The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 03

ACT III

SCENE I

A Chamber in the House of the Duchess of Friedland

COUNTESS TERZKY, THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN (the two latter sit at the same table at work)

COUNTESS (watching them from the opposite side).

So you have nothing to ask me—nothing?

I have been waiting for a word from you.

And could you then endure in all this time

Not once to speak his name?

[THEKLA remaining silent, the COUNTESS rises and advances to her.]

 
                            Why, how comes this!
 

Perhaps I am already grown superfluous,

And other ways exist, besides through me?

Confess it to me, Thekla: have you seen him?

THEKLA.

Today and yesterday I have not seen him.

COUNTESS.

And not heard from him, either? Come, be open.

THEKLA.

No syllable.

COUNTESS.

And still you are so calm?

THEKLA.

I am.

COUNTESS.

May 't please you, leave us, Lady Neubrunn. [Exit LADY NEUBRUNN.]

SCENE II

The COUNTESS, THEKLA

COUNTESS.

It does not please me, Princess, that he holds

Himself so still, exactly at this time.

THEKLA.

Exactly at this time?

COUNTESS.

 
                    He now knows all:
 

'Twere now the moment to declare himself.

THEKLA.

If I'm to understand you, speak less darkly.

COUNTESS.

'Twas for that purpose that I bade her leave us.

Thekla, you are no more a child. Your heart

Is now no more in nonage: for you love,

And boldness dwells with love—that you have proved

Your nature molds itself upon your father's

More than your mother's spirit. Therefore may you

Hear, what were too much for her fortitude.

THEKLA.

Enough: no further preface, I entreat you.

At once, out with it! Be it what it may,

It is not possible that it should torture me

More than this introduction. What have you

To say to me? Tell me the whole, and briefly!

COUNTESS.

You'll not be frighten'd—

THEKLA.

Name it, I entreat you.

COUNTESS.

It lies within your power to do your father

A weighty service—

THEKLA.

Lies within my power?

COUNTESS.

Max Piccolomini loves you. You can link him

Indissolubly to your father.

THEKLA.

 
                             I?
 

What need of me for that? And is he not

Already link'd to him?

COUNTESS.

He was.

THEKLA.

 
                         And wherefore
 

Should he not be so now—not be so always?

COUNTESS.

He cleaves to the Emperor too.

THEKLA.

 
                 Not more than duty
 

And honor may demand of him.

COUNTESS.

 
                           We ask
 

Proofs of his love, and not proofs of his honor.

Duty and honor!

Those are ambiguous words with many meanings.

You should interpret them for him: his love

Should be the sole definer of his honor.

THEKLA.

How?

COUNTESS.

The Emperor or you must he renounce.

THEKLA.

He will accompany my father gladly

In his retirement. From himself you heard,

How much he wish'd to lay aside the sword.

COUNTESS.

He must not lay the sword aside, we mean;

He must unsheath it in your father's cause.

THEKLA.

He'll spend with gladness and alacrity

His life, his heart's blood in my father's cause,

If shame or injury be intended him.

COUNTESS.

You will not understand me. Well, hear then:—

Your father has fallen off from the Emperor,

And is about to join the enemy

With the whole soldiery—

THEKLA.

Alas, my mother!

COUNTESS.

There needs a great example to draw on

The army after him. The Piccolomini

Possess the love and reverence of the troops;

They govern all opinions, and wherever

They lead the way none hesitate to follow.

The son secures the father to our interests—

You've much in your hands at this moment.

THEKLA.

Ah!

My miserable mother! what a death-stroke

Awaits thee!—No! she never will survive it.

COUNTESS.

She will accommodate her soul to that

Which is and must be. I do know your mother;

The far-off future weighs upon her heart

With torture of anxiety; but is it

Unalterably, actually present,

She soon resigns herself, and bears it calmly.

THEKLA.

O my foreboding bosom! Even now,

E'en now 'tis here, that icy hand of horror!

And my young hope lies shuddering in its grasp;

I knew it well—no sooner had I enter'd,

An heavy ominous presentiment

Reveal'd to me that spirits of death were hovering

Over my happy fortune. But why think I

First of myself? My mother! O my mother!

COUNTESS.

Calm yourself! Break not out in vain lamenting!

