
 most accursed of murderers ! Such was her dying 
 prayer ! How fair, how lovely even in death ! The 
 pitying destroyer has touched gently on those heavenly 
 features. That sweetness was no mask the hand of 
 death even has not removed it! (After a pause.) But 
 how is this? why do I feel nothing. Will the vigor of 
 my youth save me ? Thankless care ! That shall it not. 
 (He seizes the glass.) 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 FERDINAND, the PRESIDENT, WORM, and SERVANTS, who 
 all rush in alarm into the room. Afterwards MILLER, 
 with a crowd, and OFFICERS of justice, who assemble in 
 the background. 
 
 PRES. (an open letter in his hand). My son! what 
 means this? I never can believe* 
 
 FERD. (throwing the glass at his feet). Convince thy- 
 self, murderer ! ( The PRESIDENT staggers back. All 
 \tand speechless. A dreadful pause.)
 
 108 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 PBES. My son ! Why hast thou done this ? 
 
 FEED, (without looking at him). Why, to be sure ! 
 I ought first to have asked the statesman whether the 
 trick suited his cards. Admirably fine and skilful, I con- 
 fess, was the scheme of jealousy to break the bond of our 
 hearts ! The calculation shows a master-mind ; 'twas 
 pity only that indignant love would not move on wires 
 like thy wooden puppets. 
 
 PKES. (looking round the circle with rolling eyes). 
 Is there no one here who weeps for a despairing 
 father? 
 
 MILL, (calling behind the scenes). Let me in! For 
 God's sake, let me in ! 
 
 FERD. She is now a saint in heaven ! Her cause is in 
 the hands of another ! (He opens the door for MILLER, 
 who rushes in, followed by officers of justice and a crowd 
 of people.} 
 
 MILL, (in the most dreadful alarm). My child ! My 
 child! Poison, they cry poison has been here! My 
 daughter ! Where art thou ? 
 
 FERD. (leading him between the PRESIDENT and LOUISA'S 
 corpse). I am innocent. Thank this man for the deed. 
 
 MILL, (throwing himself on the body). Oh, Jesus! 
 
 FRED. In few words, father ! they begin to be 
 precious to me. I have been robbed of my life by vil- 
 lanous artifice robbed of it by you! How I may stand 
 with God I tremble to think, but a deliberate villain 
 I have never been ! Be my final judgment what it 
 will, may it not fall on thee ! But I have committed 
 murder! (In a loud and fearful voice.) A murder 
 whose weight thou canst not hope that I should drag 
 alone before the judgment-seat of God. Here I solemnly 
 bequeath to thee the heaviest, the bloodiest part; how 
 thou mayst answer it be that thy care! (Leading him 
 to LOUISA.) Here, barbarian ! Feast thine eyes on the 
 terrible fruits of thy intrigues ! Upon this face thy name 
 is inscribed in the convulsions of death, and will be 
 registered by the destroying angel ! May a form like 
 this draw thy curtain when thou sleepest, and grasp thee 
 with its clay-cold hand ! May a form like this flit before 
 thy soul when thou diest, and drive away thy expiring
 
 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 109 
 
 prayer for mercy ! May a form like this stand by thy 
 grave at the resurrection, and before the throne of God 
 Avhen he pronounces thy doom ! (He faints, the servants 
 receive him in their arms.) 
 
 PEES, (extending his arms convulsively tmcards heaven). 
 Not from me, Judge of the world. Ask not these souls 
 from me, but from him ! (Pointing to WORM.) 
 
 WORM (starting). From me? 
 
 PRES. Accursed villain, from thee ! From thee, 
 Satan ! Thou gavest the serpent's counsel ! thine be the 
 responsibility ; their blood be not on my head, but on 
 thine ! 
 
 WORM. On mine ! on mine ! (laughing hysterically.) 
 Oh ! Excellent ! Now I understand the gratitude of 
 devils. On mine, thou senseless villain ! Was he my 
 son? Was I thy master? Mine the responsibility ? Ha! 
 by this sight which freezes the very marrow in my bones ! 
 Mine it shall be ! I will brave destruction, but thou shalt 
 perish with me. Away ! away ! Cry murder in the 
 streets ! Awaken justice ! Bind me, officers ! Lead me 
 hence ! I will discover secrets which shall make the 
 hearer's blood run cold. (Going.) 
 
 PRES. (detaining him). Surely, madman, thou wilt 
 not dare? 
 
 WORM (tapping him on the shoulder). I will, though, 
 comrade, I will ! I am mad, 'tis true ; but my madness 
 is thy work, and now I will act like a madman ! Arm in 
 arm with thee will I to the scaffold ! Arm in arm with 
 thee to hell ! Oh ! how it tickles my fancy, villain, to be 
 damned with thee ! (The officers carry him off.) 
 
 MILL, (who has lain upon LOUISA'S corpse in silent 
 anguish, starts suddenly up, and throws the purse before 
 the MAJOR'S feet.) Poisoner, take back thy accursed 
 gold ! Didst thou think to purchase my child with it ? 
 ( Rushes distractedly out of the chamber.) 
 
 FERD. (in a voice scarcely audible) . Follow him ! He 
 is desperate. The gold must be taken care of for his use ; 
 'tis the dreadful acknowlegment of my debt to him. 
 Louisa, I come ! Farewell ! On this altar let me breathe 
 my last. 
 
 PRES. (recovering from his stupor). Ferdinand! my
 
 110 LOVE AND INTRIGUE. 
 
 son ! Not one last look for a despairing father ? (FER- 
 DINAND is laid by the side of LOUISA.) 
 
 FERD. My last must sue to God for mercy on myself. 
 
 PRES. (falling down before him in the most dreadful 
 agony). The Creator and the created abandon me! 
 Xot one last look to cheer me in the hour of death ! 
 (FERDINAND stretches out his trembling hand to him, and 
 expires.) 
 
 PRES. (springing up). He forgave me! (To the 
 OFFICERS.) Now, lead on, sirs ! I am your prisoner. 
 it, followed by the OFFICERS; the curtain falls.
 
 WALLE^STEI^'S CAMP, 
 
 TRANSLATED BY JAMES CHURCHILL. 
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEItf, 
 
 BY S. T. COLERIDGE. 
 INCLUDING SCENES AND PASSAGES HITHERTO OMITTED. 
 
 " 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." Blaekwood, 1823.
 
 THE Camp of Wallenstein is an introduction to the cele- 
 brated tragedy of that name ; and, by its vivid portrait- 
 ure 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 neces- 
 sary 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."
 
 THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Sergeant-Major \ of a regiment of Recruit. 
 
 Trumpeter, ] Terzky's carabineers. Citizen. 
 
 Artilleryman, Peasant, 
 
 Sharpshooters. Peasant Boy. 
 
 Mounted Yagers, of Hoik's corps. Capuchin. 
 
 Dragoons, of Butler's regiment. Regimental Schoolmaster. 
 
 Arquebusiers, of Tiefenbach's regiment. Sutler-Woinan. 
 
 Cuirassier, of a Walloon regiment. Servant Girl. 
 
 Cuirassier, of a Lombard regiment. Soldiers' Boys. 
 
 Croats. Musicians. 
 
 Hulans. 
 
 (SCENE. The Camp before Pilsen, in Bohemia.) 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Sutlers' tents in front, a Slop-shop. Soldiers of all 
 colors and uniforms thronging about. Tables alljilled. 
 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 j 
 
 111
 
 114 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 115 
 
 Birds of this feather 'tis luck to find, 
 
 Whose trim's so spruce, and their purse well lined. 
 
 [ They move towards the tent. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The above /Sergeant-Major, Trumpeter, Hulan. 
 
 TEUMPETEB. 
 
 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.
 
 116 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTELN'S CAMP. 117 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Jfintw Croat with a necklace. Sharpshooter following him. 
 The above. 
 
 SHARPSHOOTEE. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 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?
 
 118 WALLENSTELN'S CAMP. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Art thou, indeed, iu 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 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 Hoik and the lace they wear, 
 I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair. 
 
 SUTLER-WOMAX (bringing wine). 
 Welcome, good sirs ! 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Zounds, how now? 
 Gustel of Blase witz here, I vow !
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 119 
 
 SUTLER- WOMAN. 
 
 The same in sooth and you I know, 
 
 Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho : 
 
 Who at Gltickstadt 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 ?
 
 120 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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,
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 121 
 
 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 ceasless flow ! 
 And what sights as yet we may live to see 1 
 
 ( To the Sergeant and Trumpeter.) 
 Your health, good sirs, may we be free, 
 A seat beside you here to take ? 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 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.
 
 122 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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 wof ully 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 Hoik'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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 123 
 
 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 Hoik 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,
 
 124 WAJLLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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?
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 125 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 I'd small luck there. 
 Strict discipline sternly ruled the day, 
 Nor dared we a foernan'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 rnind 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.
 
 126 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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 I 
 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 127 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 In truth that he's charmed is past a doubt, 
 For we know how, at Ltitzen'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.
 
 128 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 The above Recruit, Citizen, Dragoon. 
 
 f 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 conies 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 129 
 
 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 
 
 Recruifs 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
 
 130 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 And, specially, never be sparing of gold. 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 Iii 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,
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 131 
 
 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.)
 
