The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, (1 and 2), by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Wallenstein. How knew she it so soon?

Countess. She seems to have
Foreboded some misfortune. The report
Of an engagement, in the which had fallen
A colonel of the Imperial army, frighten'd her.
I saw it instantly. She flew to meet 5
The Swedish Courier, and with sudden questioning,
Soon wrested from him the disastrous secret.
Too late we missed her, hastened after her,
[786] We found her lying in his arms, all pale
And in a swoon.

Wallenstein. A heavy, heavy blow! 10
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 15
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. O! think not of it,
My Thekla!

Wallenstein. Give her sorrow leave to talk!
Let her complain—mingle your tears with hers, 20
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? 25
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! 30

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 35
Hear his report and question him.

Duchess. No, never!

Countess. 'Tis not advisable—assent not to it.

[787]Wallenstein. Hush! Wherefore would'st thou speak with him, my daughter?

Thekla. Knowing the whole, I shall be more collected;
I will not be deceived. My mother wishes 40
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; 45
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. 50

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 55
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, 60
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 Tertsky say 65
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. O take us with you, brother.
Leave us not in this gloomy solitude 70
To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt
[788] 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.
O leave us not behind you in a place 75
That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy
And sick within me is my heart——
These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault.
I cannot tell you, brother, how this place
Doth go against my nature. Take us with you. 80
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. 85

Wallenstein. Leave her alone with him. [Exit.

Duchess (to Thekla who starts and shivers). There—pale as death!—Child, 'tis impossible
That thou should'st speak with him. Follow thy mother.

Thekla. The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me. [Exeunt Duchess and Countess.

LINENOTES:

Scene IV

Captain. Princess—I must entreat your gentle pardon—
My inconsiderate rash speech—How could I—

Thekla. You did behold me in my agony.
A most distressful accident occasioned
You from a stranger to become at once 5
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, 10
Continue it to the end.

Captain. Princess, 'twill
Renew your anguish.

Thekla. I am firm.——
[789] I will be firm. Well—how began the engagement?

Captain. We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt,
Entrenched but insecurely in our camp, 15
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, 20
And leapt 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 25
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, 30
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 leapt first, the regiment all plunged after. 35
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.

Thekla. 'Tis over.
Proceed to the conclusion.

Captain. Wild despair 40
Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw
Their leader perish; every thought of rescue
[790] Was spurn'd; they fought like wounded tigers; their
Frantic resistance rous'd our soldiery;
A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest 45
Finish'd before their last man fell.

Thekla. 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; 50
The sword of the deceased was placed upon it,
In mark of honour, 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; 55
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 60
Are his remains deposited, until
We can receive directions from his father.

Thekla. What is the cloister's name?

Captain. Saint Catharine's.

Thekla. And how far is it thither?

Captain. Near twelve leagues.

Thekla. And which the way?

Captain. You go by Tirschenreit 65
And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts.

Thekla. Who
Is their commander?

Captain. Colonel Seckendorf.

Thekla. You have beheld me in my agony,
And shewn a feeling heart. Please you, accept [Giving him the ring.
A small memorial of this hour. Now go! 70

Captain. 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.

LINENOTES:

Scene V

Thekla (falls on Lady Neubrunn's neck). Now, gentle Neubrunn, shew 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. 5
Thither where he lies buried! To his coffin!

Neubrunn. What would you do there?

Thekla. What do there?
That would'st thou not have asked, hadst thou e'er loved.
There, there is all that still remains of him.
That single spot is the whole earth to me. 10

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—— 15
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. 20

Neubrunn. And we alone, two helpless feeble women?

Thekla. We will take weapons: my arms 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! 25
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. 30

[792]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? 35

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; 40
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? 45

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, 50
Resistless does it draw me to his grave.
There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow.
O 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 55
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— 60
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.

LINENOTES:

Scene VI

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! 5
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. O! my only hope;—
To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds— 10
That is the lot of heroes upon earth! [Exit Thekla.[793:1]

FOOTNOTES:

LINENOTES:

ACT V

Scene I

Scene—A Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends far into the back-ground. Wallenstein 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, 5
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 Tertsky enters, stands before him awhile, unobserved by him; at length he starts, sees her, and recollects himself.

Wallenstein. Com'st thou from her? Is she restored? How is she? 10

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 15
I had expected to have found in thee
A cheerful spirit. O 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. 20

Wallenstein (rises). The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.

Countess. Bid me not go, O 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 [794:1] of the moon, 25
Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light.
No form of star is visible! That one
[795] White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder,
Is from Cassiopeia, and therein
Is Jupiter. (A pause.) But now 30
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 35
Shot strength into my heart.

Countess. Thou'lt see him again.

Wallenstein. See him again? O 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, 40
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 45
Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour
Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us!

Countess. Thou speakest
Of Piccolomini. What was his death?
The courier had just left thee as I came. 50
[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; 55
To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

[796]Wallenstein. I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious.
What does not man grieve down? From the highest,
As from the vilest thing of every day
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours 60
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost
In him. The bloom is vanished from my life.
For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transformed for me the real to a dream,
Clothing the palpable and familiar 65
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,
The beautiful is vanished—and returns not.

Countess. O be not treacherous to thy own power.
Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 70
Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him,
The which thyself did'st 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! 75

Countess. O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee—
A boding fear possesses me!

Wallenstein. Fear? Wherefore?

Countess. Should'st thou depart this night, and we at waking
Never more find thee!

Wallenstein. Fancies!

Countess. O my soul
Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings. 80
And if I combat and repel them waking,
They still rush down upon my heart in dreams,
I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife
Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired.

[797]Wallenstein. This was a dream of favourable omen, 85
That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.

Countess. To-day I dreamt 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, 90
And where it is thy will that thou should'st 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. 95
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 100
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 105
Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife,
Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.
His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma
Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth
Into the open air: like funeral knells 110
Sounded that coronation festival;
And still with boding sense he heard the tread
Of those feet that ev'n then were seeking him
Throughout the streets of Paris.

Countess. And to thee
The voice within thy soul bodes nothing?

Wallenstein. Nothing. 115
Be wholly tranquil.

Countess. And another time
I hastened after thee, and thou ran'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 o'ertake thee; 120
When on a sudden did I feel myself
Grasped from behind—the hand was cold that grasped me—
'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed
[798] A crimson covering to envelop us.

Wallenstein. That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 125

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. 130

Countess. If he should find them, my resolve is taken—
I bear about me my support and refuge. [Exit Countess.

Scene III

LINENOTES:

Scene IV

LINENOTES:

Scene V

LINENOTES:

Scene VI

FOOTNOTES:

LINENOTES:

ACT V

Scene I

FOOTNOTES: