Wallenstein

Front matter

WALLENSTEIN

London. Published April 1800. by Messrs. Longman and Rees, Paternoster Row.

WALLENSTEIN.

Preface

PREFACE

OF THE

TRANSLATOR.

The two Dramas, Piccolomini, or the first part of Wallenstein, and Wallenstein, are introduced in the original manuscript by a Prelude in one Act, entitled Wallenstein's Camp. This is written in rhyme, and in nine syllable verse, in the same lilting metre (if that expression may be permitted) with the second Eclogue of Spencer's Shepherd's Calendar.

This Prelude possesses a sort of broad humour, and is not deficient in character; but to have translated it into prose, or into any other metre than that of the original, would have given a false idea both of its style and purport; to have translated it into the same metre would have been incompatible with a faithful adherence to the sense of the German, from the comparative poverty of our language in rhymes; and it would have been unadvisable from the incongruity of those lax verses with the present taste of the English Public. Schiller's intention seems to have been merely to have prepared his reader for the Tragedies by a lively picture of the laxity of discipline, and the mutinous dispositions of Wallenstein's soldiery. It is not necessary as a preliminary explanation. For these reasons it has been thought expedient not to translate it.

The admirers of Schiller, who have abstracted their idea of that author from the Robbers, and the Cabal and Love, plays in which the main interest is produced by the excitement of curiosity, and in which the curiosity is excited by terrible and extraordinary incident, will not have perused without some portion of disappointment the Dramas, which it has been my employment to translate. They should, however, reflect, that these are Historical Dramas, taken from a popular German History; that we must therefore judge of them in some measure with the feelings of Germans; or by analogy, with the interest excited in us by similar Dramas in our own language. Few, I trust, would be rash or ignorant enough to compare Schiller with Shakespeare; yet, merely as illustration, I would say that we should proceed to the perusal of Wallenstein, not from Lear or Othello, but from Richard the Second, or the three parts of Henry the Sixth. We scarcely expect rapidity in an Historical Drama; and many prolix speeches are pardoned from characters, whose names and actions have formed the most amusing tales of our early life. On the other hand, there exist in these plays more individual beauties, more passages, whose excellence will bear reflection, than in the former productions of Schiller. The description of the Astrological Tower, and the reflections of the Young Lover, which follow it, form in the original a fine poem; and my translation must have been wretched indeed, if it can have wholly overclouded the beauties of the Scene in the first Act of the first Play between Questenberg, Max, and Octavio Piccolomini. If we except the Scene of the setting sun in the Robbers, I know of no part in Schiller's Plays which equals the whole of the first Scene of the fifth Act of the concluding Play. It would be unbecoming in me to be more diffuse on this subject. A Translator stands connected with the original Author by a certain law of subordination, which makes it more decorous to point out excellencies than defects: indeed he is not likely to be a fair judge of either. The pleasure or disgust from his own labour will mingle with the feelings that arise from an afterview of the original. Even in the first perusal of ä work in any foreign language which we understand, we are apt to attribute to it more excellence than it really possesses from our own pleasurable sense of difficulty overcome without effort. Translation of poetry into poetry is difficult, because the Translator must give a brilliancy to his language without that warmth of original conception, from which each brilliancy would follow of its own accord. But the Translator of a living Author is encumbered with additional inconveniences. If he render his original faithfully, as to the sense of each passage, he must necessarily destroy a considerable portion of the spirit; if he endeavour to give a work executed according to laws of compensation, he subjects himself to imputations of vanity, or misrepresentation. I have thought it my duty to remain bound by the sense of my original, with as few exceptions as the nature of the languages rendered possible.

S. T. COLERIDGE

Dramatis Personæ

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in the Thirty-years War. Duchess of Friedland, Wife of Wallenstein. Thekla, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland. The Countess Tertsky, Sister of the Duchess. Lady Neubrunn. Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant General. Max. Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. Count Tertsky, the Commander of federal Regiments, and Brother-in-law of Wallenstein. Illo, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant. Butler, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons. Gordon, Governor of Egra. Major Geraldin. Captain Devereux. ——Macdonald. Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-camp to Tertsky. Swedish Captain. Seni. Burgomaster, of Egra. Anspessade of the Cuirassiers. Groom of the Chamber, Belonging to the Duke. A Page, Cuirassiers, Dragoons, Servants.

