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

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

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

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

BUTLER. Nay! let it not afflict you, that your power Is circumscribed. Much liberty, much error! The narrow path of duty is securest. And all then have deserted him you say? He has built up the luck of many thousands For kingly was his spirit: his full hand Was ever open! Many a one from dust [With a sly glance on BUTLER. Hath he selected, from the very dust Hath raised him into dignity and honor. And yet no friend, not one friend hath he purchased, Whose heart beats true to him in the evil hour.

BUTLER. Here's one, I see.

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

BUTLER. Say, then, will you fulfil the attainder on him, And lend your aid to take him in arrest?

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

BUTLER. I have heard so——

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

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

GORDON. He became Doubtless more self-enwrapped and melancholy; He made himself a Catholic. [7] Marvellously His marvellous preservation had transformed him. Thenceforth he held himself for an exempted And privileged being, and, as if he were Incapable of dizziness or fall, He ran along the unsteady rope of life. But now our destinies drove us asunder; He paced with rapid step the way of greatness, Was count, and prince, duke-regent, and dictator, And now is all, all this too little for him; He stretches forth his hands for a king's crown, And plunges in unfathomable ruin.

BUTLER. No more, he comes.



SCENE III.

To these enter WALLENSTEIN, in conversation with the BURGOMASTER of Egra.

WALLENSTEIN. You were at one time a free town. I see Ye bear the half eagle in your city arms. Why the half eagle only?

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

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

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

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

BURGOMASTER. Pachhalbel, my it please you.

WALLENSTEIN. Hark ye! But let it go no further, what I now Disclose to you in confidence. [Laying his hand on the BURGOMASTER'S shoulder with a certain solemnity. The times Draw near to their fulfilment, burgomaster! The high will fall, the low will be exalted. Hark ye! But keep it to yourself! The end Approaches of the Spanish double monarchy— A new arrangement is at hand. You saw The three moons that appeared at once in the heaven?

BURGOMASTER. With wonder and affright!

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

BURGOMASTER. We applied it to the Turks.

WALLENSTEIN. The Turks! That all? I tell you that two empires Will set in blood, in the East and in the West, And Lutherism alone remain. [Observing GORDON and BUTLER. I'faith, 'Twas a smart cannonading that we heard This evening, as we journeyed hitherward: 'Twas on our left hand. Did ye hear it here?

GORDON. Distinctly. The wind brought it from the south.

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

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

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

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

GORDON. Two hundred arquebusiers have I sent thither To fortify the posts against the Swedes.

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

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

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



SCENE IV.

To these enter COUNT TERZKY.

TERZKY. Joy, general, joy! I bring you welcome tidings.

WALLENSTEIN. And what may they be?

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

WALLENSTEIN. From whence did you receive the intelligence?

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

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

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



SCENE V.

To these enter ILLO.

ILLO (to WALLENSTEIN). A courier, duke! he wishes to speak with thee.

TERZKY (eagerly). Does he bring confirmation of the victory?

WALLENSTEIN (at the same time). What does he bring? Whence comes he?

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

WALLENSTEIN (after a pause, in a low voice). Where is the messenger? Conduct me to him.

[WALLENSTEIN is going, when LADY NEUBRUNN rushes into the room. Some servants follow her and run across the stage.

NEUBRUNN. Help! Help!

ILLO and TERZKY (at the same time). What now?

NEUBRUNN. The princess!

WALLENSTEIN and TERZKY. Does she know it?

NEUBRUNN (at the same time with them). She is dying!

[Hurries off the stage, when WALLENSTEIN and TERZKY follow her.



SCENE VI.

BUTLER and GORDON.

GORDON. What's this?

BUTLER. She has lost the man she loved— Young Piccolomini, who fell in the battle.

GORDON. Unfortunate lady!

BUTLER. You have heard what Illo Reporteth, that the Swedes are conquerers, And marching hitherward.

GORDON. Too well I heard it.

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

GORDON. 'Tis even so.

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

GORDON. I grant it.

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

GORDON. It were to be feared.

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

GORDON. Sutler! What? Do I understand you? Gracious God! You could——

BUTLER. He must not live.

GORDON. And you can do the deed?

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

GORDON. You would assassinate him?

BUTLER. 'Tis my purpose.

GORDON. Who leans with his whole confidence upon you!

BUTLER. Such is his evil destiny!

GORDON. Your general! The sacred person of your general!

BUTLER. My general he has been.

GORDON. That 'tis only An "has been" washes out no villany, And without judgment passed.

BUTLER. The execution Is here instead of judgment.

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

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

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

BUTLER. Despatch in service pleases sovereigns.

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

BUTLER. And no brave man loses His color at a daring enterprise.

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

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

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

BUTLER. Had not the emperor's army been defeated I might have done so. But 'tis now passed by.

GORDON. Oh, wherefore opened I the stronghold to him?

BUTLER. His destiny, and not the place destroys him.

GORDON. Upon these ramparts, as beseemed a soldier— I had fallen, defending the emperor's citadel!

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

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

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

GORDON. I? Gracious God!

BUTLER. Take it on yourself. Come of it what may, on you I lay it.

GORDON. Oh, God in heaven!

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

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

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

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

BUTLER. And their death shall precede his! We meant to have taken them alive this evening Amid the merrymaking of a feast, And keep them prisoners in the citadel, But this makes shorter work. I go this instant To give the necessary orders.



SCENE VII.

To these enter ILLO and TERZKY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

GORDON. Shame, shame! what talk is this, My lord field-marshal? Wherefore foam you so Against your emperor?

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

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

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

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

GORDON. I am content already, And wish to climb no higher; where great height is, The fall must needy be great. "Great height, great depth."

