The Death of Wallenstein, Friedrich Schiller [learn to read books txt] 📗

CHAMBER.
The golden chain is snapped in two.

WALLENSTEIN. Well, it has lasted long enough. Here - give it.
[He takes and looks at the chain. 'Twas the first present of the emperor. He hung it round me in the war of Friule, He being then archduke; and I have worn it Till now from habit - From superstition, if you will. Belike, It was to be a talisman to me; And while I wore it on my neck in faith, It was to chain to me all my life-long The volatile fortune, whose first pledge it was. Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune Must spring up for me; for the potency Of this charm is dissolved.

[GROOM OF THE CHAMBER retires with the vestments. WALLENSTEIN
rises, takes a stride across the room, and stands at last before
GORDON in a posture of meditation.

How the old time returns upon me! I Behold myself once more at Burgau, where We two were pages of the court together. We oftentimes disputed: thy intention Was ever good; but thou were wont to play The moralist and preacher, and wouldst rail at me - That I strove after things too high for me, Giving my faith to bold, unlawful dreams, And still extol to me the golden mean. Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend To thy own self. See, it has made thee early A superannuated man, and (but That my munificent stars will intervene) Would let thee in some miserable corner Go out like an untended lamp.

GORDON.
My prince With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat, And watches from the shore the lofty ship Stranded amid the storm.

WALLENSTEIN.
Art thou already In harbor, then, old man? Well! I am not. The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows; My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly. Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate; And while we stand thus front to front almost, I might presume to say, that the swift years Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.

[He moves with long strides across the saloon, and remains
on the opposite side over against GORDON.

Who now persists in calling fortune false? To me she has proved faithful; with fond love Took me from out the common ranks of men, And like a mother goddess, with strong arm Carried me swiftly up the steps of life. Nothing is common in my destiny, Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares Interpret then my life for me as 'twere One of the undistinguishable many? True, in this present moment I appear Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again. The high flood will soon follow on this ebb; The fountain of my fortune, which now stops, Repressed and bound by some malicious star, Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.

GORDON. And yet remember I the good old proverb, "Let the night come before we praise the day." I would be slow from long-continued fortune To gather hope: for hope is the companion Given to the unfortunate by pitying heaven. Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men, For still unsteady are the scales of fate.

WALLENSTEIN (smiling). I hear the very Gordon that of old Was wont to preach, now once more preaching; I know well, that all sublunary things Are still the vassals of vicissitude. The unpropitious gods demand their tribute. This long ago the ancient pagans knew And therefore of their own accord they offered To themselves injuries, so to atone The jealousy of their divinities And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.
[After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner. I too have sacrificed to him - for me There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault He fell! No joy from favorable fortune Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke. The envy of my destiny is glutted: Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning Was drawn off which would else have shattered me.


SCENE V.

To these enter SENI.

WALLENSTEIN. Is not that Seni! and beside himself, If one can trust his looks? What brings thee hither At this late hour, Baptista?

SENI.
Terror, duke! On thy account.

WALLENSTEIN.
What now?

SENI.
Flee ere the day break! Trust not thy person to the Swedes!

WALLENSTEIN.
What now Is in thy thoughts?

SENI (with louder voice). Trust not thy person to the Swedes.

WALLENSTEIN.
What is it, then?

SENI (still more urgently). Oh, wait not the arrival of these Swedes! An evil near at hand is threatening thee From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror! Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition - Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!

WALLENSTEIN. Baptista, thou art dreaming! - fear befools thee.

SENI. Believe not that an empty fear deludes me. Come, read it in the planetary aspects; Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee From false friends.

WALLENSTEIN.
From the falseness of my friends Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes. The warning should have come before! At present I need no revelation from the stars To know that.

SENI.
Come and see! trust thine own eyes. A fearful sign stands in the house of life - An enemy; a fiend lurks close behind The radiance of thy planet. Oh, be warned! Deliver not up thyself to these heathens, To wage a war against our holy church.

WALLENSTEIN (laughing gently). The oracle rails that way! Yes, yes! Now I recollect. This junction with the Swedes Did never please thee - lay thyself to sleep, Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear.

GORDON (who during the whole of this dialogue has shown marks
of extreme agitation, and now turns to WALLENSTEIN). My duke and general! May I dare presume?

WALLENSTEIN. Speak freely.

GORDON.
What if 'twere no mere creation Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsafed To interpose its aid for your deliverance, And made that mouth its organ?

WALLENSTEIN.
Ye're both feverish! How can mishap come to me from the Swedes? They sought this junction with me - 'tis their interest.

GORDON (with difficulty suppressing his emotion). But what if the arrival of these Swedes - What if this were the very thing that winged The ruin that is flying to your temples?

[Flings himself at his feet.

There is yet time, my prince.

SENI.
Oh hear him! hear him!

GORDON (rises). The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders, This citadel shall close its gates upon him. If then he will besiege us, let him try it. But this I say; he'll find his own destruction, With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner Than weary down the valor of our spirit. He shall experience what a band of heroes, Inspirited by an heroic leader, Is able to perform. And if indeed It be thy serious wish to make amend For that which thou hast done amiss, - this, this Will touch and reconcile the emperor, Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy; And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, Will stand yet higher in his emperor's favor Then e'er he stood when he had never fallen.

WALLENSTEIN (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent a while,
betraying strong emotion). Gordon - your zeal and fervor lead you far. Well, well - an old friend has a privilege. Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never Can the emperor pardon me: and if he could, Yet I - I ne'er could let myself be pardoned. Had I foreknown what now has taken place, That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me, My first death offering; and had the heart Spoken to me, as now it has done - Gordon, It may be, I might have bethought myself. It may be too, I might not. Might or might not Is now an idle question. All too seriously Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon! Let it then have its course.
[Stepping to the window. All dark and silent - at the castle too All is now hushed. Light me, chamberlain?

[The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, who had entered during the last dialogue,
and had been standing at a distance and listening to it with visible
expressions of the deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation
and throws himself at the DUKE's feet.

And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish My reconcilement with the emperor. Poor man! he hath a small estate in Carinthia, And fears it will be forfeited because He's in my service. Am I then so poor That I no longer can indemnify My servants? Well! to no one I employ Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief That fortune has fled from me, go! forsake me. This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me, And then go over to the emperor. Gordon, good-night! I think to make a long Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil Of this last day or two was great. May't please you Take care that they awake me not too early.

[Exit WALLENSTEIN, the GROOM OF THE CHAMBER lighting him. SENI
follows, GORDON remains on the darkened stage, following the DUKE
with his eye, till he disappears at the further end of the gallery:
then by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of his anguish,
and stands leaning against a pillar.


SCENE VI.

GORDON, BUTLER (at first behind the scenes).

BUTLER (not yet come into view of the stage). Here stand in silence till I give the signal.

GORDON (starts up). 'Tis he! he has already brought the murderers.

BUTLER. The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep.

GORDON. What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him? Shall I call up the house? alarm the guards?

BUTLER (appears, but scarcely on the stage). A light gleams hither from the corridor. It leads directly to the duke's bed-chamber.

GORDON. But then I break my oath to the emperor; If he escape and strengthen the enemy, Do I not hereby call down on my head All the dread consequences.

BUTLER (stepping forward).