 132 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 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 ban que tings, feasts, and holiday bouts ? 
 
 Quid hie statis otiosif 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 <mzzle of leaving-
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 133 
 
 'Tis a time of misery, groaiis, 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 I 
 
 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. 
 
 ITbi erit victorice spes, 
 
 fit 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>
 
 134 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 The soldiers, too, thronged to repent of their ways, 
 
 And had themselves christened in former days. 
 
 Quid faciemus nos f 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. 
 
 Neqne calumniamfaciatis ; 
 
 And deal nor in slander nor lies, d'ye see? 
 
 Contenti estate 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, 'tis 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 tliis 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 135 
 
 Contenti estate 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 oiarselves 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 Lence 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 !
 
 136 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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 passage, which he pronounces in 
 an elevated voice, he has been gradually retreat* 
 ing, the Croats keeping the other soldiers off. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 The above, without the Capuchin. 
 
 FIRST YAGER (to the Sergeant) . 
 But, tell us, what meant he about chanticleer ; 
 Whose crowing the general dares not 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 !
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 137 
 
 OTHERS. 
 
 Peace ! peace! begone ! 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 Deuce take me, but yonder the swords are out! 
 
 SECOND YAGER. 
 
 Then I mast 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 ! they're bringing the boor and his son this way. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 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.
 
 138 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 SUTLEB-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 ? 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTELN'S CAMP. 139 
 
 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 Ltitzen's fight. 
 
 FIRST ARQUEBUSIER. 
 
 Durst they, indeed, presume so far ? 
 
 FIRST DRAGOON. 
 
 This regiment is something above the rest. 
 It has ever been foremost thro tight 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 ween ! 
 
 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.
 
 140 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 141 
 
 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 I 
 
 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.
 
 142 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 143 
 
 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.
 
 144 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S. CAMP. 145 
 
 FIKST 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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 I '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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 147 
 
 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 YAGERS. 
 
 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.
 
 148 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 149 
 
 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.
 
 150 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 The soldier unhorsed, and fresh mounted the 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 ;
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 151 
 
 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 spokesmen be !
 
 152 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 CUIBASSIEB. 
 The soldier shall sway ! 
 
 BOTH YAGEBS. 
 
 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 1 
 
 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 ham come 
 forward during the singing of this verse and 
 form the chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 No help to him by another is shown, 
 He stands for himself and himself alone. 
 
 DRAGOON. 
 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.
 
 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow, 
 The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Who looks in death's face with a fearless brow, 
 The soldier, alone, is the freeman now. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 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, 
 
 SERGEANT. 
 
 '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. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 He digs and he delves through life for the pelf, 
 And digs till he grubs out a grave for himself. 
 
 FIRST YAGER. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Nor gold, nor wooing, his passion prove; 
 By storm he carries the prize of love !
 
 154 WALLENSTEIN'S CAMP. 
 
 SECOND CUIRASSIER. 
 
 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. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 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 comi-ades 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 ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINL 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE two dramas, PICCOLOMINI, or the first part of 
 WALLENSTEIX, 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 pur- 
 port; 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 tin ad- 
 visable, 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 trans- 
 late 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 trans- 
 late. They should, however, reflect that these are his- 
 torical dramas taken from a popular German history ; 
 
 105
 
 156 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 lan- 
 guage. 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 pro- 
 ductions 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 trans- 
 lation 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 set- 
 ting 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.* 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 diffi- 
 culty overcome without effort. Translation of poetry into 
 poetry is difficult, because the translator must give a bril- 
 liancy 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 
 
 * In this edition, scene iii., act v.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 157 
 
 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 imputa- 
 tions 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, Duke of Friedland, NEUMANN, Captain of Cavalry, A ide- 
 
 Generalissimo of the Imperial de-Camp to Terzky. 
 
 Forces in the Thirty Years' War. VON QUESTENBERG, the War Com- 
 
 OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant- missioner, Imperial Envoy. 
 
 General. BAPTISTA SENI, an Astrologer. 
 
 MAX. PICCOLOMINI, his Son, Colonel DUCHESS OF FREJDLAND, Wife of 
 
 of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. Wallenstein. 
 
 COUNT TERZKY, the Commander of THKKLA, her Daughter, Princess of 
 
 several Regiments, and Brother-in- Fiiedland. 
 
 law of Wallenstein. THE COUNTESS TERZKY, Sister of 
 
 ILLO, Field-Marshal, Wallenstein's the Duchess. 
 
 Confidant. A CORNET. 
 
 ISOLANI, General of the Croats. COLONELS and GENERALS (several). 
 
 BUTLER, an Irishman, Commander PAGES and ATTENDANTS belonging 
 
 of a Regiment of Dragoons. to Wallenstein. 
 
 TIEFENBACH, \ ATTENDANTS and HOBOISTS belong- 
 
 DON MARADAS, I Generals under ing to Terzky. 
 
 GOETZ, Wallenstein. MASTER OF THE CELLAR to Count 
 
 KOLATTO, Terzky. 
 
 VALET DE CHAMBRE of Count Piccolomini. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 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 * it was reported to us, 
 A Swedish caravan was on its way, 
 Transporting a rich cargo of provision, 
 
 * A town about twelve German miles N.E. of Ulm. 
 U8
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 159 
 
 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. 
 
 BUfLER. 
 
 '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.
 
 160 THE PICCOL.OMINI. 
 
 The down was scarce upon his chin ! I hear 
 He has made good the promise of his youth, 
 And the full hero now is finished in him. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 
 The Duchess Friedland hither, and the princess * 
 From Carnthen.f 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 
 
 * The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons and 
 daughters are entitled princes and princesses, 
 t Carinthia.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 161 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 I had forgotten 
 
 A pleasant duty major-general, 
 I wish you joy ! 
 
 ISOLANT. 
 
 What, you mean, of this regiment ? 
 I hear, too, that to make the gift still sweeter, 
 The cluke 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. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 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.
 
 162 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 Vender I see our worthy friend * approaching 
 With the Lieutenant-General Piccolomini. 
 
 BUTLER (shaking his head significantly). 
 I fear we shall not go hence as we came. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 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; 
 
 * Spoken with a sneer.
 
 ' THE PICCOLOMINI. 163 
 
 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 1 
 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 ami 
 
 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 have shown our camp this honor. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Once before 
 I stood beside these colors.
 
 J64 THE PICCOLOMIN1. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Perchance too you remember where that was ; 
 
 It was at Zna'im * 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 f 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. 
 Bav r aria 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. 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 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 commision 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, 
 
 * A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road from Vienna 
 <p Prague.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 165 
 
 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 finders of the Croats.
 
 166 THE P1CCOLOMINI. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 167 
 
 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. 
 It' 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 watch- 
 word. 
 
 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, 
 J^or 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.
 
 108 THE PICCOLOMIN1. 
 
 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 arid home. 
 No zeal inspires them for their country's cause, 
 For thousands like myself were born abroad ; 
 Nor care they for the emperor, for one half
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 169 
 
 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 QUESTENBEBG). 
 
 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.
 
 170 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 Carnthen hither. 
 
 ISOLANI (to ILLO). 
 Shall we not go in company to greet them ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Well, let us go Ho ! Colonel Butler, come. [ To OCTAVIO. 
 You'll not forget that yet ere noon we meet 
 The uoble envoy at the general's palace. 
 
 [Exeunt all but QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG 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 are now acquainted with three-fourths of the army 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Where must we seek, then, for a second host 
 To have the custody of this? That Illo
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 171 
 
 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. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG (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 !
 
 172 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 173 
 
 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. 
 
 QUESTENBEBG. 
 
 '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 ! 
 
 QUESTEKBERG. 
 
 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 Ltitzen. 
 
 Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out, 
 
 To press hinf to accept another charger. 
 
 At t 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,
 
 174 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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! 
 
 QUESTENBEEG. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 MAX. PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 175 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 
 
 1 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 ministero 
 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.
 
 176 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 powers 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!
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 177 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Uncommon men require no common trust ; 
 Give him but scope and he will set the bounds. 
 
 QUESTBNBER 
 
 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,
 
 178 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 170 
 
 For the first violet * of tlie 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 
 
 * In the original, 
 
 " Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb'ich hiti mit Freuden 
 Fiirs erste Veilchen, das der Marz uns bringt, 
 Das diirftige Pfand der neuverjiingten Erde."
 
 180 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 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-rnorrow, not of this to-day. 
 
 MAX. (turning round to him quick and vehement). 
 
 Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna ! 
 
 1 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 181 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO PlCCOLOMINI. 
 
 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.
 
 182 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 QUESTENBEKG. 
 
 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 wharfs too late ? Bethink yourself, my friend, 
 That you aie talking absolute riddles to me. 
 
 OCTAVIO (more collected). 
 
 Come ! to the duke's. 'Tis close upon the hour 
 Which he appointed you for audience. Come ! 
 A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey! 
 
 [He leads QUESTENBERG off. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 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 SENT, like an 
 old Italian doctor, in black, and clothed someichat fan- 
 tastically. 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 183 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 Why were we not told before that the audience would 
 be held here? Nothing prepared no orders no in- 
 structions. 
 
 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?
 
 184 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 SENT. 
 
 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. 
 
