SCENE II.
OCTAVIO and MAX. as before. To then the VALET OF
THE CHAMBER.
OCTAVIO.
How now, then?
VALET.
A despatch is at the door.
OCTAVIO.
So early? From whom comes he then? Who is it?
VALET.
That he refused to tell me.
OCTAVIO.
Lead him in:
And, hark you—let it not transpire.
[Exit VALET: the CORNET steps in.
THE CHAMBER.
OCTAVIO.
How now, then?
VALET.
A despatch is at the door.
OCTAVIO.
So early? From whom comes he then? Who is it?
VALET.
That he refused to tell me.
OCTAVIO.
Lead him in:
And, hark you—let it not transpire.
[Exit VALET: the CORNET steps in.
OCTAVIO.
Ha! cornet—is it you; and from Count Gallas?
Give me your letters.
CORNET.
The lieutenant-general
Trusted it not to letters.
OCTAVIO.
And what is it?
CORNET.
He bade me tell you—Dare I speak openly here?
OCTAVIO.
My son knows all.
CORNET.
We have him.
OCTAVIO.
Whom?
CORNET.
Sesina,
The old negotiator.
OCTAVIO (eagerly).
And you have him?
CORNET.
In the Bohemian Forest Captain Mohrbrand
Found and secured him yester-morning early.
He was proceeding then to Regensburg,
And on him were despatches for the Swede.
OCTAVIO.
And the despatches——
CORNET.
The lieutenant-general
Sent them that instant to Vienna, and
The prisoner with them.
OCTAVIO.
This is, indeed, a tiding!
That fellow is a precious casket to us,
Enclosing weighty things. Was much found on him?
CORNET.
I think, six packets, with Count Terzky's arms.
OCTAVIO.
None in the duke's own hand?
CORNET.
Not that I know.
OCTAVIO.
And old Sesina.
CORNET.
He was sorely frightened.
When it was told him he must to Vienna;
But the Count Altringer bade him take heart,
Would he but make a full and free confession.
OCTAVIO.
Is Altringer then with your lord? I heard
That he lay sick at Linz.
CORNET.
These three days past
He's with my master, the lieutenant-general,
At Frauenburg. Already have they sixty
Small companies together, chosen men;
Respectfully they greet you with assurances,
That they are only waiting your commands.
OCTAVIO.
In a few days may great events take place.
And when must you return?
CORNET.
I wait your orders.
OCTAVIO.
Remain till evening.
[CORNET signifies his assent and obeisance, and is going.
No one saw you—ha?
CORNET.
No living creature. Through the cloister wicket
The capuchins, as usual, let me in.
OCTAVIO.
Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself concealed.
I hold it probable that yet ere evening
I shall despatch you. The development
Of this affair approaches: ere the day,
That even now is dawning in the heaven,
Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot
That must decide our fortunes will be drawn.
[Exit CORNET.
Ha! cornet—is it you; and from Count Gallas?
Give me your letters.
CORNET.
The lieutenant-general
Trusted it not to letters.
OCTAVIO.
And what is it?
CORNET.
He bade me tell you—Dare I speak openly here?
OCTAVIO.
My son knows all.
CORNET.
We have him.
OCTAVIO.
Whom?
CORNET.
Sesina,
The old negotiator.
OCTAVIO (eagerly).
And you have him?
CORNET.
In the Bohemian Forest Captain Mohrbrand
Found and secured him yester-morning early.
He was proceeding then to Regensburg,
And on him were despatches for the Swede.
OCTAVIO.
And the despatches——
CORNET.
The lieutenant-general
Sent them that instant to Vienna, and
The prisoner with them.
OCTAVIO.
This is, indeed, a tiding!
That fellow is a precious casket to us,
Enclosing weighty things. Was much found on him?
CORNET.
I think, six packets, with Count Terzky's arms.
OCTAVIO.
None in the duke's own hand?
CORNET.
Not that I know.
OCTAVIO.
And old Sesina.
CORNET.
He was sorely frightened.
When it was told him he must to Vienna;
But the Count Altringer bade him take heart,
Would he but make a full and free confession.
OCTAVIO.
Is Altringer then with your lord? I heard
That he lay sick at Linz.
CORNET.
These three days past
He's with my master, the lieutenant-general,
At Frauenburg. Already have they sixty
Small companies together, chosen men;
Respectfully they greet you with assurances,
That they are only waiting your commands.
