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SCENE VI

WALLENSTEIN, TERZKY, and ILLO (re-enter)

ILLO.

It's all right?

TERZKY.

Are you compromised?

ILLO.

 
                            This Swede
 

Went smiling from you. Yes! you're compromised.

WALLENST.

As yet is nothing settled: and (well weighed)

I feel myself inclined to leave it so.

TERZKY.

How? What is that?

WALLENSTEIN.

 
               Come on me what will come,
 

The doing evil to avoid an evil

Cannot be good!

TERZKY.

Nay, but bethink you, Duke.

WALLENST.

To live upon the mercy of these Swedes!

Of these proud-hearted Swedes!—I could not bear it.

ILLO.

Goest thou as fugitive, as mendicant?

Bringest thou not more to them than thou receivest?

WALLENST.

How fared it with the brave and royal Bourbon

Who sold himself unto his country's foes,

And pierced the bosom of his father-land?

Curses were his reward, and men's abhorrence

Avenged th' unnatural and revolting deed.

ILLO.

Is that thy case?

WALLENSTEIN.

 
               True faith, I tell thee,
 

Must ever be the dearest friend of man:

His nature prompts him to assert its rights.

The enmity of sects, the rage of parties,

Long cherish'd envy, jealousy, unite;

And all the struggling elements of evil

Suspend their conflict, and together league

In one alliance 'gainst their common foe—

The savage beast that breaks into the fold,

Where men repose in confidence and peace.

For vain were man's own prudence to protect him.

'Tis only in the forehead nature plants

The watchful eye—the back, without defence,

Must find its shield in man's fidelity.

TERZKY.

Think not more meanly of thyself than do

Thy foes, who stretch their hands with joy to greet thee;

Less scrupulous far was the Imperial Charles,

The powerful head of this illustrious house;

With open arms he gave the Bourbon welcome;

For still by policy the world is ruled.

SCENE VII

To these enter the COUNTESS TERZKY

WALLENST.

Who sent for you? There is no business here

For women.

COUNTESS.

I am come to bid you joy.

WALLENST.

Use thy authority, Terzky; bid her go.

COUNTESS.

Come I perhaps too early? I hope not.

WALLENST.

Set not this tongue upon me, I entreat you:

You know it is the weapon that destroys me.

I am routed, if a woman but attack me:

I cannot traffic in the trade of words

With that unreasoning sex.

COUNTESS.

 
                          I had already
 

Given the Bohemians a king.

WALLENSTEIN (sarcastically).

 
                        They have one,
 

In consequence, no doubt.

COUNTESS (to the others).

Ha! what new scruple?

TERZKY.

The Duke will not.

COUNTESS.

He will not what he must!

ILLO.

It lies with you now. Try. For I am silenced

When folks begin to talk to me of conscience

And of fidelity.

COUNTESS.

 
                       How? then, when all
 

Lay in the far-off distance, when the road

Stretch'd out before thine eyes interminably,

Then hadst thou courage and resolve; and now,

Now that the dream is being realized,

The purpose ripe, the issue ascertain'd,

Dost thou begin to play the dastard now?

Plann'd merely, 'tis a common felony;

Accomplish'd, an immortal undertaking:

And with success comes pardon hand in hand,

For all event is God's arbitrament.

SERVANT (enters).

The Colonel Piccolomini.

COUNTESS (hastily).

Must wait.

WALLENST.

I cannot see him now. Another time.

SERVANT.

But for two minutes he entreats an audience:

Of the most urgent nature is his business.

WALLENST.

Who knows what he may bring us! I will hear him.

COUNTESS (laughs).

Urgent for him, no doubt? but thou may'st wait.

WALLENST.

What is it?

COUNTESS.

 
             Thou shalt be inform'd hereafter.
 

First let the Swede and thee be compromised.

[Exit SERVANT.]

WALLENST.

If there were yet a choice! if yet some milder

Way of escape were possible—I still

Will choose it, and avoid the last extreme.

COUNTESS.

Desirest thou nothing further? Such a way

Lies still before thee. Send this Wrangel off.

Forget thou thy old hopes, cast far away

All thy past life; determine to commence

A new one. Virtue hath her heroes too,

As well as fame and fortune.—To Vienna

Hence—to the Emperor—kneel before the throne

Take a full coffer with thee—say aloud,

Thou didst but wish to prove thy fealty;

Thy whole intention but to dupe the Swede.

ILLO.