 \_Theyhurryoff. SENI/O^OWJS slowly. A page 
 brings the staff of command on a red cushion, 
 and places it on the table, near the duke's 
 chair. They are announced from without^ 
 and the wings of the door fly open. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You went, then, through Vienna, were presented 
 To the Queen of Hungary ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Yes ; and to the empress, too, 
 And by both majesties were we admitted 
 To kiss the hand. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And how was it received, 
 That I had sent for wife and daughter hither 
 To the camp, in winter-time ? 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 I did even that 
 
 Which you commissioned me to do. I told them 
 You had determined on our daughter's marriage,
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 185 
 
 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.
 
 186 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Yes, yes ; they have taken offence. My latest conduct 
 They railed at it, no doubt. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 O that they had J 
 
 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 Lichtensteiii, 
 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 !
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 187 
 
 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, ray 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 Laraormain 
 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
 
 188 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Most disgraceful 
 Dismission. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Talk they? 
 
 [Strides across the chamber in vehement agitation. 
 O ! they force, they thrust me 
 With violence, against my own will, onward ! 
 
 DUCHESS (presses near to 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 ! let 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 ! 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Enter the Countess TERZKY, leading in her hand the 
 
 Princess THEKLA, richly adorned with brilliants. 
 
 COUNTESS, THEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS. 
 
 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 re- 
 ceives her in his arms, and remains standing for 
 some time lost in the feeling of her presence.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 189 
 
 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.
 
 190 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 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 * 
 A splendid richly-plated hunting dress 
 So to remunerate me for my troubles 
 
 *A reviewer in the Literary Gazette observes that, in these lines, Mr 
 Coleridge has misapprehended the meaning of the word " zug " a team, trans- 
 lating it as " anzug, a suit of clothes. The following version, as a substi- 
 tute, 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 tour horses."
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 191 
 
 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 Piccolornini, 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 stitt 
 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 watch- 
 ing the DUKE, and remarks that he is lost in thought 
 over the letters). 
 
 My brother wishes us to leave him. Come.
 
 192 THE WCCOLOMINI. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round quick, collects him self, 
 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERZKY. 
 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 tiirns 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 193 
 
 -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 ? 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 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
 
 194 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 My own share of the plunder Never! never! 
 Xo foreign power shall strike root in the empire, 
 And least of all these Goths i 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 knowa 
 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. 
 
 WALLEXSTELN (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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 195 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 ILLO, WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY. 
 
 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. 
 
 WALLENSTELN. 
 
 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.
 
 196 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 197 
 
 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 1 
 
 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?
 
 198 THE PICCOLOMiNI. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 199 
 
 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
 
 200 THE FICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 WALLENSTEDf. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 201 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY, ILLO. To them enter QUESTEN- 
 BERG, OCTAVIO, and MAX. PICCOLOMINI, BUTLER, Iso- 
 LANI, MARADAS, and three other Generals. WALLEN- 
 STEIN motions QUESTENBERG, who in consequence takes 
 the chair directly opposite to him ; the others follmc, 
 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 ? 
 
 v^tTESTENBERG. 
 
 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 Fried land 
 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
 
 202 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 Ntirnberg, 
 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 Ntirnberg's camp the Swedish monarch left 
 His fame in Liitzen's plains his life. But who 
 Stood not astounded, when victorious Friedland
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 203 
 
 After this day of triumph, this proud day, 
 
 Marched toward Bohemia with the speed of flight, 
 
 And vanished from the theatre of war ? 
 
 While the young Weimar hero * forced his way 
 
 Into Franconia, to the Danube, like 
 
 Some delving winter-stream, which, where it rushes, 
 
 Makes its own channel ; with such sudden speed 
 
 He marched, and now at once 'fore 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. 
 
 * Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who succeeded Gustavus in command.
 
 204 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 Ober 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 205 
 
 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? 
 
 Oil, 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, hei'e stand my generals. Karaffa ! 
 
 Count Deodati ! Butler! Tell this man 
 
 How long the soldier's pay is in arrears. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 Already a full year.
 
 206 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And 'tis the hire 
 
 That constitutes the hireling's name and duties, 
 The soldier's pay is the soldier's covenant.* 
 
 QUESTENBERG. 
 
 Ah ! this is a far other tone from that 
 
 In which the duke spoke eight, nine years aga. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 * The origiiial 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 
 hut a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 207 
 
 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.
 
 208 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 Init ILLO had re- 
 mained 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.
 
 THE riCCOLOMINI. 
 
 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!
 
 210 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 gen- 
 erals, 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 211 
 
 MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Forbid it, Heaven, that it should come to this ! 
 Our troops will swell in dreadful fermentation 
 The emperor is abused it cannot be. 
 
 ISOLANI. 
 It cannot be ; all goes to instant wreck. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Thou hast said truly, faithful Isolani ! 
 What we with toil and foresight have built up 
 Will go to wreck all go to instant wreck. 
 What then ? Another chieftain is soon found, 
 Another army likewise (who dares doubt it?) 
 Will flock from all sides to the emperor, 
 At the first beat of his recruiting drum. 
 [During this speech, ISOLANI, TERZKY, ILLO, and 
 MARADAS talk confusedly with great agitation. 
 
 MAX. PICCOLOMINI (busily and passionately going from 
 one to another , and toothing 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 1 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.
 
 212 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 Farewell, Von Questenberg ! 
 
 [QlJESTENBURG 18 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, GO^TZ, 
 TIEFENBACH, KOLATTO, press in, several other gen- 
 erals following them. 
 
 GOETZ. 
 Where's he who means to rob us of our general ? 
 
 TIEFENBACH (at the same time). 
 What are we forced to hear? That thou wilt leave us? 
 
 KOLATTO (at the same time). 
 We will live with thee, we will die with thee. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (with stateliness, and pointing to ILLO). 
 There ! the field-marshal knows our will. [Exit. 
 
 [ While all are going off the stage, the curtain drops. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 213 
 
 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.
 
 214 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 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 PICCOLOMINI. 215 
 
 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 them- 
 selves. 
 
 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. 
 
 \Ex,it ILLO. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 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.
 
 216 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 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 *, 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, Puko Fried- 
 land, 
 In her who is thy sister. 
 
 SERVANT (enters). 
 
 The commanders ! [JEhsit- 
 
 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. 
 
 TT7T>>7T7'V 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 All rests upon his undersigning. 
 
 * In Germany, after honorable addresses have been paid and formally 
 accepted, the lovers are called bride and bridegroom, even though the mar- 
 riage should not take place till years afterwards.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 217 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 COUNTESS, MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 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, bttt the COUNTESS takes tliem 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
 
 218 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 With such poor stealth to hazard words and glancea 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 
 1 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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 219 
 
 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," * 
 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 
 
 * I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloister, or the nam 
 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 1st ein Kloster hier zur BtnmelsRfarte,
 
 220 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 I 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 ;
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 221 
 
 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). 
 
 Arid is it your excess of modesty 
 Or are you so incurious, that you do not 
 Ask ine 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? 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 THEKLA (hurries forward), COUNTESS, MAX. PICCOLOMINL 
 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.
 
 222 THE PICCOLOMIN1. 
 
 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 he 
 
 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 1 
 
 MAX. 
 
 You find yourself 
 In your great father's arms, beloved lady !
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 223 
 
 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.
 
 224 THE PICCOLOM1NI. 
 
 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 no\f 
 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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 225 
 
 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. 
 
 K These are the planets," said that low old man, 
 
 "They govern worldy 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 !
 
 226 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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,* and to the lover 
 Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky 
 Shoot influence down : and even at this day 
 'Tis Jupiter who brings what'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 
 
 But 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 : 
 
 * No more of talk, where god or angel guest 
 With man, as with his friend familiar, used 
 To sit indulgent. Paradise Lost, B. IX,
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 227 
 
 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? Secerned as if I heard 
 Tumult and larum in the banquet-room. 
 
 \_Exit COUNTESS. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 THEKLA and M AX. 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.
 
 228 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 fortunes ! He is true, 
 He wears no mask he hates all crooked ways 
 He is so good, so noble ! 
 
 THEKLA (fatts on his neck). 
 That are you ! 
 
 MAX. 
 
 You knew him only since 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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 229 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 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 beticeen them. 
 Part you ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Oh, not yet ! 
 It has been scarce a moment. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Ay ! Then time 
 Flies swiftly with your highness, princess niece !
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 MAX. 
 
 There is no hurry, aunt. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Away ! away ! 
 
 The folks begin to miss you. Twice already 
 His father has asked for him. 
 
 THELKA. 
 
 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? 
 
 THELKA (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 THELKA). 
 
 Lady, I must obey. Farewell, dear lady ! 
 [THELKA turns away from him with a quick motion. 
 What say you then, dear lady ? 
 
 THELKA (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 j he presses her fast to his heart.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 231 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Off ! Heavens ! if any one sh&uld 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 stand- 
 ing, 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 melan- 
 choly symphony, she falls gradually into the 
 music and sings. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 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.* 
 
 * 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 for- 
 tunate. 
 
 THEKLA (spielt und singt). 
 
 Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn, 
 Das Magdlein wandelt an Ufers Grlin ; 
 Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht, 
 Und sie singt hinaus in die flnstre Nacht, 
 
 Das Auge von Weinen getriibet : 
 Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer, 
 Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts raehr. 
 Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zuriick, 
 Ich habe genossen das irdische GlUck, 
 
 Ich habe gelebt und geliebet. 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATIONS 
 
 THEKLA ( plays and sings). 
 
 The oak-forest bellows, the clouds gather, the damsel \valS8 to and fro on 
 the green of the shore ; the wave breaks with might, Tl.'fo might, and she 
 sings out into the dark night, her eye discolored with weeping : the heart
 
 232 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 COUNTESS (returns), THELKA. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 What? a pretty question ! 
 
 is dead, the world is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. 
 ThouHoly One call thy child home. lliave enjoyed the happiness of this 
 
 TcknUrb^add^eKrmftation of this song, with which n,y Men,., 
 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 threatening, 
 The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan I 
 
 Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching, 
 Thus in the dark night she singeth alone, 
 Her 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 235 
 
 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. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 His father loves him ; Count Octavio 
 Will interpose no difficulty 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 His! 
 His father ! His ! But yours, niece, what of yours ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 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. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 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.
 
 234 THE PICCOLOM1NI. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 235 
 
 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 7neanest to force him to thy liking? Child, 
 His name is Friedland.
 
 236 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 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,
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 237 
 
 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.* 
 
 [Exit THEKLA. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 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. 
 JKight 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 per- 
 sons. 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. PICCO- 
 LOMINI appears, TERZKY advances towards him with a 
 paper, ISOLANI comes up to meet him with a beaker, 
 or service-cup. 
 
 * There are few who will not have taste enough to laugh at the two con- 
 cluding 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-wiithend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude 
 Den Pechkranz in das breunende Gebaude.
 
 238 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 TERZKY, ISOLANI, MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 ex- 
 pressed his determination to quit the emperor, but on 
 our unanimous entreaty has graciously consented to re- 
 main still with the army, and not to part from us with- 
 out our approbation thereof, so we, collectively and each
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 239 
 
 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 ! 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 Nay, let it rest till after meal. 
 
 ISOLANI (drawing MAX. along). 
 Come, Max. 
 
 [Both seat themselves at their table. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 TERZKY, NEUMANN. 
 
 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 ! 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.
 
 240 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 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. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 And Butler? 
 How goes it there ? Hush ! 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 241 
 
 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.
 
 242 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 A friend ! I give you here my hand ! Fm 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 1 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI 243 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 This is an awful moment ! to the brave, 
 
 To *he 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The MASTER OF THE CELLAR, advancing with NEUMANN, 
 SERVANTS passing backwards and forwards. 
 
 MASTER OP 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 mod- 
 eration ! 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 !
 
 244 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAB. 
 
 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 aiut 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 I 
 
 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
 
 THE PIOCOLOMINI. 245 
 
 neat things are embossed on it ! how natural and elegant 
 they look ! There, on the first quarter, let ra e see. That 
 proud amazon there on horseback, she tnat 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 be- 
 yond 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.
 
 246 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 Why, my good Master of the Cellar ! you are deep read 
 in the chronicles of your country. 
 
 MASTER OF THE CELLAK. 
 
 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 be- 
 gan, 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 Wei- 
 mar's health. 
 
 THIRD SERVANT. 
 
 The Swedish chief commander ! 
 
 FIRST SERVANT (speaking at the same time). 
 The Lutheran !
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 247 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. 
 
 Just before, when Count Deodati gave out the em- 
 peror'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
 
 248 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 the 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. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI enters, in conversation with MAR- 
 ADAS, and both place themselves quite on the edge of the 
 stage on one side of the proscenium. On the side di- 
 rectly 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, lieu- 
 tenant-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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 249 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Yes, ray lady countess understands these matters. Her 
 mother-in-law, heaven rest her soul, taught herl Ah! 
 that was a housewife for you I 
 
 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 some- 
 thing 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 al- 
 ready read. Only a few marks of your pen ! 
 
 [ISOLANI hands over the paper to OCTAVIO re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Nay, nay, first come, first served. There is no prece- 
 dence here. [OCTAVIO runs over thepaper 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). II<> !
 
 250 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Excuse me aint able. 
 
 TEBZKY. 
 
 A thimble-full ! 
 
 GOETZ. 
 
 Excuse me. 
 
 TIEFENBACH 
 
 Pardon me, nobles! This standing does not agree 
 with me. 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 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 TEKZKY, 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 in- 
 quiries about the season. 
 
 FERZKY (observing ISOLANI, whose hand trembles exces- 
 
 sively 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 chaly- 
 beate waters. Well I must bear it. 
 
 [TERZKY gives the paper to MARADAS ; he steps to 
 the table to subscribe.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 251 
 
 OCTAVTO (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 himfriendlily). 
 
 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. 
 
 I 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 tinintemtpted. 
 
 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. 
 
 BU_TLER (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.
 
 252 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 OCTAVIO (after having some time watched his son in 
 silence, advances somewhat nearer to him). 
 
 You were long absent from us, friend ! 
 
 MAX. 
 \ 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 hii 
 quarters ! there is something there that should not be. 
 
 TERZKY (with the paper). 
 Is there none wanting ? Have the whole subscribed ? 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 All. 
 
 TERZKY (catting 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 !
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 253 
 
 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. 
 
 TfiEZKY. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 To these enter ILLO from, the inner room. Be has in his 
 hand a golden service-cup, and is extremely distempered 
 with drinking; GOETZ an d BUTLER follow him, endeav- 
 oring 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 !
 
 254 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 TSOLAOT. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 255 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 My son is at the age of discretion. 
 
 ILLO (leaves the service-cup on the sideboard). 
 What's the dispute? 
 
 TERZKT. 
 
 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 BO 
 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
 
 256 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 tc 
 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 !
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 257 
 
 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. 
 Oat upon you, Illo ! 
 
 OCTAVIO, TEBZKY, BUTLER (oU 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. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 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.
 
 258 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Set down the light. We mean not to undress. 
 You may retire to sleep. 
 
 \fkdt VALET. OCTAVIO paces, musing, across t_4 
 chamber; MAX. PICCOLOMINI enters unobservea, 
 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.
 
 THE PiCCOLOMINI. 259 
 
 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 conld listen to them quietly.
 
 2 GO THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 awswer, 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 ?
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 261 
 
 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, fearj 
 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.
 
 2G2 THE F1CCOLOMINI. 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 263 
 
 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 measures, 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. 
 
 (in excessive agitation). 
 No! no! never I 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Himself confided to me 
 What I, 'tis true, had long before discovered 
 By other means; himself confined to me,
 
 2(54 THE PiOCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 I 
 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 sac 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 265 
 
 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 evinced 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 :
 
 266 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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! 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 In this disclosure place I in thy hands 
 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 267 
 
 Thou nourishest the wish, 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 
 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 I 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!
 
 268 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 269 
 
 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. 
 
 N"ay, 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.
 
 270 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 OCTAVIO and MAX. as before. To them the VALET OP 
 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.
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 27] 
 
 Trusted it not to letters. 
 
 CORNET. 
 
 The lieutenant-general 
 
 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.
 
 272 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 273 
 
 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 COKNET. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 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.
 
 274 THE PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 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 cot 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
 
 THE PICCOLOMINI. 275 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 DEAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 \VALLEKTEIN, Duke of Friedland, 
 Generulissimo of the Imperial 
 Forces in the Thirty Years' War. 
 
 DUCHESS OF FREIDLAND, Wife of 
 \Vallenstein. 
 
 THEKLA. her Daughter, Princess of 
 Friedland. 
 
 THE COUNTESS TEKZKY, Sister of 
 the Duchess. 
 
 LADY NEUBKUNX. 
 
 OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant- 
 General. 
 
 MAX. PICCOLOMINI, his Son, Colonel 
 of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. 
 
 COUNT TEKZKY, the Commander of 
 several Regiments, and Brother-in- 
 law of Wallenstein. 
 
 ILLO, Field-Marshal, Wallenstein'* 
 Confidant. 
 
 ISOLANI, General of the Croats. 
 
 BUTLEB, an Irishman, Commander 
 of a Regiment of Dragoons. 
 
 GORDON, Governor of Egra. 
 
 MAJOR GERALDIN. 
 
 CAPTAIN DEVKREUX. 
 
 CAPTAIN MAODONALD. 
 
 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 CHAM- I Bel ^ 
 
 APA R GE. \totheDuke. 
 
 Cuirassiers, Dragoons, and Servants. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 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 transpar- 
 ent star of different color on its head, stand in a semi- 
 circle 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 sec- 
 ond 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. 1 
 N
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 277 
 
 WALLENSTEIN at a black table, on which a speculum 
 astrologicum is described with chalk. Siarc 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 be 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. 
 
 SENT (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.
 
 278 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEOT." 
 
 8ENI. 
 
 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. 
 
 WALLENSTEHf. 
 
 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. 
 
 \TALLENSTEm. 
 
 Open, Seni ! 
 
 [ While SENI opens the door for TERZKY, WALLENSTET^ 
 draws the curtain over the figures, 
 
 SCENE IT. 
 WALLENSTEIN. COUNT TERZKY. 
 
 TBRSKY (enters). 
 
 Hast thou already heard it? He is taken. 
 Gallas has given him up to the emperor. 
 
