Act III…

Act III

SCENE 1.--A Hall of armory, with an altar at the back of the stage. Soft music from an instrument of glass or steel. VALDEZ, ORDONIO, and ALVAR in a Sorcerer's robe, are discovered.

Ord. This was too melancholy, father.

Val. Nay, My Alvar lov'd sad music from a child. Once he was lost; and after weary search We found him in an open place in [of Osor.] the wood, To which spot he had followed a blind boy, Who breath'd into a pipe of sycamore Some strangely-moving notes: and these, he said, Were taught him in a dream. Him we first saw Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank; And lower down poor Alvar, fast asleep, His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleas'd me To mark how he had fasten'd round the pipe A silver toy his {grandmother had Osor. {grandam had late given him. Methinks I see him now as he then look'd-- { His infant dress was grown too short for him, Osor. { Even so!--He had outgrown his infant dress, Yet still he wore it.

Alv. (aside). My tears must not flow! I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father!

Enter TERESA and attendants.

Remorse.

[These lines with the variants as noted above are included in Osorio, Act III, lines 58-74.]

[After 3] stage-direction om. Remorse.

[Between 3 and 4]

Ordonio. Believe you then no preternatural influence? { Believe you not that spirits throng around us? { I thought you held that spirits throng'd around us?

Corr. in MS. III.

Ter. Say rather that I have imagined it A possible thing; and it has sooth'd my soul As other fancies have; but ne'er seduced me To traffic with the black and frenzied hope, That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard.

Remorse.

[4] you] you Remorse.

[5] employments] employment Remorse.

[9] things] guilt Remorse.

[10] Stand ye from the altar Remorse.

[After 10] [Here, &c. . . . scene Remorse.

[13] spells] spell Remorse.

[21] unstun'd] unstunn'd Remorse.

[After 23] [Music Remorse.

[29] build up] upbuild Remorse.

[37] [Here behind the scenes a voice sings the three words, 'Hear, sweet Spirit.' Remorse.

[After 43] SONG.--Behind the scenes, &c. Remorse.

[50] chanters] chaunter Remorse.

[58-74] are printed as ll. 1-17, Act III, Sc. I Remorse.

[61] of] in Remorse.

[70-72]

A silver toy his grandam had late given him, Methinks I see him now as he then look'd-- Even so!--He had outgrown his infant dress,

Remorse, Act III, ll. 13-15.

[79] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[87] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[88-9]

But what if he had a brother, Who had lived even so

Remorse.

[91-2]

Valdez. Idly prating man! Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only brother Stands here before thee--a father's blessing on him! He is most virtuous.

Remorse.

[96] excellently] exquisitely Remorse.

[Between 104 and 105]

[Music again.

Teresa. 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures! But whatso'er it mean, I dare no longer Be present at these lawless mysteries, This dark provoking of the hidden Powers! Already I affront--if not high Heaven-- Yet Alvar's memory!--Hark! I make appeal Against the unholy rite, and hasten hence To bend before a lawful shrine, and seek That voice which whispers, when the still heart listens, Comfort and faithful hope! Let us retire.

Alv. (to TERESA). O full of faith and guileless love, thy spirit Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt Surprise the guilty: thou art innocent!

[Exeunt TERESA and Attendant. Music as before.

Remorse.

[106] an eye of flesh] a human eye Remorse.

[108] come quick] O come Remorse.

[109] and if he lives] but if he live Remorse.

[After 110] The whole music clashes into a Chorus Remorse.

[111] demon] demons Remorse.

[113 foll.] For the rest of Act III, as published in Remorse, vide post pp. 851-8. According to the Editor of Osorio as first published in 1873, 'The rest of this Act is entirely different in the published Remorse.' This statement needs qualification. The remainder of Act III of Osorio was rewritten, much was omitted, much added, and the 'dramatic ordonnance' of this part of the play was remodelled on a different plan, but the following lines 174-82, 195-202, 210-31 and 246-7 were included, with certain alterations, in Remorse. See Remorse, Act III, Scene II, ll. 64-71, 79-87, 94-114 and 185-6.

[140-3] And . . . come MS. III erased.

[After 146]

Doth swim with love and pity--Well Ordonio O my foreboding Spirit, he suborn'd thee, And thou didst spare his life

Corr. in MS. III.

[299] interpolated by S. T. C. MS. III.

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE THE FIRST.--A cavern, dark except where a gleam of moonlight is seen on one side of the further end of it, supposed to be cast on it from a cranny [crevice Remorse] in a part of the cavern out of sight.

[FERDINAND alone, an extinguished torch in his hand.

Ferdinand. Drip! drip! drip! drip!--in such a place as this It has nothing else to do but drip! drip! drip! I wish it had not dripp'd upon my torch. Faith 'twas a moving letter--very moving! His life in danger--no place safe but this. 5 'Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude! And yet--but no! there can't be such a villain. It cannot be! Thanks to that little cranny Which lets the moonlight in! I'll go and sit by it. To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat's beard, 10 Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep, 'Twere better than this dreary noise of water-drops!

[_He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of moonlight,_ [and returns. Remorse] _returns after a minute's elapse in an ecstasy of fear._

A hellish pit! O God--'tis like my night-mair! I was just in!--and those damn'd fingers of ice Which clutch'd my hair up! Ha! what's that? it moved! 15

[FERDINAND stands [motionless MS. III erased] _staring at another recess in the cavern. In the mean time OSORIO enters with a torch and hollas to him_ [halloes to ISIDORE Remorse].

Ferdinand. I swear, I saw a something moving there! The moonshine came and went, like a flash of lightning. I swear, I saw it move!

[_OSORIO goes into the recess, then returns, and with great scorn._

Osorio. A jutting clay-stone Drips on the long lank weed that grows beneath; And the weed nods and drips.

Ferdinand (forcing a faint laugh). A joke to laugh at! 20 It was not that which frighten'd me, my lord!

Osorio. What frighten'd you?

Ferdinand. You see that little cranny? But first permit me,

[Lights his torch at OSORIO'S, and while lighting it.

(A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here--one's breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours 25 As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)[564:1] You see that cranny there?

Osorio. Well, what of that?

Ferdinand. I walk'd up to it, meaning to sit there. When I had reach'd it within twenty paces----

[FERDINAND starts as if he felt the terror over again.

Merciful Heaven! Do go, my lord! and look. 30

[OSORIO goes and returns.

Osorio. It must have shot some pleasant feelings thro' you?

Ferdinand. If every atom of a dead man's flesh Should move, each one with a particular life, Yet all as cold as ever--'twas just so! Or if it drizzled needle-points of frost 35 Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald--

Osorio (interrupting him). Why, Ferdinand! I blush for thy cowardice. It would have startled any man, I grant thee. But such a panic.

Ferdinand. When a boy, my lord! I could have sat whole hours beside that chasm, 40 Push'd in huge stones and heard them thump and rattle Against its horrid sides; and hung my head Low down, and listen'd till the heavy fragments Sunk, with faint crash, in that still groaning well, Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never 45 A living thing came near; unless, perchance, Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould, Close at its edge.

Osorio. Art thou more coward now?

Ferdinand. Call him that fears his fellow-men a coward. I fear not man. But this inhuman cavern 50 It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. Besides (you'll laugh, my lord!) but true it is, My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted[565:1] By what had pass'd between us in the morning. I saw you in a thousand hideous ways, 55 And doz'd and started, doz'd again and started. I do entreat your lordship to believe me, In my last dream----

Osorio. Well?

Ferdinand. I was in the act Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra Waked me. She heard my heart beat!

Osorio. Strange enough! 60 Had you been here before?

Ferdinand. Never, my lord! But my eyes do not see it now more clearly Than in my dream I saw that very chasm.

[OSORIO stands in a deep study--then, after a pause.

Osorio. There is no reason why it should be so. And yet it is.

Ferdinand. What is, my lord?

Osorio. Unpleasant 65 To kill a man!

Ferdinand. Except in self-defence.

Osorio. Why that's my case: and yet 'tis still unpleasant. At least I find it so! But you, perhaps, Have stronger nerves?

Ferdinand. Something doth trouble you. How can I serve you? By the life you gave me, 70 By all that makes that life of value to me, My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you, Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, If it be innocent! But this, my lord! Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 75 No, nor propose a wicked thing. The darkness (When ten yards off, we know, 'tis chearful moonlight) Collects the guilt and crowds it round the heart. It must be innocent.

Osorio. Thyself be judge.

[OSORIO walks round the cavern--then looking round it.

One of our family knew this place well. 80

Ferdinand. Who? when? my lord.

Osorio. What boots it who or when? Hang up the torch. I'll tell his tale to thee.

[They hang [up] their torches in some shelf of [on some ridge in Remorse] the cavern.

Osorio. He was a man different from other men, And he despised them, yet revered himself.[567:1]

Ferdinand. What? he was mad?

Osorio. All men seem'd mad to him, 85 Their actions noisome folly, and their talk-- A goose's gabble was more musical. Nature had made him for some other planet, And press'd his soul into a human shape By accident or malice. In this world 90 He found no fit companion!

Ferdinand. Ah, poor wretch! Madmen are mostly proud.

Osorio. He walk'd alone, And phantasies, unsought for, troubled him. Something within would still be shadowing out All possibilities, and with these shadows 95 His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happen'd, A fancy cross'd him wilder than the rest: To this in moody murmur, and low voice, He yielded utterance as some talk in sleep. The man who heard him---- Why didst thou look round? 100

Ferdinand. I have a prattler three years old, my lord! In truth he is my darling. As I went From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep-- But I am talking idly--pray go on! And what did this man?

Osorio. With his human hand 105 He gave a being and reality To that wild fancy of a possible thing. Well it was done. [Then very wildly. Why babblest thou of guilt? The deed was done, and it pass'd fairly off. And he, whose tale I tell thee--dost thou listen? 110

Ferdinand. I would, my lord, you were by my fireside! I'd listen to you with an eager eye, Tho' you began this cloudy tale at midnight. But I do listen--pray proceed, my lord!

Osorio. Where was I?

Ferdinand. He of whom you tell the tale-- 115

Osorio. Surveying all things with a quiet scorn Tamed himself down to living purposes, The occupations and the semblances Of ordinary men--and such he seem'd. But that some over-ready agent--he---- 120

Ferdinand. Ah! what of him, my lord?

Osorio. He proved a villain; Betray'd the mystery to a brother villain; And they between them hatch'd a damnéd plot To hunt him down to infamy and death To share the wealth of a most noble family, 125 And stain the honour of an orphan lady With barbarous mixture and unnatural union. What did the Velez? I am proud of the name, Since he dared do it.

[_OSORIO grasps his sword and turns off from FERDINAND, then, after a pause, returns._

Osorio. Our links burn dimly.

Ferdinand. A dark tale darkly finish'd! Nay, my lord! 130 Tell what he did.

Osorio (fiercely). That which his wisdom prompted. He made the traitor meet him in this cavern, And here he kill'd the traitor.

Ferdinand. No!--the fool. He had not wit enough to be a traitor. Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen 135 That he, who gull'd thee with a whimper'd lie To murder his own brother, would not scruple To murder thee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous And he could steal upon thee in the dark!

Osorio. Thou would'st not then have come, if----

Ferdinand. O yes, my lord! 140 I would have met him arm'd, and scared the coward!

[_FERDINAND throws off his robe, shows himself armed, and draws his sword._

Osorio. Now this is excellent, and warms the blood! My heart was drawing back, drawing me back With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave, Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it 145 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.

Ferdinand. And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first.

[_They fight. OSORIO disarms FERDINAND, and in disarming him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to which they were standing._

Ferdinand (springing wildly towards Osorio). Still I can strangle thee!

Osorio. Nay, fool! stand off. I'll kill thee--but not so! Go fetch thy sword.

[_FERDINAND hurries into the recess with his torch. OSORIO follows him, and in a moment returns alone._

Osorio. Now--this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body! 150 His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.[570:1]

[Exit.

SCENE changes to the court before the Castle of VELEZ.

MARIA and her FOSTER-MOTHER.

Maria. And when I heard that you desired to see me, I thought your business was to tell me of him.

Foster-Mother. I never saw the Moor, whom you describe.

Maria. 'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly 155 As mine and Albert's common foster-mother.

Foster-Mother. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That join'd your names with mine! O my sweet lady, As often as I think of those dear times When you two little ones would stand at eve, 160 On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you, 'Tis more like heaven to come, that what has been!

Maria. O my dear mother! this strange man has left me 165 Wilder'd with wilder fancies than yon moon Breeds in the love-sick maid--who gazes at it Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye She gazes idly! But that entrance, mother!

Foster-Mother. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! 170

Maria. No one.

Foster-Mother. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni. Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? 175 Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And rear'd him at the then Lord Velez' cost. 180 And so the babe grew up a pretty boy. A pretty boy, but most unteachable-- And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mock'd their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself. 185 And all the autumn 'twas his only play To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A friar who gather'd simples in the wood, A grey-hair'd man--he loved this little boy, 190 The boy loved him--and, when the friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. So he became a very learned youth. But O! poor wretch--he read, and read, and read, 195 Till his brain turn'd--and ere his twentieth year, He had unlawful thoughts of many things. And though he pray'd, he never loved to pray With holy men, nor in a holy place. But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 200 The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him, And once as by the north side of the chapel They stood together, chain'd in deep discourse, The earth heav'd under them with such a groan, That the wall totter'd, and had well-nigh fall'n 205 Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten'd; A fever seiz'd him; and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz'd And cast into that hole. My husband's father 210 Sobb'd like a child--it almost broke his heart. And once as he was working in the cellar, He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's, Who sung a doleful song about green fields, How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah 215 To hunt for food, and be a naked man, And wander up and down at liberty. He always doted on the youth, and now His love grew desperate; and defying death, He made that cunning entrance I described: 220 And the young man escaped.

