Wallenstein/The Death of Wallenstein/A5S01
ACT V.
Scene, a Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends far into the back-ground.
SCENE I.
Wallenstein. (sitting at a table.)
The Swedish Captain. (standing before him.)
WALLENSTEIN.Commend me to your lord. I sympathizeIn his good fortune; and if you have seen meDeficient in the expressions of that joy,Which such a victory might well demand,Attribute it to no lack of good will,For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell,And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrowThe citadel shall be surrender'd to youOn your arrival.
[The Swedish Captain retires. Wallenstein sits lost in thought, his eyes fix'd vacantly, and his head sustain'd by his hand. The Countess Tertsky enters, stands before him awhile, unobserved by him; at length he starts, sees her, and recollects himself.]
WALLENSTEIN.Com'st thou from her? Is she restor'd? How is she?
COUNTESS.My sister tells me, she was more collected itAfter her conversation with the Swede.She has now retired to rest.
WALLENSTEIN.The pang will soften.She will shed tears.
COUNTESS.I find thee alter'd too,My brother! After such a victoryI had expected to have found in theeA cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm!Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art,Our sun.
WALLENSTEIN.Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where'sThy husband.
COUNTESS.At a banquet—he and Illo.
WALLENSTEIN.(rises and strides across the saloon.)The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy chamber.
COUNTESS.Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee!
WALLENSTEIN.(moves to the window.)There is a busy motion in the Heaven, The wind doth chace the flag upon the tower,Fast fly the clouds, the [1]sickle of the moon,Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light.No form of star is visible! That oneWhite stain of light, that single glimm'ring yonder,Is from Cassiopeia, and thereinIs Jupiter. (a pause.) But nowThe blackness of the troubled element hides him!(he sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly into the distance.)
COUNTESS.(looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand.)What art thou brooding on?
WALLENSTEIN.Methinks,If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me. He is the star of my nativity,And often marvellously hath his aspectShot strength into my heart.
COUNTESS.Thou'lt see him again.
WALLENSTEIN.(remains for a while with absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly to the Countess.)See him again? O never, never again.
COUNTESS.How?
WALLENSTEIN.He is gone—is dust.
COUNTESS.Whom mean'st thou then?
WALLENSTEIN.He the more fortunate! yea, he hath finish'd!For him there is no longer any future—His life is bright—bright without spot it was,And cannot cease to be. No ominous hourKnocks at his door with tidings of mis-hap.Far off is he, above desire and fear;No more submitted to the change and chanceOf the unsteady planets. O 'tis wellWith him! but who knows what the coming hourVeil'd in thick darkness brings for us!
COUNTESS.Thou speakestOf Piccolomini. What was his death? The courier had just left thee, as I came.(Wallenstein by a motion of his hand makes signs to her to be silent)Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view,Let us look forward into sunny days.Welcome with joyous heart the victory,Forget what it has cost thee. Not to day,For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead;To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.
WALLENSTEIN.This anguish will be wearied down,[2] I know;What pang is permanent with man? From th' highest,As from the vilest thing of every dayHe learns to wean himself: for the strong hoursConquer him. Yet I feel what I have lostIn him. The bloom is vanish'd from my life.For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,Transform'd for me the real to a dream,Cloathing the palpable and the familiarWith golden exhalations of the dawn.Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,The beautiful is vanish'd—and returns not.
COUNTESS.O be not treacherous to thy own power.Thy heart is rich enough to vivify Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him,The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold.
WALLENSTEIN. (stepping to the door.)Who interrupts us now at this late hour?It is the Governor. He brings the keysOf the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister!
COUNTESS.O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee—A boding fear possesses me!
WALLENSTEIN.Fear? Wherefore?
COUNTESS.Should'st thou depart this night, and we at wakingNever more find thee!
WALLENSTEIN.Fancies!
COUNTESS.O my soulHas long been weigh'd down by these dark forebodings.And if I combat and repel them waking,They still rush down upon my heart in dreams.I saw thee yesternight with thy first wifeSit at a banquet gorgeously attir'd.
WALLENSTEIN.This was a dream of favourable omen,That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.
COUNTESS.To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee In thy own chamber. As I enter'd, lo!It was no more a chamber, the ChartreuseAt Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded,And where it is thy will that thou should'st beInterr'd.
WALLENSTEIN.Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.
COUNTESS.What dost thou not believe, that oft in dreamsA voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?
WALLENSTEIN.There is no doubt that there exist such voices.Yet I would not call themVoices of warning that announce to usOnly the inevitable. As the sun,Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its imageIn the atmosphere, so often do the spiritsOf great events stride on before the events,And in to-day already walks to-morrow.That which we read of the fourth Henry's death,Did ever vex and haunt me like a taleOf my own future destiny. The KingFelt in his breast the phantom of the knife,Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.His quiet mind forsook him the PhantasmaStarted him in his Louvre, chac'd him forthInto the open air: like funeral KnellsSounded that coronation festival;And still with boding sense he heard the treadOf those feet, that ev'n then were seeking him WALLENSTEIN.Throughout the streets of Paris.
COUNTESS.And to theeThe voice within thy soul bodes nothing?
WALLENSTEIN.Nothing.Be wholly tranquil.
COUNTESS.And another timeI hasten'd after thee, and thou ran'st from meThro' a long suite, thro' many a spacious hall.There seem'd no end of it—door creek'd and clapp'd;I follow'd panting, but could not o'ertake thee;When on a sudden did I feel myselfGrasp'd from behind—the hand was cold, that grasp'd me—'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seem'dA crimson covering to envelope us.
WALLENSTEIN.That is the crimson tap'stry of my chamber.
COUNTESS. (gazing on him.)If it should come to that—if I should see thee,Who standest now before me in the fullnessOf life—(she falls on his breast and weeps.)
WALLENSTEIN.The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee—Alphabets wound not—and he finds no hands.
COUNTESS.If he should find them, my resolve is taken—I bear about me my support and refuge.[Exit Countess.
- ↑ These four lines are expressed in the orginal with exquisite felicity.The word "moon-sickle," reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by Johnson, under the word "falcated." "The enlightened part of the moon appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to the full; but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears gibbous, and the dark falcated."Am Himmel ist geschäftige Bewegung,Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell gehtDer Wolken Zug, die Mondes-sichel wankt,Und durch die Nacht zuckt ungewisse Helle.
The words "wanken" and "schweben" are not easily translated. The English words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. - ↑ A very inadequate translation of the original."Verschmerzen werd ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,Dennwas verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!"Literally.I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious;What does not man grieve down?