The Piccolomini, or the First Part of Wallenstein

TRANSLATED FROM A MANUSCRIPT COPY ATTESTED BY THE AUTHOR,

THE

PICCOLOMINI,

OR THE

FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN.

PRINTED BY G. WOODFALL, PATERNOSTER ROW.

THE

PICCOLOMINI,

OR THE

FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN,

A DRAMA

IN FIVE ACTS.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

FREDERICK SCHILLER

BY

S T. COLERIDGE.

LONDON :

PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, PATERNOSTER-ROW,

1800

Preface

PREFACE

OF

THE TRANSLATOR.

IT was my intention to have prefixed a Life of Wallenstein to this translation; but I found that it must either have occupied a space wholly disproportionate to the nature of the publication, or have been merely a meagre catalogue of events narrated not more fully than they already are in the Play itself. The recent translation, likewise, of Schiller's History of the Thirty Years' War diminished the motives thereto. In the translation I endeavoured to render my Author literally wherever I was not prevented by absolute differences of idiom; but I am conscious, that in two or three short passages I have been guilty of dilating the original; and, from anxiety to give the full meaning, have weakened the force. In the metre I have availed myself of no other liberties than those which Schiller had permitted to himself, except the occasional breaking-up of the line by the substitution of a trochee for an iambic; of which liberty, so frequent in our tragedies, I find no instance in these dramas.

S.T.COLERIDGE.

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Dramatis Personæ

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in the Thirty-years War. Octavio Piccolomini, Lieutenant General. Max. Piccolomini, his Son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. Count Tertsky, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law of Wallenstein. Illo, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant. Isolani, General of the Croats. Butler, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons. {| |Tiefenbach, || rowspan="4" | | |- |Don Maradas, ||Generals under Wallenstein. |- |Goetz,|| |- |Kolatto, || |}Neumann, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-camp to Tertsky. The War Commissioner Von Questenberg, Imperial Envoy. General Wrangel, Swedish Envoy. Baptista Seni, Astrologer.

Duchess of Friedland, Wife of Wallenstein. Thekla, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland. The Countess Tertsky, Sister of the Duchess.

A Cornet. Several Colonels and Generals. Pages and Attendants belonging to Wallenstein. Attendants and Hoböists belonging to Tertsky. The Master of the Cellar to Count Tertsky. Valet de Chambre of Count Piccolomini.

The Piccolomini, Act 1, Scene I.

THE

PICCOLOMINI, &c.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

An old Gothic Chamber in the Council House at Pilsen, decorated with Colours and other War Insignia.

Illo with Butler and Isolani.

ILLO.

Ye have come late—but ye are come! The distance,

Count Isolan, excuses your delay.

ISOLANI.

Add this too, that we come not empty-handed.

At Donauwert it was reported to us, A Swedish caravan was on it's way Transporting a rich cargo of provision, Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats

Plung'd down upon and seized, this weighty prize!—— We bring it hither——

ILLO.

Just in time to banquet

The illustrious company assembled here.

BUTLER.

'Tis all alive! a stirring scene here!

ISOLANI.

Ay!

The very churches are full of soldiers.

(Casts his eye round)

And in the council-house, too, I observe,

You're settled quite at home! Well, well! we soldiers Must shift and suit us in what way we can.

ILLO.

We have the Colonels here of thirty regiments.

You'll find Count Tertsky here, and Tiefenbach, Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam, The Piccolomini, both son and father—— You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting From many an old friend and acquaintance. Only Gallas is wanting still, and Altringer.

BUTLER.

Expect not Gallas.

ILLO. (hesitating).

How so? Do you know——

ISOLANI. (interrupting him).

Max. Piccolomini here?—O bring me to him.

I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago,

We were engaged with Mansfeld hard by Dessau) I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him, Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown, And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril, Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe. The down was scarce upon his chin! I hear He has made good the promise of his youth, And the full hero now is finish'd in him.

ILLO.

You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts

The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess From Carnthen. We expect them here at noon.

BUTLER.

Both wife and daughter does the Duke call hither?

He crowds in visitants from all sides.

ISOLANI.

Hm!