ILLO. Here you have no more business, for to-morrow The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. Come, Terzky, it is supper-time. What think you? Nay, shall we have the town illuminated In honor of the Swede? And who refuses To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor.

TERZKY. Nay! nay! not that, it will not please the duke——

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

TERZKY (as he is going, to BUTLER). You come, though, to the castle?

BUTLER. At the right time.

[Exeunt TERZKY and ILLO.



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 Still calculating, calculating still; And yet at last his calculation proves Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and low! His own life will be found among the forfeits.

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

BUTLER. It is too late. I suffer not myself to feel compassion, Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now. [Grasping GORDON's hand. Gordon! 'tis not my hatred (I pretend not To love the duke, and have no cause to love him). Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate. Hostile occurrences of many events Control and subjugate me to the office. In vain the human being meditates Free action. He is but the wire-worked [8] puppet Of the blind Power, which, out of its own choice, Creates for him a dread necessity. What too would it avail him if there were A something pleading for him in my heart— Still I must kill him.

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

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

GORDON. Oh! to save such a man——

BUTLER. What!

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

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

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

[Exit GORDON. BUTLER [9] (alone). I treasured my good name all my life long; The duke has cheated me of life's best jewel, So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon! He prizes above all his fealty; His conscious soul accuses him of nothing; In opposition to his own soft heart He subjugates himself to an iron duty. Me in a weaker moment passion warped; I stand beside him, and must feel myself The worst man of the two. What though the world Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet One man does know it, and can prove it, too— High-minded Piccolomini! There lives the man who can dishonor me! This ignominy blood alone can cleanse! Duke Friedland, thou or I. Into my own hands Fortune delivers me. The dearest thing a man has is himself.



SCENE IX.

[A gothic and gloomy apartment at the DUCHESS FRIEDLAND's. THEKLA on a seat, pale, her eyes closed. The DUCHESS and LADY NEUBRUNN busied about her. WALLENSTEIN and the COUNTESS in conversation.

WALLENSTEIN. How knew she it so soon?

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

WALLENSTEIN. A heavy, heavy blow! And she so unprepared! Poor child! how is it? [Turning to the DUCHESS. Is she coming to herself?

DUCHESS. Her eyes are opening——

COUNTESS. She lives!

THEKLA (looking around her). Where am I?

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

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

DUCHESS. Who gone, my daughter?

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

DUCHESS. Oh, think not of it! My Thekla!

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

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

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

THEKLA. My father——

WALLENSTEIN. Dearest daughter!

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

WALLENSTEIN. Name it, my daughter.

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

DUCHESS. No, never!

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

WALLENSTEIN. Hush! Wherefore wouldst thou speak with him, my daughter?

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

COUNTESS and DUCHESS. Do it not.

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

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

[LADY NEUBRUNN goes to call him.

DUCHESS. But I, thy mother, will be present——

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

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

[Going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

LADY NEUBRUNN (returning). The Swedish officer.

WALLENSTEIN. Leave her alone with me.

DUCHESS (to THEKLA, who starts and shivers). There—pale as death! Child, 'tis impossible That thou shouldst speak with him. Follow thy mother.

THEKLA. The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me.

[Exeunt DUCHESS and COUNTESS.



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!——

THEKLA (with dignity). You have beheld me in my agony. A most distressful accident occasioned You from a stranger to become at once My confidant.

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

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

CAPTAIN. Princess, 'twill Renew your anguish.

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

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

[THEKLA betrays agitation in her gestures. The officer pauses till she makes a sign to him to proceed.

CAPTAIN. Both in van and flanks With our whole cavalry we now received them; Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot Stretched out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them. They neither could advance, nor yet retreat; And as they stood on every side wedged in, The Rhinegrave to their leader called aloud, Inviting a surrender; but their leader, Young Piccolomini—— [THEKLA, as giddy, grasps a chair. Known by his plume, And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches; Himself leaped first: the regiment all plunged after. His charger, by a halbert gored, reared up, Flung him with violence off, and over him The horses, now no longer to be curbed,——

[THEKLA, who has accompanied the last speech with all the marks of increasing agony, trembles through her whole frame and is falling. The LADY NEUBRUNN runs to her, and receives her in her arms.

NEUBRUNN. My dearest lady!

CAPTAIN. I retire.

THERLA. 'Tis over. Proceed to the conclusion.

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

THEKLA (faltering). And where— Where is—you have not told me all.

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

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

THEKLA. Where is his grave?

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

THEKLA. What is the cloister's name?

CAPTAIN. Saint Catherine's.

THEKLA. And how far is it thither?

CAPTAIN. Near twelve leagues.

THEKLA. And which the way?

CAPTAIN. You go by Tirschenreut And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts.

THEKLA Who Is their commander?

CAPTAIN. Colonel Seckendorf.

[THEKLA steps to the table, and takes a ring from a casket.

THEKLA. You have beheld me in my agony, And shown a feeling heart. Please you, accept [Giving him the ring. A small memorial of this hour. Now go!

CAPTAIN (confusedly). Princess——

[THEKLA silently makes signs to him to go, and turns from him. The captain lingers, and is about to speak. LADY NEUBRUNN repeats the signal, and he retires.



SCENE XI.

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?

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

NEUBRUNN. That place of death——

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

NEUBRUNN. Your father's rage

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

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

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

NEUBRUNN. And we alone, two helpless, feeble women?

THEKLA. We will take weapons: my arm shall protect thee.

NEUBRUNN. In the dark night-time?

THEKLA. Darkness will conceal us.

NEUBRUNN. This rough tempestuous night——

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

NEUBRUNN. Heaven! And then the many posts of the enemy!

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

NEUBRUNN. The journey's weary length——

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

NEUBRUNN. How can we pass the gates?

THEKLA. Gold opens them. Go, do but go.