OCTAVIO.
In a few days may great events take place.
And when must you return?
CORNET.
I wait your orders.
OCTAVIO.
Remain till evening.
[CORNET signifies his assent and obeisance, and is going.
No one saw you—ha?
CORNET.
No living creature. Through the cloister wicket
The capuchins, as usual, let me in.
OCTAVIO.
Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself concealed.
I hold it probable that yet ere evening
I shall despatch you. The development
Of this affair approaches: ere the day,
That even now is dawning in the heaven,
Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot
That must decide our fortunes will be drawn.
[Exit CORNET.
SCENE III.
OCTAVIO and MAX. PICCOLOMINI.
OCTAVIO.
Well—and what now, son? All will soon be clear;
For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina.
MAX. (who through the whole of the foregoing scene has been in
a violent and visible struggle of feelings, at length starts
as one resolved).
I will procure me light a shorter way.
Farewell.
OCTAVIO.
Where now? Remain here.
MAX.
To the Duke.
OCTAVIO (alarmed).
What——
MAX. (returning).
If thou hast believed that I shall act
A part in this thy play, thou hast
Miscalculated on me grievously.
My way must be straight on. True with the tongue,
False with the heart—I may not, cannot be
Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me—
As his friend trust me—and then lull my conscience
With such low pleas as these: "I ask him not—
He did it all at his own hazard—and
My mouth has never lied to him." No, no!
What a friend takes me for, that I must be.
I'll to the duke; ere yet this day is ended
Will I demand of him that he do save
His good name from the world, and with one stride
Break through and rend this fine-spun web of yours.
He can, he will! I still am his believer,
Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters
May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him.
How far may not this Terzky have proceeded—
What may not he himself too have permitted
Himself to do, to snare the enemy,
The laws of war excusing? Nothing, save
His own mouth shall convict him—nothing less!
And face to face will I go question him.
OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt.
MAX.
I will, as sure as this heart beats.
OCTAVIO.
I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee.
I calculated on a prudent son,
Who would have blessed the hand beneficent
That plucked him back from the abyss—and lo!
A fascinated being I discover,
Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders,
Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal.
Go, question him! Be mad enough, I pray thee.
The purpose of thy father, of thy emperor,
Go, give it up free booty! Force me, drive me
To an open breach before the time. And now,
Now that a miracle of heaven had guarded
My secret purpose even to this hour,
And laid to sleep suspicion's piercing eyes,
Let me have lived to see that mine own son,
With frantic enterprise, annihilates
My toilsome labors and state policy.
MAX.
Ay—this state policy! Oh, how I curse it!
You will some time, with your state policy,
Compel him to the measure: it may happen,
Because ye are determined that he is guilty,
Guilty ye'll make him. All retreat cut off,
You close up every outlet, hem him in
Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force him—
Yes, ye, ye force him, in his desperation,
To set fire to his prison. Father! father!
That never can end well—it cannot—will not!
And let it be decided as it may,
I see with boding heart the near approach
Of an ill-starred, unblest catastrophe.
For this great monarch-spirit, if he fall,
Will drag a world into the ruin with him.
And as a ship that midway on the ocean
Takes fire, at once, and with a thunder-burst
Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew
In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven!
So will he, falling, draw down in his fall
All us, who're fixed and mortised to his fortune,
Deem of it what thou wilt; but pardon me,
That I must bear me on in my own way.
All must remain pure betwixt him and me;
And, ere the daylight dawns, it must be known
Which I must lose—my father or my friend.
[During his exit the curtain drops.
OCTAVIO.
Well—and what now, son? All will soon be clear;
For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina.
MAX. (who through the whole of the foregoing scene has been in
a violent and visible struggle of feelings, at length starts
as one resolved).
I will procure me light a shorter way.
Farewell.
OCTAVIO.
Where now? Remain here.
MAX.
To the Duke.
OCTAVIO (alarmed).
What——
MAX. (returning).
If thou hast believed that I shall act
A part in this thy play, thou hast
Miscalculated on me grievously.
My way must be straight on. True with the tongue,
False with the heart—I may not, cannot be
Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me—
As his friend trust me—and then lull my conscience
With such low pleas as these: "I ask him not—
He did it all at his own hazard—and
My mouth has never lied to him." No, no!
What a friend takes me for, that I must be.