Maria. 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a list'ning child to sleep, His rosy face besoil'd with unwiped tears. And what became of him?

Foster-Mother. He went on shipboard With those bold voyagers, who made discovery 225 Of golden lands; Leoni's younger brother Went likewise, and when he return'd to Spain, He told Leoni that the poor mad youth, Soon after they arrived in that new world, In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat, 230 And all alone set sail by silent moonlight, Up a great river, great as any sea, And ne'er was heard of more; but 'tis supposed He liv'd and died among the savage men.

Enter VELEZ.

Velez. Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you. 235

Maria. O Christ! the tortures that hang o'er his head, If ye betray him to these holy brethren!

Velez (with a kind of sneer). A portly man, and eloquent, and tender! In truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn That their rude grasp should seize on such a victim. 240

Maria. The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of sympathy, That I should feel too little for mine enemy-- Ah! far too little--if 'twere possible, I could feel more, even tho' my child or husband 245 Were doom'd to suffer them! That such things are----

Velez. Hush! thoughtless woman!

Maria. Nay--it wakes within me More than a woman's spirit.

Velez (angrily). No more of this-- I can endure no more.

Foster-Mother. My honour'd master! Lord Albert used to talk so.

Maria. Yes! my mother! 250 These are my Albert's lessons, and I con them With more delight than, in my fondest hour, I bend me o'er his portrait.

Velez (to the Foster-Mother). My good woman, You may retire. [Exit the FOSTER-MOTHER.

Velez. We have mourn'd for Albert. Have I no living son?

Maria. Speak not of him! 255 That low imposture--my heart sickens at it, If it be madness, must I wed a madman? And if not madness, there is mystery, And guilt doth lurk behind it!

Valdez. Is this well?

Maria. Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance? 260 How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear, Displac'd each other with swift interchanges? If this were all assumed, as you believe, He must needs be a most consummate actor; And hath so vast a power to deceive me, 265 I never could be safe. And why assume The semblance of such execrable feelings?

Velez. Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle An old man's passion! Was it not enough That thou hast made my son a restless man, 270 Banish'd his health and half-unhinged his reason, But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion, And toil to blast his honour? I am old-- A comfortless old man! Thou shalt not stay Beneath my roof!

[FRANCESCO enters and stands listening.

Velez. Repent and marry him-- 275 Or to the convent.

Francesco (muttering). Good! good! very good!

Maria. Nay, grant me some small pittance of my fortune, And I will live a solitary woman, Or my poor foster-mother and her grandsons May be my household.

Francesco (advancing). I abhor a listener; 280 But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you. I pray, my lord! will you embolden me To ask you why this lady doth prefer To live in lonely sort, without a friend Or fit companion?

Velez. Bid her answer you. 285

Maria. Nature will be my friend and fit companion.

[Turns off from them.

O Albert! Albert! that they could return, Those blessed days, that imitated heaven! When we two wont to walk at evening-tide; When we saw nought but beauty; when we heard 290 The voice of that Almighty One, who lov'd us, In every gale that breath'd, and wave that murmur'd! O we have listen'd, even till high-wrought pleasure Hath half-assumed the countenance of grief, And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight 295 Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart.

Francesco. But in the convent, lady, you would have Such aids as might preserve you from perdition. There you might dwell.

Maria. With tame and credulous faith, Mad melancholy, antic merriment, 300 Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs! O God! it is a horrid thing to know That each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beads Had once a mind, which might have given her wings Such as the angels wear!

Francesco (stifling his rage). Where is your son, my lord? 305

Velez. I have not seen him, father, since he left you.

Francesco. His lordship's generous nature hath deceiv'd him! That Ferdinand (or if not he his wife) I have fresh evidence--are infidels. We are not safe until they are rooted out. 310

Maria. Thou man, who call'st thyself the minister Of Him whose law was love unutterable! Why is thy soul so parch'd with cruelty, That still thou thirstest for thy brother's blood?

Velez (rapidly). Father! I have long suspected it--her brain-- 315 Heed it not, father!

Francesco. Nay--but I must heed it.

Maria. Thou miserable man! I fear thee not, Nor prize a life which soon may weary me. Bear witness, Heav'n! I neither scorn nor hate him-- 320 But O! 'tis wearisome to mourn for evils, Still mourn, and have no power to remedy! [Exit MARIA.

Francesco. My lord! I shall presume to wait on you To-morrow early.

Velez. Be it so, good father! [Exit FRANCESCO.

Velez (alone). I do want solace, but not such as thine! 325 The moon is high in heaven, and my eyes ache, But not with sleep. Well--it is ever so. A child, a child is born! and the fond heart Dances! and yet the childless are most happy.

[SCENE changes to the mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress, her eyes fixed on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in their Moorish garments. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA. After a pause one of the Morescoes to the man who stands next to him.

First Moresco. The law which forced these Christian dresses on us, 330 'Twere pleasant to cleave down the wretch who framed it.

Second. Yet 'tis not well to trample on it idly.

First. Our country robes are dear.

Second. And like dear friends, May chance to prove most perilous informers.

[A third Moresco, NAOMI, advances from out the circle.

Naomi. Woman! may Alla and the prophet bless thee! 335 We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief? And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments?

Alhadra (lifting up [raising Remorse] _her eyes, and looking round on the circle)._ Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle, My countrymen! Come ye prepared to work An honourable deed? And would ye work it 340 In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes! They are spell-blasted; and whoever wears them, His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away, And his bones soften!

Naomi. Where is Ferdinand?

Alhadra (in a deep low voice). This night I went from forth my house, and left 345 His children all asleep; and he was living! And I return'd, and found them still asleep-- But he had perish'd.

All. Perished?

Alhadra. He had perish'd! Sleep on, poor babes! not one of you doth know That he is fatherless, a desolate orphan! 350 Why should we wake them? Can an infant's arm Revenge his murder?

One to Another. Did she say his murder?

Naomi. Murder'd? Not murder'd?

Alhadra. Murder'd by a Christian!

[They all, at once, draw their sabres.

_Alhadra (to Naomi, who on being addressed again advances from the circle)._ Brother of Zagri! fling away thy sword: This is thy chieftain's! [He steps forward to take it. Dost thou dare receive it? 355 For I have sworn by Alia and the prophet, No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword Wet with the blood of all the house of Velez!

Enter MAURICE.

All. A spy! a spy! [They seize him.

Maurice. Off! off! unhand me, slaves! 360

[_After much struggling he disengages himself and draws his sword._

Naomi (to Alhadra). Speak! shall we kill him?

Maurice. Yes! ye can kill a man, Some twenty of you! But ye are Spanish slaves! And slaves are always cruel, always cowards.

Alhadra. That man has spoken truth. Whence and who art thou?

Maurice. I seek a dear friend, whom for aught I know 365 The son of Velez hath hired one of you To murder! Say, do ye know aught of Albert?

Alhadra (starting). Albert?--three years ago I heard that name Murmur'd in sleep! High-minded foreigner! Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us. 370

[MAURICE stands among the Morescoes.

Alhadra. Was not Osorio my husband's friend?

Old Man. He kill'd my son in battle; yet our chieftain Forced me to sheathe my dagger. See--the point Is bright, unrusted with the villain's blood!

Alhadra. He is your chieftain's murderer!

Naomi. He dies by Alla!

All (dropping on one knee). By Alla! 375

Alhadra. This night a reeking slave came with loud pant, Gave Ferdinand a letter, and departed, Swift as he came. Pale, with unquiet looks, He read the scroll.

Maurice. Its purport?

Alhadra. Yes, I ask'd it. He answer'd me, 'Alhadra! thou art worthy 380 A nobler secret; but I have been faithful To this bad man, and faithful I will be.' He said, and arm'd himself, and lit a torch; Then kiss'd his children, each one on its pillow, And hurried from me. But I follow'd him 385 At distance, till I saw him enter there.

Naomi. The cavern?

Alhadra. Yes--the mouth of yonder cavern. After a pause I saw the son of Velez Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter'd-- There was another and a longer pause-- 390 And once, methought, I heard the clash of swords, And soon the son of Velez reappear'd. He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, And seem'd as he were mirthful! I stood listening Impatient for the footsteps of my husband! 395

Maurice. Thou called'st him?

Alhadra. I crept into the cavern: 'Twas dark and very silent. [Then wildly. What said'st thou? No, no! I did not dare call, Ferdinand! Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while, Belike, I lost all thought and memory 400 Of that for which I came! After that pause, O God! I heard a groan!--and follow'd it. And yet another groan--which guided me Into a strange recess--and there was light, A hideous light! his torch lay on the ground-- 405 Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink. I spake--and while I spake, a feeble groan Came from that chasm! It was his last! his death groan!

Maurice. Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father!

Alhadra. I stood in unimaginable trance 410 And agony, that cannot be remember'd, Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan! But I had heard his last--my husband's death-groan!

Naomi. Haste! let us go!

Alhadra. I look'd far down the pit. My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment, 415 And it was stain'd with blood! Then first I shriek'd! My eyeballs burnt! my brain grew hot as fire! And all the hanging drops of the wet roof Turn'd into blood. I saw them turn to blood! And I was leaping wildly down the chasm 420 When on the further brink I saw his sword, And it said, Vengeance! Curses on my tongue! The moon hath moved in heaven, and I am here, And he hath not had vengeance! Ferdinand! Spirit of Ferdinand! thy murderer lives! 425 Away! away! [She rushes off, all following.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT

FOOTNOTES:

[564:1] The square brackets (which appear in both MSS.) seem to indicate that these words were an 'aside'. P. W. 1893, p. 499. Editor's Note.

[565:1] Against this passage Coleridge has written in MS. II:--'This will be held by many for a mere Tragedy-dream--by many who have never given themselves the trouble to ask themselves from what grounds dreams pleased in Tragedy, and wherefore they have become so common. I believe, however, that in the present case, the whole is here psychologically true and accurate. Prophetical dreams are things of nature, and explicable by that law of the mind in which where dim ideas are connected with vivid feelings, Perception and Imagination insinuate themselves and mix with the forms of Recollection, till the Present appears to exactly correspond with the Past. Whatever is partially like, the Imagination will gradually represent as wholly like--a law of our nature which, when it is perfectly understood, woe to the great city Babylon--to all the superstitions of Men!' P. W., 1893, p. 499.

[567:1] Against this passage Coleridge writes in MS. II:--'Under the mask of the third person Osorio relates his own story, as in the delusion of self-justification and pride, it appeared to himself--at least as he wished it to appear to himself.' P. W., 1893, p. 499.

'Osorio darkly, and in the feeling of self-justification, tells what he conceives of his own character and actions--speaking of himself in the third person.' MS. III.

[570:1] Against this line Coleridge writes in MS. II:--'Osorio has thrust Ferdinand down the chasm. I think it an important instance how Dreams and Prophecies coöperate to their own completion.' P. W., 1893, p. 501.

LINENOTES:

[1-3] Erased MS. III.: om. Remorse.

{ [*water drops*] This ceaseless dreary sound of { dropping water-- I would they had not fallen upon my Torch!

Corr. in MS. III.

[5-6] In inverted commas. Remorse.

[8] cannot] can not Remorse. cranny] crevice Remorse.

[12] MS. III erased.

[Between 11 and 13]

(a) Any thing but this crash of water drops! These dull abortive sounds that fret the silence With puny thwartings and mock opposition! So beats the death-watch to a sick man's ear

Remorse.

(b) Anything but this { crash of water-drops { [*noise*] { scoffing At broken measure { [*mocking*] intervals-- Their discontinuous, interruptive sound { These { [*With*] dull abortive &c.

MS. III erased.

Affixed to variant (a) of l. 12 '--this at all events is the final result of this correction.' S. T. C.

[13] A hellish pit! O God--'tis that I dreamt of! Corr. in MS. III: A hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of! Remorse.

[Affixed to 13] 'You mean like the dream presented to my mind when under the influence of the night-mare. This is most ludicrously expressed.' C. Ll[oyd]

[16] I swear that I saw something Remorse.

[18] In the stage-direction the last four words are omitted Remorse.

[19] Drips] Drops Remorse.

[Between 19 and 31.]

Isidore. A jest to laugh at! It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord.

Ordonio. What scar'd you, then?

Isidore. You see that little rift? But first permit me! [_Lights his torch at ORDONIO'S, and while lighting it._ (A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here--one's breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.) You see that crevice there? My torch extinguished by these water drops, And marking that the moonlight came from thence, I stept in to it, meaning to sit there; But scarcely had I measured twenty paces-- My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalanced Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink Of a hugh chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine Filling the void so counterfeited substance, That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. Was it my own fear? Fear too hath its instincts! (And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye) An arm of frost above and from behind me Pluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven! You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here! My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it.

