_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[794:1] of the moon, 25 Struggling, darts s.n.a.t.c.hes of uncertain light.

No form of star is visible! That one White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder, Is from Ca.s.siopeia, and therein Is Jupiter. (_A pause._) But now 30 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 marvellously hath his aspect 35 Shot strength into my heart.

_Countess._ Thou'lt see him again.

_Wallenstein._ See him again? O never, never again.

_Countess._ How?

_Wallenstein._ He is gone--is dust.

_Countess._ Whom meanest thou then?

_Wallenstein._ He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished!

For him there is no longer any future, 40 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 45 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. 50

[_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; 55 To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.

_Wallenstein._ I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious.

What does not man grieve down? From the highest, As from the vilest thing of every day He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours 60 Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost In him. The bloom is vanished from my life.

For O! he stood beside me, like my youth, Transformed for me the real to a dream, Clothing the palpable and familiar 65 With golden exhalations of the dawn.

Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, The beautiful is vanished--and returns not.

_Countess._ O be not treacherous to thy own power.

Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 70 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 keys Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister! 75

_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 waking Never more find thee!

_Wallenstein._ Fancies!

_Countess._ O my soul Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings. 80 And if I combat and repel them waking, They still rush down upon my heart in dreams, I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired.

_Wallenstein._ This was a dream of favourable omen, 85 That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.

_Countess._ To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee In thy own chamber. As I entered, lo!

It was no more a chamber; the Chartreuse At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded, 90 And where it is thy will that thou should'st be Interred.

_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?

_Wallenstein._ There is no doubt that there exist such voices. 95 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 100 Of 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 tale Of my own future destiny. The King 105 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 110 Sounded that coronation festival; And still with boding sense he heard the tread Of those feet that ev'n then were seeking him Throughout the streets of Paris.

_Countess._ And to thee The voice within thy soul bodes nothing?

_Wallenstein._ Nothing. 115 Be wholly tranquil.

_Countess._ And another time I hastened after thee, and thou ran'st from me Through a long suite, through many a s.p.a.cious hall, There seemed no end of it: doors creaked and clapped; I followed panting, but could not o'ertake thee; 120 When on a sudden did I feel myself Grasped from behind--the hand was cold that grasped me-- 'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed A crimson covering to envelop us.

_Wallenstein._ That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 125

_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._

_Wallenstein._ The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee-- Alphabets wound not--and he finds no hands. 130

_Countess._ If he should find them, my resolve is taken-- I bear about me my support and refuge. [_Exit COUNTESS._

FOOTNOTES:

[794:1] These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite felicity.

'Am Himmel ist geschaftige Bewegung, Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht Der Wolken Zug, _die Mondessichel w.a.n.kt_, Und durch die Nacht zeucht ungewisse h.e.l.le.'

The word 'moon-sickle' reminds me of a pa.s.sage 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_.'

The words 'w.a.n.ken' 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. So 'der Wolken Zug'--The Draft, the Procession of Clouds.--The Ma.s.ses of the Clouds sweep onward in swift _stream_.

LINENOTES:

[17] _thou_ 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 21] _Wallenstein (rises and strides across the saloon)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.

[25] sweep] fly _1800_: sail MS. R.