Chapter 55

_A Saloon, terminated by a Gallery which extends far into the background_.

WALLENSTEIN _Sitting at a table. The_ SWEDISH CAPTAIN _standing before him_.

WALLENST.

Commend me to your lord. I sympathize In his good fortune; and if you have seen me Deficient 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. Tomorrow The citadel shall be surrendered to you On your arrival.

[_The_ SWEDISH CAPTAIN _retires_. WALLENSTEIN _sits lost in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head sustained by his hand. The_ COUNTESS TERZKY _enters, stands before him for awhile, unobserved by him; at length he starts, sees her and recollects himself_.]

WALLENST.

Comest thou from her? Is she restored? How is she?

COUNTESS.

My sister tells me, she was more collected After 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 victory I had expected to have found in thee A cheerful spirit. O remain _thou_ firm! Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art, Our sun.

WALLENSTEIN.

Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's Thy 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 chase the flag upon the tower, Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle[34] of the moon, Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light; No form of star is visible! That one White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder, Is from Cassiopeia, and therein Is Jupiter.

(_A pause_).

But now The 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 marvelously hath his aspect Shot strength into my heart.

COUNTESS.

Thou'lt see him again.

WALLENSTEIN _(remains for a while, with, absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the_ COUNTESS).

See him again? O never, never again!

COUNTESS.

How?

WALLENSTEIN.

He is gone--is dust.

COUNTESS.

Whom meanest thou, then?

WALLENST.

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 hour Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap; Far off is he, above desire and fear; No more submitted to the change and chance Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well With him! but who knows what the coming hour Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us?

COUNTESS.

Thou speakest Of 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 today, For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead; To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

WALLENST.

This anguish will be wearied down,[35] I know; What pang is permanent with man? From the highest, As from the vilest thing of every day, He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost In 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, Clothing the palpable and the familiar With 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 lovest and prizest virtues in him, The which thyself didst plant, thyself unfold.

WALLENSTEIN _(stepping to the door_).

Who interrupts us now at this late hour? It is the Governor. He brings the keys Of 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.

Shouldst thou depart this night, and we at waking Never more find thee!

WALLENSTEIN.

Fancies!

COUNTESS.

O my soul Has long been weigh'd down by these dark fore-bodings, And if I combat and repel them waking, They will crush down upon my heart in dreams. I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife Sit at a banquet, gorgeously attired.

WALLENST.

This was a dream of favorable omen, That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.

COUNTESS.

Today I dreamt that I was seeking thee In thy own chamber. As I enter'd, lo! It was no more a chamber: the Chartreuse At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded, And where it is thy will that thou should'st be Interr'd.

WALLENSTEIN.

Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.

COUNTESS.

What! dost thou not believe that oft in dreams A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?

WALTENST.

There is no doubt that there exist such voices; Yet I would not call _them_ Voices of warning that announce to us Only the inevitable. As the sun, Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits Of great events stride on before the events, And in today already walks tomorrow. That which we read of the fourth Henry's death Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale Of my own future destiny. The king Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife, Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith. His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth Into the open air: like funeral knells Sounded that coronation festival; And still with boding sense he heard the tread Of those feet that even then were seeking him Throughout the streets of Paris.

COUNTESS.

And to _thee_ The voice within thy soul bodes nothing?

WALLENSTEIN.

Nothing. Be wholly tranquil.

COUNTESS.

And another time I hasten'd after thee, and thou ran'st from me Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall. There seem'd no end of it: doors creak'd and clapp'd; I follow'd panting, but could not o'ertake thee; When on a sudden did I feel myself Grasp'd from behind--the hand was cold that grasped me-- 'Twas thou, and thou didst kiss me, and there seem'd A crimson covering to envelop us.

WALLENST. That is the crimson tapestry 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 fulness Of life--

_[She falls on his breast and weeps_.]

WALLENST.

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.]