Remorse.

[33] move] creep Remorse.

[35] if] had Remorse.

[37-9]

Ordonio. Why, Isidore, I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled, I grant you, even a brave man for a moment--

Remorse.

[41] thump] strike Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.

[42] and] then Remorse.

[44] Sunk with a faint splash in that groaning Corr. in MS. III. Sunk] Sank Remorse.

[49] fellow-men] fellow man Remorse.

[52] laugh] smile Remorse.

[Between 54 and 57:]

O sleep of horrors! Now run down and stared at By forms so hideous that they mock remembrance-- Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing, But only being afraid--stifled with fear! While every goodly or familiar form Had a strange power of breathing terror round me! I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes; And I entreat your lordship to believe me,

Remorse.

[56] om. Remorse.

[62] my] mine Remorse.

[64] Ord. (after a pause). I know not why it should be! yet it is-- Remorse.

[65] Abhorrent from our nature, Remorse.

[67-70]

Ord. Why that's my case! and yet the soul recoils from it-- 'Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps, Have sterner feelings?

Isid. Something troubles you. How shall I serve you?

Remorse.

[77] yards] strides Remorse.

[80] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[82] the] thy Remorse.

[Between 84 and 88]

Isid. (aside). He? He despised? Thou'rt speaking of thyself! I am on my guard however: no surprise [Then to ORDONIO.

Remorse.

[86-7] om. Remorse.

[91-2]

Isidore. Of himself he speaks. [Aside. Alas! poor wretch! Mad men, &c.

Remorse.

[93] phantasies] phantom thoughts Remorse.

[104] go on] proceed Remorse.

[105] his] this Remorse.

[106] being] substance Remorse.

[108] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[120] some] same Remorse.

[121-2]

He proved a traitor, Betrayed the mystery to a brother traitor

Remorse.

[125-7] om. Remorse.

[131] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[Between 143 and 145.]

With weak and womanish scruples. Now my vengeance Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien, And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of-- Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it

Remorse.

[Affixed to 147.] Ferdinand on hearing the threat of Osorio feels a momentary horror at the consequences of his being killed, and in tones of mingled fear and sorrow--

And all my little ones fatherless!

then bursting into indignation 'Die thou first',

MS. III.

[After 147]

[They fight. ORDONIO disarms ISIDORE, and in disarming him throws his sword up that recess opposite to which they were standing. ISIDORE hurries into the recess with his torch, ORDONIO follows him; a loud cry of 'Traitor! Monster!' is heard from the cavern, and in a moment ORDONIO returns alone.

Ordonio. I have hurl'd him down the chasm! treason for treason. He dreamt of it, henceforward let him sleep, A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him. His dream too is made out--Now for his friend. [Exit. ORDONIO.

Remorse.

[148-51] om. Remorse.

[150] Now] So MS. III.

[Affixed to 150.] 'Ferdinand's death is not sufficiently explained to the Audience. There should be a struggling behind the scene, as if Osorio had taken him unawares, and was hurrying him down the Precipice. An exclamation or even groans would add still more to the interest of the scene.' MS. III erased.

[152-234] om. Remorse. vide ante The Foster-Mother's Tale: a Dramatic Fragment, pp. 182-4.

[Between 152 and 246:]

Act III, Scene II

The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle with the iron gate of a dungeon visible.

Teresa. Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze Ev'n Pity's eye with her own frozen tear. In vain I urge the tortures that await him: Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood, My second mother, shuts her heart against me! Well, I have won from her what most imports The present need, this secret of the dungeon Known only to herself.--A Moor! a Sorcerer! No, I have faith, that nature ne'er permitted Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborned him To act some part in some unholy fraud; As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him, And that Ordonio meditates revenge! But my resolve is fixed! myself will rescue him, And learn if haply he knew aught of Alvar.

Enter VALDEZ.

Valdez. Still sad?--and gazing at the massive door Of that fell dungeon which thou ne'er had'st sight of, Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap'd it When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant threats. Now by my faith, girl! this same wizard haunts thee! A stately man, and eloquent and tender-- Who then need wonder if a lady sighs Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans--

Teresa. The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion, That I should feel too little for mine enemy, If it were possible I could feel more, Even though the dearest inmates of our household Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are--

Remorse.

[155] Maria. 'Tis strange] Teresa. 'Tis said MS. III.

[157] Foster-Mother] Selma Corr. in MS. III.

[165-6]

O honor'd Selma! this strange man has left me Wilder'd with stranger fancies than yon moon

Corr. in MS. III.

[169]

She gazes idly!

Ter. But that entrance, Selma

Corr. in MS. III.

[170] Foster-Mother] Selma Corr. in MS. III.

[171] Maria] Teresa. Foster-Mother] Selma Corr. in MS. III.

[172] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III.

[180] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III.

[201] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III.

[212] And once as he was working near this dungeon Corr. in MS. III.

[221] Maria] Teresa Corr. in MS. III.

[226] Leoni's] Sesina's Corr. in MS. III.

[228] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III.

[Between 248 and 255:]

What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us! I dare not listen to you.

Teresa. My honoured lord, These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them, As if to give a voice to the mute image.

Valdez. ----We have mourned for Alvar. Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. Have I no other son?

Remorse.

[256] That low imposture! That mysterious picture! Remorse. it] this Remorse.

[Between 262 and 268:]

O that I had indeed the sorcerer's power.-- I would call up before thine eyes the image Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born! His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips! That spiritual and almost heavenly light In his commanding eye--his mien heroic, Virtue's own native heraldry! to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread Wide round him! and when oft with swelling tears, Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots, Oh, what a grief was there--for joy to envy, Or gaze upon enamour'd! O my father! Recall that morning when we knelt together, And thou didst bless our loves! O even now, Even now, my sire! to thy mind's eye present him, As at that moment he rose up before thee, Stately, with beaming look! Place, place beside him Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance! Then bid me (Oh thou could'st not) bid me turn From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind! To take in exchange that brooding man, who never Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl.

Remorse.

[274-86] (Thou shalt not stay . . . companion) om. Remorse.

[Between 274-87:]

Teresa. O grief! to hear Hateful intreaties from a voice we love!

Enter a PEASANT and presents a letter to VALDEZ.

Valdez (reading it). 'He dares not venture hither!' Why what can this mean? 'Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition, That watch around my gates, should intercept him; But he conjures me, that without delay I hasten to him--for my own sake entreats me To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd-- He will reveal a secret, the joy of which Will even outweigh the sorrow.'--Why what can this be? Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem, To have in me a hostage for his safety. Nay, that they dare not! Ho! collect my servants! I will go thither--let them arm themselves. [Exit VALDEZ.

Teresa (alone). The moon is high in heaven, and all is hush'd. Yet anxious listener! I have seem'd to hear A low dead thunder mutter thro' the night, As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep. O Alvar! Alvar! &c.

Remorse.

[After 276] And all his wealth perhaps come to the Church MS. III. erased.

[289] evening-tide] eventide Remorse.

[296-334] om. Remorse.

[After 296]

[A pause.

And this majestic Moor, seems he not one Who oft and long communing with my Alvar, Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence, And guides me to him with reflected light? What if in yon dark dungeon coward treachery Be groping for him with envenomed poniard-- Hence womanish fears, traitors to love and duty-- I'll free him. [Exit TERESA.

Act III, Scene III

The mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress.

Alhadra. Yon hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold; { The hanging Act V, l. 41. { The flower-like woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, Lie in the silent moonshine: and the owl, (Strange! very strange!) the scritch-owl only wakes! Sole voice, sole eye of all this world of beauty! Unless, perhaps, she sing her screeching song To a herd of wolves, that skulk athirst for blood. Why such a thing am I?--Where are these men? I need the sympathy of human faces, To beat away this deep contempt for all things, Which quenches my revenge. O! would to Alla, The raven, or the sea-mew, were appointed To bring me food! or rather that my soul Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff Along some Ocean's boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course, And think myself the only being alive.

[Vide post Osorio, Act V, ll. 39-56.]

My children!--Isidore's children!--Son of Valdez, This hath new strung mine arm. Thou coward tyrant! To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, Till she forgot--even that she was a mother!

[She fixes her eye on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in Moorish garments and Moorish armour. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA, and remain silent till NAOMI enters.

Remorse.

[337] the] these Remorse.

[342] spell-blasted] spell-blasted Remorse.

[345] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[348] All] All Morescoes. Remorse.

[352] One to Another] One Morescoe (to another). Remorse.

[353] Murder? Not murder'd? Remorse.

[After 353] [Stage-direction] Alhadra (to Naomi, who advances from the circle). Remorse.

[359] house] sons MS. III. Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez Remorse.

[After 359] Enter Warville. MS. III.

[A pause.

Ordonio was your chieftain's murderer

Remorse.

[360-70] Erased MS. III.

[360-75] om. Remorse.

[373-80] Erased MS. III.

[375] Stage-direction All (kneeling). Remorse.

[After 375] Alhadra. This night your chieftain armed himself Remorse.

[Affixed to 375] (not in S. T. C.'s handwriting) and erased:

Naomi. Proceed, proceed, Alhadra.

Alhadra. Yestermorning He stood before our house, startful and gloomy, And stirr'd up fierce dispute with Ferdinand, I saw him when the vehement Gripe of Conscience Had wrenched his features to a visible agony. When he was gone Ferdinand sighed out 'Villain' And spake no other word.

Warville (mournfully). The brother of Albert.

MS. III erased.

[Note.--Warville was a character introduced into the deleted passage 360-70, the name being always altered by S. T. C. to 'Maurice'.]

[376-84] om. Remorse.

[384] its] their Corr. in MS. III.

[386] there] there Remorse.

[388] a pause] a while Remorse.

[397] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[399] A brief while] A little while Corr. in MS. III erased.

[402] God] Heaven Remorse.

[404] light] light Remorse.

[405] hideous] hideous Remorse.

[407] while] whilst Remorse.

[409] Erased MS. III. Naomi. Comfort her, Alla! Remorse.

[414] go] onward Remorse.

[421] his] the MS. III.

[After 425

All. Away! away! [She rushes off, all following her.

Remorse.

ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE THE FIRST.--The Sea Shore.

NAOMI and a Moresco.

Moresco. This was no time for freaks of useless vengeance.

Naomi. True! but Francesco, the Inquisitor, Thou know'st the bloodhound--'twas a strong temptation. And when they pass'd within a mile of his house, We could not curb them in. They swore by Mahomet, 5 It were a deed of treachery to their brethren To sail from Spain and leave that man alive.

Moresco. Where is Alhadra?

Naomi. She moved steadily on Unswerving from the path of her resolve. Yet each strange object fix'd her eye: for grief 10 Doth love to dally with fantastic shapes, And smiling, like a sickly moralist, Gives some resemblance of her own concerns To the straws of chance, and things inanimate. I seek her here; stand thou upon the watch. 15

[Exit Moresco.

Naomi (looking wistfully to the distance). Stretch'd on the rock! It must be she--Alhadra!

[_ALHADRA rises from the rock, and advances slowly, as if musing._

Naomi. Once more, well met! what ponder'st thou so deeply?

Alhadra. I scarce can tell thee! For my many thoughts Troubled me, till with blank and naked mind I only listen'd to the dashing billows. 20 It seems to me, I could have closed my eyes And wak'd without a dream of what has pass'd; So well it counterfeited quietness, This wearied heart of mine!

Naomi. 'Tis thus by nature Wisely ordain'd, that so excess of sorrow 25 Might bring its own cure with it.

Alhadra. Would to Heaven That it had brought its last and certain cure! That ruin in the wood.

Naomi. It is a place Of ominous fame; but 'twas the shortest road, Nor could we else have kept clear of the village. 30 Yet some among us, as they scal'd the wall, Mutter'd old rhyming prayers.

Alhadra. On that broad wall I saw a skull; a poppy grew beside it, There was a ghastly solace in the sight!

Naomi. I mark'd it not, and in good truth the night-bird 35 Curdled my blood, even till it prick'd the heart. Its note comes dreariest in the fall of the year:

[Looking round impatiently.

Why don't they come? I will go forth and meet them.

[Exit NAOMI.

Alhadra (alone). The hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem'd As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold, 40 The hanging woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, Lay in the silent moonshine; and the owl, (Strange! very strange!) the scritch owl only wak'd, Sole voice, sole eye of all that world of beauty! 45 Why such a thing am I! Where are these men? I need the sympathy of human faces To beat away this deep contempt for all things Which quenches my revenge. Oh!--would to Alla The raven and the sea-mew were appointed 50 To bring me food, or rather that my soul Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff, Along some ocean's boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course, 55 And think myself the only being alive! [NAOMI re-enters.

Naomi. Thy children----

Alhadra. Children? Whose children?

[A pause--then fiercely.

Son of Velez, This hath new-strung my arm! Thou coward tyrant, To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, 60 Till she forgot even that she was a mother!

[A noise--enter a part of the Morescoes; and from the opposite side of the stage a Moorish Seaman.

Moorish Seaman. The boat is on the shore, the vessel waits. Your wives and children are already stow'd; I left them prattling of the Barbary coast, Of Mosks, and minarets, and golden crescents. 65 Each had her separate dream; but all were gay, Dancing, in thought, to finger-beaten timbrels!

[Enter MAURICE and the rest of the Morescoes dragging in FRANCESCO.

Francesco. O spare me, spare me! only spare my life!

An Old Man. All hail, Alhadra! O that thou hadst heard him When first we dragg'd him forth! [Then turning to the band. Here! in her presence---- 70

[_He advances with his sword as about to kill him. MAURICE leaps in and stands with his drawn sword between FRANCESCO and the_ Morescoes.

Maurice. Nay, but ye shall not!

Old Man. Shall not? Hah? Shall not?

Maurice. What, an unarm'd man? A man that never wore a sword? A priest? It is unsoldierly! I say, ye shall not!

Old Man (turning to the bands). He bears himself most like an insolent Spaniard! 75

Maurice. And ye like slaves, that have destroy'd their master, But know not yet what freedom means; how holy And just a thing it is! He's a fallen foe! Come, come, forgive him!

All. No, by Mahomet!

Francesco. O mercy, mercy! talk to them of mercy! 80

Old Man. Mercy to thee! No, no, by Mahomet!

Maurice. Nay, Mahomet taught mercy and forgiveness. I am sure he did!

Old Man. Ha! Ha! Forgiveness! Mercy!

Maurice. If he did not, he needs it for himself!

Alhadra. Blaspheming fool! the law of Mahomet 85 Was given by him, who framed the soul of man. This the best proof--it fits the soul of man! Ambition, glory, thirst of enterprize, The deep and stubborn purpose of revenge, With all the boiling revelries of pleasure-- 90 These grow in the heart, yea, intertwine their roots With its minutest fibres! And that Being Who made us, laughs to scorn the lying faith, Whose puny precepts, like a wall of sand, Would stem the full tide of predestined Nature! 95

Naomi (who turns toward Francesco with his sword). Speak!

All (to Alhadra). Speak!

Alhadra. Is the murderer of your chieftain dead? Now as God liveth, who hath suffer'd him To make my children orphans, none shall die Till I have seen his blood! Off with him to the vessel!

[A part of the Morescoes hurry him off.

Alhadra. The Tyger, that with unquench'd cruelty, 100 Still thirsts for blood, leaps on the hunter's spear With prodigal courage. 'Tis not so with man.

Maurice. It is not so, remember that, my friends! Cowards are cruel, and the cruel cowards.

Alhadra. Scatter yourselves, take each a separate way, 105 And move in silence to the house of Velez. [Exeunt.

SCENE.--A Dungeon.

ALBERT (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds.

Albert. And this place my forefathers made for men! This is the process of our love and wisdom To each poor brother who offends against us-- Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty? 110 Is this the only cure? Merciful God! Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up By ignorance and parching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt till changed to poison, 115 They break out on him like a loathsome plague-spot! Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks-- And this is their best cure! uncomforted And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, And savage faces at the clanking hour 120 Seen thro' the steaming vapours of his dungeon By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies Circled with evil, till his very soul Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd By sights of ever more deformity! 125 With other ministrations thou, O Nature! Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child: Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, 130 Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid this general dance and minstrelsy; But bursting into tears wins back his way, His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd 135 By the benignant touch of love and beauty.

[_A noise at the dungeon-door. It opens, and OSORIO enters with a goblet in his hand._

Osorio. Hail, potent wizard! In my gayer mood I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto; And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought of thee!

Albert (in a low voice). I have not summon'd up my heart to give 140 That pang, which I must give thee, son of Velez!

Osorio (with affected levity). Thou hast conspired against my life and honour, Hast trick'd me foully; yet I hate thee not! Why should I hate thee? This same world of ours-- It is a puddle in a storm of rain, 145 And we the air-bladders, that course up and down, And joust and tilt in merry tournament, And when one bubble runs foul of another,

[Waving his hand at ALBERT.

The lesser must needs break!

Albert. I see thy heart! There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, 150 Which doth betray thee. Crazy-conscienc'd man, This is the gaiety of drunken anguish, Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, And quell each human feeling!

Osorio. Feeling! feeling! The death of a man--the breaking of a bubble. 155 'Tis true, I cannot sob for such misfortunes! But faintness, cold, and hunger--curses on me If willingly I e'er inflicted them! Come, share the beverage--this chill place demands it. Friendship and wine! [OSORIO proffers him the goblet.

Albert. Yon insect on the wall, 160 Which moves this way and that its hundred legs, Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft, It were an infinitely curious thing! But it has life, Osorio! life and thought; And by the power of its miraculous will 165 Wields all the complex movements of its frame Unerringly, to pleasurable ends! Saw I that insect on this goblet's brink, I would remove it with an eager terror.

Osorio. What meanest thou?

Albert. There's poison in the wine. 170

Osorio. Thou hast guess'd well. There's poison in the wine. Shall we throw dice, which of us two shall drink it? For one of us must die!

Albert. Whom dost thou think me?

Osorio. The accomplice and sworn friend of Ferdinand.

Albert. Ferdinand! Ferdinand! 'tis a name I know not. 175

Osorio. Good! good! that lie! by Heaven! it has restor'd me. Now I am thy master! Villain, thou shalt drink it, Or die a bitterer death.

Albert. What strange solution Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, And drug them to unnatural sleep?

[_ALBERT takes the goblet, and with a sigh throws it on the ground._

My master! 180

Osorio. Thou mountebank!

Albert. Mountebank and villain! What then art thou? For shame, put up thy sword! What boots a weapon in a wither'd arm? I fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest! I speak--and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 185 And turn it to a motionless distraction! Thou blind self-worshipper! thy pride, thy cunning, Thy faith in universal villainy, Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn For all thy human brethren--out upon them! 190 What have they done for thee? Have they given thee peace? Cured thee of starting in thy sleep? or made The darkness pleasant, when thou wakest at midnight? Art happy when alone? can'st walk by thyself With even step, and quiet cheerfulness? 195 Yet, yet thou mayst be saved.

Osorio (stupidly reiterating the word). Saved? saved?

Albert. One pang-- Could I call up one pang of true remorse!

Osorio. He told me of the babe, that prattled to him, His fatherless little ones! Remorse! remorse! Where gott'st thou that fool's word? Curse on remorse! 200 Can it give up the dead, or recompact A mangled body--mangled, dash'd to atoms! Not all the blessings of an host of angels Can blow away a desolate widow's curse; And tho' thou spill thy heart's blood for atonement, 205 It will not weigh against an orphan's tear.

Albert (almost overcome by his feelings). But Albert----

Osorio. Ha! it chokes thee in the throat, Even thee! and yet, I pray thee, speak it out. Still Albert! Albert! Howl it in mine ear! Heap it, like coals of fire, upon my heart! 210 And shoot it hissing through my brain!

Albert. Alas-- That day, when thou didst leap from off the rock Into the waves, and grasp'd thy sinking brother, And bore him to the strand, then, son of Velez! How sweet and musical the name of Albert! 215 Then, then, Osorio! he was dear to thee, And thou wert dear to him. Heaven only knows How very dear thou wert! Why didst thou hate him? O Heaven! how he would fall upon thy neck, And weep forgiveness!

Osorio. Spirit of the dead! 220 Methinks I know thee! Ha!--my brain turns wild At its own dreams--off--off, fantastic shadow!

Albert (seizing his hand). I fain would tell thee what I am, but dare not!

Osorio (retiring from him). Cheat, villain, traitor! whatsoe'er thou be I fear thee, man!

[He starts, and stands in the attitude of listening.

And is this too my madness? 225

Albert. It is the step of one that treads in fear Seeking to cheat the echo.

Osorio. It approaches-- This nook shall hide me.

[MARIA enters from a plank which slips to and fro.

Maria. I have put aside The customs and the terrors of a woman, To work out thy escape. Stranger! begone, 230 And only tell me what thou know'st of Albert.

[_ALBERT takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her with unutterable tenderness._

Albert. Maria! my Maria!

Maria. Do not mock me. This is my face--and thou--ha! who art thou? Nay, I will call thee Albert!

[_She falls upon his neck. OSORIO leaps out from the nook with frantic wildness, and rushes towards ALBERT with his sword. MARIA gapes at him, as one helpless with terror, then leaves ALBERT, and flings herself upon OSORIO, arresting his arm._

Maria. Madman, stop!

Albert (with majesty and tenderness). Does then this thin disguise impenetrably 235 Hide Albert from thee? Toil and painful wounds, And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, Have marr'd perhaps all trace and lineament Of what I was! But chiefly, chiefly, brother! My anguish for thy guilt. Spotless Maria, 240 I thought thee guilty too! Osorio, brother! Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me!

_Osorio (drawing back and gazing at Albert with a countenance expressive at once of awe and terror)._ Touch me not! Touch not pollution, Albert!--I will die!

[He attempts to fall on his sword. ALBERT and MARIA struggle with him.

Albert. We will invent some tale to save your honour. Live, live, Osorio!

Maria. You may yet be happy. 245

Osorio (looking at Maria). O horror! Not a thousand years in heaven Could recompose this miserable heart, Or make it capable of one brief joy. Live! live!--why yes! 'Twere well to live with you-- For is it fit a villain should be proud? 250 My brother! I will kneel to you, my brother!

[Throws himself at ALBERT'S feet.

Forgive me, Albert!--Curse me with forgiveness!

Albert. Call back thy soul, my brother! and look round thee. Now is the time for greatness. Think that Heaven----

Maria. O mark his eye! he hears not what you say. 255

Osorio (pointing at vacancy). Yes, mark his eye! there's fascination in it. Thou said'st thou didst not know him. That is he! He comes upon me!

Albert (lifting his eye to heaven). Heal, O heal him, Heaven!

Osorio. Nearer and nearer! And I cannot stir! Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me? 260 He would have died to save me, and I kill'd him-- A husband and a father!

Maria. Some secret poison Drinks up his spirit!

Osorio (fiercely recollecting himself). Let the eternal Justice Prepare my punishment in the obscure world. I will not bear to live--to live! O agony! 265 And be myself alone, my own sore torment!

[_The doors of the dungeon are burst open with a crash. ALHADRA, MAURICE, and the band of_ Morescoes enter.

Alhadra (pointing at Osorio). Seize first that man!

[The Moors press round.

Albert (rushing in among them). Draw thy sword, Maurice, and defend my brother.

[A scuffle, during which they disarm MAURICE.

Osorio. Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword. Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it. 270 Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, I'll rend his limbs asunder! I have strength With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes!

Alhadra. My husband----

Osorio. Yes! I murder'd him most foully.

Albert (throws himself on the earth). O horrible!

Alhadra. Why didst thou leave his children? 275 Demon! thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell To lap their blood. Then, then, I might have harden'd My soul in misery, and have had comfort. I would have stood far off, quiet tho' dark, And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 280 For the deep horror of a desolation Too great to be one soul's particular lot! Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee.

[Struggling to suppress her anguish.

The time is not yet come for woman's anguish-- I have not seen his blood. Within an hour 285 Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, Where is our father? [Looks at OSORIO. I shall curse thee then! Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence!

Maria. See--see! he doth repent. I kneel to thee. Be merciful!

[MARIA kneels to her. ALHADRA regards her face wistfully.

Alhadra. Thou art young and innocent; 290 'Twere merciful to kill thee! Yet I will not. And for thy sake none of this house shall perish, Save only he.

Maria. That aged man, his father!

Alhadra (sternly). Why had he such a son?

[The Moors press on.

Maria (still kneeling, and wild with affright). Yet spare his life! They must not murder him!

Alhadra. And is it then 295 An enviable lot to waste away With inward wounds, and like the spirit of chaos To wander on disquietly thro' the earth, Cursing all lovely things? to let him live-- It were a deep revenge!

All the band cry out--No mercy! no mercy! 300

[NAOMI advances with the sword towards OSORIO.

Alhadra. Nay, bear him forth! Why should this innocent maid Behold the ugliness of death?

Osorio (with great majesty). O woman! I have stood silent like a slave[596:1] before thee, That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, And satiate this self-accusing spirit 305 With bitterer agonies than death can give.

[The Moors _gather round him in a crowd, and pass off the stage._

Alhadra. I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordain'd it wisely, That still extremes bring their own cure. That point In misery which makes the oppressed man Regardless of his own life, makes him too 310 Lord of the oppressor's! Knew I an hundred men Despairing, but not palsied by despair, This arm should shake the kingdoms of this world; The deep foundations of iniquity Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them; 315 The strong holds of the cruel men should fall, Their temples and their mountainous towers should fall; Till desolation seem'd a beautiful thing, And all that were and had the spirit of life Sang a new song to him who had gone forth 320 Conquering and still to conquer!

THE END[597:1]

FOOTNOTES:

[596:1] In MS. II 'worm' has the place of 'slave', which is the word in MS. I.

[597:1] On a blank page of MS. III some one, probably Bowles, has written:--'Upon the whole a very masterly production, and with judicious contractments might be rendered an interesting Drama on the stage.'

LINENOTES:

[1-106] om. Remorse.

[39] The hanging] Yon pendent Corr. in MS. III.

[41]

hanging] { pendent { flowerlike

Corr. in MS. III.

[45] that] this Corr. in MS. III.

[Affixed to 57] Naomi, the second in command to Isidore, enters in haste. MS. III erased.

[After 61] stage-direction erased MS. III.

[62] Moorish Seaman] Naomi Corr. in MS. III.

[100-106] Erased MS. III.

[107 foll.] vide ante, 'The Dungeon,' p. 185.

[121] steaming] steam and Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.

[125] ever more] evermore Remorse.

[After 136]

I am chill and weary! Yon rude bench of stone, In that dark angle, the sole resting-place! But the self-approving mind is its own light, And Life's best warmth still radiates from the heart Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose.

Enter TERESA. [Retires out of sight.

Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.

Stage-direction affixed to 136 and 136-9 erased in MS. III: om. Remorse.

[Between 136 and 137:]

I am chill and weary, &c. . . . honest purpose.

Enter TERESA with a taper.

Teresa. It has chilled my very life--my own voice scares me; Yet when I hear it not I seem to lose The substance of my being--my strongest grasp Sends inwards but weak witness that I am. I seek to cheat the echo.--How the half sounds Blend with this strangled light! Is he not here-- [Looking round. O for one human face here--but to see One human face here to sustain me.--Courage! It is but my own fear! The life within me, It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame, Beyond which I scarce dare look onward! Oh! If I faint? If this inhuman den should be At once my death-bed and my burial vault?

[Faintly screams as ALVAR emerges from the recess.

Alvar (rushes towards her, and catches her as she is falling). O gracious heaven! it is, it is Teresa! Shall I reveal myself? The sudden shock Of rapture will blow out this spark of life, And joy complete what terror has begun. O ye impetuous beatings here, be still! Teresa, best beloved! pale, pale, and cold! Her pulse doth flutter! Teresa! my Teresa!

Teresa (recovering). I heard a voice; but often in my dreams I hear that voice! and wake and try--and try-- To hear it waking! but I never could-- And 'tis so now--even so! Well! he is dead-- Murdered perhaps! And I am faint, and feel As if it were no painful thing to die!

Alvar. Believe it not, sweet maid! Believe it not, Beloved woman! 'Twas a low imposture Framed by a guilty wretch.

Teresa. Ha! Who art thou?

Alvar. Suborned by his brother--

Teresa. Didst thou murder him? And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man, I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee!

Alvar. Ordonio--he----

Teresa. If thou didst murder him-- His spirit ever at the throne of God Asks mercy for thee: prays for mercy for thee, With tears in Heaven!

Alvar. Alvar was not murdered. Be calm! be calm, sweet maid!

Teresa. Nay, nay, but tell me! [A pause. O 'tis lost again! This dull confused pain-- [A pause. Mysterious man! Methinks I can not fear thee: for thine eye Doth swim with love and pity--Well! Ordonio-- Oh my foreboding heart! And he suborned thee, And thou didst spare his life? Blessings shower on thee, As many as the drops twice counted o'er In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa!

Alvar. I can endure no more. The Moorish sorcerer Exists but in the stain upon his face. That picture----

Teresa. Ha! speak on!

Alvar. Beloved Teresa! It told but half the truth. O let this portrait Tell all--that Alvar lives--that he is here! Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar.

[Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her.

Teresa (receiving the portrait). The same--it is the same. Ah! Who art thou? Nay, I will call thee, Alvar! [She falls on his neck.

Alvar. O joy unutterable! But hark! a sound as of removing bars At the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief while Conceal thyself, my love! It is Ordonio. For the honour of our race, for our dear father; O for himself too (he is still my brother) Let me recall him to his nobler nature, That he may wake as from a dream of murder! O let me reconcile him to himself, Open the sacred source of penitent tears, And be once more his own beloved Alvar.

Teresa. O my all virtuous love! I fear to leave thee With that obdurate man.

Alvar. Thou dost not leave me! But a brief while retire into the darkness: O that my joy could spread its sunshine round thee!

Teresa. The sound of thy voice shall be my music! Alvar! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee? Is it no dream? thee in my arms, my Alvar! [Exit.

[A noise at the dungeon door. It opens, and ORDONIO enters, with a goblet in his hand.

Remorse.

[139] of] on Remorse.

[140-1] and stage-direction before 142 om. Remorse.

[145] 'Tis but a pool amid a storm of rain Remorse.

[148] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[149] lesser must needs] weaker needs must Remorse.

[151-2]

Inly-tortured man, This is the revelry of a drunken anguish

Remorse.

[Before 160] [ORDONIO proffers the goblet. Remorse.

[160] Friendship and wine om. Remorse.

[161] legs] limbs Remorse.

[164] life and thought] life, enjoyment Remorse.

[168] brink] brim Remorse.

[169] I would remove it with an anxious pity Remorse.

[171-2]

Thou hast guessed right; there's poison in the wine. There's poison in't--which of us two shall drink it?

Remorse.

[Between 174 and 176:]

Alvar. I know him not. And yet methinks, I have heard the name but lately. Means he the husband of the Moorish woman? Isidore? Isidore?

Remorse.

[175] om. Remorse.

[180] Stage-direction [ALVAR takes the goblet, and throws it to the ground. Remorse. My] My Remorse.

[196] Stage-direction om. Remorse.]

[198] babe] babes Remorse.

[207] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[223] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[224] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[225-35] om. Remorse.

[Between 225 and 235]

Teresa (rushing out and falling on ALVAR'S neck). Ordonio! 'tis thy brother!

[ORDONIO runs upon ALVAR with his sword. TERESA flings herself on ORDONIO and arrests his arm.

Stop, madman, stop!

Remorse.

[235] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[238] trace] trial corr. in MS. III; trait Remorse.

[240-41] Spotless . . . guilty too om. Remorse.

[242] shalt] shalt Remorse.

[After 242] stage-direction (Drawing back and gazing at Alvar) Remorse.

[Between 243 and 245]

Alvar. We will find means to save your honour. Live, Oh live, Ordonio! for our father's sake! Spare his gray hairs!

Teresa. And you may yet be happy

Ordonio. O horror, &c.

Remorse.

[After 243] struggle with] prevent Remorse.

[After 251] [Throws himself, &c.] Kneeling Remorse.

[252] Curse] Curse Remorse.

[253] my brother] Ordonio Remorse.

[256] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[258] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[263] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[After 266]

[The doors of the dungeon are broken open, and in rush ALHADRA, and the band of Morescoes.

Alh. Seize first that man!

[ALVAR presses onward to defend ORDONIO.

Ord. Off, &c.

Remorse.

[274] Alvar and Teresa. O horrible Remorse.

[277] their] their Remorse.

[283] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[287] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[Between 288 and 304:]

Teresa. He doth repent! See, see, I kneel to thee! O let him live! That aged man, his father----

Alhadra. Why had he such a son?

[Shouts from the distance of, Rescue! Rescue! Alvar! Alvar! and the voice of VALDEZ heard.

Rescue?--and Isidore's spirit unavenged?-- The deed be mine! [Suddenly stabs ORDONIO. Now take my Life!

Ordonio (staggering from the wound). Atonement!

Alvar (while with TERESA supporting ORDONIO). Arm of avenging Heaven Thou hast snatched from me my most cherished hope-- But go! my word was pledged to thee.

Ordonio. Away! Brave not my father's rage! I thank thee! Thou-- [Then turning his eyes languidly to ALVAR. She hath avenged the blood of Isidore! I stood in silence like a slave before her

Remorse.

[290-303] om. Remorse.

[Affixed to 300] ALHADRA snatches it from him and suddenly stabs ORDONIO. ALVAR rushes towards him through the Moors, and catches him in his arms, &c. MS. III.

[303-4]

'Tis well! thou hast avenged thyself I have stood in silence like a slave before thee

Corr. in MS. III.

[305] spirit] heart Remorse.

[After 306]

Forgive me, Alvar! O couldst thou forgive thyself.

Corr. in MS. III.

Forgive me, Alvar! Oh!--couldst thou forget me! [Dies.

[ALVAR and TERESA bend over the body of ORDONIO.

Alh. (to the Moors). I thank thee, Heaven! &c.

Remorse.

Shouts of Alvar! Alvar! Noises heard; a Moor rushes in.

Moor. We are surprised, away! away! the instant-- The country is in arms. The old man heads them And still cries out, 'My son! My son is living' Haste to the shore! They come the opposite road.

ALHADRA (to ALVAR). Thou then art Alvar! to my aid and safety Thy word stands pledged.

Alvar. Arm of avenging Heaven! My word stands pledged nor shall it be retracted.

(The Moors surround ALHADRA) and force her off. The stage fills with armed peasants. ALI and VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms and the Curtain drops.

[Alternative ending in S. T. C.'s handwriting affixed to lines 307-21, MS. III]

[320] him] her Remorse.

[After 321]

[ALHADRA hurries off with the Moors; the stage fills with armed Peasants and Servants, ZULIMEZ and VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms.

Alvar. Turn not thy face that way, my father! hide, Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing.

[both kneel to VALDEZ.

Valdez. My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless him, heaven!

Teresa. Me too, my Father?

Valdez. Bless, Oh, bless my children!

[both rise.

Alvar. Delights so full, if unalloyed with grief, Were ominous. In these strange dread events Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. Our inward monitress to guide or warn, If listened to; but if repelled with scorn, At length as dire Remorse, she reappears, Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears! Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late! And while she scares us, goads us to our fate.

Remorse.

THE PICCOLOMINI[598:1]

OR, THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN

A DRAMA

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

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 iambus; of which liberty, so frequent in our tragedies, I find no instance in these dramas.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

FOOTNOTES:

[598:1] First published in a single octavo volume, 1800: included in 1828, 1829, 1834, and in Dramatic Works (one vol. 8vo) 1852. The Piccolomini and the Death of Wallenstein were translated from MS. copies which had been acquired by the Messrs. Longman. The MS. copy of the original of the Death of Wallenstein is in the possession of Mrs. Alexander Gillman. The MS. of the copy of the original of the Piccolomini was at one time in the possession of Mr. Henry R. Mark of 17 Highbury Crescent. A note in Schiller's handwriting, dated 'Jena, 30. September 1799', attesting the genuineness of the copies, is attached to either play. The MS. copy of Wallenstein's Camp ('Wallenstein's Lager'), which Coleridge did not attempt to translate, is not forthcoming. See two articles by Ferdinand Freiligrath, published in the Athenæum, July 15 and August 31, 1861. See, too, Die Wallensteinübersetzung von Samuel T. Coleridge und ihr Deutsches Original . . . vorgelegt von Hans Roscher. Borna-Leipzig, 1905. A copy of the translation which Macready marked for acting is in the Forster Library, which forms part of the Victoria and Albert Museum at South Kensington. See note by J. Dykes Campbell, P. W., 1893, p. 649. An annotated copy (in Coleridge's handwriting) of the translation of the Piccolomini and the Death of Wallenstein, presented by Mr. Shadworth Hodgson, is in the Library of Rugby School [MS. R.]. The MS. contents of this volume are now published for the first time. Coleridge began his translation of the two plays at No. 21 Buckingham Street, Strand, in December, 1799, and finished the 'last sheet' at Town End, Grasmere, April 20, 1800.

'These dramas have two grievous faults: they are prolix in the particular parts and slow in the general movement. But they have passion, distinct and diversified character, and they abound in passages of great moral and poetic beauty.' S. T. COLERIDGE.

'The defects of these dramas are all of an instructive character; for tho' not the products of genius, like those of Shakespere, they result from an energetic and thinking mind. (1) The speeches are seldom suited to characters--the characters are truly diversified and distinctly conceived--but we learn them from the actions and from the descriptions given by other characters, or from particular speeches. The brutal Illo repeatedly talks language which belongs to the Countess, &c. (2) Astrology (an undramatic superstition because it inspires no terror, and its foundation of imagination is overbuilt and concealed by its scientific superstructure, with other cause from the imagery, is thus unpopular or swallowed up in more general and pleasing associations, as the Sun and Moon) is made prophetic, and yet treated ludicrously: the author as philosopher is in compleat discord with himself as Historian. This is a most grievous fault. (3) The assassins talk ludicrously. This is a most egregious misimitation of Shakespere--Schiller should not have attempted tragico-comedy, and none but Shakespere has succeeded. It is wonderful, however, that Schiller, who had studied Shakespere, should not have perceived his divine judgment in the management of his assassins, as in Macbeth. They are fearful and almost pitiable Beings--not loathsome, ludicrous miscreants. (4) The character of Thekla = O, the bold Heroine of any novel. Nothing of the Convent, no superstition, nothing of the Daughter of Wallenstein, nothing that her past life is represented by. (5) Wallenstein is a finer psychological than dramatic, and a more dramatic than a tragic character. Shakespere draws strength as in Richard the Third, and even when he blends weakness as in Macbeth--yet it is weakness of a specific kind that leaves the strength in full and fearful energy--but Schiller has drawn weakness imposing on itself the love of power for the sense of strength (a fine conception in itself, but not tragic--at least for the principal character of a long drama).--Hence Wallenstein, with one exception (that of the Regimental Deputation to him in the Second Part) evaporates in mock-mysterious speeches. These are the chief defects, I think. On the other hand, the character of Butler is admirable throughout. Octavio is very grand, and Max, tho' it may be an easy character to draw, for a man of thought and lofty feeling--for a man who possesses all the analoga of genius, is yet so delightful, and its moral influence so grand and salutary, that we must allow it great praise. The childish love-toying with the glove and Aunt Tertsky in the first act should be omitted. Certain whole scenes are masterly, and far above anything since the dramatists of Eliz. & James the first.' Note on fly-leaf of annotated copy (MS. R.).

