The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 196

ILLO.

At his own bidding, unsolicited, He came to offer you himself and regiment.

WALLENSTEIN, I find we must not give implicit credence To every warning voice that makes itself Be listened to in the heart. To hold us back, Oft does the lying spirit counterfeit The voice of truth and inward revelation, Scattering false oracles. And thus have I To entreat forgiveness for that secretly.

I've wronged this honorable gallant man, This Butler: for a feeling of the which I am not master (fear I would not call it), Creeps o'er me instantly, with sense of shuddering, At his approach, and stops love's joyous motion.

And this same man, against whom I am warned, This honest man is he who reaches to me The first pledge of my fortune.

ILLO.

And doubt not That his example will win over to you The best men in the army.

WALLENSTEIN.

Go and send Isolani hither. Send him immediately.

He is under recent obligations to me: With him will I commence the trial. Go.

[Exit ILLO.

WALLENSTEIN (turns himself round to the females).

Lo, there's the mother with the darling daughter.

For once we'll have an interval of rest-- Come! my heart yearns to live a cloudless hour In the beloved circle of my family.

COUNTESS.

'Tis long since we've been thus together, brother.

WALLENSTEIN (to the COUNTESS, aside).

Can she sustain the news? Is she prepared?

COUNTESS.

Not yet.

WALLENSTEIN.

Come here, my sweet girl! Seat thee by me, For there is a good spirit on thy lips.

Thy mother praised to me thy ready skill; She says a voice of melody dwells in thee, Which doth enchant the soul. Now such a voice Will drive away from me the evil demon That beats his black wings close above my head.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Where is thy lute, my daughter? Let thy father Hear some small trial of thy skill.

THEKLA.

My mother I----

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Trembling? Come, collect thyself. Go, cheer Thy father.

THEKLA.

O my mother! I--I cannot.

COUNTESS.

How, what is that, niece?

THEKLA (to the COUNTESS).

O spare me--sing--now--in this sore anxiety, Of the overburdened soul--to sing to him Who is thrusting, even now, my mother headlong Into her grave.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

How, Thekla! Humorsome!

What! shall thy father have expressed a wish In vain?

COUNTESS.

Here is the lute.

THEKLA.

My G.o.d! how can I----

[The orchestra plays. During the ritornello THEKLA expresses in her gestures and countenance the struggle of her feelings; and at the moment that she should begin to sing, contracts herself together, as one shuddering, throws the instrument down, and retires abruptly.

d.u.c.h.eSS.

My child! Oh, she is ill----

WALLENSTEIN.

What ails the maiden?

Say, is she often so?

COUNTESS.

Since then herself Has now betrayed it, I too must no longer Conceal it.

WALLENSTEIN.

What?

COUNTESS.

She loves him!

WALLENSTEIN.

Loves him? Whom?

COUNTESS.

Max. does she love! Max. Piccolomini!

Hast thou never noticed it? Nor yet my sister?

d.u.c.h.eSS.

Was it this that lay so heavy on her heart?

G.o.d's blessing on thee,--my sweet child! Thou needest Never take shame upon thee for thy choice.

COUNTESS.

This journey, if 'twere not thy aim, ascribe it To thine own self. Thou shouldst have chosen another To have attended her.

WALLENSTEIN.

And does he know it?

COUNTESS.

Yes, and he hopes to win her.

WALLENSTEIN.