Preserve you for your father the firm friend,

And for yourself the lover, all will yet

Prove good and fortunate.

THEKLA.

 
                  Prove good! What good?
 

Must we not part?—part ne'er to meet again?

COUNTESS.

He parts not from you! He cannot part from you.

THEKLA.

Alas for his sore anguish! It will rend

His heart asunder.

COUNTESS.

 
              If indeed he loves you,
 

His resolution will be speedily taken.

THEKLA.

His resolution will be speedily taken—

O do not doubt of that! A resolution!

Does there remain one to be taken?

COUNTESS.

 
                             Hush,
 

Collect yourself! I hear your mother coming.

THEKLA.

How shall I bear to see her?

COUNTESS.

Collect yourself.

SCENE III

To them enter the DUCHESS

DUCHESS (to the COUNTESS).

Who was here, sister? I heard someone talking,

And passionately too.

COUNTESS.

Nay! there was no one.

DUCHESS.

I am grown so timorous, every trifling noise

Scatters my spirits, and announces to me

The footstep of some messenger of evil.

And you can tell me, sister, what the event is?

Will he agree to do the Emperor's pleasure,

And send the horse-regiments to the Cardinal?

Tell me, has he dismiss'd Von Questenberg

With a favorable answer?

COUNTESS.

No, he has not.

DUCHESS.

Alas! then all is lost! I see it coming,

The worst that can come! Yes, they will depose him;

The accursed business of the Regensburg diet

Will all be acted o'er again!

COUNTESS.

 
                             No! never!
 

Make your heart easy, sister, as to that.

[THEKLA, in extreme agitation, throws herself upon her mother, and enfolds her in her arms, weeping.]

DUCHESS

Yes, my poor child!

Thou too hast lost a most affectionate godmother

In the Empress. O that stern unbending man!

In this unhappy marriage what have I

Not suffer'd, not endured? For even as if

I had been link'd on to some wheel of fire

That restless, ceaseless, whirls impetuous onward,

I have pass'd a life of frights and horrors with him,

And ever to the brink of some abyss

With dizzy headlong violence he bears me.

Nay, do not weep, my child. Let not my sufferings

Presignify unhappiness to thee,

Nor blacken with their shade the fate that waits thee.

There lives no second Friedland: thou, my child,

Hast not to fear thy mother's destiny.

THEKLA.

O let us supplicate him, dearest mother!

Quick! quick! here's no abiding place for us.

Here every coming hour broods into life

Some new affrightful monster.

DUCHESS.

 
                        Thou wilt share
 

An easier, calmer lot, my child! We too,

I and thy father, witnessed happy days.

Still think I with delight of those first years,

When he was making progress with glad effort,

When his ambition was a genial fire,

Not that consuming flame which now it is.

The Emperor loved him, trusted him: and all

He undertook could not but be successful.

But since that ill-starr'd day at Regensburg,

Which plunged him headlong from his dignity,

A gloomy uncompanionable spirit,

Unsteady and suspicious, has possess'd him.

His quiet mind forsook him, and no longer

Did he yield up himself in joy and faith

To his old luck and individual power;

But thenceforth turn'd his heart and best affections

All to those cloudy sciences, which never

Have yet made happy him who follow'd them.

COUNTESS.

You see it, sister, as your eyes permit you,

But surely this is not the conversation

To pass the time in which we are waiting for him.

You know he will be soon here. Would you have him

Find her in this condition?

DUCHESS.

 
                    Come, my child!
 

Come wipe away thy tears, and show thy father

A cheerful countenance. See, the tie-knot here

Is off—this hair must not hang so dishevell'd.

Come, dearest! dry thy tears up. They deform

Thy gentle eye.—Well now—what was I saying?

Yes, in good truth, this Piccolomini

Is a most noble and deserving gentleman.

COUNTESS.

That is he, sister!

THEKLA (to the COUNTESS, with marks of great oppression of spirits).

Aunt, you will excuse me?

[Is going.]

COUNTESS.

But whither? See, your father comes.

THEKLA.

I cannot see him now.

COUNTESS.

Nay, but bethink you.

THEKLA.

Believe me, I cannot sustain his presence.

COUNTESS.

But he will miss you, will ask after you.

DUCHESS.

What now? Why is she going?

COUNTESS.

She's not well.

DUCHESS (anxiously).

What ails then my beloved child?

[Both follow the PRINCESS, and endeavor to detain her. During this WALLENSTEIN appears, engaged in conversation with ILLO.]

SCENE IV

WALLENSTEIN, ILLO, COUNTESS, DUCHESS, THEKLA

WALLENST

All quiet in the camp?

ILLO.

It is all quiet.

WALLENST.

In a few hours may couriers come from Prague

With tidings that this capital is ours.

Then we may drop the mask, and to the troops

Assembled in this town make known the measure

And its result together. In such cases

Example does the whole. Whoever is foremost

Still leads the herd. An imitative creature

Is man. The troops at Prague conceive no other

Than that the Pilsen army has gone through

The forms of homage to us; and in Pilsen

They shall swear fealty to us, because

The example has been given them by Prague.

Butler, you tell me, has declared himself?

ILLO.

At his own bidding, unsolicited,

He came to offer you himself and regiment.

WALLENST.

I find we must not give implicit credence

To every warning voice that makes itself

Be listen'd to in the heart. To hold us back,

Oft does the lying Spirit counterfeit

The voice of Truth and inward Revelation,

Scattering false oracles. And thus have I

To entreat forgiveness, for that secretly

I've wrong'd this honorable, gallant man,

This Butler: for a feeling, of the which

I am not master (fear I would not call it),

Creeps o'er me instantly, with sense of shuddering

At his approach, and stops love's joyous motion.

And this same man, against whom I am warn'd,

This honest man is he, who reaches to me

The first pledge of my fortune.

ILLO.

 
                         And doubt not
 

That his example will win over to you

The best men in the army.

WALLENSTEIN.

 
                          Go and send
 

Isolani hither. Send him immediately;

He is under recent obligations to me:

With him will I commence the trial. Go.

[Exit ILLO.]

WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round to the females).

Lo, there the mother with the darling daughter

For once we'll have an interval of rest—Come!

my heart yearns to live a cloudless hour

In the beloved circle of my family.

COUNTESS.

'Tis long since we've been thus together, brother.

WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS aside).

Can she sustain the news? Is she prepared?

COUNTESS.

Not yet.

WALLENST.

 
         Come here, my sweet girl! Seat thee by me.
 

For there is a good spirit on thy lips.

Thy mother praised to me thy ready skill;

She says a voice of melody dwells in thee,

Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice

Will drive away from me the evil demon

That beats his black wings close above my head.

DUCHESS.

Where is thy lute, my daughter? Let thy father

Hear some small trial of thy skill.

THEKLA.

 
                             My mother!
 

I—

DUCHESS.

Trembling? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer father.

THEKLA.

O my mother! I—I cannot.

COUNTESS.

How, what is that, niece?

THEKLA (to the COUNTESS).

O spare me—sing—now—in this sore anxiety,

Of the o'erburthen'd soul—to sing to him,

Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong

Into her grave.

DUCHESS.

How, Thekla! Humorsome!

What! shall thy father have express'd a wish

In vain?

COUNTESS.

Here is the lute.

THEKLA.

My God! how can I—

[The orchestra plays. During the ritornello THEKLA expresses in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings; and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument down, and retires abruptly.]

DUCHESS. My child! O she is ill—

WALLENSTEIN.

 
               What ails the maiden?
 

Say, is she often so?

COUNTESS.

 
                  Since then herself
 

Has now betray'd it, I too must no longer

Conceal it.

WALLENSTEIN.

What?

COUNTESS.

She loves him!

WALLENSTEIN.

Loves him! Whom?

COUNTESS.

Max does she love! Max Piccolomini.

Hast thou ne'er noticed it? Nor yet my sister?

DUCHESS.

Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart?

God's blessing on thee, my sweet child! Thou need'st

Never take shame upon thee for thy choice.

COUNTESS.

This journey, if 'twere not thy aim, ascribe it

To thine own self. Thou shouldst have chosen another

To have attended her.

WALLENSTEIN.

And does he know it?

COUNTESS.

Yes, and he hopes to win her!

WALLENSTEIN. Hopes to win her!

Is the boy mad?

COUNTESS.

Well—hear it from themselves.

WALLENST.

He thinks to carry off Duke Friedland's daughter!

Ay?—The thought pleases me.