THE PICCOLOMINI[600:1]

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[600:2] it was reported to us, A Swedish caravan was on its way 5 Transporting a rich cargo of provision, Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize!---- We bring it hither----

Illo. Just in time to banquet The illustrious company assembled here. 10

Butler. 'Tis all alive! a stirring scene here!

Isolani. Ay! The very churches are all full of soldiers. 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. 15

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 20 From many an old friend and acquaintance. Only Galas is wanting still, and Altringer.

Butler. Expect not Galas.

Illo. How so? Do you know----

Isolani. Max Piccolomini here?--O bring me to him. 25 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, 30 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 finished in him.

Illo. You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 35 The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess[601:1] 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 framed my mind 40 To hear of nought but warlike circumstance, Of marches, and attacks, and batteries: And lo! the Duke provides, that something too Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present To feast our eyes. 45

Illo (aside to Butler). And how came you to know That the Count Galas joins us not?

Butler. Because He importuned me to remain behind.

Illo. And you?--You hold out firmly? Noble Butler!

Butler. After the obligation which the Duke 50 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, 55 The Duke has given him the very same In which he first saw service, and since then, Worked himself, step by step, through each preferment, From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives A precedent of hope, a spur of action 60 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 confirmed the appointment. 65

Isolani. Seize it, friend! Seize it! The hand which in that post Placed 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! 70 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, 75 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 restored my honour.

Illo. O that his power but kept pace with his wishes! 80 Why, friend! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers. But at Vienna, brother! here'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, 85 Which this same Questenberg brings hither!--

Butler. Ay, These requisitions of the Emperor,-- I too have heard about them; but I hope The Duke will not draw back a single inch! 90

Illo. Not from his right most surely, unless first --From office!

Butler. Know you aught then? You alarm me.

Isolani (at the same time with Butler, and in a hurrying voice). We should be ruined, every one of us!

Illo. No more! Yonder I see our worthy friend[603:1] approaching With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini.

Butler. I fear we shall not go hence as we came. 95

FOOTNOTES:

[600:1] In 1800 the following table of Dramatis Personae was prefixed to Act I of The Piccolomini, or The First Part of Wallenstein. In 1828, 1829, and 1834 this table was omitted.

Dramatis Personae

_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, } 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.

[600:2] A town about 12 German miles NE. of Ulm.

[601:1] The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons and daughters are entitled Princes and Princesses. 1800, 1828, 1829.

[603:1] Spoken with a sneer. 1800, 1828, 1829.

LINENOTES:

[1] are 1800.

[After 12] [Casts his eye round. 1817, 1828, 1829.

[24] Illo (hesitating). How so? 1817, 1828, 1829. you 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 25] Isolani (interrupting him). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[45] Illo (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to Butler, whom he leads a little on one side). And how, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829.

[48] me 1800, 1828, 1829.

[49]

Illo (with warmth). And you?--You hold out firmly?

[Grasping his hand with affection.

1817, 1828, 1829.

[70] all 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 91] Butler (shocked and confused). 1817, 1828, 1829. aught 1800, 1828, 1829.

[93] our worthy friend 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 95] Butler (shaking his head significantly). 1817, 1828, 1829.

Scene II

Enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI and QUESTENBERG.

Octavio. Ay, ay! more still! Still more new visitors! Acknowledge, friend! that never was a camp, Which held at once so many heads of heroes. Welcome, Count Isolani!

Isolani. My noble brother, Even now am I arrived; it had been else my duty-- 5

Octavio. And Colonel Butler--trust me, I rejoice Thus to renew acquaintance with a man Whose worth and services I know and honour. See, see, my friend! There might we place at once before our eyes 10 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 experienced Prudence!

Octavio (presenting Questenberg to Butler and Isolani). The Chamberlain and War-commissioner Questenberg, The bearer of the Emperor's behests, 15 The long-tried friend and patron of all soldiers, We honour in this noble visitor.

Illo. 'Tis not the first time, noble Minister, You have shewn our camp this honour.

Questenberg. Once before I stood before these colours. 20

Illo. Perchance too you remember where that was. It was at Znäim[604:1] in Moravia, where You did present yourself upon the part Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke That he would straight assume the chief command. 25

Questenberg. To supplicate? Nay, noble 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 choose. I can remember me right well, Count Tilly 30 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 appeared 35 Before our General, storming him with prayers, And menacing the Emperor's displeasure, Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness.

Isolani. Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough, Wherefore with your commission of to-day 40 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 45 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, 50 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 doomed to suffer Only a change of evils, it must be Freed from the scourge alike of friend and foe. 55

Illo. What? 'Twas a favourable 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 ruined, The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers. 60

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 skilled to empty it. 65 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 uncoined.

Questenberg. Thank Heaven! that means have been found out to hide 70 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 favour, those court harpies, 75 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, 80 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 85 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, 90 How from one antechamber to another They dragged me on, and left me by the hour To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering Feast-fattened slaves, as if I had come thither A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour 95 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 100 I was to treat concerning the army horses: And I was forced at last to quit the field, The business unaccomplished. Afterwards The Duke procured me in three days, what I Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna. 105

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 a violent trade; one cannot always Finish one's work by soft means; every trifle Must not be blackened into sacrilege. 110 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. 115 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 120 The troublesome task of choosing.

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. 125

Isolani. And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home.

Questenberg. Count, this comparison you make, not I.

Butler. Why, were we all the Court supposes us, 130 '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 curbs.

Octavio. My noble friend, This is no more than a remembrancing 135 That you are now in camp, and among warriors. The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. Could he act daringly, unless he dared Talk even so? One runs into the other. The boldness of this worthy officer, [pointing to BUTLER. 140 Which now has but mistaken in its mark, Preserved, 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. 145 Hah! here they come!

Illo. The sentries are saluting them: this signal Announces the arrival of the Duchess.

Octavio. Then my son Max too has returned. 'Twas he Fetched and attended them from Carnthen hither. 150

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.

FOOTNOTES:

[604:1] A town not far from the Mine-mountains, on the high road from Vienna to Prague.

LINENOTES:

[Before 1] Octavio (still in the distance). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[After 4] [Approaching nearer. 1817, 1828, 1829.

[17]

We honour in this noble visitor. [Universal silence.

Illo (moving towards Questenberg). 'Tis not, &c.

1817, 1828, 1829.

[21] where 1800, 1828, 1829.

[26] supplicate 1800, 1828, 1829.

[30] compel 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 39] Isolani (steps up to them). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[51] out 1800, 1828, 1829.

[58] you 1800, 1828, 1829.

[80] these 1800.

[81] these 1800.

[87] pare 1800.

[99] me 1800, 1828, 1829.

[100] This was, &c. 1800.

[120] does 1800, 1828, 1829.

[124] His 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 129] Questenberg (with a sneer). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[134] Octavio (interposing and addressing Questenberg). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[138] act 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 149] Octavio (to Questenberg). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[149] Max 1800.

Scene III

QUESTENBERG and OCTAVIO.

Questenberg. What have I not been forced to hear, Octavio! What sentiments! what fierce, uncurbed 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 5 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; 10 'Twas nothing more. I cannot give up Butler. I know a spell that will soon dispossess The evil spirit in him.

Questenberg. Friend, friend! O! this is worse, far worse, than we had suffered Ourselves to dream of at Vienna. There 15 We saw it only with a courtier's eyes, Eyes dazzled by the splendour 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. 20 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, 25 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 30 This madman with the sword, and placed such power In such a hand? I tell you, he'll refuse, Flatly refuse, to obey the Imperial orders. Friend, he can do 't, and what he can, he will. And then the impunity of his defiance-- 35 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 40 These, the last pledges of his loyalty, Away from out the Emperor's domains-- This is no doubtful token of the nearness Of some eruption!

Questenberg. How shall we hold footing Beneath this tempest, which collects itself 45 And threats us from all quarters? The enemy Of the 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 50 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 Seduced, run wild, lost to all discipline, 55 Loosened, and rent asunder from the state And from their sovereign, 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, 60 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 knew not of, Let but a single honest man speak out 65 The true name of his crime! Remember, too, We stand not yet so wholly unprotected. Counts Altringer and Galas have maintained Their little army faithful to its duty, And daily it becomes more numerous. 70 Nor can he take us by surprise: you know, I hold him all-encompassed by my listeners. 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 75 Incomprehensible, that he detects not The foe so near!

Octavio. Beware, you do not think, That I by lying arts, and complaisant Hypocrisy, have skulked into his graces: Or with the sustenance of smooth professions 80 Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No-- Compelled 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! 85

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 performed in company, 90 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 95 Shot out in sudden growth. It was the morning Before the memorable fight at Lützner. Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out, To press him to accept another charger. At distance from the tents, beneath a tree, 100 I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him, And had related all my bodings to him, Long time he stared upon me, like a man Astounded; thereon fell upon my neck, And manifested to me an emotion 105 That far outstripped the worth of that small service. Since then his confidence has followed 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 110 His lot has placed him in?

Octavio. I must perforce Leave him in wardship to his innocence. His young and open soul--dissimulation Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance Alone can keep alive the cheerful air, 115 The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit, That make the Duke secure.

Questenberg. My honoured friend! most highly do I deem Of Colonel Piccolomini--yet--if---- Reflect a little----

Octavio. I must venture it. 120 Hush!--There he comes!

LINENOTES:

[Before 1] Questenberg (with signs of aversion and astonishment). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[13] him 1800, 1828, 1829.

Questenberg (walking up and down in evident disquiet). Friend, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829.

[34] can 1800, 1828, 1829.

[59] he 1800, 1828, 1829.

[64] knew] wot 1800, 1828, 1829.

[84] genuine 1800.

[95] rose 1800, 1828, 1829.

[118] Questenberg (anxiously). My honoured, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.

Scene IV

MAX PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG.

Max. Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father! You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you.

Octavio. How, Max? Look closer at this visitor; Attention, Max, an old friend merits--Reverence Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign. 5

Max. 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 Piccolomini! Not on mine own account alone I seized it, And nothing common will I say therewith. 10

[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. 15

Max. Heh!--Noble minister! You miss your part. You came 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. He comes from court, where people are not quite 20 So well contented with the duke, as here.

Max. What now have they contrived 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. 25 Heaven never meant him for that passive thing That can be struck and hammered 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. 30 He is possessed 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 35 Well for the whole, if there be found a man, Who makes himself what nature destined him, The pause, the central point to thousand thousands-- Stands fixed and stately, like a firm-built column, Where all may press with joy and confidence. 40 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 (aside). Hush! suppress it, friend! Unless some end were answered by the utterance.-- 45 Of him there you'll make nothing.

Max. 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 called him up. The uncommon, the sublime, must seem and be 50 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 55 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. 60

Octavio. My son! of those old narrow ordinances Let us not hold too lightly. They are weights Of priceless value, which oppressed mankind Tied to the volatile will of their oppressors. For always formidable was the league 65 And partnership of free power with free will. The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds, Is yet no devious way. Straight forward goes The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid, 70 Shattering that it may reach, and shattering 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, 75 Honouring the holy bounds of property! And thus secure, though late, leads to its end.

Questenberg. O hear your father, noble youth! hear him, Who is at once the hero and the man.

Octavio. My son, the nursling of the camp spoke in thee! 80 A war of fifteen years Hath been thy education and thy school. Peace hast thou never witnessed! There exists A higher than the warrior's excellence. In war itself war is no ultimate purpose. 85 The vast and sudden deeds of violence, Adventures wild, and wonders of the moment, These are not they, my son, that generate The calm, the blissful, and the enduring mighty! Lo there! the soldier, rapid architect! 90 Builds his light town of canvas, and at once The whole scene moves and bustles momently, With arms, and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel The motley market fills; the roads, the streams Are crowded with new freights, trade stirs and hurries! 95 But on some morrow morn, all suddenly, The tents drop down, the horde renews its march. Dreary, and solitary as a church-yard The meadow and down-trodden seed-plot lie, And the year's harvest is gone utterly. 100

Max. O let the Emperor make peace, my father! Most gladly would I give the blood-stained laurel For the first violet[614:1] of the leafless spring, Plucked in those quiet fields where I have journeyed!

Octavio. What ails thee? What so moves thee all at once? 105

Max. Peace have I ne'er beheld? I have beheld it. From thence am I come hither: O! that sight, It glimmers still before me, like some landscape Left in the distance,--some delicious landscape! My road conducted me through countries where 110 The war has not yet reached. Life, life, my father-- My venerable father, life has charms Which we have ne'er experienced. We have been But voyaging along its barren coasts, Like some poor ever-roaming horde of pirates, 115 That, crowded in the rank and narrow ship, House on the wild sea with wild usages, Nor know aught of the main land, but the bays Where safeliest they may venture a thieves' landing. Whate'er in the inland dales the land conceals 120 Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing, Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.

Octavio. And so your journey has revealed this to you?

Max. 'Twas the first leisure of my life. O tell me, What is the meed and purpose of the toil, 125 The painful toil, which robbed me of my youth, Left me a heart unsoul'd and solitary, A spirit uninformed, unornamented. For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum, The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet, 130 The unvaried, still-returning hour of duty, Word of command, and exercise of arms-- There's nothing here, there's nothing in all this To satisfy the heart, the gasping heart! Mere bustling nothingness, where the soul is not-- 135 This cannot be the sole felicity, These cannot be man's best and only pleasures.