For that too 'tis too late. They know too much;

He would but bear his own head to the block.

COUNTESS.

I fear not that. They have not evidence

To attaint him legally, and they avoid

The avowal of an arbitrary power.

They'll let the Duke resign without disturbance.

I see how all will end. The King of Hungary

Makes his appearance, and 'twill of itself

Be understood that then the Duke retires.

There will not want a formal declaration;

The young King will administer the oath

To the whole army; and so all returns

To the old position. On some morrow morning

The Duke departs; and now 'tis stir and bustle

Within his castles. He will hunt, and build,

And superintend his horses' pedigrees;

Creates himself a court, gives golden keys,

And introduces strictest ceremony

In fine proportions, and nice etiquette;

Keeps open table with high cheer: in brief,

Commences mighty King—in miniature.

And while he prudently demeans himself,

And gives himself no actual importance,

He will be let appear whate'er he likes;

And who dares doubt that Friedland will appear

A mighty Prince to his last dying hour?

Well now, what then? Duke Friedland is as others,

A fire-new Noble, whom the war hath raised

To price and currency, a Jonah's gourd,

An over-night creation of court-favor,

Which with an undistinguishable ease

Makes Baron or makes Prince.

WALLENSTEIN (in extreme agitation).

 
                                  Take her away.
 

Let in the young Count Piccolomini.

COUNTESS.

Art thou in earnest? I entreat thee! Canst thou

Consent to bear thyself to thy own grave,

So ignominiously to be dried up?

Thy life, that arrogated such an height

To end in such a nothing! To be nothing,

When one was always nothing, is an evil

That asks no stretch of patience, a light evil;

But to become a nothing, having been—

WALLENSTEIN (starts up in violent agitation).

Show me a way out of this stifling crowd,

Ye powers of Aidance! Show me such a way

As I am capable of going. I

Am no tongue-hero, no fine virtue-prattler;

I cannot warm by thinking; cannot say

To the good luck that turns her back upon me,

Magnanimously: "Go; I need thee not."

Cease I to work, I am annihilated.

Dangers nor sacrifices will I shun,

If so I may avoid the last extreme;

But ere I sink down into nothingness,

Leave off so little, who began so great,

Ere that the world confuses me with those

Poor wretches whom a day creates and crumbles,

This age and after ages[25] speak my name

With hate and dread; and Friedland be redemption

For each accursed deed.

COUNTESS.

 
                    What is there here, then,
 

So against nature? Help me to perceive it!

O let not Superstition's nightly goblins

Subdue thy clear bright spirit! Art thou bid

To murder?—with abhorr'd, accursed poinard,

To violate the breasts that nourish'd thee?

That were against our nature, that might aptly

Make thy flesh shudder, and thy whole heart sicken,[26]

Yet not a few, and for a meaner object,

Have ventured even this, ay, and perform'd it.

What is there in thy case so black and monstrous?

Thou art accused of treason—whether with

Or without justice is not now the question—

Thou art lost if thou dost not avail thee quickly

Of the power which thou possessest—Friedland! Duke!

Tell me where lives that thing so meek and tame,

That doth not all his living faculties

Put forth in preservation of his life?

What deed so daring, which necessity

And desperation will not sanctify?

WALLENST.

Once was this Ferdinand so gracious to me;

He loved me; he esteem'd me; I was placed

The nearest to his heart. Full many a time

We like familiar friends, both at one table,

Have banqueted together. He and I—

And the young kings themselves held me the basin

Wherewith to wash me—and is't come to this?

COUNTESS.

So faithfully preserves thou each small favor,

And hast no memory for contumelies?

Must I remind thee, how at Regensburg

This man repaid thy faithful services?

All ranks and all conditions in the empire

Thou hadst wronged, to make him great,—hadst loaded on thee,

On thee, the hate, the curse of the whole world.

No friend existed for thee in all Germany,

And why? because thou hadst existed only

For the Emperor. To the Emperor alone

Clung Friedland in that storm which gather'd round him

At Regensburg in the Diet—and he dropp'd thee!

He let thee fall! he let thee fall a victim

To the Bavarian, to that insolent!

Deposed, stript bare of all thy dignity

And power, amid the taunting of thy foes,

Thou wert let drop into obscurity.—

Say not the restoration of thy honor

Has made atonement for that first injustice.

No honest good-will was it that replaced thee;

The law of hard necessity replaced thee,

Which they had fain opposed, but that they could not.

WALLENST.