NEUBRUNN. Should we be recognized——

THEKLA. In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive, Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland.

NEUBRUNN. And where procure we horses for our flight?

THEKLA. My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him.

NEUBRUNN. Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord?

THEKLA. He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer.

NEUBRUNN. Dear lady! and your mother?

THEKLA. Oh! my mother!

NEUBRUNN. So much as she has suffered too already; Your tender mother. Ah! how ill prepared For this last anguish!

THEKLA. Woe is me! My mother! [Pauses. Go instantly.

NEUBRUNN. But think what you are doing!

THEKLA. What can be thought, already has been thought.

NEUBRUNN. And being there, what purpose you to do?

THEKLA. There a divinity will prompt my soul.

NEUBRUNN. Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted! And this is not the way that leads to quiet.

THEKLA. To a deep quiet, such as he has found, It draws me on, I know not what to name it, Resistless does it draw me to his grave. There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow. Oh hasten, make no further questioning! There is no rest for me till I have left These walls—they fall in on me—a dim power Drives me from hence—oh mercy! What a feeling! What pale and hollow forms are those! They fill, They crowd the place! I have no longer room here! Mercy! Still more! More still! The hideous swarm, They press on me; they chase me from these walls— Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men!

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

[Exit LADY NEUBRUNN.



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. [10]

(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.

THEKLA. But consider, Thou never canst return unto the duke.

ROSENBERG. I will remain with thee.

THEKLA. I will reward thee. And will commend thee to another master. Canst thou unseen conduct us from the castle?

ROSENBERG. I can.

THEKLA. When can I go?

ROSENBERG. This very hour. But whither would you, lady?

THEKLA. To—Tell him, Neubrunn.

NEUBRUNN. To Neustadt.

ROSENBERG. So; I leave you to get ready.

[Exit.

NEUBRUNN. Oh, see, your mother comes.

THEKLA. Indeed! O Heaven!



SCENE XIV.

THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN, the DUCHESS.

DUCHESS. He's gone! I find thee more composed, my child.

THEKLA. I am so, mother; let me only now Retire to rest, and Neubrunn here be with me. I want repose.

DUCHESS. My Thekla, thou shalt have it. I leave thee now consoled, since I can calm Thy father's heart.

THEKLA. Good night, beloved mother!

(Falling on her neck and embracing her with deep emotion).

DUCHESS. Thou scarcely art composed e'en now, my daughter. Thou tremblest strongly, and I feel thy heart Beat audibly on mine.

THEKLA. Sleep will appease Its beating: now good-night, good-night, dear mother.

(As she withdraws from her mother's arms the curtain falls).



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 Macdonald?

GERALDIN. They'll be here anon.

[Exit GERALDIN.

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



SCENE II.

BUTLER, CAPTAIN DEVEREUX, and MACDONALD.

MACDONALD. Here we are, general.

DEVEREUX. What's to be the watchword?

BUTLER. Long live the emperor!

BOTH (recoiling). How?

BUTLER. Live the house of Austria.

DEVEREUX. Have we not sworn fidelity to Friedland?

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

BUTLER. Protect a traitor and his country's enemy?

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

MACDONALD. And followed him yourself to Egra.

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

DEVEREUX. So then!

MACDONALD. An altered case!

BUTLER (to DEVEREU%). Thou wretched man So easily leavest thou thy oath and colors?

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

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

BUTLER (appeased). Good, then! we know each other.

MACDONALD. I should hope so.

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

MACDONALD. 'Tis e'en so!

BUTLER. Well, for the present You must remain honest and faithful soldiers.

DEVEREUX. We wish no other.

BUTLER. Ay, and make your fortunes.

MACDONALD. That is still better.

BUTLER. Listen!

BOTH. We attend.

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

DEVEREUX. It runs so in the letter.

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

BUTLER. And he shall be rewarded from the state In land and gold who proffers aid thereto.

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

MACDONALD. Yes, The duke's a splendid paymaster.

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

MACDONALD. And is that certain?

BUTLER. You have my word for it.

DEVEREUX. His lucky fortune's all passed by?

BUTLER. Forever. He is as poor as we.

MACDONALD. As poor as we?

DEVEREUX. Macdonald, we'll desert him.

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

BOTH (starting back) Kill him!

BUTLER. Yes, must kill him; And for that purpose have I chosen you.

BOTH. Us!

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

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

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

DEVEREUX. Nay To assassinate our lord and general——

MACDONALD. To whom we swore a soldier's oath——

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

DEVEREUX. No, no! it is too bad!

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

DEVEREUX. If it were not our chieftain, who so long Has issued the commands, and claimed our duty——

BUTLER. Is that the objection?

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

BUTLER. I am your pope, and give you absolution. Determine quickly!

DEVEREUX. 'Twill not do.

MACDONALD. 'Twont do!

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

DEVEREUX (hesitates). The Pestalutz——

MACDONALD. What may you want with him?

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

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

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

DEVEREUX (after some reflection). When do you purpose he should fall?

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

DEVEREUX. You take upon you all the consequences?

BUTLER. I take the whole upon me.

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

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

DEVEREUX. Well, dead then! dead! But bow can we come at him. The town is filled with Terzky's soldiery.

MACDONALD. Ay! and then Terzky still remains, and Illo——

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

DEVEREUX. How! And must they too perish?

BUTLER. They the first.

MACDONALD. Hear, Devereux! A bloody evening this.

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

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

DEVEREUX. Hear, general! It will be all one to you— Hark ye, let me exchange with Geraldin.

BUTLER. 'Twill be the lesser danger with the duke.

DEVEREUX. Danger! The devil! What do you think me, general, 'Tis the duke's eye, and not his sword, I fear.

BUTLER. What can his eye do to thee?

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

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

DEVEREUX. That is true. The devil take Such thankers! I'll despatch him.