The young man has no groveling spirit.

COUNTESS.

 
                                   Since
 

Such and such constant favor you have shown him—

WALLENST.

He chooses finally to be my heir.

And true it is, I love the youth; yea, honor him.

But must he therefore be my daughter's husband?

Is it daughters only? Is it only children

That we must show our favor by?

DUCHESS.

His noble disposition and his manners—

WALLENST.

Win him my heart, but not my daughter.

DUCHESS.

 
                        Then
 

His rank, his ancestors—

WALLENSTETN.

 
                 Ancestors! What?
 

He is a subject, and my son-in-law

I will seek out upon the thrones of Europe.

DUCHESS.

O dearest Albrecht! Climb we not too high

Lest we should fall too low.

WALLENSTEIN.

 
                       What! have I paid
 

A price so heavy to ascend this eminence,

And jut out high above the common herd,

Only to close the mighty part I play

In Life's great drama, with a common kinsman?

Have I for this—

[Stops suddenly, repressing himself.]

 
                     She is the only thing
 

That will remain behind of me on earth;

And I will see a crown around her head,

Or die in the attempt to place it there.

I hazard all—all! and for this alone,

To lift her into greatness—Yea,

in this moment, in the which we are

speaking—

[He recollects himself.]

And I must now, like a soft-hearted father,

Couple together in good peasant-fashion

The pair, that chance to suit each other's liking—

And I must do it now, even now, when I

Am stretching out the wreath that is to twine

My full accomplish'd work—no! she is the jewel,

Which I have treasured long, my last, my noblest,

And 'tis my purpose not to let her from me

For less than a king's sceptre.

DUCHESS.

 
                           O my husband!
 

You're ever building, building to the clouds,

Still building higher, and still higher building,

And ne'er reflect that the poor narrow basis

Cannot sustain the giddy tottering column.

WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS).

Have you announced the place of residence

Which I have destined for her?

COUNTESS.

 
                            No! not yet.
 

'Twere better you yourself disclosed it to her.

DUCHESS.

How? Do we not return to Carinthia then?

WALLENSTEIN.

No.

DUCHESS.

And to no other of your lands or seats?

WALLENST.

You would not be secure there.

DUCHESS.

 
                              Not secure
 

In the Emperor's realms, beneath the Emperor's

Protection?

WALLENSTEIN.

Friedland's wife may be permitted

No longer to hope that.

DUCHESS.

 
                        O God in heaven!
 

And have you brought it even to this!

WALLENSTEIN.

 
                       In Holland
 

You'll find protection.

DUCHESS.

In a Lutheran country?

What? And you send us into Lutheran countries?

WALLENST.

Duke Franz of Lauenburg conducts you thither.

DUCHESS.

Duke Franz of Lauenburg?

The ally of Sweden, the Emperor's enemy.

WALLENST.

The Emperor's enemies are mine no longer.

DUCHESS (casting a look of terror on the DUKE and the

COUNTESS).

Is it then true? It is. You are degraded—

Deposed from the command! O God in heaven!

COUNTESS (aside to the DUKE).

Leave her in this belief. Thou seest she cannot

Support the real truth.

SCENE V

To them enter COUNT TERZKY.

COUNTESS.

 
                      —Terzky!
 

What ails him? What an image of affright!

He looks as he had seen a ghost.

TERZKY (leading WALLENSTEIN aside).

Is it thy command that all the Croats—

WALLENSTEIN.

Mine.

TERZKY.

We are betray'd.

WALLENSTEIN.

What?

TERZKY.

 
                    They are off! This night
 

The Jägers likewise—all the villages

In the whole round are empty.

WALLENSTEIN.

Isolani!

TERZKY.

Him thou hast sent away. Yes, surely.

WALLENSTEIN.

I?

TERZKY.

No! Hast thou not sent him off? Nor Deodati?

They are vanish'd both of them.

SCENE VI

To them enter ILLO.

ILLO.

Has Terzky told thee?

TERZKY.

He knows all.

ILLO.

 
                           And likewise
 

That Esterhatzy, Goetz, Maradas, Kaunitz,

Kolalto, Palfi, have forsaken thee.

TERZKY.

Damnation!

WALLENSTEIN (winks at them).

Hush!