Not to their good wishes, that is certain,

Nor yet to his affection I'm indebted

For this high office: and if I abuse it,

I shall therein abuse no confidence.

COUNTESS.

Affection! confidence!—they needed thee.

Necessity, impetuous remonstrant!

Who not with empty names, or shows of proxy,

Is served, who'll have the thing and not the symbol,

Ever seeks out the greatest and the best,

And at the rudder places him, e'en though

She had been forced to take him from the rabble—

She, this Necessity, it was that placed thee

In this high office; it was she that gave thee

Thy letters patent of inauguration.

For, to the uttermost moment that they can,

This race still help themselves at cheapest rate

With slavish souls, with puppets! At the approach

Of extreme peril, when a hollow image

Is found a hollow image and no more,

Then falls the power into the mighty hands

Of Nature, of the spirit giant-born,

Who listens only to himself, knows nothing

Of stipulations, duties, reverences,

And, like the emancipated force of fire,

Unmaster'd scorches, ere it reaches them,

Their fine-spun webs, their artificial policy.

WALLENST.

'Tis true! they saw me always as I am—

Always! I did not cheat them in the bargain.

I never held it worth my pains to hide

The bold all-grasping habit of my soul.

COUNTESS.

Nay rather—thou hast ever shown thyself

A formidable man, without restraint;

Hast exercised the full prerogatives

Of thy impetuous nature, which had been

Once granted to thee. Therefore, Duke, not thou

Who hast still remained consistent with thyself;

But they are in the wrong, who fearing thee,

Intrusted such a power in hand they fear'd.

For, by the laws of Spirit, in the right

Is every individual character

That acts in strict consistence with itself.

Self-contradiction is the only wrong.

Wert thou another being, then, when thou

Eight years ago pursuedst thy march with fire,

And sword, and desolation, through the Circles

Of Germany, the universal scourge,

Didst mock all ordinances of the empire,

The fearful rights of strength alone exertedst,

Trampledst to earth each rank, each magistracy,

All to extend thy Sultan's domination?

Then was the time to break thee in, to curb

Thy haughty will, to teach thee ordinance.

But no, the Emperor felt no touch of conscience;

What served him pleased him, and without a murmur

He stamp'd his broad seal on these lawless deeds.

What at that time was right, because thou didst it

For him, today is all at once become

Opprobrious, foul, because it is directed

Against him.—O most flimsy superstition!

WALLENSTEIN (rising).

I never saw it in this light before;

'Tis even so. The Emperor perpetrated

Deeds through my arm, deeds most unorderly.

And even this prince's mantle, which I wear,

I owe to what were services to him,

But most high misdemeanors 'gainst the empire.

COUNTESS.

Then betwixt thee and him (confess it Friedland!)

The point can be no more of right and duty,

Only of power and the opportunity.

That opportunity, lo! it comes yonder

Approaching with swift steeds; then with a swing

Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat,

Seize with firm hand the reins, ere thy opponent

Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest

Of the now empty seat. The moment comes;

It is already here, when thou must write

The absolute total of thy life's vast sum.

The constellations stand victorious o'er thee,

The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions,

And tell thee, "Now's the time!" The starry courses

Hast thou thy life long measured to no purpose?

The quadrant and the circle, were they play-things?

[Pointing to the different objects in the room.]

The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven,

Hast pictured on these walls, and all around thee

In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed

These seven presiding Lords of Destiny—

For toys? Is all this preparation nothing?

Is there no marrow in this hollow art,

That even to thyself it doth avail

Nothing, and has no influence over thee

In the great moment of decision?—

WALLENSTEIN. (during this last speech walks up and down with inward struggles, laboring with passion; stops suddenly, stands still, then interrupting the COUNTESS).

Send Wrangel to me—I will instantly

Dispatch three couriers—

ILLO (hurrying out).

God in heaven be praised!

WALLENST.

It is his evil genius and mine.

Our evil genius! It chastises him

Through me, the instrument of his ambition;

And I expect no less than that Revenge

E'en now is whetting for my breast the poinard.

Who sows the serpent's teeth, let him not hope

To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime

Has, in the moment of its perpetration,

Its own avenging angel—dark misgiving,

An ominous sinking at the inmost heart.

He can no longer trust me. Then no longer

Can I retreat—so come that which must come.

Still destiny preserves its due relations,

The heart within us is its absolute

Vicegerent.

[To TERZKY.]