 [SENI draws off the black fable, and exit.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEDT. 279 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (to TERZKT?)- 
 
 Who has been taken ? Who is given up ? 
 
 TEBZKV. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 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 snow beyond all power of contradiction 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Of "^handwriting no iota. Thee 
 r thy lies.
 
 280 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 And them 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 
 
 WALLENSTEHT. 
 
 'Tis a cursed accident t
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 281 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 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 thou 
 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. 
 
 TERZKT. 
 
 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!
 
 282 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTELN. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 TEBZKY. 
 
 It was he 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. 
 
 WALLENSTBJOf. 
 
 Stay! 
 
 k tay but a little. It hath taken me 
 
 All by surprise ; it came too quick upon me; 
 
 'Tis wholly novel that an accident, 
 
 W>h its dark lordship, and blind agency, 
 
 Shoui i force me on with it. 
 
 II LO. 
 
 First hear him only, 
 Ax fter weigh it. [Exeunt TEBZKY atta ILLO.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (in soliloquy). 
 
 Is it possible ? 
 
 le'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 dc 
 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 th&ught. 
 A punishable man Iseem, the guilt, 
 Try what I \v ill, 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 
 Been calm and chary of my utterance ; 
 But being conscious of the innocence 
 Of my intent, my ifncorrupted will,
 
 284 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 
 
 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 pa use, 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 thovi'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 DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 285 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 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.
 
 286 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 WRANOEL. 
 
 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 1 
 The chancellor writes me that he but fulfils 
 His late departed sovereign's own idea 
 In helping me to the Bohemian crown. 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 287 
 
 '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? 
 
 WKANGEL. 
 
 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. 
 
 WKANGEL. 
 
 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
 
 288 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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,
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTElN. 289 
 
 And lias 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.
 
 290 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What asks the chancellor? 
 
 WE ANGEL (considerately). 
 
 Twelve regiments, every man a Swede my head 
 The warranty and all might prove at last 
 Only false play 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (starting). 
 Sir Swede! 
 
 WE ANGEL (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 Friedlaad. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Come, brief and open ! What is the demand? 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 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. 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 291 
 WRANGEL. 
 
 And till we are indemnified, so long 
 Stays Prague in pledge. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Then trust you us so little ? 
 WBANGEL (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.* 
 
 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. 
 
 WEANGEL. 
 
 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. 
 
 * A great stone near Liitzen, 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.
 
 292 THE DEATH OF WALLEN8TEIN. 
 
 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
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 293 
 
 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. 
 
 WBANGEL. 
 
 Ay ! but think of this too, 
 That sudden action only can procure it. 
 Success think first of this, your highness. 
 
 {Exit WBANGEL. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 WALLENSTEIN, TEBZKY, and ILLO (r&enter}. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Is't all right? 
 
 TEBZKY. 
 
 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. 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 How? What is that? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Come on rne what will come, 
 The doing evil to avoid an evil 
 Cannot be good ! 
 
 TEBZKY. 
 
 Nay, but bethink you, duke. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 To live upon the mercy of these Swedes ! 
 
 Of these proud-hearted Swedes ! I could not bear it.
 
 294 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 Think not more meanly of 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. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 To these enter the COUNTESS TERZKT. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Who sent for you ? There is no business here 
 For women.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 295 
 
 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. 
 
 Tt 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,
 
 296 THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 ;
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 297 
 
 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.
 
 298 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 tine 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 * 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 
 
 * Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word after 
 world for posterity, " Es spreche Welt und Naclnrelt meinen Namen"- 
 might have been rendered with more literal fidelity : Let world and 
 afterworld speak out my uame, etc.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 299 
 
 Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole heart sicken.* 
 
 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 
 
 * I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with a 
 literal translation of this line, 
 
 werth 
 Die Eingeweiile schaudernd aufzuregen.
 
 300 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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, 
 tin mastered 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 301 
 
 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 exei-tedst, 
 
 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 murmu/ 
 
 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! 
 
 WALLENSTETN (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.
 
 302 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 2)assian, ; 
 stops suddenly, stands still, then interrupting ke 
 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;
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 303 
 
 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. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Scene as in the preceding Act. 
 WALLENSTEIN, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI. 
 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 wert fettered.
 
 304 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN* 
 
 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. PICCOLOMINL 
 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. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 WALLENSTEIN, MAX. PICOLOMINI. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 305 
 
 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. re- 
 mains fora long time motionless, in a trance of 
 excessive anguish. At his first motion W ALLEN- 
 STEIN returns, and places himself before him. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 My general, this day thou rnakest 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. 
 
 W ALLEN STEIN. 
 
 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,
 
 306 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEDf. 
 
 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, 
 ^et 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WAI.LENSTEIN. 307 
 
 WALLENSTEIJST. 
 
 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.
 
 308 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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? 
 
 turn back to thy duty. That thou canst, 
 
 1 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 309 
 
 W ALLEN STEIN. 
 
 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 counten- 
 ance 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 TEKZKY enters. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY. 
 
 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.
 
 310 THE DEATH OF WALLEXSTEIST. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 How, Octavio ! Whither send him ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He goes to Frauenburg, 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN, 311 
 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,
 
 312 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 1LLO. 
 
 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 Liltzen, 
 
 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, this 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 ;
 
 l^K, \ * -v."J 

 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 313 
 
 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.
 
 314 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Chamber in the residence of Piccolomini : OCTAVIO Pic- 
 COLOMINI (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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A chamber in PICCOLOMINI'S dwetting-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.
 
 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 315 
 
 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 Germa'ns 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.
 
 316 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 
 
 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,
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 317 
 
 Or whether you will serve him faithfully. 
 
 Treason 1 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 Frauenburg's the place of rendezvous ; 
 There will Count Gallas give you further orders.
 
 318 THE DEATH OF WALLEXSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 You need not be uneasy on that score. 
 That has succeeded. Fortune favor us 
 With all the others only but as much 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, BUTLEB. 
 
 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
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 319 
 
 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-rninded 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 Frauenburg. Did the Count Gallas 
 Say nothing to you ? Tell me. He's my friend 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 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. W alien stein 
 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
 
 320 THE DEATH OF WALLEN STEIN. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 SUTLER. 
 
 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 ?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEttf. 321 
 
 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.
 
 322 THE DEATH OF WALLER STEIN. 
 
 OGTAVIO. 
 
 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 doicn in it. 
 You have no enemy, no persecutor;
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 323 
 
 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 ! 
 
 SUTLER (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.
 
 324 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 Ms 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 bi'oke 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 to me.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 325 
 
 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! 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 OCTAVIO and MAX. PICCOLOMINI. 
 
 MAX. enters almost in a state of derangement, from ex- 
 treme agitation ; his eyes roll icttdly, 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 t 
 staring vacantly at the object directly before him. 
 
 OCTAVIO (advances to him). 
 I am going off, my son. 
 
 \JReceimng no answer, he takes his hand. 
 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,
 
 326 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 
 Hadsc thou the heart to wish to see him guilty 
 Rather than saved ? Thou risest by his fart. 
 Octavio, 'twill not please rue. 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 God in heaven 1 
 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 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 327 
 
 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 Mm 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 f 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Thou wilt not tear thyself away ; thou canst not. 
 Oh, come, my son! I bid thee save thy virtue.
 
 328 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN 
 
 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 Fraunberg 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 329 
 
 OCTAVIO. 
 
 Farewell, my son I 
 
 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.) 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 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.
 
 330 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The COUNTESS, THEKLA. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 It does not please me, princess, that he holds 
 Himself so still, exactly at this time. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Exactly at this time ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 He now knows all. 
 'Twere now the moment to declare himself. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 If I'm to understand you, speak less darkly. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 'Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us. 
 
 Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart 
 
 Is 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 331 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You'll not be frightened 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Name it, I entreat you. 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 It lies within your power to do your father 
 A weighty service 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Lies within my power. 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Max. Piccolomini loves you. You can link hun 
 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?
 
 332 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 1 
 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 vour mother:
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 333 
 
 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. 
 
 my foreboding bosom ! Even now, 
 E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror ! 
 And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp; 
 
 1 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 1 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Calm yourself ! Break not out in vain lamenting! 
 Preserve you for your father the firm friend, 
 And for yourself the lover, all will yet 
 Prove good and fortunate. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Prove good ! What good ! 
 Must we not part ; part ne'er to meet again ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 He parts not from you ! He cannot part from you. 
 
 THBLKA. 
 
 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 I 
 Does there remain one to be taken ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Hush! 
 Collect yourself! I hear your mother coming.
 
 334 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 THEKLA. 
 
 How shall I bear to see her ? 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Collect yourself. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 To them enter the DUCHESS. 
 
 DUCHESS (to the COUNTESS). 
 
 Who was here, sister ? I heard some one talking, 
 And passionately, too. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Nay ! there was no one. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 I am 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
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 335 
 
 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, 
 
 An;l 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. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 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, 
 lint 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.
 
 336 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You sec 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 marks 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 337 
 
 DUCHESS (anxiously). 
 What ails, then, my beloved child ? 
 
