The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Iii Part 71

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 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 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 a.s.sumes 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.