So much the better! I had fram'd my mind To hear of naught but warlike circumstance, Of marches, and attacks, and batteries: And lo! the Duke provides, and something too Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present To feast our eyes.

ILLO. (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to Butler, whom he leads a little on one side). And how came you to know, That the Count Galas joins us not?

BUTLER.

Because

He importun'd me to remain behind.

ILLO. (with warmth).

And you?—You hold out firmly?

(Grasping his hand with affection.)

Noble Butler!

BUTLER.

After the obligation which the Duke

Had laid so newly on me——

ILLO.

I had forgotten

A pleasant duty—Major-General, I wish you joy!

ISOLANI.

What, you mean, of his regiment?

I hear, too, that, to make the gift still sweeter, The Duke has given him the very same In which he first saw service, and since then, Work'd himself, step by step, thro' each preferment From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives A precedent of hope, a spur of action To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance An old deserving soldier makes his way.

BUTLER.

I am perplexed and doubtful, whether or no

I dare accept this your congratulation. The Emperor has not yet confirm'd th' appointment.

ISOLANI.

Seize it, friend! Seize it! The hand which in that post

Plac'd you, is strong enough to keep you there, Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers!

ILLO.

Ay, if we would but so consider it!—

If we would all of us consider it so! The Emperor gives us nothing; from the Duke Comes all—whate'er we hope, whate'er we have.

ISOLANI. (to Illo)

My noble brother! did I tell you how

The Duke will satisfy my creditors? Will be himself my banker for the future, Make me once more a creditable man!—— And this is now the third time, think of that! This kingly-minded man has rescued me From absolute ruin, and restor'd my honour.

ILLO.

O that his power but kept pace with his wishes!

Why, friend! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers. But at Vienna, brother!—there's the grievance!— What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten His arm, and where they can, to clip his pinions. Then these new dainty requisitions! these, Which this same Questenberg brings hither!——

BUTLER.

Ay!

Those requisitions of the Emperor,——

I too have heard about them; but I hope The Duke will not draw back a single inch!

ILLO.

Not from his right most surely, unless first

—From office!

BUTLER. (shocked and confused)

Know you aught then? You alarm me.

ISOLANI. (at the same time with Butler, and in a hurrying voice).

We should be ruin'd, every one of us!

ILLO.

No more!

Yonder I see our worthy friend approaching With the Lieutenant-General Piccolomini.

BUTLER. (shaking his head significantly)

I fear we shall not go hence as we came.

The Piccolomini, Act 1, Scene II.

SCENE II.

Enter Octavio Piccolomini, and Questenberg.

OCTAVIO (still in the distance)

Ay! ay! more still! Still more new visitors!

Acknowledge, friend! that never was a camp, Which held at once so many heads of heroes.

(Approaching nearer.)

Welcome, Count Isolani!

ISOLANI.

My noble brother,

Even now am I arriv'd; it has been else my duty—

OCTAVIO.

And Colonel Butler—trust me, I rejoice

Thus to renew acquaintance with a man Whose worth and services I know and honor. See, see, my friend! There might we place at once before our eyes The sum of war's whole trade and mystery— (To Questenberg, presenting Butler and Isolani at the same time to him.) These two the total sum—Strength and Dispatch.

QUESTENBERG (to Octavio).

And lo! betwixt them both experienc'd Prudence!

OCTAVIO (presenting Questenberg to Butler and Isolani).

The Chamberlain and War-commissioner Questenberg.

The bearer of the Emperor's behests, The long-tried friend and patron of all soldiers, We honor in this noble visitor. (Universal silence.)

ILLO. (moving towards Questenberg.)

'Tis not the first time, noble Minister,

You have shewn our camp this honor.

QUESTENBERG.

Once before

I stood before these colours.

ILLO.

Perchance too you remember where that was.

It was at Znäim in Moravia, where You did present yourself upon the part Of th' Emperor to supplicate our Duke That he would straight assume the chief command.

QUESTENBERG.

To supplicate? Nay, bold general!

So far extended neither my commission (At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal.

ILLO.

Well, well, then—to compel him, if you chuse.

I can remember me right well, Count Tilly Had suffered total rout upon the Lech. Bavaria lay all open to the enemy, Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing Onwards into the very heart of Austria. At that time you and Werdenberg appear'd Before our General, storming him with prayers, And menacing the Emperor's displeasure, Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness.