 [Both follow the PRINCESS, and endeavor to detain 
 her. During this WALLENSTEIN appears, en- 
 gaged in conversation with ILLO. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 WALLENSTEIN, ILLO, COUNTESS, DUCHESS, THEKLA. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 All quiet in the camp ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 It is all quiet. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 In a few hours may couriers come from Prague 
 
 With tidings that this capital is ours. 
 
 Then we may drop the mask, and to the troops 
 
 Assembled in this town make known the measure 
 
 And its result together. In such cases 
 
 Example does the whole. Whoever is foremost 
 
 Still leads the herd. An imitative creature 
 
 Is man. The troops at Prague conceive no other, 
 
 Than that the Pilsen army has gone through 
 
 The forms of homage to us ; and in Pilsen 
 
 They shall swear fealty to us, because 
 
 The example has been given them by Prague. 
 
 Butler, you tell me, has declared himself? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 At his own bidding, unsolicited, 
 
 He came to offer you himself and regiment. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, 
 
 I find we must not give implicit credence 
 To every warning voice that makes itself 
 Be listened to in the heart. To hold us back, 
 Oft does the lying spirit counterfeit 
 The voice of truth and inward revelation, 
 Scattering false oracles. And thus have I
 
 338 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 ine 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 339 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Where is thy lute, my daughter ? Let thy father 
 Hear some small trial of thy skill. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 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 ?
 
 340 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIK. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Has 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 341 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 hazard all all ! and for this alone,
 
 342 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 To lift her into greatness 
 
 Yea, in this moment, in the which we are speaking - 
 
 \_IIe 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 ?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 343 
 
 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 alley 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. Tfrou seest she cannot 
 Support the real truth. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 To them enter COUNT TEBZKY. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Terzky! 
 
 What ails him? What an image of affright! 
 He looks as he had seen a ghost.
 
 344 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 TERZKY (leading WALLENSTEIN aside). 
 IB it thy command that all the Croats 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Mine! 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 We are betrayed. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 They are off! This night 
 The Jagers likewise all the villages 
 In the whole round are empty. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Isolani ! 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I? 
 TERZKY. 
 
 No ? Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodati ? 
 They are vanished, both of them. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 To them enter ILLO. 
 
 ILLO. 
 Has Terzky told thee ? 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 He knows all. 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 And likewise 
 
 That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz, 
 Eolatto, Palfi, have forsaken thee. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Damnation !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 345 
 
 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 ! 
 
 TEBZKY (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. 
 
 [T0 ILLO. 
 
 This could not have happened 
 So unsuspected without mutiny. 
 Who was on guard at the gates ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 'Twas Tiefenbach. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Let Tienfenbach 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.
 
 346 THE DEATH OF WALLEN STEIN. 
 
 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 
 111 suit the scene where men must act. 
 
 [He is (joing : TERZKY returns, 
 
 TERZKT. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY. 
 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
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 347 
 
 Marshal themselves, each under its own banners ; 
 Tiefenbach's corps make threatening movements ; only 
 The Pappenheirners 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 liadst 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 J 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. 
 
 WALLENSTETN. 
 
 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 ?
 
 348 HE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He followb ~dll 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. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY, ILLO. 
 
 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 ?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 349 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 They refused obedience to them. 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 Fire on them instantly ! Give out the order. 
 
 WALLENSTEDT. 
 
 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. 
 
 TEBZKY. 
 
 From the emperor nearest 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 !
 
 350 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 To them enter the COUNTESS. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 This suspense, 
 
 This horrid fear I can no longer bear it. 
 For heaven's sake tell me what has taken place ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The regiments are falling off from us. 
 
 TEKZKY. 
 
 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 stumbled 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 351 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 To these enter BUTLEB. 
 TEBZKY (meeting him). 
 Oh, look there, Butler ! Here we've still a friend ! 
 
 ALLENSTEIN (meets him with outspread arms and em- 
 braces 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 J
 
 S50 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 To them enter the COUNTESS. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 This suspense, 
 
 This horrid fear I can no longer bear it. 
 For heaven's sake tell me what has taken place ? 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 The regiments are falling off from us. 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Octavio Piccolomini is a traitor. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 O my foreboding ! [Hushes 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 351 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 To these enter BUTLEB. 
 TERZKY (meeting him). 
 Oh, look there, Butler ! Here we've still a friend ! 
 
 .^ALLENSTELN (meets him with outspread arms and em- 
 braces 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. 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 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 hai'dship. 
 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 J
 
 352 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 [!LLO 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! 
 
 WALLENSTEOT. 
 
 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. 
 
 TERZKT and ILLO (at the same time). 
 Already here ?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 WALLENSTEIEN. 
 
 My courier? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 For some hours. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And I not know it ? 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 The sentinels detain him 
 In custody. 
 
 ILLO (stamping with his foot). 
 Damnation ! 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 And his letter 
 
 Was broken open, and is circulated 
 Through the whole camp. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You know what it contains ? 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 Question me not ! 
 
 TEEZKY. 
 
 Illo ! alas for us. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Hide nothing from me I can bear the worst. 
 Prague then is lost. It is. Confess it freely. 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 
 Yes ! Prague is lost. And all the several regiments 
 
 At Budweiss, Tabor, Braunau, Konigingratz, 
 
 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. 
 
 [TEEZKY and ILLO express alarm and fury. WAL- 
 LENSTEIN remains firm and collected. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Tis decided ! 
 'Tis well ! I have received a sudden cure
 
 356 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEItf. 
 
 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, lo! 
 
 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. 
 
 (!LLO and TERZXY 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 357 
 
 SCENE XIV. 
 WALLENSTEIN, ILLO, TEEZKY. 
 
 ( To them enter NEUMANN, who leads TEKZKY 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. 
 
 SCENE XV. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY, ILLO, ten CUIRASSIERS (led by 
 an ANSPESSADE *, march up and arrange themselves, 
 after the word of command, in one front before the 
 DUKE, and make their obeisance. He takes his hat off, 
 and immediately covers himself again). 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Halt ! Front ! Present ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (after he has run through them with his 
 eye, to the ANSPESSADE). 
 
 I know thee well. Thou art out of Brtiggen in Flanders : 
 Thy name is Mercy. 
 
 ANSPESSADE. 
 
 Henry Mercy. 
 
 * Anspessade, in German, Gefreiter, a soldier Inferior to a corporal, but 
 above the sentinels. The German name implies that he kexempt from mount- 
 ing guard.
 
 358 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 ike word of command). 
 Shoulder your arms! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (turning to a third). 
 Thy name is Risbeck; Cologne is thy birthplace. 
 
 THTJRD CUIRASSIER. 
 
 Risbeck of Cologne.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 359 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 It was thou that broughtest in the Swedish colonel 
 Diibald, prisoner, in the camp at Nuremberg. 
 
 THIRD CUIRASSIER. 
 
 It was not I, general. 
 
 WALLENSTEOT. 
 
 Perfectly right ! It was thy elder brother : thouhadst 
 a younger brother, too : where did he stay ? 
 
 THIRD CUIRASSIER. 
 
 He is stationed at Olmtitz, 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 Olmtitz, have 
 Obeyed alreadv ; and the regiments here, 
 Tiefenbach ancl Toscano, instantly
 
 360 THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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;
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 36J 
 
 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 Ltitzen ! 
 
 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 !
 
 862 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 He'll weave, forsooth, into his flaxen locks 
 
 The olive branch, the hard-earned ornament 
 
 Of this gray head, grown gray beneath the helmel 
 
 AXSPESSADE. 
 
 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 wai 
 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 ! 
 B.ut 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 36# 
 
 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 heai't 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. 
 
 SCENE XVI. 
 To these enter BUTLER. 
 
 BUTLER (passionately). 
 General ! this is not right ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What is not right? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 It must needs injure us witli all honest men.
 
 364 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 But what? 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 It is an open proclamation 
 Of insurrection. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Well, well but what is it? 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 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 CUIEASSIEES). 
 Right about ! March ! 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Cursed be this counsel, and accursed who gave it ! 
 
 [ To the CUIRASSIERS, irho are retiring 
 Halt, children, halt ! There's some mistake in this; 
 Hark ! I will punish it severely. Stop ! 
 They do not hear. (TblLLo). Go after them, assure 
 
 them, 
 And bring them back to me, cost what it may. 
 
 [!LLO hurries out. 
 
 This hurls us headlong. Butler ! Butler ! 
 You are my evil genius, wherefore must you 
 Announce it in their presence? It was all 
 In a fair way. They were half won ! those madmen 
 With their improvident over-readiness 
 A cruel game is Fortune playing with me. 
 The zeal of friends it is that razes me, 
 And not the hate of enemies. 
 
 SCENE XVII. 
 
 To these enter the DUCHESS, who rushes info the chamber; 
 THEKLA and the COUNTESS follow her. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 O Albrecht! 
 What hast thou done ?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 365 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And now comes this beside. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Forgive me, brother 1 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 j
 
 366 THE DEATH OP WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 my prophetic heart ! he is still here. 
 
 He has not betrayed me he could not betray me. 
 
 1 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 ! 
 
 SCENE XVHI. 
 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,
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 367 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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 !
 
 368 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. This 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.* 
 
 * I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I fear that 
 I should not have done amiss had 1 taken this liberty mo re* frequently. It is, 
 however, incumbent on me to give the original, with a literal translation. 
 