 
                 Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel
 

To my state-cabinet.—Myself will speak to

The couriers.—And dispatch immediately

A servant for Octavio Piccolomini.

[_To the _COUNTESS, who cannot conceal her triumph.]

No exultation! woman, triumph not!

For jealous are the Powers of Destiny.

Joy premature, and shouts ere victory,

Encroach upon their rights and privileges.

We sow the seed, and they the growth determine.

[While he is making his exit the curtain drops.]

* * * * *

ACT II

SCENE I

Scene, as in the preceding Act

WALLENSTEIN, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI

WALLENSTEIN (coming forward in conversation).

He sends me word from Linz that he lies sick;

But I have sure intelligence that he

Secretes himself at Frauenberg with Gallas.

Secure them both, and send them to me hither.

Remember, thou takest on thee the command

Of those same Spanish regiments,—constantly

Make preparation, and be never ready;

And if they urge thee to draw out against me,

Still answer YES, and stand as thou wert fetter'd;

I know that it is doing thee a service

To keep thee out of action in this business.

Thou lovest to linger on in fair appearances;

Steps of extremity are not thy province;

Therefore have I sought out this part for thee.

Thou wilt this time be of most service to me

By thy inertness. The mean time, if fortune

Declare itself on my side, thou wilt know

What is to do.

Enter MAX PICCOLOMINI

 
                 Now go, Octavio.
 

This night must thou be off, take my own horses

Him here I keep with me—make short farewell—

Trust me, I think, we all shall meet again

In joy and thriving fortunes.

OCTAVIO (to his son).

 
                   I shall see you
 

Yet ere I go.

SCENE II

WALLENSTEIN, MAX PICCOLOMINI

MAX. (advances to him).

My General?

WALLENSTEIN.

 
          That I am no longer, if
 

Thou stylest thyself the Emperor's officer.

MAX.

Then thou wilt leave the army, General?

WALLENST.

I have renounced the service of the Emperor.

MAX.

And thou wilt leave the army?

WALLENSTEIN.

 
                     Rather hope I
 

To bind it nearer still and faster to me.

[He seats himself.]

Yes, Max, I have delay'd to open it to thee,

Even till the hour of acting 'gins to strike.

Youth's fortunate feeling doth seize easily

The absolute right, yea, and a joy it is

To exercise the single apprehension

Where the sums square in proof;

But where it happens that of two sure evils

One must be taken, where the heart not wholly

Brings itself back from out the strife of duties,

There 'tis a blessing to have no election,

And blank necessity is grace and favor.

–This is now present: do not look behind thee,—

It can no more avail thee. Look thou forwards!

Think not! judge not! prepare thyself to act!

The Court—it hath determined on my ruin,

Therefore I will be beforehand with them.

We'll join the Swedes—right gallant fellows are they,

And our good friends.

[He stops himself, expecting PICCOLOMINI's answer.]

I have ta'en thee by surprise. Answer me not.

I grant thee time to recollect thyself.

[He rises, retires at the back of the stage. MAX remains for a long time motionless, in a trance of excessive anguish. At his first motion WALLENSTEIN returns, and places himself before him.]

MAX.

My General, this day thou makest me

Of age to speak in my own right and person,

For till this day I have been spared the trouble

To find out my own road. Thee have I follow'd

With most implicit unconditional faith,

Sure of the right path if I follow'd thee.

Today, for the first time, dost thou refer

Me to myself, and forcest me to make

Election between thee and my own heart.

WALLENST.

Soft cradled thee thy Fortune till today;

Thy duties thou couldst exercise in sport,

Indulge all lovely instincts, act forever

With undivided heart. It can remain

No longer thus. Like enemies, the roads

Start from each other. Duties strive with duties.

Thou must needs choose thy party in the war

Which is now kindling 'twixt thy friend and him

Who is thy Emperor.

MAX.

 
                 War! is that the name?
 

War is as frightful as heaven's pestilence,

Yet it is good. Is it heaven's will as that is?

Is that a good war, which against the Emperor

Thou wagest with the Emperor's own army?

O God of heaven! what a change is this!

Beseems it me to offer such persuasion

To thee, who like the fix'd star of the pole

Wert all I gazed at on life's trackless ocean?

O! what a rent thou makest in my heart!

The ingrain'd instinct of old reverence,

The holy habit of obediency,

Must I pluck live asunder from thy name?

Nay, do not turn thy countenance upon me—

It always was as a god looking upon me!

Duke Wallenstein, its power has not departed.