Octavio. Much hast thou learnt, my son, in this short journey.

Max. O! day thrice lovely! when at length the soldier Returns home into life; when he becomes 140 A fellow-man among his fellow-men. The colours are unfurled, the cavalcade Marshals, and now the buzz is hushed, and hark! Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home! The caps and helmets are all garlanded 145 With green boughs, the last plundering of the fields. The city gates fly open of themselves, They need no longer the petard to tear them. The ramparts are all filled with men and women, With peaceful men and women, that send onwards 150 Kisses and welcomings upon the air, Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures. From all the towers rings out the merry peal, The joyous vespers of a bloody day. O happy man, O fortunate! for whom 155 The well-known door, the faithful arms are open, The faithful tender arms with mute embracing.

Questenberg. O! that you should speak Of such a distant, distant time, and not Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day. 160

Max. Where lies the fault but on you in Vienna? I will deal openly with you, Questenberg. Just now, as first I saw you standing here, (I'll own it to you freely) indignation Crowded and pressed my inmost soul together. 165 'Tis ye that hinder peace, ye!--and the warrior, It is the warrior that must force it from you. Ye fret the General's life out, blacken him, Hold him up as a rebel, and Heaven knows What else still worse, because he spares the Saxons, 170 And tries to awaken confidence in the enemy; Which yet 's the only way to peace: for if War intermit not during war, how then And whence can peace come?--Your own plagues fall on you! Even as I love what's virtuous, hate I you. 175 And here make I this vow, here pledge myself; My blood shall spurt out for this Wallenstein, And my heart drain off, drop by drop, ere ye Shall revel and dance jubilee o'er his ruin. [Exit.

FOOTNOTES:

[614:1] In the original,

Den blut'gen Lorbeer geb ich him mit Freuden Fürs erste Veilchen, das der Merz uns bringt, Das duftige Pffand der neuverjüngten Erde.

1800, 1828, 1829.

LINENOTES:

[After 1] [He embraces His father. As he turns round he observes Questenberg, and draws back with a cold and reserved air. 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 6] Max (drily). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 20] Octavio (to Max). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[38] to] of 1800.

[44] Octavio (to Questenberg). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[45] some 1800, 1828, 1829.

[46] him 1800, 1828, 1829. Max (continuing). In their, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829.

[52] there the Present Being 1800, 1828, 1829.

[58] lives 1800, 1828, 1829.

[63] th' oppressed MS. R.

[71] may 1800, 1828, 1829.

[73] BLESSING 1800, 1828, 1829.

[78] him 1800, 1828, 1829.

[106] have 1800, 1828, 1829.

[113] we 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 123] Octavio (attentive, with an appearance of uneasiness). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 158] Questenberg (apparently much affected). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 161] Max (turning round to him, quick and vehement). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[165] peace, ye 1800, 1828, 1829.

[172] how 1800, 1828, 1829.

[173] whence 1800, 1828, 1829.

Scene V

QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI.

Questenberg. Alas, alas! and stands it so? What, friend! and do we let him go away In this delusion--let him go away? Not call him back immediately, not open His eyes upon the spot?

Octavio. He has now opened mine, 5 And I see more than pleases me.

Questenberg. What is it?

Octavio. Curse on this journey!

Questenberg. But why so? What is it?

Octavio. Come, come along, friend! I must follow up The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes Are opened now, and I must use them. Come! 10

[Draws QUESTENBERG on with him.

Questenberg. What now? Where go you then?

Octavio. To her herself.

Questenberg. To----

Octavio. To the Duke. Come, let us go--'Tis done, 'tis done, I see the net that is thrown over him. O! he returns not to me as he went.

Questenberg. Nay, but explain yourself.

Octavio. And that I should not 15 Foresee it, not prevent this journey! Wherefore Did I keep it from him?--You were in the right. I should have warned him! Now it is too late.

Questenberg. But what's too late? Bethink yourself, my friend, That you are talking absolute riddles to me. 20

Octavio. Come!--to the Duke's. 'Tis close upon the hour Which he appointed you for audience. Come! A curse, a threefold curse, upon this journey!

[He leads QUESTENBERG off.

LINENOTES:

[After 1] [Then in pressing and impatient tones. 1800, 1828, 1829.

[5] Octavio (recovering himself out of a deep study). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[11] Where 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 12] Octavio (interrupting him, and correcting himself). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[19] what's 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 21] Octavio (more collected). 1800, 1828, 1829.

Scene VI

Changes to a spacious chamber in the house of the Duke of Friedland.--Servants employed in putting the tables and chairs in order. During this enters SENI, like an old Italian doctor, in black, and clothed somewhat fantastically. He carries a white staff, with which he marks out the quarters of the heaven.

First Servant. Come--to it, lads, to it! Make an end of it. I hear the sentry call out, 'Stand to your arms!' They will be there in a minute.

Second Servant. Why were we not told before that the audience would be held here? Nothing prepared--no orders--no 5 instructions--

Third Servant. Ay, and why was the balcony-chamber countermanded, that with the great worked carpet?--there one can look about one.

First Servant. Nay, that you must ask the mathematician there. 10 He says it is an unlucky chamber.

Second Servant. Poh! stuff and nonsense! That's what I call a hum. A chamber is a chamber; what much can the place signify in the affair?

Seni. My son, there's nothing insignificant, 15 Nothing! But yet in every earthly thing First and most principal is place and time.

First Servant (to the Second). Say nothing to him, Nat. The Duke himself must let him have his own will.

_Seni (counts the chairs, half in a loud, half in a low voice, till he comes to eleven, which he repeats)._ Eleven! an evil number! Set twelve chairs. 20 Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven, The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve.

Second Servant. And what may you have to object against eleven? I should like to know that now.

Seni. Eleven is--transgression; eleven oversteps 25 The ten commandments.

Second Servant. That's good! and why do you call five an holy number?

Seni. Five is the soul of man: for even as man Is mingled up of good and evil, so 30 The five is the first number that's made up Of even and odd.

Second Servant. The foolish old coxcomb!

First Servant. Ey! let him alone though. I like to hear him; there is more in his words than can be seen at first sight. 35

Third Servant. Off! They come.

Second Servant. There! Out at the side-door.

[_They hurry off. SENI follows slowly. A page brings the staff of command on a red cushion, and places it on the table near the DUKE'S chair. They are announced from without, and the wings of the door fly open._

LINENOTES:

[13] hum 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 15] Seni (with gravity). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[15] nothing 1800, 1828, 1829.

[16] Nothing 1800, 1828, 1829.

Scene VII

WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS.

Wallenstein. You went then through Vienna, were presented To the Queen of Hungary?

Duchess. Yes, and to the Empress too, And by both Majesties were we admitted To kiss the hand.

Wallenstein. And how was it received, That I had sent for wife and daughter hither 5 To the camp, in winter time?

Duchess. I did even that Which you commissioned me to do. I told them, You had determined on our daughter's marriage, And wished, ere yet you went into the field, To shew the elected husband his betrothed. 10

Wallenstein. And did they guess the choice which I had made?

Duchess. They only hoped and wished it may have fallen Upon no foreign nor yet Lutheran noble.

Wallenstein. And you--what do you wish, Elizabeth?

Duchess. Your will, you know, was always mine.

Wallenstein. Well, then? 15 And in all else, of what kind and complexion Was your reception at the court? Hide nothing from me. How were you received?

Duchess. O! my dear lord, all is not what it was. A cankerworm, my lord, a cankerworm 20 Has stolen into the bud.

Wallenstein. Ay! is it so! What, they were lax? they failed of the old respect?

Duchess. Not of respect. No honours were omitted, No outward courtesy; but in the place Of condescending, confidential kindness, 25 Familiar and endearing, there were given me Only these honours and that solemn courtesy. Ah! and the tenderness which was put on, It was the guise of pity, not of favour. No! Albrecht's wife, Duke Albrecht's princely wife, 30 Count Harrach's noble daughter, should not so-- Not wholly so should she have been received.

Wallenstein. Yes, yes; they have ta'en offence. My latest conduct, They railed at it, no doubt.

Duchess. O that they had! I have been long accustomed to defend you, 35 To heal and pacify distempered spirits. No; no one railed at you. They wrapped them up, O Heaven! in such oppressive, solemn silence!-- Here is no every-day misunderstanding, No transient pique, no cloud that passes over; 40 Something most luckless, most unhealable, Has taken place. The Queen of Hungary Used formerly to call me her dear aunt, And ever at departure to embrace me--

Wallenstein. Now she omitted it?

Duchess. She did embrace me, 45 But then first when I had already taken My formal leave, and when the door already Had closed upon me, then did she come out In haste, as she had suddenly bethought herself, And pressed me to her bosom, more with anguish 50 Than tenderness.

Wallenstein (seizes her hand soothingly). Nay, now collect yourself, And what of Eggenberg and Lichtenstein, And of our other friends there?

Duchess. I saw none.

Wallenstein. The Ambassador from Spain, who once was wont To plead so warmly for me?--

Duchess. Silent, Silent! 55

Wallenstein. These suns then are eclipsed for us. Henceforward Must we roll on, our own fire, our own light.

Duchess. And were it--were it, my dear lord, in that Which moved about the court in buzz and whisper, But in the country let itself be heard 60 Aloud--in that which Father Lamormain In sundry hints and----

Wallenstein. Lamormain! what said he?

Duchess. That you're accused of having daringly O'erstepped the powers entrusted to you, charged With traitorous contempt of the Emperor 65 And his supreme behests. The proud Bavarian, He and the Spaniards stand up your accusers-- That there's a storm collecting over you Of far more fearful menace than that former one Which whirled you headlong down at Regensburg. 70 And people talk, said he, of----Ah!--

Wallenstein. Proceed!

Duchess. I cannot utter it!

Wallenstein. Proceed!

Duchess. They talk----

Wallenstein. Well!

Duchess. Of a second----

Wallenstein. Second----

Duchess. More disgraceful ----Dismission.

Wallenstein. Talk they? O! they force, they thrust me With violence, against my own will, onward! 75

Duchess. O! if there yet be time, my husband! if By giving way and by submission, this Can be averted--my dear lord, give way! Win down your proud heart to it! Tell that heart It is your sovereign lord, your Emperor 80 Before whom you retreat. O let no longer Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning With abhorred venomous glosses. Stand you up Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth, And drive before you into uttermost shame 85 These slanderous liars! Few firm friends have we-- You know it!--The swift growth of our good fortune It hath but set us up, a mark for hatred. What are we, if the sovereign's grace and favour Stand not before us? 90

LINENOTES:

[14] you wish 1800, 1828, 1829.

[15] Wallenstein (after a pause). Well, then? 1800, 1828, 1829.

[After 17] [The DUCHESS casts her eyes on the ground and remains silent. 1800, 1828, 1829.

[31] so 1800, 1828, 1829.

[45] Now 1800, 1828, 1829. Duchess (wiping away her tears, after a pause). 1800, 1828, 1829. did 1800, 1828, 1829.

[53] Duchess (shaking her head). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[62] Wallenstein (eagerly). Lamormain, &c. 1800, 1828, 1829. he 1800, 1828, 1829.

[71]

And people . . . Ah!-- [Stifling extreme emotion.

1800, 1828, 1829.

[73] Duchess. Of a second---- (catches her voice and hesitates). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[74]

Wallenstein. Talk they? [Strides across the chamber in vehement agitation.

1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 76] Duchess (presses near to him, in entreaty). 1800, 1828, 1829.

Scene VIII

Enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, leading in her hand the PRINCESS THEKLA, richly adorned with brilliants.

COUNTESS, THEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, DUCHESS.

Countess. How, sister? What already upon business, And business of no pleasing kind I see, Ere he has gladdened at his child. The first Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland! father! This is thy daughter. 5

(_THEKLA approaches with a shy and timid air, and bends herself as about to kiss his hand. He receives her in his arms, and remains standing for some time lost in the feeling of her presence._)

Wallenstein. Yes! pure and lovely hath hope risen on me: I take her as the pledge of greater fortune.

Duchess. 'Twas but a little child when you departed To raise up that great army for the Emperor: And after, at the close of the campaign, 10 When you returned home out of Pomerania, Your daughter was already in the convent, Wherein she has remain'd till now.

Wallenstein. The while We in the field here gave our cares and toils To make her great, and fight her a free way 15 To the loftiest earthly good, lo! mother Nature Within the peaceful silent convent walls Has done her part, and out of her free grace Hath she bestowed on the beloved child The godlike; and now leads her thus adorned 20 To meet her splendid fortune, and my hope.

Duchess (to Thekla). Thou wouldst not have recognized thy father, Wouldst thou, my child? She counted scarce eight years, When last she saw your face.

Thekla. O yes, yes, mother! At the first glance!--My father is not altered. 25 The form, that stands before me, falsifies No feature of the image that hath lived So long within me!

Wallenstein. The voice of my child!

[Then after a pause.

I was indignant at my destiny That it denied me a man-child to be 30 Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune, And re-illume my soon extinguished being In a proud line of princes. I wronged my destiny. Here upon this head So lovely in its maiden bloom will I 35 Let fall the garland of a life of war, Nor deem it lost, if only I can wreath it Transmitted to a regal ornament, Around these beauteous brows.