ISOLANI. (Steps up to them.)

Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough,

Wherefore with your commission of to-day, You were not all too willing to remember Your former one.

QUESTENBERG.

Why not, Count Isolan?

No contradiction sure exists between them.

It was the urgent business of that time To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand; And my commission of to-day instructs me To free her from her good friends and protectors.

ILLO.

A worthy office! After with our blood

We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon, To be swept out of it is all our thanks, The sole reward of all our hard-won victories.

QUESTENBERG.

Unless that wretched land be doom'd to suffer

Only a change of evils, it must be Freed from the scourge alike of friend or foe.

ILLO.

What? 'Twas a favorable year; the Boors

Can answer fresh demands already.

QUESTENBERG.

Nay,

If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds—

ISOLANI.

The war maintains the war. Are the Boors ruin'd

The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers.

QUESTENBERG.

And is the poorer by even so many subjects.

ISOLANI.

Poh! we are all his subjects.

QUESTENBERG.

Yet with a difference, General! The one fill

With profitable industry the purse, The others are well skill'd to empty it.

The sword has made the Emperor poor; the plough Must reinvigorate his resources.

ISOLANI.

Sure!

Times are not yet so bad. Methinks I see (Examining with his eye the dress and ornaments of Questenberg) Good store of gold that still remains uncoin'd.

QUESTENBERG.

Thank Heaven! that means have been found out to hide

Some little from the fingers of the Croats.

ILLO.

There! The Stawata and the Martinitz,

On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces, To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians— Those minions of court favor, those court harpies, Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens Driven from their house and home—who reap no harvests Save in the general calamity— Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock The desolation of their country—these, Let these, and such as these, support the war, The fatal war, which they alone enkindled!

BUTLER.

And those state-parasites, who have their feet

So constantly beneath the Emperor's table, Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they Snap at it with dog's hunger—they, forsooth,

Would pare the soldier's bread, and cross his reckoning!

ISOLANI.

My life long will it anger me to think,

How when I went to court seven years ago, To see about new horses for our regiment, How from one antichamber to another They dragg'd me on, and left me by the hour To kick my heels among a croud of simpering, Feast-fatten'd slaves, as if I had come thither A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favor That fall beneath their tables. And, at last, Whom should they send me but a Capuchin! Straight I began to muster up my sins For absolution—but no such luck for me! This was the man, this Capuchin, with whom I was to treat concerning th' army horses. And I was forc'd at last to quit the field, The business unaccomplish'd. Afterwards The Duke procur'd me in three days, what I Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna.

QUESTENBERG.

Yes, yes! your travelling bills soon found their way to us:

Too well I know we have still accounts to settle.

ILLO.

War is violent trade; one cannot always

Finish one's work by soft means; every trifle Must not be blacken'd into sacrilege. If we should wait till you, in solemn council, With due deliberation had selected

The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, I'faith we should wait long.— "Dash! and through with it!"—That's the better watch-word. Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature To make the best of a bad thing once past. A bitter and perplexed "What shall I do?" Is worse to man than worst necessity.

QUESTENBERG.

Ay, doubtless, it is true; the Duke does spare us

The troublesome task of chusing.

BUTLER.

Yes, the Duke

Cares with a father's feelings for his troops; But how the Emperor feels for us, we see.

QUESTENBERG.

His cares and feelings all ranks share alike,

Nor will he offer one up to another.

ISOLANI.

And therefore thrusts he us into the desarts

As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home.

QUESTENBERG (with a sneer).

Count, this comparison you make, not I.

BUTLER.

Why, were we all the Court supposes us,

'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty.

QUESTENBERG.

You have taken liberty—it was not given you.

And therefore it becomes an urgent duty To rein it in with the curbs.

OCTAVIO (interposing and addressing Questenberg).

My noble friend,

This is no more than a remembrancing That you are now in camp, and among warriors. The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. Could he act daringly, unless he dar'd Talk even so? One runs into the other. The boldness of this worthy officer, (Pointing to Butler) Which now has but mistaken in its mark, Preserv'd, when nought but boldness could preserve it, To the Emperor his capital city Prague, In a most formidable mutiny Of the whole garrison. (Military music at a distance.) Hah! here they come!