The senses still are in thy bonds, although,

Bleeding, the soul hath freed itself.

WALLENSTEIN.

Max, hear me.

MAX.

O! do it not, I pray thee, do it not!

There is a pure and noble soul within thee

Knows not of this unblest, unlucky doing.

Thy will is chaste, it is thy fancy only

Which hath polluted thee; and innocence—

It will not let itself be driven away

From that world-awing aspect. Thou wilt not,

Thou canst not, end in this. It would reduce

All human creatures to disloyalty

Against the nobleness of their own nature.

'Twill justify the vulgar misbelief

Which holdeth nothing noble in free will

And trusts itself to impotence alone

Made powerful only in an unknown power.

WALLENST.

The world will judge me sternly, I expect it.

Already have I said to my own self

All thou canst say to me. Who but avoids

The extreme, can he by going round avoid it?

But here there is no choice. Yes—I must use

Or suffer violence—so stands the case;

There remains nothing possible but that.

MAX.

O that is never possible for thee!

'Tis the last desperate resource of those

Cheap souls to whom their honor, their good name

Is their poor saving, their last worthless keep,

Which, having staked and lost, they stake themselves

In the mad rage of gaming. Thou art rich

And glorious; with an unpolluted heart

Thou canst make conquest of whate'er seems highest!

But he, who once hath acted infamy,

Does nothing more in this world.

WALLENSTEIN (grasps his hand).

 
                         Calmly, Max!
 

Much that is great and excellent will we

Perform together yet. And if we only

Stand on the height with dignity, 'tis soon

Forgotten, Max, by what road we ascended.

Believe me, many a crown shines spotless now

That yet was deeply sullied in the winning.

To the evil spirit doth the earth belong,

Not to the good. All that the powers divine

Send from above are universal blessings,

Their light rejoices us, their air refreshes,

But never yet was man enrich'd by them

In their eternal realm no property

Is to be struggled for—all there is general

The jewel, the all-valued gold we win

From the deceiving Powers, depraved in nature,

That dwell beneath the day and blessed sun-light.

Not without sacrifices are they render'd

Propitious, and there lives no soul on earth

That e'er retired unsullied from their service.

MAX.

Whate'er is human, to the human being

Do I allow—and to the vehement

And striving spirit readily I pardon

The excess of action; but to thee, my General,

Above all others make I large concession.

For thou must move a world, and be the master—

He kills thee who condemns thee to inaction.

So be it then! maintain thee in thy post

By violence. Resist the Emperor,

And, if it must be, force with force repel:

I will not praise it, yet I can forgive it.

But not—not to the traitor—yes!—the word

Is spoken out—

Not to the traitor can I yield a pardon.

That is no mere excess! that is no error

Of human nature—that is wholly different;

O that is black, black as the pit of hell!

[WALLENSTEIN betrays a sudden agitation.]

Thou canst not hear it named, and wilt thou do it?

O, turn back to thy duty! That thou canst

I hold it certain. Send me to Vienna:

I'll make thy peace for thee with the Emperor.

He knows thee not. But I do know thee. He

Shall see thee, Duke, with my unclouded eye,

And I bring back his confidence to thee.

WALLENST.

It is too late! Thou knowest not what has happen'd.

MAX.

Were it too late, and were things gone so far,

That a crime only could prevent thy fall,

Then—fall! fall honorably, even as thou stood'st!

Lose the command. Go from the stage of war,

Thou canst with splendor do it—do it too

With innocence. Thou hast lived much for others,

At length live thou for thy own self. I follow thee;

My destiny I never part from thine.

WALLENST.

It is too late! Even now, while thou art losing

Thy words, one after the other are the milestones

Left fast behind by my post couriers

Who bear the order on to Prague and Egra.

[MAX stands as convulsed, with a gesture and countenance expressing the most intense anguish.]

Yield thyself to it. We act as we are forced.

I cannot give assent to my own shame

And ruin. Thou—no—thou canst not forsake me!

So let us do what must be done, with dignity,

With a firm step. What am I doing worse

Than did famed Cæsar at the Rubicon,

When he the legions led against his country,

The which his country had delivered to him?

Had he thrown down the sword he had been lost,

As I were if I but disarm'd myself.

I trace out something in me of this spirit;

Give me his luck, that other thing I'll bear.

[MAX quits him abruptly. WALLENSTEIN startled and overpowered, continues looking after him and is still in this posture when TERZKY enters.]