I'll to the duke; ere yet this day is ended
Will I demand of him that he do save
His good name from the world, and with one stride
Break through and rend this fine-spun web of yours.
He can, he will! I still am his believer,
Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters
May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him.
How far may not this Terzky have proceeded—
What may not he himself too have permitted
Himself to do, to snare the enemy,
The laws of war excusing? Nothing, save
His own mouth shall convict him—nothing less!
And face to face will I go question him.
OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt.
MAX.
I will, as sure as this heart beats.
OCTAVIO.
I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee.
I calculated on a prudent son,
Who would have blessed the hand beneficent
That plucked him back from the abyss—and lo!
A fascinated being I discover,
Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders,
Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal.
Go, question him! Be mad enough, I pray thee.
The purpose of thy father, of thy emperor,
Go, give it up free booty! Force me, drive me
To an open breach before the time. And now,
Now that a miracle of heaven had guarded
My secret purpose even to this hour,
And laid to sleep suspicion's piercing eyes,
Let me have lived to see that mine own son,
With frantic enterprise, annihilates
My toilsome labors and state policy.
MAX.
Ay—this state policy! Oh, how I curse it!
You will some time, with your state policy,
Compel him to the measure: it may happen,
Because ye are determined that he is guilty,
Guilty ye'll make him. All retreat cut off,
You close up every outlet, hem him in
Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force him—
Yes, ye, ye force him, in his desperation,
To set fire to his prison. Father! father!
That never can end well—it cannot—will not!
And let it be decided as it may,
I see with boding heart the near approach
Of an ill-starred, unblest catastrophe.
For this great monarch-spirit, if he fall,
Will drag a world into the ruin with him.
And as a ship that midway on the ocean
Takes fire, at once, and with a thunder-burst
Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew
In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven!
So will he, falling, draw down in his fall
All us, who're fixed and mortised to his fortune,
Deem of it what thou wilt; but pardon me,
That I must bear me on in my own way.
All must remain pure betwixt him and me;
And, ere the daylight dawns, it must be known
Which I must lose—my father or my friend.
[During his exit the curtain drops.
FOOTNOTES.
1 A town about twelve German miles N.E. of Ulm.
2 The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons
and daughters are entitled princes and princesses.
3 Carinthia.
4 A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road
from Vienna to Prague.
5 In the original,—
"Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb' ich hin mit Freuden
Fuers erste Veilchen, das der Maerz uns bringt,
Das duerftige Pfand der neuverjuengten Erde."
6 A reviewer in the Literary Gazette observes that, in these
lines, Mr. Coleridge has misapprehended the meaning of the word
"Zug," a team, translating it as "Anzug," a suit of clothes. The
following version, as a substitute, I propose:—
When from your stables there is brought to me
A team of four most richly harnessed horses.
The term, however, is "Jagd-zug" which may mean a "hunting
equipage," or a "hunting stud;" although Hilpert gives only "a team
of four horses."
7 Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who succeeded Gustavus in command.
8 The original is not translatable into English:—
—Und sein Sold
Muss dem Soldaten werden, darnach heisst er.
It might perhaps have been thus rendered:—
And that for which he sold his services,
The soldier must receive—
but a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun.
9 In Germany, after honorable addresses have been paid and formally
accepted, the lovers are called bride and bridegreoom, even though
the marriage should not take place till years afterwards.
10 I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloister,
or the name of one of the city gates, near which it stood. I have
translated it in the former sense; but fearful of having made some
blunder, I add the original,—
Es ist ein Kloster hier zur Himmelspforte.
11 No more of talk, where god or angel guest
With man, as with his friend familiar, used
To sit indulgent. Paradise Lost, B. IX.
12 I found it not in my power to translate this song with literal
fidelity preserving at the same time the Alcaic movement, and have
therefore added the original, with a prose translation. Some of my
readers may be more fortunate.
THEKLA (spielt and singt).
Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn,
Das Maegdlein wandelt an Ufers Gruen;
Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht,
Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht,
Das Auge von Weinen getruebet:
Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer,
Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr.
Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurueck,
Ich babe genossen das irdische Glueck,
Ich babe gelebt and geliebet.
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
THEKLA (plays and sings). The oak-forest bellows, the clouds
gather, the damsel walks to and fro on the green of the shore; the
wave breaks with might, with might, and she sings out into the dark
night, her eye discolored with weeping: the heart is dead, the world
is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. Thou Holy
One, call thy child home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this
world, I have lived and have loved.
