The Death of Wallenstein

     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.

     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.

     [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.

     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.

     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.

  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.)

     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!

     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).

     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.

     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 DEVEREUX).
                Thou wretched man
  So easily leavest thou thy oath and colors?

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

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

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

  MACDONALD.
                   I should hope 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 how 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 fill 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.

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

  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.