SCENE V.
WALLENSTEIN, GORDON.
WALLENSTEIN.
All quiet in the town?
GORDON.
The town is quiet.
WALLENSTEIN.
I hear a boisterous music! and the castle
Is lighted up. Who are the revellers?
GORDON.
There is a banquet given at the castle
To the Count Terzky and Field-Marshal Illo.
WALLENSTEIN.
In honor of the victory—this tribe
Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting.
[Rings. The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER enters.
Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.
[WALLENSTEIN takes the keys from GORDON.
So we are guarded from all enemies,
And shut in with sure friends.
For all must cheat me, or a face like this
[Fixing his eyes on GORDON.
Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER takes off his mantle, collar, and scarf.
WALLENSTEIN.
Take care—what is that?
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER.
The golden chain is snapped in two.
WALLENSTEIN.
Well, it has lasted long enough. Here—give it.
[He takes and looks at the chain.
'Twas the first present of the emperor.
He hung it round me in the war of Friule,
He being then archduke; and I have worn it
Till now from habit—
From superstition, if you will. Belike,
It was to be a talisman to me;
And while I wore it on my neck in faith,
It was to chain to me all my life-long
The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was.
Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune
Must spring up for me; for the potency
Of this charm is dissolved.
[GROOM OF THE CHAMBER retires with the vestments. WALLENSTEIN
rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before
GORDON in a posture of meditation.
How the old time returns upon me! I
Behold myself once more at Burgau, where
We two were pages of the court together.
We oftentimes disputed: thy intention
Was ever good; but thou were wont to play
The moralist and preacher, and wouldst rail at me—
That I strove after things too high for me,
Giving my faith to bold, unlawful dreams,
And still extol to me the golden mean.
Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend
To thy own self. See, it has made thee early
A superannuated man, and (but
That my munificent stars will intervene)
Would let thee in some miserable corner
Go out like an untended lamp.
GORDON.
My prince
With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat,
And watches from the shore the lofty ship
Stranded amid the storm.
WALLENSTEIN.
Art thou already
In harbor, then, old man? Well! I am not.
The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows;
My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly.
Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate;
And while we stand thus front to front almost,
I might presume to say, that the swift years
Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.
[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains
on the opposite side over against GORDON.
Who now persists in calling fortune false?
To me she has proved faithful; with fond love
Took me from out the common ranks of men,
And like a mother goddess, with strong arm
Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.
Nothing is common in my destiny,
Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares
Interpret then my life for me as 'twere
One of the undistinguishable many?
True, in this present moment I appear
Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.
The high flood will soon follow on this ebb;
The fountain of my fortune, which now stops,
Repressed and bound by some malicious star,
Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.
GORDON.
And yet remember I the good old proverb,
"Let the night come before we praise the day."
I would be slow from long-continued fortune
To gather hope: for hope is the companion
Given to the unfortunate by pitying heaven.
Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men,
For still unsteady are the scales of fate.
WALLENSTEIN (smiling).
I hear the very Gordon that of old
Was wont to preach, now once more preaching;
I know well, that all sublunary things
Are still the vassals of vicissitude.
The unpropitious gods demand their tribute.
This long ago the ancient pagans knew
And therefore of their own accord they offered
To themselves injuries, so to atone
The jealousy of their divinities
And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.
[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner.
I too have sacrificed to him—for me
There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault
He fell! No joy from favorable fortune
Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke.
The envy of my destiny is glutted:
Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning
Was drawn off which would else have shattered me.
WALLENSTEIN.
All quiet in the town?
GORDON.
The town is quiet.
WALLENSTEIN.
I hear a boisterous music! and the castle
Is lighted up. Who are the revellers?
GORDON.
There is a banquet given at the castle
To the Count Terzky and Field-Marshal Illo.
WALLENSTEIN.
In honor of the victory—this tribe
Can show their joy in nothing else but feasting.
[Rings. The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER enters.
Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.
[WALLENSTEIN takes the keys from GORDON.
So we are guarded from all enemies,
And shut in with sure friends.
For all must cheat me, or a face like this
[Fixing his eyes on GORDON.
Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER takes off his mantle, collar, and scarf.
WALLENSTEIN.
Take care—what is that?
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER.
The golden chain is snapped in two.
WALLENSTEIN.
Well, it has lasted long enough. Here—give it.
[He takes and looks at the chain.
'Twas the first present of the emperor.
He hung it round me in the war of Friule,
He being then archduke; and I have worn it
Till now from habit—
From superstition, if you will. Belike,
It was to be a talisman to me;
And while I wore it on my neck in faith,
It was to chain to me all my life-long
The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was.
Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune
Must spring up for me; for the potency
Of this charm is dissolved.
[GROOM OF THE CHAMBER retires with the vestments. WALLENSTEIN
rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before
GORDON in a posture of meditation.
How the old time returns upon me! I
Behold myself once more at Burgau, where
We two were pages of the court together.
We oftentimes disputed: thy intention
Was ever good; but thou were wont to play
The moralist and preacher, and wouldst rail at me—
That I strove after things too high for me,
Giving my faith to bold, unlawful dreams,
And still extol to me the golden mean.
Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend
To thy own self. See, it has made thee early
A superannuated man, and (but
That my munificent stars will intervene)
Would let thee in some miserable corner
Go out like an untended lamp.
GORDON.
My prince
With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat,
And watches from the shore the lofty ship
Stranded amid the storm.
WALLENSTEIN.
Art thou already
In harbor, then, old man? Well! I am not.
The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows;
My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly.
Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate;
And while we stand thus front to front almost,
I might presume to say, that the swift years
Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.