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

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

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

BUTLER. And what's that, Macdonald?

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

BUTLER (starting up). What!

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

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

MACDONALD. Hear what I'll do.

DEVEREUX. Well.

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

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

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

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

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

BUTLER. The attendants fills the right wing: he hates bustle, And lodges in the left wing quite alone.

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

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

BUTLER. In plenty, honor, splendor—you may safely Laugh at the people's babble.

DEVEREUX. If the business Squares with one's honor—if that be quite certain.

BUTLER. Set your hearts quite at ease. Ye save for Ferdinand His crown and empire. The reward can be No small one.

DEVEREUX. And 'tis his purpose to dethrone the emperor?

BUTLER. Yes! Yes! to rob him of his crown and life.

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

BUTLER. It were his certain destiny.

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

[Exeunt BUTLER through one door, MACDONALD and DEVEREUX through the other.



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.

WALLENSTEIN. Commend me to your lord. I sympathize In his good fortune; and if you have seen me Deficient in the expressions of that joy, Which such a victory might well demand, Attribute it to no lack of good-will, For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell, And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow The citadel shall be surrendered to you On your arrival.

[The SWEDISH CAPTAIN retires. WALLENSTEIN sits lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head sustained by his hand. The COUNTESS TERZKY enters, stands before him for awhile, unobserved by him; at length he starts, sees her and recollects himself.

WALLENSTEIN. Comest thou from her? Is she restored? How is she?

COUNTESS. My sister tells me she was more collected After her conversation with the Swede. She has now retired to rest.

WALLENSTEIN. The pang will soften She will shed tears.

COUNTESS. I find thee altered, too, My brother! After such a victory I had expected to have found in thee A cheerful spirit. Oh, remain thou firm! Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art, Our sun.

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

COUNTESS. At a banquet—he and Illo.

WALLENSTEIN (rises and strides across the saloon). The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.

COUNTESS. Bid me not go, oh, let me stay with thee!

WALLENSTEIN (moves to the window). There is a busy motion in the heaven, The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower, Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle [11] of the moon, Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light. No form of star is visible! That one White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder, Is from Cassiopeia, and therein Is Jupiter. (A pause.) But now The blackness of the troubled element hides him!

[He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance.

COUNTESS (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand). What art thou brooding on?

WALLENSTEIN. Methinks If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. He is the star of my nativity, And often marvellously hath his aspect Shot strength into my heart.

COUNTESS. Thou'lt see him again.

WALLENSTEIN (remains for awhile with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the COUNTESS). See him again? Oh, never, never again!

COUNTESS. How?

WALLENSTEIN. He is gone—is dust.

COUNTESS. Whom meanest thou, then?

WALLENSTEIN. He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished! For him there is no longer any future, His life is bright—bright without spot it was, And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap, Far off is he, above desire and fear; No more submitted to the change and chance Of the unsteady planets. Oh, 'tis well With him! but who knows what the coming hour Veiled in thick darkness brings us?

COUNTESS. Thou speakest of Piccolomini. What was his death? The courier had just left thee as I came.

[WALLENSTEIN by a motion of his hand makes signs to her to be silent.

Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view, Let us look forward into sunny days, Welcome with joyous heart the victory, Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day, For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead; To thee he died when first he parted from thee.

WALLENSTEIN. This anguish will be wearied down [12], I know; What pang is permanent with man? From the highest, As from the vilest thing of every day, He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost In him. The bloom is vanished from my life, For oh, he stood beside me, like my youth, Transformed for me the real to a dream, Clothing the palpable and the familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn, Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished—and returns not.

COUNTESS. Oh, be not treacherous to thy own power. Thy heart is rich enough to vivify Itself. Thou lovest and prizest virtues in him, The which thyself didst plant, thyself unfold.

WALLENSTEIN (stepping to the door). Who interrupts us now at this late hour? It is the governor. He brings the keys Of the citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister!

COUNTESS. Oh, 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee; A boding fear possesses me!

WALLENSTEIN. Fear! Wherefore?

COUNTESS. Shouldst thou depart this night, and we at waking Never more find thee!

WALLENSTEIN. Fancies!

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

WALLENSTHIN. This was a dream of favorable omen, That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.

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

WALLENSTEIN. Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.

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

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

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

WALLENSTEIN. Nothing. Be wholly tranquil.

COUNTESS. And another time I hastened after thee, and thou rann'st from me Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall. There seemed no end of it; doors creaked and clapped; I followed panting, but could not overtake thee; When on a sudden did I feel myself Grasped from behind,—the hand was cold that grasped me; 'Twas thou, and thou didst kiss me, and there seemed A crimson covering to envelop us.

WALLENSTEIN. That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber.

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

[She falls on his breast and weeps.

WALLENSTEIN. The emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee— Alphabets wound not—and he finds no hands.

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

[Exit COUNTESS.



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?

GORDON. There is a banquet given at the castle To the Count Terzky and Field-Marshal Illo.

WALLENSTEIN. In honor of the victory—this tribe Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting. [Rings. The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER enters. Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep. [WALLENSTEIN takes the keys from GORDON. So we are guarded from all enemies, And shut in with sure friends. For all must cheat me, or a face like this [Fixing his eyes on GORDON. Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.

[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER takes off his mantle, collar, and scarf.

WALLENSTEIN. Take care—what is that?

GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. The golden chain is snapped in two.

WALLENSTEIN. Well, it has lasted long enough. Here—give it. [He takes and looks at the chain. 'Twas the first present of the emperor. He hung it round me in the war of Friule, He being then archduke; and I have worn it Till now from habit— From superstition, if you will. Belike, It was to be a talisman to me; And while I wore it on my neck in faith, It was to chain to me all my life-long The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was. Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune Must spring up for me; for the potency Of this charm is dissolved.

[GROOM OF THE CHAMBER retires with the vestments. WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before GORDON in a posture of meditation.

How the old time returns upon me! I Behold myself once more at Burgau, where We two were pages of the court together. We oftentimes disputed: thy intention Was ever good; but thou were wont to play The moralist and preacher, and wouldst rail at me— That I strove after things too high for me, Giving my faith to bold, unlawful dreams, And still extol to me the golden mean. Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend To thy own self. See, it has made thee early A superannuated man, and (but That my munificent stars will intervene) Would let thee in some miserable corner Go out like an untended lamp.

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

WALLENSTEIN. Art thou already In harbor, then, old man? Well! I am not. The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows; My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly. Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate; And while we stand thus front to front almost, I might presume to say, that the swift years Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.

[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains on the opposite side over against GORDON.

Who now persists in calling fortune false? To me she has proved faithful; with fond love Took me from out the common ranks of men, And like a mother goddess, with strong arm Carried me swiftly up the steps of life. Nothing is common in my destiny, Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares Interpret then my life for me as 'twere One of the undistinguishable many? True, in this present moment I appear Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again. The high flood will soon follow on this ebb; The fountain of my fortune, which now stops, Repressed and bound by some malicious star, Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.

GORDON. And yet remember I the good old proverb, "Let the night come before we praise the day." I would be slow from long-continued fortune To gather hope: for hope is the companion Given to the unfortunate by pitying heaven. Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men, For still unsteady are the scales of fate.

WALLENSTEIN (smiling). I hear the very Gordon that of old Was wont to preach, now once more preaching; I know well, that all sublunary things Are still the vassals of vicissitude. The unpropitious gods demand their tribute. This long ago the ancient pagans knew And therefore of their own accord they offered To themselves injuries, so to atone The jealousy of their divinities And human sacrifices bled to Typhon. [After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner. I too have sacrificed to him—for me There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault He fell! No joy from favorable fortune Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke. The envy of my destiny is glutted: Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning Was drawn off which would else have shattered me.



SCENE V.

To these enter SENI.

WALLENSTEIN. Is not that Seni! and beside himself, If one can trust his looks? What brings thee hither At this late hour, Baptista?

SENI. Terror, duke! On thy account.

WALLENSTEIN. What now?

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

WALLENSTEIN. What now Is in thy thoughts?

SENI (with louder voice). Trust not thy person to the Swedes.

WALLENSTEIN. What is it, then?

SENI (still more urgently). Oh, wait not the arrival of these Swedes! An evil near at hand is threatening thee From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror! Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition— Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!

WALLENSTEIN. Baptista, thou art dreaming!—fear befools thee.

SENI. Believe not that an empty fear deludes me. Come, read it in the planetary aspects; Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee From false friends.

WALLENSTEIN. From the falseness of my friends Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. The warning should have come before! At present I need no revelation from the stars To know that.

SENI. Come and see! trust thine own eyes. A fearful sign stands in the house of life— An enemy; a fiend lurks close behind The radiance of thy planet. Oh, be warned! Deliver not up thyself to these heathens, To wage a war against our holy church.

WALLENSTEIN (laughing gently). The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now I recollect. This junction with the Swedes Did never please thee—lay thyself to sleep, Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.

GORDON (who during the whole of this dialogue has shown marks of extreme agitation, and now turns to WALLENSTEIN). My duke and general! May I dare presume?

WALLENSTEIN. Speak freely.

GORDON. What if 'twere no mere creation Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafed To interpose its aid for your deliverance, And made that mouth its organ?

WALLENSTEIN. Ye're both feverish! How can mishap come to me from the Swedes? They sought this junction with me—'tis their interest.

GORDON (with difficulty suppressing his emotion). But what if the arrival of these Swedes— What if this were the very thing that winged The ruin that is flying to your temples?

[Flings himself at his feet.

There is yet time, my prince.

SENI. Oh hear him! hear him!

GORDON (rises). The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders, This citadel shall close its gates upon him. If then he will besiege us, let him try it. But this I say; he'll find his own destruction, With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner Than weary down the valor of our spirit. He shall experience what a band of heroes, Inspirited by an heroic leader, Is able to perform. And if indeed It be thy serious wish to make amend For that which thou hast done amiss,—this, this Will touch and reconcile the emperor, Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy; And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, Will stand yet higher in his emperor's favor Then e'er he stood when he had never fallen.

WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent a while, betraying strong emotion). Gordon—your zeal and fervor lead you far. Well, well—an old friend has a privilege. Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never Can the emperor pardon me: and if he could, Yet I—I ne'er could let myself be pardoned. Had I foreknown what now has taken place, That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, My first death offering; and had the heart Spoken to me, as now it has done—Gordon, It may be, I might have bethought myself. It may be too, I might not. Might or might not Is now an idle question. All too seriously Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon! Let it then have its course. [Stepping to the window. All dark and silent—at the castle too All is now hushed. Light me, chamberlain?

[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, who had entered during the last dialogue, and had been standing at a distance and listening to it with visible expressions of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation and throws himself at the DUKE's feet.

And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish My reconcilement with the emperor. Poor man! he hath a small estate in Carinthia, And fears it will be forfeited because He's in my service. Am I then so poor That I no longer can indemnify My servants? Well! to no one I employ Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief That fortune has fled from me, go! forsake me. This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me, And then go over to the emperor. Gordon, good-night! I think to make a long Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil Of this last day or two was great. May't please you Take care that they awake me not too early.

[Exit WALLENSTEIN, the GROOM OF THE CHAMBER lighting him. SENI follows, GORDON remains on the darkened stage, following the DUKE with his eye, till he disappears at the further end of the gallery: then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish, and stands leaning against a pillar.