ILLO.

The sentries are saluting them: this signal

Announces the arrival of the Duchess.

OCTAVIO (to Questenberg).

Then my son Max. too has return'd. 'Twas he

Fetch'd and attended them from Carnthen hither.

ISOLANI (to Illo).

Shall we not go in company to greet them?

ILLO.

Well, let us go.—Ho! Colonel Butler, come.

(To Octavio.)

You'll not forget, that yet ere noon we meet

The noble envoy at the General's palace. Exeunt all but Questenberg and Octavio.

The Piccolomini, Act 1, Scene III.

SCENE III.

Questenberg and Octavio.

QUESTENBERG (with signs of aversion and astonishment).

What have I not been forc'd to hear, Octavio!

What sentiments! what fierce, uncurb'd defiance! And were this spirit universal—

OCTAVIO.

Hm!

You are now acquainted with three fourths of the army.

QUESTENBERG.

Where must we seek then for a second host

To have the custody of this? That Illo Thinks worse, I fear me, than he speaks. And then This Butler too—he cannot even conceal The passionate workings of his ill intentions.

OCTAVIO.

Quickness of temper—irritated pride;

'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler. I know a spell that will soon dispossess The evil spirit in him.

QUESTENBERG (walking up and down in evident disquiet).

Friend, friend!

O! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffer'd Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There We saw it only with a courtier's eyes, Eyes dazzled by the splendor of the throne. We had not seen the War-chief, the Commander, The man all-powerful in his camp. Here, here, 'Tis quite another thing. Here is no Emperor more—the Duke is Emperor. Alas, my friend! alas, my noble friend! This walk which you have ta'en me through the camp Strikes my hopes prostrate.

OCTAVIO.

Now you see yourself

Of what a perilous kind the office is, Which you deliver to me from the Court. The least suspicion of the General Costs me my freedom and my life, and would But hasten his most desperate enterprise.

QUESTENBERG.

Where was our reason sleeping when we trusted

This madman with the sword, and plac'd such power In such a hand? I tell you, he'll refuse, Flatly refuse, t'obey the imperial orders. Friend, he can do't, and what he can, he will. And then th'impunity of his defiance— O! what a proclamation of our weakness!

OCTAVIO.

D'ye think too, he has brought his wife and daughter

Without a purpose hither? Here in camp! And at the very point of time, in which We're arming for the war? That he has taken These, the last pledges of his loyalty, Away from out the Emperor's dominions— This is no doubtful token of the nearness Of some eruption!

QUESTENBERG.

How shall we hold footing

Beneath this tempest, which collects itself And threats us from all quarters? Th' enemy Of th' empire on our borders, now already The master of the Danube, and still farther, And farther still, extending every hour! In our interior the alarum-bells Of insurrection—peasantry in arms—— All orders discontented—and the army, Just in the moment of our expectation Of aidance from it—lo! this very army Seduc'd, run wild, lost to all discipline, Loosen'd, and rent asunder from the state And from their sov'reign, the blind instrument Of the most daring of mankind, a weapon Of fearful power, which at his will he wields!

OCTAVIO.

Nay, nay, friend! let us not despair too soon.

Men's words are ever bolder than their deeds: And many a resolute, who now appears

Made up to all extremes, will, on a sudden, Find in his breast a heart he wot not of, Let but a single honest man speak out The true name of his crime! Remember too, We stand not yet so wholly unprotected. Counts Altringer and Galas have maintain'd Their little army faithful to it's duty, And daily it becomes more numerous. Nor can he take us by surprize: you know, I hold him all encompass'd by my list'ners. Whate'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing— No step so small, but instantly I hear it; Yea, his own mouth discloses it.

QUESTENBERG.

'Tis quite

Incomprehensible, that he detects not The foe so near!

OCTAVIO.

Beware, you do not think,

That I by lying arts, and complaisant Hypocrisy, have skulk'd into his graces; Or with the sustenance of smooth professions Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No— Compell'd alike by prudence, and that duty Which we all owe our country, and our sovereign, To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits!

QUESTENBERG.

It is the visible ordinance of heaven.

OCTAVIO.