[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains
on the opposite side over against GORDON.
Who now persists in calling fortune false?
To me she has proved faithful; with fond love
Took me from out the common ranks of men,
And like a mother goddess, with strong arm
Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.
Nothing is common in my destiny,
Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares
Interpret then my life for me as 'twere
One of the undistinguishable many?
True, in this present moment I appear
Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.
The high flood will soon follow on this ebb;
The fountain of my fortune, which now stops,
Repressed and bound by some malicious star,
Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.
GORDON.
And yet remember I the good old proverb,
"Let the night come before we praise the day."
I would be slow from long-continued fortune
To gather hope: for hope is the companion
Given to the unfortunate by pitying heaven.
Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men,
For still unsteady are the scales of fate.
WALLENSTEIN (smiling).
I hear the very Gordon that of old
Was wont to preach, now once more preaching;
I know well, that all sublunary things
Are still the vassals of vicissitude.
The unpropitious gods demand their tribute.
This long ago the ancient pagans knew
And therefore of their own accord they offered
To themselves injuries, so to atone
The jealousy of their divinities
And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.
[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner.
I too have sacrificed to him—for me
There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault
He fell! No joy from favorable fortune
Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke.
The envy of my destiny is glutted:
Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning
Was drawn off which would else have shattered me.
SCENE V.
To these enter SENI.
WALLENSTEIN.
Is not that Seni! and beside himself,
If one can trust his looks? What brings thee hither
At this late hour, Baptista?
SENI.
Terror, duke!
On thy account.
WALLENSTEIN.
What now?
SENI.
Flee ere the day break!
Trust not thy person to the Swedes!
WALLENSTEIN.
What now
Is in thy thoughts?
SENI (with louder voice).
Trust not thy person to the Swedes.
WALLENSTEIN.
What is it, then?
SENI (still more urgently).
Oh, wait not the arrival of these Swedes!
An evil near at hand is threatening thee
From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror!
Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition—
Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!
WALLENSTEIN.
Baptista, thou art dreaming!—fear befools thee.
SENI.
Believe not that an empty fear deludes me.
Come, read it in the planetary aspects;
Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee
From false friends.
WALLENSTEIN.
From the falseness of my friends
Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes.
The warning should have come before! At present
I need no revelation from the stars
To know that.
SENI.
Come and see! trust thine own eyes.
A fearful sign stands in the house of life—
An enemy; a fiend lurks close behind
The radiance of thy planet. Oh, be warned!
Deliver not up thyself to these heathens,
To wage a war against our holy church.
WALLENSTEIN (laughing gently).
The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now
I recollect. This junction with the Swedes
Did never please thee—lay thyself to sleep,
Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.
GORDON (who during the whole of this dialogue has shown marks
of extreme agitation, and now turns to WALLENSTEIN).
My duke and general! May I dare presume?
WALLENSTEIN.
Speak freely.
GORDON.
What if 'twere no mere creation
Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafed
To interpose its aid for your deliverance,
And made that mouth its organ?
WALLENSTEIN.
Ye're both feverish!
How can mishap come to me from the Swedes?
They sought this junction with me—'tis their interest.
GORDON (with difficulty suppressing his emotion).
But what if the arrival of these Swedes—
What if this were the very thing that winged
The ruin that is flying to your temples?
[Flings himself at his feet.
There is yet time, my prince.
SENI.
Oh hear him! hear him!
GORDON (rises).
The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders,
This citadel shall close its gates upon him.
If then he will besiege us, let him try it.
But this I say; he'll find his own destruction,
With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner
Than weary down the valor of our spirit.
He shall experience what a band of heroes,
Inspirited by an heroic leader,
Is able to perform. And if indeed
It be thy serious wish to make amend
For that which thou hast done amiss,—this, this
Will touch and reconcile the emperor,
Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy;
And Friedland, who returns repentant to him,
Will stand yet higher in his emperor's favor
Then e'er he stood when he had never fallen.
WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent a while,
betraying strong emotion).
Gordon—your zeal and fervor lead you far.
Well, well—an old friend has a privilege.
Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never
Can the emperor pardon me: and if he could,
Yet I—I ne'er could let myself be pardoned.
Had I foreknown what now has taken place,
That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me,
My first death offering; and had the heart
Spoken to me, as now it has done—Gordon,
It may be, I might have bethought myself.
It may be too, I might not. Might or might not
Is now an idle question. All too seriously
Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon!
Let it then have its course.
[Stepping to the window.
All dark and silent—at the castle too
All is now hushed. Light me, chamberlain?
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, who had entered during the last dialogue,
and had been standing at a distance and listening to it with visible
expressions of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation
and throws himself at the DUKE's feet.
And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish
My reconcilement with the emperor.
Poor man! he hath a small estate in Carinthia,
And fears it will be forfeited because
He's in my service. Am I then so poor
That I no longer can indemnify
My servants? Well! to no one I employ
Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief
That fortune has fled from me, go! forsake me.
This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me,
And then go over to the emperor.
Gordon, good-night! I think to make a long
Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil
Of this last day or two was great. May't please you
Take care that they awake me not too early.
[Exit WALLENSTEIN, the GROOM OF THE CHAMBER lighting him. SENI
follows, GORDON remains on the darkened stage, following the DUKE
with his eye, till he disappears at the further end of the gallery:
then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish,
and stands leaning against a pillar.
WALLENSTEIN.
Is not that Seni! and beside himself,
If one can trust his looks? What brings thee hither
At this late hour, Baptista?
SENI.
Terror, duke!
On thy account.
WALLENSTEIN.
What now?
SENI.
Flee ere the day break!
Trust not thy person to the Swedes!
WALLENSTEIN.
What now
Is in thy thoughts?
SENI (with louder voice).
Trust not thy person to the Swedes.
WALLENSTEIN.
What is it, then?
SENI (still more urgently).
Oh, wait not the arrival of these Swedes!
An evil near at hand is threatening thee
From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror!
Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition—
Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!
WALLENSTEIN.
Baptista, thou art dreaming!—fear befools thee.
SENI.
Believe not that an empty fear deludes me.
Come, read it in the planetary aspects;
Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee
From false friends.
WALLENSTEIN.
From the falseness of my friends
Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes.
The warning should have come before! At present
I need no revelation from the stars
To know that.
SENI.
Come and see! trust thine own eyes.
A fearful sign stands in the house of life—
An enemy; a fiend lurks close behind
The radiance of thy planet. Oh, be warned!
Deliver not up thyself to these heathens,
To wage a war against our holy church.
WALLENSTEIN (laughing gently).
The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now
I recollect. This junction with the Swedes
Did never please thee—lay thyself to sleep,
Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.
GORDON (who during the whole of this dialogue has shown marks
of extreme agitation, and now turns to WALLENSTEIN).
My duke and general! May I dare presume?
WALLENSTEIN.
Speak freely.
GORDON.
What if 'twere no mere creation
Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafed
To interpose its aid for your deliverance,
And made that mouth its organ?
WALLENSTEIN.
Ye're both feverish!
How can mishap come to me from the Swedes?
They sought this junction with me—'tis their interest.
GORDON (with difficulty suppressing his emotion).
But what if the arrival of these Swedes—
What if this were the very thing that winged
The ruin that is flying to your temples?
[Flings himself at his feet.
There is yet time, my prince.
SENI.
Oh hear him! hear him!
GORDON (rises).
The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders,
This citadel shall close its gates upon him.
If then he will besiege us, let him try it.
But this I say; he'll find his own destruction,
With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner
Than weary down the valor of our spirit.
He shall experience what a band of heroes,
Inspirited by an heroic leader,
Is able to perform. And if indeed
It be thy serious wish to make amend
For that which thou hast done amiss,—this, this
Will touch and reconcile the emperor,
Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy;
And Friedland, who returns repentant to him,
Will stand yet higher in his emperor's favor
Then e'er he stood when he had never fallen.
WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent a while,
betraying strong emotion).
Gordon—your zeal and fervor lead you far.
Well, well—an old friend has a privilege.
Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never
Can the emperor pardon me: and if he could,
Yet I—I ne'er could let myself be pardoned.
Had I foreknown what now has taken place,
That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me,
My first death offering; and had the heart
Spoken to me, as now it has done—Gordon,
It may be, I might have bethought myself.
It may be too, I might not. Might or might not
Is now an idle question. All too seriously
Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon!
Let it then have its course.
[Stepping to the window.
All dark and silent—at the castle too
All is now hushed. Light me, chamberlain?
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, who had entered during the last dialogue,
and had been standing at a distance and listening to it with visible
expressions of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation
and throws himself at the DUKE's feet.
And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish
My reconcilement with the emperor.
Poor man! he hath a small estate in Carinthia,
And fears it will be forfeited because
He's in my service. Am I then so poor
That I no longer can indemnify
My servants? Well! to no one I employ
Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief
That fortune has fled from me, go! forsake me.
This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me,
And then go over to the emperor.
Gordon, good-night! I think to make a long
Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil
Of this last day or two was great. May't please you
Take care that they awake me not too early.
[Exit WALLENSTEIN, the GROOM OF THE CHAMBER lighting him. SENI
follows, GORDON remains on the darkened stage, following the DUKE
with his eye, till he disappears at the further end of the gallery:
then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish,
and stands leaning against a pillar.
SCENE VI.
GORDON, BUTLER (at first behind the scenes).
BUTLER (not yet come into view of the stage).
Here stand in silence till I give the signal.
GORDON (starts up).
'Tis he! he has already brought the murderers.
BUTLER.
The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep.
GORDON.
What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him?
Shall I call up the house? alarm the guards?
BUTLER (appears, but scarcely on the stage).
A light gleams hither from the corridor.
It leads directly to the duke's bed-chamber.
GORDON.
But then I break my oath to the emperor;
If he escape and strengthen the enemy,
Do I not hereby call down on my head
All the dread consequences.
BUTLER (stepping forward).
Hark! Who speaks there?
GORDON.
'Tis better, I resign it to the hands
Of Providence. For what am I, that I
Should take upon myself so great a deed?
I have not murdered him, if he be murdered;
But all his rescue were my act and deed;
Mine—and whatever be the consequences
I must sustain them.
BUTLER (advances).
I should know that voice.
GORDON.
Butler!
BUTLER.
'Tis Gordon. What do you want here?
Was it so late, then, when the duke dismissed you?
GORDON.
Your hand bound up and in a scarf?
BUTLER.
'Tis wounded.
That Illo fought as he were frantic, till
At last we threw him on the ground.
GORDON (shuddering).
Both dead?
BUTLER.
Is he in bed?
GORDON.
Ah, Butler!
BUTLER.
Is he? speak.
GORDON.
He shall not perish! Not through you! The heaven
Refuses your arm. See—'tis wounded!
BUTLER.
There is no need of my arm.
GORDON.
The most guilty
Have perished, and enough is given to justice.
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER advances from the gallery with his finger
on his mouth commanding silence.
GORDON.
He sleeps! Oh, murder not the holy sleep!
BUTLER.
No! he shall die awake.
[Is going.
GORDON.