 " Web. denen, die auf Dich vertrami, an Dich 
 Die sichre HUtte ihres Gliickes lehnen, 
 Gelockt von deiuer geistlichen Gestalt. 
 Schnell unverhofft, bei nachtlich stiller Weile 
 Gahrts in dem tuckschen Feuerschlunde, ladet 
 Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg 
 Treibt iiber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen 
 Der wilde Strom in grausender Zerstorung. 
 
 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 HOllenkunst getauscht ! Mir sandte 
 Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der fleister, 
 Den Liigenkimdigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn 
 Als Freund an meiner Seite. Wer verrnag 
 Der Holle Macht zu widerstehn ! Ich zog 
 Den Basilisken auf an ineinem Busen, 
 Mit melnem Herzblut nahrt ich ihn, er sog 
 Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe BrUsten, 
 Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn, 
 Weit otfen liess ich des Gedankens Thore, 
 Und warf die Schliissel weiser Vorsicht weg, 
 Am Sternenhimmel," etc. 
 
 LITERAL TRANSLATION. 
 
 " AlasI for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee lean th 
 secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable form. Suddenly, unex- 
 pectedly, in a moment still as night, there is a fermentation in the treach- 
 erous 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 his entrails, iu this black hypocrite's breast. Oh, the 
 art of hell has deceived me ! The abyss sent up to me the most spotted o/
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 369 
 
 WALLENSTKIN. 
 
 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 
 
 the spirits, the most skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by my side. 
 "Who may withstand the power of hell? 1 took the basilisk to my bosoni, 
 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.
 
 370 .THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 How when at Prague, our winter quarters, thou 
 
 Wert brought into my tent a tender boy, 
 
 Not yet accustomed to the German winters j 
 
 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.* Max. ! Thou canst not leave me ; 
 
 It cannot be ; I may not, will not think 
 
 That Max. can leave me. 
 
 MAX. 
 
 Oh, my God ! 
 
 WALLENSTBDf 
 
 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, 
 
 This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate limplicity 
 of the original 
 
 Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, Du warst 
 Das Kind des Hauses. 
 
 Indeed the whole speech is in the best style of Masslnger. O si tie 
 omnia !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 371 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE XIX. 
 
 To these enter NEUMANN. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What now ?
 
 372 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 NEUMANN. 
 
 The Pappenbeimers 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 1 
 
 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 373 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What tidings bringest thou, Terzky ? 
 
 SCENE XX. 
 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, 
 t 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.
 
 374 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 TBBZKY hurry 
 to the window. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What's that? 
 
 TBKZKY. 
 
 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 I will 
 
 TERZKY. 
 
 Expose thyself to their blind frenzy ? 
 
 DUCHESS and COUNTESS. 
 
 No! 
 For God's sake, no I
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 375 
 
 ILLO. 
 
 Not yet, my general ! 
 Oh, hold him 1 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 
 
 WALLiSNSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE XXI. 
 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
 
 376 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTE1N. 377 
 
 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. 
 T 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
 
 378 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 Ferdinand us ! 
 accompanied by warlike instruments. MAX. and 
 THEKLA remain without motion in each other's 
 embraces.
 
 THE DEATH OF WAUUEJS T STEIN. 379 
 
 t 
 SCENE XXII. 
 
 To the above enter TERZKT. 
 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 J 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE XXIII. 
 
 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, iny general.
 
 380 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 daring 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 ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Go where duty calls you. Haply 
 The time may come when you may prove to us
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTELN. 381 
 
 A true friend, a good augel 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. Tlie 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 aud 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 THEKLA. 
 W ALLEN STEIN prevents him. MAX. stands irreso- 
 lute, 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.
 
 382 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Yet more ! weight upon weight to drag nie down 
 Think what ye're doing. It is not well done 
 To choose a man despairing for your leader ; 
 You tear me from my happiness. Well, then, 
 I dedicate your souls to vengeance. Mark ! 
 For your own ruin you have chosen me : 
 "Who goes with me must be prepared to perish. 
 
 [He turns to the background ; there ensues a sudden 
 and violent movement among the CUIRASSIERS ; 
 they surround him, and carry him off in wild 
 tumult. WALLENSTEIN remains immovable. 
 THEKLA sinks into her mother's arms. The cur- 
 tain falls. The music becomes loud and over- 
 powering, and passes into a complete war-march 
 the orchestra joins it and continues during 
 the interval between the second and third acts. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 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 ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 BUTLER and GORDON. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Is it you ? 
 How my heart sinks ! The duke a fugitive traitor !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 383 
 
 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 condescensicn. 
 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 .etter. 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
 
 384 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OP WALLENSTElN. 385 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 And all then Lave 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
 
 386 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 "Pis 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 
 Me 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.* 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. 
 
 * 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 387 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 No more, he comes. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 To these enter WALLENSTEIN, in conversation with the 
 BURGOMASTER of Egra. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 You were at one time a free town. I see 
 Ye bear the half eagle in your city arms. 
 Why the half eagle only ? 
 
 BURGOMASTER. 
 
 We were free, 
 
 But for these last two hundred years has Egra 
 Remained in pledge to the Bohemian crown ; 
 Therefore we bear the half eagle, the other half 
 Being cancelled till the empire ransom us, 
 If ever that should be. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Ye merit freedom. 
 
 Only be firm and dauntless. Lend your ears 
 To no designing whispering coui't-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 ? 
 
 [ TJie BURGOMASTER hesitates. 
 Yes, yes ; I know it. Mny He 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
 
 388 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 ? T 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 ve hear it here ?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 389 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Distinctly. The wind brought it from the south. 
 
 BUTLEB. 
 
 It seemed to come from Weiden or from Neustadt. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 "Pis 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 ! 
 
 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.
 
 390 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 To these enter COUNT TEEZKT. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 To these enter ILLO. 
 ILLO (to WALLENSTEIN). 
 A courier, duke ! he wishes to speak with thee.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 391 
 
 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. Piccoloinini 
 Throw himself on them with the cavalry ; 
 A murderous fight took place! o'erpowered by numbers 
 The Pappenheirners 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. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 BUTLER and GORDON. 
 
 GORDON. 
 What's this?
 
 392 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 393 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Butler! What? 
 Do I understand you ? Gracious God ! You could 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 He must not live. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 And you can do the deed ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Either you or I. This morning was his last. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 You would assassinate him ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 "Pis 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.
 
 394 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH Of WALLENSTEIN. 395 
 
 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 
 W'.thin 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,
 
 396 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 And keep them prisoners in the citadel, 
 
 But this makes shorter work. I go this instant 
 
 To give the necessary orders. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 To these enter ILLO and TERZKY. 
 
 TEBZKY. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 397 
 
 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 miner 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,
 
 398 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 I 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 needa 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. 
 Xay ! 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). 
 ifou come, though, to the castle ? 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 At the right time. 
 \_Exeunt TERZKY and ILLO
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 399 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 GORDON and BUTLER. 
 
 GORDON (looking after them). 
 Unhappy men ! How free from all foreboding ! 
 They rush into the outspread net of murder 
 In the blind drunkenness of victory ; 
 I have no pity for their fate. This Illo, 
 This overflowing and 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
 
 400 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEDT. 
 
 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. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 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 * 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 
 
 * We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a statement in the 
 mouth of any character. T.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 401 
 
 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 I 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.
 
 402 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 BUTLEK* (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. 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 [A gothic and gloomy apartment at the DUCHESS FRIED- 
 LAND'S. THEKLA on a seat, pale, her eyes closed. 
 The DUCHESS and LADY NEUBRUNN busied about 
 her. WALLENSTEIN and the COUNTESS in conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 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. 
 
 * [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.]
 
 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 403 
 
 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 1 
 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.
 
 404 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 1 
 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLEN8TEIN. 405 
 
 COUNTESS and DUCHESS. 
 Do it not. 
 
 THEEXA. 
 
 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 catt 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. 
 
 WALLENSTEUf. 
 
 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.
 
 406 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 407 
 
 SCENE X. 
 THEKLA, THE SWEDISH CAPTAIN, LADY NEUBRUNN. 
 
 CAPTAIN (respectfully approaching her). 
 Princess I must entreat your gentle pardon 
 My inconsiderate rash speech. How could I 
 
 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
 
 408 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Pappenheimers followed daringly 
 
 Their daring leader 
 
 [THEKLA oetrays 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 NEU- 
 BRUNN runs to her, and receives her in her arms. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 My dearest lady 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 I retire. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 'Tis over. 
 Proceed to the conclusion. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Wild despair 
 
 Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw 
 Their leader perish ; every thought of rescue 
 Was spurned ; they fought like wounded tigers ; their 
 Frantic resistance roused our soldiery j
 
 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 409 
 
 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. 
 
 NETJBRUXN (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 ?
 
 410 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. I*lease 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. 
 
 SCENE XL 
 THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN. 
 
 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?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 411 
 
 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 as. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 This rough tempestuous night
 
 412 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Had he a soft bed 
 Under the hoots of his war-horses ? 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 Heaven 1 
 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 ?
 
 THE DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 413 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Oh ! my mother I 
 
 NEUBRTJNN. 
 
 So much as she has suffered too already ; 
 Your tender mother. Ah ! how ill prepared 
 For this last anguish ! 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Woe is me my mothei ! 
 