I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which my
friend, Charles Lamb, has favored me, and which appears to me to
have caught the happiest manner of our old ballads:—
The clouds are blackening, the storms are threatening,
The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan!
Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching,
Thus in the dark night she singeth alone,
He eye upward roving:
The world is empty, the heart is dead surely,
In this world plainly all seemeth amiss;
To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one.
I have partaken of all earth's bliss,
Both living and loving.
13 There are few who will not have taste enough to laugh at the
two concluding lines of this soliloquy: and still fewer, I would
fain hope, who would not have been more disposed to shudder, had I
given a faithful translation. For the readers of German I have
added the original:—
Blind-wuethend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude
Den Pechkranz in das brennende Gebaeude.
2 The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons
and daughters are entitled princes and princesses.
3 Carinthia.
4 A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road
from Vienna to Prague.
5 In the original,—
"Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb' ich hin mit Freuden
Fuers erste Veilchen, das der Maerz uns bringt,
Das duerftige Pfand der neuverjuengten Erde."
6 A reviewer in the Literary Gazette observes that, in these
lines, Mr. Coleridge has misapprehended the meaning of the word
"Zug," a team, translating it as "Anzug," a suit of clothes. The
following version, as a substitute, I propose:—
When from your stables there is brought to me
A team of four most richly harnessed horses.
The term, however, is "Jagd-zug" which may mean a "hunting
equipage," or a "hunting stud;" although Hilpert gives only "a team
of four horses."
7 Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, who succeeded Gustavus in command.
8 The original is not translatable into English:—
—Und sein Sold
Muss dem Soldaten werden, darnach heisst er.
It might perhaps have been thus rendered:—
And that for which he sold his services,
The soldier must receive—
but a false or doubtful etymology is no more than a dull pun.
9 In Germany, after honorable addresses have been paid and formally
accepted, the lovers are called bride and bridegreoom, even though
the marriage should not take place till years afterwards.
10 I am doubtful whether this be the dedication of the cloister,
or the name of one of the city gates, near which it stood. I have
translated it in the former sense; but fearful of having made some
blunder, I add the original,—
Es ist ein Kloster hier zur Himmelspforte.
11 No more of talk, where god or angel guest
With man, as with his friend familiar, used
To sit indulgent. Paradise Lost, B. IX.
12 I found it not in my power to translate this song with literal
fidelity preserving at the same time the Alcaic movement, and have
therefore added the original, with a prose translation. Some of my
readers may be more fortunate.
THEKLA (spielt and singt).
Der Eichwald brauset, die Wolken ziehn,
Das Maegdlein wandelt an Ufers Gruen;
Es bricht sich die Welle mit Macht, mit Macht,
Und sie singt hinaus in die finstre Nacht,
Das Auge von Weinen getruebet:
Das Herz is gestorben, die Welt ist leer,
Und weiter giebt sie dem Wunsche nichts mehr.
Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zurueck,
Ich babe genossen das irdische Glueck,
Ich babe gelebt and geliebet.
LITERAL TRANSLATION.
THEKLA (plays and sings). The oak-forest bellows, the clouds
gather, the damsel walks to and fro on the green of the shore; the
wave breaks with might, with might, and she sings out into the dark
night, her eye discolored with weeping: the heart is dead, the world
is empty, and further gives it nothing more to the wish. Thou Holy
One, call thy child home. I have enjoyed the happiness of this
world, I have lived and have loved.
I cannot but add here an imitation of this song, with which my
friend, Charles Lamb, has favored me, and which appears to me to
have caught the happiest manner of our old ballads:—
The clouds are blackening, the storms are threatening,
The cavern doth mutter, the greenwood moan!
Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart aching,
Thus in the dark night she singeth alone,
He eye upward roving:
The world is empty, the heart is dead surely,
In this world plainly all seemeth amiss;
To thy heaven, Holy One, take home thy little one.
I have partaken of all earth's bliss,
Both living and loving.
13 There are few who will not have taste enough to laugh at the
two concluding lines of this soliloquy: and still fewer, I would
fain hope, who would not have been more disposed to shudder, had I
given a faithful translation. For the readers of German I have
added the original:—
Blind-wuethend schleudert selbst der Gott der Freude
Den Pechkranz in das brennende Gebaeude.