His heart still cleaves
To earthly things: he's not prepared to step
Into the presence of his God!
BUTLER (going).
God's merciful!
GORDON (holds him).
Grant him but this night's respite.
BUTLER (hurrying of).
The next moment
May ruin all.
GORDON (holds him still).
One hour!
BUTLER.
Unhold me! What
Can that short respite profit him?
GORDON.
Oh, time
Works miracles. In one hour many thousands
Of grains of sand run out; and quick as they
Thought follows thought within the human soul.
Only one hour! Your heart may change its purpose,
His heart may change its purpose—some new tidings
May come; some fortunate event, decisive,
May fall from heaven and rescue him. Oh, what
May not one hour achieve!
BUTLER.
You but remind me
How precious every minute is!
[He stamps on the floor.
BUTLER (not yet come into view of the stage).
Here stand in silence till I give the signal.
GORDON (starts up).
'Tis he! he has already brought the murderers.
BUTLER.
The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep.
GORDON.
What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him?
Shall I call up the house? alarm the guards?
BUTLER (appears, but scarcely on the stage).
A light gleams hither from the corridor.
It leads directly to the duke's bed-chamber.
GORDON.
But then I break my oath to the emperor;
If he escape and strengthen the enemy,
Do I not hereby call down on my head
All the dread consequences.
BUTLER (stepping forward).
Hark! Who speaks there?
GORDON.
'Tis better, I resign it to the hands
Of Providence. For what am I, that I
Should take upon myself so great a deed?
I have not murdered him, if he be murdered;
But all his rescue were my act and deed;
Mine—and whatever be the consequences
I must sustain them.
BUTLER (advances).
I should know that voice.
GORDON.
Butler!
BUTLER.
'Tis Gordon. What do you want here?
Was it so late, then, when the duke dismissed you?
GORDON.
Your hand bound up and in a scarf?
BUTLER.
'Tis wounded.
That Illo fought as he were frantic, till
At last we threw him on the ground.
GORDON (shuddering).
Both dead?
BUTLER.
Is he in bed?
GORDON.
Ah, Butler!
BUTLER.
Is he? speak.
GORDON.
He shall not perish! Not through you! The heaven
Refuses your arm. See—'tis wounded!
BUTLER.
There is no need of my arm.
GORDON.
The most guilty
Have perished, and enough is given to justice.
[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER advances from the gallery with his finger
on his mouth commanding silence.
GORDON.
He sleeps! Oh, murder not the holy sleep!
BUTLER.
No! he shall die awake.
[Is going.
GORDON.
His heart still cleaves
To earthly things: he's not prepared to step
Into the presence of his God!
BUTLER (going).
God's merciful!
GORDON (holds him).
Grant him but this night's respite.
BUTLER (hurrying of).
The next moment
May ruin all.
GORDON (holds him still).
One hour!
BUTLER.
Unhold me! What
Can that short respite profit him?
GORDON.
Oh, time
Works miracles. In one hour many thousands
Of grains of sand run out; and quick as they
Thought follows thought within the human soul.
Only one hour! Your heart may change its purpose,
His heart may change its purpose—some new tidings
May come; some fortunate event, decisive,
May fall from heaven and rescue him. Oh, what
May not one hour achieve!
BUTLER.
You but remind me
How precious every minute is!
[He stamps on the floor.
SCENE VII.
To these enter MACDONALD and DEVEREUX, with the HALBERDIERS.
GORDON (throwing himself between him and them).
No, monster!
First over my dead body thou shalt tread. I will
Not live to see the accursed deed!
BUTLER (forcing him out of the way).
Weak-hearted dotard!
[Trumpets are heard in the distance.
DEVEREUX and MACDONALD.
Hark! The Swedish trumpets!
The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten!
GORDON (rushes out).
Oh, God of mercy!
BUTLER (calling after him).
Governor, to your post!
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER (hurries in).
Who dares make larum here? Hush! The duke sleeps.
DEVEREUX (with loud, harsh voice).
Friend, it is time now to make larum.
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER.
Help!
Murder!
BUTLER.
Down with him!
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER (run through the body by DEVEREUX, falls at
the entrance of the gallery).
Jesus Maria!
BUTLER.
Burst the doors open.
[They rush over the body into the gallery—two doors are heard to
crash one after the other. Voices, deadened by the distance—clash
of arms—then all at once a profound silence:
GORDON (throwing himself between him and them).
No, monster!
First over my dead body thou shalt tread. I will
Not live to see the accursed deed!
BUTLER (forcing him out of the way).
Weak-hearted dotard!
[Trumpets are heard in the distance.
DEVEREUX and MACDONALD.
Hark! The Swedish trumpets!
The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten!
GORDON (rushes out).
Oh, God of mercy!
BUTLER (calling after him).
Governor, to your post!
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER (hurries in).
Who dares make larum here? Hush! The duke sleeps.
DEVEREUX (with loud, harsh voice).
Friend, it is time now to make larum.
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER.
Help!
Murder!
BUTLER.
Down with him!
GROOM OF THE CHAMBER (run through the body by DEVEREUX, falls at
the entrance of the gallery).
Jesus Maria!
BUTLER.
Burst the doors open.
[They rush over the body into the gallery—two doors are heard to
crash one after the other. Voices, deadened by the distance—clash
of arms—then all at once a profound silence:
SCENE VIII.
COUNTESS TERZKY (with a light).