I know not what it is that so attracts

And links him both to me and to my son. Comrades and friends we always were—long habit, Adventurous deeds perform'd in company, And all those many and various incidents Which store a soldier's memory with affections, Had bound us long and early to each other— Yet I can name the day, when all at once His heart rose on me, and his confidence Shot out into sudden growth. It was the morning Before the memorable fight at Lützner. Urg'd by an ugly dream, I sought him out, To press him to accept another charger. At distance from the tents, beneath a tree, I found him in a sleep. When I had wak'd him, And had related all my bodings to him, Long time he star'd upon me, like a man Astounded; thereon fell upon my neck, And manifested to me an emotion That far outstripp'd the worth of that small service. Since then his confidence has follow'd me With the same pace that mine has fled from him.

QUESTENBERG.

You lead your son into the secret?

OCTAVIO.

No!

QUESTENBERG.

What? and not warn him either what bad hands

His lot has plac'd him in?

OCTAVIO.

I must perforce

Leave him in wardship to his innocence. His young and open soul—dissimulation Is foreign to it's habits! Ignorance Alone can keep alive the cheerful air, The unembarrass'd sense and light free spirit, That makes the Duke secure.

QUESTENBERG. (anxiously)

My honour'd friend! most highly do I deem

Of Colonel Piccolomini—yet—if—— Reflect a little——

OCTAVIO.

I must venture it.

Hush!—There he comes!

The Piccolomini, Act 1, Scene IV.

SCENE IV.

Max. Piccolomini, Octavio Piccolomini, Questenberg.

MAX.

Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father!

(He embraces his father. As he turns round, he observes Questenberg, and draws back with a cold and reserved air.)You are engag'd, I see. I'll not disturb you.

OCTAVIO.

How, Max.? Look closer at this visitor

Attention, Max. an old friend merits—Rev'rence Belongs of right to the envoy of your sov'reign.

MAX. (drily)

Von Questenberg!—Welcome—if you bring with you

Aught good to our head quarters.

QUESTENBERG. (seizing his hand)

Nay, draw not

Your hand away, Count Piccolimini! Not on my own account alone I seiz'd it, And nothing common will I say therewith. (taking the hands of both) Octavio—Max. Piccolomini! O saviour names, and full of happy omen! Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria, While two such stars, with blessed influences Beaming protection, shine above her hosts.

MAX.

Heh!—Noble minister! You miss your part.

You come not here to act a panegyric. You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us— I must not be beforehand with my comrades.

OCTAVIO. (to Max.)

He comes from court, where people are not quite

So well contented with the duke, as here.

MAX.

What now have they contriv'd to find out in him?

That he alone determines for himself

What he himself alone doth understand? Well, therein he does right, and will persist in't. Heaven never meant him for that passive thing That can be struck and hammer'd out to suit Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance To every tune of every minister. It goes against his nature—he can't do it. He is possess'd by a commanding spirit, And his too is the station of command. And well for us it is so! There exist Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use Their intellects intelligently.—Then Well for the whole, if there be found a man, Who makes himself what nature destin'd him, The pause, the central point of thousand thousands—— Stands fix'd and stately, like a firm-built column, Where all may press with joy and confidence. Now such a man is Wallenstein; and if Another better suits the court—no other But such a one as he can serve the army.

QUESTENBERG.

The army? Doubtless!

OCTAVIO. (to Questenberg)

Hush! Suppress it friend!

Unless some end were answer'd by the utterance.— Of him there you'll make nothing.

MAX. (continuing)

In their distress

They call a spirit up, and when he comes,

Straight their flesh creeps and quivers, and they dread him More than the ills for which they call'd him up. Th' uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be Like things of every day.—But in the field, Aye, there the Present Being makes itself felt. The personal must command, the actual eye Examine. If to be the chieftain asks All that is great in nature, let it be Likewise his privilege to move and act In all the correspondencies of greatness. The oracle within him, that which lives, He must invoke and question—not dead books, Not ordinances, not mould-rotted papers.

OCTAVIO.

My son! of those old narrow ordinances

Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights Of priceless value, which oppress'd mankind Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. For always formidable was the league And partnership of free power with free will. The way of ancient ordinance, tho' it winds, Is yet no devious way. Straight forwards goes The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid, Shatt'ring that it may reach, and shatt'ring what it reaches. My son! the road, the human being travels, That, on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow The river's course, the valley's playful windings, Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines,