The Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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 warn'd him! Now it is too late.
QUESTENBERG.

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

OCTAVIO (more collected).

Come! to the Duke's. "Tis close upon the hour,
Which he appointed you for audience. Come!
A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey!
[He leads QUESTENBERG off.

SCENE VI.

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

FIRST SERVANT.

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

SECOND SERVANT.

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

THIRD SERVANT.

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

FIRST SERVANT.

I did even that
Which you commission'd me to do. I told them,
You had determined on our daughter's marriage,

Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. And wish'd, ere yet you went into the field,
He says it is an unlucky chamber.
To show the elected husband his betrothed.

SECOND SERVANT.

WALLENSTEIN.

Poh! stuff and nonsense! That's what I call a hum. And did they guess the choice which I had made? 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.

BENI (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.

DUCHESS.

They only hoped and wish'd 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.

And what may you have to object against eleven? O! my dear Lord, all is not what it was. I should like to know that now.

I have been long accustom'd to defend you,
To heal and pacify distemper'd spirits.

No; no one rail'd at you. They wrapp'd 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 press'd me to her bosom, more with anguish
Than tenderness.

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

DUCHESS (shaking her head).

I saw none.

WALLENSTEIN.

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

DUCHESS.

WALLENSTEIN.

Silent, silent!

Of a second

-Dismission.

WALLENSTEIN. Proceed!

DUCHESS.

They talk

WALLENSTEIN.

DUCHESS.

-(catches her voice and hesitates).

WALLENSTEIN.

Second

DUCHESS.

WALLENSTEIN.

Talk they?

More disgraceful

[Strides across the Chamber in vehement agitatu O! they force, they thrust me

With violence against my own will, onward!

DUCHESS (presses near to him, in entreaty). O! if there yet be time, my husband! if By giving way and by submission, this Can be averted-my dear Lord, give way! Win down your proud heart to it! Tell that heart, It is your sovereign Lord, your Emperor, Before whom you retreat. O let no longer Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning With venomous glosses. Stand you up Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth. And drive before you into uttermost shame These slanderous liars! Few firm friends have weYou 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 VIII.

Enter the Countess TERTSKY, leading in her hand the Princess THEKLA, richly adorned with Brilliants. COUNTESS, THEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS.

COUNTESS.

These suns then are eclipsed for us. Henceforward How, sister! What, already upon business! Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light.

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 bestow'd on the beloved child
The godlike; and now leads her thus adorn'd
To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope.
DUCHESS (to THEKLA).

Thou wouldst not have recognized thy father,
Wouldst thou, my child? She counted scarce eight

years,

When last she saw your face.

THEKLA.

O yes, yes, mother!
At the first glance-My father is not alter'd.
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 extinguish'd being
In a proud line of princes.

I wrong'd my destiny. Here upon this head,

So lovely in its maiden bloom, will I
Let fall the garland of a life of war,
Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it,
Transmitted to a regal ornament,
Around these beauteous brows.

No! 'twas not so intended, that my business
Should be my highest best good-fortune!

[TERTSKY enters, and delivers letters to the DUKE
which he breaks open hurryingly.

COUNTESS (to Max.).
Remunerate your trouble! For his joy
He makes you recompense. "Tis not unfitting
For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel
So tenderly-my brother it beseems
To show himself for ever great and princely.

THEKLA.

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

MAX.

Yes; 'tis his nature ever to be giving
And making happy.

[He grasps the hand of the DUCHESS with still in
creasing warmth.

How my heart pours out

Its all of thanks to him! O! how I seem
To utter all things in the dear name Friedland.
While I shall live, so long will I remain
The captive of this name: in it shall bloom
My every fortune, every lovely hope.
Inextricably as in some magic ring

In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me!
COUNTESS (who during this time has been anxiously
watching the DUKE, and remarks that he is lost in
thought over the letters).

My brother wishes us to leave him. Come. WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round quick, collects himself, and speaks with cheerfulness to the DUCHESS).

[He clasps her in his arms as PICCOLOMINI enters. Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp.

SCENE IX.

Enter MAX. PICCOLOMINI, and some time after Count
TERTSKY, the others remaining as before.

COUNTESS.

There comes the Paladin who protected us.

WALLENSTEIN.

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

MAX.

My General

WALLENSTEIN.

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

MAX.

My prince!

You made no common hurry to transfer it.
I come with shame: yea, not without a pang!
For scarce have I arrived here, scarce deliver'd
The mother and the daughter to your arms,
But there is brought to me from your equerry
A splendid richly-plated hunting-dress
So to remunerate me for my troubles-
Yes, yes, remunerate me! Since a trouble
It must be, a mere office, not a favor
Which I leapt forward to receive, and which
I came already with full heart to thank you for.

Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max.,
Will now again administer your old office,
While we perform the sovereign's business here.
[MAX. PICCOLOMINI offers the DUCHESS his arm; the
COUNTESS accompanies the PRINCESS.
TERTSKY (calling after him).
Max., we depend on seeing you at the meeting.

SCENE X.

WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERTSKY.
WALLENSTEIN (in deep thought to himself)-
She hath seen all things as they are-It is so,
And squares completely with my other notices.
They have determined finally in Vienna,
Have given me my successor already;

It is the king of Hungary, Ferdinand,

The Emperor's delicate son! he's now their 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-dispatch!
[As he turns round he observes TERTSKY, and gives
him a letter.

Count Altringer will have himself excused.
And Galas too-I like not this!

TERTSKY.

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

WALLENSTEIN.

Altringer

Is master of the Tyrol passes. I must forthwith
Send some one to him, that he let not in
The Spaniards on me from the Milanese.
-Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader

In contraband negotiations, he

Had you meant nothing further than to gull him For the Emperor's service.

WALLENSTEIN (after a pause, during which he looks narrowly on TERTSKY).

And from whence dost thou know

Has shown himself again of late. What brings he That I'm not gulling him for the Emperor's service? From the Count Thur?

Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this.
Never shall it be said of me, I parcell'd
My native land away, dismember'd Germany,
Betray'd it to a foreigner, in order

To come with stealthy tread, and filch away
My own share of the plunder-Never! never!-
No foreign power shall strike root in the empire,
And least of all, these Goths! these hunger-wolves!
Who send such envious, hot and greedy glances
Towards the rich blessings of our German lands!
I'll have their aid to cast and draw my nets,
But not a single fish of all the draught
Shall they come in for.

TERTSKY.

You will deal, however, More fairly with the Saxons? They lose patience While you shift ground and make so many curves. Say, to what purpose all these masks? Your friends Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you. There's Oxenstein, there's Arnheim-neither knows What he should think of your procrastinations, And in the end I prove the liar; all

Passes through me. I have not even your handwriting.

WALLENSTEIN.

I never give my handwriting; thou knowest it.

TERTSKY.

But how can it be known that you're in earnest,
If the act follows not upon the word?
You must yourself acknowledge, that in all
Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy,

Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you? Dost thou know me so well? When made I thee The intendant of my secret purposes?

I am not conscious that I ever open'd

My inmost thoughts to thee. The Emperor, it is true.
Hath dealt with me amiss; and if I would,

I could repay him with usurious interest
For the evil he hath done me. It delights me
To know my power; but whether I shall use it,
Of that, I should have thought that thou couldst
speak

No wiselier than thy fellows.

TERTSKY.

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

Declared himself?

WALLENSTEIN. How hath Isolan

ILLO.

If I'm in aught to bind myself to them,

You might have done with safety all you have done. They too must bind themselves to me.

Seize, seize the hour, Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty. To make a great decision possible, O! many things, all transient and all rapid, Must meet at once: and, haply, they thus met May by that confluence be enforced to pause Time long enough for wisdom, though too short, Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple! This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, Our best, our noblest, are assembled around you, Their king-like leader! On your nod they wait. The single threads, which here your prosperous for

tune

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

Thou speakest as thou understand'st. How oft
And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter,
That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth.
Thy visual power subdues no mysteries;
Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow in the earth,
Blind as that subterrestrial, who with wan,
Lead-color'd shine lighted thee into life.
The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see,
With serviceable cunning knit together
The nearest with the nearest; and therein
I trust thee and believe thee! but whate'er
Full of mysterious import Nature weaves
And fashions in the depths-the spirit's ladder,
That from this gross and visible world of dust
Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds,
Builds itself up; on which the unseen powers
Move up and down on heavenly ministries-
The circles in the circles, that approach
The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit-
These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye,
Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre.

[He walks across the chamber, then returns, and
standing still, proceeds.

The heavenly constellations make not merely
The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely
Signify to the husbandman the seasons
Of sowing and of harvest. Human action,
That is the seed too of contingencies,
Strew'd on the dark land of futurity
In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate.
To watch the stars, select their proper hours,
Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time,
And trace with searching eye the heavenly houses
Whether the enemy of growth and thriving
Hide himself not, malignant, in his corner.
Therefore permit me my own time. Meanwhile
Do you your part. As yet I cannot say
What I shall do-only, give way I will not.
Depose me too they shall not. On these points
You may rely.

PAGE (entering). My Lords, the Generals.

WALLENSTEIN.

Let them come in,

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The Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Prose and Verse