Her bedchamber is empty; she herself
Is nowhere to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watched by her, is missing. If she should
Be flown—but whither flown? We must call up
Every soul in the house. How will the duke
Bear up against these worst bad tidings? Oh,
If that my husband now were but returned
Home from the banquet! Hark! I wonder whether
The duke is still awake! I thought I heard
Voices and tread of feet here! I will go
And listen at the door. Hark! what is that?
'Tis hastening up the steps!
Her bedchamber is empty; she herself
Is nowhere to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watched by her, is missing. If she should
Be flown—but whither flown? We must call up
Every soul in the house. How will the duke
Bear up against these worst bad tidings? Oh,
If that my husband now were but returned
Home from the banquet! Hark! I wonder whether
The duke is still awake! I thought I heard
Voices and tread of feet here! I will go
And listen at the door. Hark! what is that?
'Tis hastening up the steps!
SCENE IX.
COUNTESS, GORDON.
GORDON (rushes in out of breath)
'Tis a mistake!
'Tis not the Swedes; ye must proceed no further—
Butler! Oh, God! where is he?
[Observing the COUNTESS.
Countess! Say——
COUNTESS.
You're come then from the castle? Where's my husband?
GORDON (in an agony of affright).
Your husband! Ask not! To the duke——
COUNTESS.
Not till
You have discovered to me——
GORDON.
On this moment
Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the duke.
While we are speaking——
[Calling loudly.
Butler! Butler! God!
COUNTESS.
Why, he is at the castle with my husband.
[BUTLER comes from the gallery.
GORDON.
'Twas a mistake. 'Tis not the Swedes—it is
The imperialists' lieutenant-general
Has sent me hither—will be here himself
Instantly. You must not proceed.
BUTLER.
He comes
Too late.
[GORDON dashes himself against the wall.
GORDON.
Oh, God of mercy!
COUNTESS.
What, too late?
Who will be here himself? Octavio
In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the duke?
[She rushes to the gallery.
GORDON (rushes in out of breath)
'Tis a mistake!
'Tis not the Swedes; ye must proceed no further—
Butler! Oh, God! where is he?
[Observing the COUNTESS.
Countess! Say——
COUNTESS.
You're come then from the castle? Where's my husband?
GORDON (in an agony of affright).
Your husband! Ask not! To the duke——
COUNTESS.
Not till
You have discovered to me——
GORDON.
On this moment
Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the duke.
While we are speaking——
[Calling loudly.
Butler! Butler! God!
COUNTESS.
Why, he is at the castle with my husband.
[BUTLER comes from the gallery.
GORDON.
'Twas a mistake. 'Tis not the Swedes—it is
The imperialists' lieutenant-general
Has sent me hither—will be here himself
Instantly. You must not proceed.
BUTLER.
He comes
Too late.
[GORDON dashes himself against the wall.
GORDON.
Oh, God of mercy!
COUNTESS.
What, too late?
Who will be here himself? Octavio
In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the duke?
[She rushes to the gallery.
SCENE X.
Servants run across the stage full of terror. The whole scene
must be spoken entirely without pauses.
SENI (from the gallery).
Oh, bloody, frightful deed!
COUNTESS.
What is it, Seni?
PAGE (from the gallery).
Oh, piteous sight!
[Other servants hasten in with torches.
COUNTESS.
What is it? For God's sake!
SENI.
And do you ask?
Within the duke lies murdered—and your husband
Assassinated at the castle.
[The COUNTESS stands motionless.
FEMALE SERVANT (rushing across the stage).
Help! help! the duchess!
BURGOMASTER (enters).
What mean these confused
Loud cries that wake the sleepers of this house?
GORDON.
Your house is cursed to all eternity.
In your house doth the duke lie murdered!
BURGOMASTER (rushing out)
Heaven forbid!
FIRST SERVANT.
Fly! fly! they murder us all!
SECOND SERVANT (carrying silver-plate).
That way! the lower
Passages are blocked up.
VOICE (from behind the scene).
Make room for the lieutenant-general!
[At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, collects
herself, and retires suddenly.
VOICE (from behind the scene).
Keep back the people! Guard the door!
must be spoken entirely without pauses.
SENI (from the gallery).
Oh, bloody, frightful deed!
COUNTESS.
What is it, Seni?
PAGE (from the gallery).
Oh, piteous sight!
[Other servants hasten in with torches.
COUNTESS.
What is it? For God's sake!
SENI.
And do you ask?
Within the duke lies murdered—and your husband
Assassinated at the castle.
[The COUNTESS stands motionless.
FEMALE SERVANT (rushing across the stage).
Help! help! the duchess!
BURGOMASTER (enters).
What mean these confused
Loud cries that wake the sleepers of this house?
GORDON.
Your house is cursed to all eternity.
In your house doth the duke lie murdered!
BURGOMASTER (rushing out)
Heaven forbid!
FIRST SERVANT.
Fly! fly! they murder us all!
SECOND SERVANT (carrying silver-plate).
That way! the lower
Passages are blocked up.
VOICE (from behind the scene).
Make room for the lieutenant-general!
[At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, collects
herself, and retires suddenly.
VOICE (from behind the scene).
Keep back the people! Guard the door!
SCENE XI.
To these enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his train. At the same
time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from out the corridor with the
Halberdiers. WALLENSTEIN's dead body is carried over the back part
of the stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry.
OCTAVIO (entering abruptly).
It must not be! It is not possible!
Butler! Gordon!
I'll not believe it. Say no!
[GORDON, without answering, points with his hand to the body of
WALLENSTEIN as it is carried over the back of the stage. OCTAVIO
looks that way, and stands overpowered with horror.
DEVEREUX (to BUTLER).
Here is the golden fleece—the duke's sword——
MACDONALD.
Is it your order——
BUTLER (pointing to OCTAVIO).