COUNTESS (who has been watching them anxiously from the distance and now advances to them).

Terzky! Heaven! What is it? What has happen'd?

WALLENSTEIN (scarcely suppressing his emotions).

Nothing! let us be gone!

TERZKY (following him).

Theresa, it is nothing.

COUNTESS (holding him back).

Nothing? Do I not see that all the life-blood

Has left your cheeks—look you not like a ghost?

That even my brother but affects a calmness?

PAGE (enters).

An Aide-de-camp inquires for the Count Terzky.

[TERZKY follows the PAGE.]

WALLENST. Go, hear his business.

[To ILLO.]

 
                This could not have happen'd
 

So unsuspected without mutiny.

Who was on guard at the gates?

ILLO.

'Twas Tiefenbach.

WALLENST.

Let Tiefenbach leave guard without delay,

And Terzky's grenadiers relieve him.

[ILLO is going.]

 
                                  Stop!
 

Hast thou heard aught of Butler?

ILLO.

Him I met;

He will be here himself immediately.

Butler remains unshaken.

[ILLO exit. WALLENSTEIN is following him.]

COUNTESS.

Let him not leave thee, sister! go, detain him!

There's some misfortune.

DUCHESS (clinging to him).

Gracious Heaven! What is it?

WALLENST.

Be tranquil! leave me, sister! dearest wife!

We are in camp, and this is nought unusual;

Here storm and sunshine follow one another

With rapid interchanges. These fierce spirits

Champ the curb angrily, and never yet

Did quiet bless the temples of the leader.

If I am to stay, go you. The plaints of women

Ill suit the scene where men must act.

[He is going. TERZHY returns.]

TERZHY.

Remain here. From this window must we see it.

WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS).

Sister, retire!

COUNTESS.

No—never.

WALLENSTEIN.

'Tis my will.

TERZKY (leads the COUNTESS aside, and drawing her attention to the DUCHESS).

Theresa?

DUCHESS.

Sister, come! since he commands it.

SCENE VII

WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY

WALLENSTEIN (stepping to the window).

What now, then?

TERZKY.

There are strange movements among all the troops,

And no one knows the cause. Mysteriously,

With gloomy silentness, the several corps

Marshal themselves, each under its own banners.

Tiefenbach's corps make threat'ning movements; only

The Pappenheimers still remain aloof

In their own quarters, and let no one enter.

WALLENST.

Does Piccolomini appear among them?

TERZKY.

We are seeking him: he is nowhere to be met with.

WALLENST.

What did the Aide-de-camp deliver to you?

TERZKY.

My regiments had dispatch'd him; yet once more

They swear fidelity to thee, and wait

The shout for onset, all prepared, and eager.

WALLENST.

But whence arose this larum in the camp?

It should have been kept secret from the army,

Till fortune had decided for us at Prague.

TERZKY.

O that thou hadst believed me! Yester evening

Did we conjure thee not to let that skulker,

That fox, Octavio, pass the gates of Pilsen.

Thou gavest him thy own horses to flee from thee.

WALLENST.

The old tune still! Now, once for all, no more

Of this suspicion—it is doting folly.

TERZKY.

Thou didst confide in Isolani too;

And lo! he was the first that did desert thee.

WALLENST.

It was but yesterday I rescued him

From abject wretchedness. Let that go by;

I never reckon'd yet on gratitude.

And wherein doth he wrong in going from me?

He follows still the god whom all his life

He has worship'd at the gaming-table. With

My fortune, and my seeming destiny,

He made the bond, and broke it not with me.

I am but the ship in which his hopes were stow'd

And with the which, well-pleased and confident,

He traversed the open sea; now he beholds it

In eminent jeopardy among the coast-rocks,

And hurries to preserve his wares. As light

As the free bird from the hospitable twig

Where it had nested, he flies off from me:

No human tie is snapp'd betwixt us two.

Yea, he deserves to find himself deceived

Who seeks a heart in the unthinking man.

Like shadows on a stream, the forms of life

Impress their characters on the smooth forehead,

Nought sinks into the bosom's silent depth;

Quick sensibility of pain and pleasure

Moves the light fluids lightly; but no soul

Warmeth the inner frame.

TERZKY.

 
                       Yet, would I rather
 

Trust the smooth brow than that deep furrow'd one.