 [ Pause* 
 Go instantly. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 But think what you are doing I 
 
 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. 
 
 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 I 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 !
 
 414 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 NEUBRUNN. 
 
 You frighten me so, lady, that no longer 
 
 I dare stay here myself. I go and call 
 
 Rosenberg instantly. [Exit LADY NEUBBUNN. 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 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.* 
 (The Curtain drops.) 
 
 SCENE XIII. 
 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. 
 
 * The soliloquy of Thekla consists In the original of slx-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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 415 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 But consider, 
 Thou never canst return unto the duke. 
 
 BOSENBEBG. 
 
 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? 
 
 EOSENBEBG. 
 
 I can. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 When can I go ? 
 
 BOSENBEEG. 
 
 This very hour. 
 But whither would you, lady ? 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 To Tell him, Neubrunn, 
 
 NEUBBUNN. 
 
 To Neustadt. 
 
 EOSENBEBG. 
 
 So ; I leave you to get ready. [Exit. 
 
 NEUBEUNN. 
 
 Oh, see, your mother comes. 
 
 THEKLA. 
 
 Indeed ! O Heaven t 
 
 - SCENE XIV. 
 THEKLA, LADY NEUBEUNN, 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 Neubrunu here be with me. 
 
 I want repose.
 
 416 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 mothei 
 
 (As she withdraws from her mother's arms the 
 
 curtain falls). 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 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 Macd/mald ? 
 
 GERALDIN. 
 
 They'll be here anon. 
 
 [Exit GERALDIN.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 417 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 BUTLER, CAPTAIN DEVEREUX, and MACOONALD. 
 
 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.
 
 418 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 I did it the more surely to destroy him. 
 
 DEVEREUX. 
 
 So, then ! 
 
 MA.CDONALD. 
 
 An altered case ! 
 
 BUTLER (to DEVEREUX). 
 
 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 BO. 
 
 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. 
 
 Listen !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 419 
 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 J 
 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.
 
 420 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 DE VE RE ux (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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTELN. 421 
 
 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 
 
 BUTLEE. 
 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 ?
 
 422 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Why, if he must fall, 
 And will fall, and it can't be otherwise, 
 One would not give place to this Pestalutz. 
 
 DBVEKEUX ( 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 how can we come at him. 
 The town is filled with Terzky's soldiery. 
 
 MACDONALD. 
 
 Ay I 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. 
 MACDOXALD; 
 Hear, Devereux ! A bloody evening this.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 423 
 
 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.
 
 424 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 DEVEEEUX. 
 
 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. 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 425 
 
 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 Uie 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.
 
 426 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 A saloon, terminated by a gallery, which extends far into 
 the background. 
 
 WALLENSTIN sitting at a table. The SWEDISH CAPTAIN 
 standing before him. 
 
 WALLENSTKIN. 
 
 Commend me to your lord. I sympathize 
 In his good fortune ; and if you have seen me 
 Deficient in the expressions of that joy,
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 427 
 
 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 COUNT- 
 ESS 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 !
 
 428 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIX. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (moves to the icindow). 
 There is a busy motion in the heaven, 
 The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower, 
 Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle * of the moon, 
 Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light. 
 No form of star is visible ! That one 
 White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder, 
 Is from Cassiopeia, and therein 
 Is Jupiter. (A pause.) But now 
 The blackness of the troubled element hides him ! 
 
 [_He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks 
 
 vacantly into the distance. 
 
 COUNTESS (looks on him mournfully, then grasps 
 
 his hand). 
 What art thou brooding on ? 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Methinks 
 
 If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. 
 He is the star of my nativity, 
 And often marvellously hath his aspect 
 Shot strength into my heart. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 Thou'lt see him again. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN (remains / or awhile with absent mind, then 
 assumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the 
 COUNTESS). 
 See him again ? Oh, never, never again ! 
 
 * These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity : 
 
 Am Himmel ist geschaftige 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 ap- 
 pears 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/J- 
 cated." 
 
 The words "wanketi" and " schweben " are not easily translated. The 
 English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or 
 pedantic, 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 429 
 
 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 signt 
 
 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,* I know; 
 
 What pang is permanent with man ? From the highest, 
 
 As from the vilest thing of every day, 
 
 * A very inadequate translation of the original : 
 
 Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Scblag, das weiss ich, 
 Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch ! 
 
 LITERALLY. 
 
 I shah grieve flown this blow, of that I'm conscious : 
 What does not man grieve down ?
 
 430 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEErf. 
 
 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. 
 
 Oh, 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 431 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 knif 
 
 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?
 
 432 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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. 
 
 W ALLEN STEIN. 
 
 That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 
 
 COUNTESS (gazing on him). 
 If it should come to that if I should see thee, 
 Who standest now before me in the fulness 
 Of life [She falls on his breast and weeps. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee 
 Alphabets wound not and he finds no hands. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 If he should find them, my resolve is taken 
 I bear about me my support and refuge. 
 
 [Exit COUNTESS, 
 
 SCENE V. 
 WALLENSTEIN, GORDON. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 All quiet in the town ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 The town is quiet. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 I hear a boisterous music ! and the castle 
 Is lighted up. Who are the revellers ?
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 433 
 
 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 vest- 
 ments. WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride 
 across the room, and stands at last before 
 GORDON in a posture of meditation.
 
 4S4 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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 rne 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 ray 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
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 435 
 
 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 (smilmff). 
 
 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 vassels 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.
 
 436 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 To these enter SENT. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Is not that Seni ! and beside himself, 
 
 If one can trust his looks ? What brings thee hither 
 
 At this late hour, Baptista ? 
 
 SENT. 
 
 Terror, duke i 
 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 ? 
 
 SENT (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 DEATH OF W ALLEN STEIN. 437 
 
 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 w ALLEN 
 STEIN). 
 
 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, ray prince. 
 
 SENI. 
 
 Oh hear him ! hear him 1
 
 438 THE DEATH OF WALLEXSTEIN. 
 
 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 awhile, 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 ex- 
 pressions of the deepest interest, advances in 
 extreme agitation and throtcs himself at the 
 ' feet.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 439 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 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). 
 'Ti* 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.
 
 440 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 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.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 441 
 
 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 command- 
 ing silence. 
 
 GORDON. 
 He sleeps ! Oh, murder riot the holy sleep ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 No ! he shall die awake. [Is going. 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 His heart still cleaves 
 
 To earthly things : he's not prepared to step 
 Into the presence of his God ! 
 
 BUTLER {going). 
 
 God's merciful ! 
 
 GORDON (holds him). 
 Grant him but this night's respite. 
 
 BUTLER (hurrying off). 
 
 The next moment 
 May ruin all. 
 
 GORDON (holds him still). 
 One hour ! 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Unhold me ! What 
 Can that short respite profit him ? 
 
 GORDON. 
 
 Oh, time 
 
 Works miracles. In one hour many thousands 
 Of grains of sand run out ; and quick as they
 
 442 THE DEATH OF WALL ENSTEIN. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 BUTLEK. 
 
 You but remind me 
 How precious every minute is ! 
 
 [He stamps on the floor, 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 To these enter MACDONALD and DEVEREUX, with the 
 HALBERDIERS. 
 
 GORDON (throwing himself between him and them). 
 
 No, monster! 
 
 First over my dead body thou shalt tread. 
 I will not live to see the accursed deed ! 
 
 BUTLER (forcing him out of the way) . 
 Weak-hearted dotard ! 
 
 [ Trumpets are heard in the distance. 
 
 DEVEREUX and MACDONALD. 
 
 Hark ! The Swedish trumpets ! 
 The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten! 
 
 GORDON (rushes out). 
 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 443 
 
 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, dead- 
 ened by the distance clash of amis then all at 
 once a prof ound silence. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 SCENE IX. 
 
 COUNTESS, GORDON. 
 
 GORDON (rushes in out of breath). 
 
 'Tis a mistake ! 
 
 'Tis not the Swedes ; ye must proceed no further 
 Butler! Oh, God! where is he? 
 
 GORDON (observing the COUNTESS). 
 
 Countess! Say -
 
 444 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 You are 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 watt. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE X. 
 
 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 445 
 
 COTTNTESS. 
 
 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.
 
 446 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 VOICE (from behind the scene). 
 Keep back the people 1 Guard the door 1 
 
 SCENE XI. 
 
 To these enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his train. 
 At the same time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter 
 from out the corridor with the Halberdiers. WALLEN 
 STEIN'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 band ! I am not guilty 
 Of this foul deed. 
 
 BUTLER. 
 
 Your hand is pure. You have 
 Availed yourself of mine.
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 447 
 
 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 spii'it. 
 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.
 
 448 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 SCENE XII. 
 
 To these enter the COUNTESS TERZKY,jt?afe 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, ray 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 !
 
 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 449 
 
 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 proprieter 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 
 D3ny, 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.
 
 450 THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 What is this ! 
 It is the imperial seal. 
 
 [He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTA* 
 vio with a look of reproach^ and with an emphasis 
 on the word. 
 ^o the Prince Piccolomini. 
 
 [OcTAVio, with his whole frame expressive of sudden 
 anguish, raises his eyes to heaven. 
 
 Th% Curtain drops.
 
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