Here stands he who now
Hath the sole power to issue orders.
[DEVEREUX and MACDONALD retire with marks of obeisance. One drops
away after the other, till only BUTLER, OCTAVIO, and GORDON remain
on the stage.
OCTAVIO (turning to BUTLER).
Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted?
Oh, God of Justice!
To thee I lift my hand! I am not guilty
Of this foul deed.
BUTLER.
Your hand is pure. You have
Availed yourself of mine.
OCTAVIO.
Merciless man!
Thus to abuse the orders of thy lord—
And stain thy emperor's holy name with murder,
With bloody, most accursed assassination!
BUTLER (calmly).
I've but fulfilled the emperor's own sentence.
OCTAVIO.
Oh, curse of kings,
Infusing a dread life into their words,
And linking to the sudden, transient thought
The unchanging, irrevocable deed.
Was there necessity for such an eager
Despatch? Couldst thou not grant the merciful
A time for mercy? Time is man's good angel.
To leave no interval between the sentence,
And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem
God only, the immutable!
BUTLER.
For what
Rail you against me? What is my offence?
The empire from a fearful enemy
Have I delivered, and expect reward.
The single difference betwixt you and me
Is this: you placed the arrow in the bow;
I pulled the string. You sowed blood, and yet stand
Astonished that blood is come up. I always
Knew what I did, and therefore no result
Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit.
Have you aught else to order; for this instant
I make my best speed to Vienna; place
My bleeding sword before my emperor's throne,
And hope to gain the applause which undelaying
And punctual obedience may demand
From a just judge.
[Exit BUTLER.
time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from out the corridor with the
Halberdiers. WALLENSTEIN's dead body is carried over the back part
of the stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry.
OCTAVIO (entering abruptly).
It must not be! It is not possible!
Butler! Gordon!
I'll not believe it. Say no!
[GORDON, without answering, points with his hand to the body of
WALLENSTEIN as it is carried over the back of the stage. OCTAVIO
looks that way, and stands overpowered with horror.
DEVEREUX (to BUTLER).
Here is the golden fleece—the duke's sword——
MACDONALD.
Is it your order——
BUTLER (pointing to OCTAVIO).
Here stands he who now
Hath the sole power to issue orders.
[DEVEREUX and MACDONALD retire with marks of obeisance. One drops
away after the other, till only BUTLER, OCTAVIO, and GORDON remain
on the stage.
OCTAVIO (turning to BUTLER).
Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted?
Oh, God of Justice!
To thee I lift my hand! I am not guilty
Of this foul deed.
BUTLER.
Your hand is pure. You have
Availed yourself of mine.
OCTAVIO.
Merciless man!
Thus to abuse the orders of thy lord—
And stain thy emperor's holy name with murder,
With bloody, most accursed assassination!
BUTLER (calmly).
I've but fulfilled the emperor's own sentence.
OCTAVIO.
Oh, curse of kings,
Infusing a dread life into their words,
And linking to the sudden, transient thought
The unchanging, irrevocable deed.
Was there necessity for such an eager
Despatch? Couldst thou not grant the merciful
A time for mercy? Time is man's good angel.
To leave no interval between the sentence,
And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem
God only, the immutable!
BUTLER.
For what
Rail you against me? What is my offence?
The empire from a fearful enemy
Have I delivered, and expect reward.
The single difference betwixt you and me
Is this: you placed the arrow in the bow;
I pulled the string. You sowed blood, and yet stand
Astonished that blood is come up. I always
Knew what I did, and therefore no result
Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit.
Have you aught else to order; for this instant
I make my best speed to Vienna; place
My bleeding sword before my emperor's throne,
And hope to gain the applause which undelaying
And punctual obedience may demand
From a just judge.
[Exit BUTLER.
SCENE XII.
To these enter the COUNTESS TERZKY, pale and disordered.
Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned.
OCTAVIO (meeting her).
Oh, Countess Terzky! These are the results
Of luckless, unblest deeds.
COUNTESS.
They are the fruits
Of your contrivances. The duke is dead,
My husband too is dead, the duchess struggles
In the pangs of death, my niece has disappeared;
This house of splendor, and of princely glory,
Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servants
Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last
Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver
The keys.
OCTAVIO (with a deep anguish).
Oh, countess! my house, too, is desolate.
COUNTESS.
Who next is to be murdered? Who is next
To be maltreated? Lo! the duke is dead.
The emperor's vengeance may be pacified!
Spare the old servants; let not their fidelity
Be imputed to the faithful as a crime—
The evil destiny surprised my brother
Too suddenly: he could not think on them.
OCTAVIO.
Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment!
The emperor is appeased; the heavy fault
Hath heavily been expiated—nothing
Descended from the father to the daughter,
Except his glory and his services.
The empress honors your adversity,
Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you
Her motherly arms. Therefore no further fears.
Yield yourself up in hope and confidence
To the imperial grace!
COUNTESS (with her eye raised to heaven)
To the grace and mercy of a greater master
Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body
Of the duke have its place of final rest?
In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found
At Gitschin, rests the Countess Wallenstein;
And by her side, to whom he was indebted
For his first fortunes, gratefully he wished
He might sometime repose in death! Oh, let him
Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's
Remains I ask the like grace. The emperor
Is now the proprietor of all our castles;
This sure may well be granted us—one sepulchre
Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers!
OCTAVIO.
Countess, you tremble, you turn pale!
COUNTESS (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy and
dignity).
You think
More worthily of me than to believe
I would survive the downfall of my house.
We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp
After a monarch's crown—the crown did fate
Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit
That to the crown belong! We deem a
Courageous death more worthy of our free station
Than a dishonored life. I have taken poison.
