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 arm'd 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 another time
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-
Nothing. From superstition, if you will. Belike,
I hasten'd after thee, and thou rann'st from me
Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall,
There seem'd no end of it: doors creak'd and clapp'd;
I follow'd panting, but could not o'ertake thee;
When on a sudden did I feel myself
Grasp'd from behind-the hand was cold, that
grasp'd me-
"T was thou, and thou didst kiss me, and there seem'd
A crimson covering to envelop us.
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 fullness
Of life-
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
Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune
The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was.
Must spring up for me; for the potency
Of this charm is dissolved.
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER retires with the vest-
ments. WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride
across the room, and stands at last before
GORDON in a posture of meditation.
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 wert wont to play
The Moralist and Preacher, and wouldst rail at me-
[She falls on his breast and weeps. That I strove after things too high for me,
The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee-
Alphabets wound not-and he finds no hands.
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
superannuated man, and (but
That my munificent stars will intervene)
Would let thee in some miserable corner
Go out like an untended lamp.
My Prince!
With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat,
And watches from the shore the lofty ship
Stranded amid the storm.
In harbor then, old man? Well! I am not.
The unconquer'd 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 pass'd by powerless o'er my unblanch'd 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 't were
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
Repress'd and bound by some malicious star,
Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.
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
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.-O be warn'd!
Was wont to preach to me, now once more preaching; Deliver not thyself up to these heathens, I know well, that all sublunary things
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?
What if 't were no mere creation Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafed To interpose its aid for your deliverance, And made that mouth its ergan?
Ye're both feverish! How can mishap come to me from these Swedes? They sought this junction with me-'tis their in
GORDON (with difficulty suppressing his emotion).
If one may trust his looks? What brings thee hither But what if the arrival of these SwedesAt this late hour, Baptista?
What if this were the very thing that wing'd The ruin that is flying to your temples? [Flings himself at his feet.
There is yet time, my Prince.
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,
Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.
WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains
silent awhile, betraying strong emotion).
Gordon-your zeal and fervor lead you far.
Well, wel-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 pardon'd.
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.
All dark and silent-at the Castle too
All is now hush'd-Light me, Chamberlain !
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, who had entered
during the last dialogue, and had been stand-
"Tis Gordon. What do you want here?
ing at a distance and listening to it with Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you? visible expressions of the deepest interest, ad
vances in extreme agitation, and throws him- Your hand bound up and in a scarf?
self 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 Carnthen,
And fears it will be forfeited because
"Tis wounded. That Illo fought as he were frantic, till At last we threw him on the ground.
[Exit WALLENSTEIN, the GROOM OF THE CHAMBER There is no need of my arm.
lighting him. SENI follows, GORDON remains
on the darkened stage, following the DUKE
with his eye, till he disappears at the farther Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice.
end of the gallery: then by his gestures the old
man expresses the depth of his anguish, and
stands leaning against a pillar.
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER advances from the gallery with his finger on his mouth, commanding silence.
He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!
To earthly things: he's not prepared to step
Into the presence of his God!
God's merciful!
GORDON (holds him).
COUNTESS TERTSKY (with a light).
Her bed-chamber is empty; she herself
Is nowhere to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watch'd 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? O
The next moment If that my husband now were but return'd
Grant him but this night's respite.
BUTLER (hurrying off).
GORDON (holds him still).
One hour!-
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!
(Servants run across the Stage full of terror. The whole Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses). SENI (from the Gallery).
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. O bloody frightful deed!
Fly! fly! they murder us all!
SECOND SERVANT (carrying silver plate).
VOICE (from behind the Scene).
Make room for the Lieutenant-General!
For what
Rail you against me? What is my offence?
The Empire from a fearful enemy
Have I deliver'd, and expect reward.
The single difference betwixt you and me
Is this: you placed the arrow in the bow;
I pull'd the string. You sow'd blood, and yet stand
[At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, Astonish'd that blood is come up. I always collects herself, and retires suddenly.
VOICE (from behind the Scene).
Keep back the people! Guard the door!
To these enters OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his
Train. At the same time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from 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.
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
From a just judge,
And punctual obedience may demand
To these enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, pale and dis
ordered. Her utterance is slow and feeble, and un.
impassioned.
OCTAVIO (meeting her).
O Countess Tertsky! These are the results
Of luckless unblest deeds.
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 disappear'd.
This house of splendor, and of princely glory,
Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servant
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).
O Countess! my house too is desolate
COUNTESS.
Who next is to be murder'd? 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-
|