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). 'Tis he! he has already brought the murderers.

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

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

BUTLER (appears, but scarcely on the stage). A light gleams hither from the corridor. It leads directly to the duke's bed-chamber.

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

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

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

BUTLER (advances). I should know that voice.

GORDON. Butler!

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

GORDON. Your hand bound up and in a scarf?

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

GORDON (shuddering). Both dead?

BUTLER. Is he in bed?

GORDON. Ah, Butler!

BUTLER. Is he? speak.

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

BUTLER. There is no need of my arm.

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

[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER advances from the gallery with his finger on his mouth commanding silence.

GORDON. He sleeps! Oh, murder not the holy sleep!

BUTLER. No! he shall die awake. [Is going.

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

BUTLER (going). God's merciful!

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

BUTLER (hurrying of). The next moment May ruin all.

GORDON (holds him still). One hour!

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

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

BUTLER. You but remind me How precious every minute is!

[He stamps on the floor.



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 Hot live to see the accursed deed!

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

[Trumpets are heard in the distance.

DEVEREUX and MACDONALD. Hark! The Swedish trumpets! The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten!

GORDON (rushes out). Oh, God of mercy!

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

GROOM OF THE CHAMBER (hurries in). Who dares make larum here? Hush! The duke sleeps.

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

GROOM OF THE CHAMBER. Help! Murder!

BUTLER. Down with him!

GROOM OF THE CHAMBER (run through the body by DEVEREUX, falls at the entrance of the gallery). Jesus Maria!

BUTLER. Burst the doors open.

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



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? [Observing the COUNTESS. Countess! Say——

COUNTESS. You're come then from the castle? Where's my husband?

GORDON (in an agony of affright). Your husband! Ask not! To the duke——

COUNTESS. Not till You have discovered to me——

GORDON. On this moment Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the duke. While we are speaking—— [Calling loudly. Butler! Butler! God!

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

[BUTLER comes from the gallery.

GORDON. 'Twas a mistake. 'Tis not the Swedes—it is The imperialists' lieutenant-general Has sent me hither—will be here himself Instantly. You must not proceed.

BUTLER. He comes Too late.

[GORDON dashes himself against the wall.

GORDON. Oh, God of mercy!

COUNTESS. What, too late? Who will be here himself? Octavio In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the duke?

[She rushes to the gallery.



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!

COUNTESS. What is it, Seni?

PAGE (from the gallery). Oh, piteous sight!

[Other servants hasten in with torches.

COUNTESS. What is it? For God's sake!

SENI. And do you ask? Within the duke lies murdered—and your husband Assassinated at the castle.

[The COUNTESS stands motionless.

FEMALE SERVANT (rushing across the stage). Help! help! the duchess!

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

GORDON. Your house is cursed to all eternity. In your house doth the duke lie murdered!

BURGOMASTER (rushing out) Heaven forbid!

FIRST SERVANT. Fly! fly! they murder us all!

SECOND SERVANT (carrying silver-plate). That way! the lower Passages are blocked up.

VOICE (from behind the scene). Make room for the lieutenant-general!

[At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, collects herself, and retires suddenly.

VOICE (from behind the scene). Keep back the people! Guard the door!



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. WALLENSTEIN's dead body is carried over the back part of the stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry.

OCTAVIO (entering abruptly). It must not be! It is not possible! Butler! Gordon! I'll not believe it. Say no!

[GORDON, without answering, points with his hand to the body of WALLENSTEIN as it is carried over the back of the stage. OCTAVIO looks that way, and stands overpowered with horror.

DEVEREUX (to BUTLER). Here is the golden fleece—the duke's sword——

MACDONALD. Is it your order——

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

[DEVEREUX and MACDONALD retire with marks of obeisance. One drops away after the other, till only BUTLER, OCTAVIO, and GORDON remain on the stage.

OCTAVIO (turning to BUTLER). Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted? Oh, God of Justice! To thee I lift my hand! I am not guilty Of this foul deed.

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

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

BUTLER (calmly). I've but fulfilled the emperor's own sentence.

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

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

[Exit BUTLER.



SCENE XII.

To these enter the COUNTESS TERZKY, pale and disordered. Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned.

OCTAVIO (meeting her). Oh, Countess Terzky! These are the results Of luckless, unblest deeds.

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

OCTAVIO (with a deep anguish). Oh, countess! my house, too, is desolate.

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

OCTAVIO. Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment! The emperor is appeased; the heavy fault Hath heavily been expiated—nothing Descended from the father to the daughter, Except his glory and his services. The empress honors your adversity, Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you Her motherly arms. Therefore no further fears. Yield yourself up in hope and confidence To the imperial grace!

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

OCTAVIO. Countess, you tremble, you turn pale!

COUNTESS (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy and dignity). You think More worthily of me than to believe I would survive the downfall of my house. We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp After a monarch's crown—the crown did fate Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit That to the crown belong! We deem a Courageous death more worthy of our free station Than a dishonored life. I have taken poison.

OCTAVIO. Help! Help! Support her!

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

[Exit COUNTESS.

GORDON. Oh, house of death and horrors!

[An OFFICER enters, and brings a letter with the great seal. GORDON steps forward and meets him.

What is this It is the imperial seal.

[He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.

To the Prince Piccolomini.

[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven.

The Curtain drops.



FOOTNOTES.

[1] A great stone near Luetzen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body of their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the battle in which he lost his life.

[2] Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word afterworld for posterity,—"Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen Namen"—might have been rendered with more literal fidelity: Let world and afterworld speak out my name, etc.

[3] I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age with a literal translation of this line,

werth Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen.

[4] Anspessade, in German, Gefreiter, a soldier inferior to a corporal, but above the sentinels. The German name implies that he is exempt from mounting guard.

[5] I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I fear that I should not have done amiss had I taken this liberty more frequently. It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original, with a literal translation.

"Weh denen, die auf Dich vertraun, an Dich Die sichre Huette ihres Glueckes lehnen, Gelockt von deiner geistlichen Gestalt. Schnell unverhofft, bei naechtlich stiller Weile, Gaehrts in dem tueckschen Feuerschlunde, ladet, Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg Treibt ueber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen Der wilde Strom in grausender Zerstoerung."

WALLENSTEIN. "Du schilderst deines Vaters Herz. Wie Du's Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide, In dieser schwarzen Heuchlers Brust gestaltet. Oh, mich hat Hoellenkunst getaeuscht! Mir sandte Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der Geister, Den Luegenkundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn Als Freund an meiner Seite. Wer vermag Der Hoelle Macht zu widersthn! Ich zog Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen, Mit meinem Herzblut naehrt' ich ihn, er sog Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe Bruesten, Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn, Weit offen liess ich des Gedankens Thore, Und warf die Schluessel weiser Vorsicht weg, Am Sternenhimmel," etc.

LITERAL TRANSLATION.

"Alas! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee lean their secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable form. Suddenly, unexpectedly, in a moment still as night, there is a fermentation in the treacherous gulf of fire; it discharges itself with raging force, and away over all the plantations of men drives the wild stream in frightful devastation."

WALLENSTEIN.—"Thou art portraying thy father's heart; as thou describest, even so is it shaped in its entrails, in this black hypocrite's breast. Oh, the art of hell has deceived me! The abyss sent up to me the most the most spotted of the spirits, the most skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by my side. Who may withstand the power of hell? I took the basilisk to my bosom, with my heart's blood I nourished him; he sucked himself glutfull at the breasts of my love. I never harbored evil towards him; wide open did I leave the door of my thoughts; I threw away the key of wise foresight. In the starry heaven, etc." We find a difficulty in believing this to have been written by Schiller.

[6] This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate simplicity of the original—

Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, Du warst Das Kind des Hauses.

Indeed the whole speech is in the best style of Massinger. O si sic omnia!

[7] It appears that the account of his conversion being caused by such a fall, and other stories of his juvenile character, are not well authenticated.

[8] We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a statement in the mouth of any character.—T.

[9] [This soliloquy, which, according to the former arrangement, constituted the whole of scene ix., and concluded the fourth act, is omitted in all the printed German editions. It seems probable that it existed in the original manuscript from which Mr. Coleridge translated.—ED.]

[10] The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty lines twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without injury to the play.—C.

[11] These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity:—

Am Himmel ist geschaeftige Bewegung. Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht Der Wolken Zug, die Mondessichel wankt Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle.

The word "moon-sickle" reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word "falcated." "The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full: but from full to a new again the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated."

The words "wanken" and "schweben" are not easily translated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or antic, or not of sufficiently general application. So "der Wolken Zug"—The Draft, the Procession of Clouds. The Masses of the Clouds sweep onward in swift stream.

[12] A very inadequate translation of the original:—

Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich, Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!

LITERALLY.

I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious: What does not man grieve down?



WILHELM TELL.

By Frederich Schiller



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

HERMANN GESSLER, Governor of Schwytz and Uri. WERNER, Baron of Attinghausen, free noble of Switzerland. ULRICH VON RUDENZ, his Nephew.

WERNER STAUFFACHER, CONRAD HUNN, HANS AUF DER MAUER, JORG IM HOFE, People of Schwytz. ULRICH DER SCHMIDT, JOST VON WEILER, ITEL REDING,

WALTER FURST, WILHELM TELL, ROSSELMANN, the Priest, PETERMANN, Sacristan, People of Uri. KUONI, Herdsman, WERNI, Huntsman, RUODI, Fisherman,

ARNOLD OF MELCHTHAL, CONRAD BAUMGARTEN, MEYER VON SARNEN, STRUTH VON WINKELRIED, People of Unterwald. KLAUS VON DER FLUE, BURKHART AM BUHEL, ARNOLD VON SEWA,

PFEIFFER OF LUCERNE. KUNZ OF GERSAU. JENNI, Fisherman's Son. SEPPI, Herdsman's Son. GERTRUDE, Stauffacher's Wife. HEDWIG, Wife of Tell, daughter of Furst. BERTHA OF BRUNECK, a rich heiress.

ARMGART, MECHTHILD, Peasant women. ELSBETH, HILDEGARD,

WALTER, Tell's sons. WILHELM,

FRIESSHARDT, Soldiers. LEUTHOLD,

RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, Gessler's master of the horse. JOHANNES PARRICIDA, Duke of Suabia. STUSSI, Overseer. THE MAYOR OF URI. A COURIER. MASTER STONEMASON, COMPANIONS, AND WORKMEN. TASKMASTER. A CRIER. MONKS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. HORSEMEN OF GESSLER AND LANDENBERG. MANY PEASANTS; MEN AND WOMEN FROM THE WALDSTETTEN.



WILHELM TELL.



ACT I.

SCENE I.

A high, rocky shore of the lake of Lucerne opposite Schwytz. The lake makes a bend into the land; a hut stands at a short distance from the shore; the fisher boy is rowing about in his boat. Beyond the lake are seen the green meadows, the hamlets, and arms of Schwytz, lying in the clear sunshine. On the left are observed the peaks of the Hacken, surrounded with clouds; to the right, and in the remote distance, appear the Glaciers. The Ranz des Vaches, and the tinkling of cattle-bells, continue for some time after the rising of the curtain.

FISHER BOY (sings in his boat). Melody of the Ranz des Vaches.