[He clasps her in his arms as PICCOLOMINI enters.

LINENOTES:

[After 1] [Observing the countenance of the Duchess. 1800, 1828, 1829.

Scene IX

Enter MAX PICCOLOMINI, and some time after COUNT TERTSKY, the others remaining as before.

Countess. There comes the Paladin who protected us.

Wallenstein. Max! Welcome, ever welcome! Always wert thou The morning star of my best joys!

Max. My General----

Wallenstein. 'Till now it was the Emperor who rewarded thee, I but the instrument. This day thou hast bound 5 The father to thee, Max! the fortunate father, And this debt Friedland's self must pay.

Max. My prince! You made no common hurry to transfer it. I come with shame: yea, not without a pang! For scarce have I arrived here, scarce delivered 10 The mother and the daughter to your arms, But there is brought to me from your equerry A splendid richly-plated hunting dress So to remunerate me for my troubles---- Yes, yes, remunerate me! Since a trouble 15 It must be, a mere office, not a favour Which I leapt forward to receive, and which I came already with full heart to thank you for. No! 'twas not so intended, that my business Should be my highest best good fortune! 20

[_TERTSKY enters, and delivers letters to the DUKE, which he breaks open hurryingly._

Countess (to Max). Remunerate your trouble! For his joy He makes you recompense. 'Tis not unfitting For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel So tenderly--my brother it beseems To shew himself for ever great and princely. 25

Thekla. Then I too must have scruples of his love: For his munificent hands did ornament me Ere yet the father's heart had spoken to me.

Max. Yes; 'tis his nature ever to be giving And making happy. How my heart pours out 30 Its all of thanks to him: O! how I seem To utter all things in the dear name Friedland. While I shall live, so long will I remain The captive of this name: in it shall bloom My every fortune, every lovely hope. 35 Inextricably as in some magic ring In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me!

Countess. My brother wishes us to leave him. Come.

_Wallenstein (turns himself round quick, collects himself, and speaks with cheerfulness to the Duchess)._ Once more I bid thee welcome to the camp, Thou art the hostess of this court. You, Max, 40 Will now again administer your old office, While we perform the sovereign's business here.

[MAX PICCOLOMINI offers the DUCHESS his arm, the COUNTESS accompanies the PRINCESS.

Tertsky (calling after him). Max, we depend on seeing you at the meeting.

LINENOTES:

[30]

And making happy. [He grasps the hand of the DUCHESS with still increasing warmth.

1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 38] Countess (who during this time has been anxiously watching the Duke, and remarks that he is lost in thought over the letters). 1800, 1828, 1829.

Scene X

WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERTSKY.

Wallenstein (to himself). She hath seen all things as they are--It is so And squares completely with my other notices. They have determined finally in Vienna, Have given me my successor already; It is the king of Hungary, Ferdinand, 5 The Emperor's delicate son! he's now their saviour, He's the new star that's rising now! Of us They think themselves already fairly rid, And as we were deceased, the heir already Is entering on possession--Therefore--dispatch! 10

[_As he turns round he observes TERTSKY, and gives him a letter._

Count Altringer will have himself excused, And Galas too--I like not this!

Tertsky. And if Thou loiterest longer, all will fall away, One following the other.

Wallenstein. Altringer Is master of the Tyrole passes. I must forthwith 15 Send some one to him, that he let not in The Spaniards on me from the Milanese. ----Well, and the old Sesin, that ancient trader In contraband negotiations, he Has shewn himself again of late. What brings he 20 From the Count Thur?

Tertsky. The Count communicates, He has found out the Swedish chancellor At Halberstadt, where the convention's held, Who says, you've tired him out, and that he'll have No further dealings with you.

Wallenstein. And why so? 25

[625:1]Tertsky. He says, you are never in earnest in your speeches, That you decoy the Swedes--to make fools of them, Will league yourself with Saxony against them, And at last make yourself a riddance of them With a paltry sum of money.

Wallenstein. So then, doubtless, 30 Yes, doubtless, this same modest Swede expects That I shall yield him some fair German tract For his prey and booty, that ourselves at last On our own soil and native territory, May be no longer our own lords and masters! 35 An excellent scheme! No, no! They must be off, Off, off! away! we want no such neighbours.

Tertsky. Nay, yield them up that dot, that speck of land-- It goes not from your portion. If you win The game what matters it to you who pays it? 40

Wallenstein. Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this. Never shall it be said of me, I parcelled My native land away, dismembered Germany, Betrayed it to a foreigner, in order To come with stealthy tread, and filch away 45 My own share of the plunder--Never! never!-- No foreign power shall strike root in the empire, And least of all, these Goths! these hunger-wolves! Who send such envious, hot and greedy glances T'wards the rich blessings of our German lands! 50 I'll have their aid to cast and draw my nets, But not a single fish of all the draught Shall they come in for.

Tertsky. You will deal, however, More fairly with the Saxons? They lose patience While you shift ground and make so many curves. 55 Say, to what purpose all these masks? Your friends Are plunged in doubts, baffled, and led astray in you. There's Oxenstirn, there's Arnheim--neither knows What he should think of your procrastinations. And in the end I prove the liar: all 60 Passes through me. I have not even your hand-writing.

Wallenstein. I never give my handwriting; thou knowest it.

Tertsky. But how can it be known that you're in earnest, If the act follows not upon the word? You must yourself acknowledge, that in all 65 Your intercourses hitherto with the enemy You might have done with safety all you have done, Had you meant nothing further than to gull him For the Emperor's service.

_Wallenstein (after a pause, during which he looks narrowly on Tertsky)._ And from whence dost thou know That I'm not gulling him for the Emperor's service? 70 Whence knowest thou that I'm not gulling all of you? Dost thou know me so well? When made I thee The intendant of my secret purposes? I am not conscious that I ever open'd My inmost thoughts to thee. The Emperor, it is true, 75 Hath dealt with me amiss; and if I would, I could repay him with usurious interest For the evil he hath done me. It delights me To know my power; but whether I shall use it, Of that, I should have thought that thou could'st speak 80 No wiselier than thy fellows.

Tertsky. So hast thou always played thy game with us.

[Enter ILLO.

FOOTNOTES:

[625:1] This passing off of his real irresolution and fancy-dalliance for depth of Reserve and for Plan formed within the magic circle of his own inapproachable spirits is very fine; but still it is not tragic--nay scarce obvious enough to be altogether dramatic, if in this word we involve theatre-representation. Iago (so far only analogous to Wallenstein as in him an Impulse is the source of his conduct rather than the motive), always acting is not the object of Interest, [but] derives a constant interest from Othello, on whom he is acting; from Desdemona, Cassio, every one; and, besides, for the purpose of theatric comprehensibility he is furnished with a set of outside motives that actually pass with the groundling for the true springs of action. MS. R.

LINENOTES:

[Before 1] Wallenstein (in deep thought to himself). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[37] we 1800

[62] never 1800.

[63] known 1800.

[69] thou 1800.

[70] not 1800.

[72] me 1800.

[76] would 1800.

[79] power 1800.

Scene XI

ILLO, WALLENSTEIN, TERTSKY.

Wallenstein. How stand affairs without? Are they prepared?

Illo. You'll find them in the very mood you wish. They know about the Emperor's requisitions, And are tumultuous.

Wallenstein. How hath Isolan Declared himself?

Illo. He's yours, both soul and body, 5 Since you built up again his Faro-bank.

Wallenstein. And which way doth Kolatto bend? Hast thou Made sure of Tiefenbach and Deodate?

Illo. What Piccolomini does, that they do too.

Wallenstein. You mean then I may venture somewhat with them? 10

Illo.--If you are assured of the Piccolomini.

Wallenstein. Not more assured of mine own self.

Tertsky. And yet I would you trusted not so much to Octavio, The fox!

Wallenstein. Thou teachest me to know my man? Sixteen campaigns I have made with that old warrior. 15 Besides, I have his horoscope, We both are born beneath like stars--in short To this belongs its own particular aspect, If therefore thou canst warrant me the rest----

Illo. There is among them all but this one voice, 20 You must not lay down the command. I hear They mean to send a deputation to you.

Wallenstein. If I'm in aught to bind myself to them, They too must bind themselves to me.

Illo. Of course.

Wallenstein. Their words of honour they must give, their oaths, 25 Give them in writing to me, promising Devotion to my service unconditional.

Illo. Why not?

Tertsky. Devotion unconditional? The exception of their duties towards Austria They'll always place among the premises. 30 With this reserve----

Wallenstein. All unconditional! No premises, no reserves.

Illo. A thought has struck me. Does not Count Tertsky give us a set banquet This evening?

Tertsky. Yes; and all the Generals Have been invited.

Illo (to Wallenstein). Say, will you here fully 35 Commission me to use my own discretion? I'll gain for you the Generals' words of honour, Even as you wish.

Wallenstein. Gain me their signatures! How you come by them, that is your concern.

Illo. And if I bring it to you, black on white, 40 That all the leaders who are present here Give themselves up to you, without condition; Say, will you then--then will you shew yourself In earnest, and with some decisive action Make trial of your luck?

Wallenstein. The signatures! 45 Gain me the signatures.

Illo. [628:1]Seize, seize the hour Ere it slips from you. Seldom comes the moment In life, which is indeed sublime and weighty. To make a great decision possible, O! many things, all transient and all rapid, 50 Must meet at once: and, haply, they thus met May by that confluence be enforced to pause Time long enough for wisdom, though too short, Far, far too short a time for doubt and scruple! This is that moment. See, our army chieftains, 55 Our best, our noblest, are assembled around you, Their kinglike leader! On your nod they wait. The single threads, which here your prosperous fortune Hath woven together in one potent web Instinct with destiny, O let them not 60 Unravel of themselves. If you permit These chiefs to separate, so unanimous Bring you them not a second time together. 'Tis the high tide that heaves the stranded ship, And every individual's spirit waxes 65 In the great stream of multitudes. Behold They are still here, here still! But soon the war Bursts them once more asunder, and in small Particular anxieties and interests Scatters their spirit, and the sympathy 70 Of each man with the whole. He, who to-day Forgets himself, forced onward with the stream, Will become sober, seeing but himself, Feel only his own weakness, and with speed Will face about, and march on in the old 75 High road of duty, the old broad-trodden road, And seek but to make shelter in good plight.

Wallenstein. The time is not yet come.

Tertsky. So you say always. But when will it be time?

Wallenstein. When I shall say it.

Illo. You'll wait upon the stars, and on their hours, 80 Till the earthly hour escapes you. O, believe me, In your own bosom are your destiny's stars. Confidence in yourself, prompt resolution, This is your Venus! and the sole malignant, The only one that harmeth you is Doubt. 85

Wallenstein. Thou speakest as thou understand'st. How oft And many a time I've told thee, Jupiter, That lustrous god, was setting at thy birth. Thy visual power subdues no mysteries; Mole-eyed, thou mayest but burrow in the earth, 90 [629:1]Blind as that subterrestrial, who with wan, Lead-coloured shine lighted thee into life. The common, the terrestrial, thou mayest see, With serviceable cunning knit together The nearest with the nearest; and therein 95 I trust thee and believe thee! but whate'er Full of mysterious import Nature weaves, And fashions in the depths--the spirit's ladder, That from this gross and visible world of dust Even to the starry world, with thousand rounds, 100 Builds itself up; on which the unseen powers Move up and down on heavenly ministries-- The circles in the circles, that approach The central sun with ever-narrowing orbit-- These see the glance alone, the unsealed eye, 105 Of Jupiter's glad children born in lustre.

[_He walks across the chamber, then returns, and standing still, proceeds._

The heavenly constellations make not merely The day and nights, summer and spring, not merely Signify to the husbandman the seasons Of sowing and of harvest. Human action, 110 That is the seed too of contingencies, Strewed on the dark land of futurity In hopes to reconcile the powers of fate. Whence it behoves us to seek out the seed-time, To watch the stars, select their proper hours, 115 And trace with searching eye the heavenly houses, Whether the enemy of growth and thriving Hide himself not, malignant, in his corner. Therefore permit me my own time. Meanwhile Do you your part. As yet I cannot say 120 What I shall do--only, give way I will not. Depose me too they shall not. On these points You may rely.

Page (entering). My Lords, the Generals.

Wallenstein. Let them come in.

FOOTNOTES:

[628:1] Here is an instance of the defect classed No. 1 in the blank leaf. With what propriety is this speech of profound moral insight put in the mouth of that stupid, foolish Illo? MS. R.

[629:1] This is said, and finely too; but in what one instance is it shown realized in Illo? This is a common fault of a man of genius whose genius is not however creative but ideative. There is just such another in my Maria as described by Osorio, the Character exists only in the description. MS. R.

LINENOTES:

[After 17] (with an air of mystery) 1800, 1828, 1829.

[21] must 1800.

[27] unconditional 1800.

[28] unconditional 1800.

[31] unconditional 1800.

[32] Wallenstein (shaking his head). 1800, 1828, 1829.

[39] your 1800.

[43] then--then 1800.

[66] multitudes] multitude 1800.

[79] when 1800.

[108] nights] night 1800, 1828, 1829.

[121] I 1800.