OCTAVIO.
Help! Help! Support her!
COUNTESS.
Nay, it is too late.
In a few moments is my fate accomplished.
[Exit COUNTESS.
GORDON.
Oh, house of death and horrors!
[An OFFICER enters, and brings a letter with the great seal.
GORDON steps forward and meets him.
What is this
It is the imperial seal.
[He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with
a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.
To the Prince Piccolomini.
[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish,
raises his eyes to heaven.
The Curtain drops.
Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned.
OCTAVIO (meeting her).
Oh, Countess Terzky! These are the results
Of luckless, unblest deeds.
COUNTESS.
They are the fruits
Of your contrivances. The duke is dead,
My husband too is dead, the duchess struggles
In the pangs of death, my niece has disappeared;
This house of splendor, and of princely glory,
Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servants
Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last
Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver
The keys.
OCTAVIO (with a deep anguish).
Oh, countess! my house, too, is desolate.
COUNTESS.
Who next is to be murdered? Who is next
To be maltreated? Lo! the duke is dead.
The emperor's vengeance may be pacified!
Spare the old servants; let not their fidelity
Be imputed to the faithful as a crime—
The evil destiny surprised my brother
Too suddenly: he could not think on them.
OCTAVIO.
Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment!
The emperor is appeased; the heavy fault
Hath heavily been expiated—nothing
Descended from the father to the daughter,
Except his glory and his services.
The empress honors your adversity,
Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you
Her motherly arms. Therefore no further fears.
Yield yourself up in hope and confidence
To the imperial grace!
COUNTESS (with her eye raised to heaven)
To the grace and mercy of a greater master
Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body
Of the duke have its place of final rest?
In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found
At Gitschin, rests the Countess Wallenstein;
And by her side, to whom he was indebted
For his first fortunes, gratefully he wished
He might sometime repose in death! Oh, let him
Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's
Remains I ask the like grace. The emperor
Is now the proprietor of all our castles;
This sure may well be granted us—one sepulchre
Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers!
OCTAVIO.
Countess, you tremble, you turn pale!
COUNTESS (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy and
dignity).
You think
More worthily of me than to believe
I would survive the downfall of my house.
We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp
After a monarch's crown—the crown did fate
Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit
That to the crown belong! We deem a
Courageous death more worthy of our free station
Than a dishonored life. I have taken poison.
OCTAVIO.
Help! Help! Support her!
COUNTESS.
Nay, it is too late.
In a few moments is my fate accomplished.
[Exit COUNTESS.
GORDON.
Oh, house of death and horrors!
[An OFFICER enters, and brings a letter with the great seal.
GORDON steps forward and meets him.
What is this
It is the imperial seal.
[He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with
a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.
To the Prince Piccolomini.
[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish,
raises his eyes to heaven.
The Curtain drops.
FOOTNOTES.
1 A great stone near Luetzen, since called the Swede's Stone, the body
of their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the
battle in which he lost his life.
2 Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word
afterworld for posterity,—"Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen
Namen"—might have been rendered with more literal fidelity: Let
world and afterworld speak out my name, etc.
3 I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age
with a literal translation of this line,
werth
Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen.
4 Anspessade, in German, Gefreiter, a soldier inferior to a corporal,
but above the sentinels. The German name implies that he is exempt
from mounting guard.
5 I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I fear
that I should not have done amiss had I taken this liberty more
frequently. It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original,
with a literal translation.
"Weh denen, die auf Dich vertraun, an Dich
Die sichre Huette ihres Glueckes lehnen,
Gelockt von deiner geistlichen Gestalt.
Schnell unverhofft, bei naechtlich stiller Weile,
Gaehrts in dem tueckschen Feuerschlunde, ladet,
Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg
Treibt ueber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen
Der wilde Strom in grausender Zerstoerung."
WALLENSTEIN.
"Du schilderst deines Vaters Herz. Wie Du's
Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide,
In dieser schwarzen Heuchlers Brust gestaltet.
Oh, mich hat Hoellenkunst getaeuscht! Mir sandte
Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der Geister,
Den Luegenkundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn
Als Freund an meiner Seite. Wer vermag
Der Hoelle Macht zu widersthn! Ich zog
Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen,
Mit meinem Herzblut naehrt' ich ihn, er sog
Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe Bruesten,
Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn,
Weit offen liess ich des Gedankens Thore,
Und warf die Schluessel weiser Vorsicht weg,
Am Sternenhimmel," etc.
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
"Alas! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee
lean their secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable
form. Suddenly, unexpectedly, in a moment still as night, there is
a fermentation in the treacherous gulf of fire; it discharges
itself with raging force, and away over all the plantations of men
drives the wild stream in frightful devastation."
WALLENSTEIN.—"Thou art portraying thy father's heart; as thou
describest, even so is it shaped in its entrails, in this black
hypocrite's breast. Oh, the art of hell has deceived me! The abyss
sent up to me the most the most spotted of the spirits, the most
skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by my side. Who may
withstand the power of hell? I took the basilisk to my bosom, with
my heart's blood I nourished him; he sucked himself glutfull at the
breasts of my love. I never harbored evil towards him; wide open
did I leave the door of my thoughts; I threw away the key of wise
foresight. In the starry heaven, etc." We find a difficulty in
believing this to have been written by Schiller.
6 This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate
simplicity of the original—
Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, Du warst
Das Kind des Hauses.
Indeed the whole speech is in the best style of Massinger.
O si sic omnia!
7 It appears that the account of his conversion being caused by
such a fall, and other stories of his juvenile character, are not
well authenticated.