The clear, smiling lake wooed to bathe in its deep, A boy on its green shore had laid him to sleep; Then heard he a melody Flowing and soft, And sweet, as when angels Are singing aloft. And as thrilling with pleasure he wakes from his rest, The waters are murmuring over his breast; And a voice from the deep cries, "With me thou must go, I charm the young shepherd, I lure him below."

HERDSMAN (on the mountains). Air.—Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.

Farewell, ye green meadows, Farewell, sunny shore, The herdsman must leave you, The summer is o'er. We go to the hills, but you'll see us again, When the cuckoo is calling, and wood-notes are gay, When flowerets are blooming in dingle and plain, And the brooks sparkle up in the sunshine of May. Farewell, ye green meadows, Farewell, sunny shore, The herdsman must leave you, The summer is o'er.

CHAMOIS HUNTER (appearing on the top of a cliff). Second Variation of the Ranz des Vaches.

On the heights peals the thunder, and trembles the bridge, The huntsman bounds on by the dizzying ridge, Undaunted he hies him O'er ice-covered wild, Where leaf never budded, Nor spring ever smiled; And beneath him an ocean of mist, where his eye No longer the dwellings of man can espy; Through the parting clouds only The earth can be seen, Far down 'neath the vapor The meadows of green.

[A change comes over the landscape. A rumbling, cracking noise is heard among the mountains. Shadows of clouds sweep across the scene.

[RUODI, the fisherman, comes out of his cottage. WERNI, the huntsman, descends from the rocks. KUONI, the shepherd, enters, with a milk pail on his shoulders, followed by SERPI, his assistant.

RUODI. Bestir thee, Jenni, haul the boat on shore. The grizzly Vale-king [1] comes, the glaciers moan, The lofty Mytenstein [2] draws on his hood, And from the Stormcleft chilly blows the wind; The storm will burst before we are prepared.

KUONI. 'Twill rain ere long; my sheep browse eagerly, And Watcher there is scraping up the earth.

WERNI. The fish are leaping, and the water-hen Dives up and down. A storm is coming on.

KUONI (to his boy). Look, Seppi, if the cattle are not straying.

SEPPI. There goes brown Liesel, I can hear her bells.

KUONI. Then all are safe; she ever ranges farthest.

RUODI. You've a fine yoke of bells there, master herdsman.

WERNI. And likely cattle, too. Are they your own?

KUONI. I'm not so rich. They are the noble lord's Of Attinghaus, and trusted to my care.

RUODI. How gracefully yon heifer bears her ribbon!

KUONI. Ay, well she knows she's leader of the herd, And, take it from her, she'd refuse to feed.

RUODI. You're joking now. A beast devoid of reason.

WERNI. That's easy said. But beasts have reason too— And that we know, we men that hunt the chamois. They never turn to feed—sagacious creatures! Till they have placed a sentinel ahead, Who pricks his ears whenever we approach, And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe.

RUODI (to the shepherd). Are you for home?

KUONI. The Alp is grazed quite bare.

WERNI. A safe return, my friend!

KUONI. The same to you? Men come not always back from tracks like yours.

RUODI. But who comes here, running at topmost speed?

WERNI. I know the man; 'tis Baumgart of Alzellen.

CONRAD BAUMGARTEN (rushing in breathless). For God's sake, ferryman, your boat!

RUODI. How now? Why all this haste?

BAUMGARTEN. Cast off! My life's at stake! Set me across!

KUONI. Why, what's the matter, friend?

WERNI. Who are pursuing you? First tell us that.

BAUMGARTEN (to the fisherman). Quick, quick, even now they're close upon my heels! The viceroy's horsemen are in hot pursuit! I'm a lost man should they lay hands upon me.

RUODI. Why are the troopers in pursuit of you?

BAUMGARTEN. First save my life and then I'll tell you all.

WERNI. There's blood upon your garments—how is this?

BAUMGARTEN. The imperial seneschal, who dwelt at Rossberg.

KUONI. How! What! The Wolfshot? [3] Is it he pursues you?

BAUMGARTEN. He'll ne'er hunt man again; I've settled him.

ALL (starting back). Now, God forgive you, what is this you've done!

BAUMGARTEN. What every free man in my place had done. I have but used mine own good household right 'Gainst him that would have wronged my wife—my honor.

KUONI. And has he wronged you in your honor, then?

BAUMGARTEN. That he did not fulfil his foul desire Is due to God and to my trusty axe.

WERNI. You've cleft his skull, then, have you, with your axe?

KUONI. Oh, tell us all! You've time enough, before The boat can be unfastened from its moorings.

BAUMGARTEN. When I was in the forest, felling timber, My wife came running out in mortal fear: "The seneschal," she said, "was in my house, Had ordered her to get a bath prepared, And thereupon had taken unseemly freedoms, From which she rid herself and flew to me." Armed as I was I sought him, and my axe Has given his bath a bloody benediction.

WERNI. And you did well; no man can blame the deed.

KUONI. The tyrant! Now he has his just reward! We men of Unterwald have owed it long.

BAUMGARTEN. The deed got wind, and now they're in pursuit. Heavens! whilst we speak, the time is flying fast.

[It begins to thunder.

KUONI. Quick, ferrymen, and set the good man over.

RUODI. Impossible! a storm is close at hand, Wait till it pass! You must.

BAUMGARTEN. Almighty heavens! I cannot wait; the least delay is death.

KUONI (to the fisherman). Push out. God with you! We should help our neighbors; The like misfortune may betide us all.

[Thunder and the roaring of the wind.

RUODI. The south wind's up! [4] See how the lake is rising! I cannot steer against both storm and wave.

BAUMGARTEN (clasping him by the knees). God so help you, as now you pity me!

WERNI. His life's at stake. Have pity on him, man!

KUONI. He is a father: has a wife and children.

[Repeated peals of thunder.