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The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. III by Kuno Francke (Editor in Chief)

K >> Kuno Francke (Editor in Chief) >> The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. III




DEVEREUX.

Well! Well! Come then, Macdonald, he shall not
Lie long in pain.

[_Exeunt_ BUTLER _through one door_, MACDONALD _and_
DEVEREUX _through the other_.]


SCENE III


_A Saloon, terminated by a Gallery which extends far into
the background_.

WALLENSTEIN _Sitting at a table. The_ SWEDISH CAPTAIN
_standing before him_.

WALLENST.

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. Tomorrow
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_.]

WALLENST.

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 alter'd too,
My brother! After such a victory
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.

WALLENSTEIN _(rises and strides across the saloon)_.

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[34] 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 marvelously hath his aspect
Shot strength into my heart.

COUNTESS.

Thou'lt see him again.

WALLENSTEIN _(remains for a while, with, absent mind, then
assumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the_
COUNTESS).

See him again? O never, never again!

COUNTESS.

How?

WALLENSTEIN.

He is gone--is dust.

COUNTESS.

Whom meanest thou, then?

WALLENST.

He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finish'd!
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. 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.

[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 today,
For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead;
To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

WALLENST.

This anguish will be wearied down,[35] 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 vanish'd from my life;
For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transform'd 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 vanish'd--and returns not.

COUNTESS.

O 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.

O '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.

O my soul
Has long been weigh'd down by these dark fore-bodings,
And if I combat and repel them waking,
They will crush down upon my heart in dreams.
I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife
Sit at a banquet, gorgeously attired.

WALLENST.

This was a dream of favorable omen,
That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.

COUNTESS.

Today I dreamt that I was seeking thee
In thy own chamber. As I enter'd, 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 should'st be
Interr'd.

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?

WALTENST.

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 today already walks tomorrow.
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 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
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 hasten'd after thee, and thou ran'st from me
Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall.
There seem'd no end of it: doors creak'd and clapp'd;
I follow'd panting, but could not o'ertake thee;
When on a sudden did I feel myself
Grasp'd from behind--the hand was cold that grasped me--
'Twas thou, and thou didst kiss me, and there seem'd
A crimson covering to envelop us.

WALLENST. 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_.]

WALLENST.

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.]


SCENE IV


WALLENSTEIN, GORDON

WALLENST.

All quiet in the town?

GORDON.

The town is quiet.

WALLENST.

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.

WALLENST.

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 eye 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.

WALLENST.

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 wert 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 unconquer'd 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
Repress'd 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 offer'd
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 overweight 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 shatter'd _me_.


SCENE V


_To these enter_ SENI

WALLENST.

Is not that Seni! and beside himself,
If one may 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_).

O 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!

WALLENST.

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.--O be warn'd!
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?

WALLENST.

Speak freely.

[Illustration: WALLENSTEIN WARNED BY HIS FRIENDS
As performed at the Municipal Theatre, Hamburg, 1906]

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 wing'd
The ruin that is flying to your temples?

[_Flings himself at his feet_.]

There is yet time, my Prince.

SENI.

O 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
Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.

WALLENSTEIN (_contemplates him with surprise, remains
awhile, 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 never could let myself be pardon'd.
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 hush'd--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 thy 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
farther 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 murder'd;
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 dismiss'd 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 perish'd, 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! O 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 off_)

The next moment
May ruin all.

GORDON _(holds him still_).

One hour!--

BUTLER. Unhold me! What
Can that short respite profit him?

[Illustration: DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN Karl von Piloty]

GORDON.

O--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. O 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_).

O, 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 bed-chamber is empty; she herself
Is nowhere to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watch'd 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? O
If that my husband now were but return'd
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!--O God! where is he?

GORDON (_observing the_ COUNTESS).

Countess! Say--

COUNTESS.

You are 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 discover'd 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.

O 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_).

A bloody, frightful deed!

COUNTESS.

What is it, Seni?

PAGE (_from the Gallery_).

O 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 murder'd--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 murder'd!

BURGOMASTER (_rushing out_).

Heaven forbid!

1ST SERV.

Fly! fly! they murder us all!

SECOND SERVANT (_carrying silver plate_).

That way! the lower
Passages are block'd 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!