8 We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a statement in the
mouth of any character.—T.
9 [This soliloquy, which, according to the former arrangement,
constituted the whole of scene ix., and concluded the fourth act,
is omitted in all the printed German editions. It seems probable
that it existed in the original manuscript from which Mr. Coleridge
translated.—ED.]
10 The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty
lines twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I
thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between
Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without
injury to the play.—C.
11 These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite
felicity:—
Am Himmel ist geschaeftige Bewegung.
Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht
Der Wolken Zug, die Mondessichel wankt
Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle.
The word "moon-sickle" reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted
by Johnson, under the word "falcated." "The enlightened part of the
moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while
she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the
new moon to the full: but from full to a new again the enlightened
part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated."
The words "wanken" and "schweben" are not easily translated. The
English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar
or antic, or not of sufficiently general application. So "der
Wolken Zug"—The Draft, the Procession of Clouds. The Masses of the
Clouds sweep onward in swift stream.
12 A very inadequate translation of the original:—
Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,
Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!
LITERALLY.
I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious:
What does not man grieve down?
of their great king having been found at the foot of it, after the
battle in which he lost his life.
2 Could I have hazarded such a Germanism as the use of the word
afterworld for posterity,—"Es spreche Welt und Nachwelt meinen
Namen"—might have been rendered with more literal fidelity: Let
world and afterworld speak out my name, etc.
3 I have not ventured to affront the fastidious delicacy of our age
with a literal translation of this line,
werth
Die Eingeweide schaudernd aufzuregen.
4 Anspessade, in German, Gefreiter, a soldier inferior to a corporal,
but above the sentinels. The German name implies that he is exempt
from mounting guard.
5 I have here ventured to omit a considerable number of lines. I fear
that I should not have done amiss had I taken this liberty more
frequently. It is, however, incumbent on me to give the original,
with a literal translation.
"Weh denen, die auf Dich vertraun, an Dich
Die sichre Huette ihres Glueckes lehnen,
Gelockt von deiner geistlichen Gestalt.
Schnell unverhofft, bei naechtlich stiller Weile,
Gaehrts in dem tueckschen Feuerschlunde, ladet,
Sich aus mit tobender Gewalt, und weg
Treibt ueber alle Pflanzungen der Menschen
Der wilde Strom in grausender Zerstoerung."
WALLENSTEIN.
"Du schilderst deines Vaters Herz. Wie Du's
Beschreibst, so ist's in seinem Eingeweide,
In dieser schwarzen Heuchlers Brust gestaltet.
Oh, mich hat Hoellenkunst getaeuscht! Mir sandte
Der Abgrund den verflecktesten der Geister,
Den Luegenkundigsten herauf, und stellt' ihn
Als Freund an meiner Seite. Wer vermag
Der Hoelle Macht zu widersthn! Ich zog
Den Basilisken auf an meinem Busen,
Mit meinem Herzblut naehrt' ich ihn, er sog
Sich schwelgend voll an meiner Liebe Bruesten,
Ich hatte nimmer Arges gegen ihn,
Weit offen liess ich des Gedankens Thore,
Und warf die Schluessel weiser Vorsicht weg,
Am Sternenhimmel," etc.
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
"Alas! for those who place their confidence on thee, against thee
lean their secure hut of their fortune, allured by thy hospitable
form. Suddenly, unexpectedly, in a moment still as night, there is
a fermentation in the treacherous gulf of fire; it discharges
itself with raging force, and away over all the plantations of men
drives the wild stream in frightful devastation."
WALLENSTEIN.—"Thou art portraying thy father's heart; as thou
describest, even so is it shaped in its entrails, in this black
hypocrite's breast. Oh, the art of hell has deceived me! The abyss
sent up to me the most the most spotted of the spirits, the most
skilful in lies, and placed him as a friend by my side. Who may
withstand the power of hell? I took the basilisk to my bosom, with
my heart's blood I nourished him; he sucked himself glutfull at the
breasts of my love. I never harbored evil towards him; wide open
did I leave the door of my thoughts; I threw away the key of wise
foresight. In the starry heaven, etc." We find a difficulty in
believing this to have been written by Schiller.
6 This is a poor and inadequate translation of the affectionate
simplicity of the original—
Sie alle waren Fremdlinge, Du warst
Das Kind des Hauses.
Indeed the whole speech is in the best style of Massinger.
O si sic omnia!
7 It appears that the account of his conversion being caused by
such a fall, and other stories of his juvenile character, are not
well authenticated.
8 We doubt the propriety of putting so blasphemous a statement in the
mouth of any character.—T.
9 [This soliloquy, which, according to the former arrangement,
constituted the whole of scene ix., and concluded the fourth act,
is omitted in all the printed German editions. It seems probable
that it existed in the original manuscript from which Mr. Coleridge
translated.—ED.]
10 The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of six-and-twenty
lines twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular recurrence. I
thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene between
Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted without
injury to the play.—C.
11 These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite
felicity:—
Am Himmel ist geschaeftige Bewegung.
Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht
Der Wolken Zug, die Mondessichel wankt
Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle.
The word "moon-sickle" reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted
by Johnson, under the word "falcated." "The enlightened part of the
moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while
she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the
new moon to the full: but from full to a new again the enlightened
part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated."
The words "wanken" and "schweben" are not easily translated. The
English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar
or antic, or not of sufficiently general application. So "der
Wolken Zug"—The Draft, the Procession of Clouds. The Masses of the
Clouds sweep onward in swift stream.
12 A very inadequate translation of the original:—
Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,
Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!
LITERALLY.
I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious:
What does not man grieve down?