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
The war has not yet reach'd. 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,
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
Of fair and exquisite, O! nothing, nothing,
Do we behold of that in our rude voyage.

OCTAVIO (attentive, with an appearance of
uneasiness).

And so your journey has reveal'd this to you?

MAX.

'T was the first leisure of my life. O tell me,
What is the meed and purpose of the toil,
The painful toil, which robb'd me of my youth,
Left me an heart unsoul'd and solitary,
A spirit uninform'd, unornamented.

For the camp's stir and crowd and ceaseless larum,
The neighing war-horse, the air-shattering trumpet,
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-
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

A fellow-man among his fellow-men.

The colours are unfurl'd, the cavalcade
Marshals, and now the buzz is hush'd, and hark!

Now the soft peace-march beats, home, brothers, home!
The caps and helmets are all garlanded

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 fill'd with men and women,
With peaceful men and women, that send onwards
Kisses and welcomings upon the air,

Which they make breezy with affectionate gestures.
From all the towers rings out the merry peal,

In the original,

Den blut gen Lorbeer geb ich hin mit Freuden Fürs erste Veilchen, das der Mærz uns bringt, Das dürftige Pfand der neuverjüngten Erde.

The joyous vespers of a bloody day.

O happy man, O fortunate! for whom
The well-known door, the faithful arms are open,
The faithful tender arms with mute embracing.
QUESTENBERG (apparently much affected).
O! that you should speak

Of such a distant, distant time, and not
Of the to-morrow, not of this to-day.

MAX (turning round to him, quick and vehement).
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 press'd my inmost soul together.
'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,
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.
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.

SCENE V.

QUESTENBERG, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI.
QUESTENBERG.

Alas, alas! and stands it so?

[Exit.

OCTAVIO.

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

But what's loo late? Bethink yourself, my friend,
That you are talking absolute riddles to me.
OCTAVIO (more collected).

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.

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 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.

I did even that Which you commission'd me to do. I told them, You had determined on our daughter's marriage,

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 (with gravity).

My son, there's nothing insignificant,
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.
Twelve! twelve signs hath the zodiac: five and seven,
The holy numbers, include themselves in twelve.

SECOND SERVANT.

To show the elected husband his betrothed.

DUCHESS.

should like to know that now.

A canker-worm, my lord, a canker-worm Has stolen into the bud.

WALLENSTEIN.

Ay! is it so!

What, they were lax? they fail'd of the old respect?

DUCHESS.

Not of respect. No honours were omitted,
No outward courtesy; but in the place
Of condescending, confidential kindness,
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,
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 rail'd at it, no doubt.

DUCHESS.

O that they had!

I have been long accustom'd to defend you,
To heal and pacify distemper'd spirits.

No; no one rail'd at you. They wrapp'd them up,
O Heaven! in such oppressive, solemn silence!--
Here is no every-day misunderstanding,

No transient pique, no cloud that passes over;
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 (wiping away her tears, after a pause).
She did embrace me,

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 press'd me to her bosom, more with anguish
Than tenderness.

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

DUCHESS (shaking her head).

I saw none.

WALLENSTEIN.

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

DUCHESS.

Strides across the Chamber in vehement agitation.

O! they force, they thrust me

With violence against my own will, onward!

DUCHESS (presses near to him, in entreaty).

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
Before whom you retreat. O let no longer
Low tricking malice blacken your good meaning
With abhorr'd venomous glosses. Stand you up
Shielded and helm'd and weapon'd with the truth,
And drive before you into uttermost shame
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!

SCENE VIII.

Enter the Countess TERTSKY, leading in her hand the Princess THEKLA, richly adorned with Brilliants.

COUNTESS, THEKLA, WALLENSTEIN, Duchess.

Silent, silent!

WALLENSTEIN.

Henceforward

How, sister! What, already upon business;

COUNTESS.

These suns then are eclipsed for us.

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 he beard

Aloud-in that which Father Lamormain
In sundry hints and—.—

WALLENSTEIN (eagerly).

Lamormain! what said he?

DUCHESS.

That you 're accused of having daringly
O'erstepp'd the powers entrusted to you, charged
With traitorous contempt of the Emperor
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 whirl'd you headlong down at Regensburg.
And people talk, said he, of---Ah!—
[Stifling extreme emotion.

WALLENSTEIN.

[Observing the countenance of the DUCHESS.

And business of no pleasing kind I see,
Ere he has gladden'd at his child. The first
Moment belongs to joy. Here, Friedland! father!
This is thy daughter.

[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.

"T was but a little child when you departed
To raise up that great army for the Emperor:
And after, at the close of the campaign,
When you return'd home out of Pomerania,
Your daughter was already in the convent,
Wherein she has remain'd till now.

WALLENSTEIN..

child! [Then after a pause.

I was indignant at my destiny,
That it denied me a man-child to be

Heir of my name and of my prosperous fortune,
And re-illume my soon extinguish'd being

In a proud line of princes.

I wrong'd my destiny. Here upon this head,

So lovely in its maiden bloom, will I
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.

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
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 deliver'd
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
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! 't was not so intended, that my business
Should be my highest best good-fortune!

[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. 'T is not unfitting
For you, Count Piccolomini, to feel
So tenderly-my brother it beseems
To show himself for ever great and princely.

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; 't is his nature ever to be giving

And making happy.

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

How my

heart pours out
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.
Inextricably as in some magic ring

In this name hath my destiny charm-bound me! COUNTESS (who during this time has been anxiously watching the DUKE, and remarks that he is lost in thought over the letters).

My brother wishes us to leave him. Come.
WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round quick, collects him-
self, 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.
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.

SCENE X.

WALLENSTEIN, COUNT TERTSKY.
WALLENSTEIN (in deep thought 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,

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!

[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 Tyrol passes. I must forthwith
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 negociations, he

Has shown himself again of late. What brings he 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?

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, 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! 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?

WALLENSTEIN,

Off with them, off! Thou understand'st not this.
Never shall it be said of me, I parcell'd
My native land away, dismember'd Germany,
Betray'd it to a foreigner, in order

To come with stealthy tread, and filch away
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
Towards the rich blessings of our German lands!
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.

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? 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,
Ilath 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 couldst speak
No wiselier than thy fellows.

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. Besides, I have his horoscope:

We both are born beneath like stars-in short
[With an air of mystery.
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, 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.